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vagabond-umlaut · 8 months

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Mercury x Sulfur

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Fluff, Angst, Explicit Smut [Oral Fem!Receiving; P-In-V; Loss Of Virginity; Praises]; Angst With A Happy Ending; Porn With Plot & Feelings™️; Contains Manga & Anime Spoilers. This is 18+ Content -> Minors & Ageless Blogs Please DNI!!!

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns [Can Be Treated As A Stand-Alone]

THE WEDDING NIGHT FIC NO ONE ASKED FOR YET I WROTE FT. PATHETIC GOJO & PATHETIC READER & THEIR BLURRY PATHETIC FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER... [I'VE NEVER WRITTEN SMUT BEFORE, SO PLEASE BE KIND TO ME 🥹🥹]

Gojo Satoru is much too similar to fire, you suppose— so vivid always, so warm always, so protective always– yet not without the promise of destruction simmering within the sweet blue blaze of his eyes — Very much the reflection yet the contrast to how you resemble the air— so empty, so hollow, so fucking void.

Nice thoughts to think of yourself on your wedding night, aren't they?

Certainly not, you scoff inwardly, toying with the band of sapphire on your left hand. Yet... you cannot, or rather, do not do anything to stop them from sneaking past the defenses you've guarded yourself with– into that twisted, sick, pathetic mess of neurons and darkness you're ashamed to call your mind nowadays.

The noise of the shower tumbles into a sudden hush. An equally quiet sigh escapes you, fingers moving from your jewellery to trace the tiny floral design on the off-white gown– your brain somewhat registering the bathroom door being opened then shut.

"Y'know, mint ice cream might've be— whoa, is that my wife crying?"

Less than one nanosecond elapses before you find your perch on the edge of the bed being crowded by six-feet-three-inches of white hair, chiselled face, toned abs and worry— Oh My Fucking God, the worry swirling in those damned eyes of his— Mustering chuckles and grins, you move to scoot away from him, ready to brush your husband away with some half-baked something, when you feel him draw you closer and place two warm palms on the apples of your cheeks– both gentle and firm in the fashion they cradle your face— they cradle your entire being in this moment.

Cheer trickling away from your countenance, you hear him whisper in an unbelievably contrite tone, "You're mad because you did not get to eat the last piece of cake– because I stole it away, isn't it so? Y'know... we can always visit the bakery we ordered the cake from and I'll order the same flavour we chose for our wedding cake, and you can steal as many bites as you want from my plate— guess, that will make us kind of equals, huh?"

Equals, huh? Equals, huh? Equals. Huh?

"No," you snap, betraying the smile you've been struggling to keep on your lips, "We'll never be equals, Satoru. I mean, yeah— in dumb stuff like these, we might be equals or whatever you believe in. But, in life– do you really think we're going to be equals, huh? Do you think there'll ever be a reality, ever be a world where we might be equals, huh?"

Thumbs stilling over the tear tracks they were oh-so-very insistent on wiping away, he blinks at you. Once. Twice. Thrice— You groan, trying to remove yourself from the man whose mere presence is fermenting your inside. Searing your skin. Twisting and turning your mind into an even greater mess than it's ever been– One you know you cannot find yourself from, if once lost to.

Large fingers curling round your left ankle stop you in your attempts.

"I think so," Satoru offers softly, the unblemished smooth porcelain of his skin streaked with gravitas, you've seldom seen in the many years you've known him yet know becomes him too perfectly– You chuckle, shaking your head.

"This isn't only you and me. This is the world I'm talking about. This is our world I'm talking about. Do you really think they'll ever let a lady— married, that too— stand beside her husband, and not behind him?"

The grasp on your ankle loosens for a beat.

Something cracks and splinters and shatters within yourself.

Something you never knew existed before now— something you wish to ignore, so fucking desperately, now that you know it exists.

Shaky whoosh of pain leaving, you kick your foot free of the hold on it and scoot backwards on the mattress, screwing your eyes shut – as if them being closed will make you blind to the response your query has gathered by not gathering any at all— every iota in your body loathing the way your emotions well over and down your dusted cheeks— way too much, way too quick for your liking—

Large fingers curl round your left knee this time, preventing you from your retreat by pulling you towards their owner yet again — Little that does to dampen your efforts, though.

Or, the scald in that tender part in that tender mess of muscles and blood– pulses and impulses– you've never liked lots, for that matter.

"Let me go," you growl, legs shifting and flexing and extending to free themselves. The soft covers on the bed crinkle and crumple from the fight you put up against the forces reeling you in. "Let me go, Satoru," you snarl one more time, trying your best to keep your desperation in the cloth you've wrapped it in, not letting its pus leak into your words, "Let go of me, now. Satoru. Or, I swear— Gojo!!"

"Sweetness."

Some other reality and you think you might find this enticing. Loving, even, if you're being particularly, delusionally sappy then.

Yet, in this reality, in this moment, as you find yourself on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off it whilst your husband traps the rest of your body beneath him, one good foot between him and your supine form — and he calls you that horrid nickname with that horrid smile– as if you're sweet like those kikufuku mochis he loves eating– and not the most sour, the most salty, the most bitter person he has ever met—

You let the fight seep from yourself into the horrible rose-scented air of the room, wretched wails clawing out instead of growls and snarls.

"I can't do this anymore, Satoru," you sob, chest heaving beneath the bodice of your gown, the pearl necklace snug on your skin stifling, "It is just so difficult— This world. This life. Everything is so fucking very difficult. And confusing. And demanding. And difficult— I cannot do- I cannot live this way with the entire world's eyes trained on me," you cry out; the stinging in your eyes, in your throat, in your soul growing worse with every other word you utter, "I simply cannot live with my–"

"And what if only my eyes are trained on you?" Satoru interrupts you, mouth set into thin lines; though the concern and affection sparkling in his gaze is unmistakeable, you note, peering up through your thick curtain of tears and emotions— being close friends since you were a pair of kids learning to read and write, does have its perks after all —

"Tell me, sweetness," A finger hooks under your chin to lift it up; your suffocating pearl necklace comes off within the next instant– "What if I told you, proved to you: you don't need to worry yourself with any person; anyone, anywhere, anytime in your life; not when they aren't a part of your world—" A sturdy arm hooks under your back this time, lifting you with ease off the bed, until you're in your husband's strong grip: loose to not give you any degree of discomfort yet tight enough for you to be assured he won't be dropping you—

You wrap your arms gingerly round his neck. He asks, dropping his voice to the lowest, to the gravest you've ever heard him, "What if I showed you, your world can consist only of us— only you and me— will you..."

He trails off suddenly, gaze darting to the side before it returns to you again— it's burning. Burning, burning, burning – Stoking a fire in your nerves, in your veins, in the pit of your lower belly, perhaps in the area nether to it too— Your husband's lips curve in the gentlest shape ever seen on him, quite betraying or, maybe, complimenting the hints and clues of that something, evident from the way his fingers flex on your back for the tiniest moment or the way the shadows of the night shift and morph in the brilliance of his gaze—

"You wanna prove to me w-whatever you said right now," you state in what Satoru calls your 'weather-reporter' voice. A brow rises before it returns to its place again– the man addressed nods. Solemn. Certain.

The muscles in your shoulders relax, opposing the muscles tautening elsewhere in your body– not from fear, no. Perhaps from anticipation, you reckon. Or, maybe it is from fear– except it isn't a fear of the man in front of you— The Strongest Sorcerer, capable of turning anything and everything, anyone and everyone, into dust if he so wishes to—

Except he doesn't. Never has. Not without a solid good reason— Oh, this sweet, sweet man— For once in your life, you decide not to stay dwelling on your thoughts, on your twisted, sick, pathetic mind— all for the sake of your husband, him looking at you as if you really are a delectable mochi he wants to devour.

Oh, what a sweet fool your husband is, isn't he?

Moving your hands from where they were resting on his nape to your front, wedging into the little space between Satoru's and your bodies, you inquire, choosing your words soft yet solemn, "And... are you sure you wanna do this tonight? That you won't be regretting—"

"I can do this tonight and every other night," Satoru replies, without letting you complete your query. Then grins, loads like that shy boy, you remember, attempting to befriend you with a pebble– blue and white and blue, years back when you still pronounced 'star' as 'tar'.

You let your palms face away from your chest to rest on his— still, so warm and uncovered from the shower he took— still so, so open and vulnerable to you, in spite of the slashes and gashes dear friends like you, like that damn boy, have only ever given him— He asks, "Do you wanna let me do this?"

A slow yet sure nod is the only thing you manage to offer him in reply.

That slow yet sure nod's also the only thing remaining crystal-clear in your mind— besides, obviously—

Those kisses, so shaky yet so fiery, pressed onto your lips, your chin, the hollow of your neck, the valley between your breasts, down down down, until they reached your thighs— And they grew less of adoring and more of wanting– with muffled moans and withheld whimpers— your lips constantly forming the syllables of your husband's name, as the man himself suckled purple splotches of his desire onto the flesh out there— Besides, obviously—

The sharp gasp of breath your husband made when he tasted you for the first time and you felt shame flood every nook and cranny of your naked body — how the gown or the lingerie were removed from your torso, you've no clue...—before the shame swelled into something far different, far pleasurable, with every lick, every nibble, every hum and every groan muffled into your sensitive tissue and bundle of nerves— steady in the beginning but rapidly growing in intensity, frequency or must you say ferocity, with every moment he spends with his head in between your legs—

And you came. Embarrassed. Ecstatic. Experiencing everything lying on the spectrum between them. Onto his waiting tongue, over his—

"Ah! S-Satoru–"

You're ripped back to the present by the feel of him entering you.

The stretch hurts— as much as you've read in books, as much as you have been told in extremely discreet terms by the older women in the clan— but never once has this feeling been described to you to be- so fucking perfect, so fucking right— as the one flooding your senses in this very instant—

Two blue eyes lift from where they were squeezed close against your forehead, slick with the sheen of sweat, blinking down at you with so much care, you think you may burst from how much of it you note in them hues— the dams holding your tears back sure do, increasing in the degree they allow your emotions gush out, courtesy of the palms mapping your flushed cheeks, caressing your flushed cheeks, almost as if you're some porcelain doll.

"Hey, hey, hey," Satoru croons, pausing himself entirely– despite the toll it takes on him, visible from the way his face scrunches for a tiny moment before wrinkling into lines of worry and apology again– "It's hurting, isn't it?" he asks, then lowers his voice to a whisper, directed more at himself than at you if its rambling quality is anything. "Fuck," he curses, removing his palms from your face, and curling them into tight fists on either side of your face, "This was my first time. And I— I, I know I should have been more careful, still I went and fucked up–"

"Satoru," you say, blinking your tears away, splaying your fingers onto the smooth planes of his cheeks, hoping he'll quieten on noticing the small smile on your lips.

"– caused you pain, oh fucking hell–"

When is he going to shut up?

"Satoru," you try again, tone growing more insistent than the previous time, fingers moving up to scratch the backside of his ears — to trace the shell of his ears.

"– I was so fucking ignorant, selfish–"

Is he ever going to shut up?

"'Toru!" you exclaim with a mild tug on his hair. That seems to be your trick in shutting him up— though you don't miss the way the muscles in his arms flex nor the way his fists grow tighter at your action. Smile widening on your lips, watching him train every bit of his attention on you, and only you; you pull him down for a small kiss— a desperation you've been trying to ignore for a while now– blooming in the motion of your mouth against his, with his—

Perhaps, from the way you hate him blaming himself for doing totally nothing wrong. Perhaps, from the way you detest the lack of friction, his irrational rambling has created down there where you want it, you need it the most— Perhaps, from a mix of both these reasons.

Removing yourself a touch from him, you whine into the plushness of his lips, breathless, dizzy, needy, "Move, Satoru. I think I can take it— Oh, that's it, Satoru," your words taper off into a breathy sigh, "F-fuck—"

In retrospect, you reckon you'll be mortified, probably to death, when you'll let your mind drift back to tonight's events in the future– to how messy you sound with your moans, how messy you possibly look with your makeup smudged from tears and sweat— yet, now— in this very second, you deem you're having the best time of your life.

With Satoru's constant grunts and moans of "Fuck, you're taking me so well, sweetness" and incessant chants of "This– you, you're mine– only mine, as I'm yours"— With him drowning your skin in long, lavish kisses and suckles— With him toying with your hardened nipples and giving your breasts a deliciously painful squeeze—

But, mostly, with the way your husband fits you– so snug, so tight, so warm– every drag of his hip against yours sending a jolt of electricity through your nerves, making your heels dig deeper into his back, and your hold tighter round him, nails raking across his undercut, eliciting a pleased groan from him– though, they're no match for those noises you make when he hits that spot inside, again and again and again, a rapidly growing precision in every next thrust—

"'T-Toru– I'm close- sooo close," you whimper, nuzzling your nose into his neck, breathing in his scent— musky, sweaty, sultry— "Just a little more, sweetness," Satoru begs, keeping an arm beneath your back to pull you even closer to himself— as if that is possible anymore— "You are squeezing me so well— oh fuck."

Your walls clench round him particularly tightly, signalling to you that you're indeed very, very close— despite the haze of pleasure steadily building over your gaze, you wear a fond smile at the half-lidded look he pins on you, his mouth hanging open, whilst his palm presses into your lower back. Subtly trembling, yet so anchoring.

You decide this is your new favourite look of The Six Eyes, the former being the staggered look he gives your smug grin whenever you best him in a fight.

He really is sweet, isn't he?

Another moan permeates into the air, into your thoughts, punctuated by your husband brushing his lips with yours. They are soft— as does every other facet of him feel to you. Movements growing sloppier yet faster, he heaves a husky sigh into your ear, teeth grazing its shell.

"You're really perfect, y'know," he all but whines with a rather dragged out snap of his hips with yours— Eyes fluttering close from the action tightening the coil in your lower belly, you force out a weak chuckle. "I know that I'm per— Oh Sato— mmph!"

Your climax hits you.

Hard, harsh and unforgiving— the wave of euphoria it wreaks through your body is, streaking your vision with nonsensical streaks of colours and cloaking your ears with a deafening ringing— your only tether the soft pair of lips gently coaxing you to dance with it to a melody you've never heard— but hope can hear and learn in the years left in your life— until you're back in the large bed of your hotel room, body sore and and tingling, but in a pretty satisfied and happy way— at least, till you notice your husband scooting away from you to the edge of the bed.

Wha–How–When did he get from being inside you to there—

"Hey, no!" you protest, dragging him down to lie on top of you. Satoru looks at you, shock evident in the way he slowly blinks— You plaster a mighty frown on yourself, asking him, worried, "Where are you going? You haven't fini—"

"But I have finished," your husband answers your incomplete ask with a frown to match yours— before a confused moment passes and you find his frown slowly melt away into a million-watt beam, him asking, "Didn't you feel me come too then, sweetness? Or, did I give you that good an orgasm that you were numb to everything else then, huh?"

Embarrassment flushes through your body at your husband's teasing remark. Ignoring it, you clear your throat to hum back with a smile, "I guess that was the case, yeah. You were really nice tonight— thanks." Then add, watching him open his mouth, the familiar gloom of regret threatening to dim his happiness, "And don't worry about then— I too— This was my first time too, and, um," you wish you could look away for a beat to regain your composure but the sparkles gleaming in the blue eyes gazing at you, are so magnetic— you continue with a laugh, sheepish, staring back at him, "I might have overreacted to the pain."

Whatever chuckle you were expecting never comes; rather, a tender kiss arrives on each of your eyelids, and on the tip of your nose. Your lips part in a content smile, widening on hearing the query sent your way.

"And was I just as great at proving to you what I promised to, huh?"

Your mind races back to then— the dark hollow plaguing you before he arrived. You pull it back to now— the radiance of your husband in every minute portion of your soul, filling it with a cosiness you know only he can impart to you.

"You so were," you're quick to hum back your agreement, paired with a peck to his lips, as he positions himself to lie comfortably atop you. He's quite a bit heavy, what with being so buff and tall– but you think you don't really mind it— not when he's incomparably better than the weighted blankets you've always liked sleeping with.

A hand rises to card through your tangled hairstyle, separating every strand from the other, carefully and gently— you wonder if he knows he does the same to your tangled thoughts too, unknotting them via few select words and few select gestures—

"You've the 'philosopher' face on," your husband's entertained remark interrupts your cloud of thoughts– you drag your eyes from that scar in his throat– one which never fails to throttle whatever sense of safe you might've developed– to the hues before, far more gleaming than the sapphires sitting on your fourth finger can ever be—

Satoru smiles. That annoying, understanding, endearing smile of his, which only serves to show just how much he has been forced by life to be matured. And murmurs.

"We're really equals in this partnership, y'know? You can always share with me whatev—"

"Is it wrong of me to compare you to fire and me to air?"

Your simple question catches The Strongest Sorcerer off-guard- you gather from the way his eyes widen and his heartbeat stutters a little over the bare flushed skin of your chest— you wonder if you must be happy at this silly victory or be worried, you have such a hold on him—

Something tells you, he won't mind either one of them — taking each into stride with a pitiful pout or a cheerful chuckle — the exact same way letting your inquiry settle into him, he responds with a grin in too short a span of time.

"Nope! Not at all!" Satoru exclaims, grin growing and digging dimples into his cheeks. "Obviously I'm fire! Have you seen me? I'm so fucking sizzling hot!" Despite the fondness swelling in your heart, you make a big show of rolling your eyes and moving to scoff — except that scoff remains lodged in your throat and gets swallowed by a gasp of shock as you find yourself being flipped over, so that it's you who is lying on the top now.

Grin growing freer and truer, your husband pulls you impossibly close to himself – so much so that the bounderies separating you from him begin to blur in your eyes; and resumes—

"And you, sweetness, of course, are air– without whose 21% oxygen, the fire cannot even be ignited in the first place."

I do not own the characters or the image used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

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theelkmaiden · 1 year

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So I've been thinking.

If Captain Marvel is the Champion of Magic, does that mean he has to play by the rules of all magic? Demon, fea, pixie etc.? Because if you owe something to one of those, things tend to go wrong. Fae can take your children, pixies can make your life hell, demons can literally take your souls.

So what if Billy Batson, being the sweet boy he is, keeps doing people favours? Now, he'd never take a child or cause someone chaos, as that means actually interfering, but souls? That boy could definitely be having people sign their souls away to him and he has no idea.

The first time he did someone a favour after the wizard granted him his powers, Billy was overtaken by a surge of tingles that tasted vaguely of rotten eggs. The feeling only lasted a second, but he couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. All he did was help Old Linda from the block over carry a bag of food to her place of residence. That was it. But after the tingling, Billy felt like he was connected to her in some way, on a deep and intimate level that didn't make sense.

And then it kept happening.

Helping to paint his neighbours room. Helping a girls cat from a tree. Letting a lost child sleep in his abandoned apartment overnight.

And later, bringing Batman a coffee after a long mission. Teaching Green Arrow the basics of pickpocketing. Spotting Flash on his running form.

Anytime someone said "can I ask you a (quick) favour" the tingling and eggs would come and Captain Marvel had no idea what it was or why it happened.

That is.

Until Old Linda died.

It had been a long patrol for Captain Marvel. There was a crime wave almost every year around July, like clockwork. Mainly teenagers getting in with gangs and trying to prive their worth now that school was out (or, at least, that was Cap's theory).

He was just touching down near his building to transform when he felt an entirely unique sensation. The tingling he was so familiar with came crashing over him in a wave so intense the demigod found himself wobbling where he stood, garnering a few concerned stares by citizens. The part of him that had been connected to Linda had snapped into place and, without even having to doue check, Billy knew for a fact that Old Linda was dead.

He also knew where to find her.

Drawing on his magic, Captain Marvel opened a portal to a corner of the Rock of Eternity ans stepped through.

There, on the otherside, stood the kind old woman who would often give him food if she had any left over.

"Excuse me, sir?" She asked, looking rather fearful, "would you mind telling me where I am?"

With eyes already misting, Marvel closed the portal and stepped towards her with his arms out in a calming manner.

"Linda. I'm so sorry. You're in the Rock of Eternity. You shouldn't be here but I think it's my fault you are," he was swallowed thickly, putting every ounce of self control he had to the test to bit show how distraught he was with this development.

Clearly seeing his distress, Linda calmed and gripped the Captains arm in a consoling manner. "I'm sure it's quiet alright, dear. Why don't you tell me what happened and then you can return me home. And then you can explain to me all about this place, hmm?"

Her small smile fell when the captain did not immediately react to her request.

"Miss Linda," Billy tried, not feeling very much like a superhero at that moment I time, "I'm so so sorry! I shouldn't have helped you with the food. But I just wanted to do something good. And now you're stuck here forever and I don't know how to free you and there's so many people that are going to come here and I didn't mean to!"

The hulking form of Captain Marvel was now a kneeling, sobbing mess as the twelve year old realised what he had done. The feeling of rightness that sang in his magic at Linda standing within the Rock of Eternity. The pull of what he now knew to be souls pulling him in different directions. The fact that he had only been trying to help.

"Now dear," Linda kneeled next to him, patting his shoulder in confused concern, "I assure you I have no idea what you're going on about. I've seen you flying overhead and fighting monsters, but we've never met officially past today. But if I'm stuck here forever, then at least I'll have company. Now, come, dry your eyes and get up. You need to explain to me what's going on." The mum of four in her seemed to have taken over as she dragged the massive man up to his feet and the stood on her toes to wipe his cheeks with the sleeve of her cardigan.

Taking a deep breath, Captain Marvel nodded. "Miss Linda. You are dead. I'm sorry. I accidently own your soul and I don't know how to release you to go somewhere better. And you're only the first person that's going to arrive here. This is completely new for me and I'm not sure what to do. This place is my home so you are welcome to explore and make yourself comfortable. But it's not much."

The silence that followed was deafening as Linda contemplated her situation. It stretched on until a look of resolve made its way onto the old souls face.

"Okay."

"Okay? Is that it?"

"Well you are obviously very distressed so it was definitely an accident. But I am not staying somewhere that looks so dull for the rest of Eternity. You and I are going to be doing some redecorating. How big is this place?"

"Infinite."

"Then this shan't be an issue. We can build a lovely garden where we can all stay until you get this figured out. Besides, it'll give me something to do."

So, he did. Captain Marvel (who Linda learned to be Billy Batson) got to work and transformed a large section of the Cave into a garden, with strict directions from Linda.

Over time, more people joined and Linda took it upon herself to greet the newcomers and explain what had gone on. Many people were unhappy, but soon settled into their afterlife and making friends.

After awhile, Billy took Linda aside and granted her a Boon. One of her choosing. She chose "to be the peacekeeper of this little afterlife. I want to help comfort those here who miss their old lives. I try, I do, but a little magical help wouldn't go amiss." And so she became the Peacekeeper.

In the outside realm, when Captain Marvel explained to Batman, Green Arrow, and The Flash that he accidently owned their souls, well, let's just say that shitshow lasted a while.

#billy batson #shazam #captain marvel dc #batman #green arrow #the flash #of course billy doesnt stop helping people #but he does try to be more careful #except sometimes hes tired #he ends up also owning supermans soul and has an existential crisis over it #and he helped a lot of old people before linda died so the rock of eternity slowly fills up with grandparents trying to adopt him #he does eventually learn how to break the bunding magic but some of them decide to stay #so now the rock has a garden full of souls for the next champion to find #which will be fun for them

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shamelessler · 1 month

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Being human was definitely overwhelming. In some instances Bill's increased senses were satisfying and intruiging, such as slamming a hammer onto the back of his hand or swan diving from the balcony.

Granted those both ended in Mabel fussing over him for days. Then there was the other side of feelings that were absolutely agonizing (as if breaking all your bones isn't agonizing).

There was of course the pain of being unable to quiet down an irritatingly loud room, feeling trapped in a small space, gross textures, crying. Crying was his least favorite part of being human.

He sat up in the spare room of the Mystery Shack currently bawling his eyes out. Strangely enough, crying always made him feel better once the tears had finally come to a stop, but the guilt always followed him soon after.

He remembered laughing coldly in the face of his victims tears, and he felt an odd sense of hypocricy that clawed at his insides. It felt an awful lot like remorse.

"Bill, it's time for your check up." Came the weathered voice of his former rival, Ford. Bill quickly attempted to wipe his tears away and forced a smile onto his face. "Hey Sixer. Is it time already to invade my personal space once again?"

"You lost your right to personal space when you decided to be the ring leader of the apocolypse." Ford deadpanned. Fair enough.

Bill sighed before swinging his legs off of where he was perched to follow the taller man downstairs into his lab.

Out of all the people who disliked having Bill as a guest, Ford probably hated it the most. Dipper always seemed to be on constant alert as well but he was more scared of Bill than Ford was.

It had irritated Bill to no end by the fact that Ford treated him like a beaten old dog, harmless without his powers. It irritated him even more to know that Ford was correct.

"Checking me for any powers is pointless, I hope you know that," Bill reminded, "if I had my powers I'd be out of here faster than you could say Axolotl."

As expected, Ford completely ignored Bill's sass and pretended like he hadn't said anything. "You've been crying." Ford stated matter of factly. This caught Bill so off gaurd that he choked out, "How did you know?"

He swore he could've seen a smug smile from Ford which made his blood start to boil. With what, he wasn't quite sure... "Your eyes are red and puffy. I used that much to deduce that you were crying, isn't that right?"

"I wasn't crying. I've never cried, I'm not like you meat bags." Bill said confidently. Ford rolled his eyes as he lifted Bill up and plopped him on the examination table like he weighed nothing--which, he probably did. Human food didn't agree with him-- before his face softened.

The look was uncomfortably familiar to Bill, it was a look of pity. He'd gotten it countless times in the past two weeks by Mabel but seeing it from Ford of all people was unnerving.

"You do realize that you are one of us now, right? And that means you are vulnerable to the same softness us humans possess. There's no use trying to hide it." Ford said sternly.

Bill squirmed uncomfortably on the table as Ford pressed a cold stethoscope to his bare chest. "I'd rather that nobody pictures me snivelling like an idiot."

Ford snorted, retreating the stethoscope from Bill and scribbling data onto his clipboard. "Too late."

Bill snarled at Ford, his fists tightening weakly. He tried his best to ignore Ford's snide remarks, he truly had, but he was just so infuriating! Despite knowing his weak strength, he kicked Ford square in the chest.

He was breifly satisfied by the sound of Ford grunting in pain and clutching his chest, before fear took over when he saw Ford lunge at him and sucessfully pin his arms.

Pain wasn't exactly Bill's concern at the moment, he was simply terrifyed of being humilated by the fact that he could not stop Ford even if he wanted to. "I wouldn't do that if I were you! I'll tell Shooting Star and you'll never hear the end of it." Bill threatened.

To his surprise, Ford smiled. "I'm not going to hurt you, Bill. I'm actually going to use something that Mabel would strongly approve of."

...What the hell did he mean by tha-

"W-Wait, no.. SIXER!" Bill burst out laughing after Ford placed one wiggling finger to his exposed armpit. "I thought that tickling would be much more effective." Ford teased. To Bill's horror, his face began to redden.

"You DI-" Bill was cut off by his own shrieking when all twelve of Ford's fingers came brushing past his sides. "Language, Bill. There are children here." Ford said seriously, but only Bill could detect the hint of amusement in his eye.

God, this was one of the most humiliating things he'd ever been through. More humiliating than being beaten by 12 year olds, even...

The worst part was he knew that with his depleted strength there was no hope at fighting back, and Ford gave him the wiggle room to try.

"Honestly I didn't know that this would work out so well," Ford commented in surprise, "Mabel told me she used tickling against you one time, but I didn't think she was actually serious."

Bill growled at Ford through his laughter. "T-This is cruhuel and unusual punishment, Sixer!" Ford smirked at those words and then traced lightly along Bill's waist, delighting by the snorting it produced.

"I think it's only fair. Now you're really getting the human experience." Ford chuckled. "Are you ready for the finale?" Bill's brow furrowed in confusion as the tickling came to a stop.

"Finale? What are you talking about?" Ford smoothed over the skin on Bill's tummy before taking in a cheeky breath. "A raspberry."

"The fruit? I don't see how that's- FUCKFUCKFUCK!!!" Bill dissolved into shrieking laughter as Ford brought his face down into the softness of Bill's stomach and nuzzled against it as he gave him one of the most diabolical forms of tickling Bill had ever come across.

Ford snickered inbetween raspberries, causing Bill to shake with laughter. "PLEHEHASE FORD!" Bill cried out as he squirming turned into melting and his maniacal laughter shifted to amused hysterics. Ford was caught off gaurd by the use of his real name and finally pulled away to which Bill audibly praised the Lord.

"Jesus, Bill. I tickled you so hard you turned religious?" Ford laughed, although this time there was only warmth lacing it. Bill felt himself involuntarily smiling brightly at the sound of it. "Shut up, Sixer. You know you're the same."

----------------------

A/N: sorry if this sucks fml.

#lee!bill cipher #ler!ford #gravity falls tickle #sfw tickles #weewooweewoo #request

14 notes · View notes

arielhopepeace · 9 months

Text

Sorry this part took a bit! Been getting ready to move and now I’m sick lol 😭 but enjoy and check part 1 for more extensive TWs, please ❤️

TW: smut, dirty talk, talk of sexual trauma

18+ only

5,400 words

Part two

My leg bounces about anxiously beneath my desk, constantly checking and re-checking the clock in the bottom right hand corner of my computer screen. It's nearly five, and I'm more than ready to go home and enjoy my weekend. But as every day passes, I become more apprehensive about my date with Joel tomorrow.

Of course he was wonderful, kind, a damn good kisser, and hot beyond belief, but I'm still terrified. Without any sedative-like influence from the alcohol, I'm back to the withered shell of a woman I was when Joel walked into my office.

I can't believe I was fully prepared to sleep with him the other night. I had convinced myself that I was safe enough to do something like that with him, and I'm glad I didn't. What if I kiss Joel again and I panic? Or what if we're ever intimate and I panic? What will he do? Laugh in my face and continue anyway?

No, not Joel. He's too sweet for that, right?

Obviously my libido is calling the shots rather than my rational anxiety. It's been eight years since I've slept with anyone, and I'm jumping into this way too quickly for my liking. Am I crazy? Next time I'm with him, I'm not drinking any alcohol. I need to be myself and not a sedated, sex obsessed freak.

My eyes flutter closed, my lashes dancing against my cheeks as I recall Joel's hands on my body, and his soft, skilled lips against mine. Of course he was eager, he's a man. Is that why he fixed my washer? To get laid?

Part of me is tempted to go off on him for being such a disgusting pervert, but he hasn't done anything to me. My mind is fabricating all of these scenarios and reasons for his kindness when even I know it's probably out of character for Joel.

He's a single dad who lost his wife nine years ago, and who's devoted to his daughter who he's crazy about. Joel seems to be an incredible father. There's no way a man like that would ever try to hurt me, is there?

"Y/n?" I hear from my open office door.

"Yes?" My eyes snap up to see Cynthia, my secretary.

She smiles wide at me. "Are you done for the day?"

I gaze down to see that it's ten after five, meaning I've been sitting here spiraling over Joel for almost twenty minutes.

"Yes," I sigh with a smile. "More than done. I'm ready for the weekend."

Cynthia walks beside me as we leave the building, our cars being parked next to each other's outside.

"You have any exciting plans?" she asks with a large grin.

I decide to not tell her about Joel. "Nah, just me and my wine. You?"

"Ex-husband has the kids this weekend, so I'm probably going to be doing the same as you," she giggles. "Get home safely, y/n, okay?"

"Thanks, Cynthia. You too."

When I get home, I see a lovely bouquet of flowers sitting on my doorstep along with a note. I beam as I unlock my front door, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter and fishing the little card out of the leaves.

Y/n

I'm excited for tomorrow night. I hope you enjoy these flowers as much as I enjoy your company.

Joel

My face aches as I hold the card to my chest, feeling like I'm in a movie or something. I read the note several times, my mouth curling up wider and wider every time. Who knew my cheeks could stretch this far?

I carry the flowers into my bedroom, setting them on the nightstand beside my bed with the card leaning against the pretty blue vase.

I immediately press on Joel's contact, hoping that he's done working for the day. With every ring of the line, my apprehension climbs, until I hear that low, inviting burr of Joel's voice.

"Hey, you," he says sweetly. "I'm assuming you got my gift."

My cheeks burn as I beam at the floor. "I did. Thank you. You didn't have to get me anything, you know."

Joel chuckles lightly. "I wanted to."

The line goes quiet for a moment before Joel speaks again.

"Can I be honest with you?" he asks.

My heart jumps into my throat. "Of course."

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, y/n."

"Same here, honestly," I laugh sheepishly. "I feel like I'm going crazy."

He laughs, the sound warming my chest. "You know, I haven't been on many dates since my wife passed. Maybe only two."

My brows raise in surprise. "Really? How come?"

"Never felt right."

I chew on my bottom lip nervously. "But it does with me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, "very right."

"I guess I should be honest with you too and tell you I haven't been with anyone in eight years."

"What?!" Joel chokes out. "Why? How?"

I swallow hard, shaking my head. "I'd rather talk about it in person. It's—awkward."

"You don't have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, y/n. You never have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

My eyes feel misty at his comforting words, but my mind is screaming at me to keep my walls up. "Thanks, Joel."

"Of course, y/n. As I said, you shouldn't be thanking me for the bare minimum. I'm sorry for whatever guy made you think that's all that you deserve."

Deciding to change the subject before I panic, I quickly swallow my fear that's clawing its way up my throat. "Uh—what time should I meet you tomorrow? And where are we going?"

"I could pick you up, if you want. I'd like it to be a surprise." He audibly smiles in his words.

I can't help but giggle. "Okay, that's fine. Could at least tell me the attire?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Casual-slash-nice? I'll be wearing a button-down and some jeans. Nothing too fancy."

I nod my head, planning my outfit already. "That sounds good to me. What time will you be here?"

"Six-thirty okay with you?"

"That sounds perfect."

"I'll see you tomorrow then, y/n. I have to attempt to make a good dinner for Sarah and I. I told you I was a shit cook, but I do practice so that she's not eating crap food all the time."

I laugh, flopping onto my back on my bed. "You're a good dad, Joel."

"I do my best."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye, y/n."

We hang up, and I toss my phone to the side, staring at my ceiling.

Am I making the right choice by going out with him? I won't have any way of getting home if things go poorly, or if he switches and is no longer the man I'm assuming he is. What if he's exactly like...him? I hate saying his name, or even thinking it. Joel can't be evil like him, can he?

***

I'm straightening out my powder blue sundress when there's a knock on my front door. My hands are shaky and I feel like my knees are going to buckle at any moment. Taking a steadying breath, I pull open the front door, revealing a stunning, handsome Joel before me.

He's donned in a black button-up as he said, and dark blue jeans with black dress shoes on his feet. His hair is lightly tamed with some gel, adding a bit of shine to the deep brown strands.

I feel winded at his appearance, and I'm suddenly hoping he feels the same about me. I've done my makeup to the best of my ability, and even went the extra mile to straighten my hair. Even with my heels on, Joel is still taller than me, and I don't know why I enjoy that so much.

"Wow," he breathes out, still standing on my doorstep. "I can't believe you're my date tonight."

My heart soars as I blush, looking down to my floor to try to focus my gaze elsewhere. "Thank you. You look amazing, Joel."

He scoffs. "Next to you, I look like a bum."

I giggle, meeting his soft brown eyes and the straightness of his teeth. "Are you ready?"

Joel nods, reaching his hand out for mine. "If you are."

Tossing all of my anxiety and negative thoughts aside, I grab his hand, locking my front door behind me as he leads me to his truck. He opens the door for me and helps me in, his hand letting go once I'm settled in to the passenger seat.

My eyes follow him as he walks around the front, getting in beside me behind the steering wheel. We gaze at each other for a moment, my focus falling to his delicate lips that I've missed the feeling of, no matter how hard I've tried to deny that fact. I want to want him without feeling afraid, but I can't help it.

"Kiss me," I say gently.

Joel immediately leans forward with his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me into him firmly. His lips are so soft, and his tongue is back again in its eager, talented way. I can't help but moan, his tongue the match that struck across my body to wrap it in delicious flames.

He pulls away, both of us a bit winded from the kiss. "How the hell do you kiss like that if you haven't been with anyone in eight years?"

I giggle slightly as I shrug. "You're a good guide."

Joel chuckles and leans fully away, holding his hand out for me as he keeps the other on the steering wheel, pulling away from my house. I gently slide my fingers into his, feeling euphoric and safe in his truck with him.

Not seeing him for a few days has only made my attraction grow tremendously. How does he melt all of my fears away just by being around me? Nobody has ever done that for me before, or maybe I just never let anybody try. Why am I letting him in?

We park in front of a swanky restaurant, one that I've always passed, but never eaten at. It's New Orleans style food served in a comfortable, yet classy environment. I've always wanted to try it, but it seemed odd to come here alone, even though that's what I prefer.

Joel holds my hand as we walk in, the host guiding us to a table once he tells her the name for our party. The air smells heavenly. It's like Cajun food and Texan food had a baby and this restaurant is the outcome. God bless whoever came up with this place.

The server orders our drinks, and I opt out of getting wine. Joel orders an appetizer for us, my eyes scanning the menu as he does.

"No wine?" he sneers playfully at me. "Thought you were a wine lover."

"I am," I laugh, "but I'd like to be more connected this time."

Joel nods. "That's why I didn't order any beer. I still have to drive you back home, too."

Against everything my brain is telling me, I reach beside me at the table and rub Joel's thigh gingerly. I keep my eyes on the menu, my hand shaking as I bring it to a stop against his pants.

Joel reaches down and grabs my hand, bringing it up to his lips and placing a gentle kiss against it. My gaze moves from the menu to his, seeing the slight concern etched into his face.

"Y/n," he says gently, "you're shaking again."

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I guess I'm nervous."

"About what?"

I shake my head. I can't tell him about my traumatic past on our first date, can I? He'll think I'm crazy and divulging way too much information for someone I barely know. It's not like me to open up, but I feel compelled to with him. I want him to know that it's not his fault that I'm so fucking terrified all the time.

"I don't know," I say softly. "I'm sorry."

Joel's brows knit together with worry. "Do you want me to take you home?"

God. That simple question has my anxiety skyrocketing down; that reassurance that if I need to leave at any given moment apparently being all I needed to calm down.

I give him a warm smile, leaning across the corner of the table to place a gentle kiss against his stubbly cheek. "No. I want to be here with you."

He beams at me, kissing my knuckles again. "You're not shaking anymore."

"I know," I beam, turning back to the menu. "Everything sounds so damn good. What are you thinking about getting?"

"Honestly the gumbo sounds amazing, and I've never had any."

"Ooo," I coo, nodding. "That does sound good."

After our food is brought out, Joel takes a generous bite of his dish as I dig into mine. The flavor of everything bursts in my mouth, and I let out a moan of contentment. It's incredible, and I can't believe I've never eaten here before.

Joel holds out his spoon for me with his steaming food piled onto it. "You've gotta try this."

I lean forward and take the spoon between my lips, groaning with a nod as I enjoy the taste of his meal.

"God, that's amazing." I pierce my own food with my fork, holding it out for Joel. "Now try mine."

Watching his lips slide across my fork does something sinful to me, and I'm not entirely sure why.

"This might be the best food I've ever had," he beams.

"I can't believe you haven't eaten here before. This is my favorite restaurant."

"It felt weird to come here alone," I laugh, placing my fork down to sip my water.

Joel eyes me with a glimmer in his eye. "Well, now you don't have to."

My cheeks warm as I break the eye contact, unable to hold it any longer. Although his eyes are kind and gentle, there's something so intimidating about them. Maybe it's because I'm so attracted to him, but god I can't look into them for too long.

We finish our meals and I go to pay, but Joel quickly grabs my card from me, slamming his down into the checkbook instead.

"Absolutely not," he shakes his head as we both laugh. "You can be a control freak all you want on your own time, but I'm paying for dinner tonight."

I giggle loudly, crossing my arms as I do my best to act offended. "Only I can call me a control freak."

He holds up his hands in defense. "I was only quoting you"

I playfully shove him, watching as the server walks away with the bill. "I want to pay for the next date."

Joel leans on the table on his elbows, handing me my card back. "Oh, there's going to be a next date?"

My eyes land on his, admiring the deep chocolate river that flows in them. "Yes."

"Maybe I like that you're a control freak," he beams, his eyes floating down to my lips. "It's charming."

"Charming?" I guffaw. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"Of course not," he laughs. "Everyone has their quirks, and I want to learn all of yours."

My gaze softens. "Really?"

Joel nods. "Really."

Back at my house, Joel walks me to the front door, giving me a long, lingering kiss before I unlock it.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask somewhat timidly.

He nods with a smile, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "We could watch a movie again, if you wanted."

I beam. "I'd like that a lot."

We enter my house, and I immediately kick off my heels, picking them up by the backs and carrying them into my bedroom. I put them away where they belong, checking my reflection in the mirror to make sure I'm tidy and presentable enough for Joel.

He stands near the couch, my eyes flicking down to his shoes. "You can take those off if you want."

Joel chuckles. "Do you not like shoes on in the house?"

I smirk, walking up beside him. "No, not really."

He laughs, bending down and slipping his shoes off to leave them by the front door near the little entrance carpet.

We sit on the couch, my thumb clicking on the remote to go to any streaming service.

"Do you have to be back to Sarah any time soon?" I ask, suddenly worrying that I'm taking up too much of his time.

"No," he smiles. "I told Mrs. Cheshire that it might be a late night. She knows I'm on a date."

Hearing him say that makes me beam vastly, gazing into his soft eyes. "Yeah, you are."

Joel chuckles, leaning in and placing a soft kiss to my cheek. "What do you want to watch?"

"Anything. How about I stop being a control freak and let you pick?"

He laughs, nodding as he takes the remote from me. "Any particular genre you like to avoid?"

"I'm good with anything, really." My eyes admire his beautiful profile. "You pick."

Joel ends up landing on a rom-com, making my lips tweak up as I giggle. He laughs with me, throwing his arm around my shoulders as I lean into his chest. He smells incredible; the scent warm and musky yet clean. I inhale him deeply, needing more of him.

My head turns up to face his, admiring the stubble along his jaw. Joel flicks his gaze down to look at me, giving me a gentle smile.

"What?" he asks quietly as the movie plays in the background.

"You're a handsome man, Joel."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "It blows my mind that you think that."

"You're delusional."

"No, you're just that beautiful."

My lips attach to his in an instant, a hungry, needy feeling washing over me. I'm consumed by my own greed to have him near, desperate to have him closer. I slip my tongue against his, savoring the taste of Cajun food and Joel.

His hands rest on my hips, gripping them tightly as he begins to push me back onto the couch. My head hits the cushion gently as our lips never part, the weight of him feeling—suffocating and overwhelming. The horrible thoughts begin to flood my mind, and I do my best to push them away. But Joel is on me, devouring my mouth and keeping his grip on my hips. I can't do it. It's too much.

"Joel," I breathe, my chest beginning to heave.

"Yes, y/n?" he rasps, his lips on my neck.

"No!" I shout, pushing at his shoulders roughly.

He immediately flies back, fear and confusion staining his wonderful, beautiful face. "Y/n, hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Before even realizing it, I'm crying and shaking, curling into myself on my cushion that I was just pressed against moments ago. I close my eyes, hoping that it'll vanish. Whether it's the thoughts or Joel, I don't care. I just need them to go away.

"Remember the breathing?" he says quietly, sounding so far away it's like I'm floating in space. "Breathe with me, y/n."

My hands are over my ears, and my eyes are squeezed shut. I slowly open them to look at Joel, watching his chest inflate and deflate slowly. I follow his rhythm, moving my hands slowly away from my head to hear his deep breaths. He encourages me, smiling gently with those soft eyes of his melting me.

His hand slowly reaches out to grab mine and I let him, watching as he places it against his heart. It's racing against my palm, but his breathing is easy and calm.

"Joel," I begin, but he shushes me gently.

"Just keep breathing for a minute. Follow mine."

We sit there gazing at each other, easily breathing in and out for a few minutes until both of our hearts are no longer pounding hard against our chests.

"I need to tell you something," I say, hanging my head.

Joel brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "I'm sorry, y/n."

My brows pitch up. "What for?"

"I came on too strong and I scared you. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"No," I shake my head. "Joel, it's not your fault."

His vast, saddened eyes search mine, wrenching my heart. "I never want to scare you, y/n."

"Please, it's not your fault, I promise."

He nods, kissing my knuckles again.

"I haven't been with anyone in eight years because I was—" Words fail me, and I seem incapable of explaining what happened to me in this moment.

"You were what?" Joel asks gently.

"T-taken advantage of by my ex-boyfriend and his friend when I was seventeen."

Joel's face twists with disgust, and the tenderness has left his eyes. "My god, I'm so sorry, y/n."

"No," I shake my head, "please don't pity me. I don't want your pity."

He gingerly reaches out and cups my face, my cheek pushing more into his touch. "It's not pity, y/n. It's compassion."

A tear falls from my eye, and Joel swipes it with his thumb. "I panicked when you first took me to the supply store for the washer hose because I was scared I wouldn't come back home. With—him—I had no way of leaving. I was trapped."

Joel frowns. "Honey, you didn't have to go with me."

I smile faintly at the pet name. "But I wanted to. I wanted to spend time with you."

"Y/n, listen to me," he cups my face in both hands, "we don't ever have to do anything you're uncomfortable with. I don't care what it is, it won't happen if you're uncomfortable. Do you hear me?"

I nod. "I still want you, Joel. I want you so badly."

"We don't have to rush into anything. I haven't even slept with anyone in years. I'll wait for you, y/n. I want to wait until you're ready."

My eyes soften as I hang my head. "God, you're amazing, you know that?"

"I'm not amazing, y/n. I'm just being a decent human. You're still fragile, and I don't want to—"

I scowl. "I'm not fragile."

Joel frowns slightly. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just don't want you doing something if it's too soon."

"Joel, I've spent the last eight years being terrified of men. You're the first man I've let kiss me in eight years. I'm not a porcelain doll. I'm a woman that's healing, and you're helping me put on the band-aids."

He smiles gently. "I'm the luckiest damn man in the world."

I scoff, sniffling a bit. "You think you're lucky because you have a trauma victim that likes you?"

"You're not that to me at all," he shakes his head. "To me, you're a strong woman who's beginning to trust. And only god knows why I'm the one who made you want to start. I'm just happy to be here with you."

My body leans forward, wrapping my arms around his neck as I push our chests together. Our lips and tongues connect effortlessly, like it's second nature for us at this point. I fling my leg over his, straddling him and pinning his thighs to the cushion.

"Y/n," Joel pulls away, his eyes searching mine, "please, if you're not ready—"

"Shut up, Joel," I tell him, reattaching our lips.

My fingers are in his hair, his hands on my hips as I gently rock them back and forth against him. I can feel how hard he is beneath me, and it only spurs me on further.

I've never ridden anyone before, but it doesn't take an expert to figure out how to do it. My hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, our lips never leaving each other's as I work at his shirt.

"Touch me," I breathe against his lips, continuing our kiss.

Joel's hands stay at my hips, rubbing them tenderly.

His shirt lays open, and I part our kiss to give him a look of disapproval. "Joel, I didn't tell you the truth so that you'd be scared of me." I bring his hands up from my hips to my breasts. "I said touch me."

He leans up to reconnect the kiss, his palms against me, kneading my chest through my dress. His hands move down beneath it, sliding up my bare thighs until he's gripping my ass tightly.

"You tell me if you want me to stop anything," he says gruffly, his eyes alight with hunger.

I nod, desperate to return to his lips.

His hands move up the sides of my dress, and I part our mouths for a moment just so he can lift it off over my head. My fingers are on his jeans, shaking from desperation as I do my best to unfasten the button. Joel helps me, making quick work of his jeans until he's sat beneath me in only his boxers.

I lick my lips in anticipation, staring down at the thick, weighty erection that rests beneath me.

"I don't have any condoms, y/n," Joel says with a ragged breath.

"I don't care. I'm on the pill."

Joel's fingers play with the band of my panties, and I can tell he's still hesitant to touch me. My lips trail along his jaw and neck as I guide his hand into the fabric that he's toying with. A small groan leaves his lips once his fingers come in contact with my slit, making me clench down onto nothing.

"Oh, my god," he groans slightly, his head falling back against the back of the couch. "You're so fucking wet."

I hum against him, sliding my tongue from his collar bone up to his earlobe. "Just for you, Joel."

He eases a finger gently inside of me, stopping my body in its tracks as a shudder of pleasure runs through me. Joel moves it out slowly, pushing it back in with ease. My hands are on his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly as I let out a quiet moan against his neck.

"Gotta prep you, honey. I won't fit if I don't get you ready for me."

My breath hitches in my throat as he works a second finger into me, my lips tucking between my teeth. "Fuck," I breathe out shakily.

"God, you're so tight," he groans. "Don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't," I whisper. "Please, I need you."

My hands hook into the sides of his boxers, pulling them down so that they're resting on his thighs with his jeans. Joel's fingers move up to my clit, making me gasp at the sudden contact.

"Cum first and then I'm yours."

"Joel," I groan, my head leaning back. "Please."

He rubs me easily, swirling my little bundle of nerves in quick, neat circles that have my thighs already quivering with anticipation.

"It's okay, y/n," he coos. "You don't have to beg. You'll have me."

My body is on fire, and my chest is heaving dramatically. I'm already so close to the edge; so close to a feeling I haven't experienced in years, not even when I'm alone. I never wanted to. I've never been so hungry for an orgasm than I am right now with Joel beneath me and his fingers against me.

That blinding rush of euphoria courses through my body and I scream out, my entrance fluttering as my release takes over me. Joel groans quietly, his fingers guiding me through it until I'm shivering from the overstimulation.

He gently pulls my face down to his, kissing me deeply and passionately. I take his thick cock into my hands, groaning at the sheer size and weight of him. My other hand moves down to pull my panties to the side, rubbing Joel's tip through my soaking apex.

"Fuck," he curses, briefly breaking the kiss. "Tell me again that you want me."

I nod, biting my lip. "I want you so bad, Joel."

"I'm yours, y/n. Take me."

I pull away, leaning up onto my knees as I position myself above him. With one hand on him at the base, I gently start to ease myself down. My jaw unhinges, my eyes open wide from the overwhelming feeling of the stretch of him. I feel full, and he's not even halfway in yet.

Joel grips my hips tightly, his eyes on where we're connecting. "Take your time. I don't want it to hurt."

"It doesn't," I breathe out sharply. "Just—a lot."

He chuckles cheekily, the sound seemingly vibrating through my body to send another rush of arousal to where he's stretching me out. I move my hand, allowing myself to settle at the bottom as we both let out a coo of approval.

"Go slow," Joel says gently.

I breathe, adjusting to him still, feeling stretched beyond belief. "Don't tell me what to do."

Joel laughs, his fingers quickly undoing the clasps of my bra. He attaches his mouth to my left nipple, making me shriek and tense up around him. He groans against me, his eyes briefly squeezing shut.

I slowly start to move up and down, groaning out towards the ceiling from the intense pleasure. Joel drops his fingers to my slick bud again, immediately making me clench down on him.

He groans, moving to my other nipple. "You're so beautiful," he praises. "Riding me so good, y/n."

His compliments spur me on, and I move my hips faster, becoming more and more acclimated to the stretch of him. My moans are constant. Every time he's buried in me to the hilt, I can't help but cry out into the emptiness of my home.

"Joel," I moan, my eyes squeezed shut. "Please, I'm so close."

His free hand comes up and grips me behind my neck, pulling my lips down to press against his briefly. "I know, honey. Can feel you squeezing me. Cum on me, y/n."

His words are my undoing, and I'm crumbling. My walls are flexing against him and my teeth are sinking into the skin of his neck, needing something to keep me grounded to earth.

Joel groans loudly, only making my orgasm more intense. "Yes, y/n," he moans. "Tell me how I feel."

"G-good," I shudder, kissing the teeth marks on his neck. "Please, Joel."

"What, honey? Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me."

His hands immediately go to my hips, his legs adjusting a bit before he starts to thrust up into me, the quick pace making me scream and bury my face back into his neck.

"Oh, my god!" I cry, my eyes squeezing shut. "Fuck, Joel, please."

"I can't hold it anymore, y/n. Tell me where you want it," he says gruffly. "Tell me."

"Inside of me!"

Joel's fingers dig into my skin so tightly I'm sure they'll leave bruises. He cries out, his head tilting back as I feel him throbbing inside of me. Every spurt of cum and jerk of his hips makes me groan, and I finally open my eyes once I feel his release stop pouring into me.

His hands move to my bare back, caressing me gently from the bottom of my spine to the top. He rubs me silently for a few moments, both of us just panting and breathing together.

"Please tell me how you are," Joel finally says. "I need to know."

"I'm perfect," I breathe, moving my head out of the crook of his neck. "More than perfect."

He beams at me, leaning up to pull me in to a wonderful, tender kiss that has my heart soaring.

"You're incredible," he says as our foreheads press together. "I can't believe you like me."

I giggle, shaking my head. "Would you stop it? You're perfect, Joel. I mean it."

He chuckles, kissing me again. "What do you want me to do?"

I cock my head. "About what?"

"Do you want me to stay the night? Or would you rather me go home?"

"Stay," I smile. "Please."

He beams at me. "I was hoping you'd say that."

****

#pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #smut #yn fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fic #tlou fic #tlou smut

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jynrso · 9 months

Text

some of it remains (but your love is unmoved)

hey all! this is the fic that i've been working hard on over the past few weeks. it's the first fresh piece i've written in over a year – the oneshot i posted a few weeks ago ("not without me / not without you") had a rough draft and outline so i had a bit to go off. this was a completely new story and i didn't intend for it to be this long. . .13.5 and 6k words later, here we are! jyn's experiences are based on my own. i got a concussion about 3.5 years ago and i still get icepick headaches to this day (that i never got before). while i don't get migraines, they are pretty bad. when i was thinking to myself about jyn's role as a brawler, i figured she'd get hit in the head pretty often –– and from that, this fic was born. title from "as it was" by hozier read it on ao3!

Jyn Erso has always had a remarkably thick skull.

Not in the sense that she isn’t intelligent. Rather, ever since she’d learned how to fight, she’d quickly found that she could bounce back from blows to the head quicker than her comrades. Hits that would render other Partisans unconscious usually only dazed her; if she got knocked down, she pushed herself back up in seconds, returning to the fight with her brutal efficiency hindered only slightly by slight dizziness and a burgeoning headache.

As a brawler, with the reach of her truncheons keeping her in close contact with her targets, she’s more exposed than a long-distance soldier. Though her armor absorbs many of the hits she takes, by favoring hand-to-hand combat, it’s not uncommon for her skin to be littered with various bruises and abrasions from hits she’s doled out and ones she’s taken in return. Even with her gloves, her hands often take the brunt of the damage; out of every place on her body, her hands are the most heavily scarred.

But despite her fighting prowess and experience on the battlefield, she’s had her fair share of close calls. Even she isn’t completely unaffected by someone slamming the butt of their blaster against her skull. The scar snaking up from the top of her forehead into her hairline speaks to that; a few years ago, she’d been hit so hard by a stormtrooper that it had not only knocked her out but also needed stitches –– ones she had to do herself without the credits for proper medical care. It had never healed right, the scar angry and raised to this day, but she’d escaped with her life . . . and only a few consequences.

The chronic headaches –– the bad ones –– had begun during her stint in an underground fighting ring, just after Saw abandoned her on Tamsye Prime. In an attempt to earn enough credits to survive, she’d played her strengths to her advantage and fought numerous other sentients for money. Though she’d won more fights than lost, her opponents usually got in a hit or two; and, with the lack of protective gear, the blows she’d taken had often been more debilitating, especially in the aftermath.

But in the middle of a war, a headache here or there is hardly her biggest problem.

It’s not like she’s bleeding out or has any open wounds. A stim shot usually takes care of the worst of the symptoms and dims them to a more manageable level. And when that doesn’t work, in the years after Saw, she’d hole up somewhere dark and quiet and ride it out for a few days by herself. With her high pain tolerance, she can push through just about anything, even if it means spending a few hours incapacitated.

Her last . . . episode had been right after Scarif. She doesn’t remember much of what’d happened after Bodhi had picked her and Cassian up from the beach but she recalls moments of blinding pain. The agony from her burns from the blast had only just been overshadowed by the splitting in her skull, feeling as if someone had taken an axe and cleaved her in two.

Ever since, however, she’s managed to keep her headaches under control and everyone else in the dark. But with the recent destruction of Alderaan and the move from Yavin IV to Hoth, it’s only a matter of time. With the amount of pressure and stress slowly building up on her shoulders, she just hopes that she’s alone when the inevitable happens, and strong enough to ride out the pain when it comes.

When Jyn wakes, unusually bleary-eyed and out of it, Cassian’s no longer in bed next to her.

The sheets on his side have long gone cold. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she remembers him leaving earlier that morning; before his departure, he’d briefly woken her up with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered urge to go back to sleep. Not recalling much more than that, she assumes that she’d fallen back asleep and pushes herself up into a sitting position.

As soon as she moves, a slow, heavy ache makes itself known in her left eye, radiating back toward her skull. She curses softly, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand, hoping that the pressure will help ease the oncoming pain, but to no avail. Even when she presses harder, digs her fingers into her hairline, the steady throbbing beats in time with her heartbeat.

A pit sinks in her stomach. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, the pain of it a distraction. Even though her head doesn’t pound badly now, she knows from experience it’ll only get worse as the day goes on. And if this is one of those headaches. . .

Fuck, and she actually has shit to do today. She and Cassian are flying out in the afternoon for a surveillance and scouting operation at the abandoned rebel base on Dantooine. Bodhi’s swinging by later –– shit, maybe sooner than she thinks, glancing at the chrono and seeing what time it is –– to help her get the ship ready while Cassian takes care of the pre-flight briefing with Draven.

Okay. Okay. She exhales, throwing her arm over her eyes as she lays on her back in the messy remnants of their bunk. It’s not the ideal situation but it could be worse –– she just has to get out of bed and get ready while her pain is still manageable. Then she just has to meet Bodhi, get to the ship, and take off for Dantooine without indicating something is wrong, then find somewhere hidden and quiet to ride it out by herself.

(There’s no way in hell Cassian is going to let her get away with that, a small voice in the back of her mind reminds her but she pushes that thought away for now. Once they get into the air, she can figure out an excuse. She just has to get there first. )

Groaning, Jyn hauls herself out of bed, wincing when the simple movement jars her already tender head. Without bothering to flip on the lip, she fumbles around in the dark, picking up random pieces of clothing they’d scattered across the ground the night before.

In the bathroom, biting back a curse as the cold finally begins to hit her, the warmth of sleep finally wearing off, she quickly gets ready in the relative silence and dimness of the ‘fresher.

There’s a basic medkit under the sink, equipped with bandages, a few bacta patches, and hyposprays. It’s meant for the occasions when either of them has minor injuries but doesn’t want to go to the medbay. Though it’s here for this purpose –– and she knows she should grab something –– she still hesitates. It’s not that bad (yet) and she’s pushed through worse. And there’ll be times in the future when they have a greater need for these supplies. . .

With her thoughts feeling like static, it’s difficult to concentrate enough to make a proper decision. Before she can, someone knocks on the door and shakes her from her daze. She flinches at the sound, wiping a shaky hand down her face as her head protests the sudden loud noise.

“Fuck,” she mutters, rocking forward on her heels and leaning forward against the sink, so far that her forehead nearly touches the smudged mirror. The medkit looms in her peripherals but she ignores it, convincing herself that she’ll be fine. (She’s always fine –– she has to be ).

In a burst of strength, she pushes up and away out of the bathroom, heading toward the door.

“Jyn!” Bodhi brightens when it opens, then almost immediately falls when he looks at her properly. “You –– you look like shit!”

“Thanks, Bo,” she mutters, leaning against the doorframe as she pulls on her boots. “Good morning to you, too.”

Frowning, he rubs the back of his neck as he peers in closer, head dipping down and wide eyes scrutinizing her disheveled appearance. “Well, it’s actually closer to afternoon, now, but –– ”

“Still morning,” she grunts, straightening. The edge of her vision goes fuzzy for a few seconds, threatening to white out completely; she steadies herself on the wall once again and exhales heavily, then forces herself upright.

“Do you –– do you need to go to the –– ”

“No,” she bites out forcefully. Her voice harsher is than she intends but the pain makes her feel brittle, fragile even, and she can’t help but overcompensate. “Just –– I just had a bit too much to drink last night. That’s all.”

Both of them are keenly aware of just how well she holds her liquor and Bodhi is much more observant than people give him credit for, especially around the people he cares about. He frowns, eyebrows tugging together, and while his expression tells her exactly what he’s thinking, he’s also picking up on the hidden details in her own.

But for whatever reason, either her voice or the stubborn look in her eyes, he doesn’t comment on her flimsy excuse and nods instead, perhaps not wanting to put up a fight when it’s clear she’s looking for one.

She doesn’t miss the concerned look in his eye when she walks out of the room a little slower than usual. He stays close to her as if expecting to catch her if she falls, arms nearly brushing as he keeps her pace.

His intense attention makes her uncomfortable, her ears reddening from the unfamiliar notion of having someone care about her. She’s fine. A headache isn’t anything to make a fuss over, and really, he’s making a big deal out of nothing.

“I checked out the ship you’re taking this morning,” he says, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as they navigate through the halls of Echo Base. She only half-listens, occasionally offering up hums of agreement as he speaks, but it’s growing more difficult to keep her focus solely on him. “There isn’t too much to do but . . .”

After a few minutes, they reach their destination. When the noise and brightness of the hangar bay hall hit her full force, Jyn sways on her feet, eyes closing as nausea swells low in her stomach. Bodhi grabs her elbow to keep her steady but she just barely feels the touch, the hammering in her head overshadowing every other sensation.

“ ––yn! Are you okay?”

Bodhi’s voice grows louder and more nervous with each passing second she fails to reply. Jyn barely manages to clamp down on her flinch, forcing her eyes open and gritting her teeth as her head protests.

“Fine,” she rasps, then licks her dry lips. Just one more hour, at most, and she can lie down; she just has to get to the ship first. “I’m fine. Where –– where’s the shuttle?”

He pauses, scrutinizing her once again. “Listen, if you’re not feeling well, we can––”

“I said I’m fine!” she reasserts, a bit harsher than she intends. Her head throbs at the raised tone of her voice. She sighs. “Look, can we just –– ”

It’s clear he doesn’t entirely believe her. With all the time they’ve spent together since Scarif, he knows what her normal behavior looks like –– and this isn’t it. “Jyn, you really should –– ”

Her eyes flash in irritation. She doesn’t need to be coddled. “If you want to stay here, be my guest. But I’m going to finish up packing the ship.”

Once again, he must see something in her face that ends any possible argument. For him, this is a losing battle. Sighing, his shoulders slump in the face of her stubbornness. “All right. Come on.”

Leading her to a ship in the back of the hangar, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and pushing down the pain as best she can. No matter how lightly she steps, the impact of her boots against the ground sends electricity radiating up from her legs to her head, a dull thumping that seems to grow the longer she spends in the hangar bay.

She blinks and then they’re there. Almost robotically, she nods as Bodhi’s mouth opens and he begins to talk, only catching the tail end of whatever he says. He gestures toward the remaining crates of supplies that need to be loaded onto the shuttle and Jyn doesn’t bother to respond, turning toward them and setting her shoulders in preparation.

(With her back turned, she misses how his mouth thins, how he reaches out for her but drops his arm after a few seconds. She misses the determined set of his eyes, the way he seemingly comes to a decision before setting to work himself.)

It’s easy to lose herself in the repetitiveness of the task. With only the pain in her head to keep her company, she tunes out the rest of the hangar bay and loads up the ship. At least in there, the lights aren’t so bright and the noises around her are muffled some by the thick durasteel walls.

A blink and it’s done. It’s been –– how long has she been doing this, so lost in her head?

For a few seconds, she stands in the cargo bay and looks down at the crates without really seeing them. Her hands flex at her sides, fingers still primed to hold a box. But then a particularly painful jolt of pain goes through her eye and she hisses, pressing the palm of her hand against the socket. When it eases, her brain recircuits and she remembers her purpose, rocking back on her heels.

She turns to look for Bodhi, not finding him in the cockpit as expected. Instead, when she heads down the loading ramp to look for him, she sees him a few feet away, looking in her direction and talking in hushed voices with Cassian.

Jyn scowls in irritation, hands curling into fists at her side and marching over to them. She has a good idea of what Bodhi’s telling him –– that she’s been acting weird, that there’s something wrong with her, that she isn’t capable enough to go on the mission. All those thoughts jumble in her head at the same, overlapping and intensifying what’s already there.

“I’m fine!” she barks when she makes it over to them, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her chin up in defiance. Her jaw tightens, the muscles in her body bunching up and tensing. “I don’t know what he’s telling you but –– ”

Cassian holds up his hands and Bodhi takes a step back when faced with her sudden burst of rage. “We’re just going over take-off protocol since Bodhi isn’t coming with us on this one,” he explains gently.

Her anger deflates from her as quickly as it’d arrived and she closes her eyes briefly as her skull throbs in protest. Embarrassment at her outburst curls low in her gut but she refuses to let it show.

“Great,” she mutters, shoving her hands deep in her pockets and turning away from them. Her cheeks redden, ears burning beneath her hat. “I’ll be on the ship if you need me.”

If her behavior hadn’t been a cause for concern before, it certainly is now. She hunches in her coat, keeping her head down as she stalks to the shuttle, the snarl on her lips acting as armor to repel any stares from overly curious recruits that she gets on the way back.

Cassian isn’t far behind. She’s only been on the ship for a few beats before he joins her, standing close enough that there are only a few inches between them. When she looks back into the hangar bay, Bodhi’s still there, his body language anxious and worried in the distance.

She scowls, feeling betrayed and like they’re ganging up on her. She’s clearly fine –– she’d gotten everything on the ship quickly and efficiently. What complaints could they even have? When she turns away, she determinedly keeps her gaze focused on her datapad and makes a point not to look at Cassian, even when his presence

Finally, he breaks the stalemate, not bothering to pretend he doesn’t know something is wrong. “Bodhi says you’ve been off all morning.”

“Did he,” she says flatly, her eye twitching. Her mouth twists and she resolutely stares down at the datapad but not truly seeing the words on the screen.

“I’m not going to push you,” he replies steadily, his voice not changing despite the derision in hers. There’s no judgment, nothing but concern despite her growing frustration. ( Stars, she doesn’t deserve him. ) “But if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

If he hasn’t picked up on it, then she must be successfully hiding the worst of her pain. When she turns to face him, she lets a little bit of her raggedness show, exhaustion written on her features. It’s not a lie, not truly, but a misdirection instead. Let him think this is the root of the issue. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

One of his eyebrows ticks up, likely remembering how she’d barely moved when he’d left their bed that morning. He doesn’t believe her, not entirely. But whatever he must see in her face must be enough to convince him that she’s all right for now.

He nods slowly, brows tugging together as he considers her words, but doesn’t drop the matter entirely. “You can sleep once we make it to hyperspace.”

It feels like an order rather than a request but she knows the decision is ultimately up to her. Too exhausted to disagree, the throbbing pain on one side of her head sapping all of the fight out of her body.

Cassian hesitates, giving her a chance to pull away, then reaches out to cup her cheek. She closes her eyes when his thumb brushes against her cheekbone rhythmically; it doesn’t relieve any pain but his touch soothes her, comforts her in a way that only he can do.

“Let’s finish getting the ship ready,” he says softly, and, eyes still closed, she nods once again.

It doesn’t take long for them to finish; apparently, Bodhi had gotten more done than she’d realized while she’d lugged crates of supplies back and forth. Feeling almost as if in a trance with only a dull throbbing pain to keep her company, before she even realizes it, they’ve completed everything else and prepped the shuttle for take-off.

(Dangerous, Saw’s voice barks in her head when she blinks in confusion, her body acting on auto-pilot as she buckles herself in and mechanically pulls on a pair of headphones. Just because you’re with someone you trust doesn’t mean you’re safe. Focus, my child.)

With one last wave to Bodhi, she closes the cargo bay door without another word and joins Cassian in the cockpit. Her limbs feel heavy, eyes squinting against the bright lights flashing on the dashboard. It takes her more than one try to get her seatbelt buckled in.

Numbly, she forces her awareness out of the cave in her mind and does her best to pay attention when Cassian completes the pre-flight checks. It only takes a few minutes –– she thinks, her thoughts feeling as if they’re moving through sludge –– before they’re up in the air.

“Calculating jump to hyperspace,” he says. She clenches her jaw, nods, and prepares herself.

The jump to hyperspace is worse than she’d expected. She presses the back of her head into her seat in an attempt to keep it steady and her white-knuckled hand gripping the armrests so tight she shakes. Against the roar of the engine, she inhales and exhales short puffs of air, eyes squeezed tight. It feels as if her brain is rattling against her skull, sharp pinpricks of pain hitting her through the eye in full force.

One particularly bad pulse through her head has her biting down so hard on her tongue that she draws blood. The sharp sting at least provides a distraction, the coppery, metallic taste now filling her mouth becoming something to latch on to other than pain.

But it’s getting more and more difficult to keep herself together. The combination of the lights, the noise, and the jerky movements of the shuttle around her have flayed her control almost entirely. She can’t do this, she can’t do this, but she has to, she has to keep it together for just a few more secon––

The ship stills.

The only sound in the cockpit is her sharp, rapid breathing that she struggles to quiet and the hum of the engine underneath her feet. Though she can’t see him, she’s acutely aware of Cassian at her side. She hears him take off his headset and set it down on its hook above the dashboard, then hears the creak of his seat as he turns, presumably to face her properly.

Hears the low, comforting sound of his voice when he tentatively asks, “Jyn? Are you okay?”

“`m’fine,” she mumbles after a beat, her brain taking longer than usual to comprehend his words properly. Even though it’s very clear that she’s not, she can’t quite abandon the ruse just yet, still hanging onto rapidly disappearing threads of composure. “Just. . .”

She trails off, swallowing down a wave of nausea. In the silence that follows, her stomach churns, due both to anxiety and her migraine; if she moves, even slightly, she’s going to throw up all over the floor. To tamp down on that, she focuses on her breathing: ragged inhales that catch before they make it to her lungs.

Cautiously, she cracks her eyes open, just a slit, to see Cassian leaning forward in his seat, gaze tight with worry. His fists are curled against his knees, his body tense with the effort of not reaching out to her. She imagines he wants to check her over himself and see what’s causing her pain but not without her permission.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. She can hear the desperation in his voice, likely compounded by the fact that he hadn’t pushed her to tell him what’d been wrong earlier. “Jyn, please. Did someone hurt you? Are you––”

“Fine,” she cuts him off weakly, ignoring his growl of frustration at her protests. He’d reluctantly taken her by her word earlier but that’s not going to work anymore. The ruse is up; it’s so incredibly clear that she isn’t fine, the jump to hyperspace having rattled something loose in her brain. “It’s. . .”

She pauses, licks her lips, then decides –– what the hell. She can’t physically keep her walls up much longer. Her eyes flutter close, the pressure in her head abating only slightly with the lack of light. Finally, she says, “My head.”

“Did you fall? Jyn, let me check––”

“No,” she swallows, fumbling with her words. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, her thoughts slow and sluggish. “It’s –– it’s a migraine. I think. I, um, get them. Occasionally.”

When Cassian doesn’t reply, she opens her eyes to see what he’s doing, feeling nervous and exposed. She watches as he gingerly stands and reaches over her, flicking off the lights in the cockpit and dimming the space as much as possible. While it isn’t completely dark, with switches on the dashboard still blinking, it’s a marked difference from how bright it’d been before. Her breath leaves her in a stuttered exhale as her shoulders relax slightly.

His voice is quiet when he asks, “Better?”

“Yeah,” she rasps. It is. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence passes between them before he tilts his head to the side, in the direction of the back of the ship. Though it isn’t large and not meant for long-term travel, there’s a small bunk room and galley just behind the crew’s quarters. Though he doesn’t say anything, Jyn knows what he’s asking.

“No,” she grits out. She keeps her head still but follows him with her gaze. It’s a struggle to get the words out. “I don’t . . . need to rest.”

“Jyn. . .”

“No.” It feels like her last line of defense. It’s a stupid hill to die on but she can’t seem to let it go, barely clinging to what little she has left. Even though she knows that Cassian would never treat her differently –– and he never has when she’s come to him injured or in the aftermath of a nightmare –– she’s not unlike a feral animal when hurting, flinching away and attacking the hand that tries to help.

He’s seen her at her worst, has held her through it, has seen more of her than anyone in this galaxy ever has. But used to a lifetime of sharing a bunk and never truly being alone, she’s learned to keep her pain quiet, to remain small and unobtrusive in moments of true vulnerability. Cassian and the rest of Rogue One have slowly broken down some of her walls but there are some things she doubts she’ll ever be able to shake fully.

But then Cassian whips out his trump card.

“Please, Jyn? For me?” And if his saying please hadn’t been enough, he adds softly, “My back has been sore all morning. Lay down with me?”

“Just for an hour,” she relents –– barely. “And you have to actually lay next to me.”

His eyes soften. “`course. Come on.”

She stands slowly to try and offset the dizziness that she knows will come, but it doesn’t work. She bites the inside of her cheeks and closes her eyes when it washes over her, her head throbbing in time with her heartbeat. For a few seconds, she worries once again she might throw up all over the ground but swallows it down. Fuck, it hurts so badly.

There’s this urgent, wild urge in the back of her mind to cry out for her mother –– she feels like a child again, scared and in pain, and wanting nothing more than Lyra’s comfort.

Finally, when it passes, she opens her eyes again, breathing heavily. Cassian stands a few feet away, one arm outstretched in case he needs to steady her. He’s not even trying to hide his worry anymore; she’d reassure him in any other situation but she’s just so tired.

Slowly, she makes her way to the bunkroom with Cassian close behind. It’s not far, and soon, she’s perched on the edge of the small cot, shoulders hunched forward.

He reaches out and touches her arm gently. That one small gesture eases a knot of tension in her body and she sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “I’m going to grab you some water. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable, she doesn’t like the idea of him leaving her sight right now. But at the thought of water, she swallows, her throat dry. Slowly, she nods, her head heavy and protesting the jerky movement.

She keeps quiet and doesn’t move until he returns with a glass of water in hand. Despite the position likely being hell on his back, he crouches next to the bed, offering it to her.

Silently, she reaches for it with a shaky arm, just barely managing to take a few sips without spilling before handing it back to him. He takes it, but not without a small sigh and a look of concern.

“You need to stay hydrated.” As quiet as it is, his voice is still too loud.

Not having eaten anything all day, she’s keenly aware of the hunger and thirst steadily growing in her stomach. But it’s no match for the pain in her head and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to keep anything more than water down if she tries. “No,” she manages. But then, to appease him, she adds, “Later.”

“All right,” he says finally, setting the glass on the small desk a few paces away. A pause. He shifts on his feet, and she’s just about to order him to move from his uncomfortable position when he speaks again, “I grabbed a hypospray. It’s yours if you want it.”

There’s a protest on her lips that dies when he interrupts, anticipating what she’d planned on saying, “We have more than enough supplies. It won’t be missed.”

Jyn licks her lips, then dips her chin in a slow nod.

Cassian’s jaw works briefly, clenching and unclenching before his expression finally smoothes. He knows her better than she knows herself, she thinks –– and they both know how stubborn she can get about soldiering through her pain until the last possible moment. For her to give in now without too much complaint tells him exactly how bad her pain is, what she’d been trying to hide from him all day.

Without a word, he waits until he catches her half-squinted gaze before slowly bringing the hypospray to her neck. She tilts her chin to the side slightly and closes her eyes; her breath stutters in her lungs when his warm hands brush against her skin, looking for the artery.

“Dispensing now,” he murmurs and she doesn’t have the energy to hide her flinch when the cold medicine enters her bloodstream.

The small, barely there movements of her body send shockwaves of pain through one side of her skull. Her whole body tenses, muscles rigid. She keeps her eyes squeezed to better ride out the wave washing over her, ebbing and throbbing; even as she feels the hypospray beginning to take effect, it isn’t immediate.

Now that she’s sitting, with no more tasks left to complete, she properly takes stock of her pain, it feels as if someone is repeatedly taking an ice pick to her head, stabbing her eye socket with each throbbing beat of her pulse. Before she can stop it, a small whimper leaves her mouth before she presses her lips tightly together so no other sounds can escape.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says softly. She feels him brush her cheek with his fingers lightly, then moves some of her hair off of her face. “You don’t have to hide from me, Jyn. What do you need?”

She doesn’t have to do much to convey it. Without speaking and moving as little as possible, she finds his arm in the dark and pulls him toward her. Gingerly, Cassian stands –– she can hear his joints popping as he does so –– and maneuvers himself over her and onto the cot.

He settles stiffly next to her with his back to the wall; at first, he doesn’t move, likely not wanting to cause her any more pain. But as soon as she feels him at her side, she reaches for him immediately. He is, as always, a lifeline for her, an anchor in the middle of the storm. She turns onto her side, curling into him, desperate for some sort of comfort, a distraction from the pain, if only for a few seconds. And even though it must be hell on his back for him to curl over her like this, he does so, anyway, his body a shield between her and the outside world.

Forehead pressed against his neck, her fists gripping his shirt with a white-knuckled grip, he quietly murmurs nonsense into her ear. All she can do is cling to him in a moment of uncharacteristic weakness strength and breathes.

Hours later, Jyn opens her eyes, slowly waking up. She doesn’t remember falling asleep but the combination of Cassian’s presence and the hypospray’s effect eventually lulled her to unconsciousness. She blinks once, twice, feeling a hundred times lighter than she had earlier; the pain in her head has abated to a manageable ache –– still there but not as debilitating.

She tilts her head upward, the tip of her nose brushing against Cassian’s face. He’s in the same position as he’d been in before, curled around her protectively. Still asleep, his face is relaxed, his breathing slow and even.

As much as he needs the sleep, she’s unable to resist her next impulse; she tilts her chin slightly, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. It’s short and sweet, lasting only a few seconds; and even though it’s a selfish want, her heart skips a beat in her chest when his eyes open, warm and brown, blinking down at her.

It’s a testament to how much he trusts her that he doesn’t tense upon awakening. Rather, his expression warms, mouth tugging into an indulgent smile. “Hi,” he murmurs, voice rasping.

“Hi,” she repeats, her smile a mirror of his. When he moves to brush his lips against hers again, she meets him eagerly, basking in the afterglow of the morning and the relaxed feeling that only sleep can bring.

“How are you feeling?”

She hums. “Better.”

“Good.” His arms tighten around her, firm but loose enough that she can pull away. She doesn’t. “You scared me, you know.”

She stays silent as he continues. “When Bodhi told me he didn’t think you were feeling well, I didn’t think it was that bad, not when you marched over to us a minute later. But then, after we jumped. . .” he closes his eyes briefly, licking his chapped lips. She wants to smooth the wrinkle between his brows with her thumb. “I thought you would have told me that it was that bad.”

Is that disappointment in his voice? Shame curls in her gut. Had their positions been flipped, she would have felt just as helpless. “I know. I should have.”

“Why didn’t you?” An open question. If he’s judging her for it, he keeps that out of his voice.

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “It’s. . .It’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do, but. . .” she shrugs with a shoulder as best she can while lying on her side. “Just habit, I guess.”

A habit formed after years of being alone, exacerbated due to Saw’s abandonment and how quickly her ties to the Partisans –– her foundation of self, her family –– had been ripped out from underneath her. It had been necessary to hide the vulnerable sides of herself for survival, instincts that she hasn’t quite shaken now that she once again has a team she can rely on.

He licks his chapped lips. “Have you . . . seen someone about this? A medic?”

“Once.” After her symptoms had lingered long after a particularly bad head injury, Saw had forced her (not that she had much choice with how sick she’d been) to see one of the Partisan’s medics. “With how many concussions I get, this sort of thing. . .happens, they said.”

Cassian hums. “Will you see one of the Alliance’s medics when we get back?”

“I don’t think there’s anything they can do,” she argues. She can handle it –– not to mention that, with how many injuries those doctors have to deal with on a daily basis, she’d just be wasting their time.

He stays silent but the look in his eyes tells her he doesn’t like her answer. “There might be medicine that could help.”

“The hypospray worked well enough,” she retorts grouchily, cuddling closer to him so she no longer has to meet his gaze. His heartbeat beats a steady tempo against her cheek.

He brushes her bangs back behind her ears, his hand lingering on the side of her face. Perhaps reassuring himself that she’s still in one piece, that she’s no longer in as much pain as before. “To prevent this sort of thing from happening so often.”

She scowls. “It doesn’t happen that often.”

“Jyn. . .” he sighs. “What happens if we’re out on a mission and you’re like this? If –– if something happened to you, I couldn’t. . .” His jaw clenches, eyes flashing at the thought of the hypothetical.

Knowing he’s right –– it has happened out in the field but never to this degree –– she stays silent.

“Let’s make a deal, all right?” She remains quiet, listening. He continues, “You go to the medbay when we get back, see what they can do. I’ll come with you. And then, in return, when my back is bothering me, I’ll go. But we tell each other, all right? When we’re hurting. Trust goes both ways, remember?”

“Trust goes both ways,” she echoes softly, tipping her head back from his chest and onto the pillow so she can better look at his face. Her headache has been subdued to a dull throbbing, a far cry from the agony she’d felt earlier. “You promise you’ll go?”

“If you do, I will,” Cassian says. “And you’ll tell me next time your head hurts, yes?”

“Fine,” she concedes with a grumble, though her displeasure fades when he gathers her back up in his arms and kisses her forehead gently. Her breath hitches at the feeling of his lips against her skin.

“We have a few more hours before we reach Dantooine,” he tells her softly. “We should get up, grab some food. When’s the last time you ate?”

Even though she hasn’t eaten anything all day, the remnants of nausea still remain in her system. She makes a face, wrinkling her nose at the thought of leaving the bed and Cassian’s embrace.

“You said your back was sore,” she says instead. Regardless if it had only been a ploy to get her to bed, his back bothers him more often than not. It won’t hurt to rest a little more, especially not when they’ll be in hyperspace for a while still. “Lay here with me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles down at her. It’s the type of true smile she so very rarely sees outside of when they’re alone together, the one that never fails to make her heart swell in her chest with a type of love she’d never thought she’d ever feel. “Always.”

#rebelcaptain #jyn erso/cassian andor #rebelcaptain fic #rebelcaptain fanfic #rogue one fic #therebelcaptainnetwork #rebelcaptaindaily #dailyrebelcaptain #my writing

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like-rain-or-confetti · 1 year

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Top 5

S/O taking care of a friend's kid and she's very good at that and he sees her with the kid sleeping in her arms. He makes a comment about it and asks if she has experience babysitting other's kids.

"Not only others."

"... You're a mother?"

"I was a mother."

Whenever asked if she's okay she says she has grown numb to it.

I was a mother once...

"You're really quite the natural with children. I was expecting you to panic and stand there awkwardly in confusion and a lack of experience." The rogue remarked with a smirk as he watched you with the infant sleeping in your arms. "I've been a parent before, honey." You replied. "What?" The Rogue looked to you in surprise. You nodded. "Yeah, I was a mother once." "You've never mentioned that...are...do you miss it?" The Rogue had many questions but that one seemed the kindest. You smiled sadly. "Every day, twice on holidays and birthdays." The rogues noticed how cold you seemed to turn. Although pain could do that to a person. The rogues knew all kinds of pain could turn people into ice. Their warmth dying out as their will is chipped away one piece at a time. "It's painful. The most pain I have ever endured and sometimes I still feel it." You continued lightly, gazing off into the distance with a slight nod. "It's doesn't happen over night. You don't just stop being a parent the moment you lose your child. There's a lot of pain and anger, loss of direction and whilst I've moved on and so has my life..." You turned to the rogue. "...you learn to live with the pain and that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt but it doesn't drown you. Not like it did in the beginning. It's like a empty hole left in you that your child once filled. It changes you. I had to stomach that the little life I made wouldn't be meeting the world like they should but that's alright." You smiled sadly. "They're memory is safe with me. Their mother."

The Riddler: Edward was silent for a moment. You figured he was upset you could keep such a thing from him. Take it as his own suffering rather than yours. Yet he put a hand on your arm and squeezed comfortingly. You met his eyes that shone with what you could have sworn was building tears. "They were so lucky to have you as their mother. You need to know that." He managed out through the lump in his throat. He knew what it was like to have a bad upbringing, a horrible parent. Yet he also knew with only a look that you were a wonderful parent. Even to a child who wasn't yours, you showered with love and affection. You were taken aback by Edward's emotion. "Edward..." You said quietly in disbelief. "Don't forget that, understand? Don't you ever forget that." He ground out firmly.

Scarecrow: Jonathan cupped your chin, forcing you to look at him. His voice quiet. "You're still a mother." He said firmly. "The second you had a child, you forever are a mother. Nothing can take that from you." He took your hand tightly. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there to meet them or see you with your child. That is most certainly my loss." He continued with a faint smile. "I'm glad that you've found some closure. That even through all of this you have a good heart. I would know. Not many of people do." Jonathan paused. "You have a lot of love for your child and that is wonderful. Keep that love close. Trust me, it'll do you so much good to adore the time you had with them over the agony of losing them."

Two-Face: Harvey's voice was low and sounded remorseful. "I'm sorry." You furrowed your brow in confusion. "For what? You didn't know." You shook your head. "For the longest time, you've listened to my struggle of losing everything but I've never lost anything like you have." Harvey explained. You shook your head cupping his cheek. "It doesn't matter. There's no need to compare pain. We know what it's like to hurt in the worst ways and that is enough. My pain is no greater than yours. It's just as real as yours. That's what it comes down to in the end." He looked down at the sleeping child and smiled at you. "You haven't lost your touch."

Black Mask: "You never told me." He stated flatly. "Somethings can be told, others can't be explained with words. I never said anything- not because I didn't trust you. It was because I can't bring my baby back and you not knowing made it easier to be at peace with that. A distraction even. Sometimes its just too hard to talk about, Roman." He got that, a pain too great to put into words. A feeling too strong for words to even suffice. Roman spoke. "Well the kid is in good hands. Even you help me." You hummed in amusement. "Like magic." He chuckled. "Yeah, sure. We'll call it that."

Mad Hatter: Jervis hummed, placing a hand on your knee. He leaned in to speak quietly as to not disturb the "Perhaps it wasn't fate that brought you to me then. Perhaps it was your little one. I need someone to love me unconditionally. It's what I've always wanted and apparently you're just the right person. I owe a lot to that little one, (Y/N) and I'll be sure to look after their mother as their mother has looked after me without question and without fear."

#batman #batman villains #batman scenarios #the riddler #scarecrow #two face #black mask #mad hatter #request #edward nygma #jonathan crane #harvey dent #roman sionis #jervis tetch

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cosette141 · 2 years

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My FanFiction Masterlist (multi-fandom) | cosette141

Fic titles will be linked to AO3.

Word count total (all fics): 705, 550 Fandoms I've written for (plus # of stories): (69) Once Upon A Time (Captain Swan) (31) Psych (13) White Collar (3) Chuck (3) Danny Phantom (3) Leverage (12) Pokémon (2) Avatar: the Last Airbender (2) All my stories are rated T or lower, including stories that have whump. I never write anything of that nature that wouldn’t be shown in the show itself. (Stories noted with a * before the title and a + after the word count are currently unfinished and in-progress. Fics highlighted in blue means they're fairly recent.) *I never abandon fics ☺️

-.-.-.-. all fics below the cut! -.-.-.-.

Once Upon A Time (all Captain Swan)

Multi-chapter fics:

*Lost and Found (Begin Again Sequel) - 70k+ (in-progress) (Begin Again sequel) Emma had felt lost nearly her whole life, and Killian had lost everything he’d ever found. That is, until they found each other. With the Crocodile dead and Cora turned good, it seems happy endings have returned. However, new crises arise, threatening the budding family between them and Henry. But this is a family that always finds each other… and they have yet to fail. CS, Anti-Neal

Hell to Pay - 44k (tag to the Underworld arc) We followed Emma's perspective when she found and rescued Killian, but we didn't get to see much of Killian's. This story will follow Killian's perspective from the moment he sacrifices himself to when he is rescued. Slight divergence from canon: when Emma does find Killian, Hades doesn't let her rescue him so easily. CS H/C (lots of whump, but just as much comfort!)

Begin Again - 40k (s2 "Manhattan" divergence) No one breaks a deal with Rumplestiltskin, and Emma finds herself facing the wrath of the Dark One. What if Neal didn't come back for Emma in NYC, but instead, Hook showed up to kill Rumplestiltskin early? No one has ever saved Emma before, and Hook has never been able to save anyone at all. It's time for them both to tell a different story. Together.

Don’t Let Go (Because I Can’t Hold it Back Anymore) - 24k (canon divergence for s4 episode "White Out") Rather than Emma and Elsa trapped in the ice cave, Emma is trapped with Killian. They have to keep warm and stay awake as they fight the frigid cold, or their first quiet moment together may very well be their last. h/c

Dreamshade - 13k (s3A, "Good Form" canon divergence) Instead of David getting hit with the poisoned arrow, it's Hook. Now it's up to David to get Hook to Dead Man's Peak before Dreamshade takes Hook's life, and maybe learn, perhaps too late, that Hook is far more than just a pirate. h/c Captain Charming

How You Remind Me - 14k (S3b, NYC Serenade canon divergence) When Hook tries to convince Emma to drink the memory potion, she takes it and shatters it. Hook has a much, much harder time trying to get Emma’s memories back.

A Gentleman Never Tells - 9k Right after saving Henry in Neverland, Pan puts Emma under a Sleeping Curse that only romantic love can break. Hook's kiss wakes her, but in the confusion of the moment, it appears to everyone else, including Emma, that it was Neal's kiss that woke her. As the group celebrates and Hook empties his flask alone, he can't help thinking it is better this way. **(Will be adding another chapter for a Henry reaction at some point)

Echoes - 5k (tag to Echo Caves scene) "What we have with her is unique. But it's not what I wanted. I want another go at it; I want to have another baby." All Emma's life, she's been haunted by the paralyzing fear of never being wanted. Now, her worst fears have come to light. Emma is breaking, and it's up to Hook to put her pieces back together.

*On the Other Hand - 3k+ (in-progress) (tag to s4 episode "The Apprentice") After two hundred years without a hand, Killian gets it back... and then loses it again in the same day. I felt like we missed out on a lot of the emotional component of this, so this is my attempt to encompass that, as well as make him feel better about it.

*Killian Jones vs. the Modern World - 2k+ A collection of different moments throughout seasons 2-6 of Killian experiencing modern world things. A collection that has obviously been done before, but I just love these so much haha. Most of these will be Captain Swan and I'm sure Captain Charming and Cobra as well!

OUAT Oneshots:

It's Called Trust - 7k (season 2 "Tallahassee" canon divergence) Emma forgets that handcuffs cannot hold a pirate.

Firsthand - 6k After getting her hand broken in Neverland, Emma is struck with the realization of just how debilitating Hook's life has been since losing his hand. In more ways than just physically.

Moment of Truth - 4k After Killian learns he killed David's father, the secret is eating him alive. So, with a load of courage and even more rum, he brings himself to tell the truth. And he prays he won't lose the love of his life… or his best friend in the process. (S6 canon divergence where Emma doesn't find the ring and doesn't pressure Killian into proposing) for Angsty August 2022, CS, CC, h/c

Lullaby - 3k (True Love story, s3B canon divergence-ish) Emma is cursed with a Wakeful Curse, and needs True Love's Kiss to save her life. When Killian tries, and the kiss doesn't work, all hope seems lost. Or is it?

A Snowball’s Chance - 3k After Emma rescues Killian from Hades in the Underworld, David and Snow tend to some of Killian's physical wounds, and end up healing emotional ones. (aka, Snow and David acting as parental figures for Killian) hurt/comfort oneshot

What’s in A Name - 3k (tag to the CS movie) After rescuing Emma from the castle, David, Snow, Marian and Emma and Killian retire for the night. Except, to the other three, Emma and Killian were still Prince Charles and Princess Leia. So, they decide to fall asleep together to protect their fake story, and maybe find that not all of it was for the cover. CS cuddling

Come Back to Me - 3k (tag to s3B, "Kansas") When Zelena drowned Killian, Emma nearly lost him, and she panicked. So… what if they needed to revisit that moment for information about Zelena… and Killian has the opportunity to see Emma's reaction to his near-death? (shamelessly plotless oneshot for the sake of feelings) h/c, CS

*Untied - 3k+ (s2 divergence) Emma felt the hair on the back of her neck rise with instinct. The darkness of the night didn't help with the ominous feeling. This trailer wasn't here before Tamara showed up to town, and it was a small town. It wasn't from here. Emma picked the padlock, pulled it off, and yanked open the door. And there, tied to a chair, was Hook. CS h/c

Every Part of Me - 3k (tag to s4 "smash the mirror: part 1") Emma's powers are out of control, and her worst fears have been realized: she's hurt Henry. It's Killian's turn to give it a try, and he finds Emma in the woods. He's determined to calm her down and help her embrace who she is, no matter the cost to himself. h/c

The Only One Who Saves Me - 2.5k (CS movie divergence) Killian gets his dashing rescue, and Emma is no longer the only one who saves her.

The Day that it Doesn’t - 2.5k “You and I. We understand each other. Look out for yourself and you never get hurt.” “Worked out quite well for me.” “Yeah, until the day that it doesn’t.” Today, Hook learns, as he steers his ship away from shore with a horrible empty feeling in his chest, is that day. He decides to once and for all give up his crusade in order to be a part of something, and takes a moment to hope that Milah understands.

Take My Hand - 2k They've all hit him with the low blow at some point. Both enemies and friends have threatened either seriously or jokingly to "take the other hand." What they didn't know was that the words affect Killian more than he lets on. Late one night, after yet another dig from one of them, Emma learns just how badly it does. And maybe, how she can fix it.

What Loneliness Sounds Like - 2k After hearing her mother's secret in the Echo Caves, Emma feels more unloved and unwanted than she ever has before. Only to make matters worse, she's in Neverland, land of the lost and abandoned, and she can suddenly hear music playing. (this was an alternate ending for my other fic "Echoes", but it can be read as a standalone)

Fall - 1.5k (Set in S3 in Neverland) In the midst of trying to find Henry, Emma finally falls apart, and Hook holds her together. And suddenly, they're both falling, somewhere they promised themselves they'd never fall again.

As You Wish - 1.5k After Killian gets his heart back, Emma starts acting strange around him, and he finally realizes why. Oneshot (the title's not a princess bride reference! xD)

Operation: Poptarts - 1k Henry was mostly happy that Killian had moved in with him and Emma. His only reservation was that Killian won't stop throwing out his poptarts. S6 Captain Cobra

In Hindsight - 1k (tag to s3 CS movie) "I'm not sure her parents approve of me." "Given the lengths you've gone to save her, they'd be crazy not to." "I hope you remember that." After Killian and Emma's adventure, David does remember the conversation he and Killian had around the fire, and David has something to add to it. CS/Captain Charming

Airport insecurity - 1k (post-wedding) Killian and Emma are going on their honeymoon, and Emma chooses a very special country to spend it. But their trip includes getting through airport security, which poses a bit of an inconvenience for Killian.

The Emma Button - 1k "What is that thing?" "It's a device used for... talking... I don't bloody know. I press the Emma button and she answers usually." My take on why Killian decided to refer to Emma's speed dial as "the Emma button."

Good - 1k (missing scene/tag to "New York City Serenade") A conversation between Emma and Killian about her broken heart. And maybe the hope that it will mend, sooner rather than later.

Psych fics

Multi-chaptered:

Space - 53k Now that Juliet knows Shawn's secret, she tells him she needs space. Unsure of what to do, Shawn decides to find some space for himself. But when Shawn stumbles into trouble and ends up missing, will his friends figure out he's in real trouble before it's too late?

Hero Material - 35k Shawn never had a good relationship with his father, and when he learns the truth about his parents' divorce, Shawn doesn't know what to think of the man anymore. But when Shawn and Henry end up stumbling into real trouble, it's going to take a lot more than forgiveness to save them.

Shawn Walks Into A Bank - 30k Gus was always hounding Shawn for not taking Psych checks to the bank and being "responsible." So it's just Shawn's luck that the one time he goes... so does a crazy gunman.

Oneshots:

Coming Clean - 3k Shawn can't handle lying to her anymore now that they started dating, and he decides to tell her the truth. (alternate way of how Juliet finds out.)

Breaking the Cycle - 3k Henry sighed and looked at his broken-down truck, then to the miles-long stretch of empty road. And then… he looked to the bike. Henry let out another sigh, and with heavy reluctance, muttered, "You said you have two helmets?" - Henry is forced to drive Shawn's motorcycle, and learns a few things from his son for a change.

Saved by the... Bullet? - 2k We all knew it would happen one day. Carlton Lassiter finally shoots Shawn Spencer. (not slash)

Taking Bullets - 2k Gus learns once and for all what lengths Shawn is willing to go to protect his best friend.

Worth Staying For - 2k It's Christmas Eve night and something is bothering Shawn. Juliet is determined to find out just what. Shules. A little fluff and a little emotional h/c all wrapped and tied with a little bow.

The Flip Side of a Penny - 1.6k In "The Greatest Adventure in the History of Basic Cable," Uncle Jack left Shawn for dead without a second thought. "I can see now why Uncle Jack wasn't probably the best role model," Shawn had told Henry. "Why didn't you ever tell me when I was a kid?" Just a flashback to Shawn's childhood, touching on why Henry never did.

Shots - 1k Tag to "Juliet Takes a Luvvah", where Maddie comes back into town to stay with Henry after he was shot, and where Shawn unfortunately walks in on them. Henry has a feeling that Shawn isn't quite okay after what happened, and he isn't, but not for the reason Henry thinks.

Prodigal Son - 1k (Flashback oneshot) Karen Vick has heard plenty of amazing things about her new partner's son, Henry Spencer's prodigy-in-the-making. But when she finally meets 11-year-old Shawn Spencer, he isn't at all what she expected.

Fresh Air - 1k A beautiful moment between father and son over a fishing trip. Beautiful, terrible, I've heard it both ways.

Sentiments, Semantics, He Would Have Heard It Both Ways - 1k Shawn Spencer is dead, and someone is taking the news harder than they ever could have expected. (Shawn/Desperaux friendship) deathfic

Leverage Fics

Multi-chaptered:

Hanging Out - 27k While Eliot and Hardison are on a job in the woods, Eliot gets badly injured. Now with bad guys on their tail, Hardison needs to step up, or they're both as good as dead. Damn, Hardison hated outside. Hardison/Eliot brotherly friendship. h/c Eliot whump

The Longer Way Down Job - 15k On the way down the mountain in The Long Way Down Job, Eliot and Parker don't make it down so easily. When an avalanche strands them far from help, Eliot and Parker have to keep warm and stay awake. But even the ones who do what the others can't... can't last the frigid cold forever. Eliot/Parker sibling friendship. h/c

Sometimes Bad Guys... - 11k On a brisk night in Amsterdam ten years before the Leverage crew formed, Eliot Spencer - freshly ex-right hand man of Damien Moreau - stumbles into helping an injured thief. But quickly he wonders who really saved whom. (Past Eliot and Parker AU)

Oneshots:

The Count On Me Job - 5k The gun fired. Shock stopped Eliot's heart as the bullet whizzed half an inch over his shoulder. "You missed." Eliot drawled with a grin. The mark, however, was smiling too. Eliot's grin faltered. The mark smirked and said, "Did I, though?" Eliot turned to see Parker standing behind him with her hand to her shoulder, crimson slowly seeping under her fingers.

The Carsequences Job - 3.5k Parker’s crazy driving finally gets the best of her when she decides to go for a dangerous joyride in the middle of a torrential rainstorm. But what could make that worse? Oh, right. She decided to take Eliot’s car. Parker h/c

It's the Thought That Counts - 1.6k When Eliot gets hurt and can't cook Thanksgiving dinner, the team gives cooking a try. It's the thought that counts, right?

A Different Kind of Feeling - 1k A night off, an ice cold beer, and a game on TV... nothing could ruin Eliot's moment. That is, until Parker appears with something to tell him. Eliot/Parker (sibling-like pairing, not romance!)

Under the Surface - 1k In the episode "The Big Bang Job," Hardison almost drowned and Eliot didn't go in after him. I felt like Hardison needed an explanation from the hitter and our boys needed a serious bonding moment. Here's my take on how that could have gone.

The Mother's Day Job - 1k Parker shows Sophie some appreciation on Mother’s Day, in a very Parker way.

Sparky - 1k Parker gave Eliot the nickname "Sparky" a long time ago. And tonight he finally learns why.

The New Territory Job - 1k During a job, Hardison gets hurt after taking a step out from behind the safety of his computer screen. But he quickly finds that the blow to his pride stings far worse than the one he took to the head.

No Stabbing Wednesdays - 1k When Hardison enacted the "No Stabbing Wednesday" tradition, he wasn't expecting it to be a problem during a job that required a certain thief to stab something.

White Collar fics

Multi-chaptered:

*As the Smoke Clears - 65k+ (in-progress) (spoiler alert for season 1 and beginning of season 2!) After the plane explodes, we see Neal fall apart and Peter hold him back, then two months go by unseen. Here are the events that took place after the explosion. H/C (on hiatus as of 12/05/21. I do plan to be back to this one when I get back into WC!)

Taking Trust Into Account - 49k When a five-year-old crime becomes Neal and Peter's new case, Neal's past catches up with him; not only had he been involved in the crime, the criminal he framed for it has a grudge. Can Peter connect the dots before Neal's consequences cost him his life?

Cat's Game - 15k Peter chased Neal for two years before he arrested him. But just because Peter didn't catch him for two years doesn't mean he didn't get close. One night in a museum outside of the city, Peter and Neal nearly find an end to their long-time game of cat and mouse... and their lives. (Past Neal & Peter story) No slash

Chuck fics:

Multi-chaptered:

Chuck vs. the Bullet - 26k What's worse than being shot? Being shot, and needing to hide it from an overprotective sister who also happens to be a doctor. Chuck gets shot by a Fulcrum agent, and to protect his cover, needs to hide that fact from Ellie... which is easier said than done. Especially since she's not about to let him get away with it... and neither is Fulcrum. hurt/comfort (Ellie finds out story)

*Ellie vs the Truth - 3k+ (in-progress oneshot collection) After Ellie learns Chuck's secret, there are many other secrets she begins to learn, and Ellie starts to piece together all the events that didn't quite make sense after Chuck met Sarah. (A collection of oneshots where Ellie finds out about things Chuck had to keep secret from her)

You Might Find A Better Place to Play - 1.6k Bryce comes back to help with another mission, and the last night before he leaves LA, both he and Chuck suddenly aren't answering their phones or comms. Sarah tracks Chuck's watch to Castle, but when she gets there, all she hears is gunfire. Oneshot

Danny Phantom fics:

Multi-chaptered:

To Be A Hero - 22k Danny has always known the consequences should he be captured by the Guys In White, but now Tucker is going to learn firsthand just what the stakes are for his superhero friend and what it really means to be a hero. (not slash) h/c

Oneshots:

Going Ghost - 4k My take on the moment Danny turns on the ghost portal and becomes half-ghost… as well as an alternate way for Sam and Tucker to find out. Friendship

The Other Half of a Hero - 1.6k Three weeks after the accident, a fight with Skulker leaves Danny with his first major injury. Sam and Tucker begin to realize the full extent of Danny's new life. h/c

Avatar: the Last Airbender fics:

Multi-chaptered:

*Hello, Zuko Here - 19k+ (in-progress) What if when Zuko was rejected by the Gaang in the Western Air Temple, Zuko didn't accidentally burn Toph when she found him? This is a slightly altered way of Zuko joining the group, and his struggle to both gain their trust and begin to feel he deserves it when he does. Book 3 seemed to fly through the emotions and character stuff, so here's my attempt to slow 'em down.

Oneshots:

Here - 1k After Zuko joins the Gaang, he realizes he's finally found a place where he belongs.

Pokémon fics:

Multi-chaptered:

Jump and Fall - 13k (Contestshipping fic) May saved Drew’s life on Mirage Island, and Drew doesn’t like owing debts. So when May ends up getting lost and hurt before a Contest, Drew has the chance to pay back the favor. And maybe find that some things are more important than ribbons.

Oneshots:

What Matters Most - 6k It's Ash's first chance to win a League championship, but when it comes to the final match, Pikachu is feeling worse and worse. Oneshot. Friendship. Ash & Pikachu

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warpedsenseofmercy · 1 year

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I'm sitting in a hotel in Oklahoma City. My best friends, my brother and sister, are sleeping in the adjacent room of the suite, separated by a tiny kitchenette and bathroom from my equally tiny living space with a fold-out couch. They're both snoring, one with the almost comical perfection of sawing logs, the other with quiet breathy inhalations. They harmonize, the breaths a half-beat after the saw. I'm the most comfortable I've been in months, maybe years. These two people love me as only found family can, and I'm comforted by the sounds of their comfort.

Today was a journey. I woke to a quiet house, a rarity. I let the quiet wrap me in a state of ignorance. My house isn't quiet, especially on a Saturday morning. There are dogs and a teenager, and my parents who are early risers despite their protests against the notion. I realize that my dad slipped out to work before I woke, or his leaving is what woke me. Mom is still behind a closed door, presumed asleep with all the dogs draped across the empty side of the bed as only large dogs can drape. My kid won't make an appearance until noon, as any normal 15-year-old would.

I watch the clock tick away the minutes. I cuddle my cat until she's annoyed, and then continue to annoy her. She's hungry and insistent, but I'm warm and the knots in my back aren't making their presence known just yet. My room is dark and I feign ignorance of the rising sun.

My brother texts me. "Good morning. I love you." Same message every morning for months, yet it always makes me smile. I don't admit to myself how much that daily greeting means to me. I read, and ignore the clock.

I'm supposed to go over and do laundry. Our dryer broke and they immediately offered theirs. I let the offer, the love behind it, sit in my chest for a moment. We're leaving for Oklahoma today, and I need clean clothes, and my emotions bash against the walls I've very carefully constructed. I decide to let myself be loved, and load a suitcase with dirty clothes. I text that I'll be human enough for contact after a cup of coffee, and my brother tells me he's on his way to pick me up in exactly the time allotted.

Today is the day Bobby died. Today is especially hard, but this whole week has been hard. Bobby was my brother's best friend, oldest friend - that rare gem of a person who lived so brightly, his light blessed everyone it touched. I remember him in flashes, in emotion rather than scenario, in stories. He liked me, I think. I hope.

We're going to his grave tomorrow. This trip is a memorial, and I don't know how to comfort my friends. I love him because I love them. Because he loved them, and they loved him.

Tomorrow I'll get my "good morning. I love you" in person, and it feels strange to anticipate it. I don't know what to say when we stand near his grave. I don't know how to comfort those I love the most. The thought has me staring at a computer screen, whiskey bottle near. I hate not knowing what to do, what to say, how to be the person someone needs or wants me to be.

I think of the graves I've stood near, people I loved and lost, and the graves I'll never visit.

Today was hard.

Tomorrow will be harder. And all I can do is love the people sleeping in the adjacent room, sawing logs and breathing in harmony. And hope that love is enough.

#my writing

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guideoftime · 1 year

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❝ every time you smile at me, i memorize it. i remember each moment that i get to be the one to bring out that light inside you. no matter what happens between us, that’s what i’ll remember. ❞

@sapientiiae

"You talk like I'm about to abandon you or something." Sheik muttered under his breath, glancing a bit worriedly over at her before looking away again. They're in Impa's house, he has a hard time thinking of it as his house with her gone. Sheik's dressed down, a simple pair of Hylian trousers and a blue shirt with the Eye of Truth on it. His hair's in a bun, pinned up to keep it out of the way, and he was working away at the stove.

Cooking was easy. In his first life Impa often left him to his own devices to figure out food, and in his second she wasn't even around being in the Shadow Temple. So he learned to cook early on, in both lifetimes, to take care of himself. It became a soft of comforting thing for him, something he did that eased the tension in his body and heart. Something he had confidence in.

He doesn't normally cook for company.

His back is to the Princess as he works. She wanted to help so he gave her the easiest task he could think of, setting the table. Cleaning up a little bit and finding the table so he could bring the food there. She talked while she did it, something that was--rather endearing, helpful. It keeps the silence away, and though Sheik doesn't mind silence, in the quiet his mind has a way of wandering on it's own. So her chatter helps, in a way, to keep his head quiet.

He'd gone fishing the day before and needed to cook the fish before it went bad, so he had them in the oven while he made rice on the stove with a sauce to pour over the dish. There was broccoli steaming on the other burner to add some vegtable to it, and a pot of tea was already finished, taken to the table by the Princess.

If he had been alone, he probably would have eaten half a fish and a third a cup of rice. His habits aren't healthy, but they're enough to keep him going.

The rice finished and he moved the pan from the stove, putting out the burner and transfering it to a bowl. He added the rice on top of it and placed a holder beneath it, passing the bowl over toward the Princess to place on the table. Once she had it he turned back to the stove and removed the rest of the dishes from it, carefully adding them to different bowls to be carried to the table.

When he has the fish finally he takes it over himself, placing on her plate and the other on his own.

"You over think a lot. Worry a lot. Don't let so much of it get to you. I haven't gone anywhere yet, and I haven't turned you away either. You're thinking to far into the future, and I've lived that. Always having to think ahead to prevent the worst from happening. You get so lost in the future, that you miss what's in front of you. What's in the moment."

Memorizing his face so that she doesn't forget it if something happens? He knows she means it to be endearing, he doesn't want her to think she has to do that because she might not get the chance again. It's a weird angle of her words to take, he knows, and yet it's how he felt.

Sheik will never lie. To her or anyone else. And she wants him honest with his feelings. As few of them as she gets to see.

"Είσαι σημαντικός για μένα. No matter what happens, what you think will happen, I will stand by your side. Not just out of a sense of duty, but because I choose to be. You want to know how you can be sure of that?" He picks his gaze up from her's to glance around the room. The house, the dressed down appearence, the dinner on the table. His gaze falls to her's again. "You wouldn't find me here when you came to visit. I wouldn't cook for you. You wouldn't have a key to the house."

He turns away and pulls out a chair, taking a seat at the table. "They're small things." Little tells. "I don't exactly do grand gestures of--" affection? Care? Love? "Emotions."

#sapientiiae #▴ — sapientiiae — 「my harp for you」 zelda & sheik.#▴ — path / guide of time #▴ — the eye of truth / asks.#( “You're important to me” )

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ofsootandsmoke · 6 months

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Sometimes, you remember all the things you did.

They are immortalized everywhere you look, and every piece is clicking into place like a puzzle you've been trying hard to figure out for months; and then, in a single moment, it's all there, and you can only be overwhelmed at the sight of it all, but you can't unsee it. The images won't go away, and someone keeps pressing rewind and play and rewind and play and rewind and play and rewind and play over and over and over and over again until you go mad. That much repetition isn't healthy, you know, and especially not of a sight that leaves you feeling everything you'd rather forget.

It's quite easy for a person to go insane. Trust me, I've done it quite a few times in my life— there's nothing easier than being tormented by the thoughts in your own brain and losing your sanity over it. No matter how much you recover, you can never really get back what you lost, forever only finding makeshifts to hold yourself together until that breaks, too. Once you lose yourself, you can never get that back. You can build yourself up into something new, but whatever you were and whoever you were will never be the same. Remember that, will you? I'm not sure in what situation that could be helpful, but it wouldn't hurt to keep it in mind. Maybe if I'd known that sooner, I wouldn't have been so careless with myself.

I wonder if any of this makes any sense to someone who still has their full sanity intact. Do my ramblings make any sense to you? Can you decipher things I put between the lines and hide in my meanings? Can you make sense of the thousands of things I've written with shaking hands and a heavy heart and an aching skull? Or is it all beyond comprehension at this point, my writings just as senseless and eccentric as I often am? Do I even have a reason to write anymore? I suppose I do. I never wrote to be understood; I wrote to convey what was going on in my head. If my sentences are senseless, then I guess I am still doing what I've always intended. Even if I make no sense, you can gauge what type of mindset I'm in. No sane man writes this much in this little time with this many run ons and commas and metaphors.

I often think about that one ask. How do you process grief? And I think, "I don't." I don't process it, but it still catches up to me on a sunny day in the middle of the street regardless. Or, currently, on a quiet night in my bed. It torments me, but don't ask what "it" is. Grief. Guilt. Sorrow. Regret. Anything that is similar to those things or is a synonym. Pain. It doesn't hold me tightly and twist my arms back and break my bones; it doesn't touch me at all. It whispers, soft and delicate, yet it feels like a million people shouting all at once. My sorrow is softer than a falling flower petal, and simultaneously, it is harsher than the strongest bomb in existence. The grief I feel could destroy nations (and it already has).

I know I make no sense. Let me be incomprehensible for a little while, but please stick around for when I come to again, even if it takes a while. My brain moves faster, so it won't take too long, I promise. Maybe for me, it takes thirteen and a half years to gather myself. Maybe for you, it takes six months to watch me piece myself back together and sew up my broken edges. It is always easier to be the viewer than the actor, and I've always been quite a character, haven't I?

As with any good character, the show must go on, I suppose. The curtains were called, and they claimed the end, but I called bullshit and tore the curtains down.

Do not clap for me; this is not my finale. There is far more to come. You just have to stay for the second act.

#wilbur's rants #insanity ramblings #severely

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random-mha-thoughts · 2 years

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Burn (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: You've been going through a personal situation with someone, Bakugou makes a suggestion to help you feel better about it.

Word Count: 1978

Warnings: Broken relationships, burning things, DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME WITHOUT PROPER SAFETY PRECAUTIONS

Tags: @theyenvymarleyyy @yamichxn @liviitehe

A/N: So... I'm back with another story... I've been going through some stuff since winter and this was the best way I could vent some of my feelings out, so just let me have this please. I wrote it in like January and stepped away from it for months so I could edit it without being in that same emotional mindset, so I hope you guys enjoy it still!

"Babe, what are you doing?"

I hear his shuffling footsteps behind me as I'm rolling a small lump of dough in my hands. For a moment, I wince because I already know I'm going to get a lecture and Bakugo likes to get his full 9 hours of sleep like a responsible person. But I don't look at him, instead choosing to concentrate on getting just the right amount of dough into my hands. "I'm baking cookies," I answer simply.

He groans. "It's 4 in the morning, why the HELL are you baking cookies?"

I hesitate placing the balled dough on my kitchen scale for a beat before returning to my rhythm. There are so many ways to answer that question, many of them would worry him. Hell, they worry me. So many answers that would require an unraveling of complex emotions that I'd rather not think about, nor would I prefer to visit right now because I don't feel like crying in the middle of the kitchen at this time of night. But at the same time, the fact that I am making cookies at a nocturnal time is cause for worry.

It means it's getting bad. Again.

I sigh, plopping the neatly rolled up ball onto the baking sheet next to me. "Because I've lost control of my life." That's not a bad way to start, I guess.

Bakugou groans again - I can already see his head thrown back exasperatedly even with my back to him - and he approaches my workstation. His annoyed gaze darts between the bowl of cookie dough, the parchment paper lined kitchen scale, and the baking sheet. He studies me, crimson eyes narrowed in light disappointment. I don't even laugh nervously as I usually would. He sighs and turns to wash his hands. I continue portioning the dough out carefully, Bakugou taking his place next to me and helping me.

We work in silence. I know he's less than enthused about being woken up in the middle of his beauty sleep to do something like baking, but I'm pleased that he doesn't ask questions (yet).

Once the cookies are in the oven baking, we set the timer and Bakugou slides them in the oven before turning to me arms crossed. "So, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

Standing across from him, I needed to hold onto the cool countertop for support. I've been wondering how to tell him for a while. This argument I had with someone else had nothing to do with him, but he's the closest person to me. He deserves to know at least what's going on, I just didn't know how much I should tell him. There was a chance he'd think differently of me, knowing I have some ugly thoughts.

"Come on." His tone softens. "For the past few weeks, you've been more quiet, less talkative, you're spacing out more, you're doing some weird new things," he motions to the dirty dishes on the counter, "And Sundays are your designated going-out days but you've been skipping them. What's going on?"

I look down at the floor. "I've... just had a lot on my mind lately." It's not a complete lie.

"Obviously, it's something you're not telling me. I know you're not being totally honest. Spit it out."

The line about being honest triggers a wave of memories, sending a wave of melancholy chaos so brutal I slide down to the cold floor to stabilize myself, curling up into a ball. A fresh wave of sobs threatens to come out as I cover my mouth.

"W-Oh sh- Babe, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's fine," I manage out shakily, my voice already higher and cracking. "I needed to tell you sometime and I've been neglecting you, I'm sorry." I motion for him to sit next to me, swallowing the rock in my throat.

I tell him everything. Every detail of my slow burn argument that lasted almost a whole week, starting from inciting events weeks ago to the climactic end last week. All my regrets, my mistakes, my anger, my insults, my self-doubt, my regrets, all the unspoken words I've kept to myself. Everything rushed out of me to the point where I was sobbing and shaking, Bakugou cradling me in his arms. I thought I would've been able to handle it, pushing it down for me to handle and process later, but later never came because I was trying to delay facing them. My fear of showing him the innermost darkest and broken parts of me that I thought would push him away. I realize I'm more of a mess than I thought I was; I let it build up by myself until I became a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor.

Katsuki stays silent, running his warm hands up and down my back and listening to everything I had to say, even if they weren't exactly coherent from the sobs.

"I knew something was wrong when you suddenly stopped going out and never told me anything." He pauses thoughtfully. "It must be hard to deal with mean thoughts since you're the nicest person I've met, but having them every once in a while doesn't suddenly make you a villain or something. They just come from feeling something, it's just human nature." He pulls back to look at me and wipe the tear trails off my face. "I still love you. I'm here for you, I won't leave just because you want to insult someone who hurt you. I think it's pretty hot, actually."

I manage a giggle, another tear falling. "Of course you would think that."

He wipes it away with the pad of his finger and smiles at me. "You're my superhero. I'm sorry you're feeling this way. I'll do anything I can to help you through this, if you'll let me. I know how hard it was to tell me."

I huddle against his chest, sitting between his legs to catch as much warmth as I can by hugging his arm over me. "You know, I didn't want to think about my feelings for so long. I wanted to ignore them as much as I could because I thought they were bad. I thought ignoring them meant being able to move on. I ran away from them until I was baking cookies at 4 am just to distract myself. I just... want to face them and be done with them."

"So burn 'em."

I stop tracing the back of his hand. "What?"

"Burn them. Y'know, like how spies burn important documents that they don't want other people finding."

I stare at him blankly. "What are you trying to say?"

Katsuki sighs. "You're the kind of person who needs to get things off your chest or it'll eat you alive. I know you still have a lot to say that you can't tell me, so just write what you feel. No sugarcoating. Exactly how you want to say them. And then, once it's out of your system," he snaps his fingers and creates a mini explosion for effect, "Burn it. No one else has to know."

The idea sounds perfect. I can be completely honest to myself, no matter how childish or insulting I will probably sound. And maybe some of my anger will be quelled by some form of destruction, I guess.

"You're doing the burning though, since you're so used to it."

A week later, Katsuki and I stood outside in our concrete backyard in the dark night. There was no wind to bother the fire or make a sound. I huddle close to him, looking at the inked looseleaf in my hand.

The night I wrote these words, I was angry and vulnerable. Hesitant to start at first, I could stop myself after the first sentence. My thoughts barely echoed in my mind as they were reproduced on paper. The experience was in a limbo between autopilot robotic reproduction and furious out-of-body possession. The only thing I vaguely remember is how rhythmic the words flowed out of me and the red-tinted vision of me screaming them out into an abyss without consequence. I couldn't even recall anything I'd written, despite the same insults dangling behind my tongue for days. I felt lighter, freed, but afraid of what I might've said. I tucked the paper away without reading it for days.

It wasn't until a few hours earlier that I decided to revisit them. The person's voice was furious, almost like they were never allowed to speak before, but now they had free reign. This person was a prisoner standing on their field to be executed and desperate to have their last words heard before they croaked. Honestly, I would've been repulsed, only pitying them for their terrible decisions and upbringing that led them here. But these were mine. I'm the villain who had to take accountability.

I wish I could say I didn't mean them, but I wrote them, my intent is obvious. At least I can say I'm not proud of them. I said what I needed to say, now no one needs to see them. I'm going to let that side of me go.

Katsuki takes the paper from my hand. "Not gonna lie, this would be the first time I've intentionally set fire to something."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're telling me you've never tried to set fire to something before?"

He opens his mouth to object, but then closes it. "Okay, stupid drunk things don't count, I was under the influence." He takes a breath. "You ready?"

I nod, bracing myself.

The bottom of the paper erupts into a single brilliant flame, sending my heart into a frenzy at my instant danger reflex. My body tenses being this close to fire, but I relax as I focus on the bigger, beautiful picture. A weak halo surrounding us and illuminating the pavement, the spotless paper being consumed quickly, the flames ascending up and leaving charr in its place, the gradient of a blue base bleeding into blinding yellow and white outlined by an orange border. I watch as my messily scrawled words disappear like a dark curtain sweeping across it, rendering it useless as only the smell of smoke and ash take its place.

I embrace his free arm. Words wouldn't be enough to describe how grateful I am for him standing by me this entire time, supporting me, being available for me to open up to him, being my safe space, witnessing this with me.

The timeless moment bitterly ends as the last of the paper chars to black, the flame fizzling out into blue until only dark grey smoke remains in the darkness. I follow the trail up into the night sky as if hoping to catch a glimpse of my words flying away.

"You okay babe?" Katsuki whispers, not wanting to disturb the stillness.

I let my body relax. My chest feels strangely lighter but filled with a newfound relief. Is this what spiritual cleansing feels like? The darkness around me is almost dreamlike. "Yeah," I breathe, allowing myself a moment to come back down. "I feel much better."

"And now you understand the joy of setting things on fire." I can hear his smirk.

The punch I want to land on his face turns into a light tap on his arm as I snuggle closer to him. "Thank you for this."

Katsuki plants a kiss on top of my forehead and his arm engulfs around me. "It's the least I can do to help."

As we finally drag ourselves inside, I imagine the paper that's just burned in front of me, the inked words on it already forgotten. I'm satisfied with letting them go, knowing they can't hurt anyone else and I wasn't attached to them enough to be sad.

Whatever I wrote will be a secret even I don't know and what I set free.

#bakugou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou angst #hurt/comfort #gender neutral reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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shotorozu · 3 years

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hello !! I'd rlly like to request Monoma if that's alright! I've had a huge soft spot for him for a while now and I'd love to see more content of him ;v;

anyway! we all know that superiority complex of his is definitely hiding some insecurities, but I also feel like he'd be quite touchstarved too bc of his peers seldom physically interacting with him due to his quirk, yknow?

with that in mind, I'd love to see how he'd handle an s/o who has "physical touch" as their main love language. they can give verbal praise/comfort, but they always get so shy abt it that they prefer giving physical affection to show their love. and maybe combining that with "quality time" being their second love language, they love to just cuddle him or toy with his hands/hair during quiet moments uwu

if you wanna do multiple characters, I'd love to request Shinsou, Midoriya, and Amajiki (separately) for the same idea, but if you'd rather do this with just Monoma then I'm okay with that !! no worries if you don't wanna do all four ♡

thank you if you do this request, and make sure to take care of yourself !! ♡

physically affectionate s/o

character(s) : monoma neito, shinsou hitoshi, midoriya izuku (i cut out tamaki for this one, sorry :[ but i’ll do another part if anyone wants it)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, strong quirk but the details aren’t specific, reader is a part of 1-A

headcanon type : fluff (and if you squint, then crack)

note(s) : yes i do agree :,) monoma should be getting a little bit more content, and i’m sorry that this came out so late! i was multitasking with other requests (because i took a 2 day absence,,) but this doesn’t mean i don’t read people’s requests

»»————-　♡　————-««

monoma neito

monoma 🤝 bakugou “the pros at sending mixed signals”

if there’s one thing he’s known for— then it’s for the persistent teasing, and his quite obnoxious attitude (especially at 1-A)

but he’s not a terrible person, he sure does have his reasons. and by now, people either choose to ignore him, or they simply knock the wind out of him

so, he was not prepared to encounter someone that was tolerant of him, AND also his type— like.. huh. that’s.. odd

and he was even more surprised when they accepted his wild love confession. there must be some catch to it, right?

so like i’ve said— monoma sends a lot of mixed signals. it’s either he’s complimenting your existence, or teasing you in various ways.

so— it’s just another normal day of monoma mouthing off to you, teasing you in a playful way, while you guys are hanging out this is way of making you remember him

but then, you just.. leaned forward and placed your hand on his head— not exchanging any words at all.

monoma’s first reaction is (・・?) because what?? someone is touching him right now.. wait.. someone is touching him!

honestly really shook, and at a lost for words— because everyone has refrained from coming into any physical contact with him? what a surprise! what even is this?

after said incident, you decide to speak “you had something in your hair.” and for once, monoma is the one that’s sitting in silence

“R-REALLY, Y/N? DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT WAS GOING TO W-WORK ON ME OR SOMETHING?” he questions in his usual mocking tone, but his cheeks are accompanied in a flushed red

he’d only experience field day when he realized that touch was basically your love language, with quality time in the second lead

so whenever you guys are spending time together, you’d,, actually go closer to him! this has never happened before, let him be

he doesn’t really like the idea of getting his hair touched, so you usually choose to fiddle with his hands— sometimes observing his details, and other times you’ll be comparing hand sizes

he’ll ridicule you for being so touchy— but he’ll ask if he’s “that irresistable?” while also moving you closer to him. he loves it a lot, okay?

don’t let class 1-b see this, he will flex on them because when he starts getting annoying again, they’ll use you as blackmail.

“monoma, i swear— if you do that, we’ll tell Y/N-”

“HAHA— ok, i’m sorry.”

shinsou hitoshi

he probably has the most chill reaction out of the bunch

again— another person that has been antagonized because of their quirk. he’s been perceived as villanious ever since his middle school days

kids have been told to keep their distance away from him at a young age so.. you’d bet that he’d be really touch starved

he never had any serious experiences with dating, and he never had any real friends— that weren’t cautious of his quirk

that was until he met you, which he just assumed you were another highkey stuck up person in the hero course

but, you were basically the opposite, and you were a real pleasure to have around. one thing lead to another, and now you guys are dating

he thought it was really cute whenever you got too shy to just sit in silence during dates, or to even give out words of affirmations

but hitoshi was surprised at first when he felt you pull yourself closer to him— resting your head on his shoulder. the concept of someone wanting to be in his presence is still sinking in for him

lucky for you! shinsou knows how to adapt to situations quickly, immediately slinging an arm around your shoulder, as he listens to you talk

he’ll be surprised when you start touching his hair, because golly!! are you guys close

but do it more pls, he loves it a lot— it sometimes makes him really drowsy.

if you play with his hands omg, his heart will do somersaults. he’s lucky that he’s able to keep himself composed.

loves watching you choosing to cuddle him, after briefly giving up on trying to form coherent words of affirmations.

it’s something he brings up quite often, but not in a teasing manner!

sometimes he’ll pat the free spot beside him, basically begging you to come closer to him.

eventually, denki notices on how touchy he’ll get whenever you’re around— but hitoshi will just shrug it off

“it’s always been that way.” he simply says, but he’ll turn around with this big ass grin on his face 💀

he’s whipped for your touch. so please, do it more

midoriya izuku

he’s also touchstarved. actually, all of them are really touchstarved, and for different reasons 💀

well.. it’s not like he had a choice from the getgo. he was born quirkless, and that lead to him becoming an outcase— and also the victim of bullying i wanna hug him

and being told constantly that he won’t ever be enough, or he won’t ever be a hero— it’s obvious that he doesn’t have any dating experience

but he didn’t think he’d be dating anytime soon— especially since he was ‘just’ pinning over you. he was convinced it was going nowhere

until you confessed. he’s surprised that he didn’t pass out

ever since you guys started dating, he noticed that you’ve been a little timid— not in the way that you feel awkward, more like,, you wanted to say something

or do something, because when you guys were studying together, you just suddenly sat closer to him— and started counting his freckles

he short circuited for a second.

he was reduced to a stuttering, and blushy mess— and you just laughed, telling him “you should continue what you’re doing!” as you ran your other hand across his shoulders

that night, he was wide awake in his bed— recalling your gentle and loving touch, running his hands along the parts of his hair, that you’ve touched

he loves quality time, because while he does like to ramble a lot— he does enjoy spending time with you in silence, but it’s the touches that makes him flustered

despite him being quite shy to initiate any sort of touch, you— on the other hand, were shy with saying praises. so you coped with physical touch, and quality time

man, izuku never gets used to it. no matter how much he tries to— he’s just.. needy, touchstarved.

he doesn’t realize how lost he looks when you’re sitting beside him, and not touching his hair or hands for once. please feel free to do so

oh, and since we’re on the topic of hands— he’ll tear up if you start playing/fiddling with his hands, and especially when you start tracing his scars. it makes him feel so warm.

okay but,, please give him a heads up if you’re going to act touchy in public. he’ll start stammering and blushing hard you might have to put him in rice or smth

the dekusquad talks about that quite a lot, especially when they accidentally witnessed it in the common room (for the first time)

in short— he adores it. sometimes he’ll initiate it, by asking you if you want to sit beside him, to play with his hair. he’s so inlove

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei. i only own the writing, and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or use my works for audio readings without my permission :))

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dokoni-mo · 3 years

Text

She Truly Was || Muzan Kibustsuji x F!Reader

Summary: Enmu helps Muzan remember you.

SFW // Fluff with small amounts of Angst

Word Count: 4626

WARNINGS: *slight Mugen Train spoilers*, slight mentions of implied sexual activity, obsessive(?) behavior, Muzan is soft for one person only, some angst, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, I also barely proofread this lol

A/N: I've had this in my head for a while and decided to write it down. This is largely just a compilation of scenarios I made in my head to fall asleep at night when I was stressing over exams and stuff, all loosely thrown together with a plot. This is my first time writing for demon slayer, so please be patient! I also am basing a lot of my info about the characters on s1 of the anime, some of the manga, and the wiki. I apologize if something isn't accurate. tldr; I just think he's neat.

Despite having lived through thousands of years with hundreds of stormy nights in the midst, Muzan Kibutsuji never learned to appreciate them.

Something about nights like those in Japan just never sat right with the demon. It wasn't that they were too dreary, not at all. Life as a demon was plenty dreary. On the other hand, it wasn't that they were to lively either. No one ever went out on stormy nights; demon or not. Perhaps it was just because the rain was another reminder of the singularity that was being a demon. The poignant pitter patter just seemed to have a way of whispering to whoever heard it, telling them the most unpleasant yet quiet truths of their lives.

After Muzan's bloody meeting with the lower moons, he had told Enmu his task Muzan had planned for the pitiful, weaker demon. Although he had doubts that Enmu could hear him over the sound of the weaker demon's screams of pain from the blood he gave, Muzan was pleasantly surprised when Enmu understood the orders the first time around. Seeing as though it would cause trouble if the lower moon started to go around bragging about his newfound power and job, Muzan decided it would be best to keep a crimson eye on the demon.

This is what led to the scene before Muzan now.

Muzan had taken Enmu back to one of his many properties scattered across Japan, this one being tucked away in a lush, quiet forest in the middle of seemingly nowhere. The lower moon had not said a word throughout the entire journey there, and still refused to say anything now. Most likely out of fear.

Although it had been a long day of wrangling the lesser worms he called pawns (or "moons" if he was generous), Muzan did not want to show any weakness towards Enmu by resting. To busy himself, Muzan decided to do the tedious work the humans have him do in the job he took to please his human wife.

That insufferable woman.

With his bowler hat placed on his desk, Muzan had taken a seat in his large, leather chair, ordering Enmu to stand at the edge of the desk and face the opposite way. And, for extra edge, he was not to say or do anything.

It had been about two hours since then. The room was filled with only the sounds of Muzan's writing and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Although he ordered it to be that way, Muzan was already sick of it.

Peering his red eyes up from the papers scrawled below him, Muzan fixated his bone-chilling gaze upon the back of Enmu's head. Muzan could see the corners of the lower moon's mouth turned upwards as he faced the wall, presenting himself with an expression of dumb content.

Freak.

Enmu was definately a curious specimen. So eager to die, yet so eager to please Muzan. The demon lord would have been confused if he were not who he was.

Perhaps it was his own boredom setting in, perhaps it was because he wanted to feed his already gargantuan ego, or perhaps it was just because he was tired, Muzan decided to speak up.

"Tell me," Muzan said, his deep, smooth voice making Enmu perk up slightly, "Why is it that are you so loyal to me?"

Enmu took this as an opportunity to finally move, but not without some caution. The lower demon only turned his neck towards Muzan, along with a tilt of his shoulder. Muzan noted the disobedience of orders, but decided to let it slide this time.

The rain must have told him to be generous that night.

"Why, Master Kibustsuji," Enmu said, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, "It is because I am so delighted to be in your presence, and have my power be of service to you."

The demon lord felt his jaw clench at this, his red eyes peering up at the lower moon from under his abyssal lashes. Although Enmu had an... odd, way of putting things, Muzan always did like it when someone stroked his ego, even if all they ever said was the same banter over and over again. He was nearly perfection, afterall.

Muzan sat quietly and pondered Enmu's response for a second, before formulating his own.

"Your power, as you put it," Muzan said, his voice firm, "What is it?"

Enmu's grin widened, "Dream Manipulation, Master. I can enter, manipulate, or control anyone's dreams however I want to. I can use it to kill from the inside, eating a person spirit first and body second. I can also put people to sleep."

Muzan wasn't necessarily impressed by this, but he wasn't disappointed either. An ordinary power, really. Nothing that could ever rival his own.

However...

Muzan's gaze flickered down to the surface of his desk. A flicker of a long lost yet not forgotten feeling bubbled deep inside of his being. A mere spark of light, really, a piece of warmth he felt from long ago, lost to the wayside by the vestiges of time.

It was something Muzan thought he would never experience again.

Dream manipulation, huh?

It might be worth a try.

Muzan looked back up to Enmu, sharpening his gaze, "Tell me, are you able to give... pleasant dreams?"

Enmu was surprised to hear this come from Muzan to say the absolute least. He took this as another opportunity to disobey orders and turn to Muzan again, this time fully and whole-heartedly. The lower moon looked right into those blood red eyes, looking for any sign of a rare flicker of humor or joking.

Muzan's gaze was serious, poised as ever.

Muzan was being for real.

Taking a pause to swallow, Enmu allowed his soft smirk to return to his gray, pale face.

"Why," the lower moon retorted, "I can, Master, yes."

Muzan eyed the lesser demon for a good second at his response.

This move was risky. It could damage his image. Yet, if he was to do this with any of his pawns, he would do it with Enmu. Enmu seemed to have no intent on harming Muzan or his image in any way; he was far too loyal for that.

Besides, if someone were to question the might of Muzan, he could just prove them wrong.

Muzan leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and lacing his fingers together, wrapping them around his knee. His icy gaze still on Enmu, he spoke again.

"I wish to see a pleasant dream."

Muzan nearly rolled his eyes when he saw just how wide Enmu's grin had gotten and just how flushed his face got.

It was repulsive.

But, if it meant what Muzan thought it would mean...

It was worth stomaching.

After a breif moment used to compose himself, Enmu's smile faded to normal again. He pulled up the sleeves to his coat.

"I will give you a dream where you will experience the happiest days of your life over again, Master Kibutsuji," the lower moon stated, "Is this to your liking or would you prefer something else?"

"No," Muzan stated flatly, "That is fine."

Perfect, even.

Enmu smiled widely one last time, holding out his arm and pointing it at the demon lord.

"Sweet dreams, my lord." Was the last thing Muzan heard before falling into a deep, deep sleep.

"Muzan..."

Despite his blood demon art being so much weaker than his, Muzan wasn't quite ready for just how Enmu put him into a dream like that. Muzan's headache had grown ten-fold now, and he could feel that his face was scrunched.

"Muzan..."

Slowly but surely regaining his full consciousness, Muzan could first feel that he was in different clothes than what he had been wearing before. These ones were lighter, softer, and much more airy than his normal suit. Squinting open his crimson eyes, he saw that he was in what appeared to be a long, dark, flowing kimono.

The second thing Muzan could feel was that it was rather cool where he was, and that he appeared to be lying on the ground. Sifting his weight slowly, he could then feel that his head was lain upon what felt like two soft, plush pillows firmly squished together.

The third thing, however, took him a little longer to discern quite that it was. At first, he thought it was a pair of chopsticks running across his scalp over and over again. Upon, further thought, however, Muzan was further snapped back into awareness.

Those were not chopsticks.

Those were fingers.

All too familiar fingers.

"Muzan..!"

Muzan felt a stir deep down inside of him. He recognized this feeling, this touch, this warmth. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this. How long was it again? It had to be an eternity ago. An eternity wrapped within all time time in the world.

Muzan was speechless. Muzan couldn't move. Muzan was struck from deep within, and nothing in the world could ever compare to its blow.

"Muzan!"

Although the calling of the demon's lord name had been going on for some time now, he was just now able to respond.

Tilting his chin upwards towards the voice's source, Muzan nearly fell to bits right then and there. If he was someone else, he would have wept deep, earnest tears at the very sight of the being above him. For everything and nothing surrounded him as he studied the bright, radiant face above him, and nothing else seemed to exist other than that smile.

Other than her.

Her.

Oh, her, her, her.

His beloved. His sun, moon and stars. The ground beneath his feet and the air around him. His joy and love, his woes and sorrow. His fears and excitement. His warmth and his cold.

You.

You were really here.

"I was wondering if you were ever gonna wake up," you said, a faint laugh behind your voice, "You were out for so long!"

This scene was all too familiar to Muzan. He had replayed it in his head countless times, as if it were the only record left in the world.

He knew what this day was, and he knew all of your lines.

How could he ever forget?

Every moment he had ever spent with you had been a blessing.

Right now, his head was cradled in your lap, your soft, delicate fingers combing through his hair oh so gently as he had slept. It was deep into the night, and ordinarily Muzan would not be sleeping at this time. However, your touch was just so relaxing to him.

Everything about you was.

Today, you and him had spent the night wandering through the garden of your home together, chatting about anything and everything. It was only about two months into your relationship with Muzan. Muzan had first come to your home with the intention of eating everyone within the residence, but once he saw your face, watched you, saw your heart, your spirit, your you, he just couldn't.

He just...

couldn't.

You were human, yes.

But Muzan didn't care.

He was in love with you.

Muzan had yet to tell you the truth about him, however.

But that could come later.

"Muzan, are you alright?" He heard your voice echo again, snapping him out of his trance. He saw your face painted with worry, making his own features soften.

His darling angel. If only you knew just how much it pained him to see you with anything other than a smile.

Muzan reached his hand upwards, steadily maneuvering his fingers to brush your hair behind your ear and cup your warm cheek. He was shocked at how real you felt, shocked at just how similar it felt to all those years ago.

Perhaps Muzan had to give Enmu a reward.

The demon lord caressed your cheek gingerly with his cold, calloused thumb, savoring in just how warm your flesh was compared to his. For the first time in what felt like eons, Muzan felt a smile adorn his handsome features. Not one put on just to appease the humans around him, but genuine. The type of smile only you got to see.

Only you.

"I'm more than alright, my darling." He responded, his voice soft and warm, without the normal venom he gives to his subordinates. A voice reserved restrictively for you.

Finally, you let a soft grin come over your heavenly face again, making all seven of Muzan's hearts swell.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," you said, "But it's about to be dawn soon. I don't want you to get a burn, so let's go in the house again, okay?"

Ah yes, the lie Muzan told you. He, of course, couldn't be with you in the sunlight (as much as he wanted to). So he had told you that he had a rare disorder that made him extra prone to sunburns and heatstroke.

Just something to keep you safe from the truth.

His soft smile still adorning his features, Muzan gave you a nod as he slid his head off of your lap. Since you were on your knees, you were quicker to stand than him. Brushing off your kimono quickly, you offered one of your hands to Muzan to help him stand, of which he gladly took. He had long since forgotted just how perfectly your hand fit into his, along with how radiant your kimono made you look.

Once he was back on his feet, Muzan couldn't help but to hold your arms, holding you a few feet away from him to simply admire you for a moment, his crimson eyes doing laps around your face and body.

You were perfect to him.

Every single thing about you was without flaw in his eyes. Not one curve of your body was too shallow or too wide. Not one strand of your hair was misplaced or without poise. Not one feature on your face took away from your radiant beauty. And you had not one bad bone inside of your body.

Muzan was never one to believe in angels.

However, if anyone in any part of the world were to tell him that you were one of them, straight from the heavens themselves,

He would believe them.

As soon as Muzan stepped through the door, his hand in your own, the scene before him changed in one giant, peaceful flash of white light.

Before him now was no longer the house that he had shared with you all those years ago. Now, in its place, was a beautiful, lush springtime garden, all dredged under the cover of the night. It was not devoid of light, however. There were a few lanterns afloat in the water of the stream, as well as some within the structure of the small bridge that went over top of it. Flowers adorned every nook and cranny of the space, and the occasional insect or bird would make a brief appearance.

A small slice of paradise, just for you and Muzan Kibutsuji.

Fearing that you were no longer by his side, Muzan turned his head. His fears were quickly subsided when he saw you there next to him. Your delicate hands were placed on the railing of the bridge, and your eyes were fixated on the calm water below, almost as if it were a window into the heavens above. There was a small smile plastered on your face, and the delicate lights illuminated each of your features so perfectly.

Muzan knew this night.

This was the night he told you the truth.

The truth about him, about his "condition", about where he went for days on end, about why he couldn't walk with you in the sun, about everything.

This was the one night Muzan had ever felt fear.

"Is it really true, Muzan?" You asked, your gaze still fixated on the water below, "Are you really a demon?"

Muzan felt his lips part in small surprise. Even though he had replayed this night time and time again in his mind, it felt as if this were all happening for the first time over again.

Enmu really was good at this.

Muzan wet his lips before responding, setting his gaze on your precious, beautiful face and refusing to move it, "Yes, my love. It is true. I would not lie to you about this, I..."

A pause to collect this thoughts, before he could continue, "I kept it from you to protect you, (Y/N). I did not want any harm to come to you. My darling, I... I love you. My love for you knows no bounds. You are the stars that shine at night, and you are the shining moon above. Each time I look upon you, all I can stand to think of is how deep my love for you runs. I... I need you, (Y/N). I do not wish for you to be frightened of me, my angel. I would never, not ever harm you, nor let any harm come to you."

You still weren't looking at Muzan, yet your smile had yet to falter. Muzan felt a bubble of nervousness in his gut. Although he knew your response to his words already, even thinking of this moment never failed to make his stomach churn. He hoped his words to you were enough. He doubted that he had ever said anything more truthful in his entire life.

After a long pause of silence between the two of you, you closed your eyes and widened your smile. Then, you opened your eyes again, finally turning to face your lover. You looked Muzan right in the eyes, seemingly unfazed that you were standing so dangerously close to the most powerful being alive.

You were so brave.

Your heart was so big.

Muzan felt so overwhelmed.

"Muzan," you said, your cheeks dusting a light pink.

What you said next to him, Muzan could never get out of his head, never forget. No matter how much he tried, he would never not ever forget your words in that moment.

Within that one short, simple phrase, the king of demons fell in love all over again.

"I've always known."

Another flash within his crimson eyes, and the scene had changed again. Nighttime again, of course, but this time within the confines of the bedroom you and Muzan shared. Both you and Muzan were nude, sans the blanket that covered the lower half of your forms. Muzan was on his back, one strong arm wrapped around you, the other cradling the back of his head. Your legs were intertwined with his, and your hair and hands were sprawled out on top of his lean, muscular chest.

Muzan knew this night as well.

It was his most loved night with you, but also his most dreaded.

How cruel fate was.

Stroking your back with the tips of his fingers, Muzan stared up at the ceiling above the two of you. Your body was flush against his, and as warm as ever. He wondered to himself if he was making you cold. If he was, you didn't seem to mind.

After a long period of savoring the silence between you and him, you softly snorted out a cute, soft giggle. This made Muzan angle his chin downward to look at the top of your head.

"What is it?" He questioned.

You giggled again, tilting your head up to look at him. Smiling, you turned your body to lay on top of the demon king, your breasts smushing against his own. Instinctively, Muzan laid his hands on your hips, rubbing small circles into them as he held you in place.

"I just find it funny that even though you profess to have so much stamina, you get tired after only two rounds." You explained to him, a playful mischievousness in your tone and eyes.

Muzan breathed out a smile, reaching up a clawed hand to brush your hair out of your face.

"As I recall it, you were the one complaining it was too much." He quipped back.

You snorted, "As if that ever stopped you before."

The demon let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to give you a kiss on the forehead. Muzan couldn't remember ever laughing so genuinely before you came along. You truly were the light of his life. You filled his days with the sunlight he had long since forgotten, as well with the warmth no other demon could ever have.

He loved you.

He loved you he loved you he loved you.

And he still did.

He watched as you dropped your gaze to his chest, running your fingers along the flesh.

"Muzan..." you said, your voice more serious than before, "I've been thinking a lot lately..."

The demon king hummed, brushing more hair from your face.

"What has been on your mind, my love?" He asked.

You paused for a second before continuing on. Muzan could practically see the gears turning in your head.

"Well, I... I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I've been thinking. I... I really love you, Muzan. You're the only person I can imagine myself being with for the rest of my life. The other day, I was in town, and I saw the cutest family ever with a husband and a wife and two adorable little children, and it made me think..."

You looked up at him again, giving him a soft smile.

"What if we were to have a family of our own?"

Muzan could feel the same sense of joy, love, and pride in his chest as he did this same moment all those years ago. In this moment, he had never felt closer to you before, nor could you recall ever looking more beautiful.

He wanted nothing more than to be a family with you for the rest of eternity.

"Darling, you know what that would mean, correct?" He questioned you. He had told you long before that demons could only have offspring with other demons, for a demon baby would eat its human mother from the inside and kill her. It was gruesome, and had originally made you cringe at the thought. Muzan had thought your reaction was quite cute.

"Yes, yes, I know," you answered, "and I'd be ready for it. Even if I'm a demon, and even if I can never go out in the sun again or live normally ever again, I'd be happy knowing I got to be with you and our baby for the rest of time."

Muzan gave you a smile in return, his long, white fangs flashing in the light of the night. Leaning forward, he kissed you upon your soft, warms lips, gently pulling you closer to him.

This was one of the thousands of reasons why he loved you.

You were always so sweet, so kind and optimistic. He would admit, he did have a soft spot for you and you alone. But he didn't care. You were worth it. You were worth every single piece of money on planet earth. You were worth the sun the moon and the stars, and all the planets here and beyond. You were worth any injury, any heartache, and any trial or tribulation in the world.

The king of the demons unquestionably, unfathomably, undeniably, adored you.

Pulling gently away from the kiss, Muzan looked deep into your eyes, right past your pupils and looked right into your soul, your very being.

"I would want nothing more, my sunlight."

If Muzan could turn back the hands of time, he would have kept you here with him for the rest of everything and beyond.

For he did not know then that was the last kiss you and him would share.

Another flash, and Muzan was no longer greeted with a visage of the past. Much to his dismay, the demon was now greeted with the sight of his office, with a smiling Enmu creepily watching him from across his desk.

What a fucking freakshow.

Taking in a breath of air through his nose, Muzan sat up tall in his chair again, rubbing the bridge of his nose with this thumb and pointer finger.

You were gone again. You were again nothing up a memory, a whisper of a time from the past.

Muzan could hardly bare it.

He had felt you, held you near him.

And just as fast as you came back, you were gone again.

This was a pain almost too hard to bear.

How long was he asleep for? Muzan really didn't care how long it was.

No amount of time with you was enough.

"Did you have the pleasant dream you wished for, Master?" Enmu asked the demon king. The lesser moon was lucky Muzan was in a somewhat good mood that day.

"Yes." Muzan replied simply, closing his eyes to rub them with his thumb, "Excellent work."

Enmu's smile widened at this, his cheeks turning pink again.

"Why, thank you, Master." He responded, his excitement prevalent in his voice.

Enmu really was a special one.

After composing himself again, Muzan scooted his chair forward up to his desk, fixing his gaze back onto his work sprawled out below.

Muzan just wanted to be alone again after that. He had been alone for years now, but he wanted Enmu out of the room. Although he could have easily ordered it to be so, he again did not want to show any weakness to the lower moon.

Christ on a bike. Muzan was so fucking stubborn.

He remembered all the times you nagged him for it.

Oh, what he would give to have you nag him one last time.

After a long bout of silence, the lesser demon decided to speak up again. He turned his head over his shoulder again to Muzan, trying to sound as naieve and innocent as possible.

"Master," Enmu said, "Where is she now?"

Muzan stopped his movements and glared up at Enmu with a venomous glare. How dare he even refer to you. You were so far above him, how dare Enmu even think to invoke your name.

Though Muzan wanted to kill the other demon right on the spot, he decided against it. He still wanted to see how Enmu would do on his mission. Also, Muzan had to admit that he did feel lighter and more generous after his dream with you. And he supposed it was fair that Enmu had his questions.

Feeling nice, Muzan decided to entertain Enmu's question.

Shifting his gaze back to the papers below, Muzan replied.

"Gone." he said, "The night she asked about a family was the last night I saw her alive. The next day, a group of slayers found her and our house. They knew who she was and that she was human, but killed her anyway. All in attempt to get to me. I found her in a pool of her own blood, limp and cold. The slayers died that same night."

Enmu's smile faded at this, his face taking on a look of shock. Closing his lips into a tight line, Enmu looked away, out of a quiet unconscious respect. Everything made so much more sense to Enmu now. Why the demon king was the way he was, his hatred for slayers, his cold-hearted, murderous nature.

It all clicked into place.

"I... I am sorry for your loss, Master." He said, his voice quieter than normal, "She seemed like a lovely woman."

Muzan peered up at the back of Enmu's head. Through his thick, black lashes.

"Yes..." Muzan said.

"She truly was."

#demon slayer #kny fanfic #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kimestsu no yaiba #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader #muzan kibutsuji #muzan kibutsuji x reader

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kushielsmercy · 2 years

Text

Euterpe

This one is for Samukai who asked for some Lambert/Jaskier Meet Ugly using the quote "Are all gods this childish?!" It got a little out of control for what was supposed to be a tiny drabble so you can find the whole thing on A03 as well as under the break.

I've still got room to take a few more prompts, you can find the list here!

It takes Lambert to the count of ten before he realizes that the thudding sound to his right isn’t just another symptom of his pounding migraine.

He hates being poisoned. Give him a good old fashioned stab wound any day, at least those don’t leave you with a mouth so dry you couldn’t give it away for free.

Stab wounds don’t want anything from you either. You’ve just got to live longer than whatever it was that poked you and that’s that. But seeing double halfway through a stew at an unusually hospitable inn? Means someone’s got a plan.

Lambert works through the checklist before he dares open his eyes. Toes are moving just fine and his dick’s still attached (fine, maybe that hadn’t been on the triage list beaten through all the trainee’s heads, but he’s all grown up and can decide his own priorities). It seems like someone had some fun while he was out, he’s bruised to hell, but he only counts one - two, at most - broken ribs so it could be worse. Everything aches but that’s probably a good sign, nothing hurt so bad that it’s given itself up as a lost cause.

He opens his eyes and, seeing no immediate threats, groans. The only thing worse than being held captive is being held captive with company. Was it too much to ask for a little peace and quiet?

The moment the other prisoner notices he’s awake he stops tapping out some complex beat on his thighs and bounds over, grinning.

(Why does Lambert still bother asking for anything?)

“You’re awake! You stopped drooling a couple hours ago and I was getting worried you’d gone and died on me after all. I really wasn’t looking forward to sleeping next to a corpse, you know.”

Lambert has the distinct feeling he’s being lectured, though he doesn’t know what for or where this pretty boy gets off looking down at him with crossed arms like Lambert’s a misbehaving child.

Caught on the back foot, he lifts up his hand to wipe any spit away before he can think better of admitting he’s a little embarrassed.

“Fuck off,” Lambert says. Except that his throat is more parched than the runt of the litter during a famine and what actually comes out is something between a rasp and a gag that causes him to double over coughing.

“Here,” the man says, throwing over a half-full water flask. “They left us with this, at least. So they’re keeping us alive for something.”

Lambert takes a long swig, trying his best not to feel grateful. “I’m not so curious as to want to stick around and find out what for.” He hands the flask back over.

Their fingers brush and Lambert’s medallion sings. He acts on instinct, kicking the man’s feet out from underneath him and pinning him on his back in one swift move. Lambert traps the thing's arms behind its back with one knee and gets his hands on either side of the thing’s head, perfectly positioned to twist and snap.

It’s fairly useless, for a monster, letting out a terrified scream and letting the water flask crash to the ground. It tries nothing that could be called self-defense even if held upside down and looked at sideways.

“What are you?” Lambert hisses.

“Nothing dangerous, I swear!” the thing squeaks, “A minor god, you wouldn’t even know of me, no one does anymore. I’ve got three-hundred years left at best at the rate things are going, no time for you to be concerned about at all really, but if it’s all the same I’d rather enjoy them without your hands on my neck.”

Once again, Lambert wonders what he did to deserve this shit.

No, the incident with the baker doesn’t count.

Sure, all witcher’s know in theory that the gods could, and sometimes do, take on physical forms as a lark. But because the gods are, well, gods, it’s normally no trouble for them to stay the hell away from the one thing that has a shot at killing them. And, being rather attached to their shit lives, Lambert doesn’t know of a single witcher who's ever gone out of their way to test the theory.

Which begs the question - if this is a god, why the hell is he hyperventilating trapped underneath Lambert?

“What kind of god?” Lambert asks, slightly loosening his grip.

“Music,” the god rushes to answer, “just music! A very specific kind actually, the good folks of Redania dreamed me up a few centuries back when they needed something to forget a fifth bad harvest. I can rile up a province like you wouldn’t believe, make the ale seem a little stronger, the nights less harsh, the men more recently bathed. Of course, that was before these Nilfgaardian fuckers set their minds to stomping out any culture other than their own, these days I’m lucky to win over a single tavern.”

Lambert blinks twice through his returning headache to make sure he’s hearing right, but he swears he god is pouting. Captive twice over and he’s still worried about whether people like other gods more than him.

Knowing that he might be making a deadly mistake but too fed up to care, Lambert slowly pulls away, hurrying to claim a defensive position in the cell’s corner before the god can get to his feet.

“Right, then,” the god says, smoothing out his doublet. “Now that we’ve established who the threat is here, can you please hurry up and get us out of here?”

“Why the fuck do you think I’m doing all the work here? You’re the god,” Lambert scoffs.

“Jaskier, actually,” Jaskier says, “and you’re doing the work because my powers are a bit…depleted, right now.”

Lambert raises an eyebrow. “You’re so hard up you can’t open one damn door?”

“Look here, witcher,” Jaskier says, stalking closer to poke a finger into Lambert’s chest. “I took a brief sabbatical to Skellige in the hopes my cousin would have some tips on how to keep a strong musical traditional alive, which became slightly less brief when a very powerful man who just so happened to have a very beautiful wife asked me to teach his daughter how to play the lute, at which point my only choice was to wait out the winter and then there was no reason not to stay for the spring basic competition in Novigrad, and it’s not like I could have predicted that the Redenians would be so quick to stop singing my music without me there to prompt them, the bastards, and perhaps I was complaining about that to a merchant who had joined me on a caravan traveling west, because the next thing I knew I’d been knocked out cold and woke up in this fucking cell. So no, I can’t open one damn door.”

Jaskier had pressed closer and closer into Lambert during his speech, during which Lambert had learned that gods can be idiots just like anyone else, but also that they don’t get bad breath and are cute when they get mad. This one has an excellent lung capacity too, but Lambert pushes that away as a thought best saved for never.

“Are all gods this childish?” Lambert asks, amused.

“Agh!” Jaskier huffs, pushing away from Lambert and throwing his arms up. “Are all witchers this infuriating?”

“Nah, I’m just special,” Lambert drawls. “Lucky you.” He blows a sarcastic across the cell. Jaskier bats it away and flips Lambert off.

“Well, what about you?” Jaskier demands. “Can’t you do the witcher thing with the -” he thrusts his hand forward in a clumsy approximation of a sign, “and blast open the door?”

A fair question, actually. Lambert, feeling safe enough to leave his corner, goes to inspect the cell door. “How do you know about signs?” he asks while testing the metal door’s hold.

“I’ve been around awhile, you pick things up.” Jaskier says, explaining nothing.

The hinges are well oiled and without a trace of rust - whoever has them is well funded, that’s for sure.

Lambert sighs. “I can’t do shit. I’m not sure if aard would be enough to force open the door, even if I were at full strength, and if it doesn’t work this room is small enough the blowback could kill us both.”

Jaskier pushes Lambert aside and starts to inspect the door himself. Lambert lets him have at it and slides back down against the wall, still slightly unsteady. Poison can suck his fat cock.

“Well, I was going to wait at least another twenty minutes until I brought it up - for politeness sake, you see - but there is more than one way to worship me,” Jaskier says.

Apparently Lambert had been talking out loud.

“You’re shitting me,” Lambert says flatly.

“I’ll admit that on another occasion I might be tempted into stretching any number of truths to get you into my bed,” Jaskier says, “but as we currently have no bed and a high risk of losing both our lovely necks, I promise you I’m not. It’s not as effective as song, certainly, but sex is an art of its own kind.”

It’s not the weirdest way Lambert’s been propositioned, but it certainly makes the top ten.

“So what, I fuck you and then you’ll be able to open that door?”

“Mmm, the other way around actually, and I can’t exactly say how much it’ll take until I’m no longer on the brink of starvation, but that’s the idea, yes.”

Lambert looks at Jaskier’s lips, then at the cell door, and then down to the bulge tenting Jaskier’s trousers.

“Fuck it,” he decides, grabbing the god’s doublet and pulling him down.

#lambert/jaskier #jaskier/lambert #lambskier #bombard #lambert x jaskier #jaskier x lambert #jaskier #lambert #prompt fill #shielwrites

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