#and remembering to add the red strings on Soul's hands | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delicatepapers · 2 months ago

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roleplay prompts (some are inspired by multiple novels and movies) - otherwise, all prompts and plots belong to me // DO NOT STEAL

like the post if you're interested in roleplaying one of these (doubling up only)

...might be tempted to add more

⋆｡♡˚. vampire watch me bleed : muse a is a hunter belonging to the Occulus (hunter's corporation). muse b is a ruthless and dangerous vampire, quite famous in the world of the bloodsuckers, a royalty even. a slip up in a mission has muse a getting captured and brought to the vampire's dungeons. but what if muse a and muse b meet and find out they're bound together by the strings of fate? soul mates, was it? a rare find, but once in a lifetime opportunity that flips their lives. a shade darker than red: muse a and muse b meet bump into each other at a bar. with muse a becoming terrified of muse b, a vampire, and trying to avoid them altogether. whereof, muse b becomes obsessed with the human, stubbornly refusing to be parted by them. is it their scent, their blood, or their overall charisma? but muse b can't let muse a out of their sight, even if it means they'll have to kidnap muse a. muse a, who's unable to deny the fatal physical attraction they feel towards the vampire.

⋆｡♡˚. werewolf say you're mine : give me a cliche werewolf x human story. muse a - an average human - crossing paths with muse b - a werewolf. muse b realizes muse a is their soul mate, the other half, and decide to take things into their hands. even if muse a is scared of the big wolf turning into a handsome naked stranger. make it have angst, spice and everything nice.

⋆｡♡˚. horror sinful : either muse became stranded in the middle of nowhere or purposefully ended up there to find a lost family member. after some aimless walking, they stumble across a dirt path which further leads to an eerie looking town. it appears deserted, though that thought comes to a stop when muse a come across a cultic meeting. yes, there's a cult performing a bloody ritual out in the open with pentagrams drawn into the blood soaked ground. what's worse? muse a gets captured and brought to muse b, the leader of this horrific cult. muse b, who becomes infatuated with muse a. should muse a be grateful they won't be used as a sacrifice or terrified of this new position they're stuck in?

⋆｡♡˚. mafia ensnared by innocence: muse a is the youngest daughter of the right hand man of the new york city mafia. a gentle soul they are, the life of bloodshed and violence does not suit them. in order to start anew, muse a decides to escape the night where all would be the busiest. the night when muse a’s father would be busy with an important meeting. in midst of their escape, bumping into a lethally handsome man was something that backtracked them. For muse a, it didn’t mean much other than for them to try another night. a disappointment it was. But for the other man, muse b, whom they’d bumped into, it was a night they’d never forget. The night that marks the beginning of muse b’s infatuation over muse a. it’s shocking when muse a is informed of an arranged marriage – a sudden thing. and who’s the groom, you ask? why, it’s muse b of course. kidnapped muse a is the daughter of an infamous person. they're targeted by a rival family, sending in an assassin to kill them. but muse b doesn't want to kill the innocent / sassy girl before him. instead, they kidnap the girl and leave behind a mutilated body. did i mention muse b is rich, so it's not difficult to hide away the girl. sugar and smoke a simple but cutesy (and maybe intimate) plot with muse a being the new girl in town, all sweet and naive and muse b being the leader of a mafia / working for the mafia. muse a finds muse b smoking in an alley and goes over to chatter their ear off, pointing out all the harmful effects of it. where muse b can only be half confused of the girl before them and half enamored by them.

⋆｡♡˚. supernatural forgotten passion muse a doesn't remember (insert date) very well. they go on with their life. their boyfriend is acting suspicious and their friends have a strange way of looking at them. until muse b appears before them, a devilish looking man. a literal demon. and it comes back to muse a. their boyfriend cheated on them. they went to the bar to get drunk and stumbled upon muse b after which they shared a intimate night together. turns out muse a's selective amnesia was because of muse b's ability, only muse a doesn't know why muse b keeps clinging to them. ⋆｡♡˚.soft-ish? love lessons and unbreakable bonds a best friends to benefits plot. with childhood best friends who've been close. where the guy, muse b, knows every little detail about muse a and is irrevocably in love with them. where muse a is afraid of going alone so muse b leaves their dream university and goes with them. where muse a is sulky about being so inexperienced and muse b helps them gain more experience.

unspoken yearning another basic but fluffy plot where muse a and muse c are best friends. muse b is muse c's older brother. just about muse b acting all protective over muse a, spoiling them and making it painfully obvious they adore them. and with muse a being oblivious to it all because they have a crush on muse c. savage love muse a being this soft and gentle girl, and muse b being this reckless savage. both belong to posh families, muse b being the sole heir to a ruthless business tycoon. muse a and muse b have been inseparable since the day muse a was born. with muse b having staked an obvious claim on them. make it where muse b is insufferably obsessed and in love with muse a whose naive and oblivious to it all. make them be best friends but with this electric tension. make it cute but also let them have their moments of jealousy. them having moments where muse b is either braiding muse a's hair, struggling at times but being stubborn about it, or muse a putting on a show for muse b while trying out different pieces of underwear they recently bought. oh, and did i mention, muse b and muse a go to the same university - the king's elite university.

⋆｡♡˚. dark heaven or hell muse a and muse b have been in love for three years. it's obvious both were a match made in heaven. then how should muse a react to coming back home early one night and finding muse b covered in blood, a knife in their hand and a gutted body sprawled across the floor? unwanted alliance where muse a has been targeted by muse b since middle school. now they've both left to different universities, paths diverged. but how tragic is it, that muse a returns back to town to find their formerly single parent is engaged with muse b's parent? and they have no choice but to move in with them for the time being.

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little-annie · 1 year ago

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All I Want | Ch10

Steddie | Little_Annie | Ao3

Ch9 ⤵️

---

She walked away into the dead of night, slender frame wrapped in the vastness of his overgrown sweatshirt, fading into the darkness.

And he'd let her.

That light that had sparked back to life in his chest fizzled out at the sight. The illumination that'd just so recently shone upon the darkness of his soul, lighting to life the things he hadn't even realised he'd been missing, was gone.

Gone as was the one woman he knew he could lean on for anything. The woman who'd cut herself open and showed him the damage he'd done.

All for him to try and mutter what he knew was a half baked apology.

He'd sat there on the ground, silence and darkness feeling so heavy around him. A complete reflection of what he felt inside. A vastness, an emptiness where only he remained.

Through a blur of tears and a mind so numb he's surprised his body remembered to breathe, Steve changed the last tire on Eddie's van.

He only really came back to reality when he found himself sitting in the driver's seat with a shattered window to his left and what he recognized to be his own handmade necklace hanging on the rearview mirror to his right.

Tears stung his eyes when he took in the pathetic excuse of an embroidery floss necklace. It wasn't supposed to be anything special. In the moment he was just bored, watching Eddie add patches to his vest while he was trying to keep himself busy.

He'd strung it together, blacks and greys and reds, any scrap string he could find tied into it like a Frankenstein sort of thing. Again, nothing special, but when he pulled it over Eddie's curls to rest over his pale skin, he could have sworn he'd seen the man's eyes well with tears.

Eddie had stilled, the needle and thread in his own hands idle as he looked back at Steve, bottom lip looking as if it was about to wobble.

To this day Steve still doesn't know why such an ugly thing would garner such emotions, but it did and today it still hangs in its place where Eddie left it last.

Swallowing his emotions Steve pulls his eyes away and starts the van with his spare key.

—

The ride back to the trailer park is difficult, filled with emotions and memories that lived in the fabric of the seats. Memories of whispered words and lips on skin. Of nights spent camping and evenings spent smoking, listening to the rain pelt the metal shell of the cab. They'd shared kisses and shed tears, left the remnants of their love to stain the seats in moments where nothing but each other mattered.

Date nights and drive ins and milk shakes.

Laugher and love and the promise of forever.

He wondered if Eddie remembered any of it at all.

—

On the cusp of what felt to be 2 a.m. Steve drove into the trailer park, the odd street light illuminating the path while gravel crunched under newly replaced tires. He tried to be quiet, though that wasn't such an easy feat with the obnoxious volume of the van's exhaust.

He crept at a snail's pace into the Munson drive way, praying to not wake Eddie or any of the neighbours nearby.

He'd leave, walk home and let Eddie find his van in the morning, tires fixed and slander on the side scrubbed clean, a wad of cash in the cup holder to help with the cost of new windows.

But he could never be so lucky.

Shutting off the van and stepping down from the driver's seat, he watches as the porch light flickers on and Eddie appears cautiously in the doorway.

Steve's heart aches, the sight of Eddie rumpled by sleep, hair askew, eyes tired and brandishing only a pair of boxers -Steve's Boxers- hurts like a fucking shot to the chest. Not to mention when the man steps outside and pulls a yellow sweater over his head, it falling big and bulky over his slender frame.

"Harrington?" Eddie asks cautiously, walking to Steve, socked feet on the gravel, "What the hell man?"

The question holds no bite, only a lit of breathlessness as Eddie steps closer, inspecting his once vandalised van.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, eyes moving away from the man before him, feeling caught, nervous, "I uh, I just wanted to bring this by, didn't know if you'd have a ride to go get it in the morning."

Eddie huffs, brows furrowing when he notices the new tires, "How'd- Th- Thatcher's been closed for hours man…The tires?"

"Changed 'em myself." Steve answers honestly, grinding his heel nervously into the dirt beneath his feet

A hum comes from his left and he's met with Eddie's eyes once again, stomach fluttering when the other man doesn't pull his gaze away. It's silent for a moment, the distant buzz of a bug zapper hardly audible over the pounding in his ears.

He should go.

Gritting his teeth and shoving his hands into his pockets, Steve offers a nod and turns to leave only to feel a hand wrap tight around his arm and hear Edder offer, "Stay. Please."

Then there's a cough and what he could swear to be a blush on Eddie's cheeks when he turns back, "I- I mean, Christ Harrington, it's nearly two in the morning. I'm not gonna make you walk all the way home. I'm just fuckin' tired after today, I'll drive you in the mornin'."

He knew he shouldn't, he knew it'd fucking hurt come morning to leave. But he was a weak man, and well, Eddie was offering.

"You sure?" Steve asks, sounding much more breathless than he intends to.

"Yeah man, come on, I'll make the couch up for ya."

—

It feels weird walking into the Munson trailer with Eddie being home. Steve thinks if he remembers right, the last time he was here he was crying himself to sleep in Eddie's bed or maybe it was the time he'd come to let Wayne in on their plan to win Eddie over once again.

But yeah, weird was a good way to put it. He has to act like he's never been here before. Like there wasn't a mug on the wall gifted to Wayne from him, like he hadn't accidentally put a hole in the panelling by the couch during one of the many times Wayne caught them in the act in the one place he'd pleaded not to. Like he didn't know how to stop the light in the kitchen from buzzing or that when you walked to Eddie's room from the bathroom the floor creaked with a ferocity.

He has to act like he didn't fall in love in this very trailer.

Shared kisses against the kitchen counter, sang to one another from down the hall, or held each other in the warmth of Eddie's bed when the darkness of their pasts tried to claw their way to reality.

He has to pretend like he and Eddie hadn't sat cross legged on the living room floor, knee to knee, passing a joint back and forth, sharing the secrets of their past and the horrors of their childhood.

Like they hadn't kissed a million times under this very roof or said the words I love you for the first time within the trailer's comfortable confines.

"-ton. Steve. Hey man, you okay?"

Steve nods dumbly, taking in his surroundings once again. Eddie stands with a concerned expression on his face no more than a few feet away, the man still drowning in that goddamn yellow sweater.

Steve grits his teeth, nods again and blinks back the tears threatening to spill. Christ he hasn't even made it past the small linoleum round of the entryway yet.

Toeing off his shoes, avoiding Eddie's eyes, Steve answers, "Yeah, uh, um, just tired I guess. Sorry."

For a moment Eddie furrows his brows and examines Steve's face, eyes wandering over a damaged expression. He looks like he wants to say something, ringless fingers twitching like he has a need to reach out. It's then that an indecipherable expression crosses those brown eyes and suddenly Eddie's gone, striding in the direction of his room, voice coming from down the hall, "No worries man, let me just get the shit for your bed." Seconds later, re-emerging with an armful of blankets and a single pillow Eddie smiles, "These good enough for ya Big Boy?"

Steve nods, not allowing himself to speak as that nickname crackles like a flame between his lungs.

Silence envelopes them, the warm glow of the lamp in Eddie's bedroom bleeding down the hall and the light above the sink dully illuminating the small space of the living room and the kitchen.

Steve would go as far as to say it'd be romantic if only it were a few months ago.

A few months ago he'd have his arms wrapped around Eddie's waist, their lips locked together, slowly backing them towards the couch.

But now Eddie's bent at the waist, arranging blankets and a pillow for Steve to sleep with like they hadn't shared a bed together for the last several months.

And Steve's there, alone, standing like an idiot in the entryway.

He feels so out of place in this house he once called his home.

He needs to do something before he turns into a mess of tears.

"Hey, uh, Eddie?"

Continuing to make Steve's bed on the couch, unaware of the swirling emotions of the man behind him, Eddie replies, "Ya?"

"You mind if I take a quick shower, rinse off some of this dirt?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, bathrooms down the hall. First door on the right. Everything should be in there."

"Thanks," Steve quietly replies, making his way to the bathroom and closing the door with a sigh.

He spends a long while looking at himself in the mirror, the dirt rubbed across his cheek, the dark circles under his eyes, the loneliness that seems to have settled in his bones.

He shouldn't have done this. Shouldn't have agreed to staying the night when he knew it'd only hurt to endure it. Everywhere he looks reminds him of Eddie. Times spent together, words whispered against lips, the way Eddie's arms would wrap around his waist while standing at this very sink.

He misses it so much.

But he has a choice he tells himself, he can wallow in all the moments gone and memories missed or he can enjoy the now. The fact that in some capacity he still had Eddie in his life.

The man isn't dead, he's just forgotten about his relationship with Steve. He just needs to fall in love again.

He could do that.

The Harrington charm worked on Eddie once before and well, now Steve knows all of his tells. The way Eddie melts into a puddle when Steve's fingers crest the skin of his back, dipping under his shirt and rubbing circles until he feels Eddie shiver. Or the way Eddie giggles when Steve sings or the way he watches Steve's lips as he smokes a joint. He likes being called Eds and Baby and Handsome, though he'd never admit it. He likes to cuddle and dance and gaze at the stars. Read stories aloud in the middle of the night or tell Steve the plans for his newest campaign.

He can do this. He has insider information.

He just needs to get over the grief ripping away at his soul.

Trying to hype himself up, stepping out of his clothes and dropping them to the bathroom floor, Steve thinks of all the ways he can win Eddie over again. The things he loves, the things he hates, the things that make him tick.

Maybe he'll ask Eddie about his newest campaign, try and weasel out some information, promising not to share his secrets with the kids.

Maybe he'll ask to smoke so he can watch the way Eddie's eyes catch on his lips.

Maybe he'll ask if Eddie can play him something, or he'll spout facts about Lord of the Rings or he'll, he'll…

Steve's eyes catch on a grey bottle in the mirrors reflection

… his shampoo's still in the shower.

Why's that hurt so much?

He can't pull his eyes away from the reflection, almost like he's scared to turn and see the real thing. Like if he turns and it's gone, only a figment of his memories, his imagination, that the walls will crumble around him and this small spec in time where he's allowed to exist in Eddie's life will vanish along with it.

But if it's there? If it's there like he never left and their lives continued on like normal?

He doesn't know if he can bear to look.

Because if it's there, it'll be like the times he and Eddie showered together for the excuse of saving water and sharing kisses under the stream.

Like the times they whispered love against one another's lips, wet bodies sliding against one another.

Like the times they loved each other.

A sob breaks past his lips like a gasping breath and he turns his head to look into the shower.

It's there. There and sitting on the corner shelf next to Eddie's 2 in 1. Grey plastic, blue label, dotted with hard water stains.

He wonders if Eddie uses it. If his hair's soft and smells like citrus. If along with his cherry body wash, Eddie smells like them. Tobacco and leather, citrus and cinnamon.

He doesn't remember moving, but he finds himself standing in the shower, hot water beating against his back, there, holding the bottle in his hands.

It's real. There's no question about it.

It's real and it's here and it's allowed to take up space in Eddie's life.

Unlike him.

His chest aches and the water in the air clings to his lungs, thick and heavy.

He feels like he's drowning.

The only thing keeping him grounded is the bite of hot water against the healing scars on his back.

But as the warm water flags and the phantom feeling of arms around his waist lingers, Steve clings to the sensation.

—

The showers lukewarm at best but the lips on his skin are hot. Trailing from his shoulder to his neck to his ear. Words whispered with every press.

"Beautiful."

"Smart."

"The very definition of Sunshine."

He'd been having a rough day. The curves of his body glaring at him in the mirror. The scars across his skin, harsh and ugly. Eddie had caught him with tears in his eyes pinching the skin of his stomach in the vanity's reflection.

It was just some days he didn't feel like himself, body morphed into something ugly, something vile, something he truly hated to look at. But it was those days when Eddie would pull him to their bed or the shower and press love and beauty into every inch of his skin.

—

Upon arriving home from work, Steve finds tracks of mud leading to the bathroom. He'd be upset on Wayne's behalf about the carpet, but he can't help but be curious when he hears Eddie's voice coming from the bathroom.

"I know, I know, I don't like this either but you're a mess and I think you're hurt."

Who is he talking to?

"Eddie?"

"In the bathroom, Baby."

"What are you-" Rounding into the bathroom Steve's words fall short as he takes in the site before him.

Eddie's knelt at the side of the tub, curls piled high on his head, his dirty shirt discarded in a heap on the floor next to a pair of muddy shoes. He's still talking, though the words go unprocessed to Steve's mind when he sees a rather dishevelled raccoon with a mountain of bubbles on top of its head.

"Eddie?" Steve asks once again, hoping his tone gets the true question of 'what the fuck are you doing?' across .

It's then that Eddie twists back with a smile, "Steve, Kirk. Kirk, Steve."

"Did you name a Racoon after Kirk Hammett?"

"Yes. Yes I did Sweetheart, now come help me bathe him."

—

"I can't believe you," Steve laughs, looking back from the paint circling the drain to Eddie's bright smile.

They're both covered in a mess of blues and greens and reds after Eddie thought it was a good idea to paint Steve's nose instead of the mini he held in his hand. Quickly it devolved into Steve painting a stripe across Eddie's cheek, then his lips, then soon the rest of his body.

They'd managed to get naked, paint beauty into one another's skin while smearing a rather abstract work of art that shares a liking to Steve's ass against the bedroom wall.

They'd giggled their way down the hall, falling into the bathroom in a mess of kisses, come and paint. Eventually landing themselves under the stream, washing the mess from their bodies, they'd managed to replace it with a watercolour of kisses and the evidence of their love hot on their skin.

—

Never in a million years did he think he'd be giving his boyfriend a tomato juice bath after the man tried to make friends with a skunk and failed. But here he is and somehow he's in love.

"And tell me again Eds, how'd you manage this?" Steve asks from his position, knelt beside the bathtub, Eddie pouting with his shoulders hunched in front of him.

"I dunno Steve, he just looked lonely okay? Now can you help me, please?"

Steve obliges and scoops a pitcher of tomato juice from the tub to pour over Eddie's head.

—

"I'm sorry," he whispers against damp curls, arms tight around Eddie's body while blood still circles the drain.

Eddie's shaking, tears running freely into the juncture of Steve's neck, sobs vibrating against his skin.

Some jocks jumped him in the alley again, taking what he had for drugs and cash, beating the shit out of him and leaving him for dead lying in the dirt. It was just by chance that Steve was driving by and caught sight of the heaving pile of man on the ground.

He feels awful that he wasn't there to protect Eddie himself.

He allows his own tears to fall, pulling Eddie tighter to his chest, running a washcloth over the bloodied and bruised boot print on his side as he whispers, "I won't let this happen again, I promise."

—

But he did, didn't he?

He wasn't there to help Eddie fend off his abusers or to pull him away when his snarky comments got him into trouble.

He wasn't there to hold Eddie against his chest and clean his wounds with the precision he deserved. To press love into his skin in place of all the hurt. To whisper words into his ear and run hands over bare damaged flesh.

He wasn't -

*Knock*Knock*

"Steve."

A gentle fist rapping on the door and Eddie's voice pull him from his spiral, his voice feels raw when he tries to use it.

"Yeah?" He manages to croak out, reality quickly brimming back to life as he finds himself sat on the bathtub floor, knees held tightly to his chest, pain in his calves where his strong grip once was.

"This isn't The Carlton man, you're using up all the hot water."

"Oh," Steve whispers to himself, wishing this was one of the times Eddie would just sense that something was wrong and come to hold him, "Sorry," he says a little louder, "I'll be out in a minute."

Bare ass on the bath's floor, Steve sighs, pinching his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and pulling his knees impossibly closer to his chest.

He knows he has to get out soon, the hot water in the trailer nearly nonexistent as is, it'll be gone in a matter of minutes.

Wiping the snot from his nose and the freely flowing tears from his eyes, he pulls himself to stand upright, shutting the shower off. His body heavy and his bones weak, through sheer muscle memory he manages to towel himself dry, heart stuttering once again when he feels the downy fabric in his hands.

It's his towel that he's pulled from the rack. Soft, thick, expensive. Something of his mother's he stole from their ensuite so it'd actually see the light of day.

Fresh tears brimming he wipes his face only to be met with the scent of them heavy like a weight in his lungs. Eddie must still use it. It smells like tobacco and leather, citrus and cinnamon.

Naked, water dripping cold from his hair to his back, Steve breathes deeper, crushing his face into the fabric trying to conceal yet another sob.

In the silence of the bathroom, he allows himself to cry for what feels like the millionth time today. He can only hope the towel muffles his gasps well enough for Eddie to not hear, wherever he may be.

Shoulders hunched, body shaking, he crumples in on himself, body only held upright by the thin wall behind him, its structure only giving slightly to his weight.

He needs to get his shit together, he reminds himself, he has the opportunity to spend time with Eddie and he's instead crying in the man's bathroom.

Taking as many deep breaths as needed and clearing his throat enough times to not sound like he's swallowed gravel, he eventually manages to poke his head out the door and ask Eddie for a change of clothes.

Within minutes there's another gentle knock on the door and the whisper of his name. That damn towel wrapped snug around his waist, Steve opens the door to find sweatpants and a black band shirt folded at his feet. He grabs the items and slinks back into the bathroom.

Pulling Eddie's clothes over his body he cries once more. Though who's to really say if he stopped in the first place. The feeling of warmth and the lingering smell of Eddie's cologne sends a rush of emotions hot through his veins. Warm and rolling. The rush of memories that never seem to fade.

He's exhausted, body weak and mind tired, he can't even begin to count the amount of times he's cried in the last 48hrs. Christ, nearly 24 ago he would have been on the phone with Wayne, sobbing and gasping for air, wanting nothing more than to have Eddie by his side. He's had a few mild anxiety attacks since.

Now he stands in the Munson's trailer, hair wet, eyes red, gripping onto the bathroom sink with a desperation to stay standing upright. He can't bear to look at himself in the mirror when he knows he'd only see sadness and Eddie's t-shirt draped over his shoulders.

But sitting in the bathroom wallowing was only wasting the time he could be spending with the man he loves.

With Wayne's voice in the back of his mind, Steve counts to three, practising his breathing exercises a single number at a time.

'In. One, two, three. Out. One, two, three.'

And so on.

When he's stabilised his breathing and wills away his impending panic, Steve takes one more grounding breath and opens the bathroom door.

He expects Eddie to be in bed, the light to his room off and the door shut, but upon rounding the hall into the main living area, he finds the man on the couch. Sat with his legs crossed beneath him and Steve's own yellow sweater swallowing him whole, Eddie has a book held in front of him, his dark eyes trained to the page.

Steve takes what he was allowed, lets his eyes wander and his mind memorize. It feels like forever since he's seen Eddie look so soft, so cosy and warm. It had to have been at the very least several weeks. Pre Vecna anyway.

The soft hue of the single light in the kitchen dapples Eddie's features in an orange glow. The curls that sit pulled into a messy knot atop of his head, the arch of his nose and the pout of his lips, Steve drinks it all in. He wants nothing more than to shuffle over, curl into Eddie's side and never leave.

But as he shifts on his feet and the floor creaks under his weight, Eddie's eyes drift up to meet his own. For a moment, a short finite second, the man smiles and lets a blush take over his cheeks, then the expression washes away and is replaced with that of concern.

Steve hadn't even realised he'd been crying again until he goes to scratch his cheek and his fingers come back damp with tears.

Cautiously Eddie folds the book shut in his hands, eyes never once leaving Steve as he looks to be mulling something over.

And then, words soft and tone kind, Eddie's voice is hardly a whisper when he speaks, "Come here."

Steve's hesitant, legs refusing to work for a moment while he continues to look at the man on the couch and hardly processes when Eddie says again, "Steve, come here."

He tries not to cry even more, but with weak limbs and tired bones he shuffles his way to the couch, stopping only when his knees bump the furniture and he wants nothing more than to climb into Eddie's lap and sob.

He waits, not sure what he's allowed until Eddie reaches a hand out for his and ever so quietly asks, "Can I give you a hug?"

Steve nods, feeling his lip wobble when he lets Eddie take his hand and pull him to his side. Stepping onto the couch, he curls into the man immediately, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest and his head tucked into Eddie's shoulder. He's nearly in the man's lap, what with his feet tucked under bare thighs and his knees pressed between their chests.

Arms wrap around him as if on instinct. Strong, warm, the colour of sunshine in his own sweatshirt.

They remain as such for a while. Sat on the couch, Steve curled into the man he loves while ushering his ever flowing tears.

He can't help but recognize that Eddie smells like him, the smell of his own cologne and shampoo forever laid in the threads of that yellow fabric. Cinnamon and citrus.

So many times before have they sat in this very position, watching a movie, whispering words to one another or a moment so similar to this it's easy for Steve to try and imagine a different reality.

One where Eddie loves him.

It feels like this is the first time he's fully allowed himself to cry. Comfortable and safe in Eddie's embrace, he's soon shaking with sobs and gasping for breaths.

He doesn't even know what he's crying about.

A multitude of things maybe.

The way this moment feels so natural, so comforting in a way that it feels laced with love.

The way that Eddie's holding him like he has so many times before. Strong and solid. Letting Steve tuck himself into the crevices of his body, worming his way as close as humanly possible.

The only thing that's missing is a kiss to the top of his head.

Maybe it's the way that he realises he may never have Eddie in this capacity again, that he'll only be allowed to dream of it in moments like these where it feels so close yet so far.

He didn't realise how hard his lungs were struggling until there's a gentle palm on his cheek, a thumb resting just under his eye and a voice above him, calm, almost whispering, "Steve, you gotta breathe."

With a heavily gasped breath he tries, panic rising when he realises the enormity of his struggle.

He tries again.

And again.

Tears now falling for the fear of suffocation, his chest begins to ache.

"Steve," Eddie's voice cuts smooth through the fog of panic like a warm knife through butter, "Come here." Then there's another hand on his opposite cheek and he's being handled to face Eddie head on.

He's twisted in a way that's uncomfortable but he can't bring himself to care when his heartbeat slows just from the sight of the man in front of him.

Shuddering in a breath, he hardly registers when Eddie's hand reaches for his own and brings it to his chest. Yellow fabric and a steady heartbeat beneath his palm.

"Breathe with me okay, Big Boy. In," Eddie's chest expands beneath his fingertips and he watches as the man searches his face, deep brown eyes nearly onyx in the dim light. He counts to three in his head, feeling the gentle collapse of Eddie's chest when the man exhales, "and out."

Eddie's thumb that remains on his face rubs lovingly over his cheek and silently Steve feels another tear fall in its path.

The hand over top of his own presses harder into the solid, beating mass beneath it as Eddie whispers, "One more time, come on. In. One, two, three."

"Out, one, two, three." Steve whispers on his own, breath slowly easing, eyes never leaving the ones before him.

Shuffling his weight on the couch, moving his hand from Steve's cheek to the back of his neck, Eddie pulls him closer. The remaining distance between them gone as their foreheads press together and Steve can feel Eddie's breath fall over his lips as he whispers, "One last time, I promise."

Another silent tear slips free and falls to the air remaining between them as they count and breathe together, "One, two, three."

And after a moment of steady breaths and Steve following the rise and fall of Eddie's chest still beneath his palm, it's a hardly audible thing, but to the room around them and the small amount of air lingering between them, Eddie whispers, small, quiet, cautious…

"There you go, Sunshine."

---

Ao3 ⤵️

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glacialdeath · 10 months ago

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@orangeshinigami asked: ❛ i wish i could dream of something beautiful or peaceful for a change. ❜

Her natural instinct to such whining is to combat it with a quip and a sharp gaze. "Sorry, I'm a shinigami, not a genie."

Curious words asking why his sleep might be particularly troubled nearly leave her lips, but she pauses. With her mouth remaining agape for a second, she catches herself. Violet eyes peek under ebony hair carefully over at him, wary and cautious, as if he is some kind of deer that she'll scare off with a single step. Rukia had learned that lesson before with him: there could be wounds or trauma that remain as damage on his soul like a minefield, and no matter how much she thought she could rationalize for him, or how naturally curious she was to ask on these subjects, she needed to let it remain only a talk he could initiate, and not one for herself to start. So, she bottles her inquiries into a clasped fist, and tosses aside those running nosy thoughts.

But regardless of whether she knew why or not, something remains, leaving an ache on her heart that her hand rises to try and suppress, pressing the hand against her chest. With a sigh, and steeling herself, she sits up. Rukia starts by tossing him an extra pillow, sending it flying through the air so smoothly that it seemed to float for a second. "Lay back. Look at the stars by the window, and just talk at me for a moment." There's a familiar bossiness in her tone that indicates that she's not gonna relax until he does as she ask, no matter how much of a judging voice he gives her. "Tell me about what kind of things you hope for, or what you wish for." She gives a pause for him to think or fully take in her words, but doesn't let it sit completely, instead daring him to give in to her ask and making it seem all the more pitiful if he denies it, while guiding him all the same. "Don't think too hard, just answer. You're young, I'm sure you got plenty. "

To try and string up the momentum, she confesses her own, clearing her throat and forcing herself to carry through while looking past him, as if traveling to days long past while still being present. "For me, I used to say," She preps herself for mock, but she cannot completely rid the embarrassment of reusing foolish naive ideas from her childhood that sound cheesy in hindsight. “I’d dream of being someone my friends can depend on, that looks after them, and become someone that is strong and creates a home that they want to protect. ...And maybe something about getting a pet rabbit with the softest fur or something." She can't combat the redness that comes to her cheek at returning to that particular old admission.

To the kids in Inuzuri, this prompt was a tradition that became like a spell, spoken to the stars poking out of the holes in the roof to lull them to sleep on the difficult nights. When they went to bed with their words echoing in their minds, it tended to fend off the nightmares that sprouted out of the horrible things that existed just outside of their little fragile falling apart shack, and Rukia would hope that some part of the magic still held true with it. Resting her head on a knee she pulled back, shutting her eyes, and peeking open one as she adds one last comfort, leaving it unclear if her words are serious or another tease of hers. "I promise, I won't remember anything you say in the morning. I'll close my eyes, and you can just say it to the air." It's a moment that reminds her that he's still a teenager when it comes down to it, and he's been through some awful sights of his own at a young age.

#;deathanswers #orangeshinigami #;I think I've written up this old tradition of hers somewhere-- but I still like it :>

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rainepuddles · 1 year ago

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I remember when I was younger, I was absolutely convinced I would become a superhero when I was older. I distinctly recall being 7 and me and my cousin had a balloon, I wanted to make a wish with it.

We went outside to set it free, and before I set it go I whispered to the balloon

“I wish to be a superhero” and then let it go, hoping it would come true.

My cousin looked to me confused, but I think I told her it wouldn’t come true if I shared it.

After I stopped believing in magic and superhero’s, I moved onto idols. Internet celebrities, who built their careers on sharing their stories and interests. I laughed and learned more about people like me. More about who I was, who I wanted to be.

I always got told I shouldn’t reach for a goal like that, I never understood back then. I thought it was easy. But it was my dream.

Now I understand where those people were coming from. Some of them had first hand experience with the real world, their dreams crushed by hardships amounting to nothing. Warning me that if I tried too hard, I’d fall so hard I’d never get back up.

Others just thought I was just having unrealistic dreams, and brushed them off.

For a long time, I thought they were just being pessimistic.

But now I know.

the higher ups, the corporate world’s, the control, the destruction of creativity, the murder of people.

And now, I’m in place where I feel like everyone else is oblivious.

All the strangers here in the place go on about their lives, happily. While I’m over here staring at the red strings attached to my hands and wings, and the white strings attached to everybody else’s.

Do they not see it too? Why is everyone so happy.

I stare at the state of this place in horror, as headlines pass my face like a whirlpool of colour’s, feeling more outcasted than ever. And yet, I can’t even think of feeling outraged. I feel numb, sad but at most…. I feel…

Determined

Despite everything, knowing that the whole world is against me makes the fire in my soul grow stronger. I want to fight harder now. All the love inside me refuses to die.

Now that I think about it, I’ve always known I wanted to share myself. Even when I thought I was a superhero, I wanted it because something in me told me that I was just… supposed to be something bigger. Even when I was so young.

Even though I still look up to those online personalities as inspiration and a dream, I’ve been using stories to help me as of recent.

Characters with similar issues as me, practically holding my hand and pointing me towards a path of infinite possibilities. Sharing similar pains of loss, control, betrayal, loneliness. Characters who comfort me in my saddest hours, who I know would tell me that I have the willpower of a warrior and I’m something special to share. Stories about forging a different path then one designed for them, or healing from insufferable pains.

These people have followed me everyday, telling me that I’m not alone.

That add fuel to my beautiful, warm fire.

And that is the long story for the dream that has stayed for over a decade. It was hard to realise the importance of it all until now, but I don’t think I can look back. I doubt it’s unimportant, I doubt it’s impossible.

And I doubt it’ll die anytime soon.

I remember back when I was younger I was obsessed with yo Kai watch. After I finished watching the series, I watched the music at the end credits and immediately went to my backyard and sung the song into my bushes. I thought if I did it loud enough, a yo Kai would pop out of the bushes XD

I did it over, and over, and over. Nothing happened.

#vent #personal vent #vent post #writing vent #dream #hope and dreams #determination #sort of poem

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raichett · 2 years ago

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Watcher

More Watcher-themed flash fic, lol. Warnings for some eldritch imagery and implied standard unhappy Watcher backstory for Grian, but nothing graphic.

This flash fic can also be found on AO3 here.

–

WATCHER

“It’s kinda funny that you don’t remember,” Scar tells Grian, baiting his interest, exactly one week to the day after their return. “Seeing as you are way more experienced with this whole thing than me.”

Grian blinks, then tilts his head, confused. His hands lift away from the shulker box he was about to pick up. In his other vision, Scar can see a few of Grian’s other eyes start to rove around, seeking the answer to the question Grian poses next. “Remember what?”

Void. He’s so – clueless. Oblivious. Scar shudders a little; he knows that he barely knows Grian’s true power, but all his new-fangled instincts, ruffled by the recent lack of recognition, are insisting upon shivering submission to a more powerful Watcher. To think that such could happen to someone whose might he has seen but a candle flame of, compared to the bonfire it truly is…

“You really don’t have any idea, do you?” Scar remarks, knowing the answer already. He presses his eyes tightly closed against his skin, folding his array of wings against his soul. Grian would see, if he knew to look, but right now him not knowing to suspect is what’s gotten Scar this far.

But even a week is too long, to not enlighten his soulmate. To be - alone. Abandoned, unknowingly or not.

Grian’s withering side-eye is more frightful now that Scar can perceive its many layers beneath his cute little flesh puppet. “Scar, c’mon, tell me,” Grian says, making his voice the nosy but kind whine of a good friend. “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me – ”

Scar opens two of his new eyes, one either side of him, hovering above his shoulders. Grian snaps into silence, staring, suddenly-dozens of slit pupils contracting in fear. A multitude of wings rustle, swinging out in preparation on another plane. For fight? For flight? Scar is not yet good enough at Watcher body language to gauge it.

“Scar…?” Grian breathes out, horrified. He stumbles forward, his body jerking on its strings, far from the smooth manipulation Scar’s seen many a time, even if he hadn’t known the performance then for what it was.

“I’m this way because of you,” Scar says, not accusatory, exactly, but firmly still, making sure that there is no mistaking the origin of his change. Grian looks sick anyway, and Scar’s heart – no longer needed as it once was, but it’s still his – softens, as it always does, for him. “You didn’t do this intentionally,” he adds, trying to balm whatever wound he just sliced. “But it still happened.”

“I don’t – ” Grian swallows, sucks in a breath, and then a few of his great wings shuffle and extend, coming to curl loosely around Scar’s sides. Comforting, caring, protecting, his new instincts cry, some hard and cold shard of ice inside of him warming and dislodging at the show of – friendship, companionship, solidarity, some strange feeling that Scar thinks to name as flock. “What – what happened?”

Instinctually, Scar’s own wings unfurl, small and downy and clearly immature, but still spreading upwards to brush his feathers against Grian’s, responding positively to his soulmate’s gesture. “You don’t remember,” he repeats. “They made you not remember.”

You don’t remember doing this for me before. How many nights we spent in the nest inside the Red Velvet Keep, your wings curled around me.

“Who?” Grian snarls, wings flexing, more eyes open than he ever has here in Hermitcraft searching now with newfound rage.

“The Watchers,” Scar answers, quietly. “We were – void, we were taken, set up in a little enclosed world of theirs, and made to play one of their games.”

Grian clearly expects something close to this answer, because he doesn’t seem surprised. His face twists. “Scar…” He’s in front of Scar now, and his hands are on Scar’s shoulders, tugging him closer. An embrace. Scar flings his arms around Grian and returns it wholeheartedly.

You taught me how to open my eyes and then how to shut them, how to prevent it all from being just too much.

“We were bound together,” Scar explains into Grian’s hair. “Soulmates. We shared pain, healing, hunger. We started to take on… traits of each other. Yours were just – a little more potent than most.”

You told me the truth of what you are, when our hearts and souls were so intertwined that we were bleeding together at the edges.

“I’m sorry,” Grian mumbles into Scar’s neck. “I’m so, so sorry this – that this happened. Void, and they took my memories? Must’ve been Greater Watchers, more than one, to do so to me…”

“I know,” Scar says. “You told me.” He tries not to sound wobbly, but – this is his soulmate, this is a member of his flock. And it’s nothing but fact that a fledgling, created a Watcher or transformed so, needs their flock around them.

Grian’s hands fist into Scar’s clothes at the reminder. He lets out a low croon and Scar’s answering chirp – escaped from his throat before he can reel it back in – settles the matter.

“We’re flock,” Grian says, factually, a little surprised. “I – took you in as flock.” Suddenly self-conscious, he hastily says, “Of course I did, I wouldn’t have left you, I just – ”

“Haven’t had a flock in a while,” Scar finishes. Grian had escaped his last one more than he had left it, but Scar knows only the barest of bones of that story. At the time, there had been far more pressing concerns, and Grian’s honesty still too new to share overmuch.

Grian nods. “Yeah… yeah.” He straightens up, leaning back, stares Scar right in the eyes. “C’mon,” he says, “let’s go back to my base. I’ve got a nest to expand.”

Scar beams, delighted, and so, so relieved. “Thank you,” he says. “Um, I mean, I didn’t want to presume, but – ”

Grian looks at him, his gaze heavy. “You need to nest with flock,” he says, something that Scar knows Grian had far less of a good time with than he has had with Grian. “And besides, your story isn’t over yet.”

“True, true,” Scar says, faltering. “Um. It’s not a happy one.”

“Ones involving Watchers rarely are,” Grian says, angry and sad and reaching for Scar’s hand. “In… in your own time, then. I’m here for you. I promise. I’ll teach you as best I can.”

“I know,” Scar whispers. “I know.”

After all, you taught me our most important skill, no matter how much you despise it, how much you hated conducting the lessons:

You taught me how to watch.

#my writing #flash fic #double life #grian #watcher grian #goodtimeswithscar #desert duo #hermitcraft

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husbandohunter · 4 years ago

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Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Albedo's despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps

(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫

_______________________________________________

The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.

It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.

Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.

So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.

"Master Diluc..."

Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."

"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."

Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.

"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."

Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.

Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"

Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.

Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."

"You're just going to leave her here?"

There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.

It was his concern.

-------

A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?

"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.

The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.

Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.

"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."

The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."

"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."

Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."

The pen slows into a halt.

No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.

"Fine, but I'm not eating that."

"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."

He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.

People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.

Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.

I should have pushed you away.

Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.

Then you'd still be-

Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.

She needs you to focus.

The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."

His reaction was immediate, "Where?"

"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"

"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."

Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."

"..."

"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."

"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."

"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."

"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."

The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.

-------

The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.

Diluc was tired, so tired.

He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?

In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.

"Diluc."

He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.

"Diluc."

"I'm sorry..."

The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?

"Diluc."

"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.

"Diluc, I'm here."

"Stop..."

"Diluc..."

He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.

And screamed.

Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.

He wanted you.

"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."

For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.

Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.

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boytouya · 3 years ago

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𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

words:2.3k

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, blood, angst, open ended/ambiguous ending, descriptions of death.

request: “Can i request sukuna x male reader. Where reader keeps reincarnating with each lifetime for a curse and every time he remembers sukuna, he dies after gaining memories back. You can choose if theres a good ending or angst. Thank you king! I fell in love with him especially after reading that one shot i had to watch jjk and hes hot! Thank you for turning me into a sukuna simp! Much love”

a/n: i went,,,overboard with this request 🗿 BUT IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITESSIJEHSHE i’m honored to have introduced you to such a foine man

When you were five, only then had you understood the curse deemed ‘Ryoumen Sukuna.’ A rather tall man with two heads, one of which had splattered blood onto your sneakers. You understood the concept of death, of course, but could never truly comprehend the feeling of nothingness after watching your life flash before your eyes until nineteen. But there you stood, clutching the loop of your shorts when you witnessed the murder of your entire village. You didn’t know evil could have a moral compass, but the tall curse seemed to exclude half of the women and children. After the widening of youthful eyes and curdling screams you learned the monster took likings to things too. Women, with shaking forms and broken spirits. He’d stop before them, stare at them with eyes that could- in fact- kill, if they truly wanted to. But then he stopped in front of you.

“Close your eyes, Brat.” Death's hands were just as large as your family painted them out to be, if not larger. Calloused and riddled with blood as they are placed over your ears. You do as he- it says, squeezing your eyes shut and enclosing your eyes behind the meat of your palms just to be extra careful. You can see stars behind your eyelids, just as you can feel the sickening twang of death lingering in the air. You were aware it would happen at some point, Death would find its place for you over and over and over again, you’d been told since the day you were born.

There’s another sound, only muted under large palms. You don’t need your sense of sight or hearing to know what it was, the warm chunks splattering onto your skin was enough. Immediately, you flinched. When you opened your eyes, there were piercing eyes staring straight into your own. It looked so human, but something was off. Uncanny, as if it took years to manipulate its flesh and bone to emulate humans to a T. But there was nothing human behind those eyes, instead a void of nothingness. Death itself. If Death could express interest, you’d have thought that was the expression it was imitating. It offers a hand, one of four. Larger than your face, with sharp claws that could almost be described as talons. Darkened by dirt and remains of your loved ones, if it truly wanted to kill you, it could. It could tear you limb from limb with the wave of a finger. And it knew that.

So you took the hand, and he became your second home.

When you were ten, you learned about the red string of fate. It could never be broken, and those connected by it would always reunite, no matter the circumstances. You often had nightmares, those of which filled with blurred faces and sharp pain that reached you in your lucid state. Dreams of talons, piercing eyes, and double headed monsters. You dreamt under the stars, tasted metal on your tongue, and choked on smoke that wasn’t actually there. You dreamt of facial markings, details that you couldn’t exactly place, a name that you couldn’t quite remember. It left your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, racked tremors through your body, and caused premature dark circles to accumulate under your eyes.

When you were nineteen, you experienced your last breath. The air was stolen from your lungs, crushed under years of heartbreak and terror, and snatched from you in the dead of night. Your eyes glazed over, and nothingness overtook you. It left you for someone else to find, cold and lifeless. A void, similar to the eyes you had finally placed. But that didn’t matter much then, you had already drifted away from your body.

And that was that.

Thus, the cycle repeated. Under different names, different ages, different genders. There was always something gnawing away at your conscience, you felt as though you were forgetting something. But when you finally remembered, it was too late. And there was nothing you could do about it.

It was almost like deja vu, stepping outside your home to find blood splattered on the concrete floor. It made your blood run cold, sent a tremor through your body and made you feel like you were five again. Small and defenseless. You take it as your best interest to go back inside before you pass out, but the second you whip your body around you meet something- someone?- large and sturdy.

“Sukuna.” That was it, the sour taste at the tip of your tongue, the lingering sensation at the back of your brain. Him. He didn’t look the same, no, much smaller with tufts of pink hair. There’s something behind his eyes this time, something almost irrevocably human. For some reason that’s much scarier than what you remember. What you think you remember. He’s much more human, but the way he looks at you is everything but humane. He looks frustrated, angry at something, as if he’ll implode any second and go on a rampage. Dread bubbles up in your stomach, nearly erupting through your mouth as bile. It felt as though something should be happening, like something usually happened when the itch went away. He chuckles, low in his throat as he cranes his neck to put his face uncomfortably close to your own. His hands, still large, find their way to your wrist, gripping your right hand uncomfortably tight. For a moment, you consider how long a trip to the hospital would be if he shattered the bone beneath his fingers. But instead there’s a jolt of electricity that would’ve had you yanking your hand back if he weren’t holding it.

“What? You look different.” He all but purrs, inspecting your palm with long nails. Not long enough to be talons, but longer than those of a claw. It was true, you did look different. He wondered if you spent your lifetimes looking exactly the same. That couldn’t have been possible, he would’ve found you much easier, then. Still quite boyish, as if the body you were in didn’t originally belong to you. Clearly grown out of cargo shorts and polos, much taller than you were before. There was no way he could have forgotten you, the way you jumped when the remains of your loved one splattered across your legs. The way you stared back at him with a look of acceptance, the way you grabbed his hand and allowed him to lead you out of the village. It explained the body memories perfectly, the feeling of large palms on your head and remnants of a brain splattering onto your knees.

“Last time I saw you,” He let’s go of your wrist with a bored expression, then replaces its spot with the top of your head. He shoves you down, and you make an effort to ignore the crack your knees make when they smack against the concrete. Then, he crouches down to stare you directly in the eye, just like he had the first time you met. His eyes were no longer dark, instead a deep shade of red that caught light from the moon. They reminded you of vials of blood. “You were this tall. Much cuter in this century.”

“And you were bigger.” Sukuna laughs as if hearing that was the funniest thing in the world. He leans his weight into you and uses you as a support beam, laughing until his ribs burn and beg for a break. But how could he laugh at a time like this? He didn’t think it was weird? He’s existed for centuries, murdered for millennias and only now has he seen you. That wasn’t how it worked, when you died, you died. But Sukuna was a walking oxymoron to that statement. When he died, if he died, he would return. He’d return through you, the last fragments of his soul would stay bound to yours until the end of time. Perhaps that’s how he knew, how he remembered. Perhaps that’s why he still took the time to find you, even after countless years of failure. It was peculiar, but not as much as being bound to Death himself. It was a sick game of turning the phrase ‘Til’ death do you part,’ because in your case it was literal.

“You’re still a brat.” His voice is closest to something fond, as if he’s reminiscing sweet memories. It was much different on your account, and part of you wondered if Sukuna understood that. He makes no effort to help you up (he explains that you’re “a big boy now”) as he invites himself into your apartment. Nothing special, he doesn’t care much for family photos or if you have them, but the stacks of letters and books on your table peak his interest. He tears apart envelopes as if he owns them, reads through the contents and discards them to the floor if he deems them useless. The way he sits nearly breaks your chair, and, honestly, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

So you sit beside him.

“You were so scared,” He says, almost as if he were bragging. But he was known to be arrogant and cocky, that was just his nature. He didn’t truly mean it like that, in fact, he looked quite reverent after letting the thought drift into the air. It was kind of funny, such a powerful thing fawning over past memories. But that wasn’t how this should go, you had your memory back, so why hasn’t anything happened? “When you grabbed my hand you stopped shaking.”

“...”

“It’s a shame I couldn’t keep you long,” He visibly frowns, the skin around his lips worry, but you can't tell if it’s genuine or not. He looks at you with something knowing the second the thought enters your head. “I looked for you, at first. You died young, for a human.”

Ninteen. ‘I should have been there,” he wants to add.

“Why aren’t I dying now?” You interrupt and let the panic sink in, the thought of impending doom sits on your shoulders because, really, it could happen at any moment. But this time, you don’t want it to. You remember accepting death when it came to your door at the young age of five, nineteen, countless times over and over. You had only ever gotten this far, you weren’t ready yet. You couldn’t start over, not now. “Sukuna?”

The question sours his mood in the blink of an eye, and instead of looking through your things, he raises himself from his seat to rest his palms on the table. It seemed he had a thing for staring down at people, making them cower under his stone cold gaze. You note the way his jaw clenches. You open your mouth to speak again, but he seems to have other plans. He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips purse together under the pressure of his large fingers. The movement feels familiar, like he’s done it before. The five years you spent with him were still a bit of a blur, but you remembered holding his hand quite often. He’d tell you to close your eyes if there was something he didn’t want you to see, he’d ruffle your hair a bit too hard, let you sleep on his back if he was out in the town. But that was all you remembered. He remembered it all.

“Respect your elders,” He lets go and sits back down as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum over you interrupting him. Sukuna was centuries old, but even then, he’d exhibit immature behavior sometimes. Living for so long had to get boring (and lonely) at some point, perhaps that was why he looked for you. He did consider you something close to family, after all. In truth, there were some lifetimes where you met. Some when you were friends, something more than that, and something inseparable. And that’s why you hadn’t died yet, you didn’t remember it all. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re talking.”

“You’re much more handsome in this life.” His smile is much more intimidating than sweet, the sinister curl to his lips would only ever be associated with bloodshed in your eyes. But it was much more than that. Nights of sleeping together, days of laughter and flirtatious comments, soft moments that only you had seen. And it was bittersweet, because he knew the second he’d jog your memory you’d be gone. It wasn’t just a curse for you, but for him. Maybe it was his punishment for hurting so many people, dragging an innocent soul down with him and hanging them by the red string of fate. The comment makes your skin prickle with heat. Sukuna was quite the charmer when he wanted to be, easily picking at your weak spots with whatever you wanted to hear. But the comment was much more for the sake of his own, instead of yours.

Sukuna stands, hot on his heels as he holds out his hand one last time. If something were to happen to you tonight he’d make the most out of it, just as he did countless times over and over. So many years of starting over, getting to know you in various different bodies, realizing that being trapped away was the only way you’d get to live a full life, it was always on his mind. You were always on his mind.

So you take his hand. And for the millionth time, he’d become your second home.

taglist:

@ryoukuna @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @rinkindaugly

#💕.sukuna #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #anime x you #anime x reader #anime x male reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x male reader #jjk x reader #sukuna imagine #sukuna angst #sukuna au #sukuna oneshot

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mrpenguinpants · 4 years ago

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Xiao: Cuddles

Tumblr...why..I just want to hug Xiao.

Yes, I do :D I needed a quick pick me up from that angst post so time for some fluff [even tho I feel like this still ended with a tiny bit of angst]. I kinda made this a part 2 to my other Xiao Hcs of him falling in love [link for that is here]

I’m not sure if you wanted HCs or a fic so I just went with my usual style of doing both.

Just to note: If you request for two people I’ll only do HCs. But if you request for one, I’ll add a tiny fic below [ignore the fact I forgot to do this with Diluc aha]

Also I just wanted to say thanks for all your positive comments, asks, and reblogs. I can’t reply to them all and I don’t want to fill my board up with the same posts, but I do read them and you’re all so sweet 💕 Don’t worry I see you👀

Semi Part 1: Friendship

Semi Part 2: Falling in Love

Semi Part 4: Protective

Semi Part 5: Affection

Semi Part 6: Jealously

Semi Part 7: First Kiss

Semi Part 8: Opposites Attract

Semi Part 9: String of Fate [Soulmate] HCs

Semi Part 10: [ Fainting ]

---

Xiao: Cuddles

He’s a stiff board inside and out. He’s never even hugged someone let alone initiated something as intimate as cuddling. Besides, wouldn’t you want to cuddle up to something soft that hasn’t killed thousands of demons? He knows there are dogs at the inn, so why are you asking him? He doesn’t understand the appeal.

He never initiates in the beginning. The thought had never crossed his mind until you suddenly fell asleep on him one day. He immediately stiffened and cut whatever he was trying to say off. His eyes darted to you as he sat still, unsure of what to do. Should he let you continue to sleep? Maybe he should move you into the inn? He doubts his shoulder is comfortable.

As his thoughts calm down so does his body. He scolds himself for overreacting but there’s a new emotion that starting to cling onto him. He looks over at your peaceful look as his finger’s start to curl.

He’ll slowly inch his hand next to yours. He doesn’t mind his sense of comfort and having you lay on him. He want’s more, just a tiny bit more. His finger tips ghost over yours and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

But as soon as he see’s you stir and about to wake up, he snatches his hand back and vanishes from sight. You end up falling and hitting your head as your wake up alarm.

Feelings? Communication? Never heard of her. When you’re sitting on the railing he barely register’s what you’re saying. He wants to badly link your hands together or hold you. To feel that sense of comfort again. You don't notice but he looks at you as his hands reach down behind you, about to hold your hand, before flinching away and returning to his side. Another day he promises.

Almond Tofu is one of the few human foods he enjoys. That dish tastes just like the "dreams" he used to devour. Sometimes he feels that maybe he is dreaming and hasn’t decided to eat it yet.

Xiao is a man of few words. If you’re ever feeling tired he’ll tell you to lay down and rest beside him. If you make a comment that it’s cold outside he’ll lie down next to you even as the tips of his ears start to pink. It’s because it’s cold outside he’ll say.

Starts off as the big spoon and ends as the little. He’s really gentle since he doesn’t want to accidently harm you. When he fights he doesn’t hold back so the collateral damage is hard to avoid. So when he moves his arms around you, it’s barely an embrace. He much rather have you take the reins and bask in your presence.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon when Xiao opens his eyes. He’s a bit disoriented since he usually never sleeps so it takes him a bit to get his bearings. He hears you softly breathing above him and reminds himself that everything is fine, there aren’t any demons here. He takes a moment to remember how your arms feel around him before carefully detaching them as he begins to sit up.

It was still spring so it wasn’t too chilly but he still laid the blue and red sleeve that he usually had wrapped around his left arm around you. You seem so peaceful and he catches himself staring again, he has to remind himself that his stare makes you uncomfortable.

You’ve been travelling across Liyue for some time now. Barely able to stay at the inn before you have to wander off again. Maybe his loneliness is starting to make him seek your attention more? To keep you with him for a few seconds longer. Or maybe he should go with you? Instead of waiting for your return.

Your body shifts a tiny bit to his presence and the lack of warmth. He panics a bit, not sure what to do before offering you his hand, which you hold onto and settle back into sleep. He knows he shouldn’t, mortal souls aren’t as strong as adepti. But at the same time, he’s already crossed that line a long time ago. He’s been contract-bound for over a thousand years and this is the first time he can do something for himself. He’s scared to take that leap. To break routine.

“What are you doing to me?” he softly wonders as he gently pushes the hair out of your face. He wants to whisper in your ear and how he wishes you could be here.

Instead of leaving before you wake up and going for a walk like he usually does to clear his mind, he quietly lies back down beside you as he stares up at the leaves of the trees. He’s been in this position before, late at night alone but now you’re beside him this time. His head fills with thoughts but he can’t seem to remember what any of them are.

Even if this is a dream, he wants to stay in it. Just for a few more minutes, he tells himself as he closes his eyes and falls asleep beside you.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact xiao x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfiction #xiao x aether #xiao x lumine #xiao headcanons #xiao imagines

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myaimistrue · 3 years ago

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my gift for the wonderful @lotsofquestionslimitedanswers as part of the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! i hope you love this sweet bit of fluff as much as i loved writing it <3

also available on ao3

Cas has fought celestial battles. He has seen the rise and fall of human civilizations, he has razed cities and healed kings, and he has been the only thing outside of God’s control. Yet somehow, someway, he is being bested by a pan of scrambled eggs.

He lets out a string of curses he would never have even dreamed of fifteen years prior, and carefully carries the smoking pan to the trash can. He dumps as much of the blackened lump as he can unceremoniously into the trash can and sticks the pan, still coated in bits of burned eggs, back on the stove.

Cas is trying to make breakfast to bring to Dean in bed. He’s doing okay, he thinks, except now there just won’t be any eggs. Or pancakes. (Cas actually thought the batter turned out pretty nicely, but when he went to pour the first bit into the pan, his hand slipped—he spent a good twenty minutes cleaning all of that up.) At least there’s still bacon. Shit, the bacon!

Cas rips the oven open, still cursing, and just barely remembers to put an oven mitt on before he pulls the pan out. Thank God, the bacon is on just the right side of burnt, sizzling and crispy but not blackened yet. He breathes a sigh of relief, and sets the pan down carefully beside the other on the stove. Well, Dean’s always enjoyed bacon the most—if breakfast is just that, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Cas figures he can at least make some toast to go with it. Unfortunately, he forgot to buy more bread at the store yesterday, so there are only three pieces left, two of which are end pieces. He toasts them all, gnawing on a thumbnail and trying to convince himself that Dean won’t hate all of this.

Cas has only been back, free from the Empty and fully human, for a month. It’s been a good month, mostly, full of reunions and laughter and slowly but surely figuring things out. He and Dean share a bed now, share a life in a way they never did before, and it’s good. Cas is learning to be human again, and every step of the way, Dean is with him, endlessly patient and gentle with all of it, seemingly happy just to be with him at all. And Cas gets to kiss Dean when he wants, gets to hold his hand and brush his fingertips along the crinkles at the corners of Dean’s eyes, and every day, he gets to tell Dean he loves him.

The only problem, really, is that Dean hasn’t said it back yet.

Cas knows Dean loves him. It’s clear now—it was clear from the moment he stumbled out of the Empty and into Dean’s trembling arms—and Cas understands that Dean shows it in different ways than words. He shows it in the way he sat with Cas for an hour helping him learn to tie his shoes, the way he makes PB&Js without complaint whenever Cas requests them, the way he slides his hand into Cas’s while driving and runs his thumb back and forth along Cas’s palm. Regardless of whether he says it out loud, Dean loves Cas with such ferocity that Cas sometimes worries he can’t match it.

So Cas is doing what he can: he’s making breakfast in bed.

He arranges the limited food on an old wooden tray, along with two mugs of steaming coffee and a jar of Dean’s favorite apricot jelly that he did remember at the store. Cas studies his handiwork critically, then adds a few napkins (amidst all the change, Dean remains a very messy eater). The end result looks nice, Cas thinks. Better than he worried it might, at least.

Slowly, carefully, Cas makes his way out of the kitchen, and to the bedroom he now shares with Dean. The door is cracked from when Cas left earlier, and he can see the corner of the bed, the way Dean’s pulled all the blankets over to his side. Cas smiles at how familiar that’s become lately—it seems that with the luxury of his own bed, Dean is loath to share the covers; Cas steals them back all night long, but it works out because Dean puts up with his kicking.

He creeps in and sets the tray down on his bedside table. Then, unable to resist, he slips back under the covers and wraps his arms around Dean. Dean stirs somewhat awake, and wiggles back into Cas with a satisfied hum.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says sleepily. “Where’ve you been? ’S early.”

“Uh, I was…” Cas glances back at breakfast, and he thinks it looks measly now, small and poorly put together. “I made breakfast. For you to eat in bed.”

“...You made me breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” Cas says quietly, tucking his face in Dean’s neck, enjoying the closeness but also trying to hide his embarrassment. “Is that okay?”

“What? ‘Course it is.” Dean sounds like he’s smiling, and Cas can see it in his mind’s eye, that dreamy thing that only comes out when Dean is extremely relaxed. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet,” Cas says, testing the way the word feels in his mouth.

“Yeah.” Dean’s still half-asleep, unfiltered and unencumbered in a way he rarely is, even now. “You’re real sweet to me, Cas. Always are.”

“Even though the breakfast isn’t good?”

“What?”

Cas sighs. “I messed up the pancakes and the eggs, and there wasn’t enough bread. It doesn’t look good like it does when you make breakfast.”

“I don’t care about that,” Dean says, a little more awake, his voice sure and strong. “I’d eat concrete if you made it for me.”

At that, Cas feels the knots in his stomach begin to unwind, feels his heartbeat slow to match Dean’s. He kisses the back of Dean’s neck, lips lingering on sleep-warm skin. Dean shifts closer.

“We’d better get up,” Dean murmurs. “Don’t want the coffee to get cold.”

“Or the bacon.”

“You made bacon?” Dean sits straight up in bed, sniffing around in the air like a bloodhound and apparently completely awake. Cas rolls his eyes and flops over into the warm spot he left behind, pulling the covers up and over himself again. “I can’t believe I didn’t smell that. Damn, Cas. You outdid yourself.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cas says. He peeks around the blankets as Dean grabs the tray and settles it over his legs eagerly. “It’s not—”

“Oh hell yeah!” Dean looks down at him with a brilliant smile that seems to make everything else around them go dim. “You got the apricot jelly stuff?”

“Yeah.” One thing Cas had done right. “I picked some up at the store the other day. I know it’s your favorite.”

Inexplicably, Dean’s ears go red. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Of course.” Cas sits up and studies Dean’s face like he has for years. Dean’s expression is a little difficult to read, but he’s still smiling. Cas feels himself start to smile, too. “So this is okay? You like it?”

“Dude.” Dean looks at him incredulously, but it’s good-natured, fond. “You’re as bad as me. I’m telling you, this is great. I don’t think I’ve ever had breakfast in bed before. And it’s…” Dean goes red again, this time all the way to the apples of his cheeks, but he continues on valiantly. “Nobody’s ever done the shit you do for me. And I’m so fucking lucky, it’s ridiculous, and I…” The hush of their bedroom seems to grow, to expand, as Dean glances at the tray then back at Cas with some huge emotion behind his eyes. “I love you.”

Cas blinks. “You—”

“I love you.” Dean says again.

“You love me,” Cas repeats breathlessly. He knew it would come eventually, he did, but this—this is worth the wait.

“I love you.” Dean laughs like he can’t quite believe it, like he’s so happy it’s ridiculous, it’s impossible. “Holy shit, there it is. I said it. I love you. You made me breakfast in bed, and I fucking love you.”

Cas surges up, unable to hold himself back any longer. He takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him as deeply as he can, as deeply as he’s ever wanted to. Dean is surprised at first, but meets Cas in the middle like he always does, takes what Cas gives him and then takes some more. They only separate when the tray is in danger of tipping all of their breakfast over onto the floor.

“Let’s eat first?” Dean says sheepishly. “And drink the coffee?”

Cas’s face hurts from how hard he’s smiling. “Yeah. Okay.”

So they sit side-by-side in bed on top of the covers, sharing bacon and toast, sipping coffee between secret little smiles, and Cas relishes every bit of it, every human moment. He watches Dean chew, enraptured by the image he makes: the sunlight behind his head a halo, the holiness of his soft grey shirt and sleep-mussed hair, and all of it, eclipsed the golden shine of a soul Cas can no longer see but can feel—even in his humanity, he knows he can feel it.

“I love you,” Cas says.

And when Dean says it back, his face is more beautiful than anything in heaven.

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #deancas #destiel #deancas fic #destiel fic #spn #del's writing #offbeattraxx #userzaddy #gardenercas

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moonlight-prose · 3 years ago

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aw heck i'm back! “things would be so much easier if we were honest with each other.“ & “look me in the eyes and tell me you love me.“ with loki? an angst to fluff confession, mayhaps?? i'm excited for anything. i love uuuuu

NEPTUNE

a/n: this has been in my inbox for sooooo long i'm sorry! i can't remember which prompt list this was honestly. for this i went heavy on the angst which i hope is okay, but i did manage to add in some fluff! well...i tried. hopefully you like it darling!

it's been awhile since i wrote loki so if it's all wrong then idk.

summary: pain is inevitable when it comes to love, but this was far too much for you to handle. until...it wasn't.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: loki x reader (i don't think i identify gender)

warnings: not explicit, so much fucking angst, angst, angst, and look at that even more angst.

Life would be so much easier if you weren’t in love with a god. Or at least that’s what you told yourself over and over again, trying to justify the feeling that continued to squeeze your heart each day. A never-ending ache that tore through your body like a whirlwind, breaking you further than you believed it would. How funny that you were the one who had been afraid to say those three little words.

You’d told him you loved him. Three months ago.

Normally you wouldn’t have gotten upset over the fact that he never replied; that he had stared at you with an expression you couldn’t read. Except then the deception set in. Lies became a second language that he spoke to you and eventually it became too hard to even remain in the same home with him.

The relationship he offered you was not the one you currently resided in and it broke your heart to realize that. What more could you give? What more would be possible for him to finally understand how much hurt he was putting you through? Questions that would hold no answers, continued to rush through your mind the longer you stood in the kitchen. Your cup of tea had gone cold three hours ago.

It was the echo of the door opening that brought you back to the present, shutting the door on everything you’d been processing.

“My love I-” He froze, eyes falling to the suitcase that sat by your feet and how you still hadn’t turned around to face him yet. “Is something the matter?”

A plan that you’d been concocting for months suddenly felt so transparent. You felt so transparent. Could he not see the way your heart was only held together by a few strings? Was your pain hidden that well? Wiping at the tears that fell down your cheeks you turned to face him, eyes red from the incessant amount of crying you’d endured as you packed a single bag. The rest of your things would be too hard to take with you.

They reminded you of the man who still hadn’t entered the room fully. His coat open and unbuttoned as a sprinkling of snow dusted his shoulder covered by the black wool fabric.

“When you left Asgard…” you began, already feeling your throat begin to close up as the tears filled your eyes once more.

“What’s going on?”

“Loki,” you sighed, shutting your eyes for a moment. Just to forget the pain that surged through you as he stepped closer. “I’m done.”

“Why do you have a bag?” He moved closer until he was mere inches away within reaching distance. Oh how you wished you could fall into his arms that once felt so comforting to the touch. “Done? I don’t understand.”

“I can’t keep pretending that I’m not hurting!” The words spilled free quicker than you expected them too, but they had to be said eventually. You’d rather tell him the truth now so he could understand what the past few months did to you. How it broke your soul with each moment, each lie, each unloved look he sent your way.

“My love,” he breathed, shifting closer and raising his hand to your cheek with a hesitation he’d never held in his body before. “Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

Begging, pleading, bargaining. These were things that Loki refused to do in order to live his life, but with you...he’d do whatever it took to get you to smile again. To wipe the pain free from your expression along with the tears that continued to stream down your face.

“Things would be so much easier if we were honest with each other.“ Your eyes met his, the crystalline blue that you’d grown to love. Just as beautiful as any winter day, but today they were clouded by the anguish that you felt. “I’m tired of the lies, of waiting for you to return to me. You left Asgard to be with me Loki and yet I feel like you regret that choice.”

“I would never regret choosing you,” he replied with so much steadiness in his voice you nearly believed him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

His hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head back in order to look him in the eyes completely. “Lies are not something I tell you. To anyone else, yes, but you...never you.”

“Then why - why have you been doing just that to me for months?”

“I-”

Pulling away you scrubbed at your eyes, grabbing the suitcase and preparing to step around him, but his arm blocked your way. “Let me go Loki.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to!” Shoving his arm away you headed for the door before something latched onto your wrist. A piece of his magic that you didn’t like one bit. Duplicating himself to keep you in the same room while he made his way over to you; before the trick would make you smile, grow warm at the thought that he couldn’t bear you leaving.

Only now you feel cold.

“When have I lied to you? Tell me so I can rectify that situation.”

His insistence began to tip you over the edge slightly until you were bursting at the seams, the anger, pain, sadness, it all accrued with each passing day. Until you could no longer hold it in any longer. Turning to face him you set him with a glare that burned straight right through his body, searing his soul with your fury.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you love me.”

He stopped, mouth open and eyes wide. “What-”

“If you’ve never lied to me. Then tell me you love me. Tell me that every moment spent with you these past few months has not been a lie!” You willed your mouth to close, to keep your emotions to yourself, but how could you? When the pain was overflowing, spilling itself onto the kitchen floor before you.

The silence was deafening as seconds slowed and there you were. Back in a situation that broke you too much to remain in. Letting out a shaky breath you blinked away the tears, nodding in understanding before turning back towards the door. Ready to leave him behind; to give up the fight that was loving him.

“You were asleep.” You stopped two feet away from the entrance. “The first time I said it to you was when you were asleep.”

The echo of his footsteps hit your ears and yet you couldn’t move. Not when he pressed himself behind you, reaching down to entwine his fingers with yours and slowly take the suitcase out of your hand. You wanted to fight him on it, push him away, but it was no use. He’d render you immobile with a single confession.

“It was last month,” he whispered against your skin, cheek pressed against your head. “I had never seen anyone look so beautiful and all I could think about was how I would never want another sight in my life but you. So I kissed you and said those words my love.”

“Loki-”

“Let me finish,” he breathed, voice thick with emotion. His forehead resting on the back of your head. “I love you, my beautiful sunshine. I have loved you since I saw you the first time standing and watching the ocean waves.” You remembered that day. How you’d nearly hit him with your bike as he was walking down the street in a black suit. “I will love you every day and you may walk out this door if you wish. You can leave, but know that I did not lie to you. I will never do such a thing. Not to the person who holds my heart in their hands.”

You should have walked away, because you knew it was already too late. Except you felt the way your heart slowly began to put itself back together. How his words, his touch kept you stable. Turning around you gripped the back of his neck and dragged his lips to yours in a kiss that made him stumble until you were pressed against the door. His hands immediately gripped whatever part of you he could reach fast enough.

“I love you,” you whispered, breathing heavily as his lips trailed down towards the opening of your shirt. “Forever.”

He smiled, those crystalline eyes meeting yours once more with an emotion you’d seen before but could never identify. Only now as he whispered his love into your skin and held you close did you realize that the look had been love. All this time. Gripping him close you felt him begin to walk backwards until it was his back pressed against a wall. The movement nearly shook the picture frames off the nails.

“My love,” he murmured. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” you replied, smiling back at him. “Never again. Just as long as you don’t lie to me.”

“How can I, when you read me better than anyone alive?”

Nudging your nose with his, you kissed him quickly, fingers twining with his again. “I would hope so.”

“I’m yours.” Hands pulled you behind him gently, leading you to the bedroom you’d made into yours and his. “Forever.”

“As am I,” you said, allowing him to prove his love to you as many times as he thought possible. Until the sun came up and another day started anew.

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fic #loki one shot #loki request #loki drabble #loki imagine #loki #loki laufeyson #my writing

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youarestellarverse · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday - Grover&Percy 4/20 fic

Ack, I forgot it was Wednesday! Whoops.

I present bonding over pot brownies.

"I remember you telling me once that you thought of yourself as my protector."

"I never really stopped." Grover, his smile turning confessional, drapes his arm over the back of the couch. "I just try not to nag you so much, especially now that you have a boyfriend who'll do it for me."

Percy grabs onto Grover's hand like they're little kids.

"It baffled me back then, but I get it now," he says, strangled. Maybe he'd be embarrassed, if he weren't so stoned. "I need you, dude. I can't talk to anyone the way I can talk to you— not even Jason. I'd be a total mess if I didn't have you in my life."

"I'm glad he's there for you when I can't be." Grover might be choking up a little too, or maybe the effects of the pot just make Percy perceive his eyes as especially reflective. "I need you, too. No matter what, I'm proud to call you my best friend. You could decide to drop out of school and become a garbage collector¹, and I'd still respect and admire you. You're my brother, man. I love you, and nothing's going to change that."

It's as though Grover's presence is a weighted blanket, heavy and warm. His smile is a sunbeam piercing cloud cover, and his voice is the color of wild, ripe strawberries, so dark red they're nearly maroon. Sweet, familiar, vibrant.

"I could drop out," Percy repeats. "It's still before the cutoff date, so I'd get all my money back."

Grover, seeming to understand that he's hit on something, nods encouragingly.

"Iris has been hinting about promoting you to shift manager at the cafe anyway, hasn't she? You could take on some more hours, save up a little money—"

"—and move in with Jason sooner."

"Which would make him very happy," Grover adds. "And also make Thalia happy, because then you don't have to use her apartment for all of your trysts."

Percy feels his face fall. Grover raises a curious, worried eyebrow.

"Thinking of Thalia reminds me of my mom," Percy explains miserably, sliding down the couch and resting his head in Grover's lap. "I don't want to let her down. She worked so hard to make sure I'd succeed."

"That just means you have to change your definition of success." Grover puts a comforting hand on Percy's head. "Right now, success is taking some time off from school because it's making you miserable, and focusing on your job and your family instead because those things make you happy."

Percy can almost hear it in his mom's voice. He closes his eyes and lets Grover braid his hair— which is hilarious, when he realizes his joke to her became prophetic.

"You're the smartest person I know."

"Counting your Ivy League boyfriend?"

"He's told me about a million times he only got in because his dad is an alum." Percy cracks open one eye. "Which is probably true, although I do think he could have gotten in on merit. The point is, he's a close runner up, but that's not the kind of smart I'm talking about anyway. He's brain-smart. You're heart-smart."

For a second time, Percy blames the brownie for his emotional outburst, but he likes laughing uncontrollably over his own (probably not actually) brilliant pun a lot better than bawling over a broken guitar string.

Grover collapses with him, which is the cherry on top of the brownie sundae.

Eventually, they open Grover's laptop and find a stream of the Lions versus Crimson. Jason's in, and he's on fire— he leads Columbia to a landslide victory, which makes Percy's soul glow with pride.

Grover dozes off shortly after the game wraps. Percy can feel the weed encouraging him to do the same, but there's something he has to do first.

He's not sure if the text he sends Jason's burner makes any sense, but he's pretty sure he manages the general idea. His phone is still in his hand when he falls under.

¹ This is a reference to a classic by antistar_e called Ten Things Percy Loves About Having Sex, which I highly recommend and consider a formative influence on my writing style!

Presently just under 5600 words.

@elaborateruses @perseusjackson-jasongrace 😘

#wip wednesday #i wrote this #grovercy bromance #(no slash but not in a slashphobic way)#actually that's a lie there's a little slash it's just not grovercy slash #the point here is to manage ship expectations #grovercy is a great ship this just isn't that particular fic #ANYWAY #I'm a little discombobulated #fictional marijuana references

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otp-holic · 3 years ago

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Will this be the night? (ALSO IN A03)

A random piece of online advertising unleashes some movie memories of a Summer afternoon in 1932

1.5 Ks Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3) Silly drabble born from my love of classic movies... that ended up not having anything to do with classic movies.

BROOKLYN'S KING'S THEATRE

Poster for Cary Grant's Retrospective. Printed paper 2025.

A poster for the upcoming month long celebration of the movies of Cary Grant to be held in Brooklyn.

Bucky is not expecting a vivid memory of the past to jump at him from a piece of online location-targeted promotion popping on his phone as he and Steve are wandering around the neighborhood on a random Friday.

But the 21st century works in mysterious ways and Google is kindly inviting him to check “Cary Grant: A Celebration”, a month-long chronological retrospective of all his movies taking place at a nearby hipster cinema starting… in half an hour.

He beams as a long string of memories of the both of them in different afternoons and movies plays in his head; how they counted the cents for the admission price, and how Bucky learned to sneak into the movie every time that did not add up to two full tickets.

“Buck, you’ve been smiling at your phone in silence for a whole minute,” Steve interrupts his daydreaming. “Should I be jealous? Worried?”

“Sorry,” he answers, still smiling about the memories. “I think I’m leaving you for Google, they see inside my one hundred years old soul; But I might give you another chance if you don’t mind a change of plans for the afternoon.”

“Lead the way, but can you give me some heads up?” Steve chuckles, more than used to Bucky’s ways.

He takes Steve’s hand to direct them towards the movie theatre and thinks about how much information he wants to share.

Although he is the one who still relies on the comfort of 30s and 40s movies whereas Steve keeps getting bolder with his options, Steve has always loved Cary Grant and Bucky thinks he’s going to appreciate his choice since this particular movie has a history (sad history, maybe) for them, so he debates on whether to tell him or not.

“We are going to the movies. But the real ones, not that shit on Netflix you keep choosing,” he settles for half-disclosure.

“Damn, mister life in black and white strikes again. Embrace the 21st century, Barnes, I think you’ll like it!”, Steve laughs.

“Hey, I embrace it more than you do! At least I look the part of a mid-thirties man from it instead of a fifty-year-old hiding in fucking khakis. Albeit a very hot one, I’ll give you that.”

They both laugh. It’s not the first time these remarks fly between them and having a routine, running jokes, and running pet peeves is very soothing after everything they have gone through.

They’re getting closer to the cinema now, and Bucky can already see the Billboard announcing the retrospective and a small queue forming upfront. He takes a side look at Steve to see if he has noticed and he can certainly tell that his curiosity has peaked.

“Surprise! Call it a win-win, it might be up my alley, but you used to love Cary Grant movies,” Bucky smiles as they reach their place in the queue and glance at the program for the afternoon.

‘This is the Night (1932)’, the poster says, ‘Cary Grant's feature film debut on the big screen’

Bucky is deep in nostalgia, remembering a summer day of 32 when they were waiting in line for the same film and how the evening turned out, but when he looks in search of his partner’s reaction, it’s not what he expected at all.

“Steve, you ok?” he asks, worried at seeing Steve frozen in place.

Steve nods. His whole face is deep red, but at least he is responsive. He looks ashamed and Bucky is shifting from worried to curious.

“Jesus, this movie,…” he chuckles now.

“You seem to remember, then. I thought you might.”

It was not a happy memory: Steve had felt really ill halfway through, looking white as a sheet of paper and about to die on Bucky. They had to leave the unfinished movie and run home, as per Steve’s request. But as far as Bucky remembers, nothing to be ashamed of.

“Why are you acting weird? Oh my god, Steven, are you allergic to this movie?”

The silence before Steve answers is a little too long and the queue moves forward.

“Shit, this is not easy to say and I’m sorry in advance.”

“Duly noted, but could you try to explain? I’m lost and I didn’t expect a full-on confession of something to be sorry about when I decided to follow Google’s intelligent advice to an unfinished movie. I just thought it was a good excuse for a change of plans. And kind of closure.”

Steve takes a breath and starts talking.

“I wasn’t honest with you, Buck. Back then…” he stops, searching for words, nervously musing on his beard. “Ah, I cannot believe this hasn’t come up at some point, but there it goes. I absolutely lied to you that day: I wasn’t sick or half dying and I am very very guilty of using my poor health to run away from that place and that movie, but I did the only thingI could think of.”

Bucky is at a loss for words, he’s still deciding if he is angry, curious, or somewhere in between.

“But… but you were feverish and white as a ghost and you said you had palpitations!”

Steve seems to think for a moment again and the bastard laughs so loud they get a curious look from the people behind. And taking advantage of the queue moving up again, he gets really really close to Bucky who honestly thinks he’s going to try to kiss himself out of the situation since it’s a bulletproof strategy.

But he doesn’t: He goes for Bucky’s ear instead, and whispers.

“I had a boner like you wouldn’t believe.”

Bucky gasps loudly totally taken aback while Steve takes a step back and looks at him in the eye more amused and hungry than ashamed, but still blushing.

“But hey, not all lies! I was somehow sick. And pale since my blood was… otherwise occupied. And I was barely 14!”

Bucky laughs at the dork. His dork. But the information is still making its way into his brain.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims as it starts to settle, “You piece of shit, you pulled the poor sick child card when you were just plain horny. I was worried to my bones as we run to your home. Shame on you Rogers!”

“Me? It was your fucking fault! Yours and Cary Grant’s and your stupid grins and stupid chins, those clefts!” he’s screaming in whispers so Steve Rogers’ teenage boner doesn’t make it to the news, but he’s talking as if he was pronouncing an important speech to the UN, “What was a 14-year-old in the fucking 30s popping one upon seeing an actor who kind of looked like a very tall version of his very male best friend to do?”

He is about to say something, but Steve literally covers his mouth with one hand giving Bucky no other option but to stick his tongue and lick the palm.

“Gross, Buck. I’m not done!”, he dries his hand on Buckys’ shirt before he goes on. “I’m not done because as I was still processing all that, you kept brushing your goddamned hand with mine when you went for popcorn! Over and over and over. It was torture. I have palpitations now just thinking about it.”

Bucky full-on laughs. One of those real ones that come more and more lately and that he honestly thought he would never get to experience again.

They have reached the box office, so he doesn’t push it further. For now.

“Two tickets for `This is the Night´, please.” Bucky smiles at the box-office guy. “He is paying, tho. I paid last time we tried to see this one and he didn’t have the decency to stay until the end.”

He actually feels like a teen as Steve takes his hand into the theatre, as he very intentionally buys popcorn to share, and as they start full-on making out on their seats during the commercials once the lights are out.

“Wanna know another secret, Buck?” Steve whispers a few minutes later, eyes on the starting movie as he brushes Bucky’s hand with intention over the popcorn bucket. His flustered face and recently kissed lips bathed by dancing lights and shadows coming from the screen. “It’s a good thing we were already together in ‘38 when “Bringing up baby” came out because I was able to plan ahead and lure you into that memorable window fuck at our old apartment before the show, or we would have totally missed one of our favorite movies, too.”

Bucky hates Steve with the force of the universe. Or maybe not, but he’s not playing clean.

“Raincheck on the movie?” he manages to whisper back as he drives Steve’s hand to his already noticeable hard-on. Two can play this game.

“Oh, poor Buck. Do you have palpitations” Steve chuckles, lips wet on Bucky’s ear and gripping harder on his bulge instead of letting go. “Was that the memory of the window fuck? Or all the making out? Tell me so I don’t do it again.”

“You are a punk, Steve Rogers,” Bucky answers before standing up to leave, closely followed by a smiling Steve.

Argh, sorry for deleting and uploading again, but i had technical issues with this.... so here it goes again. I need to free myself from this one!

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the-anxiety-ridden-writer · 3 years ago

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knives on my body, blood on my hands

Chapter One: The House At The End of The Street, The Cabin Buried in the Woods

THE CLOCK HAS BARELY TICKED PAST NINE O’CLOCK when the last light flickers off. Ink black shadows swell in the thin backstreets whilst gray storm clouds obscure any light coming from the shining moon.

The old town plunges into darkness and hidden within it, a little girl revels in it. Tilts her head back and let’s the beginnings of the storm wash over her, as if the rain water that begins to seep into her very being can wash away the red that has stained her soul.

(It can’t, the blood on her hands will transcend lifetimes)

A bright clash of lightning brings her out of her thoughts. She melts into the shadows and continues on her way, making her way down the street with eerie silent footsteps.

Perhaps a lesser man would have stumbled down the street, unable to walk the burrard street without tripping over himself. But the little girl moves with a silent grace in her step, weaving around the bumps and cracks even when she can barely see the boots on her feet.

The training of her handlers, years spent in the Hydra and The Red Room overcoming her. She could walk the streets - could walk a path around the world and still carry the deadly grace and efficiency that they had beaten into given her.

Besides, the little girl was just The Asset to her handlers, Hydra’s own personal Angel Smerti. She was no man, much less one of low value.

The house at the end of the street is quiet when she enters it. The screams of the lightning hide the soft whine of the window when she opens it and the creak of the wooden floorboards when she lands on them.

The Asset squints her eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness and trail over the bookshelf lined walls. She stepped towards the oak desk, lifting one of the files scattered on the surface. She let her eyes scan the pages within before setting it down, letting the words winter soldier, car crash, two victims and serum mull over in her head before filtering it away for later, a loud clatter pulling her attention to the doorway.

A poison slick dagger is already soaring through the air and embedding itself in the figure before she can fully get a good look at them. The figure - a frail, old man with thinning white hair - stumbles back from the force of the knife, dark eyes widening in fear as the Asset stalks over to him.

She gives him quick once over, letting her eyes roam over the man as his muscles begin to tense up until he can’t move at all, until he is nothing but a mere puppet that the Asset can pull all the strings of. A puppet that the Asset can cut all the strings off of.

She carefully ignores how those last thoughts bring a small sense of dread and horror that pools in her stomach. Turn her head to the voice telling her ‘what’s one more body to add to the pile?’ And the voice asking her ‘just how monstrous have you become?’

(too much, far too much for someone her age)

The man finds his voice, previously lost in a sea of gasps and whimpers, “Please.” he begs, eyes wide, a wrinkled hand pressed to the dagger buried within his stomach.

“Please don’t ki-“ the Asset cuts him off, yanking the dagger out and shoving it into his throat. It doesn’t take long for the old man to leave these mortal planes, drifting off to be judged by an otherworldly being that can distinguish a saint and a sinner and never the between. To the otherworldly being that thinks he has any right to judge the actions of a human being trying to survive.

No, Death has never discriminated between the saints and the sinners.

‘And neither shall I’ the Asset thinks, ripping her dagger from his throat to slip back into the many holsters that cover her clothing.

She lugs the old man into the study, manhandling his body into the smooth leather chair, resting his head upon the oak desk, staining the folders with his blood. She stepped back, observing her work with a critical eye. It almost looked like the poor man had fallen asleep at his desk, if you - you know - ignore the blood.

The Asset eyed the scented candles perched atop one of the bookshelves, promptly labeled Cinnamon Sugar! Warm Spring Sunshine! and Peach! The Asset raised an eyebrow, an idea coming to mind.

An idea that would end in the echoing cries of firetruck sirens throughout the quaint street, the horrified muttering of neighbors and the ashes of an old man's study.

•☽○☾•

IT’S DAWN by the time the Asset makes her way back to where her handler—a sleazy, middle aged man that she hadn’t taken the time to remember his name—is currently based.

The sky is a disarray of colors, the sun spilling a cup of bright yellows and exotic oranges over the previously dark canvas. The Asset finds herself staring up at it, and feels a deep longing begin to stir. For the sky ran everywhere. It ran through the deepest of forests and the driest of deserts and over the endless waves of the ocean. The sky ran everywhere, demanding to be seen and heard and free and the Asset found herself envying it.

Truth be told, there used to be a fire in the Assets soul, before she was called Asset and went by the name that had been sewn into a velvet blanket by a woman that may have cared. It would burn through her veins, close to her heart and on days when her trainers would be harder on her than the rest for her heritage or when one of the girls - a pretty blond who went by Rowena - would make a cruel remark about the shape of her eyes, she’d let the fire consume her, let it burn through her and come out of her mouth, searing into them, until Rowena wept ugly tears into her hands and the trainers unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks before demanding an apology. The Asset can’t remember if the girl with her name sewn into a blanket had ever apologized, had never wanted to dwell too much on those memories.

(she hadn’t, the girl took all the pain and torture with her head held high. she refused to apologize for the fire in her soul. )

The Asset shook those thoughts away as the cabin her handler—Ivan Vanko—had holed himself up in came into sight. Just the sight of it, and the thought of facing Ivan had her straightening her posture, wiping any sign of weariness and schooling her face until there were no cracks in her porcelain mask, nothing for Ivan to dig into to expose all her thoughts.

There’s no noise when she enters, the door shutting silently behind her. She tenses, tilting her head to the side before pulling out one of her knives. Moving down the hall, she keeps her senses sharp, With no idea who she’s up against, she waits, muscles wound tight and her mouth a hard line, eyes darting around the slim hallway walls. She doesn’t have to wait long.

A hand thrusts out of the first doorway to her right, a strong pull has her flying through the air and losing the grip on her knife. Pain erupted in her shoulder but she didn't give it the time of day. Instead she rolls to her feet, springing up and throwing every ounce of her strength into the flying kick that sends her assailant slamming into the wall with a yell of pain.

The Asset lets herself breathe, if only for a second. Her eyes assess her assailant — a well dressed man with balding hair — cataloging every weakness she can find, from the way he favors his right side to the fading bruise on his right temple, while he lay recovering.

This time, when he lunged for her, she is ready.

She side steps his attack, digging her knee into his injured side, and sends a sharp elbow into his already bruised face. A loud crack echoes in the room, and when he stumbles back, a scream of pain that can only come from deep within himself, a small twisted part of her is pleased to see his nose is far from the correct position.

Adrenaline thumps through herself, a synchronized sympathy that plays in tempo with her heart. When both he and his little friend that had been waiting, watching in the shadows of the room lunge at her, she already knows who the victor of this battle will be.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is where their dance begins. Or rather, her dance begins.

She dodges his friend's attack, turning and arching her leg in the air, slamming it into assailant number two — a short woman who was barely taller than The Asset — side. It leaves her stumbling back, groaning as she falls like a corpse into the glass table in the center of the room.

The Asset grunts as strong arms encircle her, lifting her up, up, up. She grunts, moving her arm up and once again digging her elbow in his face. It connects with his eye this time, the action leaving him stumbling back, clutching his hand to his eye. The Asset doesn’t give him time to recover, doesn’t have enough sympathy, enough empathy, enough mercy in the body that has been crafted with the fists and guns and needles of the men and women who have used her, trained her, killed her.

It’s why the dagger slips so easily out of its concealed holster and into the man's chest. A cry of agony is silenced with the arc of her leg, her foot connecting with his Adam's apple. He toppled over, hands held to his chest as if he can relieve the pain that she has brought to his body.

She stared him down, the soft creak of wood under her foot echoed like screams around the room. She plants one foot on his chest, pressing down as she pulls the dagger from his chest, baring her teeth behind her ninja-esque mask as he screams.

She leaves the man there, bleeding, beaten, broken and goes to find her handler.

AN: I don’t know what this is, but it’s dumb. I’m also dumb tho and I’m thinking of adding on.

Special thanks to @unmaskedagain , @nightlychaotic and @nobodyfamousposts for introducing me to maribat. I love all of your maribat posts.

Tag list: @avengerthewarrior , @nightlychaotic

#mlb x marvel #assassin marinette #Marinette is the asset #hyrda #maribat #but later #marinette dupain cheng #mlb x dc #marinette is the Asset #in case that wasn’t clear

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luvsicksubs · 4 years ago

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꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

heat - kyotani kentarou

warnings: pegging, reader is so goddamn mean, making fun of maddog for being maddog, brat!kyo </3, fem!reader

this is based off that one post

a/n: hello! this scene is pretty intense at some parts and can read as dubcon (brat-taming has a tendency for that but it’s all consensual between these two) so im gonna put the warning

also, when practicing bdsm - please practice being safe, sane and consensual . make sure you have a system for you and your partner to communicate your headspace during the scene. don’t be afraid to safeword, dom or sub and practice good communication.

this fic has reader use the greenlight system, a common safeword system in bdsm. green for go, yellow for slow down, and red for hard stop.

i’ve included a little scene of aftercare for context of the reader and kyo’s relationship and for everyone to have a peace of mind. take care of your sub boys and take care of your doms <3

“C’mon, Kyo - why don’t you fuckin give it up already?,”

You slam your hips forward, forcing Kyoutani forward on his elbows and knees. His hole clenches so tightly it’s hard to move, yet your pace remains relentless. You checked in just before, that he wants this despite himself but you can’t deny how fun this is to tease him.

“Fuck off,” he barks through gritted teeth. You laugh, tone incredibly arrogant as you rest your forehead on his shoulder. You angle your hips, wrapping one around his cock and toying with the ring as you set a pace before simple wrapping your first around it. He groans, his voice coming out in sporadic grunts and broken moans.

You’e waiting on it - the moment Kyotani simply breaks out of his facade and admits to himself how much he likes all this. All signs point to yes, but your Kyo is nothing if not a fighter. He grits his teeth so hard he feel like he might break his jaw, thinking for a second you’re showing him mercy. Instead, your using your hands to spread his ass apart before giving deep and long strokes. The angle upward presses right against his prostate and oh fuck - his elbows give out from pleasure. His face is buried in your sheets, hands clutching at something.

“Color?,”

“Green,”

He’s so weak right now, you manage to keep both of his arms behind him as you continue your maddening pace. The pressure in his stomach is only building and he needs to cum so bad. He won’t like this.

“Your ass is so fucking tight baby,” you say giving it a harsh hit. The stinging makes him bite his lip as desire floods him

“Your cock is practically fucking drooling all over my hands,” you make note of as you jerk him off at an equally slow pace. He swears in strings under his breath, unable to keep his composure. ‘

“How fucking filthy are you, Kyo? You’re rock hard cause you’ve got your girlfriend fucking you like some cheap broad - and you’re loving every second of it,”

“Fuck you,”

“Dunno, Mad-Dog - the way you’re sucking me up right now tells me you’re liking this a hell of a lot more,”

“Shit, no way - I’m not liking this,”

“Tell me to stop then why don’t you? If you hate it so much, you know I’d never make you. You asked me, remember? Asked me to fuck this tight little thing and make you cum untouched like the bitch in heat that you are,”

“Shut up, fuck,” pleasure courses through him at hearing your gruff words. You always treat him so sweetly but it’s making him dizzy to hear you like this. So fucking mocking, and disrespectful as you pound him so hard and so good the back of his thighs are stinging.

His cock is so angry and aching. Everything in him is burning dizzy with the feeling of your cock stretching him out and filling his stomach. It feels like you’re in his spine with the way your angled. He needs to cum. He needs to cum so hard against your hand and make a mess and then he needs to do it a hundred times over to get some relief.

“Come on love. It’s just me and you here. I’m the only one whose gonna fill you up like this so don’t go worrying about it - your boys aint gonna hear it from me,” you say cheekily.

Kyotani is trying so hard to hold it in. Some kind of involuntary reaction washes over him painfully and he can feel nothing coming out but that familiar feeling. Holy shit - he thought that only happened in porn.

“Can’t help but be curious about your boys might think if they knew their mad-dog was some bitch. See you get so riled up and whiny over dick like you’re a dumb slut just might make ‘em laugh,”

His dick twitches mindlessly again, how fucking embarrassing. You whistle under your breath and Kyotani feels his soul leave his body.

You pick your pace again, making his stomach lay flat on the bed as you press on the lower parts of his spine and fuck some sense into him for the last time. Sweat is beading down his forehead in concentration You lean down, licking the shell of his ear before whining.

“Gonna milk that pretty cock of yours dry tonight no matter what it takes Kyo,” you say, pressing even harder on his back. He cries out, unable to escape the feeling.

“Admit to me you like it and I’ll reward you by touching you - if not, I’ll make sure and find some other ways. Mmkay?,”

“Fuck, fuck - yes, it feels so good. Feels so fucking good when you fuck me with your cock now please, please touch me. Please make me cum before I lose my mind,” he babbles, his voice thoroughly wrecked. Your core burns with desire as you laugh.

“Got it, baby. Flip over me,”

And he does, laying on his back, you make him hold his legs up and fuck the daylight out of him, spitting in your hands and sliding it over his dick with ease. Now everything happens quickly, so quickly Kyotani barely has sight of you. When you lean over him, he wraps his arms around your neck and moans brokenly through his orgasm. Drool is dry on the corner of his lips and his face is entirely crimson. So fucked out he can barely meet your eyes.

“God, nggh, shit - it’s,”

He shoots hot white so far that hits your chest and drips on his. He almost yells, vision going bleary for a few seconds too long as you guide him through his orgasm.

He returns to his senses in a few troubling moments. As soon as he feels you pull out, he shudders at the emptiness and drags your frame over him. He’s clingy after sex always, but especially at times like this.

“You okay?,”

“Hn,”

[aftercare]

Kyotanis heartbeat is slow. After he came, you showered together and chatted softly about nothing. He washed your hair and clung close the whole time, clearly exhausted. Thoroughly tuckered out, he now is laying in your side. Face buried in your neck. It’s this part that’s still hard for Kyotani, that you love him so much to still stay after all the sex. It feels so goo to be here like this, he almost wants to run away. It’s terrifying to wear his hear on his sleeve.

But you make it so easy. You make it all better, and he does the same for you by trusting you. To love, and be loved.

“How was it, baby? Did I do okay?,”

He sighs, nodding.

“You always do fuckin’ great,” he says with no malice. Strong arms are secured around your middle, a sign you aren’t going anywhere tonight and you laugh.

“Nothing was too much, right? The boys comment i was worried about,”

He moves to look up at you, shaking his head. He grins wickedly, pinching your sides.

“I know you’d never really do that, too soft - but it was hot when you threatened me,”

You giggle at that, and his smile becomes genuine as it settles into your sides. You run your hands along the prickly hairs on his head, humming.

“You did really good too baby. I’m so proud of you,”

He doesn’t respond to that, just huffs and tightens his grip. He knows you mean it, so no words are exchanged for a while.

“Did you cum?,”

You’re surprised by the sudden question and prying eyes. It’s small but it’s how you know he cares.

“Not yet. I was gonna take care of it later since you seemed -”

He immediately scoots himself between your thighs, resting his cheek on your bare thigh and looking at you with another wild smile.

“Can I have my reward then?,”

You smile at him. Still your good boy then, asking for permission. He seems exhausted but he still wants to take care of you and you’re inclined to let him. You nod, yawning a little as you pull your panties to the side.

“Eat up, baby,” you add slickly. He mumbles a heavy thanks before doing just as you ask.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

#kyotani x you #kyotani x y/n #kyotani x reader #kyotani kentaro x reader #kyotani kentaro x y/n #kyotani kentaro x you #kyotani imagine #kyotani imagines #kyotani kentaro imagines #kyotani kentaro imagine #sub!kyotani #k; pegging #k; degradation #aftercare inclusive #I LOVE THIS FIC #rlly i just love kyo but whatever dude #here u guy everyone in my askbox sjdkhj

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