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that-student-that-has-homework · 2 months

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Louder than Words - Portgas D. Ace

Portgas D. Ace x Reader

This is like the mushiest piece I have written. I was kinda embarrassed...but here it is. Let's give him the hugs and space he needed huh? This could also be a message to you lovelies out there too. MasterList linked at the bottom too!

Ace didn’t know what came over you, but whatever it was, he wasn’t complaining. Per se.

You’d cupped his face gently, rubbing your thumbs along his cheeks tenderly, while he just looked back at you, curious. He smiled, in hopes of easing or appeasing whatever drudge was swirling in his chest and tainting this moment, “everything alright?”

You hummed and nodded at him, not a line on your expression but the bliss that pulled at your lips, revealing your peaceful serenity to him. His breath hitched slightly as you pressed your lips to his forehead, lingering for a moment. Then a shorter peck to his nose, before nuddling it back and forth with your own. He reopened his eyes when you tilted his head, still cradled in your palms, and pressed kisses to either of his cheeks.

You pulled away enough to look him in the eyes, and he felt his heart chase after you, beating with a tenacity meant to jump ship from his chest to yours. Your eyes dropped to the last target on his face, and he felt his entire physiology twist in anticipation.

You guided his face to yours gently, holding him as though he was the most prized treasure of all the seas. If he ever said that aloud, you would agree.

Your own personal One Piece.

You guided him, and he followed eagerly, gravitating towards you naturally, and you met him somewhere in the middle, colliding in an explosion of euphoria, igniting the wiring of his entire being.

His every sense sharpened, yet by attuning himself to your every move he melded into you. He-his edges-seemed to all but disappear as he chased after you unwilling to disconnect for a moment longer than necessary. Your pull, irresistible-inevitable as he continued to dive deeper into it.

Deeper and deeper.

Closer and closer.

Chest to chest.

Heart to heart.

Until you gently guided him away, again cradling his face and rubbing sweet, sweet, tender circles into his skin, massaging your warmth into him. Your eyes again held his, and gosh you’re just so beautiful. He’s pulled out of his daze when he felt your chest struggling under his. You’re panting slightly, your breathing a little strained, and he realized that his weight on you definitely isn’t helping.

He lifted himself up just slightly-unwilling to completely part but-no longer crushing you. He couldn’t help but wonder: when had he ended up on top of you like this?

You’re gently moving his head about in your palms again, pressing another kiss to his forehead. Then another to the crown of his head and for a moment he’s so glad he showered and washed his hair yesterday.

“I’m so thankful to have you in my life,” you breathed into his skin, lips inscribing the words into his forehead, and tugging on his heart strings.

Again his head is guided by your hands and again his eyes are treated to the sight of yours. Like a rope with a knot catching onto a splinter of wood, the air caught inside his chest. Your own eyes trailed over his features, slowly, carefully, as though committing every part of him, every detail, to memory. You studied him with a sort of reverence, your awe manifesting in a choked gasp and subtle widening of the eyes.

Your hands slowly slipped from his face, and he found himself missing your touch immediately. Thankfully, he didn’t have to part with it for long.

“I am so grateful,” your fingers ghosted along his cheek moving to his lips, “that you exist,” your words tugged at that stuck knot.

“That you were born,” a warmth spread through his chest - yet he couldn’t breathe.

“That you exist in this world - and that I,” your expression became impossibly soft, “that I get to know you.”

He opened his mouth desperate to return the sentiment, but you continued gently tracing his lips as you did, “that you’re allowing me to love you like this.”

He couldn’t-

You let out a little squeak at the speed and force with which he sat the two of you up and held you. His fingers interwoven with your hair, his nose buried in your neck, his other hand pressing you into him, melding you into his body. Soon enough, even his legs came to wrap around your own, completely preventing any chance of escape.

Though to be honest, you escape to him, not from him.

Oh the things you did to him.

He might be made of fire, but his devil fruit couldn’t protect him from the way your affections effectively set fire to his very brain-his heart. His chest heaved, pressing against yours, his eyes water and his grip tightened. Tremors overtook him as he fought the urge to crush you completely into his body.

How could joy resemble a knife tearing through his chest? How could the tearing pain feel so delightful? The contradictions were enough to make his head spin and his thoughts knot up.

A gentle hand - your gentle hand slowly worked its way through his hair, patiently undoing any tangles your fingers came about, consequently undoing the intricate knotting of the net entangling his mind. The delicate trails your fingertips drew along his scalp soothed his thoughts such that each raging beastly emotion was conquered in turn. It wasn’t too long before he’d vanquished the confusion, your tender care steering him to clarity.

You were steering him towards dreamland too if he’s honest, as his consciousness began to ebb under the rhythmic flow of your fingers through the waves of his hair. It wasn’t long before it plunged completely into the ocean of unconsciousness.

// ——

When he regained consciousness you were seated beside him, reading something or another. You were really engrossed in whatever it was you were reading, so much so that you startled a little when his hand lethargically claimed your own, pulling it closer to him.

He brushed his lips on the back of it, grinning up at you with eyes that drooped with the sleep still in them. He delighted in the flustered expression you wore in response to his own affections, blinking at you slowly. You marked your page with your free hand, before closing the book to give him your undivided attention.

“How was your nap, love?” Love you called him. Love.

His eyelids closed, succumbing to the weight they seemed to carry, basking in the bliss washing over him like a gentle summer shower.

Love.

He could hear you moving about, his hold on your hand tightening as you shifted. A little groan left him as he struggled to open his eyes and mouth to speak to you. You were not helping with how your other hand came to comb his hair again, but he managed, “mmm you’re…gon’ make me fall ‘sleep ‘gain.”

“Then that means you need more sleep m’love,” m’love, not just any love, your love. Yours.

He was your love.

Yours.

He was yours. Happily so. Forever would be too. If you’d have him.

He hummed, lips weakly pushing through sleep to show you his satisfaction.

Your voice was much closer to him now, speaking from right above his head, and he fought an uphill battle trying to open his eyes to look at you. His whole body felt heavy, completely sapped of strength. Heck even his grip on your hand was as limp as ever. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was in contact with sea stone or something.

He felt you press your lips to his forehead again, gently fueling him enough to pull his lips into a drowsy, wobbly, smile.

“Get some rest love,” you spoke softly, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Stay wit mmmmm,” talking was proving to be a challenge, “c’mere.”

He threw a heavy arm over what he hoped was your waist. It probably was? Gosh he couldn’t care with the way you were giggling next to him.

“Sure thing love,” you had to be doing some kind of magic with how he felt like he was levitating despite the weight that seeped into his bones, “just let me brush my teeth first.”

He couldn’t hold you down if he wanted to with how tired he was, “mmm back soo,” he mumbled.

“Sure thing,” his lips wobbled themselves into a smile as you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead again.

He was out instantaneously. You kept your promise though; through his daze he felt you slip in and embrace him. Seems like his body knew what to do too, despite its earlier lack of cooperation, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you in return before he was out again.

He woke up in your arms.

His head rested against your chest, with your arm languidly around his shoulders. Taking in a deep breath filled him with the nostalgia of the scent of home. A home that did not exist in his memories. Which meant it probably existed in his imagination then. A home that could be. A home with you.

It was the scent of home nonetheless.

He tightened his hold on your waist nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

I’m so grateful you exist.

His arms instinctively tightened.

That you were born.

His inhale was a stuttery one, his own lips and vision stuttering as well. He buried his face further into your neck, taking in your scent again. Yet all that did was push the tears out faster.

That was the opposite of what he’d expected!

Urgh. One of those hot, salty blobs ended up on your skin.

To his relief, and dismay - oddly enough - you remained unconscious. Your eyes closed and breathing consistent. Though that didn’t last long, as you shifted slightly, the arm around his shoulder worked to pull him into you, as your other one came up to play with his hair-you really liked doing that huh?

“Get it aaall,” your voice was thick with sleep, “get it all…out,” you hummed a bit, “let all that poison out.”

“Darlin’, did I wake you?” It was pathetic how his voice cracked - he hated this weakness that was welling up...again.

Just like that, your hold on him tightened, your lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“I’d be upset if you didn’t,” you sounded much more awake now, “you’re one of the people I want to be there for the most.”

Unfortunately, a choked sob left him. Gosh he was so pathetic. He was a full grown man! He wasn’t supposed to be some weak crybaby! To think he used to get mad at Luffy for crying too!

Yet…

He. couldn’t. stop.

His shoulders shook, the tremors traveled his body, and a violent shiver wracked it. Yet you laid and held him and ran your fingers through his hair, kissing your favorite spot on his forehead consistently. Every kiss, every gentle brush of your loving fingers tenderly working through his hair, every tender trace of your fingertips on his scalp, brought a fresh wave of tears to follow the next. At some point he’d started clutching on to you, like you were the life-ring preventing him from drowning.

He wasn’t sure how long you two stayed like that. All he knew that in between his sniffles and his sobbing there was your voice.

“Get it all out love,” you lightly encouraged - as though he wasn’t lesser for crying like a baby.

“I’m so proud of you,” you said a few times too - as though this pathetic display wasn’t shameful.

“I love you so much,” you reaffirmed time and time again stroking his hair - as though his weakness didn’t make him less desirable.

For whatever reason he didn’t doubt a word. Despite the mental cesspool working overtime to drown him in darkness, the light of your honesty shone through. No matter how far he fell, it followed.

He wasn’t sure how long you two lay there, holding each other, and he wasn’t sure when he’d lost consciousness again. His eyes were so incredibly heavy when he woke up again though. They must be swollen from all his crying. You weren’t next to him this time, however as his senses came back to him, he could hear the sounds of a pen scratching and paper flipping.

When he sat up, he noticed a pitcher of water and a tall glass with an opaque yellow-tinted liquid and some mint leaves in it-lemonade probably-on the bedside table. He had a moment to locate you at his desk before you turned to face him, “hey there.”

“Hey,” he croaked, voice still thick from lack of use.

You put the pen down, got up, and walked towards him with a kind smile, “I made you some lemonade, and got some water,” you sat down near his legs, “gotta replace all those fluids you lost.”

That got a chuckle out of him, “your lessons with Marco are going well, huh?”

“I also have a lot of personal experience with these things,” you grinned at him.

“With crying like a baby?”

You just hummed and nodded.

“This might sound bad,” you weren’t looking at him as you confessed, “but I’m kind of…” you trailed off, shooting him a quick glance, “happy,” you shrunk, your shoulders reaching your ears, “you felt safe enough to be that vulnerable with me.”

“So, you liked seeing me cry?” He poked at you. “Should I cry more for you, doll?”

“Ace,” you groaned, your smile only growing fonder as you looked at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a masochist,” he kept teasing, “I’m not sure how I feel about this kink of yours.”

He loved the way you rolled your eyes, but revealed your teeth with how big your smile was getting. “I don’t like seeing you cry,” you corrected, “I like that you feel safe with me.”

You paused, then appended, “well safe enough to not hide your pain.”

“Hide my pain?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Crying is one way to get pain out of your body,” you twisted your body to face him more fully, voice soft as you shared your opinion, “emotional pain especially.”

“Isn’t crying just weakness?” He frowned at you.

“No?”

“It’s not?”

“Do you think I’m weak when I cry?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“But you’re a woman.”

A tired look flashed over your features momentarily, “so men aren’t allowed to cry?” You challenged, tone still as patient as ever.

“Only weak men cry,” for some reason the words sounded less convincing in your presence.

“Who says?” His gaze snapped up to meet yours and you repeated yourself, “who said?”

“Isn’t it just something that everyone knows?” His brow furrowed, scowl taking his features.

“No,” you paused as you said that, “well I guess in a sense,” you squinted at nothing, “yes… it is something that many people assume.”

“You just saw me cry like a baby,” he countered, “you don’t think I’m weak?”

“On the contrary,” he felt his eyes widen despite the weight embedded into them, “you’ve been carrying all that pain.”

An ache tormented your gentle expression, “and you choose kindness and warmth and bring joy to those you care about despite it,” you looked him in the eye again, “that isn’t something a weak person could do.”

A shiver traveled down his spine at the way your eyes studied him, softening as you opened your mouth to speak again, “kindness is the mark of the strong, Ace,” you placed your hand on top of his notably larger one, pride dripping from your voice, “and you’re so incredibly kind.”

What was with you and stealing the air from his lungs? He felt his chest constrict like he’d been punched too.

“We’re so lucky to have you in our lives,” your thumb traced circles onto the back of his hand, “we’re even luckier to be loved by you.”

He could feel that prickling in the back of his eyes he was becoming way too familiar with for his liking. “We really have to do something about that crying kink of yours,” he joked.

You scoffed, shaking your head, but you weren’t mad. “I think I’m just going to have to tell you more often how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

His heart lurched in his chest, “I think I’m the lucky one.”

“We can both be lucky.”

“Then I’m luckier.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yea huh.”

“Agree to disagree?”

“No,” he has a huge grin on his face at your scowl.

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, rising from the bed with a dramatic sigh, “I’ll let you believe whatever you want to believe.”

“Oi!” He couldn’t help the chuckle that left him.

“Drink some water and your lemonade, love,” you gave him a little peck on his forehead again, “then let’s get you showered and fed.”

He caught your wrist as you moved away, “where are you going?”

“To the desk,” you blinked at him.

“What’re you up to there?”

“I’m just going through some paperwork,” he really was the luckier one of the two of you.

“Marry me,” the words flew out of his mouth before his mind could even register them in his thoughts.

You laughed, raising your left hand for him to view, “already did.”

Shoot.

“Now,” mirth still colored your expression, “you drink your lemonade while I get these papers done.”

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted you and allowed you to slip out of his grasp.

It was when he’d finally moved to lean back against the wall and grabbed the drink you’d prepared that he heard you giggle a little. Strange, given what you were working on, “see something funny?”

“No,” you singsonged, cheerfully wiggling in your seat, “it’s just my husband asked me to marry him, again, and I’m feeling very happy.”

His head clunked against the wall he rested against, heat rushing to his cheeks as a disgruntled groan left him, despite the way he was grinning, “I swear I didn’t forget.”

“I didn’t think you did, love,” you giggle some more, turning slightly to look at him, “I’m just so happy you would want to marry me, again.”

“I’d marry you again every day if I could,” he took a swig of his lemonade enjoying the way you fought and failed to keep your smile contained as it threatened to split what he could see of your face.

You turned back around and he could see that you were fighting to focus on the papers in front of you.

“How about we have another wedding on the Moby Dick?” He found himself scooching his way down the bed, his excitement uncontained. “We can get you a proper dress this time! Your own!”

He looked up thinking some more, “and I’ll wear a proper suit with a vest and a tie and everything!”

“I’m surprised you know about vests and ties,” you shot him a teasing grin.

“Hey! I took some etiquette classes as a kid!”

“You did?”

“I didn’t tell you?” He’d have to tell you more about his life before he set sail then. “Yeah back when I was in the East Blue,” it’s been a while since he left huh? “Makino-a barmaid from the village nearby-taught me manners.”

“So she’s the one that taught you about vests and ties?”

“Yeah,” oh wait a second, “we can have Thatch make us a huge cake and a feast!” Now that he was back on the original topic he had so many ideas! “Pops can officiate! Marco can be the one to bring you down the aisle! And-and-”

“You really want to have another wedding then?” You were now turned to face him completely.

“Yeah! How about it?” He scooched even closer to you. “Our first one was nice too, but we were in a hurry and I remember we had to go with whatever we had.”

“Is it bad that I liked our small, humble wedding?”

“Huh? No of course not! It was great!” Where did that come from? “I’m just saying we can have another so I can ‘marry you again.’”

“Hmm the idea of seeing you all dressed up in a three piece suit is tempting,” you hummed.

He guffawed a bit at that. “I’d probably mistake you for an angel if I saw you in a white dress.”

“Aww you wouldn’t recognize me?”

“Nah because,” he smirked, “I’d be blinded by how beautiful you’d look.”

When you hunched your shoulders to your ears and looked away a bit, his chest swirled with pride. He was getting better at this flirting with you thing!

“Maybe we shouldn’t then,” sounds of protest were leaving him before he knew it, “I don’t want to blind you.”

That had the two of you laughing.

When you calmed down, you turned back towards the work waiting for you, “there isn’t much left to do commander, so stop distracting me.”

Your distraction quickly chugged the rest of that refreshing glass of juice, and moved back to pour himself a glass of water. Something seemed to click within his head as he pondered your order: “I’m distracting now, am I?”

“Very.”

He burst out laughing. “Well we’re even then,” he proceeded to take a loud slurp of water.

He almost choked on it laughing when he saw you startle a bit, his flirt landing well with you again.

Cradling his glass, he opted to just watch you work. He’d make your second wedding happen. You deserved to be celebrated again and again. Besides, it’s not like pirates didn’t party regularly. So it’s not like they’d be going out of their way really-if that’s what you were worried about. Well, knowing you, that was something you were worried about. He found an amused little huff leaving him at that thought.

“See something funny, love?” Seems you’d heard him.

“Nope,” he grinned your way, “just thinking.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Hey!”

“You come up with some pretty crazy schemes,” he noticed the little smirk on your lips - oh you cheeky - “they’re usually fun, even if they’re dangerous.”

“Like you’re one to talk!” He grinned. “You always add on more crazy things!”

“My crazy things are to make your crazy things less dangerous,” you hummed, “I very much prefer you alive, well, and healthy you see.”

“You just like me,” he beamed at you with a laugh.

“I love you, actually,” you responded without missing a beat nor looking up from your paperwork.

Yeah.

He was definitely giving you that second wedding here on the Moby Dick. Maybe even at one of the prettier spring or autumn islands on Pops’ turf. Whatever you’d like the most! Heck he’ll give you two second weddings - er - a second and a third. Wedding. Yeah.

Oh!

Maybe he could even surprise you with it!

He ought to get started on it - today! Right now!

He threw back the rest of his glass of water and rushed to the door.

“Ah! Ace! Wait a second!” He paused right before opening it up. “I’m just about done with this! Let me finish and I can help you with your hair and back!”

“Huh?” He raised a brow at you.

“Huh?” You returned equally confused. “Weren’t you going to shower to feel better?”

“No?” He tilted his head.

“Then you’re going straight for the kitchen?” You continued, still confused. “Didn’t you want to eat together?”

Oh that was tempting. He couldn’t say no to that. Wait, even the shower help was tempting. You’d been the one to teach him how to properly scrub his scalp after all. But he didn’t want to delay his surprise a second longer!

“Then, I’m gonna get some fresh air,” not really a lie, he’d get fresh air on his way to see Marco, “then we can eat together.”

“So no shower?”

“Wouldn’t we get caught?”

“What do you mean? I’m just washi-Ace!” You let out a garbled sound making him laugh.

“Alright, alright darlin’,” he gave you a lopsided grin, “I’m just teasing. Yeah we’ll do both.”

“Okay,” you seemed pleased with that outcome, despite it being more work for you.

He let go of the door handle to come press a kiss to your forehead, “love you.”

“Love you too,” you returned immediately.

He walked out the door feeling lighter than he had in a while.

Yeah he was definitely giving you the grandest wedding he could, and he was a Whitebeard pirate, and they really knew how to party.

Extra:

Later during an “Official Division Commander Meeting”:

Izou: she must be the one to pick out her dress

Ace: then I’ll take her out to get one picked

Izou: absolutely not! I will

Ace: hey she’s my wife

Izou: exactly! You’re not allowed to see her in the dress until the ceremony you fool!

Marco: (placing a comforting hand on Ace’s shoulder) well, there’s no one better for this task than Izou yoi

Izou: hmph! but of course

Thatch: you all have the easy part, I have to make all the food, and the cake

Ace: it’ll be worth it!

Thatch: for you maybe, you’re not the one cooking to feed a fleet. I swear I have the most difficult job

Marco: we have feasts all the time, no need to do anything extra yoi.

Ace: except the cake! The cake is really important!

Thatch: yeah yeah I heard you. groans

Marco: Besides your division has a bunch of cooks to help you out doesn’t it?

//------------------------

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madaqueue · 17 days

Text

Good Boy

pairing: ryomen sukuna x f!reader

themes/content: sub boyfriend sukuna, soft dom reader. language, smut. bondage, handjob, light choking, praise, pet names (baby, sweetheart), mentions of degradation. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.5k

a/n: subby sukuna that's it send tweet

“Y’know I’m only doing this for you, right?” Sukuna huffs.

“I know,” you smile from behind him.

Leaning back, you admire your work: the pink rope tied around his wrists holds his arms in place behind his back, with matching ones stationing him on his knees, feet tucked beneath his thighs. His cock stands fully erect, a drop of precum beginning to form along his slit before you’ve even truly begun.

The sight of him makes your heart flutter. “You look so pretty, ‘Kuna,” you purr, sitting up to place a kiss on his cheek.

His skin is warm under your lips, flushing a slight red. “Aw, are you blushing?” you tease gently.

“No,” he scoffs, turning his head away from you. “Just get on with it already, woman.” “Gimme a second sweetheart, I gotta get you warmed up first,” you hum as your eyes cover his form.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips at just how innocent your boyfriend looks. It’s funny, almost, the way his muscles poke through the knots, tattoos coursing over his rough skin that’s now covered in a dainty pink. Everything about him looks so sweet, so soft, so submissive.

Normally he was the dominant one, demanding power and control in every aspect of his life, and sex was no different. Of course he treated you with care, but sometimes he showed it by fucking you harshly, ravenously, leaving proof of his love across your body in the form of scratches and bruises, a physical manifestation of his unadulterated adoration for you.

In fact, these ropes had originally been bought after a night when the skin of your neck was covered in teeth marks and hickeys from an hour of him teasing you. When you felt him nip at your chest, you couldn’t help squirming in his grasp.

“If you don’t sit still I’m gonna have to tie you down,” he muttered, moving lower to place his mouth around your hardened nipple, sucking on it between his teeth.

Unfortunately his words had the opposite effect, making you writhe even more against his thigh from where he held you in his lap.

“Oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckled at your reaction. “Pathetic little sluts like you need to be tied up to behave.”

He bought them the next day.

But, in the mix of all the other toys and gadgets you two rotated through, they had been tossed to the back of the closet and forgotten, unused, until now.

The idea popped into your mind a few days ago while you were scrolling on your phone and a video suddenly caught your eye: in the middle of a bed was a man with his arms and legs bound as a woman moved around him. She treated him softly but firmly, her fingers trailing over his body. You felt your heart rate pick up at the sight, warmth beginning to pool in your stomach as you watched. Seeing the trust, the control, between them sparked something in you.

Unsurprisingly, Sukuna was completely opposed to the idea when you brought it up.

“I’m not some fucking piece of meat to be tied up and toyed with,” he grumbled from the couch.

“Oh, but when you wanted to do it with me it’s fine?” you questioned sarcastically.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he rolled his eyes. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Please, ‘Kuna? Just once?” you begged, using the nickname you knew pulled at his heartstrings, the one that always made him give in to your desires.

After a moment of silence, he sighed. “Fine,” he conceded, “just once.”

Although he’d never admit it, the idea made his head spin, his cock beginning to strain at his pants just from hearing you say the words. After all, he’s not the type who does something just for the sake of pleasing others; when he agreed, you both implicitly knew there was a part of him that was curious, too.

As he’s perched on the bed in front of you, he finally gets to have his interest satiated.

Returning your mind to the present you settle in behind him, resting your head on his shoulder as your lips trail down his neck. The soft sensation of your breath tickles his skin, making him shiver despite the heat his body gives off.

Making your way down his arms, you trace the lines of his tattoos before following the pattern down his chest. Reaching his thighs, your thumbs draw gentle circles into his muscles.

“Are you gonna fuckin’ touch me or what?” he growls, moving his hips to try and coax you closer to his aching cock.

You hush him, lips still pressed into the space above his collarbone. “Patience, baby.”

He shuts his mouth momentarily at the nickname. Even though he would always deny it, some part of him cherishes the sweet things you call him, holding onto every ounce of praise or affirmation that leaves your lips.

The honeyed whispers, the airy complements, make his heart flutter and gaze soften. He relaxes slightly, dropping his shoulders through a displeased grunt.

Your palms travel his body, moving up his thighs before traveling to his back, trailing kisses along his spine. He shudders at the softness of your lips, the warmth of your hands, as you cover every inch of him, his skin left tingling wherever you touch.

Right now, the key to getting him into the right headspace is to be gentle, loving, the exact opposite of how Sukuna normally is.

Knowing how impatient he gets, you are languid and methodical as you trace the ropes between your fingers. When you reach the ones tied over his wrists, he shifts again, tugging against the restraints.

“Y’know I could break out of this if I wanted to.”

“I know,” you hum, “but you won’t. Because you’re gonna be good for me, right?”

He pauses - he doesn’t want to demean his own strength, but internally he battles the desire to agree with you. He needs you to know that he’s better than this, obviously, but there’s a part of him, buried deep down, that needs to make you happy.

“Good boys use their words,” you prod in his silence.

He takes in an uneven breath as he fights a losing mental battle.

“I’ll…I’ll be good,” he mutters, gaze shifting down to avoid letting you see how dizzy the words make him feel.

Smiling, you place another kiss to his cheek, the action sending sparks through his body.

Your fingertips continue covering the rest of his skin, one moving down his legs as the other runs up his stomach, following the grooves of his abs. When you reach the front of his neck your hand loosely wraps around it, applying a gentle pressure to either side of his carotid.

Before this you had never dared to choke him, and even though this could barely be classified as such, something about it drives him insane. He feels immediately lightheaded, despite knowing that you didn’t hold on for nearly long enough to physically have that effect.

No, it was something else.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” he spits, trying to cover the moan that threatens to escape his throat.

His words nearly get a rise out of you, but knowing that’s his intention, you calm your breathing before you respond.

“Watch your language, sweetheart,” you scold softly, “you wouldn’t want me to have to gag you, now would you?”

The idea makes his heart race in panic. Thinking about being gagged doesn’t worry him, he realizes - no, the dread in his stomach is there for a different reason. Is he afraid of disappointing you?

Letting out an unsteady sigh, he shakes his head no. “M’sorry,” he mumbles.

You hold back a grin at his words, your heart beginning to race in excitement. Sukuna has never, ever, said sorry for something like this before.

It was rare that he needed to apologize for things, both of you knowing and respecting each other’s limits well. However, on the few occasions when he did something like leaving hickeys in more visible places than you liked, he would just brush it off with a laugh. “You didn’t really expect me to hold back when your cunt is that good, did you?” he’d tease with a smack of your ass.

Hearing him now, you can tell something in him has switched.

“That’s my good boy,” you coo, placing another kiss to his neck.

Hearing the name, a sound shockingly close to a deep whimper leaves his lips.

Your touch is so light, your lips so soft, your words so sweet, he wants to just melt, giving everything into you. Something about being physically held in place like this makes him feel safe, dependent; despite the tight ropes against his skin the only thing he can feel is you.

His head is spinning, thoughts getting fuzzy as you trace over his body, your gentle touch igniting flames of desire beneath his skin.

As you continue drawing your fingertips along him, the teasing slowly becomes too much, his mind clouded with the need for more as you feed him soft praises. His hips buck off the bed, his cock straining against the ties as precum begins to roll down his length.

“Please just fucking touch me,” he groans, voice so low it’s nearly a whisper.

“Just one second, baby,” you purr, trying to keep him calm.

Sukuna has always been demanding, wanting things done his way exactly when he wants it. As such, you know you have to be careful, balancing his desires with your control, placating his needs with tenderness.

A smirk crosses your face as you think up a way to satisfy both.

Holding your hand out in front of his mouth, you open your palm. “Spit,” you softly command.

His eyes widen, barely even noticeably, as he processes your words. There is absolutely no fucking way he’s about to do this, and the fact that you would even consider making him is foolish. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of your request, but before he can, he’s leaning forward, body moving on its own as he parts his lips, allowing droplets of saliva to pool into your hand.

What the fuck happened to him?

Pleased at his compliance, you smile. “Good boy, Sukuna.”

Your words make him nearly shake in anticipation, his mind dazed as your hand finds its way to his cock. Using the mixture of spit and precum you stroke his length, thumb twirling his flushed tip.

Another guttural groan leaves his throat as his eyes flutter shut, leaning his head back against you. He should be embarrassed, ashamed of how absolutely pathetic he’s being, but all he can think about is how good your hand feels wrapped around him.

Grasping at any last shred of control, he weakly thrusts up into you, his movements limited by the restraints

Bringing your free hand over to his hips, you hold him in place. “Stay still for me, okay baby?” you hum.

Letting go of everything, he gives in. His motions still as you continue stroking him, his mouth hanging open as he takes in uneven breaths.

Normally when he’s fucking you his thoughts are hurried, almost frenzied, as he plans how he’s going to ravage you. He taunts you, making you beg, soaking in every sound you release as he drills into you.

But now, his mind is quiet. The only thing he can focus on is the sound of your voice, your words of praise echoing through his entire body, amplifying his desire to please you, his need to be good for you.

Continuing your motions, the wet sound of your hand sliding up and down him fills your bedroom, his cock twitching in your palm as you glide over his length. From the way his chest begins to heave with each breath you can tell he’s approaching his release, his eyes screwed tightly shut in pleasure.

“Are you close, ‘Kuna?” you ask, head still resting on his shoulder from where you sit behind him.

He nods, a soft “Mhm” vibrating in his throat.

“Remember what I said? Good boys use their words,” you remind him.

“I-I’m gonna-”

You cut him off. “Good boys also ask permission.”

His breath hitches for a moment. He never begs. Never. It was always you, asking him to let you finish one more time, or pleading with him to soften up as he overstimulates you. He loved the way you’d get all whiney for him, but it was something he viewed as inherently beneath him.

But right now, he doesn’t fucking care.

“Let me cum,” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly.

“Say please.”

Fuck, is he really about to do this? Is he seriously this fucking pathetic?

“Please,” he whispers.

You can’t stop yourself from grinning, giddy at just how eager he’s become, how malleable he is under your touch.

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmur, pressing your lips against his neck.

Picking up your pace, your grip tightens ever so slightly around his cock as you reach his tip, a shiver racking his body as your other hand moves to gently massage his balls.

“Open your eyes for me, sweetheart,” you purr into his ear, breath hot against his skin. “I want you to see what a mess you’re about to make.”

Without a second of hesitation he complies, his gaze struggling to focus on his lap as he tilts his head down. His eyes are glassy, far away, as he moves, mouth still hanging open.

You both watch in awe as thick ropes shoot from his tip, coating his thighs in the sticky whiteness.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good f’me,” you coo, droplets of cum slowly pouring down his length as you coax him through his ecstasy.

He’s silent as he finishes, no words able to form in his head, too dizzy from pleasure to think. His blown pupils can only observe as your hand slows, lazily following your movements as you pull your cum-coated fingers to his mouth.

The moment he feels you on his lips he opens them further, allowing you to slide your digits in, too dazed in bliss to argue.

“There you go, doin’ s’good,” you murmur as he sucks himself off of them, his eyes fluttering closed.

Holding him against the warmth of your bare chest, his body begins to tremble as he comes down from his high, suddenly feeling the tightness of the restraints against his skin. Leaning up you pull your fingers from his mouth, gently placing a peck on his cheek as you get to work untying him

“You did so good, ‘Kuna,” you hum as you remove the ropes from his legs and wrists, kissing the indents left behind on his skin.

As soon as he’s free he wraps his arms around you, his body hot as he pulls you into his lap. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, holding you still for a moment.

“You better not fucking tell anyone about this,” he mutters into you.

“Of course not,” you whisper, reaching a hand up to gently stroke the back of his hair. “Now, let me take care of my good boy and get you all cleaned up, okay?” you follow, peppering his face with kisses as he holds back a lazy grin.

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gooppoo · 1 year

Note

i know you have a lot in your plate but neteyam kissing reader for the first time while fucking her?? he’s not a kissing guy but my man folded for reader lmfao (write it when your request will be open if you’d like to!”

– 🍤 anon

awe dis is so cute <3

Just a kiss.

Requests Closed!!

mdni.

warnings: p in v, kissing duh, Neteyam kinda just being a cutie pie ig and agedup!Neteyam ofc

The whole point of missionary is to see each others faces.

You're supposed to hold each other, cuddle, get tangled up in each others limbs.

Kiss.

Usually kissing is synonymous (sometimes required) in order for the deed to be done, but Neteyam had proved otherwise. He wasn't big on the idea of kissing, in fact you two had never kissed. This might usually deter people, but there was an odd charm about it.

Saving your first kiss for something super special. Besides him literally being inside of you, a kiss was incredibly intimate. But you didn't always need to kiss to be intimate. Neteyam knew how to get your tail flicking and you steamy just with a few touches. He'd always tease the idea of a kiss, and somehow that frustration would manifest into desire which opened your flood gates for him. With his magic fingers he'd have you cumming once, and with his dick, cumming twice...sometimes three times.

But never a kiss.

Sometimes you'd want to kiss him after a long session, just because you were overflowing with endorphins and wanted to find another way to express your appreciation. But you held back, respecting Neteyam and you in a way - because you knew when the time came it would be amazing.

So you're in that position now. It started with you and Neteyam doing your duties around the clan, and when he finished up he came by to watch you until you were done. You were preparing food for some of the children and elderly you looked after when Neteyam snuck up behind you and danced his fingers around the front of your torso. His tail tickled your thigh and he hummed in the crook of your neck. Sweetly, he swayed you back and forth, even beginning to hum a song...

then you felt him against your ass.

He must've been pent up all day. So you teased him by moving your hips against his, offering him a pathetic amount of friction. He sighed into your shoulder.

"What's going on back there?" You murmured, continuing to prepare food.

His warm breath and sultry lips found your ear, "I have been thinking about you all day. I think about the noises you make and I get hot. Let me make you feel good."

Not long after that you had your duties fulfilled, we're back at your shared space, and had Neteyam pressing inside of you. The fill was familiar but still as toe curling as the first time.

One hand cradled your head, the other slotted under your arm and keeping him from releasing all his weight onto you. Your legs were on his hips, fingers in his hair or tickling his face. Neteyam had set a loving pace with a wonderful angle so he could hear you gasp and whine. Even his pelvis ground against your clit, hitting all the marks.

Like clockwork, your sweat began to mix and your legs and arms began to shift to find a better way to just be closer and to feel each other better. With the little prep you had, Neteyam had unintentionally trained you to be lustful for him at the feel of his fingers, or the embarrassing imprint of him on your backside. As fun as foreplay could be, sometimes diving in really added a level of intensity you both enjoyed.

With your climax's on the horizon, Neteyam pulled away from your sweat clad torso to view you in all your glory. A few strands of hair framing your face, eyes half lidded and loving, lips parted for your genuine moans to slip out.

And though these were individual things Neteyam loved to see while he was drilling into you, everything combined to create a gorgeous being that he was over the moon for.

You were beautiful.

Even when your back arched and your jaw dropped you were just fantastic. It was like this every time. And every time he wanted to kiss you, but for a reason unknown, it didn't pique his interest. The intentions were there, but following through was daunting.

He had denied you long enough.

With you clenching around him and wriggling through your orgasm, Neteyam caught your attention with his hand cupping your cheek and leaned down.

For a second he hovered, your eye lashes kissing more than your lips. Your noses bumped against each other's cheeks. Even your nipples grazed his chest. It was when Neteyam finished inside of you, he let that gap close, you joining the effort.

Your lips slotted together so well, so affectionately. He hummed and you purred, both of you seeing shooting stars behind your eyes. There was an extra heartbeat in Neteyam's chest.

Your mate loved fucking you, he really did. But this new combination of the delicacy of a kiss mixed with the roughness happening below your loincloths was something to behold. With you, no less.

While there were fireworks, there was also a deep sense of home. He now new there was no reason to be afraid, and there never was. He was glad he reserved this moment because it sealed his enamor for you in a number of ways.

After realizing breathing was a necessary function, you both momentarily gasped for air. Immediately, your gazes met and observed the fluctuation in your pupils. You swore you saw little hearts twinkling about. All you could do was smile and pull him back in for another one. What else was there to do but soak up this moment?

And when Neteyam's lips collided with yours, the fireworks erupted again! And again, and again. Even when you two had cleaned up and called it an evening, Neteyam wanted to swoop in and kiss you, it was his way of saying, "I love you."

#avatar #avatar x reader #avatar smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam x y/n #neteyam #neteyam x you #neteyam smut #🍤

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thedreamlessnights · 4 months

Text

Give The Devil His Due - pt. 1

Gale x F!Reader

Warnings and Tags: Major BG3 Ending and Epilogue Spoilers. Mentions of death, the use of the Netherese orb, grieving/loss. Deal with a Devil. Angst with a happy ending.

Synopsis: After Gale sacrifices himself to save Faerûn, his soul resides in a place out of reach of mortal magic. Not out of reach of immortal magic, though.

Word Count: 2.8k

It’s not like you to linger at the edge of a party, and - gods. Especially not one like this.

In every respect, this night should be fantastic. Friends are all around, there's wine and lively music, and you’re the closest thing to happy that you’ve been in the last six months.

Yet here you are, hovering on the sidelines, feeling like there’s a hole cut into your chest. No, this isn’t much like you, but you haven’t truly been yourself since the day you lost Gale.

He should be here, you keep thinking. He should be at your side, making awful puns, looking handsome as ever. Missing him is a constant, now, but the pain has flared into agony tonight. It feels like it’s splitting you in two. You can barely stomach the wine.

You’ve done your dues, of course. Greeted your companions, hugged your fair share, and talked briefly about life. Still, the pity in everyone’s eyes had felt like salt in your very open wound, and now you don’t trust yourself to make conversation without crying.

Which leaves you to wander around with your wine, trying not to feel like every bit of this familiar camp is a dagger between your ribs. Judging by the way you can’t seem to breathe, it doesn’t seem to be working.

And then, mid-sip of wine, you look up and there he is. Gale of Waterdeep, with Tara at his side.

You’re no stranger to these hallucinations; you’ve experienced them nearly every day since his sacrifice. A flash of Gale in the crowds, a hint of his face in strangers, the ghostly feeling of him pressed against you on the coldest nights.

But those had been different. In your previous sightings, he’d vanished just as soon as he’d appeared. This Gale is here, standing off to the side of Withers’ party, flickering with magic. No matter how many times you shut your eyes, he’s still there when you open them again.

It isn’t him. You know it isn’t. You’ve seen his magical projections before. Still, Gale must have made this. And, aside from the glowing eyes and outline, it’s a dead-on replication of him. Having one of his creations so near, so very like him, is enough of Gale’s presence to make your knees feel weak.

When you approach, the form speaks. You barely hear it. Your hands are shaking so badly that your wine sloshes out of the glass and onto your clothing. You finally let it fall, not sparing as much as a glance toward it, even when you feel it splash against your boots.

Gale, or this image of him, is your sole focus. Everything else, stains included, is irrelevant.

“I am a magical projection of Gale of Waterdeep,” the false Gale is saying. It takes a moment for you to process the distorted tone, the muffled voice you remember so very well.

A projection. Just as you’d known.

“If you see this manifestation,” he continues, “that means I have prematurely perished.”

You know this spiel, too. You’d seen it after a terrible moment where Gale had died post-ambush in the Shadowlands. It had given a complicated set of instructions to revive him. You’d know this speech in your sleep.

The next words are different from the usual, though.

“Alas, on this occasion, I appear to have been erased from this plane in both soul and substance, so the usual protocol for revivification cannot be followed.”

Something twists internally. Painful. Sharp. Not that you’d had any hope, but… hearing it is like this so much worse. You swallow hard, suddenly wishing you hadn’t dropped your wine, but the damned thing is still talking.

“I am, however,” the projection continues, “available for the duration of this spell to assist with the tying of any loose ends related to my recent departure from mortality.”

Those words feel like a harsh kick to the ribs. Gale is dead, and what he’d left behind is insurmountable grief, not loose ends. The weight in your chest is loss, not something that can be mended by a quick word or brief spell.

And yet, your mouth moves of its own accord. “Revivification?” you find yourself asking. Anything to hear more of his voice, even marred as it is.

“Indeed,” he replies. “A series of elegantly designed failsafes to be executed in order to reverse the occurrence of my unexpected but impermanent demise.”

The mild taste in your mind sours. Gale’s death had been unexpected, yes. But not impermanent. You know that. Still, you nod as he further explains, clinging on to every trace, every syllable, every detail of him.

He goes on: “As I am unable to detect any trace of my existence in reach of mortal magic, however, such a protocol would in this instance be destined to fail.”

But of course. Mortal magic. Surely Mystra could bring him back if she wanted to, but his death is far too convenient for her, isn't it? To have Gale out of her mind, no longer nagging her?

You can't think of a single thing to say in response that isn't plain cruel.

The projection pauses at your silence, then proceeds on. “The good news is, I am here precisely to assist in cushioning that heaviest of blows.”

You fail to bite back a laugh hearing that. It spills from your lips like tar, dark and sticky; the sound is pained, but it bubbles up through your chest all the same. It’s so like Gale, to think he’s worth so little that a mere projection could somehow aid in his loss.

The next thing the projection says, however, renders you completely and utterly speechless.

“I have been entrusted with the delivery of a letter to be read by the one who loved me most,” he announces. “I hope these words do something to ease the tragedy of my untimely and honestly quite unexpected passing.”

Gods, you think. A letter. Had Gale left something behind that you’d missed? Had he set this up in advance, knowing this might be the outcome?

The projection conjures up a pouch very similar to the one you’d seen when you’d had to revive him all that time ago, and it gently floats over to you until it’s within reach.

The moment it meets your hands, you can swear that a shiver of magic runs through your fingers. Sharp tingling, the scent of rosewater, a flash of Gale’s smile in your mind’s eye.

How could you ever have let him go? How could you, despite his insistence, have let him sacrifice himself that way? Even more than loss, you feel self-hatred. You feel regret, anger, despair.

Gale is gone. All that's left of him is the objects he’d left behind. They’re nothing at all in comparison to him.

“With that,” the projection says, interrupting your thoughts, “I’m afraid my spell is waning. Is there anything else you need of me, before I blink out of existence?”

Yes, you think. Yes, don’t go, stay here with me - even if you aren't him.

And like a complete fool, your treacherous body reaches out to this projection of him, false as he is, and tries to kiss him.

Your lips meet nothing but air. Nothing but that same shiver of magic you’d felt when touching the pouch, so undeniably Gale.

The projection stares at you for a moment, something like sadness in his eyes, and steps just the slightest bit closer. “I can see why I loved you,” he says.

With a burst of light, the projection fades into nothing but the flickering remnants of magic, shimmering in the air like stars in the deep velvet sky.

The immediate, immense grief that possesses you brings you to your knees.

After the night with the projection, two words stay with you.

Mortal magic.

Gale is beyond the reach of mortal magic. But the projection hadn't said anything about magic beyond mortal reach.

So, you do what Gale had done best: you research.

Your grief turns obsessive. You toss and turn through the nights, unable to sleep. You’ve been staying in Gale’s tower in Waterdeep, but the echoes of his presence prove too much, and you soon find a place nearby - close enough to visit when you’d like, but distanced enough to remove yourself when you need.

There’s only so many times you can listen to Morena crying for her son before it feels like it’s suffocating you.

When you finally find what you’ve been looking for - after blood and sweat and tears, bargaining, crying, pages and pages of research, and countless sleepless nights - it almost doesn't feel real.

But there’s a summoning scroll that’s warm in your hands, and it’s real enough that when you open it and read the words, the scent of cinnamon and honey fills the room. Within seconds, a familiar figure is materializing before you.

Tall. Smug. Wreathed in hellfire that slowly fades away.

“My, my,” he purrs, his gaze trailing over you from head to toe. “The Savior of Baldur’s Gate, calling my name. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Your eyes narrow. “We both know that it wasn't me who saved the city, Raphael.”

The crown’s power is so potent that you can almost see it: a flickering aura around him, present even in the curve of his cutting smile. It’s true, then. He’d fished the Netherstones out of the river and recrafted it. If Gale had been the one to wear it…

“Perhaps,” Raphael replies. “But seeing as you currently hold the title, I thought it appropriate.”

You’ve been planning this out for weeks now, but your planned speech turns to ash in your mind. “I want him back,” you say instead.

“Him?” Raphael repeats, perching his hand under his chin. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a touch more specific-”

“Gale,” you cut in. You’re in no mood for his games. “I want Gale back. Alive.”

Poorly-masked delight crosses over the devil’s features. You doubt he’s really trying to hide it, though. “And what could you possibly offer me that I don't already possess?”

“My soul.”

Your voice shakes a little as you say it, betraying you, but you’re more sure about this than anything else. No one will miss you like Gale is missed. You have no family left behind to mourn you, no tower full of unfinished research, no tressym to ache for the warmth of your lap.

Whatever the cost, you want Gale back. With the crown, Raphael has the power to do that.

But he simply tilts his head back and laughs. “I’m afraid I’ve… outgrown those kind of deals,” he says.

A small shard of fear slices through your gut. You hadn't considered anything else, but what could you give him that’s any worse than your soul?

You fold your arms across your chest and hold his gaze, ignoring the way your eyes desperately yearn to flit away. “What do you want, then?”

“Now that is the question,” Raphael muses, holding up a hand and giving it a loose twirl. “I’ve always had a fondness for humans. Such spirit; such devotion! You’re hailed as the hero of the city, yet here you are - offering me your soul. All in exchange for someone who, if I’m not mistaken, chose to sacrifice himself.”

Red-hot anger flares in your chest. There are a thousand things you could say, but you force yourself to swallow them down. You only have one chance at this.

“Yes,” you reply softly. “The someone who made it possible for you to retrieve the Crown of Karsus.”

“True,” Raphael admits, lifting a brow. “His sacrifice was useful, I suppose.”

You wait for him to go on, but he doesn't. Instead, he sits and watches you the way a lion watches its prey. Patient. Tense. Waiting for its reward.

“Raphael-”

“I’ll... consider what you’ve said,” he interrupts, straightening up and flashing you a smile. “Until then, I suggest sitting tight. What a waste it would be for the hero of Baldur’s Gate to waste away in grief, hm?”

He snaps his fingers, and as soon as the sound has hit your ears, he's dissolving into a burst of flame. You’re left with nothing.

You’ve been left with that more often than not, lately.

What would a devil want if not a soul?

It's the question you keep pondering time and time again. Raphael had laughed at your offer, but he hadn't turned you down flat. He’d said he would consider your proposition.

You aren't even sure what it is you'd proposed.

That he bring Gale back simply because his death had allowed Raphael to access the crown? That he do you some form of favor because of his admiration for humans?

You know enough of devils to know there is always a cost, but what exactly is it? What greater offering is there than a soul?

It’s the thought that keeps you up at night as the months roll by, plagued by insomnia. What could he possibly want from you that would prove more valuable? All you can do is wait for Raphael’s return, but the waiting is agony. Whatever his response, he’s in no hurry to give it. And in the meantime, you’re still forced to live without Gale.

The one year anniversary of the city being saved is a celebration for most. For you, it marks one year from the worst day of your life. That scene still plagues you most nights. Gale, insisting he sacrifice himself. Teleporting you and the others to safety. A flash of light. The tadpole, disintegrating in your brain.

And the worst part: the emptiness afterward. Knowing he was gone. No joy. No relief. Just numbness. A neverending loss.

The days afterward were a blur. Finding his pack. Gathering his things. Giving Tara and Morena the news.

You hadn't had the strength to look at his possessions for months, and when you had, your findings had made it so much worse.

A small ring, fitted for your finger. A note, written with clumsy handwriting. Addendums scrawled on the sidelines. Phrases scribbled out, and rewritten. A rehearsal for a marriage proposal he’d never gotten to give.

Gods, the loss you’d felt. The self-hatred.

It’s unbearable. It's what you keep thinking to yourself - that all of this is so unbearable.

It’s even what you’re thinking in the middle of the library in Gale’s tower, Morena at your side and Tara at your feet, mourning your losses. The three of you are so caught up in grief that you nearly miss the swirling oval of purple light that appears in the middle of the room.

It��s unbearable. And then, as your eyes lock onto the portal, it’s suddenly not.

Purple light begins to swirl through the room. Your limbs go cold. From head to toe, electricity seems to course through you - soaking into skin, into veins, almost painful. Even before anything happens, you simply know that something is either incredibly right or incredibly wrong.

Then Gale Dekarios stumbles out of the portal as if shoved, gasping for air, his hand placed over his chest, and the room goes silent.

Your heart starts racing so fast, you’re half sure it’s going to explode. Tara lets out a yowl that could rupture an eardrum. Morena freezes in place, practically a statue, not seeming to believe what she’s seeing.

Gale is here, and alive, and seemingly unharmed.

He’s dressed in his classic purple wizard robes. His earring is in place, as always. Beautiful grey streaks in dark hair. Warm brown eyes. Almost exactly the same as he’d looked when you’d first met him.

The only thing missing is the orb in his chest.

Your body moves automatically. Your hands reach for his face and find warm skin - real Gale, your Gale - and your mouth meets his the way you’ve longed for the last year.

Against your lips, Gale lets out a soft sound of surprise. You’re so happy to see him, to touch him, that you have to fight off the urge to melt into his arms. But as soon as you’ve pulled away, you know something is wrong.

His brows are pinched together in confusion. He’s not pulling you close. And, as you stare up at him, he lets out a shaky breath. Perplexion, not relief. Not desire. Not love.

You take a small step back.

“Mr. Dekarios, surely you can do better than that,” Tara chides, perching herself on a table beside him.

“Tara?” he breathes, glancing at her. His eyes turn back to you, and it’s like your lungs won’t quite get air. “I, er - forgive me,” he starts. “Do we… know each other?”

And all at once, as your heart tears into a thousand tiny pieces, you know Raphael’s cost.

#gale x reader #gale x tav #gale x you #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 epilogue spoilers #mywriting

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daughter-of-prospero · 11 months

Text

Jonah Rant

Someone on Youtube reminded me that I rage-typed an essay-length tirade about Jonah Magnus and his status as a certified Bastard Man right after the finale. They asked if there was a chance they could see it, which was a good question because did I even still have it? Turns out: Yes! It’s evidently been chilling in Onedrive for ~2 years. So for those who wish, my thoughts regarding that awful little man are below.

Spoilers for The Magnus Archives.

I went into the finale fully ready to not hear from Jonah again. I thought ‘oh, cosmic horror, as important as he thinks he is, he’s inconsequential and John just zaps him with eye lasers or something’. I didn’t want it per se, but I thought it was plausible.

But no. Oh no. Jonah Magnus speaks again, and he hasn’t been around for all of season 5. We heard him on a recording and we heard him chanting in the background and also all distorted in a job interview flashback, but there has been no actual uncompelled words being spoken by Jonah Magnus in real time since 159.

Yes he wrote the incantation but, rather crucially, he did not read it.

I binged TMA right as it got up to the season 4 finale. I got through season 1 in one day, and season 2 the next, and then got through three and four in the days after that. I caught up just in time for 160 to drop.

So I, foolish, naïve baby that I was, had over a year to forget what this character actually sounded like, and just how much of a slimy, insufferable fucker Jonah Magnus is. Was. Bitch.

I’ve gone into this elsewhere so I won’t belabor it but one of the reasons I’m so viscerally miffed by him is because of every human character in this podcast, he is the only one that is never shown sympathetically. I’m not counting Nikola Orsinov, or NotThems, or other manifestations of the Entities. I mean of the human, or avatar-human characters he is the least grey. Morality in this show is complex and tough to think about in my brain and one of the great ways it does this is through having really layered characters with motivations that are, at least a little, understandable. Jude Perry was a violent, sadistic lady...she was also devoted to Agnes and in some ways I think you could argue they were each other’s only links to humanity until what’s-his-name came along. Coffee shop Himbo guy. Peter Lukas is a misanthrope to the max who will send people into a nether realm if they so much as look at him wrong – which is to say, look at him at all. He was also raised to know nothing but loneliness, and pursuing it was kind of the only way he ever got some sort of approval. Which also manifested as more distance.

We get these little nuggets of what brought a villain where they are now, and we certainly don’t have to excuse them, but we have some context. We have some understanding that there is humanity in there, and that understanding makes them all the more unsettling.

Not fuckin’ Jonah.

What do we know about him? He’s a couple centuries old. Great. He found out about the powers, was drawn to the eye, and decided to start body-hopping to cheat death. He’s been doing this for ages. He tried a ritual and it failed. He took his time then, plotting and planning, and being smug, and finally arriving at a hypothesis that had a lot of credence to it. Everything fell into place, he was right, its all or nothing with the entities but the Eye rules because it opened the door (or WHATEVER).

So his big motivator is he doesn’t want to die.

And you know what, this is super understandable. We don’t know what his childhood was like (Jesus, can you imagine him in a little powder wig, climbing a tree to get a high vantage point to spy on people and get blackmail on them?), but fear of death is almost universal.

And of all the billions of people on this planet, I cannot help but notice that we are not thwarting narcissistic necromancers every fifteen minutes. Because the world would have fucking exploded a long, long time ago if we had more Jonahs in it. i.e. the people who would make aggressive selfishness a full-time occupation.

There’s a sort of cocktail of shit that makes him a memorable baddie not the least of which is that he never even attempts to justify his abhorrent actions. He’s not lying to himself, or anyone else, he’s not serving a cult, or a bunch of worms. He’s in it for himself, and if he has to stack the corpses of every living thing on the planet to reach immortality he’ll fucking do it without hesitation. Couple that with his manipulations, his merciless psychological torture, and a low, smooth voice that is always so infuriatingly composed and you have a Hell of a villain.

(I maintain that one of the reasons he’s so effective is that he enunciates so carefully. He doesn’t run words together, or mumble, he never really raises his voice, he is always in control, and everything is a flex right down to the articulation. I feel like we associate crisp, clear speech with formality, presidential addresses, or theater, things like that. Where you know what you are going to say and so the recitation is more confident. We hear this happen in statements, to a certain extent, but there’s still a lot of emotional range. For 199 episodes we never heard Jonah lose this pointed, smarmy tone. People don’t talk so formally in life, or when they’re talking on the podcast. There is something unsettling and intimidating about hearing such clear and confident speech all the time. It sounds like he knows exactly what to say in any situation. It sounds like he is utterly confident in every word that leaves his mouth. It sounds like he’s in a scene and no one else got the script but him. Because that is kinda what’s going on. At the very least, he thinks that’s what’s going on)

When he drops from wherever he’s suspended in the panopticon, he, you know, sort of makes a noise because that’s gotta be jarring. And we for once, for once, for fucking ONCE hear him even vaguely uncertain. And stupido io, I thought he was finally brought low and we might get a tantrum or something.

But no. Jonah Magnus has a lot of lost time to make up for, it’s been 20 eps since he’s been able to serenade everyone with his unique brand of horny arrogance. This motherfucker has exactly a millisecond of confusion and grogginess before “I was having the most...wonderful dream”. You can hear him edging.

And he’s kiiiiind of surprised to see John by himself with a knife, but still, so blasé, so, ‘oh, is that all?’ He’s a liiiiitle regretful to hear it’s over, but immediately heads into waxing rhapsodic about seeing a thousand lifetimes and the rapture of infinite sight and suffering and other Hellraiser shit when John speaks for all of us and tells him to shut up. Yet another reason to respect him.

And John has a lovely little catharsis where he gets to tell this orchestrator of his despair that Jonah has failed because the Things that Jonah is so devoted to will die a slow death. How long has he been waiting to say that, do you think? I mean at this point there’s nothing that could do what he’s probably feeling justice but he says it himself he gets some satisfaction from “knowing that I’ll be leaving these things that you serve trapped and starving in their own private hell.”

And all Jonah has to say is: “That we serve.” To the bitter, bitter end he is determined to just...okay I was gonna say twist the knife but that seems a bit tasteless now...determined to cause even more hurt. He cannot resist, it’s kind of all he knows. He is at the edge of a cliff and taunting the person that’s about to push him off of it.

And if you ever need a posterchild for ‘hubris’ just pull up a sound clip of Jonah Magnus. He tries to play the old ‘alright, playtime’s over,’ card, brushing the dust and what-the-fuck-ever else off his suit and manipulate John again. He has the...not even audacity, he’s looped back around from being semi-omniscient, to being so confident in that omniscience he thinks he knows everything and therefore acts way more stupidly than someone without that surety. He is enough of a dipshit to try and say to John “we both know you don’t have it in you”.

Motherfucker, what have you been doing for this entire season? What have you been doing this entire show? You have purposefully created someone who has withstood the brunt of every entity and come out more or less intact. You purposefully guided him into honing his powers, and put him in a position where he has nothing to lose. Well, Martin, but Jonah can’t do anything about that. Not anymore. Because the one person who can protect Martin is coincidentally the same person who can, will, and reeeeeally wants to Kill Jonah.

“King of a ruined world and I shall never die” my ass. King? Really? You were a placeholder, my dude. The Eye didn’t give a fuck that you were at the top of the panopticon and it didn’t give a fuck when John pulled you out of it. You said it yourself, dipshit. You might have started the archives, but John IS the archives. He is the only person more powerful than Jonah and Jonah, of all people, should know this. Especially considering you could presumably see John cutting through the domains, dishing out biblical vengeance, on a warpath for your tower.

So of course, he decides to antagonize John even more if that is even possible by telling him they both know he can’t do it.

And John fucking punches him and it’s great. Extended sounds of brutal ass whooping, please and thank you.

And then we get one of two lines that sums up Jonah Magnus for me.

“P-please John, I don’t want to die”.

This guy. Who dedicated his several lives to ruling the world and feeding on everyone else’s pain. Who has committed atrocities that numerous to count and too horrible to name. Who is being confronted by the direct target of his machinations and who, I think it’s safe to say, hates him more than anyone or anything else in existence. Has the absolute fucking nerve to go “but I’m scared :(”

When he went ‘I don’t want to die’ I actually said to literally no one because I was alone in my room “HA, Fuck you.”

John puts it a bit more eloquently. “Neither did they”. Beautiful. And then he’s gutted like the repulsive little fish he is.

The second line that sums up this insufferable megalomaniac is a little earlier. It’s casual, neither of them makes a point of it. Maybe because it’s a little redundant. “Empathy only holds you back in the end”.

I don’t want to die, and Empathy only holds you back in the end.

I mean, that’s the thesis statement of the shit-eating essay that is Jonah Magnus.

He’s so far beyond regret, or anything that isn’t 100% self-motivated he cannot perceive that perhaps John will have maybe, I don’t know, changed a bit. Gotten used to horror. Killed. He cannot fathom anything outside the tower as more than a food source. He is so used to seeing people as pawns he dies not actually understanding why John killed him. “Good luck” are his last lines.

First of all, the direction is ‘wetly’ and on the one hand I know what that means, but on the other, I cannot think of a more fitting adjective to end on with this guy.

Second of all, the ambiguity of how sincere he is or isn’t being is enraging, and so classic and I hate him, which is to say fucking excellent job of writing and acting both.

He goes to his grave thinking John’s making a power grab. He cannot conceive of any other reason for John doing what he’s doing. They’re opposite ends of the spectrum. One who can think of no one but himself, and one who will sacrifice himself because he’s thinking of everyone else. You know how matter can’t be created or destroyed? I think guilt might be the same way. And Jonah found a handy receptacle for all the guilt he doesn’t have time for and that receptacle is named Jonathan Sims head Archivist of The Magnus Institute.

What a good villain. What an infuriatingly mellifluous bitch. The thinks he’s King of the World, he thinks he’s going to get such special treatment, he thinks consequences apply to everyone but him, he thinks this is a game he can win when he doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s playing.

As much as he looked at John and went “perfect, an insecure idiot”, the Web looked at him and went “perfect, a pompous ass”. He wanted to live forever, but now he’s dead. And he doesn’t even get to live on in memory. No one knew he was up there. No one remembered Elias, let alone Jonah. You think Georgie, Melanie, Rosie, and Basira are going to tell the world about him? What would be the point?

Congratulations, Jonah. You tried to ensure your immortality and ended up ensuring that you died both literally and figuratively. Before it got yeeted into another dimension The End must have had a fucking Field Day the second his heart stopped beating.

What a bastard. What an unfathomable bastard. Like he really thought this would all work out for him, that he was the most Important Thing in the world when, at best, at best he was a glorified fucking contact lens.

Ass.

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #Rusty Quill #RQ #Jonathan Sims #Jonah Magnus #Rant #The Eye #TMA spoilers

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fanfictionalhooligan · 10 months

Text

Wounds of the Final Battle〚Haganezuka x Kakushi!Reader Oneshot〛

Preface: Being happily married won't stop you from doing your part as a Kakushi to help the Demon Slayers defeat Kibutsuji Muzan, even if it means risking your life. Hotaru, your beloved husband, struggles with this reality.

Just like the original chapter of this continuity, this can be read as an independent story. See the AO3 version (link) if you prefer third-person over second-person narration!

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why would you do something so stupid?!”

You recoil at his sharp words. Hotaru has never yelled at you like this before. At everyone else, yes…but not at you. Not with those kinds of words.

“Hotaru, I have to!” you tell him hopelessly. He's stormed off towards his workshed and you desperately follow him; it's something he tends to do in order to calm down, to pick up a sword and start sharpening it or begin forging another one.

The two of you are starting to attract onlookers, and although you can't see their faces behind the Hyottoko masks, you can still register the shock in the sharp turn of their heads and the gasps as the hotheaded swordsmith – your enraged husband – goes off the handle and begins kicking and throwing aside any objects in his path.

“Stop that!” you yell after him, but he picks up his pace, oblivious to all your attempts to console him. It's as if he can't stand the sound of your voice right now.

...Or rather, he can't stand to hear another reason why you have to be there to fight Kibutsuji Muzan with the Demon Slayers.

You might be just a Kakushi with absolutely no swordsmanship skills, but this battle is going to take every person and every ounce of strength that can possibly weaken the progenitor of all demons. Many Demon Slayers will be wounded if not killed, and every Kakushi counts to keep them alive as best they can.

Hotaru has a problem with the fact that you, his wife, aren't able to protect yourself the way the Demon Slayers can. The Kakushi are completely at the mercy of the demons if the swordsmen are taken out. You can't even blame Hotaru for going off the handle right now. You would be angry and terrified in his shoes, too. You're trying your hardest not to cry seeing his pain manifest into livid rage.

The two of you eventually make it to his workshed, and Hotaru nearly slams the door in your face until he sees your expression; you must look pretty awful and he simply doesn't have it in him to drive you away. When he'd asked you to marry him, he had promised you that he would support you through everything and do all that he could to help you endure as a Kakushi. It's starting to creep into his conscience now, you can tell.

Unable to think of any words to say, Hotaru turns on his heel and marches to the back of the workshed. He's trying to find anything at all to work on, to channel his absolute focus that can tune out the painful world, but he's distraught and ends up knocking over a basket of dull blades. “Fucking hell!” he roars.

You have never seen your husband so shaken before. “Hotaru…” you call to him softly. He pauses, fists clenched as he stares toward the ground at all the scattered Nichirin Sword blades. There are a lot more of them than usual because, lo and behold, the entire village is also preparing the Demon Slayers to fight Muzan. It doesn't help Hotaru at all right now.

You quietly make your way over to his side as he simply stands there and stares at all the spilled blades. “Do you want me to be here right now?” you ask him gently. There really are no words to say that would make the situation better.

To your dismay, Hotaru shakes his head violently. “Not if it’s going to be the last time I see you alive!” he scowls.

“Don’t say that -”

“Then can you guarantee you’ll survive this suicide mission?” Hotaru shouts, causing you to flinch. “Go ahead, say it – tell me you don’t have any real chance of being butchered by a demon this time!”

You hang your head. “I…I can’t.” The words drop like a dead weight and the room feels heavy. “I’m so sorry, Hotaru. I can’t.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and grabs his head with both hands, his fingers digging into his scalp as he turns his back to you.

“But you know why I have to go, don’t you?” you tell him desperately. “It’s my duty as a Kakushi, just like yours as a swordsmith, you know – like how you didn’t stop honing that sword while a demon was attacking you -”

“SHUT UP!” Hotaru screams, without warning. “SHUT UP AND GO AHEAD AND FUCKING DIE SINCE YOU WANT TO SO BADLY! I obviously don’t mean shit to you, anyway!”

You recoil and the tears begin to run down your face. Your husband has completely lost it and has gone somewhere you can't reach him. “Hotaru…” Your voice is shaking now, and it hurts to speak at all.

Your husband wheels back around at the sound of your tortured voice, his fingers still digging into his scalp as you stand there trembling. “Oh, God.” He has returned to you, and it makes you want to cry even harder. “Oh, God…" he whispers. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes widen. You can count on your fingers the number of times you've ever heard of Hotaru apologizing in his life, and you didn’t see this one coming. His good eye looks wild and distraught, unable to process the horror at himself and at the reality of the battle that he is completely helpless to stop.

“I’m sorry, too,” you tell him meekly. “I don’t want to leave you here…”

Hotaru’s arms lower from his head; one of his hands covers his face instead. Is he about to cry? He probably doesn't want you to see it. “T-there are hundreds of Kakushi going to this battle…” he mutters. “What difference does it make if just one of them sits out?”

“Everything,” you reply automatically. “Every action builds upon the next. Every person counts.”

Your husband knows that there is no stopping you. You wish you could turn away from the battle, to stay home safe and sound with him and let him hold you for the rest of your lives as you promised each other. But your duty as a Kakushi is more important to you than the possibility of dying, like how Hotaru can't even tell when his eye is being crushed or when his body is being slashed repeatedly once he starts forging a sword. You've devoted yourself to doing your part to help the Demon Slayers after watching your entire family be slaughtered by the monsters several years ago.

…But Hotaru is so precious to you, too. Ever since he came into your world, you've had something dear to hold onto and someone who can make you smile no matter how beaten down you are after carrying dying or dead Demon Slayers back from battle. A lot of times, he carries you on his back himself when you return to the village looking crestfallen and your uniform stained with blood that you haven't been able to wash out despite your best efforts. He gives you a place to rest, as he promised. “I-I want to come home, Hotaru,” you tell him hopelessly. “I want to come home to you so badly. It will help me stay alive, I promise.”

‘Help’ is far from good enough to comfort him, but it's all you can manage.

Hotaru finally lowers both his arms. “I know.” He looks away for a moment and yes, those are tears. “I just… At the very least, I want to be by your side if you die out there.” Your heart breaks as his voice cracks. “But I don’t even get that luxury. I can’t fix you if you’re gone, not like swords that can be reforged and honed again - I can’t do a damn thing -”

You can't bear to watch him like this and before you know it, you run forward and throw yourself into his arms. “I love you, dear Hotaru. I love you so much. I’ll do everything I can to come home.” He goes still for a moment, but you feel his strong arms wrap around you and squeeze you tight enough for you to fear that he plans on staying like this to stop you from taking a single step away from him.

“I love you, too. More than you can ever imagine.” His voice is shaking just as much as yours is, but both of you close your eyes and cherish the fleeting memories. Like how the sun had never shined so brightly before when you were married on Mount Yoko a month ago, the place where Nichirin Swords themselves come from. Hotaru had taken you to his most sacred place on earth just to promise himself to you. Tecchikawahara-san, Kanamori-san and even Kotetsu-kun had been bawling with happiness for the both of you. A crowd of Kakushi who were close to you had shown up as well, and even Tanjiro – who is more terrified of your husband than anyone else – was there alongside his closest companions in the Demon Slayers, and his smiling sister repeated “Congratulations!” like a broken record. It was the most beautiful day of your lives.

“I don’t know how to handle this. I’m a damn wreck,” Hotaru finally admits. You wrap your arms around him tightly as you feel his chest heaving with a sigh. “I…I thought that swords were all that mattered in the world. But you, you are like – the most beautiful of blades, you know. Like one that has just lit up and changed colors beneath the sun and outshines the rest. You came into this world more beautiful than all of them and you are the last one that I want to see broken.”

Your husband’s analogies to Nichirin Swords being the only way he knows how to compliment anything or anyone always makes you giggle. “Dearest husband, you’re making me blush,” you tell him, almost playfully, if only the tears weren’t streaming down both your faces and your voice all crackly. You bury your head in his chest to listen to the sound of his heartbeat, and he has no choice but to give in.

“Please come home…okay?”

"Heave, heave, heave!"

"Don't retreat!!! No matter what happens!"

"Do not fall back! Continue to push!!! We're all together! We are not afraid!"

...

Dawn has arrived.

The frantic voices surrounding you are like distant echoes. Your consciousness is fading in and out and you're vaguely aware of the massive pool of blood soaking the stretcher beneath you. You're dizzy and your blood-drained face is pale.

“DON’T YOU DARE DIE, YOU HEAR ME?” Goto’s voice registers somewhere between your lapse in conscious moments. “Your crazy husband will kill us all if you do!”

Your crazy husband.

That's right. Your crazy husband is waiting at home with a row of knives laid out for every person he's going to deem responsible for your death if you leave him behind. “H-Hotaru…” you call softly as you picture that image, which looks endearing probably only to you.

“YES, keep talking! Stay awake!” Goto yells next to you. The air is whizzing past your face, and you're surrounded by fellow Kakushi members hauling your body along to who-knows-where. Your head rolls to the side, and suddenly you notice the blankets covering endless corpses laid across the ground. There is sobbing everywhere around you.

You remember that you were crying, too, when you had pulled a blanket over the young Mist Hashira, who’d passed away far too young. A second later, Kibutsuji Muzan came rampaging and fleeing for dear life – you will never forget that horrifyingly hideous body – burning in the sun. Everyone, Demon Slayers and Kakushis alike, charged after him and resorted to utilizing everything possible in the environment to stop him from getting away.

Your memory is fading, but you faintly recall Goto and two others jumping behind the wheel of three cars before driving straight at Muzan in a crazy, suicidal effort. You were with a crowd of fellow Kakushis pushing a bus with all your might to stop the hideous Demon King from escaping. He clawed at everyone and cracked open the wall behind him, thrashing and causing massive chunks of bricks and debris to rain down upon the Kakushi. A stop sign was uprooted, and its broken pole sailed straight at you…

You look down at yourself and finally register the thick layer of bandages around your abdomen.

...Oh. You've been impaled, haven't you?

But for some reason, it doesn't hurt that much. You wonder if this is what it feels like to die, and it's actually not as bad as you thought. Your eyes begin to close, ever so slowly.

Please come home…okay?

Your husband's voice, so raw and somber and hopelessly praying for your safety, echoes through your head and hurts more than any wound from that hideous Muzan. You suddenly feel tears pooling beneath your eyes and snap them back open. “Hotaru – where is he?” you ask deliriously.

“On the way here! JUST STAY ALIVE!” Goto bellows back, though his eyes carry a new relief at your first coherent sentence.

“O-okay…” you reply weakly.

Everything fades to black.

“Out of my way!”

“Haganezuka-san, she’s still resting -”

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY! I’ll kill you!”

It's the sound of his voice that stirs you awake. It's a familiar chorus to you, filled with yells of terror and the sharp sound of a knife – or multiple – being unsheathed. And above them all, the wild screams of rage from your husband. It makes you smile.

You feel heavy footsteps shaking the wooden floor itself as they rush over to your bedside. You slowly open your eyes.

There are two of him, for some reason. Hotaru's face is doubled and the two images cross each other for a moment before solidifying into one. “…Hotaru?” you murmur groggily.

You hear all the knives clatter to the ground as he throws his arms around you, lifts your entire upper body from the bed, and holds you tight. You hear countless protests from frustrated Kakushi across the room, something about ‘You’re going to open her wound and make her bleed to death!’ but you soak in the warmth of your husband's embrace and none of it hurts.

“Y-you’re alive..." Hotaru whispers, his voice trembling. “You’re alive.”

“Mmhmm…” you reply faintly and rather anticlimactic, mostly only aware of how safe and warm his arms feel around you.

“We’re about to start another blood transfusion,” says someone behind him.

“Go away or I’ll kill you,” Hotaru replies murderously.

“She needs that to live, you know.” Goto’s grouchy voice is easy to recognize. He’s always had a limited tolerance for others’ carelessness, no matter their seniority or even if they happen to be waving knives at him.

“Hotaru, it’s okay.” You smile and lift your arms weakly to wrap around your husband. He hasn't loosened his grip around you one bit, and it grows even tighter if anything. “Let them help me. It’ll make me get better sooner.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and loosens his arms just enough to lean back and look into your eyes. “Then I’ll stay with you.”

You could swear that there are subtle groans coming from the others around the room, who probably aren't keen on having Hotaru for company while tending to your wounds. But neither of you are paying much attention to it. You lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek. “I’d like that.”

Nightfall comes, and Hotaru manages to fit himself on your bed with you. He's never going to let go of you again, nor you of him. The demons are gone, and so are the deepest terrors of losing each other to them. It's the most peaceful sleep you've ever had in your life and before you drift off, you smile knowing that the sun will rise and you will get to return home with the love of your life, hand in hand.

- The End

Thank you SO much for reading! 💚

Post-credits and Commentary:

This was requested by a commenter on AO3 but adapted to the traditional second-person narration on tumblr. As far as writing goes, the story ends here but there are a series of miscellaneous comics requested by tumblr users here if you'd like!

References to the bus scene (and used in header image):

Drawing references: - Stretcher- Hugging- Sleeping

All fanart and comic: link

Original Story (in third-person)

#haganezuka x reader #haganezuka x you #haganezuka #hotaru haganezuka #demon slayer haganezuka #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kakushi #oneshot #fanart #my fanart #demon slayer fanart #kny fanart

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whiskey-bumblebee · 1 year

Text

I'm On Fire (Chapter 2)

Pairing: DBF!Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Word Count: 2470

Warnings: older Hotch/younger reader, cheating, daddy issues, a little bit of angst

Taglist: @littlepeanut03 @rosaline-black @moonmark98 @yuly @jazzymariexoxoc @frogoko @morgthemagpie

You're staring at the kitchen sink, a full glass of water on the counter to your left. Alone again. It's been days since you've seen your dad.

You let your head rest in your hands as you prop your elbows up on the counter. Aaron had left his number in your phone when he dropped you back home after your late night drive. You were using every ounce of strength not to call him.

It had been a week or so since that night, or morning, you supposed, since you'd watched the sun rise together, when you teased him for his Spartan taste in coffee and breakfast food. You hadn't heard anything, and you were starting to think it must have meant nothing to him. You were nothing but his friend's daughter. Another thing to take care of, like the unmown grass, or filing taxes.

Despite how little you seemed to mean to him, you couldn't stop replaying your conversations in your mind. Although you'd been sleeping for much of the time, when you were awake, you'd talked about everything. He'd opened up about Haley, the way that their marriage was slowly disintegrating because of their different goals, his difficult work schedule. He'd hesitated before telling you another piece, unsure if it was even appropriate to mention it to you.

"She's started..." He sighed. "She's started trying to tamper with the birth control we use. She hasn't refilled her prescription for the pill in a while and..."

He turned away from you as much as he could, fixing his gaze on something on the left of the horizon. His voice dropped to a low whisper.

"The other night when we were... You know what I mean. She tried to pull off the condom. A week ago I was looking in my bedside table for one of my watches, and the condoms were all over the place. The drawer was sticky, so I picked up one of them," He paused again. "It had a hole in it. I thought okay, leak, I'll just throw this one out. But I looked at one of the others, just in case, and..."

"Oh my god," You said softly. "Aaron, that's not okay. If someone I was dating did something like that..."

You felt your jaw clench. How fucking awful was that? Trying to trap him with a baby? It was one thing to try and convince him, to try and save their marriage, to talk about why he was hesitant, but it was a different thing entirely to start taking matters into her own hands. It would obliterate the last of the trust between them. It was sick.

He'd talked a little about his college years, but his playful smile told you there was a lot he was holding back.

"C'mon, Seattle in the 90s? You must have gotten up to no good," You said, trying to eke out some information. "Concerts, weed, girls?"

"I focused on studying," He said, and pressed his lips together.

"You're lying again. That's one of your tells," You pointed at his lips. "You go like this."

You mimicked his expression, the physical manifestation of withholding information or some emotion.

He looked over at you and laughed. "You'd make a good profiler."

"Profiling," You said dreamily. "And you get to travel all over the place. What's it like?"

"It's hard work," He said slowly. "A lot of the time it's unpleasant. But I like to think we make a difference."

"Could you profile me?"

He looked over at you, his expression serious.

"It's not like astrology, or palm-reading" He said. "You might not like what I have to say."

"I won't hold it against you," You replied. "I'm sure none of it will really be new to me. I spend a lot of time thinking about who I am and how I got here."

"You're independent, probably more than you should be, but that says more about your father than it does about you." He paused, taking a breath, and looked over at you again, sadness in his eyes this time. "You're constantly reading the people around you, or at least me, trying to figure out what they're thinking."

You nodded. "It's not just you."

He pulled into the drive through, joining the long line of cars queuing for their morning coffee. For a moment, you thought about how the two of you must look to anyone who took a second to look through the windscreen or one of the windows. You, in a salt-starched button up shirt. Aaron, in a faded blue t-shirt and the joggers you'd been wearing a few hours before. A strange pair of lovers, or maybe just a strange pair.

"The reason you read everyone is because you use it as a pre-emptive defense mechanism. If you know how everyone is feeling, you can adjust your behaviour to avoid making anyone upset."

"Oh," You said. "So that makes me... a psychopath, or something?"

Aaron chuckled and shook his head, looking at you properly now that the car was safely stopped. "No. It makes you like a lot of other women."

"Oh," You said again, somehow feeling even more dejected. "Just ordinary."

He shook his head, reaching across the centre console to wipe some salt from your cheek. "You're far from ordinary."

"Next in line," Came the staticky voice from the speaker. "How can I help you?"

"What do you want?" He whispered.

"Something sweet," You replied. "And a bagel."

He relayed the information to the disembodied voice.

"Is that all?"

"No, could I also get a black coffee? No cream, no sugar, and do you have a bacon and egg sandwich?"

"Sure. Drive up to the next window."

"Thank you," Aaron replied, shooting you a conspiratorial smile. Why did you feel like you were getting away with something?

"Mr. Bacon and Egg," You teased.

"What?" He replied, reaching for his wallet. "Nothing wrong with the classics."

There was a knock at your door, and you jumped. Your dad?

You took a big sip of water before making your way to the door, then peered through one of the little glass windows to see who it was. With a sigh of relief, you undid the deadbolt. Aaron.

"Is your dad home?" He looked you up and down, but there was no hunger in it.

Your brow furrowed. "No."

"We need to talk," He said, letting himself in, locking the door.

Your stomach dropped through the floor. Here it comes. He's going to tell me that I've been coming onto him and it needs to stop. Head heavy with shame, you let your body fall to the couch and looked down at the rug. He's married, how did you think this was going to end?

"Haley's leaving me."

You looked at him, waiting for the next sentence. None came.

"Aaron," You breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"I went for a drive," He said. "To the beach. In Delaware."

There was a long silence, and he walked to the kitchen and back, bringing you the glass of water you'd abandoned.

You took another sip, looking down at the floor again.

"I..." He took a seat beside you.

You looked at him, searching his face.

"I can't read you," You said softly. "You need to tell me."

He looked deep into your eyes, no doubt seeing the feelings you had for him. You couldn't put words to them yet, but you had a feeling your eyes were telling a story your heart hadn't yet been able to commit to. "I didn't like the beach."

Agony tearing through you, you broke the eye contact, rubbing your face with one of your hands. What had you expected?

He took your hand in his, pulling it from your face. His grip was rough, but it was nothing compared to the confusion and pain radiating through your body.

"No," He said insistently. "I didn't like the beach because... It wasn't the beach. It was you."

You looked at him hopefully, praying to every god whose name you'd ever learned that your heart was right to start beating wildly, full of anticipation.

He whispered your name, his hand coming to the side of your face as the space between you seemed to shrink.

"Haley wouldn't mind," You whispered.

"She wouldn't," He replied, his face close enough to yours that certain syllables sent his lips brushing against yours. He rubbed his nose against yours, waiting to be seized by a sudden rush of morality. It didn't come.

You closed the gap between you, taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, sealing your lips to his. For a moment you stayed like that, just pressing your lips together, not moving, hardly breathing.

Then it was like lightning- his lips moving against yours, his weight starting to shift on top of your body as you slipped beneath him, your hands moving to cup his back, hips dropping open to accommodate his body in this new position. The harsh noises of your breathing between frantic kisses, the wet sound as your tongue just barely left your mouth, tracing over his lips. A thud as his hand met the arm of the couch, supporting his weight. And if that all was lightning, the electric lick of light across a bright sky, the rest was apocalypse, the hounds of hell breaking loose as your bodies settled against each other, his tongue snaking across your lips, testing the seam of them, whether you'd let him in. You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth, running your tongue across the slightly swollen skin as you released his lip.

You settled into a rhythmic tempo, swaying against each other like the waves on the shore, the push and the pull like something divinely inspired, driven by the moon, something of a greater magnitude than mere magnetism. Something like gravity.

When you broke away, it was all changed. Even from this distance, hardly an inch away from him, you knew the world had tilted on its axis. You became aware of the sound of children playing outside, the ring of a bicycle's bell. You were certain that if you walked outside, you'd see them riding their bicycles straight into the sky, or the birds would be flying upside down. The warmth of the sun would radiate from the ground, and the tickle of the grass would rain down on you.

Your eyelashes seemed like monuments as you blinked slowly, attempting to clear your vision. When you opened your eyes, nothing had changed. There he was. There you were.

The sun warmed your bare skin as you curled into Aaron's chest. Something about the kiss had been draining, as beautiful as it was, and you'd led him upstairs to rest. He traced shapes on your back.

"That was intense," He said, finally.

"I'm tired," You said, suddenly feeling like you might cry.

"I shouldn't stay."

You tilted your head to look up at him, taking a moment to appreciate the way that he looked in your bed, his short dark hair contrasting with your cream-coloured pillow.

"You could," You said.

He shook his head.

"I thought you said Haley left?"

He nodded. "She did. But your dad could come back any minute."

It was your turn to shake your head. "He won't be here until Tuesday. He stays at her place from Thursday night until Tuesday morning so they can have weekends."

"Generous definition of weekend," He scoffed. "He should take better care of you."

"He makes sure there's food when he comes. And besides, I can take care of myself."

"You shouldn't have to," He said softly, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. His voice was filled with fondness, and you broke his gaze so you could rest your head against his chest again.

"You take care of me," You whispered.

"I could," He whispered. "You deserve to know what it feels like."

There were butterflies in your stomach. You lay like that for another hour, waiting to decide what to do. There was no clear path forward, you knew that much.

"I should go," He murmured. "I have some errands to run before everything closes for the night, and work in the morning."

"What are we going to do?" You said softly, sitting upright.

He sat up too, swinging his legs out of the bed.

"What if this is it?" He replied. "The simplest thing to do would be to leave it here."

"Aaron," You said, your voice breaking. "I couldn't live."

You reached for your phone.

"Can I take a photo of us? So at least I know it wasn't a dream?"

His mind flicked to Penelope, and her incredible capacity for unearthing files from anywhere. Your phone was far from secure, and he just couldn't risk a photo like that ending up somewhere it shouldn't.

He shook his head. "It's too risky. No one should find out about this."

You sighed, looking over at the wall, the last of the day's light filling the room with light, although it was limited to a square in the shape of the window.

You took him by the chin, pulling him gently into the light.

He laughed.

"What?"

"Hell of a metaphor," He said, shaking his head with a small smile.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but he shook his head. You dropped the subject and gestured at his shadow on the wall, the silhouette of his head.

"How about this?"

You leaned into the light, leaving your silhouettes facing each other.

He nodded. "That works."

Careful not to let your phone cast a shadow, you framed the shot and looked at him while he looked at you, both of you fighting back wide smiles. Your phone clicked softly, and you checked to make sure the picture was okay. You nodded and showed it to him. He smiled and kissed your forehead, wrapping an arm around you.

"This isn't going to be easy," He said.

You took one of his hands in both of yours, and looked at him seriously. "I don't need easy. I do need you."

You both sat there for a moment, letting your words hang in the air and permeate your skin.

"God," You breathed. "I can't believe you said what if this is it? I couldn't leave things here. I'd die."

"How about this?" He said, echoing your words from earlier. You followed his gaze as he looked down at his hands. He slipped off his gold wedding ring and placed it on your bedside table.

"My promise this isn't it."

You looked at him, tears forming in your eyes, and nodded.

He took your hands in his, and pressed a kiss to them before enclosing them completely in his.

#aaron hotchner/reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds #my writing #i'm on fire #dbf!hotch

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nmakii · 2 months

Note

Yandere Nagito, Kokichi with Demon Overlord Mastermind! Reader.

NATURE ABHORS A POWER VACUUM, IT LEAVES ROOM FOR YOU AND ME!

— yandere!nagito + kokichi x overlord!mastermind!reader

— gn!reader, spoilers for danganronpa! nagito and kokichi in general are warnings

wrote this immediately after my religion class bc lol! i hate my teacher!!

— yandere!nagito

quite confused by how often you squabble with chiaki since she is generally a girl who is easy to get along with. it seems as though your very presence gets her in a bad mood…

a little bit into the fact that you’re quite cold to the rest of the group. sometimes, nagito just follows you around the island like a lost little puppy

often distressed by the fact you are dismissive of nagito’s dreams for hope. it’s hope! it’s the manifestation of absolute good, how could you not believe in it?

finds you quite useful in trials, it’s almost as if you already know what happened!

generally, nagito has positive views of you. until he went into the final dead room…

at first, he was confused at by your student profile; there was no written date of birth, no ultimate talent written— general info that is important in hope’s peak… because of this, he was able to piece together though that you were the traitor.

after leaving the funhouse, nagito established a rendezvous with you at night in the hotel.

“why, hello there, s/o.” nagito snarled at you, a certain type of fury in his eyes. “what is it, nagito? it’s kinda late. and, after that funhouse, i want nothing more but to eat and sleep…” you pouted

“haha… it’s okay, s/o, really! you can drop the act already. i know you’re the traitor.” nagito laughed, waving his hand as he walked towards you. “traitor? don’t be stupid, nagito.” you huffed out, just about to leave the hotel.

nagito pulled out the book of student profiles as a ball of anxiety set itself in your stomach. nagito flipped to the page with your student profile on it, a photo of you in the hope’s peak uniform on the top left corner. “would you care then to explain why so much information is left out?” he tilted his head.

you remained silent for awhile, a million thoughts running through your head before you sighed out. “can’t believe i got caught so easily…” nagito’s eyes widened. “so i was right, huh?” you rolled your eyes at him before answering him. “not exactly… i could tell you everything if you were to say… sell me your soul..?” you subtly raised an eyebrow to him.

“sell… my soul? what are you talking about?” nagito awkwardly laughed, clearly confused by what you meant. “look… i’m not exactly the mastermind. more like… an accomplice? i was summoned from hell and we made a deal~…” you calmly explained. “if you were to give me your soul’s eternal enslavement… i’ll tell you anything you wish to know” you grinned, reached a hand towards him.

nagito thought about it before his hand locked with yours, a colorful aura filling the hotel, the glow reaching even the cottages. “deal.” plenty of information immediately filled nagito’s head as he finally started to piece it all together.

the tragedies were truly horrific, not to mention junko enoshima’s constant interruption with the future foundation’s plans, causing this awful killing game; nothing but pure and utter despair. the look on nagito’s face was one of pure horror, a panicked look all over his face as he had a cold sweat. “haah… haha…” he huffed out, his muscles stiffening in fear. “i see… i..” a despairful look filling his eyes.

and that was the night that nagito disappeared, beginning to work on his master plan.

nagito hid from the rest of you, carefully stalking you and making sure you wouldn’t ruin his plan.

he’d begin to fall back into his ‘servant’ persona; creating the bomb and creating that fake threat.

fueled by his hatred for you, he’d hyper-fixate on everything you do; making sure that despite his classmates’ atrocities, you wouldn’t hurt them.

and as he lay there on that cold floor, spear cord in hand, he made a promise; he’ll do whatever to make sure that he’d get you and the mastermind killed. even if it meant killing his classmates. and, even if it cost his soul.

— kokichi ouma

curious of you… fascinated by your cold demeanor and your distaste for chit-chat… you’re quite similar to maki, huh?

and because of those, he’s able to conclude you’re hiding something as well.

he can feel something is off whenever you talk about your ultimate talent, but he just can’t figure out why. why would anyone lie about their ultimate talent?

it is not until late one night. kokichi was skipping away from kiyo’s lab, caged child book in hand, that he sees you and tsumugi talking in one of the dark empty rooms.

‘curious… why would that be?’ he wonders, as he presses an ear close by.

“tsumugi… this plot of yours is getting complex. you’re deluding the students with too much truth and lies bullshit. at this point, it’s not danganronpa anymore.” you protested. “enough already… you promised to aid our team, so long as you get my soul when i die.”

soul? what’s that supposed to mean? were you some kind of superhuman?

“even you have to admit, this is really meta…” you muttered. “it’s okay, we have scriptwriters to fix that! now, i need to request something of you.” tsumugi started. “i need you to put a stop to kokichi. his character is getting out of control, make sure that he doesn’t do anything to reveal the ending.” she stated. you huffed out grumpily. “understood…”

kokichi’s eyes widened, running off as quietly as he could as to make sure he wouldn’t be caught.

put a stop to him? would he be killed? kokichi thought rapidly about the possibilities.

as a result of that, he started to become more unhinged as to keep himself safe from you. all of this ending up getting miu and gonta killed…

kokichi knew he was in danger, he’d have to hide to keep himself safe. any minute now, tsumugi would have you kill him…

in the end, he decided to lie, as per usual. he lied that he was the mastermind after all!

“soo, the mastermind you’re looking for… is me!” a monstrous look on kokichi’s face. as kaito attempted to attack him, the many exisals surrounding kokichi, prepared to attack.

you held kaito back, an angered look on his face. “s/o! what the hell are you doing?! we have to kill the mastermind to finally end this killing game!” he shouted. “kaito! listen, we have to be careful…” shuichi sighed out, grippinghis chin thoughtfully. “shuichi’s right, we shouldn’t act so brashly. if kokichi really is the mastermind, he’ll be—“ you sternly said before being interrupted, grabbed by the legs by an exisal.

“yoink! s/o, you’re coming with mee!!” kokichi sang happily. shuichi grimaced, looking kokichi in the eye. “this isn’t over, kokichi.” kokichi grinned as he walked away. “oh, but it is over! when i play a game, i intend to win.”

when you woke up, you were in the exisal hangar, a red bean curd bun and a box of milk in front of you.

“tell me what you are.” kokichi frowned, him beside your body, crisscrossed legs beside your head. “well uh… my name is s/o… and i was just knocked out by the mastermind.” you snidely replied. “don’t give me that bullshit, i know you were told to keep an eye on me.” kokichi’s eyes glared at you.

your eyes widened before you sighed, sitting up on your butt. “guess the cat’s out of the bag…” you laughed. “well… i’m a demon overlord from hell… i was summoned by team danganronpa to help with their killing games. i have to admit though, recently… it’s been getting a bit dry.”

“then… would you like to… make a deal?” kokichi questioned hesitantly, unsure of how this would work. “interesting… do tell me, what are your terms?” you leaned forward.

“you help me execute my plan, in return… i’ll give you my soul.” he said. “ah… this would be breaking my terms with tsumugi… oh well, i can’t resist a good deal.” you grinned, shaking your hand with kokichi’s, effectively sealing the deal.

“so then, what is it you need?” you tilted your head, finally taking a bite of the food before you. “i need you.. to kill me.” kokichi said, the most serious you’ve ever seen him. “this means you’ll be the blackened, okay?”

you nodded you head. “how exciting… i can’t wait to see how i’ll be executed.” you said, wondering out loud. “no, i want to make a case where the mastermind can’t know who the victim is. i’m sure that… this will end the killing game for sure.”

you thought about it, before nodding. “alright then, where should we begin?”

#hazbin hotel #danganronpa #goodbye despair #killing harmony #nagito komaeda #nagito komaeda x reader #kokichi ouma x reader #drv3 kokichi #danganronpa kokichi #kokichi ouma #kokichi x reader #kokichi oma x reader #kokichi oma #drv3 ouma

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noyzinerd · 11 months

Text

I guess we're all just over here posting Sterek snippets-(Part 1)

So, I guess here's one of mine, not that anyone was asking 😅 (with more snippets to come soon, after some polishing).

A snippet from "Pseudology"

Understandably, Derek hadn't even thought twice about how Stiles had known, at the time, that Jennifer was the 'second psychotic, mass-murdering girlfriend Derek had ever dated'.

Because of course Stiles had found out about his relationship with Kate. That wasn't a surprise. He was Stiles. The boy was as curious as they came.

Derek had always just assumed Stiles had snooped through his records or something else highly invasive.

If that had been the case, Derek didn't think he would've even been that upset at Stiles for prying where he had no business prying.

If that had been the case, he would've just been grateful Stiles was able to keep his secret to himself for as long as he had.

If only that had been the case.

As Stiles' memory manifested all around Derek, building itself brick by brick in a swirl of clouds before his eyes, the scene laid out to him left his pulse pounding hot in his ears.

Boyd had long since fell unconscious under the unrelenting bite of the electric current. Erica was still able to watch through lidded eyes, however, as she had always had a higher tolerance for pain.

The crack of Gerard's fist against Stiles' face over and over again was loud enough to drown out the overworked whirring of the generator. A breathless cry slammed out of the boy in a wheeze as the Argent patriarch's fists began laying into his thin chest and stomach. Each impact landed with the devastating power of a military-trained veteran against a kid literally half his size.

The moment Gerard had thrown that first punch, Derek's body had instantly reacted. He had immediately grabbed at the old man in an effort to throw him off, only for his clawed hands to slip through the memory as if he were gripping smoke.

Three more frantic tries proved just as ineffective as the first.

Derek could only watch uselessly as Stiles attempted to curl in on himself to soften the blows, trying his best to shield his face with his only free hand.

"Today's youth could do to learn some manners. Back in my day, you would address a man by 'sir.' 'Old geezer' would've gotten you the belt, no matter if you were at home or in the middle of the market. Seems that father of yours never took the time to properly discipline you."

He could hear the moment Stiles' ribs cracked, the snap of his bones under the skin, the plump lips that Stiles always worried between his teeth when he thought too hard were suddenly split open under the force of one of Gerard’s punches and it was awful. The more he saw, the worse it felt, and the tighter his chest got. As he watched, it was as if the knife he felt in his guts twisted deeper and deeper. The softer Stiles' grunts and whimpers got—the boy's will dropping farther and farther as the abuse continued—the more Derek wanted to do just about anything to make it all stop. He wanted to be there, not just watch, but really be there. To nuzzle up against the bloodied cheek, hold and comfort the boy, hold his hands over the blackening eye and draw away as much pain as he could into himself until the simpering cries faded into his shoulder where he would hold Stiles gently to him. Derek would rub his back and apologize for anything and everything and promise that it would all be alright. But as he stood, shifted with all the power in the world, watching the person he cared for more than life itself hurting, being tortured by the psychotic father of the psychotic bitch that had left nothing but a husk of what was once Derek, he couldn't help but clench his claws tightly into fists. The pain of his claws sinking into his own palms grounded him.

He had to focus. This Stiles was long passed. Present-Day Stiles, the Stiles of now, his Stiles needed him. If Derek managed to miss the secret of this memory, then the both of them would be subjected to this senseless beating all over again. He wouldn't be the one to do this to Stiles again. So as difficult as it was, Derek held himself back.

And Derek watched.

"The Argents will always be the last to stand amongst the filth as it washes away. We are the mighty pillars of the Coliseums while the creatures, the monsters of this world, the werewolves, are nothing more than the mindless lions. Even as the spectators sit cozy, in their stands, unaware of the protection we provide, we will prevail against the test of time. While they and all of their treacherous collaborators hide in the shadows we will do what we must to draw out the darkness and purge them all. Just as my daughter did, just as my granddaughter will. You will never understand the lengths our family will go to for our cause. Why, even if she had to sink to the depths of fornicating with the beasts, that was Kate's loyalty, her devotion." Gerard took that moment to straighten up with a crack to his back. The seasoned hunter let out a relieved sigh as he stretched out his arms and wiped his sweaty brow, like he had finished putting in a long day's work tending to his farm rather than physically breaking someone apart. There was no move to continue his attack once the old man was satisfied in knowing that Stiles wasn't going to uncurl from his huddled position on the floor anytime soon. However, that didn't stop the venomous words from continuing to spill into the air like a toxic vapor. "Not that that mindless thing would have any understanding of that. With nothing more than a few honeyed words and a wink, Kate single-handedly was able to reveal the beast beneath. So barbaric and dimwitted, he couldn't even think beyond his carnal urge to breed, spilling his secrets like a little songbird at the drop of a hat. The thing was too stupid to even look after his own kind. Led her straight to his den! See, that is what makes the difference between man and animal. Loyalty and devotion. It's what I like in you, Stiles. Here you are, beaten black and blue, yet still unwilling to rat out your so-called friends. That kind of devotion keeps you human. But tell me, young man, when the next pretty little thing tosses her hair at your 'pack', where do you think their loyalties are going to lie? Do you honestly think Scott would ever pick to save you over Allison? We already know Derek wouldn't, seeing as he would rather see his family burn in favor of any warm body he can find. What about these two? Or any other members of the Hale pack for that matter? If I were to cut them down right now, do you think either of them would rescue you? Because I'd be willing to bet they'd run with their tails tucked between their legs straight to their Alpha. They are driven solely by their instincts to feed, fuck, and flee. Face it, boy. Your loyalties are ill-founded. It would probably be in your best interest to stick with your own kind in the future."

In a whorl of misty fog, the Argent basement slowly faded away to a different setting.

The werewolf found himself now sitting beside Stiles in his Jeep as he drove himself home in silence, presumably only minutes after the beating that had occurred. Derek placed his hand carefully on top of this young Stiles' incorporeal one resting on the gear shift. It was all pointless, he knew, but at least this way he could pretend that he was doing anything to soothe the pain. Derek could trick himself, for just a second, into believing that maybe, in some way, this past version could feel even the tiniest bit of comfort from him.

God, it hurt.

Stiles hadn't said a word or shed a single tear during the entire drive. The silence was the eerie photo-negative of the chattering Stiles he knew. Even when he was furious or upset, Derek was so used to the constant stream of words occasionally mixed with tears and frustrated cries that seeing this quiet boy—gazing through his windshield with the blank stare of a prisoner of war—it scared him. It was like watching an echo of Stiles clicking on his right turn-signal to go home as if he hadn't been beaten into the ground and was now bleeding from his face. This Stiles felt wrong.

He felt wrong and hurt inside in a way Derek didn't know how to fix.

If they had been outside of the memory right then, the wolf wasn't sure he would know how to fix present-Stiles either.

[Part 2 of snippets]

#sterek #teen wolf #derek hale #tyler hoechlin #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #mieczysław stiles stilinski #tw describing when Gerard Argent beat Stiles #snippet #wip #fanfic #Whenever I post writings it's always from this fic #I'm probably never going to finish it #Pseudology #Pseudologoi

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reallyromealone · 1 year

Text

As promised

A Patreon nsfw

Because I hit 50 on twitch

Enjoy

WARNING ADULT CONTENT

BDSM, OMEGAVERSE, MALE READER, BOTTOM READER

PAH CHIN X MALE READER

SMUT

Pah loved his husband more than anything or "mate" as (name) refered to him, the succubus falling hopelessly in love with the other who managed to push through the walls of the sex demon and build a happy relationship with him.

He still remembers when (name) showed him his true form.

"Beautiful..." Pah said wide eyed to the demon who looked back at him almost awestruck "but this... this isn't what you want?"

"It's everything I want and more!" Pah said loudly as he smothered his lover in kissed, mindful of the horns.

Tonight was special, tonight was feeding night and since (name) put a claim mark on pah, he could only feed off him specifically.

And (name) was hungry.

Pah barely got through the door before his boyfriend was all over him, using magic to keep himself elevated as he wrapped his legs around pah, one resting over his shoulder as he kissed him heavily "took too long..." (Name) hissed out, eyes black and his more demonic attributes came out "I'm here now" pah said carrying his horny husband to the bedroom where (name) was plopped on the bed.

You see, (name) could just let his mate fuck him silly and get fed but god did it taste better when the other person's fantasies got played out, it just made the energy tingle through him.

Pah was always in awe at (name)s magic, black smoke swirling around him and wrapping around his limbs and manifesting into black rope that bound his body and left him "helpless" to his husband.

"Please..." (Name) said breathlessly as he felt pah touch his legs "please fuck me..."

Pah could never get used to how beautiful his husband was, the two completely devoted to one another and Pah wanted to give him everything.

Pah pulled him close by the ropes wrapped intricately across his chest and into a kiss, tongues dancing as they felt the energy pass even if it was just tiny shreds.

Pah groped at his chest and pulled at his nipples pulling from the kids to watch (name), he was always extra sensitive on feeding days and it was his favorite thing to watch (name) slowly unravel from pleasure "O-oh fuck!" (Name)s eyes were contorted as he let pah play with him, one of the man's hands moving lower to jerk his cock aggressively "p-please just fuck me!"

Or (name) would take his meal himself.

Pah could feel the hunger radiating off his lover and lifted his legs to see his pretty ass, ready to be stuffed "come on~ fuck me fuck me fuck me!" "Stop demanding, you know you're gonna get your food baby"

"Then shove that fat fucking cock in me!"

He was always an angry fucker when hungry, pah thought he looked like a feral rabbit when he was like this.

Pah shoved his cock in, giving (name) no time to adjust as he began fucking (name) senseless. (Name) let his skin be as fragile as a humans, loving the feeling of bruises from his lovers grip as pah flipped him "gonna fuck you real good" he said laying a heavy slap on (name)s ass that physically pushed (name) forward as a shiver rippled through him, a slutty moan escaping his lips.

"Yesyes! Fuck you're good!"

(Name)s words always was an ego boost because pah knew his husband was incredibly blunt in the bedroom.

The bed was shaking as they fucked, neither would be surprised if it broke.

If it wasn't for (name)s magic to repair it, they would have gone through many bed frames.

Pah kept slapping (name)s ass as he fucked him senseless, sucking Hickeys on his skin and tugging on the rope "fuck... Gonna cum!"

"Do it! Don't waist a drop!" (Name) screamed as Pah have a few hard thrusts before they came together, (name) unable to control his magic briefly through the orgasm, shape shifting through various appearances as his body flopped on the bed.

"Mmmmm" (name) moaned as pah felt a bit tired, having his energy physically taken from him "take a break baby... Then that cocks mine again"

Tonight was gonna be long.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers fluff #male reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #pah chin x male reader #pah chin x reader #smut

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adelinevw7 · 11 months

Text

uchiha sasuke’s daughter

People have said that the struggle of a son is to overcome his father: to defeat the man by exceeding all that he has accomplished.

But what of daughters?

Sarada knows what her father would say: that there is no need to measure up to him, that she has already exceeded him.

Being the manifestation of Sakura's kindness and Sasuke's hopes—together—Sarada has eclipsed them both.

Sasuke would insist that there is nothing more that she must do, that there is no feat that she needs to fulfill to be worthy.

She is enough.

Still, she cannot shake the feeling that there is something she owes to him. She has not yet learned the entirety of her clan's tragedy, but she has the gist of it. Her father traversed the impossible to make her possible. Surely this requires something from her, somehow.

Sarada thinks, perhaps it is guilt then, or duty. Perhaps a daughter is a personification of these feelings.

The thought wrinkles her brow as they take a rest from training. Nothing escapes her father's notice, and he is soon tapping at her shoulder to know what weighs on her.

"Everything okay?"

“Just some thoughts.” Sarada has never been an impeccable liar; she can only veil her unease by pulling back. Sasuke drops his questioning, but his silence is invitation. So she gathers her courage and allows herself to ask.

“Papa, what do you want my life to be?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you’ll say I can be what I want, but there has to be something else to it.” She lowers her gaze, ashamed that she hasn’t yet figured it out. That she still has to wonder—“What does it mean to be Uchiha Sasuke’s daughter?”

He pauses in thought, with a peculiar look of sadness on his face. As if this is some line of inquiry he had pursued himself, only to be let down by the answers. Sasuke smiles when he looks at her again, and Sarada feels the tender caress of his hand against her cheek.

“It means you get to dream, Sarada.”

“But the clan…”

“… has been made new. The clan is now you. The past isn’t meant to be your burden.”

“Just like that?” The question bursts out of her, spurred by warring awe and disbelief. He nods.

“Just like that.” His assurance falls from his lips like wisdom, and some semblance of peace descends upon her.

Sarada marvels at the softness that the setting sun imparts to her father’s face. This moment will be etched forever in her memories now.

“To be my daughter… means that you get to know the precious boon or terrible affliction that freedom could be.”

#sssnippetaday #uchiha sarada #uchiha sasuke #sasusakusara fic #sasusara fic

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melishade · 1 month

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Number 72?

This ask game

Optimus meeting with the Warriors and reuniting with Gabi in the Dark Timeline: Part 15: Magath and the Warriors

"Sir?!" Pieck was flabbergasted by the sight of the metal titan, Optimus Prime, driving up towards them. The door had opened, and Magath had stepped out of the driver's seat while the Prime had manifested it's human form.

"What's going on?" Pieck asked him.

"He wanted to check on Gabi and see if she was alright," Magath explained.

"If you would be willing to permit me," Optimus insisted.

"I'm sure that Gabi would be excited to see you, but-!" All three jolted when they heard something clatter on the ground. They turned their attention to the sight of Reiner and Annie. There were broken plates by Reiner's feet, no doubt indicating that he was the one who dropped them. Reiner looked ready to burst into tears while Annie's mouth dropped.

"It's you," Reiner spoke in disbelief, "You're alive."

"I apologize for my unannounced visit," Optimus began as Reiner walked up to him, "But I was hoping to see-!"

Reiner got down on his knees and bowed before Optimus. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"R-reiner!" Pieck stuttered while Magath blinked in surprise.

"Gabi's still alive because of you!" Reiner sobbed, "You saved my family when I couldn't! Thank you!"

"Reiner, please raise your head," Optimus requested, but the titan shifter was stunned when Annie bows her head in gratitude.

"You bought us time to escape and flee to Paradis. You protected us, and we're extremely grateful to you," Annie declared, "Thank you."

"Please, this is unnecessary," Optimus insisted, "Raise your heads."

"No way!" Optimus snapped his head to the sound of four of the five Warrior Cadets peering out of the tent they were in, but no sign of Gabi.

"It's you!" Udo pointed to him, causing the other Warrior Cadets to run up to him.

"Wait, hold on!" Annie insisted.

Optimus could see all four of them asking questions, asking about his health, how he escaped Shockwave, and why he hadn't come sooner, and that Gabi was worried. He was flustered by the attention, and tried to get them to calm down so he could answer these new faces, but stopped when he heard the sound of a quiet gasp. He looked ahead, and saw Gabi staring at him with awe and relief written all over her face. She looked better. She no longer looked like she was starving. She had a clean change of clothes and looked like she got proper sleep.

"You're...you're alright." Optimus' shoulders sagged in relief as he stepped forward and out of the crowd surrounding him.

Gabi didn't recognize the new face, but she did recognize that voice and the color scheme, and the truck behind everyone. It was him. It was Optimus! She bolted towards him as fast as she could with her recovering body, and Optimus kneeled down, allowing Gabi to hug him tight and bury her face in his shoulder. The girl continued to sob while Optimus held her tight.

"You're alive!" Gabi's sobs were muffled by the fabric of the holoform jacket, "You're alive!"

"I'm sorry I worried you," Optimus apologized to her, "I'm glad you are well."

The others couldn't help but be both moved at the sight of their reunion, but also feel pity. What in the hell had those two gone through while captured under Shockwave? Meanwhile, both of them were just relieved to see the other alive. To see that they had survived their injuries and survived Shockwave.

Optimus remembered the crowd behind him, and the questions that he needed to address to Magath. "Gabi, I have some matters I need to attend to."

He tried to let her go, but Gabi refused to. She still clung to him so tight and hid her head in his shoulder, doing everything she could to hide her tears. Optimus relented and picked Gabi up. The girl had been through enough, and she needed a moment of peace.

Optimus turned his attention to Magath while still holding the crying girl. "Do we have a place where we could talk in private?"

(So 32 had already been asked and I had missed it, Lol. But the rest is free game.)

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boysbellyrubs · 1 year

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Hello!! I don’t know if this is too specific, but I would love for you to write something like it!! (Only if you want to tho ofc!!) Btw, I know their is no sickness in the ask, but you could put in an upset tummy from A.

A comes home after an incredibly rough day and is almost on the verge of tears. All they want is a hug and cuddles from their partner B. But B doesn’t pick up on their partners trouble and makes a snide remark or snaps at them mindlessly. They don’t realize anythings wrong until A bursts into tears . . . End in fluff pls!!(I think this would be so cute for Alistar and Nikau!! - sorry if I spelled it wrong) Thank you if you decide to do it!! ❤️❤️

here is the fic I promised before :D, it's quite long almost 3000 words. the ending is mid, i hope i have met both of your expectations with your asks. thank you very much for both of them hehe.

---

Alistair, being Alistair, had made his day ten times worse than it already was. He had already anticipated a bad day, and his manifestation seemed to actually come true, just to spite him. His mood was down the drain, his outfit was shit, his classes were boring and everything about him felt awful. His stomach was terribly upset, he didn’t know if he was hungry or the stupid thing was getting sick, so as a result he was starving and bloated, belly pushing into his pants. Thankfully, his last class was wrapping up, an hour long tutorial that he didn’t contribute anything too; rather he sat in the corner leaning against the wall. He was sure he didn’t pick up anything the tutor was saying, let alone take any notes.

However, moving along he packed up his stuff with the sluggishness of a sloth, and dragged his feet out of the classroom. The person in front of him dropped the door on his face too, just his fucking luck. He scowled at their stupid haircut and started walking towards the bus stop. Oh, that was another thing, Nikau had needed the car today so he had to walk to University and now he was destined to go on a packed bus with a bunch of business men and crying babies. Joy.

The walk to the stop, Alistair reflected on how much of an awful day he had. It was downright laughable, he could’ve been on a sitcom with the amount of things that went wrong. His laptop was low on battery, the library was packed full of people, and he had only one hour breaks between all of his classes and lectures. And he was already pissed before his stomach even started to riot. So, on top of everything, his stomach gurgling away at him all day was like an incessant fly that wouldn’t stop flying around his ears.

As he walked, he found himself unconsciously holding his belly. He didn’t care what he looked like, other people be damned, all he wanted was to feel better. The walk seemed to take forever, the smell of tarmac, the sight of construction, the noise of city life, Alistair felt like his brain was melting. He zeroed in on the bus stop sign, willing himself to move faster.

It was empty. The lone bench was blissfully quiet as he heavily threw himself down on it. He shucked his bag off, sitting it against him, and threw his head back. His hair was sticking to the nape of his neck, gross, and his legs felt like jelly. Hot electricity coursed through his hands and arms, raising goosebumps and sending warning signals to his brain. He was sick. So sick yet so far from home. The bus was coming in ten minutes, the ten most agonising minutes of Alistair’s life. He wrapped both arms around his middle, holding it in place as it grumbled away incessantly.

His thoughts began to wander then. To his assignments, his boyfriend, the birds singing their annoying songs, how sick he felt. It was all coming together in Alistair’s mind, and in all honesty he wanted it to stop. His own brain almost made him break down at that bus stop. He ducked his head and sucked in harshly between his teeth, forcing the tears back into his tear ducts. Sickness floored him every time, broke down every emotional defence he had up, like a crack in a dam that grew and grew until a huge wave finally broke through. The pain in his belly, the overstimulating noise, the knowledge that every assignment would have to be pushed back for him to recover, was too much existentialism for the bus stop.

He gathered himself. Alistair turned to stare at where the bus would appear. He sat back on the bench, needing to feel the solid wood behind him. The gurgling hit a sharp note, his measly breakfast rumbling through the pit of his stomach. The organ twisted on bits of bread, trying to digest something that wouldn’t move past his stomach. He rubbed a hand over the tight spot.

Focusing on his own body, he didn’t notice the bus finally arriving. It pulled into the stop and Alistair had to force himself up, feeling his back slouch and his knees wobble, he stepped up onto the bus and sat on the closest free seat. He stared out the window, pulling a deep breath into his lungs. He closed his eyes, hoping the bus ride was the smoothest of his life.

—

Alistair trudged through the front door, groaning loudly to announce his presence. He pretty much threw his bag onto the ground, slamming the front door with his foot. The bus messed up his stomach even more, the churning getting worse and morphing into a nauseating mess inside him. He wrapped his left arm around his bloated belly, hunching over and went searching for Nikau.

The house was quiet, the only sound were Alistair’s heavy footfalls. God, he hated being sick. He groaned again when his stomach bubbled, the bug getting angrier by the second the longer he ignored it.

He got tired of searching, “Nikau! Are you here babe?”

There was a muffled reply that came from the bedroom. Alistair smiled to himself, excited to see his boyfriend after the day he’s had. His legs were heavy as he climbed up the stairs; the landing felt like it kept stretching further away from him like an oasis in a desert. His head pounded as he ascended making him shut his eyes as he finally made it to the second floor. Alistair pretty much threw his hand on the knob, knocking it down as he pushed his way inside the bedroom.

Nikau was on the bed, headphones in and laptop resting on his lap. He immediately brought a finger up to his lips, silencing Alistair’s planned complaint. Nikau’s face was very serious as he went back to staring at the laptop screen. The redheads mood decreased further, no longer feeling as excited as he was before, realising that he was going to have to wait.

Nonetheless, he sat down on the bed, flopping backward onto the pillow. His stomach rolled, making him groan deeply with the movement. Nikua shot him a look that withered the seed of hope in his chest. Alistair stole a look at the computer screen and saw the all familiar squares of a Zoom meeting. He frowned, Nikau hadn’t mentioned this at all so it must have been sudden. No wonder he was so pissed off.

Alistair closed his eyes, throwing his forearm over his eyes. The darkness was incredibly comforting, the tension in his eyebrows and jaw releasing. His other hand was rubbing along the harsh lines on his lower belly where his jeans had been cutting into him. Alistair’s tummy rumbled, nausea increasing as he sat in darkness. He almost hoped Nikau was taking notice without him having to utter a word.

The room was quiet. Alistair heard the little taps of Nikau’s keyboard flowing into his ears. It was like ASMR, quieting the anxious little voice that wouldn’t shut up. He couldn’t wait till Nikau’s Zoom was over. He conjured up an image of both of them on the couch, Nikau’s hand rubbing soft circles into Alistair’s belly, muting the upset gurgles, with cups of tea and something stupid on the TV to distract him. Getting into bed and falling asleep with Nikau’s strong arms wrapped around his middle, magically getting better by the morning.

Alistair caught himself smiling at the thought. So dramatic. He huffed at his own voice. He breathed deeply, stomach inflating with breath. After everything, he almost fell asleep. However, Nikau had decided to slam his laptop shut, sighing angrily and pushing himself off the bed with a huff.

The bed shook and Alistair’s stomach sloshed, a heavy gurgle spreading across his middle. He threw his arm off his eyes, watching Nikau pace around the room and finally coming to a stop at the windowsill, leaning on it like he was in a period drama. Alistair sat up,

“Nikau?”

“What?” The word was spat out like a curse. Alistair immediately wondered what the Zoom had been about.

“Are you alright?” Alistair didn’t notice how shaky his voice sounded, and neither did Nikau apparently. He turned around with a stormy look in his eyes, the setting sun outlined him. Alistair had to squint to look at him.

Nikau shook his head roughly, “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alistair sighed, now nervous about telling him his own problems. He didn’t have the chance though, Nikau already moving out of the room. Alistair got up to follow, vertigo crashing into him. He lost his footing a little, stumbling towards the dresser. He moaned as the world tilted sideways. Nikau turned around,

“What is wrong, Star? I don’t have the energy right now.” His words stung, but he knew Nikau didn’t really mean them.

“N-nothing.” As soon as the word left his mouth Nikau turned around and disappeared from sight. Alistair leaned against the dresser more, taking deep breaths in and out. His stomach was spinning, echoing his head. The more he stood there, the more anxious he felt about throwing up. It was definitely on the horizon and he felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Alistair made his way to the bathroom, vomiting inevitable.

His hand never left the wall, hunched over himself as the nausea increased the closer he got to the bathroom door. He slapped a hand over his mouth as he gagged, vomit filling his mouth and burning his tongue. He burst into the bathroom and leaned over the toilet, vomit spilling from his lips. He coughed harshly, a heave bringing up another fierce wave as he almost fell forward. His stomach gurgled, a wet burp preceding another gag and a mouthful of vomit. He had a moment of reprieve and he sat himself down, knees slamming into the tile. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, leaning over the toilet now that he had more stability.

His stomach brought up another wave, and Alistair was surprised at the amount of vomit coming up. Coughing, panting and groaning was all that was heard around the walls of the bathroom. Alistair thought he was being loud, but apparently not loud enough for Nikau to notice. He groaned, his neck losing its strength and his head fell forward. The gurgling noises coming from his insides weren’t letting up, it almost felt like they were getting louder. He forced up a burp, which only made him gag, spitting up a chunky mouthful. Alistair moaned, arms squeezing tighter.

“Fuck.” He whined, clearing his throat and hating the feeling of his saliva dangling from his lips. His knees ached on the floor. His headache grew, a pulsing right behind his eyes. His mouth filled with saliva again, jaw tingling, and another wave was brought up into the mess in front of him. His gut finally started to calm down a little so he took the time to catch his breath. Everything was aching, he was freezing, and now he was hiccuping. He sighed, running a hand down his sweaty face. His hair was sticking to his forehead now and he felt disgusting.

He sniffled, spitting out the last remains. His hands shook as he flushed away the mess. He shakily stood, washed his hands quickly and threw some water over his face and swirled some in his mouth. He hoped Nikau had calmed down a little, it was already bad enough he felt like shit he didn’t want to feel even worse by making Nikau upset.

Alistair left the bathroom with a heavy gait. His journey down the stairs was thankfully uneventful, but by the time he made it down he felt weaker than he did immediately after vomiting. He felt like he was about to pass out. Making his way slowly to the living room, he kept his arm wrapped around his middle and found Nikau scrolling on his phone.

He cleared his throat, “Nikau?”

The man hummed, not even looking at Alistair. Alistair sagged a little, a bit defeated that his boyfriend was paying him any attention. He moved on then, to the kitchen where he fixed himself a healthy meal of ibuprofen and water. He gulped down a mouthful, wary of drinking too much. He leant back against it, staring out at the back of Nikau’s head. He still was curious as to what had upset him so much, but he knew he needed to let Nikau deal with it on his own for a bit.

All this thinking distracted him from his condition, but a cramp hit his belly right as he relaxed a bit too much. He gasped, his hand clutching his tummy, the ibuprofen coming back with a vengeance. He powered through it alone, fever addled brain making him feel worse that Nikau hadn’t even got up from his seat at Alistair’s noise. His pitiful thinking brought on more tears, but these were unable to be stopped. They made tracks down his cheeks, meeting on his jawline and falling to the ground. His belly cramped again, Alistair hunching over himself and using the bench as a support to not fall immediately to the ground.

He clamped a hand over his mouth when a sob broke through, desperately trying to make himself quiet. Nikau didn’t need extra worry. Nikau didn’t want extra worry. Nikau didn’t want to help.

No matter how much he tried to be silent, Alistair’s cries weren’t unheard. Nikau turned his head, noticing right away the state Alistair was in. He got up in a rush, throwing his phone down and approached his sickly boyfriend.

His hands landed on Alistair’s upper arms, “Star, hey are you okay?”

Alistair fell forward, his forehead landing on Nikau’s shoulder. His cries got louder then, “No, I feel like absolute rubbish, Nikau. My belly hurts.” He whined, arms winding tighter around his middle.

“Oh, love, I’m so sorry for not noticing. How long have you felt like this?” His hands moved to Alistair’s warm back, moving up and down his spine.

“Since lunch. I thought I might have just been hungry but it just got worse,” He paused, unsure if he should say this, “I threw up before.”

Nikau reeled back, eyes desperately searching Alistair’s face, “For real?”

Alistair nodded, a few more tears slipping past his eyes. Nikau sighed, pulling Alistair back into a gentle hug. The heat from Alistair’s body made Nikau feel warm, and he connected the dots as to why his boyfriend was so upset. He felt terrible. But, now that he understood he knew exactly what to do.

He pulled back more slowly this time, watching Alistair’s eyes flutter with another cramp. He hissed in sympathy.

“Okay, sweetheart let's get you settled. I’ll get you feeling better in no time.” He tried to peel Alistair off the counter as gently as possible, coming around to his side and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. They moved as one towards the living room, Nikau depositing Alistair on the couch and reaching for the nearest blanket to lay over his lap. He leant forward and got Alistair’s attention by cupping his hands on his jaw,

“Be right back.”

Alistair watched him leave, sinking down into the couch. His thoughts were still running, but as he sat down he admittedly felt a tad better. His stomach calmed down a little, and his legs were thankful that he was sitting down and resting. Alistair leaned his head back on the couch, hand resting on the crest of his swollen stomach.

He barely moved when Nikau returned, he heard a bucket be placed on the coffee table, and he felt the couch dip as Nikau sat next to him. The man touched his knee,

“You feeling okay? You don’t look so good, babe.”

Alistair shook his head, “I really don’t feel good.” Turning his head he met Nikau’s eyes, a pitiful expression on his face. Nikau made a clicking noise with his teeth, sitting a little closer to put his hand on Alistair’s belly. He leaned forward and kissed his cheek as he started to rub Alistair’s upset stomach.

Alistair moaned, the cramps coming back with the touch of Nikau’s fingertips. He pushed his stomach out, needing the pressure and comforting weight. Nikau quickly got the memo, pushing a little deeper into his belly. He burped, covering his mouth with his hand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. If you need to let them out just do it.”

The man groaned at the feel of another burp forcing its way up his throat. His hand joined Nikau on his tummy, rubbing the underside as it swelled with pressure. His stomach wasn’t perfectly flat, yet the softness of his belly was completely overtaken by the bloating of this illness, the skin stretched tight as it worked its way through his guts. His throat jumped at a wet burp, chest lurching. Nikau paused,

“Are you gonna throw up?”

Alistair shook his head, “Just gassy.”

Nikau hummed, kissing his cheek again. The room fell silent bar Alistair’s stomach and burping. There was a tension in the air though, Nikau was the first to break it.

“I’m sorry about not noticing how sick you were before. Also, I ignored you when you were clearly ill. I’m sorry, Star.”

Alistair didn’t really know what to say. His brain was too muddled to come up with a response, too much pain and exhaustion, so he just shook his head and leaned into Nikau, hoping that was enough to get Nikau to relax. It felt like he did, his hand was still rubbing along the swell of his belly and his other hand was playing with the wavy strands of hair at the crown of Alistair’s head. ---

pls don't flop

#emeto #emetophilia #stomach ache #oc's #Alistair #Nikau #belly ache #belly kink #stomach kink #vomit kink #male sickie #caretaking #belly rubs #stomach rubs #belly gurgles #burping #vomiting #hiccups

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