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the1ofmanyfandoms · 9 months

Note

Make eclipse x reader hurt/comfort please ft. Eclipse being the one comforted and chubby reader 👉👈

Yes YES YES!

This is just the PERFECT ENERGY I NEED! ^w^

Okay.

TW: mentions of death. Blood in the form of oil. Mentions of being hurt. Reader being insecure about their body.

“You’re perfect to me…”

You had….somehow gained the trust of a very dangerous robot who just so happened to go by the name Eclipse. He was a bit of a stick in the mud but he had his sweet moments. Today you just couldn’t find him anywhere, no matter where you looked he just wasn’t there. You knew he was probably somewhere in his lab, so you started your way towards it, but as you did…

A huge explosion sounded

Right from his lab.

You gasp as you hear a sharp scream and sprint down the stairs, almost hitting the wall as you slip down the smooth white concrete. You slam the button that opens the door with your fist and your eyes widen in horror as the open door reveals the lab covered in black ash, your eyes dart around to look for your lover, Eclipse.

You eventually find him in a corner of the room just sitting there, limp. You rush over and kneel down, lifting his faceplate up with both of your hands, he looks like….he’s struggling to breathe? Can animatronics even…never mind, there’s no time to think about that, Eclipse is hurt.

His eyes open up a bit and he glances at you, “…Y/N…?” He mumbled, his voice raspy as fuck like he swallowed a damn cheese grater, “Hold on okay? Im going to get you help” you say, hoisting him up on your back, he’s surprisingly light, probably the nanobots. You drag both him and yourself up the stairs, he’s fucking seven feet tall, so that took a while.

You finally reach the top of those damn stairs and you can hear him “breathing” next to your ear, you can’t deny it…kinda sounds hot. but now is not the time to think about that!

You drag him down the hallway as rain begins to fall outside, you can hear the soft pattering against the window. You then finally reach the bedroom and you (try to) gently lay him down.

His body is covered in black ash and even some scratches and dents, oil is seeping out of those scratches. He obviously needs a bath.

You sigh and hoist him up again, bringing him to the bathroom this time, god why didn’t you think about this earlier? You get to the bathroom which is right across the hall from the bedroom (thankfully) and then sit him down on the ground and undress him, you blush as you take his shoes and pants off, of course you don’t look anywhere you’re not supposed to, you aren’t a creep (right-?), and he’s wearing boxers anyway, you then place him in the bathtub, his nanobots are waterproof so he’d be fine being bathed.

You worriedly look over him again, his eyes are closed and his breathing is still ragged as hell, so you turn on the water, making sure it’s the right temperature and let it fill up the tub.

He’s startled awake by the water and he opens his eyes, trying to get up, you gently lay him back down, “It’s alright. It’s me” you say, “I’m just gonna give you a bath, what happened?”

“…I was doing…an experiment…” he mumbled, “Then the stupid…Star started acting up…made me have a fucking heart-attack…or whatever the animatronic equivalent is” he sighed, “I screwed it up…”

“…well at least you didn’t die” you say, watching the water go a sort of grey-ish color, It was kinda gross but you didn’t mind. He then glanced down at himself and blushed a shade of orange, “…am I naked?” He asked, you blush and stammer a bit, “Well- uh- yes- but I didn’t look I swear!” You said, blushing like crazy, “hmm~? Look at what?” He teased, you squeaked a bit, even when hurt he was still so damn cocky. “I don’t understand” you mumble with a sad-ish expression, he glanced at you, “what?” He asked, “I don’t understand how someone like you could be like this with someone like me” you say quietly, looking down at yourself. He puts a hand under your chin and guides you face up to look at his, his soft gaze meeting your eyes, “Hey. Don’t say that” he said, “You’re beautiful, I don’t care what anyone else thinks, fuck society” you can’t help but chuckle a bit, you gently rub his body with your hands, staying away from the No-no square not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you mainly just touch his back, arms, chest, and head. You wash most of the oil off, then drain the water and help him out, you sit him on a stool and drape a towel around him, the towel is ridiculously large considering his size and you had a bit of trouble carrying it. You gently dry him up, rubbing the towel but being careful not to hurt him. You then take him to the bedroom and grab some bandages from a cabnet, you sit him on a chair and bandage him up, carefully wrapping each bandage around his wounds, his nanobots would heal him. You then let him get dressed in a pair of comfortable clothes, when you turn back around he’s wearing a loose black oversized long-sleeved sweater and a pair of orange sleeping shorts, he actually looks really comfy :D

This was special to both you can him because you knew he’d only wear this laid-back attire around you, he trusted you enough to let loose around you. And that was something wonderful ^w^

You also get dressed in a pair of comfy clothes and lay on the bed, opening up your arms to him. He blushed and came over to you, plopping right down on the bed and snuggling himself right in your arms, he buried his faceplate in your neck, retracting certain rays to not poke you or anything else, you listened to the soothing clicks and whirrs his body made when he did so. You began to gently rub his back in circles and hum a tune as he held on to your waist, wrapping his two large arms around you, you listened to the soft artificial breaths that he took and then…

You heard a sort of…vibration against your neck?

It kind of tickled, but it also came from his chest…was he purring?

The noise repeated as he nuzzled you again, you smiled and blushed knowing that he was only like this with you, it just made you feel so…special.

The soft pattering of the rain outside made it even better, you look down at him to find that he was sound asleep, you sigh and close your eyes as well, letting sleep overcome you…

You really loved him, you really did…

#eclipse x reader #tw hurt #tw blood #chubby reader #tw explosion

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outpost51 · 10 months

Text

Tiny Scene Sunday

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Growing Pains

Oh, Death: won’t you spare me over for another year?

Death wasn’t anything like what I expected.

Was he rough around the edges?

‘Getcher lazy ass up, Keeper! Shit’s gettin’ cold!’ Xoctosz bellowed from elsewhere in our living quarters. It was four in the morning, and he hadn’t dismissed me to sleep until two.

Yes.

Did he have zero concept of personal boundaries?

‘There you are,’ he huffed, ripping back the shower curtain. I wasn’t aware shark faces could be so expressive — for what little range of emotion Xoctosz seemed to possess — but he was clearly not amused by how long I had been screaming. ‘You done?’

‘No, I’m not fucking done!’ I screeched. ‘Do you know how hard it is to scrub crude oil out of human hair?’

He exhaled, loud and long-suffering, as if my need to not be a walking sludge-creature was such a great inconvenience. Without warning, he shoved his way into the already-cramped shower and dumped more dish soap on my head. ‘Gotta do everything around here,’ he grumbled.

Yes.

Did he snore like a dying boat engine and sleep like a corpse?

I threw a pillow first, then one of the too-large boots he’d given me, then the other. Where did he think I was going to go with such urgency he had to sleep in the same room? Finally tired of the noise, I stomped over to his hammock and yanked up the edge. I thought I’d fucked up — not that he’d be angry, but that the lighthouse would crumble around us from how horribly his weight shook the walls when he hit the floor. He didn’t even stir.

Very much.

But he could be— charming wasn’t exactly the word I wanted. Kind? No. Considerate? Mmh.

He wasn’t completely disagreeable all the time.

Every morning, he made breakfast— usually whatever we could salvage from the boats that wasn’t too waterlogged, and if we couldn’t find anything, he’d grill fish on the balcony, or boil whatever shelled monstrosities he caught in his traps. I wasn’t allowed to empty the traps yet and I was glad for it. The things that scavenged on our leftovers had too many eyes, limbs, teeth to be any sort of shellfish I’d ever seen.

The silence that surrounded us as we sat across from one another was anything but companionable, though. I think he figured out at some point that I hated when he watched me eat; for the past however-long, he’d done it even more.

“Why do I even need breakfast?” I asked him.

“Long day,” he grunted around a mouthful of his — it was better not to think about what he ate, actually. “Need you productive.”

“Didn’t I… die?” I couldn’t stay in the shower too long. Baths were out of the question. My lungs still crackled when I inhaled too hard.

“Does it matter?”

‘Not all the time’ implied that some of the time, he was a total asshole, and drowning did nothing to quell my intolerance of assholes.

I brought both of my hands down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery and stood — on my tiptoes, because even sitting down, he was still tall enough to make eye contact a struggle. “Yes, it fucking matters! You kidnapped me, —” I choked, I always choked on his name, I’d yet to say it out loud “— killed my boyfriend, ruined my chances of graduating Harvard, stole my future — I at least deserve to know if I’m even alive!”

He shrugged.

Shrugged.

Ivy League attendee though I was, no one ever accused me of making good decisions. Case in point: the shitshow that landed me in service to Xoctosz in the first place.

“I know you’re not the best at listenin’,” he warned, “but I’d suggest not doin’ what you’re thinkin’ about doin’. I can see it in your eyes.” Xoctosz folded his hands on the table. “How far you think you’ll get, Keeper?”

Exhibit B: the fact that I didn’t heed a warning from Death.

“Far enough,” I spat.

Then lunged across the table.

He wasn’t a complete asshole all the time; he let me get one solid punch in before taking me to the ground and twisting one of my arms behind me. “Think you might be the first one that’s ever been stupid enough to do that,” he chuffed. “East’s Keeper at least had a gun when he threatened me.”

That… that made me stop trying to twist around and finish what I started. “You’ve trapped other people here?”

His laugh was so much louder right above me. Thunderous. “Not me — not East, anyway.”

Clearly I wasn’t getting more explanation than that, so I circled back. “Did I die when the ship crashed on the rocks?”

He didn’t answer, instead sighing heavily and rolling to his feet. He lifted me with him, with all the effort of scruffing a kitten, and dropped me back in my chair. Only once he settled in his did he speak again. “Dunno why you lot do that.”

“What, threaten you? I can think of a few reasons.”

I expected a glare. I hadn’t braced myself for the flash of teeth behind his easy grin. “Ask questions you don’t really want answered.”

Shorts and Oneshots Taglist: @sparatus @starknstarwars @asher-orion-writes @tabswrites @thetrashbagswasteland

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!

#my fic #tiny scene sunday #lighthouse in the fog #lighthearted maritime horror #although idk how lighthearted it is anymore with this new keeper lmao

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scarcelymurmuring · 1 year

Text

One Lip to Earth & One Lip to Heaven

To a smaller than average man -- stretched out in the crease of her tongue with one heel hooked over his opposite ankle, leaning back, palms flat, idly massaging the shag of papillae with his fingers running between them -- to him, the view would be beautiful. The rusty bluffs of teeth above -- he wouldn’t see the lower row, on account of the bulk of the tongue -- would part directly before him. And being the only soul sitting right there, it’d feel -- he’d know it isn’t so, but it would feel -- like they’d parted just for him -- so that he could see what he’d see: one lip eclipsing the earth below, the other wrapped around heaven, in its trembling emerald firmanent. The vapours would sting his eyes and so he’d blink them hard and fast. They’d water a bit, which would help. Light would play on the cosmic glass and warp as the universe tilted. He’d have to shift his weight back to his palms, and clench fistfuls of taste buds to keep from slipping. But not because he’s afraid to die. He would be afraid, of course, like anyone would be, but he’d know where he is and why. He’d know what’s going to happen. He’d’ve found his steel. He’d breathe in through his nose, and out through his mouth and he might be getting a little lightheaded but his sinuses would be very clear. He’d think of the day his son had brought him to a Turkish bath in the city, and the bowl of eucalyptus oil that wobbled the light on the tiles. His thoughts would clear. He’d breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. It wouldn’t be that he wasn’t afraid. He’d just want to meet it calm and alert, and not scurry away from the beauty of the thing like he had somewhere better to be. As the slope of heaven grew steeper he would brace himself, pause, let his muscles go slack, and allow his body to yield. Without closing his eyes he’d imagine -- or rather anticipate propioceptively -- the moulting away of his skin and the cage of his chest hatching open. When the pale river poured in at last he’d surrender without hesitation.

But there was less than a sip in there left.

He’d barely’ve gotten wet.

Shalim lobbed the Great White empty onto the heap of coats in the corner and stood. This proved overambitious. She sat back down on the air mattress, which had deflated in the night, and rested her head between her knees. Her bowels squealed and squirmed. She sprawled savasana and counted her breaths. She got back to her feet, slowly, this time, with one hand on the wall. She squinted. The sun was at its winter peak and cut through the glass at eye level. She stumbled across the living room to the heap in the opposite corner. Patches of carpet were wet. A CD case crunched underfoot. She patted down the faux fur coat on top till she found a pair of sunglasses, Mike’s. They gave him a feminine, buglike look. She put them on. They helped. The green glass bottle with the shark on the label had rolled to the side of the pile. Her throat was parched and her tongue felt thick so she took it and made her way to the kitchen.

The dishes were piled high in the sink, with an unfinished bowl of cereal wedged under the spout. She put the bottle in an empty pot on the stove and with both hands loosened a plate from the stack, just underneath the bowl. Ceramic ground on ceramic. A white-winged moth on its back in the milk flailed its miniscule legs.

This text lives at the feralmachin.es blog, where its most recent revision, some additional notes, and other writing can be found.

#flash fiction #fiction

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breakyeol · 3 years

Text

touch it (sensual oils)

one shot

┗ pairing : baekhyun x reader

words: 4k

warnings: smut, sensual massage, byun-booty, hand job, light overstimulation

a/n; because baekhyun deserves it

Baekhyun had a bad day.

That much was glaringly obvious from the very moment he stepped through the door, looking about ready to crawl beneath your bedsheets and never come out. He collapsed into your arms with a pathetic whine the moment you rose from where you were situated on the couch, the full weight of his body thrown against your chest. You grunted at the unexpected impact, quickly wrapping your arms around his slim waist when you felt his knees beginning to give out.

“Baek!” You yelped, struggling feebly to support the both of you. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m too tired to stand,” he cried out dramatically, voice muffled against your shoulder, “my body feels like it’s turning into mush.”

You clicked your tongue at his familiar dramatics, a fond smile flitting across your lips in spite of yourself. “Oh my poor baby~” you cooed playfully, petting the top of his head, “they worked you into the ground?”

A heavy pout tugged at the corners of his lips, big droopy eyes swinging up to meet yours as he bobbed his head. “I’m already sore. I’m not gonna be able to move tomorrow.” He complained noisily, hands curling into tight fists around the material of your sweatshirt.

This close, you could easily make out the lingering scent of sweat clinging to his skin, and you didn’t doubt for a second he worked until he was drenched in it. There was a flash, an image that passed before your eyes, of Baekhyun, sweat rolling down the smooth slope of his chin, dripping from the fringes of his bangs, glistening enticingly above his brow, his mouth pink and open, gasping. It vanished just as quickly as it had come, and your attention was drawn back to the whining mess of a man squirming against your chest.

“Go shower,” you suggested, not trusting your voice above a careful whisper, “then come to bed, okay?”

“I don’t want to. Just hold me.”

You snickered, combing your fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck, feeling the way his body melted into the tender caress. “I will gladly hold you for the rest of the night… after you take a shower.”

He only offered an unintelligible grunt in response, showing no signs of detaching himself from your body, his hold around you tightening in a display of stubborn resistance. There was little doubt in your mind that he’d keep this up for as long as your patience allowed – which, given how soft you were for the man, was a fairly long time –, but you knew you’d both be better off once he felt clean and refreshed, cleansed of the day’s many hardships.

“You’ll feel a lot better afterwards.”

A groan this time.

“I’ll make you feel a lot better afterwards.”

At that reparation, his head snapped up, eyes wide and, despite the exhaustion, glinting with a hint of excitement. His spine straightened, grip around you loosening somewhat as strength seemed to return to his muscles. “Really?” He whispered, pink tongue slipping out from between petal lips. So easy. You could’ve scoffed, but thought better of yourself, settling for a suggestive cock of your head that could be interpreted in a number of ways.

“Go shower,” you hummed, pinching his chin between your thumb and index finger and guiding his face down towards yours, “then… we’ll see.”

He let out a huff of breath, eyes going hooded as they flickered down to trace the smug curve of lips. “You’re mean.”

You laughed lightly, planting a kiss that was far too short for Baekhyun’s liking to his pouted mouth before skillfully untangling yourself from his arms. “We’ll see just how mean I can be once you come to bed.” You called teasingly over your shoulder, grinning in wild amusement at the low curse that followed.

It wasn’t too long after you’d made your way into the bedroom that you heard the soft hiss of the shower. You waited until you heard the low groan that told you that your boyfriend had finally stepped beneath the hot spray to permeate through the separating wall before you jumped into action.

This wasn’t the first time Baekhyun had come home looking ready to collapse and you doubted it would be the last. There wasn’t much you could do about him having to go to work. No matter what you said or how many times you told him he should give himself a chance to rest and recover, he would always put his everything into his work, because that was just the kind of man he was. He was all passion and fire and unrelenting persistence even when he felt like he might die. It was a quality that sparked both admiration and fear inside of you.

There was a certain helplessness that came with being the person he came home to after a long day of work, body and mind teetering dangerously on the brink of exhaustion. There wasn’t much you could do to ease his stress, as he wasn’t the type to verbally unload or express his unease to its full extent. Sure, he was dramatic, but only in a playful sense. That was his way of downplaying and covering up his true feelings, to both you and himself.

But, there were still other ways you could help. And, with some brainstorming and a bit of research, you’d come up with the perfect plan to help ease some of Baekhyun’s tension. Though, you had to scramble a bit to set the scene, you knew it would be fully worth it to see the look on his face.

It was just as you’d lit the final candle, completing the final touches, that you heard the shower shut off. Perfect timing. You quickly situated yourself on the edge of the bed, the cool air caressing your scantily clad body, rousing goosebumps across your skin.

But, the chills tickling your spine were little more than a second thought as Baekhyun stepped into the room donning nothing more than a towel that hung dangerously low on his full hips. He paused just inside the doorway, his brows shooting upwards as he took in the state of your shared bedroom. Wide eyes danced over the flickering candles laid out strategically across the hardwood floor to encircle the bed, swept over the scattered rose petals, before finally landing on you.

You, wearing a deep crimson lingerie set, a sheer silk robe, and nothing more.

His bare chest, still glistening with water droplets, rose sharply as his breath hitched. A low curse tumbled from his lips, almost too faint to hear over the seductive instrumentals pulsing from the speakers.

A satisfied smirk broke across your face at his reaction, pleased with yourself for having successfully caught him off guard.

“Surprise,” you sang, voice low and silken.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his own amazement rooting him in place as he visually inhaled the sight of you. Your skin was hot beneath the intensity of his gaze, blazing as it trailed torturously slow up the length of your body, not daring to miss a single detail.

A faint buzz of nerves fizzled in your gut.

You’d never done anything like this before. Presented yourself in such a way to him, that is. All wrapped up in silk and lace of only the most sensual nature, bathed in smooth orange candlelight that tickled your ankles and crept up the smooth length of your lower legs. This was something new for the both of you, something unexplored. But it also wasn’t everything you had in store.

When he moved, it was with the utmost cautiousness, as if stepping too quickly or too harshly might disturb the beautiful illusion spread before him. But still, he moved, unable to resist the temptation.

Without speaking, his hands found your face, curving around the shape of your jaw and winding around the back of your neck. They were cold against your skin, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that rippled down your spine as he leaned over you. You let out a soft hum at his touch, head rolling back under his gentle coaxing.

Not a beat passed before his mouth found yours, eager and impatient. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, easily finding the smooth slope of his naked waist and tugging him closer. He moaned somewhere low in his throat, tongue slipping out to trace the seam of your lip. You allowed as much, indulging the hungry press of his mouth, the careful nips of his teeth — until he tried to lay you down.

Your palms met the swells of his chest, and he pulled away, breathless and confused. “What is it?” He asked hoarsely, licking over his swollen lips. You’d be lying straight through your teeth if you said he didn’t look irresistible in that moment, wet hair hanging messily over his brows, dark, hooded eyes, all haze and lust as they stared down at you heatedly, full cheeks blushing a feverish shade of red. But you had plans for tonight, plans you didn’t intend to discard for the sake of sexual pleasure.

“I’m not fucking you.”

He gasped, disbelief coloring his features. “What? Why not?”

“Because,” you grinned, settling your hands on his hips, “I’m going to give you a massage.”

“A massa— ah!” his words cut off abruptly with a high pitched yelp as you suddenly spun him around, all but throwing him down onto the petal covered mattress. He could only stare at you in shock as you crawled over his nearly naked body, mouth curved into a playful smile.

“A massage.” You confirmed, sounding rather proud. But, he still looked less than amused, so you elaborated. “You’ve been working so hard these past few weeks, and I know you’ve been stressed and your body is exhausted. A massage will help release some of that tension.”

“You know what else releases tension?” He asked, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. You cocked a brow, feeling the light press of his fingertips as they feathered over your thighs, taking an obvious path upwards. Desire and mischief swirled in his eyes, voice low and thick as the words dripped slowly from his dangerous tongue, “Hot… passionate… s—”

You snatched his hands from your skin before they could reach their destination, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. “Shut up and roll over.”

He huffed, pouting up at you scornfully but obeyed nonetheless, rolling onto his stomach. “Do you even know how to give a massage?” He snipped as you settled yourself on the back of his towel clad thighs.

“I’ve done my research.” You offered lightly, sparing a moment to admire the lithe, sinewy build of his shoulders and back before you moved, reaching for the tall bottle you’d situated on the nightstand earlier. He followed your movements from the corner of his eye, curiosity breaking through the petulant facade.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit cruel?”

“Perhaps,” you teased, pouring the translucent golden liquid into your palm, “but you’ll enjoy this, I promise. Just… relax.”

A defeated sigh escaped his chest, his body deflating beneath you. “Fine. But, this better feel better than sex or I swear to god I will—” he jolted with a soft gasp as you suddenly pressed the heels of your oil lathered palms into the area just between his shoulder blades and pushed outwards, “sue.”

You smirked smugly to yourself at the breathlessness with which he completed his sentence, obviously not having expected the pressure to feel that amazing.

“Good?” You asked, voice tinged with arrogance.

“Uh-huh,” he admitted immediately, moaning throatily as you rolled your thumbs deeply against the base of his neck, “oh fuck that feels so good.”

You chuckled, skillfully working your fingers across the planes of his broad shoulders. He melted deeper into the mattress with every knot you deftly unwound, soft, relieved moans breaking from his open mouth. The smooth, lavender scented oil glistened captivatingly on his sun-kissed skin, the delicate aroma gently permeating through your bedroom. It was a lovely, soothing smell, subtle and unimposing. You spread it diligently across the smooth expanse of his upper back, before gradually beginning to work your way downwards.

His sounds of bliss lowered in pitch the lower your hands reached, dipping into silky tenor groans when your hands reached the delicate dip of his waist. But, as you moved to massage the area just above his hips, he suddenly jolted, spine arching, a strained curse rushing from between clenched teeth.

You couldn’t help the concern that sparked to life in your chest at his response. “Does it hurt?” You asked, easing up on the pressure but not removing your touch completely. Sucking his lips into his mouth, he nodded with a soft, hesitant hum, glancing back at you from over his shoulder. “What happened?”

He made a strange noise in the back of his throat. “I just… twisted it weirdly during practice, I guess.” He offered weakly, shivering as you poured a small puddle of oil in the small of his back.

“Did you take a break?”

His silence was all the answer you needed.

“Baek,” your tone turned scolding as you gently worked your fingers into the tight dip of his waist, “just because you can fight through the pain doesn’t mean that you should. You’re not doing your body any favors by pushing it this hard.”

“I know but I—“ he sighed heavily, pressing his face into the sheets, “I just… don’t want to disappoint anybody.”

Oh, your poor, sweet Baekhyun. Always trying to please everyone else even when it ends up hurting him.

Pausing in your movements, you leaned forwards, bracing your hands on his shoulders so that you could speak in his ear. “Nobody is disappointed in you, Baek. You work so hard everyday to be the best you can be, and it shows. Everyone knows that you put your everything into what you do. And everyone’s proud of you,” you pressed your lips against the curve of his throat, slowly working your way up to the curve of his jaw, “I’m proud of you.”

He glanced back at you through his eyelashes. “Really?”

The question is so soft, so uncertain, and you feel your heart clench painfully in your chest at the thought that this man truly doesn’t understand just how many people adore him for just being… him. “Of course.”

You didn’t miss the rising of his cheeks, though he tried to hide himself beneath his arm, suddenly shy. You bit back a grin of your own, pressing one final kiss to the shell of his ear before returning to your earlier position and resuming the massage. He felt a dozen times more relaxed beneath you, the previous tension occupying his muscles having magically dissipated.

Sometimes, all he really needed was a little reassurance.

The smile that settled across your lips was unwavering as you took to kneading at the supple flesh of his hips, just above the top of his towel. Somewhere in the back of your mind, there was a flicker of a thought. A mischievous, dangerous thought. A thought that had your attention lingering on where the towel was tucked and secured on his right hip. Glancing up at the back of his head, you allowed your fingers to trail discretely towards the damp, white fabric, toying with it lightly so that he wouldn’t notice — not even as it came undone.

It was only as you peeled it swiftly away from his body and Baekhyun felt the rush of cool air across his backside that he realized what had just occurred.

“H– Hey!” He yelped, swinging his head around fast enough to give himself whiplash, eyes wide with disbelief.

“This is a full body massage, Baek. It’s not a full body massage unless it’s full body.”

“My butt does not need massaging.”

You grinned, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you cocked a challenging brow. “I beg to differ.”

“Pervert.” He hissed.

You gasped, splaying a hand across your chest. “Who told you?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your antics, but put up little resistance as you nudged his hands away from his butt. The tips of his ears and the back of his neck turned a dark, lovely shade of pink, and he quickly buried his face in his arms. Taking that as his nonverbal cue to continue, you poured yourself some more of the lavender scented oil, overturning your palm to let it drizzle onto his cheeks. He flinched slightly, the sensation catching him off guard.

So cute. You bit into the inside of your cheek to keep from cooing at him, opting to set your hands upon the gentle curve of his ass and knead your fingers into the soft, toned flesh. Baekhyun stifled a moan in the crook of his elbow, eyes fluttering as his body responded to the soothing touch.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” You asked, tone teasing.

“Shut up.”

You snickered, massaging deep circles into the muscles of his upper thigh. He groaned deeply, fingers curling into the sheets. “Right there, right there— fuck, right there. It’s so sore.”

Heat flickered faintly in the pit of your stomach at the low rasping of his voice, grunted roughly through clenched teeth. Geez, why’d he have to sound so damn sexy…

Brushing off the thought as best you could, you forced yourself to focus on massaging the tension from his hamstrings. But each brush of your fingers over the insides of his thighs, intentional or otherwise, coaxed a round of violent shivers and breathless moans from your very much nude and very much oil covered boyfriend. You swallowed a mouthful of saliva, jaw clenching as you squeezed your hands around the backs of his lower thighs.

The sounds he was making weren’t helping your… situation in the least.

“How are you so good at this?” He asked, somewhat airily as your hands glided upwards, to just below the curve of his ass before returning to the crook of his knee. The question snapped you out of whatever trance you’d put yourself in watching the way his slick, honeyed skin dipped and curved deliciously beneath the pressure of your touch.

“Re- research. Lots of research.” You cleared your throat, shifting downwards on the mattress to set to work on his calves.

“You’re hands are fucking magic.”

Warmth slipped into your cheeks at the praise, your heart picking up speed within your chest. He was making it difficult for you to focus.

“I told you you’d like it.” You hummed playfully, beginning the slow ascent back up the length of his naked body.

“You were right,” he conceded easily, sighing in bliss as your hands slid over the small of his back, “I love it. Feels so fucking good, you have no idea.”

A content (and perhaps a bit smug) smile settled across your face. You couldn’t have asked for anything more. All you wanted was to make Baekhyun feel even just a little bit better after what you knew had to be a long, hard day— and you goddamn succeeded.

“Baek,” you murmured, and he gasped softly, not expecting your lips to be right next to his ear. He let out an unsteady hum, blinking hard twice when he felt your lace covered chest press against his back, “roll over for me?”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded. You lifted yourself off of him to give him just enough room to turn onto his back beneath you. All at once you were nose to nose, soft puffs of breath caressing your mouth. He was looking up at you with those eyes again, those hooded, wanting eyes, his hands clenching at the sheets somewhere down by his sides. You could see the dark flush on his cheeks, the desperation slowly seeping into his expression.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” The question was quiet, barely a whisper on his delicate pink lips. But the fire it ignited inside of you was anything but— loud, violent, and devastating, ripping your so well kept self control to shreds in a matter of moments.

“Yeah,” you whispered, sliding a slick hand down his toned stomach, “but I’m going to touch it first.”

He barely had time to react before your hand was around his cock. He gasped, back arching, forcing his chest flush against yours. Surprise flickered across your face upon feeling him already fully hard and throbbing against your palm. “Oh?”

“What?” He huffed out breathlessly, swinging the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, “did you expect me not to get hard while my sexy girlfriend wearing sexy lingerie rubs every inch of my body with oil?”

Pausing, you squinted down at him. “It was the butt massage, wasn’t it?”

He glared, and you grinned.

But any annoyance was wiped clean off his face as you squeezed your fingers around him, stroking his dick at a slow, borderline torturous pace. The remaining oil on your hand combined with his precum provided the perfect lubrication, the slide smooth and wet, the lewd sound of it making you clench around nothing. Baekhyun’s head rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent moan. But, not for a moment did his gaze break from yours. You bit your lip harshly, a violent heat licking at your veins, the sheer intensity of his dark stare making your head feel dizzy.

“You look… so hot right now.” You hadn’t intended to say the words out loud, but you also couldn’t find it in yourself to feel even the least bit ashamed.

The corner of his mouth curled into a sultry smirk, an airy chuckle rumbling somewhere low in his chest.

“Yeah?” You nodded. “Then kiss me.”

You did so without hesitation.

Baekhyun let out a heady groan, hands surging up from between your bodies to cradle your jaw as your lips worked against his with a hunger you hadn’t realized you possessed. It was uncoordinated and messy, all lashing tongue and vicious teeth, biting and sucking and licking until you were certain your that lips were raw. You were dizzy and intoxicated by the taste of him, and he wasn’t in much of a better state. With his cock in your hand and your tongue in his mouth, it didn’t seem like he’d last much longer.

Beneath you, Baekhyun’s hips bucked and rolled, frenzied and desperate. Your hand stilled around him, allowing him the luxury of control as he fucked himself violently into your closed fist. Each moan that tumbled from his mouth into yours was louder than the last, and you relished in the unabashed displays of pleasure, taking an immense amount of pride in knowing that you were the cause of it.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasped the warning, his nails biting harshly into your shoulder, “fuck— fuck, wait— I’m g-gonna come.”

“Baek,” you panted, still trying to catch your breath from the kiss, “come for me. Please.”

His back arched, the furnace of his body overwhelmed but still trying feebly to fight back his oncoming high. Baekhyun didn’t like coming first. He’d always had the tendency of putting your pleasure above his own, making sure you came at least once (if not multiple times) before him. But tonight wasn’t about you. Tonight was about him. And you were going to make sure he knew it.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, sucking a dark bruise into his skin while simultaneously rolling your thumb over his sensitive tip in a way that had him trembling pathetically beneath you.

“Oh god— oh fuck— y/n—!” He came with a hoarse cry of your name, hips bucking, muscles tensing, skin shivering. You felt his hot release spilling over your knuckles, slipping between your fingers. He whimpered and squirmed as the overstimulation kicked in, but you didn’t stop stroking him until he started begging. “I can’t, I can’t— baby, please—” his chest heaved and his eyes went glassy, the dangerous cocktail of pleasure and pain making his head feel dizzy.

Looking down at him, so wrecked and fucked out, with those flushed cheeks and heavy eyes, you felt your heart flutter at the same time arousal coiled in your gut. He was just too damn pretty for his own good.

You relented, gently releasing his spent dick from your hold. He let out a shaky breath before tugging you into another mind numbing kiss. You moaned softly against his lips, feeling one of his hands coil around the back of your neck while the other explored the expanse of your back. It didn’t take long before they discovered the clasp of your bra, deftly unclasping it. Distracted by the skillful flicks of his tongue, you didn’t realize what he’d done until you felt the lacy fabric slip down your arms.

A giggle bubbled in your throat, and you whispered against his mouth, “naughty boy.”

His lips curled, and then all at once you found yourself sprawled on your back. “Naughty girl,” Baekhyun retaliated in a low, playful growl, pinning your hands to the mattress on either side of your head, “making me cum even after I told you to wait...”

His head dipped and you gasped softly as he nipped at the sensitive part of your throat, one hand sliding down to grip at your naked breast. You bit your lip to suppress a whimper as he circled your nipple with a rough thumb.

“Guess I’ll just have to pay you back for it…”

You weren’t about to object to that.

#baekhyun fanfic #exo smut #byun baekhyun #exo #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun oneshot #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fic #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun #exo baekhyun #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo fic #exo scenarios #exo oneshot #exo imagines #kpop smut

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after-witch · 3 years

Text

Title: Holding Time [Yandere Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader]

Synopsis: How long have you been in the basement? How long would it take to starve to death? How long does it take for your lover’s corpse to decompose?

Word Count: 1960

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, graphic description of corpses, abuse, violence, injuries, starvation

Dripping. Something is dripping from somewhere--or some thing. The sound is too regular, too maddening, and your eyes dart around the basement to find the source. Not that you could do anything to stop it, with your hands chained to the wall.

It would normally be hard to see in the darkness of the basement, but Fyodor has kindly provided you with a light, hanging above the alcove against the wall just opposite where your chains were lodged. The light is warm and not over-whelming; the type of lighting you might read a book or have dinner under, if the circumstances were different.

Right now, that light is hanging just above the corpse of your boyfriend, a corpse artfully propped up against the wall in a mockery of a sitting stance.

Fyodor didn’t kill him in front of you. Which, you suppose, was meant to be a mercy. But your lover’s body was fresh when Fyodor dragged it down the basement, thumping thudding sounds which still echo in your ears, and you’ll never forget the sight of his lifeless corpse laid out in full view. You screamed and screamed and Fyodor simply watched, before pushing his corpse into a sitting position, right across from you.

“You can have a nice conversation with him now, just like you wanted.”

That was weeks ago. You think. And no, you didn’t have conversations with your lover’s decomposing corpse. But you sometimes talked to yourself. Just to hear something, anything, other than the skittering of mice and buzzing of insects (thanks to the shortness of your chains, you can’t even swat away the flies that land on you, crawling and itching) and the emptiness of the space around you.

You asked yourself if you did something to deserve all this.

You asked yourself if you should have done something different.

You ask yourself if it was stupid not to give in, not to force yourself to accept Fyodor’s advances, physical and otherwise, instead of screaming and biting and telling him you’d rather be dead than around him another second.

That’s when you first ended up in the basement, but that wasn’t the end of it--no, no. The end of it (maybe the end, you think, is there more? Is there more that he can do to you?) was a dead body thrust in front of you. The end of it was realizing that the person you loved most in the world, the person you imagined spending the rest of your life with, was no more. Their hopes and dreams and wishes and wants and needs? All gone. All nothing.

Just like you.

You still can’t decide if it was part of your punishment or if Fyodor would have killed him regardless of how you behaved. Maybe he would have stashed his body in a warehouse somewhere, sealing it with cement, never telling you the details but instead resting easy knowing that there was no real competition for your affection.

You’re not sure which would be worse--giving in to Fyodor’s sick demands and never knowing that your boyfriend had been murdered, or refusing and spending the weeks here, watching his body go from warm and red to stiff then big and bloating and now--now this, wasting away.

You wish your chains were longer. Then you could at least cover his face, so you didn’t have to see him staring at you, eyes white and glassy and unseeing, or his mouth gaping wide, flies and maggots sometimes making their presence known inside. Sometimes the mass of insects makes it look like his jaw, unhinged and slack, is moving--and you spend hours with your eyes closed, peeking only to see if the inhuman effect has ceased.

You can’t escape the smell of decay. Your chains aren’t even long enough to let you cover your mouth, your nose, and your forced to breathe it in every second. Disgustingly sweet and sour and strong, something you’ve never smelled before in your life but you know you will never forget it. All tinged with the smell of your waste which is, at least, mercifully contained in a wooden pail shoved up against the wall. Your legs are weaker and it’s harder to push yourself up using the backs of your elbows, but you manage.

There are few mercies in this basement, but the bucket is one of them, and you dare not complain about the odor lest it be taken away from you, too. Besides, it’s not as if you do more than piddle a meager amount most of the time, anyway. You haven’t had food in--you don’t know. Long enough that you don’t have regular bowel movements anymore. Long enough that the sharp piercing ache of hunger has turned into something altogether new, a deep, dull carving ache--starvation. He stopped bringing food once he brought your boyfriend, once he left you alone with a dead body and your thoughts.

Your water supply is low and inconsistent. Fyodor doesn’t come down into the basement at all anymore, actually, and you’re not even sure that he’s the one tossing the water bottles down the basement stairs.

Sometimes they reach your grasp, sometimes they don’t. On good days, the three bottles thrown down at regular intervals all get close enough that you can pull them to you using your legs or feet. On bad days, your tongue swells up and you swallow nothing but spit.

You don’t have a mirror or any way of seeing yourself, but you can guess that you’re not in the best shape. Your muscles feel weak and cramped. Your wrists are sore, stinging, and you can see the slightest hints of red underneath the cuffs attached to the chains on the wall. Probably an infection, from pulling on them until your wrists bled. Your side hurts all the time, a dull ache that won’t go away.

You haven’t bathed, of course, but the stink of your own unwashed body--the smell of staleness and sweat and body oil--is nothing compared to decay. The smell. The sight.

Does his family know he’s dead? Does your family think you’re dead? Nothing outside the basement feels real, nothing outside the basement feels important. Your world has shrunk down to the grim reality that you’re starving in an isolated space with only the company of pests and a corpse.

And your thoughts, which are sometimes the worst companion of all.

You think about lots of things. You think about your life before all this, how you took it all for granted, how Fyodor ruined everything. You think about your life before the basement, even, the uncertain anxiety of what he was going to do next as you cycled through being handcuffed to Fyodor’s bed, to the dining room table, to the side table next to the sofa.

You think about your hunger. God, you didn’t know hunger could feel like this. You didn’t know it was possible to be so empty, so desperate for the smallest amount of nourishment that sometimes you lick your skin for the salt, the sweat, for the taste of something in your mouth.

You think about your choices. You think about how you threatened him, how you promised him that he was going to get caught and your friends at the agency were going to severely fuck-him-up. You think about how he took all of this with a grim smile, how he smacked you across the face, how he wiped up the blood on your lip and kissed you afterwards.

You think about how he gave you chances, after each time, until finally you'd crossed some line and he dragged you unceremoniously to the basement and clicked on the too-tight cuffs.

Maybe leaving his body behind wasn’t a punishment. Maybe it was a lesson. Maybe it was a forewarning of your own fate: you’re going to die down here. Like him. And then you’ll be nothing but a corpse, a sack of flesh animated by the wiggling of insects infesting your insides.

The thought of dying like this brings a low, throbbing horror into your body. Your chest aches. Your throat aches. Everything aches. All the time. But especially when your thoughts race to the future, a future you won’t actually be alive to acknowledge.

But you don’t want to die. You don’t want to die like this, especially, slowly starving and withering and sitting a few inches away from a bucket of your waste.

But that’s what’s going to happen if this goes on much longer.

Fyodor didn’t say he was going to leave you here to die. You thought he’d keep you in the basement until you begged to be let out. And, truth be told, you would have done so already, if he kept coming to see you--but he stopped, and the only face you’ve seen in the past few weeks has been rotting away. He didn’t even give you the opportunity to fix yourself, to apologize, to beg for mercy. Or whatever it is he wanted out of you. Obedience? Amusement?

It doesn’t matter that it wouldn’t be genuine, it doesn’t matter that you hate him more than anything in the world. What matters is that he kidnapped you and killed people in the name of keeping you and destroyed your life in every way imaginable… and now he’s just leaving you to die without giving you a chance to fix it.

Like you’re nothing.

He probably wouldn’t want you now, anyway. You’re a shell of yourself, aren’t you? Your arms are weak and your muscles weaker; and your skin looks sallow and you’re sure, you’re sure, that if he saw your eyes, they would be as glassy and dead as the corpse across the way.

You’d messed up, you’d let yourself become a shadow, a slip, a wraith of a thing stuck in the basement until it finally dies and frees up his time to find someone new. Someone full of life and beauty and anything but the stubbornness you couldn’t let go of, the pride that refused to let you see it was a life or death situation. Life--with Fyodor, sitting on his lap and letting him kiss you and touch you and possess you. Death--well, you see what that is now, an unceremonious bloating and wasting away. Maggots and shit and stink.

And you chose death--didn’t you? Unwittingly, unknowingly, but you chose it all the same.

If you had a do-ever, you know you would choose life. You would grin and bear it. You would throw yourself into it, you would do everything in your power to stay in his good graces, to stay upstairs--where you would be clean and fed and sleep on sheets and never have to understand what it’s like for your lips to be so dry that they crack open and bleed.

Maybe... maybe he didn’t even wait for your death to get someone new. You can hear sounds from upstairs, sometimes, undefined but surely there. Maybe he’s already got someone upstairs and they were smart enough to keep their mouth shut and their expressions neutral, pretending they weren’t horrified and disgusted by the person who ripped their life into pieces.

Maybe it was too late to beg on your hands and knees for forgiveness, for another chance. Too late to tell him that you were wrong and stupid and you want to be with him, upstairs, please, please, please.

And that’s what you say now, what your thoughts propel you to whisper into the stagnant basement air: Please. Please. Please. You say it so much that your throat hurts, you say it so much that you don’t know how much time has passed before there’s a sudden sound--a sudden light.

You jerk your head towards the light, the opening of the basement door at the top of the steps. The light hovers, murky, shimmering, like the sun viewed from underneath the water. The only sound now is the jingling of your chains, and then--

Footsteps, on the stairs descending.

One.

Two.

Three.

You hardly recognize your own voice when you cry out, wistful and hopeful and above all things, desperate.

“Fyodor?”

#yandere fyodor Dostoevsky #yandere fyodor #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere #afterwitch writes

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beelsnack · 3 years

Text

Obey Me! Boys Taking Care of a Sick MC

In honor of me no longer having covid, I decided to write down how I mentally coped with having the plague some headcanons about our boys and a sick MC. Because I’m all about the hurt/comfort life.

-----

Lucifer: “You should be resting.”

The human scowled. Of course Lucifer was standing guard at the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m just going to get some water,” their voice sounded like sandpaper against wood as they spoke. They felt like the living dead, and judging by the cool stare Lucifer was giving them, they looked it, too.

“No, you’re just going back to bed.” He caught them by the elbow as soon as they were within reach. “I’ll bring a pitcher of water to your room for you.”

“Lucif--” their complaint was cut off by a sudden coughing fit. The force of it made them double over, and they clutched at their chest with one hand while the other went to cover their mouth. Demons couldn’t catch human illnesses, but old habits die hard.

It wasn’t until their lungs stopped trying to eject themselves from their body that they realized that Lucifer had sat them down on the bottom step. He was rubbing slow, soothing circles on their back, a rare look of concern in his dark eyes. “Easy now, my dear,” he murmured as they caught their breath. “You’re shaking, are you chilled?”

“...Just a little,” they wheezed. They must not have sounded very convincing, because Lucifer quickly removed one glove and gently pressed the back of his hand against their forehead.

“Your fever has come back.” In one quick, fluid movement, he had taken the cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it around them like a blanket. “Go back to bed, now. I’ll bring you water and something to bring your fever down,” he spoke softly, like raising his voice would trigger another coughing fit.

It was too bad they were too sick to appreciate Lucifer’s soft side.

Mammon: “…A’ight, that should be everything.”

Admittedly, he might have gone a bit overboard. But, could you blame him? He’d never nursed a sick human back to health before!

…Okay, so Lucifer may or may not have let Mammon use his credit card to get stuff for them. And he may or may not have taken a few liberties. It was for the human though!

“Mammon, holy shit,” they mumbled, poking their head out from the blanket burrito they had cocooned themselves in. “Is there anything left at the convenience store or did you buy them out?”

“Shut it.” he set the last six-pack of Gatorade (well, the Devildom equivalent of it, anyway) at the foot of their bed. “Ya’ weren’t specific, so I just got one of each!”

Their room looked like a doomsday prepper’s bunker. Cans of soup, a myriad of flavors of instant noodles, a portable heater, the works. Maybe they should have been more specific.

“Do ya’ need anything else?” Mammon sounded vaguely annoyed, but underneath the gruff tone he spoke with, his concern was obvious. They had given him a scare when they first came down with the flu two days ago, temperature so high that they ended up collapsing on their way to RAD. He had been fussing over them since. They weren’t even sure if he had slept.

“...Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?” he perked up like a dog waiting for an order from its master. “Whaddaya need?”

Instead of speaking, they wiggled their arms free of the blankets and held them out. For a moment, Mammon just stared at them in confusion. When what they were asking for finally clicked, his face grew so hot they could use it as a space heater.

“What are you, a little kid?” he grumbled, but there wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation as he climbed into the bed with them. They settled themselves against his chest, sighing contentedly. Sleep had taken over in a few heartbeats.

“...Get better soon, you hear?” they didn’t, obviously, and Mammon took the opportunity to gently pat their head, like they so often did for him. “If you’re gonna be all cute and stuff, I want ya to be conscious of it.”

Leviathan: “You know, I really thought you would take longer to go through all of these.”

The human looked like a whole new person compared to the last time Levi had seen them. They were sitting upright, although they looked ready to slide back down into their previous coma-like state any minute, and the number of blankets wrapped around them had been reduced to just one instead of three. They managed to shoot him a weak grin as they handed over the manga he had let them borrow.

As much as Levi loved staying locked away in his inner sanctum, it was only an enjoyable experience if one’s source of entertainment was also locked away with them. And he couldn’t, in hood conscience, let the human die of boredom instead of dying of illness, so he had ventured out of his lair armed with his collector’s edition box set of I’m A Scholarship Student At An Obscenely Rich School and Now I Have To Work Off A Debt Because I Broke A Vase That Belonged To A Host Club!

That had only been a few days ago, but this morning he had gotten a text from them saying that they were finished.

“It’s not like I have anything else to do, Levi.”

“Pretty sure you could have been sleeping, but okay.”

They stuck their tongue out. “I couldn’t put it down.”

“Right?” Levi nodded enthusiastically, clutching the box to his chest like it was worth his weight in gold. Actually, knowing him, he probably paid his weight in gold for it. “I definitely bawled my eyes out at the end. You have to watch the anime next, the music really brings the scene together. And, like, I’m not usually into pastel themes, but the color scheme actually really fits the mood, and - “

Somewhere in the middle of Levi’s overly-excited info dumping, the human’s eyes had slipped closed. By the time Levi realized he was geeking out, their breathing had evened out and they had slumped against the headboard.

…Oh. They looked really cute like that.

“Sheesh, c’mon, normie,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bored you to sleep.”

He set down the box on their nightstand and, very carefully, so he didn’t wake them up, inched them down to lay were laying against the mountain of pillows they had. Once they were settled into a position that wouldn’t give them a crick in their neck, he pulled the blanket up to their chin.

“There,” he nodded to himself. “You rest up, because you and I are going to have an anime marathon, and I won’t forgive you if you fall asleep in the middle of it.”

They mumbled, but otherwise stayed unconscious. Levi had definitely seen this in an anime before. His heart was pounding somewhere around his throat, but he wasn’t getting this opportunity again any time soon. Gently, like he was approaching a wild animal, he leaned in close and pressed his lips to their forehead.

“Seriously, get better soon.” he murmured. “I don’t like seeing you sick.”

Satan: His leg was falling asleep.

He had been sitting in the same position for at least an hour, and if it were anyone else he simply would have shoved them off and went about his day. But, how could he push the human away when they were curled up like a kitten in his lap?

They had been complaining about being bored, since they had been too feverish to attend RAD for the past few days. So Satan, always the man with a plan, had arrived in their room ready to binge watch his favorite crime drama. Even though he had seen this show at least eight times, he still found himself getting absolutely sucked into the plot. So much so that he didn’t notice the human starting to nod off until they landed against his side.

“Honestly, you could have just told me you were tired.” he muttered, gently rearranging them so their head was resting in his lap. They made a small noise in their sleep, but otherwise remained unconscious.

It was so rare that the human was still. They seemed to have an endless source of energy, able to be embroiled in all of the shenanigans that tended to happen around the family without absolutely disintegrating. To have them finally at rest, even sick, was quite the treat. Satan couldn’t quit help himself as he reached down to pet their head.

Well, if he was going to be stuck here until they woke up, at least he had a good show to watch.

Asmodeus: “Asmo, I can bathe by myself.”

“Yeah, no, don’t even try it.” Asmo shook his head as he ushered the human into his bedroom. “You passed out in the shower the other day, darling. This is the only time I’m grateful for Mammon’s snooping, because you might still be there if he hadn’t heard you fall.”

They subconsciously touched the sore spot on their shoulder where they had collided with the wall. The pain blended in with the rest of their body aches, but the bruise certainly didn’t.

“Besides,” Asmo sat them down on the chaise lounge. “A nice, hot bath with some quality oils will rejuvenate you like nothing else. Now, go on, strip.”

When they gave him a clearly unamused look, he just laughed. “Not while you’re sick, darling. You know full well being with me requires you to be at peak energy.”

With a sigh, they began peeling themselves out of their days-old pajamas. Admittedly, they did feel like a bath would help them feel a little better. They were pretty sure they read somewhere that the steam from hot water would help clear out all the gunk in their chest. And if anyone knew the intricate rituals of bath time, it was Asmodeus.

While they were stripping, Asmo had made his way over to the Grecian temple that was his bathtub and turned on the tap. After a few moments of running his hand under the stream to test the temperature, he stood and began browsing his impressive collection of bath accoutrements. “Hm, let’s see, let’s see…here it is!”

Asmo turned around, holding up the little bottle like he had just found buried treasure. “Eucalyptus, to help clear out the lungs. It’s good for muscle aches, too!”

With a flourish, he put a few drops into the water. “Alright, ready. Can you get in yourself or do you need my help?”

“I’ve got the flu, not the plague, Asmo.”

“You. Fell. In. The. Shower.” he punctuated each word with a poke to their cheek before holding out his hand to help them. Although they grumbled, they were still feeling kind of weak, so they allowed Asmo to pull them up.

“There, now, easy does it,” he spoke softly as he guided them to sit on the edge of the tub. If this were any other situation, they would be painfully aware of the fact that they were completely naked in front of the Avatar of Lust. But, the fragrant steam rising from the water was beginning to ease the ache in their chest, and Asmo’s soft hands had begun massaging their shoulders. They barely even noticed when they were fully seated.

“You’re not coming in?” they murmured sleepily as Asmo sat himself along the edge of the tub. He just laughed.

“Next time, darling. Now, you just relax and let me take care of you.”

Beelzebub: The phrase “don’t have much of an appetite” just didn’t make sense to Beel. How could someone not want to eat? Maybe he was a bit biased, being the ever-starving Avatar of Gluttony, but still. Humans needed lots of nutrients to get better when they were sick, right? He was pretty sure that was what Satan told him.

Beel scowled, scrolling through the eighteenth listicle about foods to eat when sick. Honestly, he was making himself hungry, but he was starting to get the general idea. Looks like he’s making them some soup.

The kitchen was separated into “human” and “demon” sections, after the one time that they almost used cyanide instead of salt. Human cuisine took less time and involved less magic, so Beel knew his way around the human spice cabinet. Making the soup was the easy part, making sure it got to its intended recipient was another matter.

Climbing the stairs to the human’s room felt like a Herculean task, but he did it - mostly. He may have taken a few bites here and there. But he had purposely put more in the bowl than he knew they would be able to eat, so it was fine, right? He knocked on their door twice, listening to them shuffle around before they finally called out weakly that the door was open.

“I brought food.” he said, shutting the door behind him. “You haven’t been eating much lately.”

They poked their head miserably out of the blanket burrito they had wrapped themselves in. A thin sheen of sweat covered their forehead, but they were shaking, which meant their fever hadn’t broken yet. Did humans always take this long to get better? Another question for Satan.

“I’m not really hungry, Beel.” they mumbled, voice thick and gravelly due to the sore throat they had. “You can eat it.”

Shaking his head, Beel sat himself down on the bed beside them. “I had some already.”

“Have some more.”

“No, I made it for you.” his stomach growled, completely undermining his words. “It’s basically just broth, you can drink it.”

They wiggled around for a bit before they managed to extract themselves from the absolute cocoon they had made. “…What kind of broth?”

“Just chicken, I promise.” he laughed. “I wasn’t about to try to get you to eat a Devildom recipe.”

Finally, they got themselves into a sitting position, but even that seemed to wear them out. They flopped against Beel’s shoulder, and he definitely didn’t like how hot their skin felt against his. Their breathing was ragged as they tried to get the energy to sit up.

“Here,” Beel dipped the spoon into the broth. “I’ll help.”

“I’m not a baby…”

“No, but you are really weak.” he replied gently. “Let me help you.”

He could feel the urge to protest vibrating through their body - their independence was definitely an endearing quality of theirs. But, eventually they must have come to the conclusion that a content of tenacity between the two of them was going to take longer than simply waiting out their illness. With a huff, they opened their mouth and let Beel feed them.

“Oh, wow, this is pretty good.”

“I’m a good cook if I don’t eat the ingredients first.”

Belphegor: “I thought humans slept a lot when they got sick.”

The bags under the human’s eyes were almost as intense as they glare they gave him. When the rest of the brothers had begun arguing over something stupid, Belphegor had taken the opportunity to bundle them up and whisk them away to the peace and quiet of the attic. His intent had been to take a nice long nap with them, but apparently their lungs had a different plan.

“We should,” they groaned, sounding like their throat was made of sandpaper. “Every time I feel like I’m going to fall asleep, I start coughing.”

“That sounds counter-intuitive.”

“Tell me about it.”

Belphie rolled over so that he was lying on his side, facing them. “Well then, you picked a good nap partner.”

They blinked blearily up at him. “Why is that?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He reached out, tugging them towards him until they were settled comfortably against his chest with their head tucked beneath his chin. Although he wasn’t the tallest of the brothers, he had enough height to basically surround the human. “Can you hear my heartbeat?”

“I’m too tired for you cheesy lines, Belphie.”

“No, seriously, just listen.”

He could practically hear them roll their eyes, but they quieted down. Once he was sure they were synced up with the steady ba-bump, ba-bump of his heart, he began to work his magic - literally.

He brought his hand up to cup the back of their skull, fingertips tingling as he focused his magic their. They squirmed for a moment before sighing as the cool rush of Belphie’s special brand of sleep magic washed over them.

“I told you, being tired isn’t the prob - “

“Hush,” he murmured, letting them feel his voice rumble through his chest. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Belphie massaged their scalp like he was washing their hair, working his magic into their skin. Slowly but surely he felt them soften, the tightness in their chest easing. Finally, their slightly labored breathing evened out, and the poor human finally succumbed to sleep.

“About time,” he kissed the top of their head. “You need to rest if you want to get better, so let’s sleep as long as we like, okay?”

#seriously I just kept thinking about them taking care of my while I was sick #because even though I was sick I had to take care of my parents when they ended up getting it #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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colossal-fallout · 3 years

Text

AOT ~ First date H/C's

NSFW included. 18+

Levi, Erwin, Jean.

Coming soon;

- Reiner, Porco, Pieck. Eren, Armin, Connie. Hange, Zeke, Miche.

- More Fallout content

Remember I am always open to requests 🗣️

Levi;

"You. Meet me tomorrow at five and we'll do something. Just the two of us. Which means I don't want any of your flunkies following us around."

Levi asking you on a date is something he's been pondering and sitting on for a while. He wanted to be sure. Also, it was definitely more of a demand.

Levi is not one to do these things casually. He asked you because he sees potential with the two of you. One that can be worked around your career's of Titan slaying.

Of course when he first laid those steely Grey's on you, he was intrigued but kept at a distance.

As time flickered by his desire to get to know you more in a private setting grew, so he knew it was time.

Obviously he isn't going to wear his uniform, and you're surprised to see him dressed like the fancy ass he is; with his jacket and cravat.

He smells devine. He bathed before he got dressed, in oils and petals (Old ways of using bubble bath I guess)

Levi takes you somewhere high class to eat. One you're not extremely comfortable in, being used to your humble and basic living as a soldier. But it doesn't take much for him to help you relax as he explains he used to feel the same; but working and living in such ways definitely merits a treat from time to time.

He asks a lot of questions. Not in a way it seems like he's prying. He just wants to know you better. Where were you born? What are/were your family like? What interests you? How good are your hygiene practices?

He doesn't talk much about himself. That is for a waaaay later time.

After you've eaten (Which he insisted he pays for) he takes you for a walk around the town as you continue talking.

He's a really good listener. He takes everything in and makes mental notes of certain things.

He walks you back to the barracks. He makes sure it's somewhere no one will wander by.

"I enjoyed having dinner with you. If you'll allow me, I'd like to take you out again one day soon."

This time it's less of a demand. The tiniest smile pulls at one corner of his mouth when you say yes.

Levi won't kiss you on the first date. Don't kill me. He just wouldn't. He bides his time with these things and likes to be totally sure of someone.

But when he does, it'll be fantastic.

He'll just simply take a step closer to you, his eyelids heavy as he stares at your lips, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

He'll wait for your reaction. If you don't pull away then that's when he'll go in for the kill, his lips hungrily yet slowly devouring yours.

- NSFW -

When the time comes where you both feel ready to take things to a more physical level... Wow. That pretty much sums it up.

The passion though. Thinking about it is making me weak at the knees.

You're one hell of a special (and lucky) person to be in bed with Levi fucking Ackerman.

He will not hold back. All this wanting you from day one but restraining himself most certainly pays off, big time.

He'll be slow and sensual, mapping your body with his mouth and remembering all the areas that seem more sensitive. Oh, that nip of the teeth behind your shoulder made you gasp? He'll stick a mental flag in there.

Dexterous with his fingers and tongue, he'll eat you out with your legs over his shoulders. He likes to be able to slide his fingers in nice and deep.

You're his now. You sealed that contract the moment your clothes fell to the floor. And because you're his, he's going to show you that no one else will ever make you feel as good as he will.

He'll fuck you all night. He'll have you whimpering, quivering, begging... Your legs will be weak for hours after all the shaking while he makes you cum again and again and again.

Erwin;

"I would be honoured if you would accompany me to dinner tonight."

Erwin Smith would ask you on a date in the same fashion some knight would ask a fair maiden.

You have to be pretty f'ing special to catch the commanders eye and you have done for a while now.

You can tell he hangs out with Levi a lot because he takes you to the same fancy restaurant as Levi would take you to.

But when you meet up with the commander and he is waiting for you, a beautiful bouquet of flowers in hand... Your heart (and pants) just melt.

Erwin will lavish you with compliments. He'll make you feel like a total queen.

"You look... Amazing, Y/N"

"The colour of that dress contrasts your eyes beautifully..."

Erwin would be willing to kiss you on the first date. He would start by kissing the back of your hand as you're about to say goodbye, his eyes looking up and sharply piercing into yours.

He's intelligent. He' knows body language and from that kiss on the hand he will know if you'd be comfortable with a more intimate kiss.

If you are, he'll ever so gently cup your face with one of his large hands and softly press his lips against yours, closing his eyes and pulling you in close.

He handles you like some delicate flower at first. A gorgeous being that he doesn't want to soil with his dirtied hands from all hes done over the years.

- NSFW -

Erwin Smith in bed though... He will be mind blowing, no doubty 'bouty.

He will relax you with fine wines, not so you get drunk but so you're comfortable, warm and at ease.

He'll start by kissing you deeply, his hands running tantalisingly close to your crotch as he explores you.

He'll dead set pick you up, bridal style, and carry you to his bed.

Erwin is an extremely passionate lover, his kisses are hungry yet soft. Soft yet firm at the same time. The room would quickly become steamy as he discovers you with his mouth and hands.

As soon as that long, thick dick enters you, there's no turning back. Ever.

It hits every single spot perfectly without much effort, but by god's does he put the effort in, making it that much more insane.

Erwin takes you slow for the first time. Not only does he use this to gather intel on your preferences but he wants to slowly get you adjusted to his beast of a cock.

Jean;

"So I uh... Was wondering if you weren't doing anything later if you'd... Wanna grab some food? You know... Just the two of us?"

Jean would have a crimson hue etched over his face when he asks you. He's a little more shy than Erwin and Levi.

"Are you asking me on a date, Jean Kirstein?" You'd tease.

He'll pull himself together. "Yeah. As a matter of fact... I am."

A date with Jean would be so lovely. You two would go get food, go for a walk and stargaze; laughing, joking and having deep conversations the entire time. Never would you fall into an awkward silence.

Hand holding. Definitely. He would adore holding your hand and showing you off, not to mention being able to have your satin soft skin touching his.

You'll hold hands while watching the stars, the end of the night drawing near. This is when he'll make his move.

His heart will be thudding in his ears and his palms will begin to get a little damp.

But darn it, he's wanted this for so long he refuses to screw it up.

Since you're both lying down he'll roll over onto his side and just place his hand on your face, gazing down at you in awe.

He waits for your reaction.

After a few moments he lowers his head and inhales deeply through his nose as your lips connect and you slide your tongue into his mouth.

He's doing the most goofiest victory dance in his head right now.

- NSFW -

Jean is nervous as hell but also very excited, trembling slightly as he kisses you and lays you down onto his bed.

This lovely lad will take care of you so well, in more ways than one.

He adores wrapping his arms around you protectively when you're being intimate. He would die for you and this certainly comes out in how he fucks you.

Or most of the time, makes love to you.

He praises you a lot, totally unbelieving he has you and how lucky he is.

Firm caresses, a lot of gasping and pants holding your hand and deep kisses.

You'll give a whole new meaning to "Horse face" because you'll bloody ride it like one.

He's amazed by you the entire time as well as afterwards. Jean is a 10/10 good boy and his aftercare is second to none.

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whirlybirdwhat · 3 years

Note

Prompt: shipwreck/overboard/injury

HELLOOOOO DEAR ANON THIS IS LIKE A YEAR MAYBE TWO LATE. BUT. ITS DONE. I DID IT. ITS DONE. originally this was gonna be a 15k zolu story about zoro n luffy taking a wrong turn in the east blue, ending up in the calm belt, and like. getting stranded there in the grand line before somehow finding their way to the east blue. but. this came out instead after many tries. so! i hope you enjoy and i am SO sorry for the wait! <333 no without further wait -

tumbling overboard, faces full of fear

- read on ao3!!!

It’s a storm, their first after Thriller Bark when it happens. Franky is manning the helm, the only one familiar with the Sunny’s system, (the only one besides Brook whose hands don’t reach for the spokes of Merry’s Wheel instead of Sunny’s, who doesn’t swerve the ship to hard to account for a thrice broken rudder, who doesn’t have the dregs of grief in him for a beloved ship) when a wave swamps the deck.

Thunderous and overwhelming, it swallows the deck, rushing up to the trees and covering the sea-strong grass on Merry’s lawn. His crew-mates are laughing, joyous, unafraid even in this storm when –

A flash of red. A yell turned scream. Terror.

His captain, dragged overboard by the waves in an instant, Zoro reaching out but collapsing half way through because he was too injured to move, to breathe, to get his captain –

No one else sees. No one else sees the widening of Luffy’s eyes matched in Zoro’s, the panic as an outstretched arm just misses the railing, as Zoro is too slow, too injured to grab on, the wrenched scream out of Luffy’s throat, drowned by the wind – no one.

No one but Franky.

“NAMI!” He yells, grabbing Usopp by the collar as he does so and pressing the wheel into his hands. “KEEP US STEADY!”

Nami, hair plastered to her face, eyes wide, has confusion and rage etched on to her features, mouth opening to give a sharp retort but –

Franky points, to where red is quickly sinking beneath the waves, and doesn’t wait for Nami’s expression to change.

A step, two, three, up onto the railing, and then a lunge upward and outward, arms over head. Franky dives, like he’s dived a thousand times before, into the heart of the storm where nothing awaits but water and rage and crashing waves.

His captain is down there, sinking, drowning, because of the fruit he ate.

Like hell if Franky is going to let him die.

The water presses against his eyes, digging in and choking the breath out of his chest. The currents try to drag him around, grabbing at his ankles, his arms, his perfectly coiffed hair, but Franky has faced off against the world and demons alike. The waves have nothing on him.

Still – the air tries to escape him, hurting, his chest becoming painfully tight. He wants air. He needs air. The panic, human instinct, is setting in, but his captain is still down in the waves without a fighting chance. Franky doesn’t breath, and presses on.

It’s… dark down in the waves, the flashlights in his eyes that he installed doing little to abate it.

He presses on, peering in the dark.

Luffy – come one! He thinks, almost desperately. Where are you?

Looking, looking, looking –

Something slaps against his face. Reflexively, Franky tries to swat it away before his hands land on worn straw and soft ribbon. Luffy’s hat.

Which means –

Franky kicks, harder and harder and harder, arms helping after one hand places the string around his neck.

Luffy! I’m coming for you!’

A second, two seconds – Franky is running out of breath.

Another second, four – he’s not going to make it.

Five, six and –

Red.

There’s red.

Franky reaches out and grabs his captain’s brilliant shirt, quickly hauling his captain, limp and drowning, into his arms.

Luffy’s so light. Dead weight but barely anything in this giant ocean. Barely anything when compared to Franky.

(His face is gentle in the dark depths, as if the ocean took every crease and worry in his face, every laugh line and scrunched Shishhishi! And smoothed it out into something as empty as the sea floor. Franky doesn’t like it. Not at all.)

There’s no time for any more contemplation. They have to get up.

The sky is dark above them. Franky can only tell its up by his internal altimeter.

He’s not going to make it with what breath his has now. Only one chance.

Franky breaths in, salt water pouring into his body. It stings, it stings, it stings but –

It’s a coup de burst. If there’s no air to use, he’ll use the water.

(It burns, but Franky once took a melding iron to his skin and never looked back. This is nothing.)

A second, two, precious when Luffy is still sinking, still drowning, here in his arms.

Three.

Franky grips tight to his captain, and rockets upward. Water presses against his face, trapping him, wanting him to stay in the waves, stay in her embrace, welcome him and the person who ate of the devil with opening arms, but Franky has a dream.

His captain has a dream.

He won’t stop now.

Luffy’s face lolls against his shoulder, unconscious, unalive here in the dark waters. Hang on, Franky wills, desperation aching in scrap metal bones.

Then –

Glimpses of something lighter, a grey instead of black, illuminated by flashes of light.

The surface! He thinks, triumphantly, and breaks the tumultuous, crashing surface with a thunderous, victorious gasp, sucking in air like a drowning man.

Which, to be fair, he almost was.

The air is wet and still rainy, the air mixed with water, choking him, but her forges onward, trying to find somewhere steady to breath. It’s hard.

In his arms, laid across his shoulder, Luffy still isn’t breathing.

And the Sunny isn’t anywhere insight.

He doesn’t have the chance to check for a pulse, no flat surface to pound his captain’s chest back into breathing, so Franky does what he can. Luffy’s rubber, isn’t he?

(Not in the water, something whispers.)

He can take it.

Franky pulls his captain from his shoulder as waves push him up and down, giant swells carrying him across the sea, far away from their crew, far away from their ship. He takes his captain in his arms and crushes him, close to his, squeezing him and all the water in him out.

It takes two tries.

Two tries for the panic to set in.

Two tries for his captain to start breathing.

But – a choke, a gasp, and Luffy is moving, coughing out sea water against his back even as the waves swamp them, as the storm presses down, as everything, everything is too much.

Luffy is alive, breathing slowly against Franky’s chest, and they’re lost in a storm, in the middle of the Grand Line -

But they’re safe.

They’re alive.

They’re breathing.

Super, Franky thinks, and focuses on keeping him and his captain alive.

When Franky was a child, he had drowned, once. Fallen off the rail tracks with a bag of tools and nails tied tight around his waist, too heavy for him to swim with, too heavy to do anything with.

He had thought he was going to die then, without telling Tom how thankful he was, without telling Iceburg he was actually kind of cool, without teaching Yokozuna how to swim or Kokoro how to make a super cola float. It weighed on him, then, the absence of a dream achieved.

Then – Tom had wrapped his arms around him, dragging him upward, upward, upward, with sturdy arms and reassurance, with a heartbeat resting next to Franky’s head. He had had fear in his eyes – it’s a look Franky will never forget. A look of fear, terror, absolute love.

You frightened me, Franky, Tom had told him that night as Franky rested against his side. Frightened me. Never do that again.

Franky hadn’t – not till a train was coming towards him with his father on it, slashing him to pieces and leaving him to sink on an isle of scrap.

Now – Now Franky isn’t thirteen and terrified of water anymore. Now, Franky is 34 and desperate, cradling his captain in his arms, half swallowed by the sea.

He wonders, looking at Luffy, if. Luffy would see the same eyes in Franky that Franky saw in Tom. If he would see the fear and desperation, the terror, the love Franky has for his captain, even as Franky risks life and limb for his captain.

(It’s not much for a man who is made of metal rather than flesh, but it’s all he can give.)

The waves have calmed around them, swells dying down to gentle ocean waves, a miracle in the Grand Line. It’s still drizzling, but the last of he storms have disappeared.

For now, at least.

It’s still the Grand Line.

Franky still isn’t sure how he managed to survive the storm, managed to keep his legs moving and Captain secure. He’s attributing it to some minor miracle now, some moment of truth, some blessing – something like his captain, and the wonderful order he pulls the world into, like a final piece clicking into a well-oiled machine.

He’s floating now, carefully inhaling enough air to keep him more buoyant, careful above the waves, arms spread eagle and captain laid out on his chest. He shifts, trying to keep Luffy out of the water as much as possible, but his hands and feet still trail in the water.

(The straw hat hasn’t left Franky’s neck, though it has shifted to his front. He’s too afraid to shift it, to let it go.)

The water takes a lot out of him, Franky knows. Like Luffy had just used all his gears, all in an instant, all dragging him down. He’s lethargic after baths, eyes sleepy, body sluggish until he dries off.

Luffy’s quiet now. The only sound Franky can hear that of his breaths, puffed against his chest, the sound of his own inner mechanisms, and the waves, lapping at his side. It’s not right.

His captain shouldn’t be this sluggish. This quiet. Franky shouldn’t be this useless.

But he’s alone in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but his own body to use, useless. Useless.

(He’s only been useless once in his life, unable to do anything has his parents tossed him overboard. Even with the train, he had been able to stand. Been able to fight.

Here?

Nothing.)

He misses the Sunny. Staring up into the drizzling rain, he misses his ship, his crew, his family. His misses his captain, he misses solid deck beneath his feet he just… misses not having to wait.

That’s all there is now, though.

Waiting, and waiting, and waiting, just for the ship to –

A stirring on his chest.

“Mhm… Fran… Franky?”

“Luffy!” Franky shouts, craning his head to see his captain blinking blearily on his chest. Luffy’s eyes are hazy but slowly locking on Franky. “You’re awake!”

“Wah – Franky? Where... where are we?” Luffy lifts his head, trying to view Franky himself, before thumping down on Franky’s chest, too tired to keep himself up.

Franky drifts his hand up, letting the waves ripple to rustle Luffy’s hair. “Out at sea, waiting for the Sunny, Bro! You went overboard in the storm.”

Luffy blinks twice, before letting out a quiet “Oh.”

He slumps down on Franky’s chest, still tired, still exhausted, and Franky thinks that’s the end of it. He contemplates sending up a plume of fire, a flare, but realizes that would be useless with no ship in sight.

Then –

“You saved me.” Luffy says, voice stronger but sentence simple. “From the water. Thank you.”

Something in Franky’s chest constricts. He remembers watching Zoro dive in to save his captain, coming out soaking wet and Luffy clinging like a limpet. Remembers Sanji throwing shoes aside and placing drinks down in an instant to lunge overboard, entering the water in a perfect swan dive. Remembers countless saves, drags out of the ocean, chests pressed and breathes giving, each to save their captain from a watery grave.

Franky remembers.

But never- never has that look been directed at him.

It’s – trust. Affection. Adoration. Surprise - for saving his own captains life. A look that should never have crossed his captain’s face, who selfishly selflessly gives his blood and bones and life and will to his crew without a second thought.

Past the tightness in his throat, Franky manages to choke out a “No problem bro! You’re the captain! ‘Course I gotta save you!”

He attempts to strike his signature pose, almost toppling them both into the sea as it does. Luffy laughs though, stumbling himself upward to sit on Franky’s stomach, feet crossed and finally out of the water now that he is conscious. He smiles down at Franky, bright as the sun even as rain drizzles down on him. “Shishishi!”

(Suddenly, Franky is glad Luffy didn’t see his face then, half drowning, and fully terrified. He wants the endless faith Luffy has in his crew – faith he knows he already has, but faith he still feels he has to earn.

His captain is 17, with a dream of the world on his shoulders. He deserves nothing but the best from Franky, and if that best is the super! protective shipwright that Franky knows he can be then –

That’s what Luffy is going to get.)

They drift for a bit, Luffy settling on Franky’s chest and starting to chatter endlessly, Franky keeping them afloat with careful moments. A sea king approaches, slammed down with a single fist from Luffy, echoed by Franky’s shout of super shot bro!

It’s still raining, but the drizzle seems to be lessening. Franky is soaked and Luffy is too, but instead of the fear of the waves and storm, the fear of being lost forever at sea, there’s just peace.

“Shishishi! Franky! I’m glad I got stuck out here with you!”

“Yeah bro?”

“Yeah! Being alone hurts the worst, but when I’m with you guys I’m never alone! Shishishi!” Luffy says, carefree smile despite the words that fall from his lips. Franky’s smile freezes on his face but before he can ask what Luffy means by that, Luffy starts shouting, jumping up on Franky’s stomach and almost rocking them over. “LOOK! THE SUNNY! GUYS!!! GUYS!! OVER HERE!!!”

Franky grabs on to his ankles, shocked out of his crisis. “Woah! Hang on, bro!” But Luffy’s right – in the distance, floating before them, small but most definitely there – is the Sunny.

They’re saved.

Saved.

And Franky knows what he’s going to do now. He takes the straw hat from his neck and sets it down on Luffy’s head with a ruffle before giving Luffy a devilish grin. “Hang on tight, bro!” Luffy gives a laugh, and grips hard to Franky’s chest. And with that, Franky sucks in another breath, larger, just like he used to explode out of the sea, using the last of his cola and –

“COUP DE BOO!”

They’re flying, flying, flying, soaring through the air with sea spray around them, sun finally peeking through the sky, Luffy laughing with Franky and –

It’s beautiful.

They land perfectly on the deck, to screams of joy from the crew. Luffy bounces off of Franky chest into the waiting arms of the crew, gathering each of them in long rubbery arms. There’s still the dregs of fatigue on him, etches of sunburn on his cheeks, and Franky, even with synthetic skin, is no different. Still – Franky clings tight.

They’re safe, they’re home, and Zoro is standing upright without that look of desperation, now that Luffy is clinging to his arm, and Luffy looks vibrant and loud instead of gentle and peaceful so –

Everything… everything is alright.

(Five weeks later, Franky finds himself alone and burnt, newspaper in hand with that awful, terrible, terrified look on his face, the kind he never wanted Luffy to see, the kind he saw on Tom’s face.

Being alone hurts the worst! Echoes in Franky’s mind, and he can’t, he can’t he can’t – Luffy is alone.

And this time, Franky is useless to save him.)

#anon im so sorryy this is so late but i hope you enjoy!!!!#op #one piece #whirlywhat #whirlywrites #franky #monkey d. luffy #luffy #zoro #roronoa zoro #nami #usopp #overboard #lost at sea #drowning #Anonymous #whirlyanswers

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pocketramblr · 3 years

Text

how his hair do that, 5 options

the following is a crack fanfic in five parts, each section on the same premise but not same continuity. also, very spoilerish

bnha manga spoilers below! very recent leaks below! very spoilery!

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 1

--------

When the heroes first attacked, alarms blaring, compound up in chaos, Dabi snuck away. He let the others pour out of the doors and down the stairs, and crept backwards, turning and running once he was certain no one would notice him.

Not that it would matter much if he did, but why waste the energy on killing them too? He’d need all his firepower today.

Dabi tore through the halls to his room, making it there and slapping his card against the scanner. No time to lose, not when he knew he needed to take care of a few more things before locating where Endeavor was in this heroes’ mission.

He kicked open his bathroom door, hands occupied with carefully pulling the black wig off his head- snagging that on his staples was just the worst, and he couldn’t have blood messing this up today.

Not yet, at least.

Under the bathroom cabinet he grabbed the bag of powery charcoal. It was supposed to be used for some beauty purpose or another, something about enriching hair that didn’t even work- but it would work to darken his white locks.

He poured it on, barely bothering to lean over the sink and keep it from going everywhere. As a final test, he once more wet a bit of it, the color seeping from the hair as it dripped.

He already knew it would work, that’s why he had intercepted so much of it before the quirk cultists could offer it to Toga or Hawks or whoever, but his heart was racing with both nerves and pure excitement.

Finally. The day he’d burn it all down, and make them see why.

He left his door open as he ran back out into the hallway, making a beeline for where he left Hawks. First things first, take care of that, then find Endeavor.

--------

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 2

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“Hey, put me down by that camping supplies store. And Skeptic too.” Dabi ordered, surveying the carnage of Jakku and glancing over at the man hunched over his laptop.

Said man looped up sharply at that, frowning and spitting that he wasn’t going to do that or something.

Dabi didn’t really pay attention to that.

“Where?” Gigantomachia asked, still rumbling forward towards whatever he smelled. Two masters or something.

Compress cleared his throat and translated for the currently blinded giant. “It’s at 4:05 o’clock, I’d say thirty feet forward.” He then looked over at Dabi, mask as unsettling as any of them. “You’ll be carefull too, on your personal mission?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dabi waved him off, snagging Skeptic by the back of his shirt and tugging as Machia scooped them up and placed them on the pavement.

He ran inside the evacuated store, mercifully empty and not decayed, and started looking for the bags of charcoal.

When he found one, he tore it open. Charcoal fell to the floor, and he ground his boot down into it.

“What…” Skeptic seemed without words, for once. Good.

Dabi tore off his black wig, tossing it aside. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

“You wear a wig??”

“Yeah.” He started to scoop up handfuls of the charcoal, rubbing it into his hair. “Hey, go grab me some water, and then go set up the cameras. We got a show to put on.”

--------

Stinky dumpster boy

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“But my good name?” He sneered the word and all it implied in the world of false heroes, “is Todoroki Touya.”

With that, he dumped the water over his head, and it streamed down over his face, filthy.

The dirty water, practically mud, stung the places on his face where his skin was barely stapled together, and Dabi was reminded of why he didn’t bother with showers anymore- the pain.

But now his true colors- literally- were revealed and it was all worth it. All the truth was out, and the truth had always hurt him.

Shoto, who seemed to be trying to juggle first aid on like, five different people with two random heroes he didn’t know next to him, gaped.

“Come on, I know my face has changed, but my own family should still be able to recognize me, yeah? But you never did. You never did, Todoroki Shoto.”

Dabi suddenly found himself encased in ice.

Ah, this again.

“Yumi’s is colder.”

Shoto’s jaw dropped, then he glared. “Stand back.” He said as he stood up. “He just dunked water on his head, to cool him off I bet. If he is Touya, his body never could handle his own heat. If he’s not… those burns come from somewhere at least.”

Ok, now Dabi was offended.

“What do you mean, ‘if I’m not’?” he demanded. “I just revealed my white hair? I know that’s what the picture on my shrine looks like, you never even looked at that?”

“How do you even know what your shrine looks like?” Shoto sounded dangerously close to judgmental for a little brother who was probably as emo as Dabi had been at his age. “And wait, that cup of water was supposed to wash out your hair? What, do you never bathe or something?”

Ok, now Dabi was really offended.

“Of course I bathe! I just have to sponge bath, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed from having your own scars, but when they take up most of your body and are killing you they end up controlling a lot of your life!”

Ugh, asking him if he didn’t bathe. He’d understand that asked of Shigaraki, sure, but him? Shoto had gotten close enough to smell him, at least.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” the hero in blue, the one that was tending to Eraserhead, raised his hands. “But uh… do you want some help with that?”

“I’m fine, don’t want to cool him off too much so he can fight longer.” Shoto shook his head.

“I was talking to him.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

The hero waved his hand, bubble of water pulling up from the ground. Then he pointed to his own head. “I can take care of that? At the very least it’ll be cleaned out and um, whatever color it should be?”

Dabi stared at him. Shoto stared at him. The other hero in green stared at him, and the one who’d offered help started to sweat noticebly.

“Eh, sure, whatever.”

The hero nodded, and the bubble of water floated over to him, disappearing in his hair.

The bubble floated out a couple of time, murky brown and black with ash, dirt, oil, blood, anything else he’d never thought about too much. It would wring itself thin, much dropping, and return to cleaning.

Finally, his hair was mostly white and thoroughly soaked.

“Thanks.” He called over.

“Yeah.” The hero answered, still frantically trying to help Eraserhead with his free hand, which he’d gone back too as soon as he thought Dabi was distracted. Buying time.

The other hero was on his fourth facepalm.

Shoto just looked contemplative.

Endeavor, one of the ones receiving treatment, sat up but looked like he was going to pass out.

Well all right then. Time to really start- the hair snafu didn’t matter. They were all going to die that day anyway.

--------

Weirdest commercial I’ve ever been in.

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“We’ll be dancing in hell together, Todoroki Enji.” Dabi finished his speech with a sneer.

The watching heroes were all stunned silent, mouths open, eyes wide. The revelation must be sending them, like it would all who were watching Skeptic’s broadcast. This would burn it all down, perfect.

“I don’t understand…” Enji managed to say, spitting out a bit of blood.

“What, you don’t understand how I survived, or how I hate you so much I’d hurt innocent people over it? Because that second part is exactly what you did, take out all that self-loathing and insecurity, rage at your shortcomings and condemn children not born yet to them. Guess it’s a family trait.”

“No, not that,” He waved a hand. “I mean, I totally get how you’re a wreck, even if all of your other siblings managed to not become mass murders, I mean- I don’t understand, how did that pint of water wash out all of your hair dye? Aren’t you better funded after the Deika merger, can’t you afford proper hair coloring?”

“I was also wondering that.” Shoto admitted.

“Same.” The hero in blue nodded. The hero in green facepalmed.

“Water?” Dabi repeated, then looked at the can he’d tossed aside. “Oh, no. This isn’t water- it’s a momento of the only true hero.” He bent down, picking up the can and studying the image on it.

“Stain was right, you know.” He mused. “About hero society being rotten. So rotton, so full of fakes, that there was only one that deserved the title. He just got the wrong hero, guessing All Might.” Dabi snorted at the very idea. “No, the only real one, the pure one, the one that defines heroism, the only one with a kill count higher than me- for all the dear old man and his biggest fan Hawks tried, of course- is Wash.”

“… Wash?” Shoto cocked his head. “Wait, like, Wash, Wash?”

“The one and only. That’s how this Official Wash’s Hair Washing Serum, the only product that can wash out all dirt, dye, and any other kind of grime, in just one go.” He shook the can around so they could see. “What, you all thought I could just magically lighten my hair from black to white in the space of one fight?”

“No,” Shoto said, like a liar, and then he threw a glacier at Dabi, and the fight was on in earnest.

--------

Old news

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“And now you’ll see who I really am, who you’ve created.” Dabi poured the bleach over his head, giving it a moment to sink into the hair before he shook it out, grinning wide enough to tear his staples.

The heroes on the ground and the few tending to them stared in shock.

Then Shoto gasped.

“Hawks?”

“What? Where?” Dabi whirled around, looked up, because he was really sure he had managed to make sure that pest wouldn’t be flying or fighting again, but well… he’d thought that once before and been wrong then.

“No, you- you’re Hawks, you dye your hair black when its in Dabi mode, and its that beachy yellow blond in Hawks mode.” Shoto nodded to himself.

Blond? Dabi tugged at a lock of hair, and huh. It did seem more yellow than white.

“How could he be Hawks?” The hero in green demanded incredulously, before the hero in blue grabbed his arm and pulled it back to holding down Eraserhead for bandaging.

“The burns and staples are part of the disguise,” Shoto explained. “Fake, and misdirection. You were trained from young childhood to be a hero, sent to join AfO and the league as a spy, where you gained a fire quirk and decided to switch to the villains’ side because you hated the life you were forced into.”

Dabi stared at him.

Shoto stared back.

Enji stared at both of them.

“How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time?” Slipped from chapped, burnt lips.

Shoto looked offended at that.

“I mean, you’re half right, yes that’s what up with Hawks, yes he was sent as a spy, but I knew and I killed him at the compound. And not, like, in a metaphorical way.” He added when he saw something spark in Shoto’s eyes. “Literally. I’m not him. He is completely separate person and body than me and I totally literally killed him.” Or like. Close enough. “And like, thirty other people who were completely innocent.”

Or close enough, he really didn’t bother to keep track, but thirty sounded like a big number. Especially of murders.

“So then who are you?” Shoto asked.

“What, you don’t recognize me, little brother?” He almost growled it, feeling very tired of this all of a sudden.

“Little brother?” Shoto repeated, eyes wide, then narrowing. “Wait, how…”

“Oh not again.” Enji muttered.

“Not again?” Dabi asked. “Wait, you actually managed to drive one of the others to this too? And cover it up? Man, Enji, you’re more rotten than even I knew then!”

“One of the others?” Shoto looked around wildly. “What are you talking about?”

“I was talking about how Shigaraki also randomly showed up and called a first year student “little brother”.” Enji looked back over at Dabi. “What were you talking about?”

“Shigaraki did what?” The pyro looked over his shoulder, finding the villain looking absolutely stoned on the ground, almost as vacant as some of the unconscious heroes, with a curly haired student laying bloodied nearby, staring up at him. “Wait, which student is his little brother?”

“Midoriya, apparently.” Shoto shrugged.

“Midoriya?” Dabi almost choked on the name. “As in, the green bone-breaking kid? Isn’t he like All Might’s lovechild or something?”

“That’s what I said too!”

“I mean, his hair was also lighter when he showed up today.” The hero in blue pointed out to his fellow in a voice that would have been too quiet for Dabi to hear had everyone else not gone silent as well.

“And bleach boy tried to do the same thing with the bleach, yeah. Here, I’ll tie this off, you go take care of Bakugo.”

“I’m Todoroki Touya!” Dabi snapped. “Or I used to be called by that name, anyway, before you nearly killed me, Enji. Let’s just- get back to fighting, yeah, I’m going to kill you.”

#kjhgfghjk #this really is just me making fun of the hair thing #brought on by me and my sister giggling over possibilities #from 'do he wash' to 'wait... hair bleach doesnt work like that it'd be yellowy first'#my fic #my writing #ok i think thats enough tags #bnha manga spoilers #bnha #wish tumblr would give me my line break rights back #crackfic

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yan-twst · 4 years

Note

hey there! i love your work! can i request the dorm leaders + their darling dying? particularly if it was due to an accident, the dorm leader’s own actions/punishments, or even (if you’re comfortable writing about the topic) by their own hand? thank you! 💞 i hope you’re doing well ~

warnings: this is just dark like very dark and messed up! mentions of death, violence, abuse, blood, self harm- like, everything like that is here. on top of that general yandere warnings. this one is heavy on violence and abuse so please be careful when reading if this could affect you! (-｡-;) also lots of mentions of stuff that could be potentially triggering to people with eating disorders!

riddle rosehearts

he didn't mean to. that's all he can think of as he watches his darling lay on the floor of his room, blood slowly pooling under them. he's shaking and hyperventilating- no he didn't mean to he didn't mean to hedidn'tmeantohedidn'tmeanto-

he feels like throwing up as he backs away. it was over so quickly- he just didn't mean to get so angry, but he did, and all it took was one swing of his staff against his darling's head and a sickening crack and now they're- they're-

he forces himself to search for a pulse, but his hands are shaking too hard. his darling can't die, this can't be real; he wouldn't ever hurt them badly...! but their body is slowly growing cold under his hands, and he's feeling sicker and sicker by the second

he wishes he could just die in their place- what did he do? when trey finds him sobbing over his darling's body, the third year assumes that riddle's darling collapsed and hit their head; riddle is too shaken to deny this. everyone in heartslabyul believed that his relationship was perfect, nobody would suspect he'd been the one to deliver the final blow: and it makes him sick

he stops eating, stops attending classes, and lets himself slowly waste away in his bed. it's bad enough that crowley considers sending him home, but trey quickly objects: the last thing riddle needs is his mother's treatment... everyone tries to help him cope, help him move on, but he just doesn't get better. he doesn't want to get better, not when the guilt is eating him alive.

he feels like his darling is watching him, even after their death. it's like a punch in the gut, thinking of all he did: he was a kidnapper and a manipulator and an abuser and he killed them, he killed his lover who he kept by his side by force- the thoughts make him even sicker. he's slowly wasting away, refusing food and water...

the only way to save him at this point would be a spell to make him forget his darling ever existed... and his friends are so desperate to at least save him- thinking that he's just a mourning lover who lost his beloved too quickly- that it's not too unreasonable to expect them to do so.

leona kingscholar

those close to him knew he didn't mind getting a bit... rough, with his beloved. whether it was the servants back at home, or ruggie who didn't want to get on leona's bad side, nobody interfered: after all, they always claimed they were fine and happy with leona! ... though most of the times leona was keeping a tight grip on theis shoulder as they spoke those words

it's nobody's shock when a mysterious deep scratch becomes seriously infected on them. both leona and his darling deny that he was the one who caused it- but... well, it's clear to those who knew of how violent leona could be when unhappy with his darling that he was the only possible culprit.

the fact leona has terrified his darling into complete submission and obedience now shows its deadly side, as it turns out they'd been hiding the highly infected scratch from him in fear of repercussions, and when medics have a look at it, his darling is at death's door. he barely has time to process what's happening, before his feverish darling just... passes away in their sleep, with no chance to even call a magic healer who could have helped

nobody has seek leona in worse shape before. he doesn't even attend the funeral, and he doesn't let anyone (not even ruggie) get near him- he appears like a feral beast, destroying anyone and anything that crosses his path. his mourning is destructive, and it doesn't take long for him to be called back home before he turns the whole savanaclaw dorm to sand

he's inconsolable, and he doesn't let anyone near. he knew very well that what he was doing to his darling- keeping them under his control by taking advantage of their fear, forcing them to play the part of the "happy lover" despite them being terrified of him- was wrong, but in the end, he loved them more than anything.

and in their own way, he knew they loved him: even when they had the chance, they never begged his brother or crowley for help... almost as if they believed he could change for the better. but he didn't, he essentially killed them.

he'll just isolate himself. go somewhere far away where he can misserably live the rest of his days alone. all he does is sleep and mourn, hunting to feel relief from his pain in the form of violence- but even then... he's just never coming back from this

azul ashengrotto

he just wanted to teach them a lesson. once again his darling had tried to escape him, to escape his love, even though they'd sworn to stay with him- even though they'd signed a contract promising to stay- so he'd punished them accordingly. after a painful, near-drowning dip in the freezing cold ocean, he'd just left them in the bathroom to cry and beg for mercy... but when he came back less than a day later, they were just... dead on the ground

hypothermia. his darling's blue fingers, their huddled up form as they tried to preserve heat in their last moments: he feels himself grow lightheaded and tears blur his vision as he picks up their cold, lifeless corpse. how...? it's too late when he notices the place where he left them: there's no towels, no hot water, and the temperature is cold. the fact his darling was just violently dragged around the freezing cold waters before- the fact they were already weak from being kept in captivity...

the twins arrive immediately when they hear azul's screams and wails coming from the bath. there's not even a chance to ask what happened: he's crying, sobbing as he apologises to his darling's cold, damp corpse. the eels quickly realize what's happening- and though upset, jade immediately volunteers to hide the corpse. they have to, or else they're all in serious trouble. floyd has to pretty much tear the corpse out of azul's grip.

azul feels like shit, he wishes he'd died in their place- but he doesn't want to be imprisoned. he didn't mean to- how could he ever want the person most important for him to die?! the general student body interprets his mourning and guilt as the reaction to his darling "mysteriously going mising"- each time someone tells him they hope that his beloved is found soon, he wishes he could just die on the spot

he doesn't have a will to take care of himself or the lounge anymore- all his duties fall onto Jade. watch what he eats? who cares- not him. he swings from eating whatever he wants to try and fill the void in his heart to going days on end without even leaving his bed- it's unhealthy and it's worrying, but... what can he do? he killed his darling, left them to die alone- he deserves nothing.

kalim al-asim

it's everything he feared, happening at once. just one time- one time- he takes his darling out to eat because they've been behaving so well and it's their anniversary- and they look so happy to be out of their chains and out of their room! and then- and then they take a bite of their food and it's nearly inmediate, they collapse and cough, and then it's over.

he should've known better. he HAD to know better. hadn't he been telling his darling the reason why they had to stay locked inside was for their safety? hadn't he promised he wouldn't allow them to be harmed? this- this had happened before with jamil, but jamil had lived. his darling died.

his guilt and pain are immeasurable. he cries during the funeral, loud enough that even his own family feels like they can't approach him. even jamil can't help but feel bad- even knowing all what kalim did to his darling. it's like the spark inside of him was extinguished, all his joy snuffed out

he commissions paintings and works of art of his late darling to an almost terrifying degree. he needs to keep them around, to keep something that makes him feel like they aren't gone, but everytime he gazes at the expensive oil paintings of his darling, he's crushed by pain and becomes as inconsolable as the day they died

there's no more parties. how could he possibly throw a party- no, how could he possibly dare search for happiness knowing what happened? he feels like he doesn't deserve comfort or joy. he turns down all of his friends and family's attempts to help. he feels like hurting and being misserable is the only way to make it up to his darling, even in death

he'll pretend to move on, for everyone's sake- it's painfully obvious he's faking his happiness, but... nobody knows what to do to help, so they just accept his poor acting. nobody brings up how he sleeps cuddled with golden chains (that only jamil knows were the ones used to keep his darling in their room), or how he keeps all his darling's belongings untouched like if they could return any day- in the same way nobody, not even jamil, acts like they notice the scars that appear on his skin, which was once unmarked.

vil schoenheit

he knew that using so much love potion had to have... some negative side effect. however, he saw it as a necessary side effect; his darling was just lost and needed a bit of help to love him! besides, he himself brewed the potion with the highest quality ingredients, and sure it was worrying that his darling was becoming resistant and needed larger and larger doses each time, but he never expected them to just... drop dead when he gave them their morning's dose of potion.

love potion overdose- now that was a way to die that didn't appear in any textbook. vil wouldn't be able to process the events: his darling just fainted, right? how silly! he'll just- he'll just tuck them into bed, they need beauty sleep, and he'll... and then he'll...

when he finally feels his darling's cold body, with no heartbeat as he places a hand on their chest, it feels like the world is falling around him. how was he supposed to know this could happen?! he tries as many healing and health potions as he can, but... in the end, he specializes in poisons, and his darling is already dead. it's merely a fool's errand

he cries. he crie and cries- how dare his darling die?! how dare they abandon him?! he wails until his eyes are red and puffy, until his makeup is ruined. he doesn't know what to do; he doesn't want anyone to see his darling like this. soon enough death will take its toll on their beauty- the thought makes him feel even worse.

just like how the dwarves in the ancient legend preserved the princes's body in a clear casket to admire her beauty even after death, vil will do exactly that. finding a spell to preserve his darling's body is exhausting, and he risks his own skin by losing sleep and stressing over it (he's running against the clock and he knows it. he has to hurry, before his darling's beauty fades), but he's successful

he keeps his darling- a corpse that won't decompose, their body cold but skin as soft as when they lived- in a glass casket in his room. everyday, he carefully does their makeup and dresses them up, still making them go through his skincare routine even after death. in all honesty, the routine is what manages to keep him from losing his mind; he doesn't see how misserable he is, desperately taking care of a corpse.

he has to work harder on his makeup now. no matter how much he tries, he can barely sleep: he tries so hard to push back the thoughts that plague his mind (the thoughts that tell him if he'd been a better lover his darling would be alive, that if he'd been better his darling would have loved him without the need of a potion, that he was the one harming them from the very start whenever he knowingly destroyed their self esteem so he could manipulate them with more ease)- everyone bites back comments in fear of invoking his anger, but... it's visible, how much he's suffering.

idia shroud

is this the gods' punnishment for his actions? does he just deserve nothing in life? he holds his darling's lifeless corpse in his hands and wails. he doesn't even know how they died- was it just too much? the isolation, the stress... he thought he was doing a good job at caring for them, but clearly he wasn't, was he?

he'll rebuild them- he'll bring them back. he doesn't care how unethical it is- he has to get his darling back. what were all his efforts up until now for? stalking, kidnapping his darling; was he truly about to throw away all that work? he wasn't- not at all

he tries his best to keep ortho in the darl about the truth. no, no- his darling is just... taking a nap. yes, a special nap, suspended in a mysterious blue fluid in a large tube in idia's room- just... a nap... of course the younger shroud doesn't believe this, but even the child can see the pain in idia's eyes and doesn't question further

it's because of ortho's concerns that idia doesn't spiral into absolute missery: otherwise, he doesn't even know if he'd have the will to keep living without his darling. the younger one cheers him on, telling him that he'll absolutely succeed! ... even if idia has low hopes on actually managing to artificially revive his darling, his brother's words keep him going

he takes to talking to his darling's corpse, suspended and preserved in the tube. he'll save them soon. he'll make it so they can walk around his room again- he even promises to let them go out if he just manages to finish the work- he just has to work harder. he needs to work more.

he has no clue how long it'll take him, or if he'll even succeed. but he has to keep going. there's only two things keeping him alive- ortho, and the need to hold his darling again. he needs them. he has to get them back.

malleus draconia

there's always a level of risk when applying a sleeping curse, of course. he knows this very well, but he trusts his magic. he knows he's good at what he does; so why has his darling's heart stopped beating...?

he'd grown so used to simply casting the spell when he went to class and undoing it when he returned, he almost missed the change and left for class. but he did notice- when he cast the spell, instead of falling into a peaceful sleep... his darling seemeed to jerk awake for a second, then close their eyes: and after that, he couldn't see the rise and fall of their chest. a nervous hand pressed against their chest, and found no heartbeat

he's lost and scared. suddenly, he doesn't feel like Malleus Draconia, ruler of the dark fae- suddenly he feels like he's a little baby again, crying because he's scared of thunder. all he can do is fall back in shock and call for lilia- please. please come help him. he made a mistake.

lilia can comprehend very well what happened. the sleeping spell failed- perhaps malleus' darling was too frail, their constitution worsened by the constant sleep and captivity. there's nothing the ancient fae can do: once death has taken a human, they're gone. all he can do is hug malleus, to try and comfort him like he used to when the dark fae was a child.

malleus knew that humans had short lifespans. lilia had warned him about this, about the pain human lovers would bring; that was one of the reasons why he'd brought his darling to his dorm and forbidden them from leaving, so he could do the most with the time they had. and yet- even for a human, this was too soon. far too soon. how could life be so cruel? how could he lose the one person who understood him and loved him? perhaps everyone was right to steer away from him. perhaps he did just bring misfortune wherever he went

lilia, silver, and sebek can only watch as malleus becomes lonelier than ever. the dark fae has rarely mourned before- and even though lilia is trying his best to guide the young lord through the process of grieving, malleus is just not taking it well at all. he killed his beloved- as much as his dormmates try to convince him it was a freak accident, that he had no hand in it, he knows better. perhaps what hurts him the most is his darling's peaceful face after they passed- they never held such an expression around him, not since he took them captive... were they so happy to have escaped him, even if it meant death?

#twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia

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kaaras-adaar · 3 years

Text

30 Day OTP Challenge NSFW edition.

Day 1 – Cuddles (naked) Characters: Kaaras, The Iron Bull Warning: nudity It was the early hours of morning when Bull’s eye scrunched before it opened. Shit, they’d got so carried away last night that they’d forgotten to draw the curtains, and now the sun was starting to crawl its way into the spacious chambers of the Inquisitor. His lover was usually a man of early mornings as it were, but Bull often was able to sleep through Kaaras moving about the room to get himself ready. It was a strange sensation, to wake up to someone time after time, morning after morning. Not an unpleasant one. Bull found himself admiring the Inquisitor in his sleep, his expression sometimes the most peaceful when he wasn’t stressing over what meeting he had to have today or who he was going to toss into a prison cell. The guy needed a serious break at times, and getting to see his visage in such a state of peacefulness made Bull’s eye crease just a little as the corner of his lips turned upwards into a smile. It was short lived, though, as the Vashoth’s breathing changed as his body started to wake. All those early morning routines meant the mage had a biological clock that had him waking from pure habit. Alas, the man was only just beginning to stir, but the open curtain wasn’t going to help either of them, as Kaaras moved his hands underneath the pillow and shoved his face into it to hide from the light. Bull chuckled, moving a little closer and feeling the warmth of bare naked skin on skin, their legs tangled in the sheets from last night. A thick hand moved beneath the sheet to draw over the muscle of Kaaras’ back, feeling every groove and curve before he ran down to that fantastic arse of his and gave it a grope. “Mmmph.” It was unclear what came from Kaaras’ mouth as he spoke into the pillow, but he faced away from Bull, clearly tired. “Hey, where you think you’re goin’, Kadan?” the Bull grinned, moving up to spoon the other man’s back—albeit with difficulty considering his horn was at such an awkward angle now. Their shared bed was filled with comfortable cushions to ease awkward neck cramps, though. Plus, growing up with horns meant learning a few tricks, or just perhaps getting used to the painful kinks one could wake up in the morning with. Kaaras’ eyes partway opened as he felt that strong hand pull his back against Bull’s chest. Even half asleep, he still managed a smile, feeling comfort as he was pressed against his lover. Maker, how he did love this man, and the feeling of getting to wake up to him. He would die happy if he got to wake to this every day for the rest of his life, and he was more than content with that. “Mmm, I have to get up soon,” he murmured, his eyes squinting as the brightness finally hit them from the open curtains. The sun hadn’t quite made it up through the balcony window and doors yet, but the room was a lightening blue. This high up in the mountains (and the fortress of Skyhold), there were no birds chirping away merrily, just the silence around them. That and their breathing—and he could hear Ginger, his cat, purring away on the floor somewhere. Presumably at the hearth of the now non-existent fire. “C’mon, you can stay just a little longer. Just so I can fondle this great ass,” Bull purred into the long ear at his lips. His hand moved back beneath the covers and cupped a solid, plump cheek. “Still a little sticky from last night. Sure you don’t wanna stay and have a bath before you get up for your morning routine?” He chuckled as he nipped Kaaras’ ear. The Inquisitor flushed red in the cheeks at the comment, his ear flicking as he felt Bull’s teeth tug lovingly at it. “Maker’s breath...” he muttered. But Bull was absolutely right: he was filthy from their lovemaking last night, and he’d called attention to it. Was he really sticky? He supposed he probably was, considering the oils—as well as Bull’s ejaculate. That made him blush even more and push Bull’s hand away from his rear, as if insecure over the whole matter. Bull just laughed. “Come on, don’t be shy.” He nuzzled into Kaaras’ neck then, which earned a little laugh from his lover. “That’s better.” He moved his hand back to Kaaras’ backside and let his hand move over the shape of it before he drew the sheets down so he could see it. “Much better view,” he grinned, kissing the thick shoulder that was closest to him. “You’re going to get me all riled up, Bull, and you know it,” Kaaras muttered with a chuckle as he pressed his rump back into that calloused hand. He reached his own hand downward to grab Bull’s wrist, guiding the large arm around him and linking their fingers at his chest. “If you think saying I’m dirty and making me have a bath is an excuse for you to just get me dirty again beforehand... then you’re definitely barking up the right tree.” Kaaras pulled Bull’s hand upwards and pressed his lips to the back of his palm. He could feel Bull’s laugh make the bed shift, as well as the weight that was against his back. He loved the sound of his laugh, the feel of him behind him. Damnit, now he was definitely going to get aroused. “Come here,” Bull ordered quietly, so gently that one may even mistake it for a beg. “I want to see that adorable bed hair of yours, and your sleepy eyes.” Kaaras scoffed. “Well, when you say it like that, I’m definitely not turning around.” He gasped when he felt much larger and stronger arms move and shift him. He was turned over to face Bull and he laughed, moving a ringed hand over his face to hide it. “Ugh, I’m disgusting in the morning.” Bull smirked and took Kaaras’ hand away from his face, gently caressing the younger man’s sharp cheek, right over stubble that was somehow immaculately accurate. Kaaras was a damn perfectionist. “You’re always beautiful. The most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Kadan.” He leant forward and pressed his lips against the thin ones. Instantly, he felt Kaaras melt into it. Perfect. He was so easy to please at times, and Bull smiled into that kiss knowing that he’d relaxed the Inquisitor with mere words and a simple morning kiss. “There. Better?” Kaaras relaxed against Bull’s shoulder and placed his hand over the large, barrel chest of the warrior, touching scarred skin. “You always make everything better,” he murmured, eyes flicking to Bull’s, the patch off and showing how marred the man’s face was. “I love you.” Bull smiled and pressed another kiss to the smaller qunari, but this time on the forehead before he brushed those mischievous butterscotch locks from Kaaras’ forehead. “Love you, too, Kadan.”

#Iron Bull #The Iron Bull #Adaaribull #Kaaras Adaar #Adaar #My art #My fics #Captain to Captain #Naughty ram #30 day OTP challenge

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angelthebedsheet · 4 years

Text

hi! can i request a hxh headcannon with kurapika maybe like what it's like being a relationship with him? sorry if you can't do this or i requested this the wrong way-

- anon

a/n: it’s alright anon! i’ll try my best to write about the loml and the bad bitch himself kurapika! love hims i may have went CRAZY for this. also i write on my phone so sorry if this is so long!

lets get it!

How yall started dating

okay so yall first met at the hunter exams elevator

the main four first walked in there and were surprised to see another person there

and gon being his friendly self started to chat it up with you

“hi im gon!!”

“hi gon. i’m y/n.”

kurapika there respectfully looking at you

like you’re attractive.

lookin at how those elevator lights shine on your beautiful melaninated skin

whew baby he went 😳 inside but greeted you

“im kurapika”

“well hello kurapika”

and that was the BEGINNING

timeskip up in this bitch rq

the arcs are pretty hazy to me so like.... lets say yall were feeling e/o during the york new city arc

yall both were trying to become bounty hunters and were alr pretty close to e/o

you suggested working with him and he liked that idea

yall alr fought really well tgt and he actually liked having you around him

so you both became neon’s bodyguards

yall were slowly becoming closer to each other each day yall worked together

like lingering touches, yearnful gazes

allat cute mushy shit

kurapika is one touch starved and closed off bitch so he’s struggling here

you on the other hand you KNOW you want kurapika like who wouldn’t want him???

he’s a whole package in that tuxedo 🥵🥵

n e ways

soon neon notices this shit and it goes downhill

this lil shit starts PURPOSELY locking yall in rooms together

like baby no we are supposed to protect you what are you doing???

“im not letting you out till you two kiss!!”

“i beg your pardon?” - kurapika

“neon huh???” - you

kurapika is internally like what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck i lwk wanna kiss em but.... feelings.

you can see the internal STRUGGLE thats going on in kura’s eyes

you just say fuck it and pray the gods and any other spiritual holy beings are on your side and kiss him

kurapika’s stomach said 🦋🦋🦋🦋 when you cupped his face

like your lips are SOFT

(no cuz like some of yall rlly be making y/n have crusty ass lips like um no baby i wear lip gloss and chapstick religiously you aint gon catch me w/ brittle ass lips)

and you cant tell me kurapika doesnt wear chapstick

and he’s like ✋🏽😳 hol up this kinda.... this kinda hits why didnt i do this earlier?

(bc you’re a gated ass bitch thats why honey)

my mans just has to kiss back

he kinda just gently holds your wrists and kisses back

now you’re deceased bc damn boy where you learned this???

no cap you kinda felt your knees buckle and he noticed that but yall not gon talk about that

and you two reluctantly pull away bc hello yall still on the job and literally are bodyguards

“the door wasnt even locked.”

“you cheeky lil shi—

cue you chasing neon while she runs away giggling

kurapika can only gently touch his lips and smile with a red face

In the Relationship

now yall are disgustingly cute in private

kurapika is definitely touch starved and he always needs to be touching you in some way

he always looks out for you too

he’ll definitely press tons of kisses to your face or the back of your neck

calls you a bunch of cheesy nicknames

darling, my love, my sun, sweetheart, beloved, honey, babylove (the stanely uris thats played by wyatt oleff makes me lose my sHIT)

my boy loves your hair so much

like the texture? the volume?

he’s all for it

he would probably ask canary about wash day bc she’s black herself

would 100% help you with wash day

want him to detangle your hair? hand him that rat toothed comb he’s on it

wash your hair? let him roll up his sleeves he’s on it

oil massages? pass them oil bottles baby he’s putting you to sleep

like you will be KNOCKED as he washes your hair or oils it bc he’s that skilled

i think he would struggle braiding your hair but after you show him?

this man is taking over and braiding your hair neater than you

like excuse me where did you learn this??

parting god.

them parts are crispy and straighter than a mf

literally doesn’t comb your hair like ya mama do w/ all that tugging and shit

he’ll just gently move your head along or softly apologize whenever he accidentally tugs on your hair and presses a kiss to your scalp

taking. baths. together.

my boy CRAVES that intimacy

no sexual shit

after a long day of work he just LOVES to take a nice bubble bath with you

either you leaning against his chest or you on the opposite end of the bath

he can always unwind around you and let go of that stoic facade he puts on

i would say he’s a lil goofy in private? like he’ll scoop up the bubbles and blow them in your face

if you want jokes you gotta give em

baby had to grow up quicker so he’s more mature for his age

i’d say if you want them giggles out? hold his waist and blow the back of his neck

the way he JERKS from that then starts laughing

heart eyes up in that bitch

his laugh is so 🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰

“darling!” “that was so FUCKING CUTE KURA WTFFF”

another way? blow kisses in his neck

he will giggle like a lil kid

god i love him

when you go to sleep he’s always big spoon

doesn’t matter if you’re taller than him

big. spoon. kurapika.

the only times you can hold him is when he has a breakdown and his scarlet eyes are activated

nightmares haunt him alot and he just needs to hear your heartbeat to know you’re still here

he needs to feel your warmth and you whispering that you’re here

other than those moments you better be fine with him holding you

i would say he doesn’t move alot in his sleep other than the small twitches

but for some reason his grip is strong as FUCK

like you aint getting out of his arms at ALL

if you gotta pee hold it

nah im kidding

just wake him up he’s not a deep sleeper but he isnt a light one either

if he were to wake up in the middle of the night he’d definitely fix your bonnet or durag if it fell off

morning kissies!

one way he loves waking up is kisses all over his face

especially kissing on his eyelids

it makes him wake up with a big ol smile

“morning beloved.”

WHEWWWWWW THE RASP

ahem anyways

“morning pikapika.”

he used to hate that nickname

now? baby LOVES it bc it’s just for him

the lohl giving him a nickname just for him makes butterflies in his stomach go crazy

he can practically feel the love oozing from your eyes

the way he wakes you up?

if he’s feeling a lil goofy or silly he’ll lay ontop of you and blow kisses into your neck

if he’s still tired he’ll cup your face and gently call your name

yall cook together

if you cant cook he will respectfully say take your goofy ass out of the kitchen

if you can? show him how to season your food correctly. rmb how he made that pig look pretty asf but merchi basically said it taste like shit?

not on your watch

he’ll take mental notes as you teach him the ways of goya and sazon

sometimes he’ll just gently take over

not bc he thinks you cant do it right but bc he likes to provide for others

you just gotta lightly slap his hands away like bby i got this its okay

and he’ll understand

kisses with him are very soft but passionate?

like he isnt gonna eat your lips but he will hold you close and make sure you know how much he loves you

he’ll definitely twirl your curls around his finger

you of course gave him your permission when you started dating

he will always have one arm around your waist and one hand behind your neck

doesnt matter if you’re taller

he will 100% get on his tiptoes and do it

or make you sit down

he doesnt CARE if he has to step on a stepladder he’ll do it

he said run me my kisses NEOW

i would definitely say he’s a passionate lover and would throw hands with ANYONE if they make any snarky comments about your skin

“my s/o’s skin is beautiful mind your business and take yourself somewhere else before i do it for you”

😳

🕶🤏🏾

sir.....

you would throw hands for him too

anyone says anything about him being a girl?

its over

there was a time where someone called him a girl who was confused and you went off and got into a fight

you won by a landside

kurapika was like 😟😦😳🥺

bc you really fought for his honor

but he had to pull you away before you damn near put this person in the hospital

“honey thank you but it was okay. it didnt bother me.”

“no but it bothered me! nobody can just talk about someone i love like that.”

he went 🥺🥺🥺

he definitely kissed the FUCK outta you when yall got home

yall hands were rated e for everyone!

a ride or die couple

yall are in love love

maybe he’s looking for a ring and kurta wedding earrings

#kurapika x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x reader #x black reader #x gender neutral reader #kurapika kurta #kurapika #reader x kurapika #hunter x hunter #hxh

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

gonna blame this on @robininthelabyrinth who suggested a dark AU where the Jin win, and Jin Zixuan has two pretty concubines as his prize. I ended up doing something a litte different, where instead the Jin side with the Wen at the start of the war, but hopefully it’s still fun :)

also on AO3

Standing beside Wen Xu, Jin Zixuan tries to figure out where he's met the two young men they've just captured. A task made difficult by the weather (it has been raining for days now, and their new prisoners are caked in mud, especially after being pushed face first into the dirt road by Wen Xu) and the falling darkness (Wen Xu likes to attack at dusk or during the night, when others are tired and less wary). But Jin Zixuan knows them. He's almost sure he knows them. They certainly seem to know him. The tall one turned pale upon first spotting him, though that was his only reaction, and the shorter one won't stop glancing at him with barely restrained hatred. He looks almost familiar too, with his delicate face. They've met, Jin Zixuan knows they've met.

His attention is mostly on the tall man though. After all, even though their clothes are of equally poor quality, the taller young man is the one who showed some skill with martial art, and his speech betrays a higher level of education. He must be a rogue cultivator, and one of the good ones at that, since he managed to give them trouble without a spiritual weapon.

Where on earth has Jin Zixuan met him before?

“So, will you not join the glorious armies of Qishan Wen?” Wen Xu insists after his usually speech. “Hey, Zixuan, why don't you say something to convince them, hm? Earn your keep.”

Jin Zixuan flushes at being addresses this way. Normally, he hates how informal Wen Xu is with him, acting as if they were old friends, all because Jin Zixuan's father is a coward without morals. This time though, he lets it glide. Upon hearing his name, the taller prisoner looks up toward him and in that position, the rain washes off enough of the mud for Jin Zixuan to finally realise who it is in front of them. It knocks the breath out of him. This, definitely, could change the course of the war.

Jin Zixuan crosses his arms on his chest, and pretends to closely inspect the two men kneeling in the mud.

“If they don't join us, can I have that one to play with?” he asks, nodding toward the taller man. “He looks like he'd make a fun pet.”

The young man stares at him with disbelief, while Wen Xu, predictably, bursts out laughing.

“Zixuan, don't you already have a few whores with you? If you keep falling for every pretty face you see, your house if going to end up too full, and they'll start turning on each others.”

Jin Zixuan shrugs dismissively, the way he's seen his father do countless times. “If there's a fight, I'll get rid of both the winner and the loser, and replace them with someone prettier. But I like that one. He's got a face that's made to swallow cocks.”

Wen Xu laughs again. It's lucky that it's him with Jin Zixuan, and not his horrid little brother. Neither brothers are interested in men, but Wen Chao likes to be a pest who'd want his share of the fun before letting Jin Zixuan have what he wants. Wen Xu, by contrast, doesn't really care for the pleasures of the flesh, and has enough political awareness to give Jin Zixuan some face. He knows that if Jin Guangshan hadn't sided with the Wen so immediately after the destruction of the Lotus Piers, the Wen might be facing more opposition than they are at the moment.

“Zixuan, if you want him so much, then have him,” Wen Xu generously offers, gesturing toward the prisoners. “Or do you want both perhaps? Hm? The other one is somewhat pretty as well. If you don't grab him, I'm tempted of putting him in a dress and playing a prank on ChaoChao.”

Jin Zixuan shivers, and glances at the other young man. He knows he's seen him somewhere, but even now he can't figure out where. Is saving him worth the risk of ruining everything else? Is he important enough? If Jin Zixuan does nothing, if Wen Xu does play such a prank, that young man is sure to die. Wen Chao never takes well to being made a fool of, especially by his brother, and he tends to take out his anger on whoever is less susceptible to fight back. He also likes to make others bear witness to his fits of anger, especially Jin Zixuan who just doesn't do well with torture.

He can't save everyone. It'd be too dangerous. The Wens aren't stupid, and they don't trust him, not when Jin Zixuan sided against Wen Chao during the reeducation camp, before he went home to a father who'd taken the easy choice. And it is so important to save the taller man, Jin Zixuan knows, so he should take this small victory while he can and be satisfied with that.

But there's just something about the other one too. Jin Zixuan knows that face.

“You know, he would look pretty in a dress,” Jin Zixuan agrees, his heart beating so fast he feels as if he might be sick. “Too pretty to be wasted on your brother. He's not a cultivator anyway, is he?”

Wen Xu bends down and grabs they young man's wrist, inspecting his pulse for a moment before letting go and shaking his head.

“No, not at all. But aren't you scared to bring pretty faces into your home? Your whores might get tempted to do something stupid.”

“Heimei will keep them in check,” Jin Zixuan retorts. “She's too smart to mess around, and too mean to let others have fun if she can't.”

Heimei will also absolutely kick his ass about taking such a risk, if this turned out to have been a wrong move. At least, after getting over the sheer joy that should accompany the reveal of the taller prisoner. Hopefully, that should be enough to placate a little his moody concubine.

“Zixuan, you need to stop fucking people who could kill you in your sleep,” Wen Xu jokes. “Ah, I'm tired of this... sure, you can have them both, but tomorrow you're helping me interrogate those Lans we captured the other day.”

Clenching his teeth and forcing a smile, Jin Zixuan nods. He hates interrogations. He hates, also, that Wen Xu is convinced he's doing him a favour by making him help. Apparently, Wen Xu wants to help him become less sensitive, since he finds that Jin Zixuan has been too sheltered in his life, just because Jin Zixuan hasn't been watching his father torture people for fun since he was five.

Considering what other things Jin Zixuan has borne witness too, though... neither of them have great fathers, really.

With the matter of what to do with their prisoners settled, their group leaves the road. Jin Zixuan personally blocks the spiritual energy of the taller man who throws him a cold look for it, and they all head back to their headquarters in a nearby small town. Wen Xu chats the entire time, either to complain against the weather or to guess what their enemies' next move might be. It's a relief when they arrive in front of the house Jin Zixuan claimed for himself and they have to separate. Wen Xu's company is like poisoned wine: it's best to avoid it entirely, or only have a very small quantity otherwise.

Once inside, Jin Zixuan orders that a bath be drawn for himself in his personal quarters. Then, after a moment of reflection, he asks for a second one so that his new pets can get clean as well. The housekeeper offers to have them prepared for his pleasure and sent to him once they are more presentable, but Jin Zixuan refuses.

“It'll be fun to make them wash each other,” he says in the tone of voice his father uses sometimes, the one that always makes others uncomfortable. He's getting good at using it too. “But bring some clean clothes, and scented oils. I don't think Heimei will want to share. See if you can find a dress that could fit this one,” he adds, pointing at the smaller man whose face, under the mud, is black with restrained rage. “And make sure we aren't disturbed.”

The housekeeper bows to him and goes to give orders. While Jin Zixuan checks the news with other servants the Wens gave him, his prisoners are taken away to his quarters. Since there's no urgent business requiring his attention, Jin Zixuan is soon free to follow them.

The house he's living in used to belong to a rich merchant who ran away when the war broke so close to his home. Being abandoned, it was seized by the Wens and then offered to Jin Zixuan, while Wen Xu claimed for himself the local magistrate's manor. It was intended as an insult, a reminder of their sect's respective positions, maybe even a jab at Lanling Jin's inglorious origin. Jin Zixuan took it all in stride, because this house is bigger than the magistrate's, and his personal quarter well isolated from the servants' who are all loyal to the Wens.

It is an odd contrast to see those two muddy young men wearing robes of rough linen in the middle of Jin Zixuan's opulent room, where everything is gilded with gold or made of precious wood. Jin Zixuan pretends to ignore them while servants come in with bathtubs that get filled with hot water. He kicks off his shoes and lounges on a sofa to watch the proceeding, and waits.

He doesn't have to wait very long.

The first tub is only just filled up when someone wrapped in delicately embroidered silks storms into the room. Although the person's face is mostly hidden behind a veil, there's no hiding their anger.

“Are you trying to replace me?” Heimei shrieks in such a high voice that everyone present winces. “How many concubines do you need? Aren't I enough?”

“You are everything I could need, my little flower,” Jin Zixuan awkwardly replied. “I just thought it'd be fun to have new toys in the house. We captured those two men and since they're pretty enough, I figured it might be fun to watch them play with each other while my little summer fruit is seated on my lap. Don't you want that?”

“Don't presume to what I want!” Heimei explodes, before quickly glancing at the two men. Too quickly, in fact, to get a real look at their face. “They're dirty!” Heimei gasps. “They're going to ruin the floor! And you're ruining the sofa!”

“Then maybe my pretty little peach should help me out of these wet clothes,” Jin Zixuan suggests, as flirty as he can make himself to be. He's not very good at that, and can see the servants rolling their eyes, but the second tub is nearly full now. “Heimei, MeiMei, my sweet, my tender girl, be good and undress me.”

Heimei, of course, refuses, puts on a show about being unloved and discarded. Jin Zixuan is forced to rise from his seat to take Heimei in his arms, petting her hair, squeezing her waist, even letting his hands on her ass, all while professing that she is his one true love who he will marry as a second wife when the time comes. Heimei complains and whines but redirect his hands toward her chest so he can grope her there, and she's starting to untie his robes when the servants finally leave for good, careful to close the door behind them. There are silencing talismans engraved on the wood which only worked when the doors are fully closed, and nobody wants to hear what sometimes happens in this room.

As soon as they are alone, Jin Zixuan pushes Heimei away from himself, which Heimei understands to mean their usual comedy isn't needed anymore.

“Zixuan, what the fuck?” Heimei hisses in a deeper voice than before. “We agreed to lay low for a little bit!”

“I couldn't let them fall into Wen Xu's hands,” Jin Zixuan retorts, before walking to the two puzzled men, and bowing before the taller one. “Lan gongzi, please forgive me for speaking of you in such a manner before. I hope you understand the circumstances left me no choice.”

Lan Xichen's eyes open wide, as if he really hoped he hadn't been discovered. Truthfully, it was a close thing. Without his ribbon and his elegant white robes, Lan Xichen looks like a completely different person. Still, he's lucky that Wen Xu is somewhat bad with faces, or this could have gone bad.

“What do you mean, Lan gongzi?” Heimei gasps, rushing closer. After taking a longer look at Lan Xichen, Heimei gasps again, sobs, and falls into his arms. “Xichen-gege! You're alive, you're alive!”

More puzzled than before, Lan Xichen kindly allows this outburst of emotion from an apparent stranger. He awkwardly pats Heimei's back before trading a glance first with his companion who shrugs, then with Jin Zixuan who pinches Heimei's arm.

“You still have your veil on, remove it or you'll just creep him out.”

Heimei slaps away his hand, but pulls back enough to remove the tear drenched veil. It is Lan Xichen's turn to gasp in surprise.

“Huaisang? What are you doing here?”

Nie Huaisang nods grimly.

“Zixuan managed to find me before the Wen and helped me hide,” he explains, wiping away his tears. “I've been here with him since then, but we couldn't exactly let anyone know. We're on the wrong side of this war after all.”

Lan Xichen nods slowly, before turning his eyes to Jin Zixuan. His expression is a little less cold and disgusted now, though that's not saying much. Jin Zixuan knows how little liked he is by those on the other side of the Sunshot Campaign, and he cannot blame them. Without his father's support, the Qishan Wen might not be doing so well.

Without Lanling Jin's help, the Unclean Realm might not have fallen. Nie Mingjue might still be alive, leading this war the way everyone knows he's been preparing to do for years. Instead, what's left of Qinghe Nie is led by a far less talented cousin, and though the allied sects are doing their best, it's doubtful that they'll last much longer.

“I thought you were...” Lan Xichen starts saying, his voice trembling with emotion as he looks back at Nie Huaisang. He then catches himself, and gets back in control, speaking again with more calm. “Huaisang, you were assumed to have died in Qinghe. I am so glad this rumour was wrong. But I must wonder then... how much more lies have been spread about Jin gongzi?”

“It depends what you've heard,” Nie Huaisang says, coming closer to Lan Xichen and taking his arm the way he likes to do with friends. “We've been so busy trying to convince the Wen that he's really on their side, we haven't really had time to wonder what everyone else thinks of him.”

Lan Xichen nods, perhaps understanding how delicate their position has been these last three months. Or maybe it is just that Jin Zixuan's reputation is too awful to be mentioned by someone of the elegant Lan sect. Lan Xichen's companion ends up being the one to explain it, and it isn't pleasant to hear.

“People say that Jin gongzi is a murderer and a rapist,” the young man says quite bluntly. “They say he has killed many people even outside of battle, that he collects men and women as concubines. It is said that he even captured his former fiancée after she had already lost all her family, and refuses to give her to his mother who wishes to return her to her grandmother. Instead he uses her as a whore, and lets the Wen have their way with her in exchange for favours to him.”

The blood drains from Jin Zixuan's face at that accusation. He had expected something bad, but not to such a degree.

“Jiang Yanli's virtue is untouched!” he exclaims. “She's living here too, and I've convinced Wen Xu that she isn't to be touched because I want to use her as a tool to claim Yunmeng Jiang's territories when this is over. I would have preferred to let her return to her grandmother, but I'm half sure my father would have either claimed her for himself or sent her directly to Wen Ruohan to prove his good faith. You can meet her later, if you like, and see for yourself she's been treated as well as she could be, under the circumstances.”

After losing so much, Jiang Yanli is quite miserable these days, of course. She's the last survivor of her sect, of her family. Meishan Yu is taking part in the war, apparently, but they're not a particularly big clan, and Wen Chao has been targetting them particularly, in case they secretly harbour some Jiang survivors. Wen Xu once drunkenly told Jin Zixuan that although his brother swore to his father that he fulfilled his mission perfectly, he actually never found the corpse of Jiang Wanyin, so the young man could very well be still alive and plotting his revenge.

After hearing this, Jin Zixuan had hesitated to share the news with Jiang Yanli. In the end, he didn't. With the way the war is going, even if Jiang Cheng is still alive right now, he's unlikely to survive much longer, and Jiang Yanli would just end up having to grieve a second time.

“So you are on our side, Jin gongzi?” Lan Xichen asks.

“I would be if I could,” Jin Zixuan says. “I cannot go directly against my father, as I hope you will understand. But I do not like associating with evil people, so I try to act according to my convictions whenever possible. It has become harder lately. The Wen don't want to insult my father by pushing me to the side, for fear he'll change sides, but they've also figured out I am a rather poor general and never lead my troupes to any satisfying victories, so they don't involve me in anything important.”

It's not that he loses his battles. He can't afford that. But Wen Xu is always complaining that he's failing to capture enough prisoners, that so many escape while returning to their headquarters, that he's always picking too many to become his personal playthings. Nie Huaisang and him had just decided that he would try to be a little less obvious in his lack of cooperation, at least for a few weeks, if only because to continue like this would endanger the people he's already rescued. They still haven't figured out how to set these people free, but now, with Lan Xichen there, it becomes more urgent than ever. If he's discovered in Jin Zixuan's custody, it's all over.

“That you're trying at all is to your credit,” Lan Xichen says, more kindly that Jin Zixuan thinks he deserves when he's still had to kill people, where there are so many victims of the Wen he couldn't save. “I am grateful to you for helping me, Jin gongzi. I fear, though, that I must ask you to help me some more. Meng Yao and I really cannot be absent too long. Our side has lost too much already, if I appear to have disappeared again, I fear our allies will lose courage.”

The name Meng Yao startles Jin Zixuan who stares at Lan Xichen's companion with mild horror. He remembers a banquet for one of his birthdays, where his father was told a certain Meng Yao wanted to see him who carried a token. He remembers, also, his mother's anger, and later Jin Zixun laughing as he described that Meng Yao being thrown down some stairs like the bastard he was.

Jin Zixuan remembers all this. Judging by the barely contained heat in his eyes, so does his half-brother.

His father would be furious at him for having taken risks to save what he would consider one of his most shameful bastards, but Jin Zixuan has long stopped caring what his father thinks of him. He doesn't even read his letters anymore, since they're nothing but demands for Jiang Yanli to be sent to Lanling, and threats of punishment if he remains so incompetent as a general.

“It's going to be hard to release you,” Jin Zixuan says. “We'll think about it tomorrow, when Jiang Yanli joins us.” It was her, after all, who told him to disguised Nie Huaisang as a woman and present him as his capricious concubine, stating it would just seem like he's adopting the Wen's habits. “For now, please have a bath, eat something, and rest. You both look like you need it.”

“It has been a rough few days,” Lan Xichen confirms, bowing politely. “Thank you for your hospitality and your help, Jin gongzi.”

Jin Zixuan bows back, uncomfortable with a gratefulness he's really not sure he deserves. He then leaves that part of the room so Lan Xichen and Meng Yao can have a little privacy. Nie Huaisang looks as if he might stay and chat with them as they bathe, shameless as always, but Jin Zixuan drags him away.

Even if they've just been saved, even if they're grateful, he wouldn't be surprised if the two young men didn't fully trust them yet, not with the reputation he apparently has now. It's better to give them a chance to talk alone if they want, to show that he trusts them.

“This is going to be a mess,” Nie Huaisang remarks as they sit by a window to wait for their guests to be presentable. “You won't be able to stay neutral much longer, Zixuan.”

Jin Zixuan nods. If he's honest, it's a relief that he'll be forced to really pick a side after weeks of kissing ass and pretending the Wen siblings don't make him want to puke every time they say something.

He doesn't like the idea of going against his own father, but Jin Zixuan has betrayed his own values too long already.

And if he must die doing what's right... at least, he'll be in good company.

#xisangxuan #jin zixuan #lan xichen #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #mdzs #it's barely xisangxuan tbh but the intention is there so?#jau writes #Heimei means blackberry and the Sang in Huaisang is for mulberries and yeah it's not the best name

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lilacyennefer · 4 years

Text

Insomnia

A/N: I felt the inspiration for this little story, but as I was writing it I was thinking about making it a series, so let me know what you think.

TW: none, maybe some adult language in one part

Camelot is quiet at night when everyone is asleep.

Due to you being a sorceress, you didn’t need much sleep, or none at all actually, so at nights you were alone in the castle, wandering around or spending time in the library, occasionally you practised some simple magic.

It’s not different tonight either, with a cup of red wine in your hand, you’re walking around the castle, drinking in the rich history you can feel within these walls.

You’re standing on the balcony of the main hall, enjoying the cool night air on your skin, and the calm of the darkness. You hear someone approaching, and without looking behind yourself, you know it’s Arthur, you recognise his steps even from afar.

“Trouble sleeping?” you ask him when you hear him close enough to you. He walks next to you, wearing a simple white shirt which you can almost see through it, and a dark red leather pants.

“I guess so.” Arthur replies, his voice is heavy, almost stressed. You turn towards him, his focus is somewhere far on the land as you watch him.

“Is something specific bothers you?” He sighs deeply, and shakes his head lightly.

“A lot of things.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you offer, and you truly mean it. You didn’t stuck by Arthur’s side after he defeated Vortigern, because he was fun to be around, sure that was a small part, but because every King needs a sorceress counselor in their court.

Arthur shakes his head again.

You take the last few sips from your wine before you speak “C’mon, I’m gonna help you fall asleep.”

Your statement makes Arthur raise his eyebrows, and a small smirk appears on the corner of his lips. You playfully roll your eyes, of course he thought about sex.

“Not like that.” you say, and start walking towards your chambers. Arthur follows you, and when you reach the door of your chambers, he stops at the door to wait for you.

You walk up to your table, you run your hand above the small glass of liquids, you stop when you see the ones you need, grab them, and walk back to Arthur.

“After you, my King.” you say, motioning towards his chambers. You follow him as he walks to the King’s chambers, when you reach it, he opens the door for you to walk in.

“It still feels strange.” he admits as he steps into the huge room. You know this, at the beginning Arthur slept in rooms what originally belonged to servants, it was hard for him to get used to this luxury, but slowly, after his coronation, he took his chamber.

“I know.” all you say, quietly.

After minutes of long silence, you finally speak “I have some essential oils what will help you fall asleep and relax.”

“Essential oils?” Arthur raises his eyebrows “I thought you will use magic.”

“Hmm, why would I do that when I have the gift of nature?”

“Isn’t magic nature too?”

“You know what I mean, Arthur.” you step closer to him “Do you want me to put it in your bath or you want me to rub it on you?”

“Will you join in the bath with me?”

“No.”

“Then skin.” you nod, and Arthur sits down on the bed, taking his shirt off. You try to mask the effect his naked upper body is causing in you, so you take a deep breath, then let it out before you sit down next to him on his bed.

“Reach out your hands, and turn them so your wrist is facing upwards.” Arthur does as you say, reaching his arms out and turning them as he places them in your lap.

“Essential oils are ancient history.” you start speaking as you gently rub circles on Arthur’s wrist “It goes back far to the Roman societies, and many different oils have many different benefits.” Arthur is drinking in every word of yours, his eyes are fixed hard on your face. You take one of the small bottles what you brought with you from your room and show it to him.

“This one is lavender.” you say and drop two small drops on his right wrist, and start rubbing in “Lavender has many benefits, it helps reduce anxiety, it also helps relieve pain, but most importantly, it improves sleep quality.” you massage the soft skin on Arthur’s wrist for a little longer, until you feel the oil soak into his skin.

“The other one is vanilla.” you let his wrist go and take your other small bottle, dropping a few drops on his left wrist, repeating the same actions. “Vanilla reduces hyperactivity and restlessness, it quiets your nervous system and lowers your blood pressure.”

“And it smells really good.” Arthur says in a low, deep voice.

You smile sweetly at him “Yes. It’s my favorite smell.”

“I could guess. I can always smell it on you.” with your fingers still massaging his skin, you look up at him for the first time since you sat down next to him. You feel his pulse quicken under your thumb.

“You should calm down from these, and not get yourself excited.” you gently scold him.

“Why are you keep refusing me?” he asks the question what has been bothering him since so long.

“You know why.” you say quietly.

“No, I actually don’t.” he shakes his head. You let his wrists go and drop another small drop on your finger from the vanilla essential oil and you place your finger behind his left ear, massaging the oil into his skin there.

“You’re a human, Arthur. And I’m a sorceress. We can live for hundreds of years, meanwhile you, humans, don’t.”

“I don’t care about that.” he says firmly, your thumb is still behind his ear.

“What about sorceresses not being able to reproduce? Or at least not all of us.”

“We will make Blue our heir.”

“We?” you drop your hand helplessly. “You really want me this much? That you’d end the Pendragon name for a woman?”

“You’re not just a woman, and you know this.” Arthur moves closer to you, cupping your face in one hand.

“Don’t you want to be with me?” he whispers close to your face, and you could feel yourself tighten from his question.

Do you? Do you want him? The answer certainly wasn’t easy. Can a sorceress also be a Queen? What if you really won’t be able to give him a child? But most importantly, will you be able to handle seeing the man you love getting old, and die, while you stay young and beautiful?

“You know I do.” you lick your lips “But it’s not that easy.”

Arthur is about to say something, but instead he lets out a big yawn, earning a snicker from you.

“See? My essential oils kicked in.”

“I guess so, since I’m feeling sleepier by every second.” he says, and he looks at you with his bright blue eyes, full of hope, and sleepiness.

“We will discuss this tomorrow.” he says firmly, and you nod agreeing. You get up from the bed, and watch Arthur get under the blankets, he’s almost fully asleep now.

You stop in your tracks, and walk back to his bed, lay down and place a soft, lingering kiss on his forehead.

“Sleep well, my King.” you mutter into his skin, and leave the room.

Tag list: @innerpaperexpertcloud @lady-evans @agirllovespasta @oldstuffnewstuff @claudiahxrdy @keithseabrook27 @alexa-rae-dreamz @minnicelli @woahitslucyylu

#charlie hunnam #king arthur legend of the sword #king arthur x reader #king arthur legend of the sword fanfiction

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