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seasidesandstarscapes · 6 months ago

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Holiday Spirit

Summary: Don's just fine with his friendship with Bobby despite his yearning. Then he gets a couple of texts that definitely weren't meant for him.

Things can only get better from here.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Modern AU, Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Pics, Holiday Theme (in the bg)

Words: 2526

A/N: for @b00ks1ut !! mery chrysler

AO3

Don should be used to this by now.

The bitter Seattle winter rolls in and he still doesn’t dress right for the first practice in an ice storm. His hands are numb, his hair is clumped in frozen chunks, and the thought of warming up is the only solace getting him through this.

That and Bobby.

Bobby is a shivering mess in front of him, not even allowed the grace of rowing to keep warm. But his eyes shine, his yells through the mic don’t falter. Don can’t help but admire his spirit and he lets his breath warm the cold air when Bobby smiles at him.

“On my go-ahead, Hume, baby.”

Don brings up the pace with ease at Bobby’s command, face flushed at the pet-name, the praise that follows after. Despite the pelting ice, the boys break their record from the day before and the cold air is a comfort as the fire burns low in Don’s chest.

He’s not sure why he keeps denying himself year after year. Bobby is a gentleman. If he doesn’t feel the same, their friendship will continue on like always. Yet. Don has settled into his longing, an old friend he’s not quite ready to get rid of yet.

“Can you come over for dinner?” Don asks as they change in the locker room.

Bobby’s smile is strained and he shakes his head. “Got other plans. But rain check?”

Don nods, curious to what could be so important for Bobby to not jump at the chance to hang out. Then again, the holidays are in full blast. Bobby is on every committee imaginable, planning multiple parties. The fact that they ever see each other at all during December is a miracle within itself.

So, Don ends up in his shared apartment with Chuck, the two playing video games as the night wears on.

“This gonna be the year?” Chuck asks, eyes glued to the screen.

“What do you mean?” Don’s focus wavers. He knows, but still he has to ask.

Chuck laughs a little, manages to score on Don in his moment of distraction. “Telling Bobby you want to date him, man. I don’t know why you keep putting it off.”

Don scowls as he mashes the buttons on his controller. Chuck had the upper hand and his usual combinations aren’t working.

“Look,” Chuck pauses the game and Don is left to stare at the stilted screen. “I know Bobby likes you. He hasn’t said it out loud, but the way he looks at you…the fact that he always makes time for you? That counts for a lot.”

Don hums in response, looks down at his hands. He can’t explain his indifference. He loves Bobby, desperately so, but he’s come to accept that they’ll just continue on like they always have. And that’s more than fine with him. They cuddle, he lets Bobby steal more than a few sweaters, and as far as friendship goes, Don has been truly lucky. Bobby knows him inside out, he’s the one person Don can confide in for everything.

Except this one glaring point.

Chuck sighs, defeated, and gets up to go to the kitchen. Don isn’t sure what to say, but it doesn’t matter as his phone pings and he sees a couple of messages from Bobby come in. Don is quick to open up his phone and ends up almost choking.

Bobby has sent a picture of himself lying on his bed. He’s on his stomach, the angle just enough to catch that Bobby isn’t wearing anything except red panties. The text underneath is even more teasing.

Wanna come over and open your gift?

Don’s eyes go wide and he grips onto his phone for dear life. This can’t be real, this is all a dream and then the onslaught occurs.

SHIT I’M SO SORRY DELETE FUCK

A part of Don wants to laugh. He’s been terrified of making the same mistake and it’s a bit of a relief that Bobby did it first.

“What’s got you all wired up?” Chuck asks as he comes back to the living room.

Don tries to think of a response but then his phone rings. With a shrug, Don all but sprints to the sanctuary of his bedroom, making sure the door is shut before answering.

“Don, I’m so sorry,” Bobby is breathless. “Just forget about what you saw. That was meant for someone else.”

“It’s alright,” Don smiles. There is an ache in his heart but he ignores it. “Totally forgotten. Won’t tell a soul.”

Bobby takes a few breaths and there’s a thump as if he’s fallen onto his bed. “Thanks. Must’ve been our shitty practice fucking up my fingers.”

“Shitty? I thought we did alright,” Don jokes and this makes Bobby laugh.

“Yeah, of course you did. You guys are amazing.”

Don’s chest warms and he leans back against his door. “So, you getting some tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Bobby sighs. “Kinda don’t want to send her the pic after all this.”

“Do it anyway. You looked cute.”

Don’s stomach drops as he realizes what just left his mouth. He stammers through an excuse but his mouth and brain refuse to work together.

“Hot—I mean, for her. I’m sure she thinks you’re great just like I do.”

Don slaps a hand over his face and slides down to the ground. He’s a walking disaster. The silence on the other end is deafening and Don’s panic rises to his chest.

“Are you at home?” Bobby asks at last.

“Yeah?” Don’s voice shakes as if he’s answered wrong question.

“Then get your ass over here.”

Don stares at his phone, making sure he’s still talking to Bobby and not some spam robot.

“Hume, swear to god, if you don’t come and fuck me right now, we’re no longer friends.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Don scrambles to his feet.

He’s a flurry as he shoves on his shoes and grabs his keys. All that runs through his head is Bobby. They’re about to do something ridiculous, he’s sure, but that makes it all the more exciting.

“Have fun,” Chuck calls from the living room with a shit-eating grin.

In response, Don flips him off before skidding out to his car. The roads are clear tonight, but Don still tries to keep his head on. He doesn’t need this to be his last moment on Earth.

When he reaches Bobby’s apartment, he digs out the spare key from its hiding place and enters into a dark room. There’s a sliver of light down the hall, beckoning, but now, Don’s nerves act up. Taking a deep breath, he toes off his shoes, makes his way to Bobby’s bedroom with quiet steps.

When he pushes open the door, the sight before him is all he could have wished for.

Bobby is scrolling through his phone, lying as he was in the picture and still dressed in nothing but that single piece of clothing. Don doesn’t know what he wants to do first as he soaks in the scene before him.

“Creep,” Bobby teases before looking over his shoulder at Don. “Are you just gonna stare or do something about this?”

It’s all the permission Don needs and he strides over to the bed, climbing on to hover over Bobby. On his back now, Bobby wraps his arms around Don’s shoulders, a soft smile on his face.

“Finally came around, huh?”

Don blinks, tilts his head.

“Fuck, Don,” Bobby laughs. “I was waiting for you to say something first. Do you know how hard these past few years have been?”

Elation and regret swarm through Don as he gives Bobby a small, apologetic smile. He was happy as they were, but knowing what he can have, what they can be, it’s overwhelming.

Don kisses Bobby, hopes this says what he needs for now.

Bobby is a tidal wave, crashing into Don and stealing the last of his breath. Their mouths move in tandem, Bobby’s hands knead into his shoulders. Don is drowning in Bobby and he couldn’t ask for anything more. His hands trace along Bobby’s sides until he grabs at his waist, squeezing.

The gasp that leaves Bobby stirs the embers and Don trails his mouth down, biting at Bobby’s neck and then at his chest. He needs to leave his mark, to know that this is real.

Bobby arches into Don’s touch, fingers tangling in his hair. The little tugs send sparks along Don’s spine and he grazes his teeth over Bobby’s nipples.

“Fuck, knew you’d be good,” Bobby sighs, head tipped back.

Amused, Don bites a nipple, just on the edge of too much and Bobby groans. Just hearing it once is not enough. Don teases the other nipple, reaches to rub Bobby through the panties. They’re lace, hardly hiding a thing at all and Don presses his palm down.

“Donny,” Bobby whines, his hands yanking at Don’s hair.

With a low moan, Don kisses down Bobby’s stomach until he has his mouth on the outline of Bobby’s cock. He teases as Bobby writhes on the bed and then slowly pulls off the panties.

Don swallows then. Bobby’s cock is red, weeping as it rests on his stomach but more than that is the green jeweled end of a plug he sees at Bobby’s hole.

“Was she going to peg you?” He can’t help but ask

Bobby snorts, gives Don a playful kick with his foot. “That was the plan until you came along.”

A streak of possession fills Don and he grabs Bobby’s cock, sucking at the head.

Bobby goes speechless then, mouth dropping open, eyes shut tight. Don grins a little before taking more of Bobby in his mouth, his other hand trailing to the plug. Fitting as much of Bobby as he can, Don holds Bobby there before giving the plug a small tug.

The whine that leaves Bobby sends a shiver down Don’s spine and he fiddles with the plug some more. He pulls it out to the part that’s widest, mouths along Bobby’s length as Bobby shakes and spasms.

“Don’t tease, baby,” Bobby begs. “I’m ready for you. I’m so ready.”

Biting his lip, Don shoves the plug back in, loses his breath at Bobby’s stuttered groan. His own cock is straining in his jeans and Don leans back to free himself. Disheveled and glowing, Bobby is a dream sprawled out on the bed. Not a part of him is hidden and Don struggles to get his jeans undone.

“Let me,” Bobby sits up and shuffles forward.

He does what Don can’t, slides the zipper down with a steady hand. Tugging Don’s jeans and boxers to his thighs, Bobby then takes Don in his hand, gives his cock a light stroke.

Don’s body is awash with pleasure and he bucks into Bobby’s hand. Just this alone would be enough.

“Come on, Donny,” Bobby lays back down. “Fill me up.”

Don doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes the plug out of Bobby, his thumb catching the rim to stretch him a little more. He can’t look away, never wants to as he watches Bobby’s hole clench and pulse around nothing.

“Don,” Bobby whines.

Eager doesn’t begin to cut it and Don is quick to find condoms and lube so conveniently on the bedside table. He’ll make a joke about it later but for now, he preps himself before lining his cock up with Bobby’s hole.

“Just put it all in,” Bobby buries his face in his pillow. “I’m good.”

Don believes him but he still pushes in at an agonizing pace. For Bobby at any rate. Bobby cusses Don out, tries to push his hips down to make him go faster, but Don holds him in his place. If he doesn’t take it slow, he’ll come in an instant.

When he’s fully sheathed inside Bobby, Don’s head spins. So tight and warm, Don knows he won’t want anyone else on his cock after this.

“Please, please,” Bobby pitifully begs, his hands twisting in his pillows.

Breathing in, Don grabs hold of Bobby’s hips and starts fucking Bobby at a harsh pace. The bed moves with him, Bobby sliding back and forth on Don’s cock, the headboard thunking against the wall.

Bobby cries out Don’s name, swears and praises him in the same breath. He’s breathtaking like this and Don pulls Bobby up into his lap. With a quick adjustment, Bobby throws his arms around Don, buries his face in his neck as Don snaps his hips up into him.

“Don, Don,” Bobby begins to repeat, as if he’s praying.

Don would be Bobby’s deity if he could, and he crushes him in a tight grip, his release building as they move together. Bobby comes first with a sob, cum splattering both of them, rubbing into their skin as Don keeps his hips going. From Bobby biting along the shell of his ear, to the tight heat around his cock, Don can no longer hold back.

He slams into Bobby with a groan, savors the digging of nails into his back. He’s in their own personal heaven and he doesn’t want to leave so soon.

Bobby is the one to pull back first. The room is quiet, a fragile stillness that could be broken with a single breath. It’s then Bobby looks into Don’s eyes and his stare is pensive, soft.

“This isn’t just a one time thing, right?”

Don swallows, brushes a stray piece of hair away from Bobby’s face. “Not if you’ll have me.”

Bobby laughs a little at this before kissing Don’s cheek. “Such a gentleman. Of course I’ll have you. Any way I can.”

Don’s heart beats steadily in his chest and he hugs Bobby again. If it was possible he’d never let go.

“So, you meeting my folks over winter break?”

Don rolls his eyes with an amused huff. “They already know who I am, Bob.”

“Yeah but this time you’re my boyfriend,” Bobby grins.

Heat rises to Don’s cheeks and he ducks his head, trying to hide his shy smile. It’s all really happening. One minute friends, the next, lovers. Some kind of holiday miracle must be at work.

Don’s coyness only encourages Bobby and he brings Don into another passionate kiss.

“Alright, I’ll see what my parents have planned,” Don says when their kiss ends.

“Perfect,” Bobby whispers against his lips. Then he all but scrambles off of Don. “Come on, let’s shower. I’m feeling gross.”

Don’s wrist is snatched before he can say a thing and he’s dragged into the bathroom. One shower and the changing of sheets later, Don is settled against the headboard with Bobby cuddling into him. At their feet sits a laptop, playing a Christmas movie neither are paying attention to.

With a glance at the window, Don can see a few snowflakes beginning to fall, so stark and brilliant against the dark night. Don smiles to himself and pulls Bobby even closer, placing a kiss on top of his head.

He’s certainly going to have more than enough to keep him warm this winter.

#coxstroke #bobby moch #don hume #bobby moch x don hume #don hume x bobby moch #salix's sideblog escapades #b00ks1ut

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fishfingerpies · 5 months ago

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Chapter 7 fic snippet

Just working on editing Chapter 7 of my fic Follow the Sun, thought I would post a little snippet of one of my favourite parts of it. Think this might be my favourite chapter of the fic so far :D

“It’s my fault,” he eventually manages, pushing the words past his lips like he’s tearing strips from his own skin. “I ruined it.”

George doesn’t so much as blink, though he does finally raise his dark gaze from the table to meet Paul’s. He remains silent, waiting.

“Me and John,” he stumbles on. “Why we’re not getting on. It’s ruined everything, and it’s my fault.” George’s eyes break away, dropping down again to watch his fingertips again, now tracing the patterns of the wood grains in the table. A muscle flexes in his jaw, face contorting a little as he burrows his teeth subtly into the flesh of his inner cheek. It’s been a long time since Paul has paid as much attention to George’s idiosyncrasies as he is now, but he recognizes just as easily as he once would have that he is furious, and the ball of anxiety in his stomach squeezes a little tighter. “What?”

There’s a pause, and Paul can feel the energy of the room twisting, shifting as George decides what to say. George’s deliberations usually end the same way – with him remaining stoic and cold, an emotionless façade hiding what Paul has recently realized is a growing resentment inside. He doesn’t feel ready to face George’s anger, but today, for the first time, he feels that indifference would be even more unbearable, so he presses where he normally wouldn’t. “Just say it, George.”

George’s hands flatten down against the table hard enough to rattle it as he shoves himself to his feet. “Christ, fuck you! Are you even capable of thinking of something other than yourself? Ever?” His tone is so uncharacteristically scathing that Paul can’t help but to flinch. George often speaks bluntly, shortly, snappishly, even, but never with such red hot rage as is rushing out of him now.

“Of course I –” George doesn’t let him defend himself, cutting him off before he can even begin his indignant denial.

“Oh, you love to think that you’re this bloody martyr, that you make all the sacrifices for everyone else, don’t you? You know what I see?”

“I have the feeling that you’re going to tell me.”

“An egotistical, greedy, self-absorbed prick who is completely incapable of understanding anything outside of his own restricted little worldview. That’s what I see.”

Paul is reeling, almost numb with the shock of the sudden confrontation that he’s somehow brought on. George pauses for a breath, and Paul should say something, he needs to say something, but he finds himself speechless at the worst possible time.

“It hasn’t even occurred to you, has it, that this isn’t all about you? Not all about you and John, for once?”

But he told me that he was in love with me, Paul thinks, desperate. And I ruined it.

“You’re just thinking about how wrong I am, aren’t you?” George snarls, somehow only growing angrier. “I’m fucking yelling at you and you still aren’t listening!”

Paul blinks, looks at him.

And oh. He’s right.

“You still can’t look far enough past yourself and John for even one second to see me standing right here, can you Paul?” George shakes his head slowly. The anger drops away and he just looks empty. “You never have been able to. Not since the day you met him.”

Paul feels like a gaping pit has opened up in his stomach. For one dizzying instant, anger rushes in to fill the space and he rises too, shoving his chair back so violently that it falls to the floor with a clatter. As he opens his mouth to snarl back, something hurtful and scathing, intended to make George feel small, his eyes snag on the twist of his mouth and a stray thought catches him, sends him staggering. George isn’t only mad, he’s hurt.

Paul takes a deep breath, steadies himself. Gathers his thoughts. “I’m – sorry, George. I’m listening now.”

#the beatles #ao3 fanfic #mclennon #fic writing

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vivrantth1ng · 5 months ago

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She Speaks Through Dreams

In one moment, I am submerged in a tranquil abyss of sleep, where thoughts do not stir and peace envelops every corner of my being. The next, I find myself hovering outside the shell of my own body, a distant observer to the silent convulsions of my heart—a heart that aches with wonder, yet stumbles blindly in its pursuit of clarity.

Our journey begins in a mountain town conjured from the ephemeral substance of dreams. The landscape is an illusion of perfection, a glittering facade that shimmers with an unnatural beauty. It is a place where every desire is catered to, yet beneath its surface, the seeds of division are already taking root. Though we travel together, he is conspicuously absent from my side. My gaze wanders, catching sight of a creature in the distance—a grotesque contradiction, a distortion of nature. Its form is tall, almost human, yet cloaked in fur the color of dying autumn leaves. Its legs are those of a man, strong and purposeful, but its hands end in claws, sharp and menacing. I name it a wolverine, though it is far more than that—a harbinger of the future, a thing deceptively soft yet capable of rending me to pieces in a heartbeat.

As the group fractures and splinters, my thoughts remain tethered to you. Initially, they are innocuous, drifting through mundane imaginings of your day. But as time stretches and your absence grows heavier, those thoughts begin to shift, taking on a more sinister hue. My consciousness, ever vigilant, forces me to confront the true nature of this dream—an unspoken dread, a reflection of the anxieties that coil around the fragile bond we share.

The memory of our recent conversation lingers like a shadow, its edges sharp and unresolved. You offered me a glimpse into the labyrinth of your thoughts, yet I know it was only that—a glimpse, a fraction of the truth. Even in your absence, your presence is inescapable, haunting both my dreams and waking life. A cold certainty settles over me—you have gone to her, with no regard for the wounds you leave behind. How could you be so indifferent, knowing the depth of my feelings? I wrestle with the ambiguity of it all—fact or fiction, fear or reality? Yet I cling to your words, your reassurances that you need time, that this other relationship is fleeting, inconsequential. But how can something so trivial overshadow the weight of our history?

Our history, to me, is not a burden but a testament—a narrative forged through the trials of life. We have endured death, grief, distance, trauma, and the slow, painful process of healing, only to emerge and find one another time and again. Isn’t there something profound in that? If you were not the right person, wouldn’t it have been easier to walk away during any one of these trials? Yet here we stand, our connection resilient, though frayed at the edges.

The dream warps and shifts, and I never see you return. The landscape transforms into a world steeped in ancient mythology, where the lines between reality and fantasy blur. A woman, faceless and eternal, writhes in agony on the cabin floor, the act of birth rendered in blood and whispers. Symbols emerge on her stomach, carved by an unseen hand—four sigils, two lines, all traced in crimson. My heart sinks with the weight of unspoken dread. These are the fears I have tried to bury, now laid bare before me. My anxieties, once abstract, have taken on a physical form, their reality undeniable.

What should I do with this knowledge? Should I rage against the betrayal, sever all ties, erase you from the narrative of my life? But no anger comes. Instead, I feel a detachment, a numbness as I leave the woman and her bloody prophecy behind. The scene shifts once more, this time to a dinner with a woman whose life I once watched from afar, who endured her own trials. Perhaps she is a motherly figure, or perhaps she is a reflection of my own psyche, a manifestation of the strength I seek within myself.

The only moment that lingers is when I embrace her, whispering words of solace, “I am proud of you.”

And in that moment, the meaning crystallizes—no matter the outcome, no matter the fears that gnaw at the edges of my mind, I have done all I can. And it will be enough. This dream is a lesson in relinquishing the illusion of control, in accepting that life’s currents cannot be mastered, only navigated with grace.

#writing #poems and poetry #lyrical prose

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rainneverstopped · 7 months ago

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July the 3rd 2024, 5:38pm

There simply isn’t enough Clonazepam to make me feel indifferent to the fact that I wasted my life away without even meaning to.

And no, nothing in the future can ever make up for that or come even close to what I should have had. I don’t want what’s coming. In fact, I fear it. I have no interest in aging and all that comes along with it.

I’m filled with sadness and hollow despair because others managed and manage. They go out and enjoy and live and turn into what they want. I can’t even make myself go for a walk when there’s no appointments for the day.

I’m tired of slowly losing myself and then losing myself faster and faster. There isn’t even any company. Even if I heal, it won’t be enough and the thought haunts me and makes me reach for the stupid bottle of anti anxiety liquid three times a day, even though it doesn’t take anything fully away.

I want myself back. I feel I was never truly mine. My defective brain chains me to the ground. Beats me up into submission. I just want time to rewind itself. I want to be everything I wanted when I wanted something. When I could still want. When I felt the electricity of possibility and paths ahead that didn’t lead to old age and ruin. It’s almost as though I wanted so ardently, so desperately but was not able to follow through and something in my brain became atrophied and tired. Nothing sinks in anymore and I’m left with screaming voices in my mind asking for more every time because it all feels like crumbs of the meal I should have received. Now all I feel is a cold, desperate longing to be there again. To undo the damage, while clueless voices tell me it’s not that bad and act as though time had no weight and no consequences. As though one could start and catch up at any age and the effect on development and the self was the same it would have been if it had happened early on.

I’m filled with hatred at the ignorance and mind numbing positivity. My conscience trails off, my brain tells me “nothing of use here, I could take this time to try and recharge” and it shuts down all non essential features. I know they are talking because from far away I hear the same tired, sanitized, pop psychology sayings that I saw on Facebook reposts years back with a picture of a sunset in a field as a background. It has been repackaged and replaced any common sense in the collective understanding of what it’s like to be unwell and now makes its new rounds on Instagram with similar pictures over it and it has bled into the fabric of the outside world. The quotes never change: “it’s never too late”, “better now than never”, “you have to appreciate life for what it is”. I feel myself floating in place where I stood just seconds ago. I feel my forced blinks. The corners of my mouth uncomfortably and hopelessly twisting into a fake smile. My head moving up and down, nodding in equally fake agreement. My eyes unfocus and their faces make no sense, I feel anxiety and I want nothing else but to look away but that’s rude so I keep my eyes where they are. I feel all that so deeply. What I don’t feel is my heart beating, hope, curiosity from them towards my experiences, understanding for systemic failure towards invisible neurodevelopmental disabilities. And what’s worse: I don’t feel my humanity or theirs. I just float there waiting for them to finish their performance of the same tired, rehashed script. I feel so far away. They don’t even wait for applause when they are done, so sure of their performance and satisfied with their words that whatever I say after is meaningless so I don’t bother. I used to. For years I dug in the filthy, shallow puddle of their words looking for something of value, something deeper. No point anymore, I might as well save that energy to walk home, shower, place a slice of ham in between two pieces of bread and tell myself it’s a dinner, drag myself to the bathroom where I weakly move the toothbrush across my mouth for a minute or two until I tire of the exercise and tell myself it’s probably fine if I use the antibacterial mouth wash and decide it’s time to walk to bed. Where I should have been all day, the bed I should have never left because nothing works so what’s the point?. They stare right through me as I think all this.

I say what I need to so I don’t hurt their feelings because it’s hopeless. There’s no space for a conversation in the script. It allows no edits. No improvisation. I’m left alone with the same feelings as soon as they are off to wherever they were going. Both of us unaltered by the exchange and emotionally foreign to one another. We might as well be miles away. The difference between us is that this actually feels like falling into a dark pit to me. I endlessly replay it in my head, stunned by the disappointment. Looking for an outlet that is never to be found. Even calling the psychiatric assistance hotlines I saved into the contacts of my phone seems stupid now. I sit alone in a cold room. There are so many parts of me that are so trascendental and they remain unseen and unprompted in this useless theater plays they put on. I feel alone so I stop answering their calls and messages, I sit beside myself for months on end. They act shocked at this and I think that after so many years they would have figured it out. I’m nothing if not consistent and repetitive in this pattern but recognizing and deciding patterns requires an interest in the person the patterns come from. It requires silence, looking deeply into someone instead of waiting for your turn to talk and why would that ever be done?. I realize I’ve been supplementing my life with imaginary lands to escape to. The access to my own inner realms seems so limited now. I’m filled with rage at myself. I can no longer even dream and fantasize most of the time. There’s no hope ahead to nurture me enough to do that. I’ve been in bed all day and I hope I die here tonight in my sleep. I don’t want to discover any more ways to feel alone and scared. I no longer feel there’s anything out there to look for.

#my thoughts #ocd #avpd #depression #autism

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shitpostingiris · 2 years ago

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The last time

Part 2

Warnings-angst, loose mentions of Suicide, dark(ish)dream,

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Y/n sat in her bathtub letting the shower run above her. The scalding hot water soaking through her clothes. The salty tears that ran down her red face mixing with the freshwater that rained down on her. She replayed everything in her mind as she sobbed quietly alone.

The last time she saw the man who ruined her. His words bit into her leaving a never closing wound on her soul. A man who possessed her entire being for the last few years. A man who she loved more than life itself. A man who she killed for. A man…no a being who was now her end.

Y/n remembered how Dream treated her like a queen the first years they spent together. His kind words and soft touches. Slowly disappeared into nothing but bitter words and cold behavior as the years passed. Y/n knew now she should’ve taken everyone’s warnings about him to heart. If only she could go back in time to warn herself. To be able to spare her from this hurt. She knew how quickly she fell in love with morpheus wasn’t normal. The word Love couldn’t come close to really describing how y/n felt for him. He possessed her entire being, she did and would do anything for him. He owned her truly and he knew that.

Y/n remembered the last conversation she had with the endless. She remembered how cold the marble floors were on her clad skin as she kneeled below dream. Tears falling so fast It was as if a dam had finally broken. Letting all the unshed tears it had blocked, building up as the years passed finally fall.

She remembered every word he spoke to her that night hanging onto them as if they were scripture. His smooth cold monotone voice never letting an ounce of emotion seep through as kneeled and took her face into his hands “I’m sorry your first heartbreak was from someone who was supposed to love you the most. You deserved to feel love as soon as you came to this earth. I’m sorry that you people who were supposed to take care of you couldn’t love you in the way you needed. I’m sorry that everyone you’ve ever loved has hurt you. I’m sorry that you find it hard to love knowing it always ends in heartbreak, but I hope one day you are loved the way you deserve to be and I hope you can love yourself like that too. And I am sorry that person isn’t me y/n. I’m sorry I hurt you again but this is always how it ends for you and me.” His voice almost sounded mocking as he spoke Maybe to y/n's imagination. Y/n died that night maybe not truly, but she might as well have.

Y/n couldn’t do anything but mull over that one quote he spoke to her. One he often said to her those last few months. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you again’ Y/n often wrote poetry and quotes. Her writing was fueled by dream. The words flowed beautifully as they were transcribed from her mind to paper.

Y/n's last piece of poetry she wrote shot through many people's hearts once they read it. Written in beautiful chillography and red ink on teardrop stained paper. Written in a journal gifted to her by Morpheus himself. A man she once called her lover, her soulmate. Now that version of him was only a distant memory.

He says:

I’m sorry I hurt you again

And I say:

let me collapse at your feet, let my body fold around you, let my legs go numb enough that I may understand how your heart feels

He looks at me with what I can only describe as indifference and I look at him with what can only be called worship.

And I think how nice it must feel to be loved. How nice it must feel to be him

Death visited y/n that night in the shower. The running water stained a light red as it was washed down the drain. Y/n couldn’t help as relief washed over her in seeing death. Their eyes spoke a thousand unspoken words and their hands clasped together. The only sound heard in the quiet room was the sound of deaths wings as y/n left the living plane.

——————————————————

As always feed back will always be appreciated!

These quotes are not my own! found them on google when writing this

@nebulosa-reina

#dream #dream fic #dream x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #sandman #sandman fic #sandman x reader #tom sturridge

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margaretbjorgman-blog · 2 years ago

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there’s an emptiness inside of her, hollow and dark, a wave of emotions she’d been riding out for the past few weeks. completely fine one moment and an absolute wreck the next. it’s as if that perfect crystal cage of fantasy has shattered beneath her, leaving her blooded and bruised. cuts so deep that leave her to wonder how its even worthwhile? fragments of a sunny disposition and endless optimism lay scattered, she’s stuck between wanting to believe the heartbreak was worth it and letting that void envelop her. would it be easier to grow cold and indifferent? she’s seen that look in others, the loneliness behind their eyes and how they shield themselves from feeling anything remotely genuine. it’s sad but more than anything, it’s safe. despite never being one to take risks, this was the one time safiya stepped onto the ledge, letting herself jump over and risk whatever it was that came with her ill fated decision. one that wasn’t suppose to end the way it did.

perhaps it was the way it happened. the lack of explanation or reasoning that completely blindsided her. one day they were fine, the next they were done. all but a simple “this isn’t working out” as he left her standing there, alone as she watched him through tears fade into the horizon, trying to process what had just happened. yet it wasn’t necessarily the lack of reasoning that caused her to shut out the world, it was the search for an explanation that caused her to fade into the background. how she had tried to call and text, only to be left on read; how bitter and ruthless his words were when she pleaded for something more, anything to make sense. desperate and childish, pathetic and delusional. his words had made her feel so insignificantly small, a cruelness that echoed in her mind every time she closed her eyes

she doesn’t remember much after that. a haze taking over as he twisted the knife into her chest and watched her run away. the first few days were spent locked in her room crying, the next few just idly wandering around the house. it took a week for her to go out again, a facade of sunshine and warmth taking over as inside she felt absolutely numb. the mess she’d gotten herself tangled into being one she knew she couldn’t tell anyone about, not without risking any type of repercussion. so she carried it, silently with her as she’d constantly stop herself from bursting into tears. life returning to normal as days turned to weeks or at least, almost. the one place safiya couldn’t bring herself to step into was her finance class. she couldn’t see him, there was no way she could sit at her desk and watch him give a lesson to the rest of the class when all she wanted to do was scream.

an absence she was sure no one would notice until perhaps the most unlikely person did. danilo’s calls and text remained unanswered at first, it wasn’t hard to ignore him after all. except he was persistent and upon the mention of failing the course, safiya knew she had to sleep on the bed she made. she could ignore him forever and put her scholarship in jeopardy or cautiously take the help danilo was offering to help her get back on track. which, as much as safiya didn’t want to step foot into that classroom again, her studies were still a very important priority. she wasn’t about to lose a full-ride scholarship because of a man, no matter how stupid or broken she felt because of it.

as much as she didn’t want to take him up on his invitation to meet him at the restaurant, her options felt limited and she knew she’d soon run out of time to the point of no return if she wanted to pass finance. so she found herself in the back of the restaurant, sitting in a corner as she watched the rest of the world pass her by. laughter and voices ringing in her ears as they went on with their life as safiya felt like an absolute ghost. gaze empty as she focused on looking out at the window aimlessly, leg bouncing underneath her as tried to calm her nerves. she didn’t want to be there and with every second that passed, it only made the desire to get up and leave even greater. so what if she failed? what if she lost her scholarship? at least she’d never have to see the professor or danilo ever again. ( @conscientes )

he’s been turning at night. cream silk sheets lie tangled by his feet, on the floor. the black fur of a doberman shimmers against the moon’s light as she curls by the bed’s side– it must know something he ignores or perhaps avoids, because there’s the whisper of a name on his lips as he wakes and the taste of it he tries to wash away with water splashed on his face.

his hand lingers by the plate’s side on the breakfast table. it fidgets with an unused silver fork and then reaches for a phone, for a text interaction he’s read far too many times in an app he doesn’t like but has to deal with anyways because of united states’ stubborn attachment. a sound leaves his mouth, one that can be classified as both a grunt and a sigh as his finger scrolls up and she refuses to respond. a finger stabs at the ‘lock’ bottom as if he could trick a security camera from catching the action. as if he could trick his brain into forgetting it even happened. he stares into a ceramic cup of espresso, beating it to a staring contest and jumps when his phone buzzes against the wooden table.

there’s a meditation technique that helps him sleep when a black mist plagues his thoughts. you’re supposed to keep your eyes closed as you begin with twin deep breaths and when you’re ready, you’re to imagine sunshine in a solid-esque form, one that can be absorbed into the skin on your toes and travel smoothly through your veins, up your legs and towards your head as it warms and settles a restless self. danilo can compare his particular predicament to it, but rather than sunlight being invited, it feels like a violation. his entire being can feel it but it escapes him for lack of a name, a label. it feels off, wrong; his mind rejects it with a strong “STOP” as it runs a finger down his stream of thought, his body attempts to expose it through finger tapping and neck cracking. it doesn’t feel like sunshine, it’s not warm though the origin of it somehow is. this thing, unfamiliar and almost spun by the moirai, it itches.

“the bristol, 7pm”

he was begging at that point, though he could not even question himself as to why. why, why why. somehow it’s always been about the very much unanswered ‘why’ with her. maybe he just likes the mystery of it all... though probably he just doesn’t like the buried answer. paper brushes against his fingertip as it slides down a page and edges a paper cut. his eyes scan the words printed on quality paper, his other hand holds the book open and taps its fingers against a black paperback cover. words are taken in, however remain unprocessed and danilo finds himself reading the same paragraph twice and then yet another time as his mind keeps wondering about the hour displayed on his watch. an ignorant spectator would mistakingly call him giddy, if they could feel the gaping void in the bottom of his stomach, they would know better. the time comes for him to grab the keys from the tall and slim table by his front door. when he takes a seat on the driver’s seat of his silver car, he lets out a sigh.

he’s known about this whole mess for a while now. he’s teased about it like a bored child, stuck in the back of a car for an hours-long roadtrip. holding it up in her face just to see how fast she’ll blush, how bright. such a precious contradiction she portrayed with her white dress and her mother’s bright red lipstick hidden in her purse. time and time again he wondered just for how long she’d be able to walk by the line that marked the division of two very different personas. he must’ve placed bets with the universe itself at least once or twice on exactly which side would prevail. with her ghostly silence, one could easily guess which way the air blew her to once the storm came. universe must be having a laugh now, it didn’t exactly please him. it’s still a guess, but one he acts on with foolish confidence. his plan as hasty as it is thoughtful.

danilo walks through the front door. his smile is polite as it nods to the hostess. he’s not been here too many times but the people that have paid bills of a certain amount have a way of being remembered in places like these. she nods towards a table in a corner and though she offers to guide him to it, he waves off the attempt with practiced charm. it’s not hard to spot her, in the sulking corner with a bouncing leg. the sight of it is bittersweet, though it lifts the corner of his mouth for a second as he wonders if she’d be able to recognize his own signs of unease. as he takes a seat, danilo clears his throat for a second– it’s been some time since he last used his voice in the day. there’s no need for senseless greetings, she probably wouldn’t care for one in her current state.

“didn’t think you’d be early”, his shoulders give a shrug as they settle into his new surroundings, the knowledge of what’s to come adding force to gravity. any time now, too late to back down.

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90stvshowgoth · 4 years ago

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—BREAKING & ENTERING

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: after dabi was seen leaving your apartment complex last week, the commission has sent a lesser known hero to help guard the building until new cameras are installed. however, no security measures in the world could keep dabi out.

w/c: 5064

tags: dubcon, cuckolding, creampie, voyeurism, humiliation, exhibitionism, arson

a/n: this is the final chapter to this little duology, and the reason why its so much shorter is because the first one was really supposed to stand on its own, but i got so many requests for a sequel i couldn’t help it. so i just took the kinks i didn’t get to use last time and pay off some setup and voila. however, just ‘cause this is the last chapter of this story doesn’t mean i’m not gonna write a fuck ton of other stuff for him. ily burn man. plus i’m working on a huge, multi-chapter fic for him while i post smaller one-shots >:) that being said, enjoy.

The impact Dabi left on your life was far bigger than you thought it would’ve been on the night you snuck him away from the law. As he was running from the cops someone saw him climb through your window, and a different person also saw him climb down the fire escape. With witnesses like that, the other tenants were downright furious.

You almost felt bad for the landlord, it wasn’t his fault you were insane enough to willingly let a villain come inside both you and your apartment.

Your landlord and the police department came up with a solution. The apartment complex would be installing new state-of-the-art locks on all fire-escape adjacent windows free of charge. This wasn’t exactly an issue with seeing Dabi again, since all you had to do was purposefully leave yours unlocked.

It would take two weeks to install all the cameras, but until then, a community-assigned hero would be stationed to guard the complex.

His name was Kao, a middle-ranked hero with bright orange hair and a winning smile framed with dimples. At first you thought he might’ve been one of the better heroes, waving you off to work and walking you there the other day, but recently he’d begun to creep you out. The friendly conversations about a tv show you both enjoyed began to turn into invasive questions about your love life.

A week of lingering glances and uncomfortable prying culminated that Friday as he had flat out asked you to dinner moments prior.

“C’mon, I just— I said that wrong, lemme try again,” He stuttered, keeping pace with you as you marched towards the building.

“No, Kao, look, you’re cool and all, but I’m really not looking to date anyone right now.” You huffed, striding into the doorway and towards the elevator. That might not’ve been the whole truth but you obviously couldn’t tell him that you had the hots for a terrorist.

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well you just got off work, right? I remember which room you stay in, maybe I can swing by tonight?”

You whirled on him, your jaw slack in shock at the insensitivity of his words. The reminder that he knew where you lived sending a shiver down your spine, “Kao, this conversation is done. I don’t want you following me around anymore, hero,”

Deep down, your words sounded familiar. If they were raspier and said behind a thin veil of indifference, you might’ve realized that you were talking like Dabi.

“What is that supposed to mean? We’re the good guys!” You slammed your fist down on the close-door button, your mouth a thin line, daring Kao to make a move and stop the doors. He didn’t, and soon the reassuring pull of the elevator set your shaking body at ease.

‘Who does he think he is?’ You were bitter, rightfully so, you think.

You were so frustrated that you had difficulty inserting your keys into the lock, twisting it with a growl and throwing open the door, ready to collapse onto your pillow and vent to whoever was online about your heroic stalker.

When you noticed the scent of cigarettes in the air.

“Hey, doll,” Warmth surged through your chest at the sight of him, the villain’s feet kicked up onto the coffee table.

You were hanging your coat on the hook before moving beside him to the couch, “What took you so long?”

“Not happy to see me? You seem a lot bitchier than I remember,” The crude edge of his humor was a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling niceties of work, and you smiled for what felt like the first time that day.

Shaking your head, you toed out of your boots and made your way to the frayed couch, “I’ll tell you all about him,”

That got his attention, “Him?”

“A hero,” Dabi’s frown worsened, an accusatory look in his eyes, “before you ask, no, you idiot, I hate this guy, there’s not a chance I’d sleep with him.”

The tensity in his shoulders relaxed, bring the half-finished Newport to his lips as you continued, “Since you broke in last week all my neighbors lost their shit. They threatened to sue if my landlord didn’t assign a hero to watch the building for a bit. I thought he was cool, but I’ve just decided that he’s a total prick.”

He hummed, nodding understandingly, “Want me to kill him?”

You gaped, hitting him on the chest, “Wha—No, Dabi, what the hell?”

He just shrugged, the intensity of his words almost funny to you, and as you recounted the last twenty minutes the ashes of Dabi’s cigarette fell to the floor. The dying lights of the sun streamed through your window, the smoke oddly beautiful in the glow as he handed you the last hit of his cheap cigar.

“You know why heroes are like that?” You shook your head, enjoying the numbing calm of tobacco, “It’s cause they’re spoiled. They go their entire lives being praised for everything they do so they don’t know how to take no for a fuckin’ answer,”

Apparently your smoking buddy was feeling talkative, much to your delight. His words made you pause, remembering the relieved faces of your neighbors whenever they’d see the gaudy costume Kao wore as he strode by.

“Shit... guess you’re right,” You mumbled into his side, not minding the ever-present aroma of burnt skin and smoke that clung to Dabi’s coat.

He scoffed, “I’m always right, baby,” His words earning him a pinch on the arm.

“No, you ass, just about the hero stuff,” He grinned, the staples on his dimples taut against his skin as he pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Careful, doll, you’re starting to sound like a villain,” The drop in your stomach sent heat down your skin, yet somehow you were still shivering under his predatory gaze.

You shook your head, trying to will away the red that dusted your cheeks, “No way, my quirk isn’t strong enough to be a villain,”

He raised his eyebrow expectantly, broadly gesturing for you to go on.

“Well...” God, why is this embarrassing? “I can give people headaches.”

You didn’t know if he would laugh at you or belittle you for your meaningless quirk, but he did neither.

“Think you could practice it more? Get better at it?” He was serious, staring at you and expecting an answer.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze, “I mean, maybe? It’s not hard to do, I guess,”

Dabi smirked, pulling you onto his lap. It felt as if the week hadn’t happened at all and you were right back where you started, your face flushing at the memories of that night. He dragged you close, eyes dark as he whispered something into your ear...

“Think you could split someone’s head open with a migraine?”

Your gut wrenched, flinching at the gory idea and making you sit up in Dabi’s lap. The atmosphere in the room hadn’t changed, his stare as menacing as before.

That is, until he started to crack up. Louder than you’d ever heard before, his fit filled the apartment until he had to cup his stomach from laughing too hard; the wheeze in his rough throat echoing around the room as your blush spread all the way down your neck.

“Oh, you asshole!” If anything, your shove against his chest only made him more giddy. The panic-fueled adrenaline was still surging through your body, unwillingly making the wetness between your thighs spread, even as you tried to wrap your head around the fact that Dabi had been fucking with you.

Your legs shook as he held on to you for balance, his cackling dying down but the shit-eating grin never leaving his face, “You were so freaked out, huh?”

“Yeah, no shit!”

He hummed, running a hand through your hair and suddenly yanking you forward, basking in the sharp yelp it brought from you, “You’re cute when you’re scared,”

You’d missed the way his scabbed lips felt on yours more than you’d ever admit. There was something about him that left you breathless, eager and questioning your life choices. Groaning into his mouth before pulling back and laving your slick tongue along his disfigured lower lip, you rolled your aching heat against him to force a truly pornographic moan from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck—” One of his hands slid down your back, grabbing your ass through your jeans, “Fucking hell, you missed me that much?”

You nodded dumbly into his shoulder, pressing chaste kisses along the ragged skin as he slid his finger past the band of your jeans, cupping your dripping sex with wide eyes.

“Goddamn, s’no way you’re this wet for me already,” His eyes were scrutinizing, trying to figure out why you were hiding into his neck, “What’s got you so worked up, doll?”

You couldn’t come up with a good excuse in time, Dabi thinking back to how your thighs had tightened up when he asked if you could kill someone, your eyes were frightened back then, yes, but there was something else. Something you wouldn’t tell him.

When the realization hit him, it hit hard.

“Holy shit, you get off on being scared?” He couldn’t believe his luck, the embarrassed groan you buried into his shoulder confirming his suspicions.

Dabi ran a hand through his hair, a childish wonder over his features, “Aren’t I fuckin’ lucky?” He sneered, pulling you back til you were at eye-level again.

“I’m gonna try something, baby,” there was an edge to his voice as he settled one hand on the small of your back, pressing your tits against his chest as he held your bra strap back with the other.

“What are you… Dabi, what are you doing?” The scent of fire and burning fabric filled the air, the ends of your bralette smoking between his fingertips, embers turning to ash and sprinkling down the couch until it was flimsy enough for Dabi to rip free, teeth sinking into your neck as he held you still to keep your skin safe.

It was jarring and a bit terrifying to be restrained against someone like Dabi without knowing his intentions. But nothing in you could deny the blinding rush of pleasure it ripped down your spine.

“It’s all starting to make sense, doll-face, I guess I was right the first time,” His hands tossed the smoking bra into hallway, reaching between you and torturously pinching and pulling on the rosy blush of your tits, “you do have a thing for villains,”

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight pussy again, doll,” Without warning he shoved your torso forward, your body bouncing against the couch, his hands flying to the button of your jeans.

“—Didn’t have time to take you right last time, didn’t get to taste you,” his words made you whimper in his grasp, keeping your legs somewhat raised as tugged down the tight denim.

You fully expected him to take you rough like before, make you choke on his cock before having his fill, but as he tugged off your black panties he crawled down the trembling body beneath him, slowly moving over your ribs, your stomach, and finally your drooling cunt.

He never broke eye contact with you as he pulled your thighs closer, keeping them spread wide as the hot fan of his breath on your pussy sent a thrill through your neglected nerves.

“I want you to scream my name,” It was an order, not a request. The unhinged tremor in his hands was unsettling, an unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Dabi’s tongue immediately found your clit, mouth wrapping around the glistening bead and sucking all at once, the moan it drew from your lips unholy. He moaned at the taste, hiking up your hips onto his shoulders.

“Christ, you’re sweet, doll, like fuckin’ candy...” He muttered in disbelief, more to himself that to you, licking a wide stripe along your drenched lips, diving into you deep enough to have your limbs spasming around him.

On instinct your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the sharp cry that the villain drew. He didn’t warn you before bringing his hand up high and slapping it into the bare skin of your thigh, a scream echoing through the living room. Distantly, you wondered if your neighbors could hear...

“Don’t you dare hide a single sound from me, slut, or this ends now,” his ultimatum was scary but the insult felt heavy in a way you’d never felt before, and you nodded without a second thought, breathlessly bunching one hand into the arm of the couch above you and the other into the ashy black of his hair.

You nodded down to him, silently saying to continue; the villain fixed on watching as your chest swelled in time with your breathing, a rush of blood going to the heat of his cock.

His pace was hungry, nipping at your thighs whenever he thought you were too comfortable, spinning circles into your clit with his tongue and chuckling at the noises it brought, “You gonna cum, princess?” You could only respond with a scream of his name, the plea music to his ears, but he needed you to be louder if he was to get what he wanted.

“Louder,” Dabi called your name like a prayer, moaning into your cunt as you practically suffocated him between your thighs, “Fuck—Louder, baby, scream it,”

“Dabi!!” Your orgasm was hot against his tongue and he drank in every last drop of your climax until you were wrenching away his greedy mouth, your pussy swollen and red from his care.

Just as you started to compose yourself, a frantic banging sounded on the door. Someone from the hallway was slamming down their fist, screaming your name.

“Hey! Did you just say Dabi?! Are you okay in there?” It was Kao.

Horror clawed away any kind of afterglow as you cupped your hand to your mouth, leaning up on your elbow and whispering, “What do I say?”

Dabi’s voice was just low enough to hide behind the pounding of Kao’s fists, “Do you trust me?”

Before you could answer the hero behind the wall called your name again.

“If you don’t answer me in five seconds I’m breaking this door down!”

Your gaze flickered from the front door to the villain that was wiping your slick from his chin.

“Yes,”

Dabi grinned, grabbing your wrists and holding you against his shirt, one hand wrapped painfully around your tits and the other erupting with blue fire in his palm.

“Come and get her, hero!” You made a confused squeal, thrashing around in his grasp, eyes wide and afraid as Dabi shushed into your ear, trying to calm you down.

‘Like hell if you’d calm down, he’d practically just signed your death sentence!’ you heaved against the fugitive, trying to shake yourself free to no avail.

All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and imagine you were somewhere else as door was jolted in its hinges, the doorknob falling with a distant clang, and before you could beg Dabi to stop whatever stupid game he was playing, Kao ran into the room, eyes furrowed and fists raised as the door squeaked on the loose hinges behind him, blissfully unaware.

“Where are y—“ Kao’s voice paused mid-sentence, you flinched in Dabi’s hold, the heat of the redhead’s stare washing over you, naked and wet, making you tilt your head down, trying to hide yourself from the world.

“Isn’t she cute, hero?” Dabi rasped against you, the heat of his fire illuminated against the sweaty sheen of your trembling body. Kao didn’t know what to do, flustered and struggling to hide the tent in his latex costume.

You knew fighting back against the villain was pointless, falling limp in the strength of his arms as he chuckled into your neck, looking over at the bump in his pants, “You were right, babe, I think he likes you,”

“Get your filthy hands off of her!” Kao screamed, diving towards the couch with his fist raised back.

Dabi simply grinned, carefully hovering his flame ever closer to your now bare tits, you couldn’t help but scream at the proximity, and whatever plan Kao had in his mind died before his fist could make impact.

His novocaine laced voice spoke calmly beside your ear, “Any closer and she’s dead,” The hot rush down your legs wasn’t due to his flames, as one hand took to rubbing your sensitive sex, the sounds it elicited from you unintentional and mortifying under the presence of Kao in the room.

“What... what do you want, you bastard?” Dabi laughed at that one, tweaking your clit between his fingers and conducting the most beautiful notes from your pillowy lips.

“I think It’s pretty obvious what I want, don’t you think?” Your name on his lips sent you keening against him despite the inferno roaring inches away from your skin. He couldn’t move without Dabi’s flames hovering ever closer to your heaving chest, and to Kao, you were very clearly about to die. Although you didn’t believe Dabi would hurt you, he had asked you to trust him before he got Kao’s attention, after all, the line between foreplay and conflagration was becoming blurry.

Kao backed up into the half wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, barely making an effort to try and hide his erection anymore, “I’ll send you to fucking Tartarus for this, Dabi.”

“Oooo, scary,” His unlit hand trailed down your jawline, tilting you to his side until he could slide his tongue into your open lips, humming into your mouth, “What do you think, doll?

“Dabi, please... wait,“ The strength in your voice wasn’t as heated as before, and even you had to admit it sounded half-assed.

Kao’s quirk must be no good for long range because all he could do was stand there, trying to avert his eyes from your drooling cunt in favor of glaring daggers at the coy villain pulling soft mewls from your lips, “I swear... I’ll see you rot in prison for this. You’ll be fucking executed, you rapist—“

“—woah, woah, that stings, hero. Doll, is that really what I’m doin’?” You groaned, not exactly answering because you couldn’t hear the question, your eyes still shut tight in embarrassment.

The growl in his voice sent another soaking rush towards your pussy, as his hand grabbed you jaw, pulling you up, “Look at me,” Your eyes widened at the sight of Dabi so close to you, his chest warm against your back, the aches of your last orgasm fading into something new.

“Tell me to stop, princess, your call,” Time stood still as Dabi kissed a soft pathway along your neck, weirdly gentle as he listened for your response, his clothed hard-on pressed firmly against your ass.

Too flustered to speak, you merely wrenched your arm free from his grasp, carding you hand through his hair and pulling him to your desperate lips. You could feel him tug into a smirk against you as your hips eagerly ground themselves on him despite the audience.

Kao choked on his own spit, stepping backwards, but stopped when Dabi aimed his ignited hand towards the hero who was having difficulty piecing together your actions in his head. “What,” His voice cracked when he called out your name, “are you...?”

Dabi pulled away, a feral glint in the blue hidden beneath his hair as he licked a disgustingly wet stripe along your cheek, chest rumbling behind you as you squirmed at the gross feeling, “I’m still gonna need you to beg, sweetheart.”

Your dignity was hanging by a thread, hinging on whether or not you followed his lead, but the insane buzz your anxiety had stirred up under Kao’s confused stare and Dabi’s aching cock was impossible to ignore. He rut himself into the dripping curve of your ass, his jeans soaked with your slick as you found the courage to speak.

“Fuh...” Carefully, Dabi pressed a loving kiss to your temple, his stare fixated on Kao’s as you strung the syllables together, “Fuck me, Dabi,”

The hero couldn’t believe his ears. She’d turned him down countless times despite his pursuits, yet she was somehow fine with this? Kao briefly thought that perhaps his crush was a villain this whole time, but that couldn’t make sense with her weak quirk.

You felt Dabi twitch beneath you, the shameless way you showed yourself off was as humiliating as it was hot, and he laughed in lightheaded disbelief against the back of your neck, taking your ass in one hand and slipping the other down his pants, tugging off the painful metal zipper until his boxers were pulled down just enough for his cock to finally be met with the soft warmth of your cunt.

“As the lady commands,” Dabi grinned, reaching around your waist to take his pierced dick in his hand, rubbing and tapping his swollen head deliberately against your clit, pre-cum drenching your pussy as you felt boneless in his arms.

“Ah-! St..S-top tea-sing, Dabi!” You babbled, squirming to try and find an escape from his grasp or maybe trying to force him inside you, but all your struggling did was make him harder. But before you could beg, you froze at the sight of Kao a few feet away, his legs bending into a sprinter’s pose. He was going to run?

Dabi was having none of it, a controlled jet of flame grazing Kao’s knee, scalding the skin beneath the latex. The hero cried out into the bite of his fist, collapsing into the wall a few feet away.

“Nah, hero. You’re not leaving just yet,” The villain rearranged you on his lap, “See, the thought of you jerking off to my girl? It kinda pisses me off, actually,”

The color in Kao’s face drained as he had no choice but to sit and watch as Dabi slowly sunk you down on top of him, one hand drawing soft circles into your stomach as you reveled in the feeling of his piercings hot against every part of you.

“Though, I’m wondering, what did you think about, huh?” Kao sputtered, unable to form words just like you, formless noises falling from your lips.

His scarred hands grasped at the flesh of your thighs, raising you up only to shove you back onto his cock, the flames that still extended to threaten Kao suddenly flared up in time with his thrusts, the weight of him felt so much deeper at this angle and it was hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“I... nothing! I didn’t—“ Another whip of fire cut through the room from Dabi’s fingertips, a cast of blue leaving bubbling skin in its wake, pain flashing across Kao’s face.

“Fuckin’ liar,” You yelped as Dabi shoved you down, moaning into your ear as you squeezed against him, sobbing his name into his chest as he picked up a steady pace in your guts.

Kao cried out, stuttering and gripping along the inflamed line of skin, “I-I thought— thought about her... fuck— I just wanted her to suck me off, alright? There, I said it! Are you happy now?”

He must’ve realized the mistake in his words as soon as he said them, squeezing your eyes shut but having no choice but to smell the stench of burning flesh and hear the sound of muffled screaming as it filled your apartment, “Can’t blame you though, her mouth is God,”

Your hands scrambled for balance against Dabi as the screaming of his victim made him downright feral, filling your tight heat so well it had you crying.

“Damn, you’re soaked for me, doll, I just knew you were a kinky fuck deep down. You’re a slutty little girl for me, aren’t ya?”

As much as it hurt to admit it, he was right. He was painfully right, and you told him so. The unhinged, unstoppable force that was Dabi ignited a passion in you that’d never been fed before. He was torturing the hero you hated all while taking your cunt in deep, harsh thrusts, the metal imbedded into his cock and his chest behind you were blisteringly hot against your skin.

“Tell him, baby,” His question fell on deaf ears, your tongue lolling from your mouth a bit at the pleasure.

It caught you off guard when he drew his hand back and slapped you across the cheek, a blistering red handprint in its wake, saying your name so softly, turning off his quirk to run his hands through your hair, he whispered, “Tell that fucking hero who you belong to,”

The world tipped over as Dabi gripped your shoulders, pushing you onto the wooden coffee table so your ass stuck in the air. In an instant he was on you again, pounding into your cunt with a glazed fervor, your words downright biblical in his ears.

“On-ly... Dabi ca—Ngh, Only Dabi can fuck me this good,” You forced the words from your throat, thankful for the table serving as an impartial shoulder to cry on as Dabi lined himself up with your cunt.

“More, princess,” The snap of his hips had you drooling onto the table, catching sight of Kao’s slumped body in the corner as Dabi’s breath sounded much louder than before.

“Fuck, baby—” You cried, craning your neck back to look at him. Sweat glistened at the crown of his dark hair, steam shading his breath as he took you hard, “Your cock is— shit its so deep in me,”

Your nerves were spent from exhaustion as he railed you, being more vocal than before as he choked at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, his fingernails digging future bruises into your hip dips, “Wanna feel you cum in me, want you to fill me up— Dabi, wanna make you feel good,”

“Fuck, doll, I can’t...” He ground his teeth together, making you squeal as he mounted you from behind, spreading your legs out wide so you had no way to hide yourself, “Gonna fuck’n cum-gonna cum in you- fuck, fuck, fuck—!“

You both hit your highs at the same time, Dabi accidentally digging your face into the wood as he held you as tightly to him as possible, his cum running hot due to his quirk as he pumped you full, that broken cry of yours like music to his ears, humping you a few times to ride out his climax.

You felt warm and safe, Dabi’s weight a comfortable blanket even with your shivering skin pressed naked into the coffee table. However, the quietly groaning hero in the corner made you quickly come back down to earth.

“Dabi... did you kill him?” Your voice was small beneath him, but he just shrugged.

“Nah, not yet, don’t worry,” He kissed your neck one more time, his thumb rubbing circles into your indented stomach, pulling you off the table and back into his arms.

He pulled out of you and grinned at the sight of his release spilling down your thighs, “Damn...” he whispered, taking in the sight with a satisfied whistle, “C’mon Doll, forget about him.”

You were grateful he carried you bridal style to your bedroom, your legs gelatin at this point, and as he laid you down to rest he grabbed one of your discarded shirts that hadn’t made it to the hamper and wiped down the remains of sex from your twitching cunt before leaving the cum-stained top ignored on the ground.

“You doing good, baby? Didn’t go too hard, did I?” His concern was diminished somewhat by the grin on his face, satisfied with the mumbling, love-drunk form he’d reduced you to.

Shaking your head, you burrowed into the warm blankets, peeking your eyes out from beyond the covers in a way that even Dabi couldn’t deny was pretty cute, “No, just... what are you gonna do with Kao?”

His face was unreadable as he leaned closer, “Do you really want to know?”

Truth be told, no, you didn’t, you were just a civilian, far removed from the complex fight between heroes and villains. You were only in this situation because you’d grown to care about Dabi. In some small, sarcastic way, he’d wormed his way into your life, and he hadn’t hurt you so far, only going as close as possible to bring you over the edge again and again.

“No...”

“Good answer,” he stood up, tucking himself back into his jeans as he went back into the living room. You heard a muffled thud and what sounded like Dabi cursing before he reappeared in your bedroom, Kao’s unconscious body slung over his shoulder. For such a wiry guy, Dabi was pretty strong. Moving to the open window he basically threw Kao’s body onto the outside metal grating, his lungs uneven after carrying him.

Just as he swung his leg onto the windowsill you shot up in your bed, hand outstretched, “Wait!”

He turned back to look at you, genuinely confused as to what you could want.

“Kiss me before you go?”

He froze, then grinned, scoffing at the innocent gesture you gave so openly to a murderer like him. There had to be something wrong with his little villain-in-training to make her okay with it, just like him. Dabi ignored that thought for another day, striding forward and finally giving you the goodbye kiss you’d been denied last time, his tongue trying to map out every detail in case he could ever forget before pulling away with a warm softness to his ocean eyes.

“I think I might be starting to like you, Doll,” A feint rush of color fell on his unmarred skin and you’re sure your heart stopped beating for a good three seconds.

His words were a worn record being played over and over in your head long after he crawled down your fire escape, the teasing, sated haze in his voice hidden beneath a rasp of smoke. You weren’t sure how much he meant what he said, but you’re sure that the first thing you said in return was exactly what he wanted to hear; at least judging from the boyish smile that lit up his face when you said it.

“Come back soon, okay?”

“Okay,”

@effmigentlywithachainsaw @touyasfatcock @thicchaikyuuboys @awritersometimes @chey-the-simp

#dabi x reader #dabi #dabi x reader smut #dubcon #murder #mha #my hero academia #dabi smut #touya x reader #touya todoroki

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You shouldn’t be this nervous about telling your boyfriend that you want to transfer to a college out of state. Ransom is nothing if not generous with you--so why is your stomach in knots?

Word Count: 3144

notes: yandere, sexism, emotional abuse

You shouldn’t be this nervous. Really. Ransom has been nothing but generous with you, and in turn you’ve been patient--maybe too patient, maybe too forgiving, sometimes--with him. It’s only fair that he extends that patience to you, especially with something as serious, as important, as your future.

So why does the thought of telling him about your plan to switch to a new college make you feel like you’re going to throw up?

You puff out your cheeks and stretch your arms across the breakfast table, leaning down and wishing you could ask someone else to tell him in person. But the thought is ridiculous, and you push it away in favor of rehearsing what you’re going to say for the millionth time since you made up your mind.

You will tell him about the need to change your degree if you want to ever be in the contending for a museum curator position in the future. You will tell him about the fact that the best place to get this specific degree, the one that will put you right in the open arms of the internship that leads to your dream curator field, is in California. You will tell him about the apartments you’ve already inspected. You will tell him about the fact that he can visit anytime, that you will visit him, that you can text and video call and vacation together. You will tell him that you love him and you want to make this work.

You will tell him all these things… and yet. Yet while you can rehearse the words, rehearse how you’ll push your printed out papers showing exactly what you need to do and why towards him so he can see you’re telling the exact truth, you can’t rehearse how Ransom will react. You try to imagine, but all that comes up is a blurry, grey blank.

Is he going to freak out? Get pissed? Or worse--not care at all? Maybe you’ve overestimated how much Ransom has invested in this relationship. Maybe he’d rather cut you loose than deal with a long distance relationship. Maybe the second you mention that you’ll be moving to California, he’ll be mentally checking a list for someone local to hook up with the minute you’re gone.

You’re not sure which reaction would scare you more.

But you don’t have much time to think about it, because you hear him padding down the stairs, hear the din of some video he’s still watching, probably whatever he put on while he was in the shower. You can’t bear to look up, and you thumb aimlessly, nervously around your phone’s apps while you listen to the sound of him scraping the eggs and bacon you’d cooked onto a plate.

He plops down in the seat across from you and you glance up. He catches your eye and gives a tight-lipped, tired smile. He was out late. But he’d texted you about staying out late earlier in the evening, so you didn’t feel you had the right to be mad--that’s the condition you’d given him, after all, when he’d accused you of being controlling. When he’d called you a nag and accused you of being jealous of other women, women he had no feelings for.

“I just want to know when you’re going to be out late so I don’t stay up half the night thinking you’re dead somewhere.” And so he did--let you know--and you swallowed down your feelings of suspicion at his late night adventures.

Maybe… maybe this is a bad time to tell him. Maybe you should wait for a day when he’s had more sleep. Maybe you should run your thoughts by someone else, get a second opinion. You’re focusing on the table, on the light from the phone screen, anything to avoid looking up and starting the dreaded conversation.

“What’re those papers for, babe?”

Shit.

Your hands tremble just a bit when you set the phone down, and the way it vibrates against the table mimics the way your stomach feels right now. You suck in a breath and look up, but you can’t make eye contact just yet and you push the words out, stumbling and breathy and rapid, without stopping to breathe until you’ve said your peace.

“Ransom this is really hard for me but we need to talk about something and I don’t want you to be mad but I need to change schools if I’m ever going to get a shot at a curator position and the best school for this is in California and I know it’s going to be hard but I love you--I love you and we can make long distance work if you want and if you don’t want well--well I don’t know what I’ll do then but I just wanted to let you know now because I’ve got to turn in my application next week and please please try to see this from my point of view because it’s all I’ve ever wanted and you know that.”

You take a shaky breath and hold your hands together on top of the table, clasped and shaking from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through you. You look up at Ransom with trepidation, hoping that he’s not mad--or indifferent.

But he’s neither. He simply looks… confused.

He simply stares at you for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face as he processes all of the words that just came rapid-fire out of your mouth.

“California?” Is all he says, finally.

You take the opportunity to push the stack of printed papers towards him. “These are… it’s… well, emails from people in the industry, some important articles about getting positions at museums. About where you have to go. Oh, there’s apartment listings there, too.” You even printed out detailed information about the qualifications for acceptance, and put them in a neat little table next to your own academic and experience record. You were a shoo-in, and you didn’t feel the need to be humble about it.

He grabs the stack and starts thumbing through, not saying another word as he seemingly thoroughly reads everything you’ve printed out. Your stomach feel like floating lead, heavy and flipping. You can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling, and he’s not giving you anything but a concentrated look at he looks through the statements, the listings, the plan you’ve outlined so neatly.

He finally sets the stack back down and simply stares at it for a few moments. Taking it in. Taking his thoughts in. Finally, Ransom looks up at you and the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach drop. He doesn’t look mad. He looks--and you hate it--disappointed, sad even.

“Look…” He sighs, eyebrows lifting as his gaze drifts away before settling back on you. “I’m not going to lie and pretend I’m okay with this. I’m not. Jesus, babe. California? Four years?”

“It’s no--” you interrupt, but he holds up his hand and you stop.

“But. But, but,” he lightly pounds his fist on the stack of tables, an almost nervous gesture in your eyes. “It’s what you want? What you need for your career? There’s no other way for you to get this--” he waves his hands around, “museum gig you’re after?”

You nod, unable--no, afraid--to speak, in case your voice is too tight with emotion.

“Then I guess I can deal with it.”

“What?” You blurt the words out. You expected… an argument. Or for him to blow you off, make it seem like you weren’t serious. Or, as you’d admitted to yourself earlier, for him to throw you away and find someone who wouldn’t make him wait around. Not… acceptance.

He laughs at your reaction and your stomach feels lighter, the tension in your body starting to fizzle away. “

“It’s not like I have to worry about getting the money to come visit, right? And hey,” he continues, “if you need someone to put in a good word to this school… maybe throw some cash at a dean or something…” He raises his eyebrows, wiggling them a little in a way that makes you snort.

You lean forward and nab one of the lukewarm pieces of scrambled eggs from his plate and pop it into your mouth. “Since you’re offering to help, I could use someone to check over my application…”

The envelope is too small. It’s way too small. Why did they make the envelope so damn small? Maybe the acceptance letter was sent on its own, and all of the other information--the giant packet telling you where to send payments and sign up for courses--would be sent to your email. But the thought of checking your email and seeing nothing makes you feel sick, so you keep your phone next to you on the table.

“You gotta open it,” Ransom says, soft and casual. He doesn’t move from his place beside you on the sofa, watching you with a neutral look. He probably knows why the envelope is too small, but he won’t say the words out loud--just like you won’t. If you say it out loud, then it’s true.

There's nothing else for you to do except confront the truth, and you rip open the envelope and pull out the folded paper with far too few printed words on the page.

Rejected. Outright. Completely. Not a fit for the school or the program.

If you weren’t sitting on the couch, you would have fallen over. As it is, you feel like the world is collapsing, like the sofa underneath you is melting into the floor and taking you with it.

“I don’t understand.” You can only manage to whisper, voice small--reflecting the way the rest of you feels. Small and falling and stupid.

Ransom takes the paper from your hand, and you don’t bother keeping a grip on it. You register the fact that he’s put an arm around your shoulders, but you can barely feel it through the numbness of rejection.

“What the fuck,” he says, voice louder next to your ear. It makes you shrink in more, even though his anger isn’t directed at you. “What the fuck.”

It’s you want to say, what you would say, if you had the strength. The energy. But the absolute, complete way that your future has suddenly become an unknown blank has left you stuck and heavy.

It doesn’t make sense. Your transcript was perfect--should have been perfect. You should have gotten in. You got top grades and references from professors and a list of relevant experiences that most students wouldn’t have until the end of their degree.

“I’m going to call them and find out what-the-fuck,” Ransom says suddenly, getting up with a jerking motion and walking towards the kitchen, where his phone rests on the counter. “No,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Better yet. I’ll call my grandfather. He’ll know how to convince this so-called top school that they made a big mistake.”

The thought makes your head spin. “Ransom, don’t.” You’re not a child. But you feel like one, like you just failed a math quiz and your dad is calling to find out why the teacher doesn’t know the quiz answers from his ass. “You can’t just call a school and make them accept someone.”

Your legs feel wobbly when you stand up, and Ransom practically swoops back to your side to hold you steady. He leads you back down on the sofa and you feel yourself accepting the loss, accepting that your dream is gone, or at least altered.

He squeezes an arm around you when you finally begin to cry, and for the moment you feel better, less worthless, less hopeless. It was just one rejection. One egg. You can’t put every egg in one basket, as they say.

You rest your head against his shoulder and sigh into it, enjoying the warmth and closeness. A feeling of luck pings at your heart. You’re really lucky to have a guy like Ransom. He’s not perfect, and sometimes you fight, and sometimes he does things that hurt you, but--are you perfect? Do you do things that hurt him, too? Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

With comfort comes clarity. The world isn’t ending. Your future isn’t blank. There are other options.

You feel almost perked up when you speak: “I guess I can apply to other schools. Maybe it won’t be the exact one I wanted but… there’s some in Chicago, even Michigan, that might work.”

Ransom’s arm tightens around you, slightly but firmly enough to notice.

“Babe, you’re not serious.”

You pull back enough to look up at his face.

“What do you mean?”

You can see Ransom fighting with his annoyed expression, trying to soften it up. You dimly recognize that you should be grateful--you know how snarky he can get with others when he’s not putting on a filter.

“Your transcript was fucking impeccable. I saw it! I sent it in for you! And you still didn’t get in. You think these other schools are going to accept you….” He trails off, leaning his head back, looking disappointed of all things. Disappointed in you? Or the school? You can’t tell. All you know is that it makes you feel low again, like you’re nothing, falling into the floor with a sense of worthlessness.

“I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole,” he says, and there’s a flicker of doubt in your mind about the truth of that statement. “I’m just trying to be honest. I don’t want you to have to deal with getting rejected from all those other schools, too. You know what I mean?”

You swallow down against the tightness in your throat. “Their standards might not be as strict. I know they’re not as strict. I could get in.”

He looks down at you, the same intense gaze from the morning that you told him about your plan on his face. The gaze that let you know he believed in you and would do anything--even go long distance for almost half a decade--for you. A gaze that let you know he was serious, honest, giving you his thoughts with an open heart. “Keyword. Could.”

It’s like a slap to the face.

“Are you saying I’m too stupid to get in anywhere?” You start to pull away, but his arms don’t let up and so all you can do is turn your head away, cheeks hot with humiliation. “Don’t you support me?”

“Jesus, no--and Jesus, yes.” Annoyance is bleeding into his voice and you wish you’d just ripped up the envelope and avoided the entire conversation. You keep your eyes on the floor, humiliating tears blurring your vision as you stare at the sliver of a stain from soda that you never got out of the cream colored rug.

“You are the smartest chick I know,” he says, voice a little softer, now. At least he’s trying to stop being an ass. “Seriously, you are. Maybe you’re just a--a different kind of smart. A kind of smart these schools don’t give a shit about. Do something here with that smartness, then. Stay where you’re at. Fuck, talk to the dean and tell them you want to to an independent degree or something. But don’t get your heart broken a million times when you could just make the most of what you’ve got here.” He squeezes, affectionate. “What we’ve got here.”

It’s not what you want. It’s not viable. You can’t get to where you want to be if you stay where you are. But he’s right--he’s right, isn’t he, because if you can’t get into a school with a nearly picture-perfect record and recommendations and experience oozing out of your ears, will there be any school that accepts you?

And if you stay here, Ransom is here, and you’re already in school here, and maybe you won’t get anywhere near a curator position (but you want to, it’s your dream, why give up on your dream?) but you can do something else, surely. Ransom will help you, like he always does. You might fight and argue and sometimes it gets intense but he always lends you a shoulder to cry on, doesn’t he? He’s always honest with you, even when it hurts. Even when it hurts like this, crushing and disappointing and sharp.

He pulls you closer to him, and this time you don’t fight as you rest your head back on his shoulder.

“So?” He starts to gently stroke your hair, the way he knows you like it.

You nod, sniffling against the last of the tears, unable--afraid--to say anything.

“That’s my girl,” he says, before gently flicking your forehead and reaching for his phone. “Hey, let’s go see a movie tonight. My treat.”

You nod against his shirt, unable to do more than mumble back, “Okay.” Okay, okay, okay. It’s a soft, unceremonious end to your California dreams.

#yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

215 notes · View notes

kodzukyan · 3 years ago

Text

talking to the moon

notes: yoshiwara au featuring samurai!baji x courtesan!(fem)reader! some fluff? angst. tw death! song recommendation accompaniments: yoshiwara lament - teto kasane & talking to the moon - kream!

wc: 2.3k

summary: yoshiwara is not meant for love, but you think it's far too late for you when you meet baji keisuke.

For as long as you can remember, your world has been seen through the bars of the harimise. A display, a product, for hours you would merely sit there and hope someone buys you.

The endlessly same scenery: the temple up north, the colorful vibrancy of kimonos, the bridge that leads southwards. Yoshiwara is always the same hustle and bustle of the lively streets. A day of ethereal beauty and strategic deceit; a night of lust and hushed promises, a so-called love that dispels with the first rays of dawn.

Once upon a time, you wanted to be someone who blooms for one person only, to love unreservedly. A childish dream to be free, to love fiercely. But fate steals your freedom and leaves you in the embrace of men who look at you as just another woman who warms their beds. Each bleak night as you look wistfully beyond the faceless man above you, the moon and stars sparkle, despite your torment, almost as if it’s mocking you for being unable to shine as they do.

With each passing day as you stare at your dull reflection in the polished mirror, bitterness seeps into your hardened heart. As your lips become redder and redder with used paint, the light in your eyes becomes dimmer and dimmer with dull indifference.

As if Yoshiwara bears your profound grief, it’s raining tonight. On such a day, you encounter him under the deep veil of darkness. His navy kimono contrasts vividly against your crimson lips, and the rosy pink that dusts his blushing cheeks gently warms your heart. He’s adorable, you think, as he grumbles and his friend nudges him towards the birdcage. Your eyes meet his, and his friend laughs and jostles him again towards you.

“Sir, won’t you please purchase me?” you smile sweetly, softly.

“I -” he starts.

“He would love to!” a new voice injects. His enthusiastic friend with blonde highlights smiles wolfishly.

“Welcome, please come in.”

You escort him to a room upstairs as the rain pours outside. When he cautiously enters your room, it is nothing like you are used to. He stands there awkwardly and runs a hand through his long locks.

“Would you like to sit? Perhaps a drink first?” you politely ask as you pat to the spot next to you.

It catches you by surprise when you can see the grays in his eyes as he looks at you instead of past you. He sits gruffly beside you and starts promptly, “We don’t have to do anything.”

You tilt your head, not really sure how to naturally proceed from here. But you've merely learned to comply, to satisfy, so you nod affirmatively and agree politely.

“In that case, what would you like to do?” you ask softly.

In a night meant for lovers between the sheets, he tells you stories of his adventures under the moonlight. You learn his name is Baji Keisuke, and he’s a samurai serving his childhood friend and the young lord of the Sano family. The one who ushered him here is one of his dearest friends named Kazutora, and they’ve been together since they were little. He loves feeling the adrenaline in his blood when he fights and often feeds stray cats because he thinks they’re cute. He unintentionally made his mom cry once when he was younger, so he swears he will never make her cry again.

He has dazzling eyes that tell no lies and an enigmatical smile that illuminates your heart, especially when he flashes his sharp canines that strikingly resemble fangs in his boisterous mirth. Outside, the continuous rain slows to a drizzle before it promptly stops. In your heart, he ignites a small spark of attainable hope.

A free spirit that contrasts very deeply against your very being. Unlike a trapped bird, he flies through the unclouded skies and undoubtedly makes life his own. His hearty laugh and vibrant eyes gently remind you what it's like to have hope beyond these four walls, to dream of a life of consuming love. You smile softly as he makes wild gestures with his hands, and you feel every insistent beat of your heart fluttering, thundering as he smiles affectionately at you.

Over and over again, he returns and buys your time instead of your used body. Time and time again, he talks naturally to you like you are someone in this world and listens to you like you are still good enough to be heard. Like the sun that melts away the darkness in your heart, your days spark a little brighter when he’s nearby. Instead of staring bitterly at your reflection as you paint your lips, the girlish dream you abandoned returns back to you.

Love whispers in your ears and knocks on your heart.

"Will you return?" you ask softly into the luminous night when he visits again. Once, twice, countless times to where you think you know him enough to remember what it’s like to love again.

As soon as the night ends, he has to leave. He will soar into the skies beyond the scope of your vision, beyond realms of the world you can only dream of because he's meant for something grander.

Still, you yearn.

"Where else would I go?" he answers as his eyes meet yours.

He clasps his rough hand around yours, eyes earnest and heart genuine, as he brushes against your knuckles tenderly. A hand full of calluses and blood, a hand used to wield swords and destructive weapons, but he cradles your hand so gently, tenderly, fondly.

"I will always come back to you."

You breathe out a quivering breath. You’ve heard these careless words countless times before from many other men, but his affectionate eyes are constantly full of genuine promises and unmistakable sincerity. You know Yoshiwara is the land of foolish dreams and lies, that Yoshiwara is unmeant for lovers.

Yoshiwara is not meant for the undeniable truth that you are irrevocably in love with him.

Still, you hope. You want to believe him, so you trust. You trust him with your vulnerability; you trust him with your heart. Under the veil of the night with the moon as your sole witness, you cut off a strand of your hair.

"For safe-keeping," you tell him as you tie your hair around his pinky, "Until you safely return."

He blinks once, twice before he smiles radiantly, fangs glinting in the light. He tugs a strand of his hair out before he clumsily wraps it around your pinky.

“There is something important I have to take care of,” he starts hesitantly. His eyes are looking into the darkness of the night, and for a moment, you can see weariness cloud his eyes. You reach to cradle his cheek, and at your touch, he looks at you. He holds your hand and presses a soft kiss on your fingertips. Newly found resolve beams through the clouds of doubt in his eyes. “But after that… Will you come with me?”

You stare incredulity at him, wide eyes carefully looking into his promising ones. He squeezes your hand as he stares anxiously back at you. The world is silent, and all you see is his gray eyes that have been your silver lining since the very first day.

He can’t afford to buy you, you know, and the fear of the consequences of running away burrows into your heart. But he looks at you, clear and open, and Heaven is in his eyes. You squeeze his hand back and bring it towards your lips to place a tender kiss on his palm. You think you’re far too ruined to be this optimistic about it, to dream of happiness like this, but you grin and nod anyway.

“I would go anywhere if it’s with you,” you smile, eyes and words honest.

He instantly breaks into an infectious grin, and he hugs you in eager excitement. “Thank you. I’ll be back by the next full moon. Wait for me,” he whispers fiercely into your hair.

You nod again as you melt into his comforting embrace. The flutters of your heart bloom into warmth in your chest, and it feeds into your heating cheeks as you hold on to him. The moon that invariably seems to look down on you, the stars that always seem to twinkle in critical disappointment softens as the lights of dawn overtake the sky.

A new day, a new hope.

He holds his pinky up, your hair tied on and your heart in the palm of his hands, as he looks at you. When you meet his eyes, the first rays of light glows behind him. He looks beautiful, angelic, and he seems so ephemeral. You hook your pinky, with his hair tied around it, with his in hopes that these fleeting moments will last just a moment longer, that this will be more than just a dream when you wake up.

A lie, a promise, you’re not quite sure which it is.

(You hope it’s a promise. You want it to be a promise.)

So, you wait. Day after day, night after night, and all the moments in between. You miss him like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky, but he fuels a fire in your heart that keeps you warm on the nights he isn’t here. It hasn’t rained for a long time now, you think, as you glance at your pinky and sunshine fill your soul. During nights, you keep your promise close to your heart as you stare at the phases of the moon. Waxing and waning, but your heart holds steady as you dream of boisterous laughter and lively eyes.

On the day of the full moon, you wait anxiously as people pass by. You’re on high alert as your eyes eagerly scan the crowd for any signs of him - his navy blue kimono, his long hair, his hearty laughter. As the blue sky turns to brilliant orange before it fades into the darkness of the night, the crushing weight in your heart grows heavier and heavier before the numbing realization that he won’t come hits you.

When the full moon peaks in the unclouded sky, only silence surrounds you. You sit lifelessly in front of your mirror at the end of the night with the full moon as your sole company. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting here as you mindlessly keep brushing your hair.

The overbearing heaviness finally breaks your heart and breaches the dam that restrains your tears. You muffle your cries in your kimono because you should have known better, should have known that dreams are unmeant for someone like you. You glance wistfully at your pinky before you clutch it close to your shattered heart, and all the energy in your body just comes out as silent sobs. As you bury your face in your knees and hug yourself, each fond memory comes back and replays in your head.

A mistake. This is a terrible mistake because you know Yoshiwara is built of lies like these. But when you think of his sincere eyes, your heart breaks again. Baji Keisuke is many things, but he is rarely a liar. You want to believe in him, want to believe in the dream of a life with him beyond these walls.

Maybe it’s not this full moon, you tell yourself, but he will return one day. The next full moon, the one after that, and all these other ones after, you’ll keep waiting. You believe in him, believe in love, so you will hold on steadfastly, stubbornly, desperately because you don’t think your heart can handle it otherwise.

In just another day of waiting in the similar scenery, you catch glimpses of a spark from the temple northwards. A new sight, but among the lively streets of just another busy day, it’s not a sight you focus on. The sparks are nice, though, you think as you suppress a giggle, because it reminds you of the fire in his eyes.

When it reaches dusk, the scorching winds blow from the northeast. The direction you watch him go from the confines of your birdcage, and when you still see the sparks, a foreboding feeling, a bad omen sinks into your heart as the sun falls.

The initial flare grows bigger and bigger until it bursts into a firestorm and begins swallowing the town. You run frantically alongside the chaotic crowd as the screams fill the air and fear fills your blood. You run, run, run until your legs are burning - from the fire? From fatigue? You’re not sure.

Your heart breaks with every step you take because death comes knocking. You keep holding on stubbornly because you still believe in your promise. But soon, your legs only carry you so far amongst the fleeting crowd and falling buildings and smoke fills your lungs and chokes you.

As fire devours you, you glance at the waxing moon. It ruthlessly tears through your skin and burns, burns, burns, but the pain of breaking your promise rips through your heart.

All you can think about are the moonlit nights under the same skies within the four walls you call home and the man you know as love. You think of his starry gray eyes and the promise you couldn’t keep, and you clutch your hand over your heart. Close, so, so close, but not quite another full moon yet. With sorry repeated on your cracked lips and lament in your anguished heart, your uncontrollable tears fall hopelessly.

(The news of the tragic death of a singular samurai, holding his bleeding hand to his heart, in the Battle of Valhalla never reaches you.

After all, fire travels faster than words.)

The deafening sound of crackling fire plays your requiem and ends the unfulfilled dream of love.

end notes: harimise is a viewing cage where courtesans were placed in, like products on display at shops. they sit there the whole day until someone buys them.

the act of cutting off your hair and tying it around someone's pinky is a lover's pact. basically, it's a vow of love between a courtesan and their customers, where they offer their hair, nails, and blood to seal the deal. it could be used to extort more money from the customer, but it could also just be a promise of love.

also fun fact: historically, yoshiwara did end up burning in a huge fire that originated in a temple! :")

#baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #baji angst #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #baji x you #baji keisuke x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers angst #i was working on another baji wip but then this took over LOL #one day we will have happy baji stories but today is not the day 😔#but literally baji in his navy blue kimono/yukata and high ponytail plagues my mind #so here we are <3 #sometimes i write things #i hope this shows up in the tags lol #also i read somewhere that palm kisses mean i trust you #i hope hes not too ooc?? i feel like baji is awko taco when it comes to love tbh HAHAH

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pastelwitchling · 3 years ago

Text

A little follow-up to the 3x06 malex sneak peek.

Michael’s fingers should’ve gone numb from the cold hours ago, but he supposed that being an alien protected him from the elements, even as he stood alongside a radio tower, working on wires and satellite transmissions that would’ve been a lot easier with the help of a trained Air Force cyber-intelligence specialist for the better part of five hours.

Michael’s jaw was clenched for more than the chill, his fingers cutting and typing and scribbling across a paper for more than the desire to be done as quickly as possible. Caught up here in the silence, nothing but the sound of howling wind and dead grass swaying to keep him company, Michael couldn’t stop replaying Alex’s words in his head.

I just don’t want you anywhere near whatever it is I decide to do.

After everything that had happened, everything Alex had told him, threatening to destroy the world if a hair on his head was hurt, Alex didn’t want him around now. Alex didn’t want him near him. Michael was supposed to be focused on finding Kyle, on waiting for the lab reports from Liz about the blood on that shovel and who it belonged to, but he was pretty sure he was losing his mind instead.

When Alex had driven up, Michael had been unable to help but smile, even at how pale Alex had been. Because at least Alex was here. He always came when Michael called, and Michael was just starting to allow himself to be giddy about it. Then all hell had broken loose, and Alex had seemed indifferent to his best friend missing.

Even Michael, who had never wanted Alex to forgive Kyle for their high school days, had felt betrayed. Betrayed even worse when Alex had refused him. Michael had asked specially, had kept Alex from leaving, and Alex had still gone. He couldn’t help but agonize over it.

When Michael’s phone rang with Liz’s name, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. He picked up, and held the phone to his ear, his eyes closed.

“Ortecho,” he said in lieu of a greeting, “you got a name for me?”

“Michael,” she said, and Michael’s eyes opened at the barely-contained distress in her voice. “Did Alex show up? Please tell me he’s there with you.”

Michael frowned. “No,” he swallowed, “no, he left. Why, what’s going on?”

“The shovel’s gone,” Liz said, frantic now.

Michael straightened. “What?”

“So’s the blood sample! Michael, that was the strongest lead we had! What’re we going to do now?” He heard her mutter something in Spanish, too quickly and quietly to be coherent. “Do you have any idea where Alex is?”

“Not a clue,” Michael confessed, raking an angry hand through his curls. “Was the house broken into? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine!” she said impatiently. “No one broke in, whoever did this knew what they were doing!” She huffed shakily. “We have to find Kyle, we have to. Who could’ve taken it? Who else knew?”

“No one,” Michael pressed a fist to his forehead, thinking. “No one, just Max, you, me, and . . . and . . .”

“Where’s the shovel now?”

“Liz took it.”

Michael froze. His hand with the phone fell limp to his side and an incredulous, humorless laugh escaped his lips. There’s no way, he thought numbly. No way . . .

He muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

Alex had barely stepped out of his car at a time far past midnight when Michael was there, shutting the door with his mind. Alex whipped around, startled, to find the cowboy there, glaring.

His lips were already curled around the question, about to ask what was going on, what had gotten into Michael, but Michael wasn’t about to humor his act. Not when it felt like his heart was breaking.

“Where’s the shovel, Alex?” he demanded. “What’d you do with the blood sample?”

Alex’s brows furrowed for a second before realization dawned, and his shoulders slumped. “It’s gone,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Then panic hit, “Is Liz okay?”

“You know damn well she’s not,” he growled, stepping into Alex’s space. For a horrifying second, Michael thought he might blast Alex back into the door of his house and demand answers. It had nothing to do with the shovel itself, but with the very idea that Alex – his Alex – had gone behind his back and hurt him like this. He’d never felt so betrayed, every part of him shattering.

“She’s scared out of her mind,” he said. “She wants to find Kyle, you know she does, and you took our only lead, so while I’m asking nicely –”

“While you’re asking nicely?”

“—where is the damn shovel?”

Alex searched Michael’s face, confused. Then he scoffed, the sound colored in disbelief. His next words were almost in a whisper. “You really think I took it.”

Doubt crept in, but Michael let his anger push it aside. “Don’t play stupid.”

Alex shrugged. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“Where is it?”

Alex shook his head. He looked resigned. “I don’t know.” He turned to leave, but Michael grabbed his arm and turned him back around.

“Tell me, Alex,” he said, “before this gets worse.”

“Can it?” Alex asked, and Michael faltered when he saw Alex’s eyes were glassy. “Get worse?”

Michael squeezed Alex’s arm once, not knowing for a moment what to say, then he let go. “You’re the only other person who knew about the blood sample.”

He hummed. “Oh, and – uh – the kidnapper. Pretty big lead there, but I’m glad you came to me first.”

Michael’s face fell, and he shook his head. Without thinking, he blurted, “You’re – you’re lying.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

Alex looked like Michael had stabbed him in the heart. He looked away, swallowed, then turned back to Michael. “Even if I had taken it,” he said, “you really don’t trust me? You don’t trust it’d be for a good reason?” He huffed a miserable chuckle. Michael saw his hands curled to fists before he put them in his jacket pockets. “It’ll never be enough, will it? No matter what I do, no matter how much I love you, I’ll always be Jesse Manes’ son in your eyes.”

Michael opened his mouth. He clung to the anger, but found it was no longer there, replaced with shame and guilt. Even if Alex had taken it, even if he’d wiped it clean, even if he’d refused to help him find Kyle . . . wasn’t it all for something? Wasn’t everything Alex did for something?

He pushed the thought away. “I-It’s different.”

“Yeah, it is,” Alex said and sniffled, moving backwards. “The difference is that I actually believed in you.”

And without another word, Alex turned and went into his house, shutting the door and keeping Michael out.

Michael had no idea what he was doing here. He told himself it was to check that Maria was okay, since Isobel had told him that she’d woken up, but when he saw her sitting up against her hospital bed pillows, he found there was no hint of surprise. He’d known she was going to be okay.

He sat down with a smile regardless. “Well, don’t you look good as new.”

“Shut up,” she groaned, and tilted her head over Michael’s shoulder at the door. She reached for the IV strip in the back of her hand. “Quick, before Is gets back, get me out of here.”

Michael only scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? We won’t even make it to the elevator.”

“What,” she said dryly, “are you scared of your own sister?”

“Completely.”

“Oh, come on, Guerin!” she whined, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed. “Can’t you just –” she put her hand on his arm and flinched back.

“Ow!” she hissed, waving her hand as if she’d been burned. “Oh, jeez, what’s with the aura?”

Michael’s smirk tightened. “I’m gonna tell you what I told Isobel. Stop reading my feelings.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, “but they’re like” – she gestured wildly around Guerin – “everywhere. What’s happened with Alex?”

He faltered. “How’d you know it was about Alex?”

“Please,” she sighed. “You only ever get this loud around Alex. What’d you do?”

Michael gaped. “I didn’t do anything! I . . .” he huffed, and stood, pacing the length of the hospital room for a moment.

Maria rolled her eyes. “Today, Guerin, before the nurse comes in with more morphine and I have to fight her off again.”

“That bloody shovel Max found where Kyle was taken? It’s gone. Someone took it.” He hesitated, rubbing his hands together. “The only people that knew were us . . . and Alex.”

“Wow,” she had a hand on her chest. “Okay? And?”

When Michael didn’t answer, her eyes widened.

“You didn’t.” She leaned forward. “Guerin, you didn’t.”

“He asked where it was,” Michael defended. “And he wouldn’t help me find Kyle –”

She huffed an incredulous laugh. “Oh my God. You were so upset that he wouldn’t hang out with you that you accused him of stealing key evidence?”

“I –”

“And what if he did?” she demanded. “So he took it, so what? He must have a dangerous idea who’s behind all of this, and didn’t want anyone else to get involved! I don’t know, but it’s important! I know it is, you know it is! You know what he would do for Kyle! What he would do for any of us!”

A thought seemed to occur to her and her eyes widened. “Oh, poor Alex. Poor Alex, oh my God, this must be killing him!” She tried to step out of bed and swayed. Michael was at her side in an instant, but she was pushing him away. “How could you?!” she demanded. “After everything he’s done for you, how could you think he doesn’t care?!”

“Okay,” Michael tried, seating her back down. “I’m sorry, please, just –”

“You hurt him!” Michael fell silent. “You hurt Alex!” She shook her head. “We’ve already hurt him. You were supposed to be the one that protected him.”

Michael clenched his jaw and his eyes burned. He thought of Alex’s face, his resignation when Michael had accused him of not caring. He hadn’t been surprised at all. Even after the years of defending Michael, he hadn’t been surprised that Michael hadn’t defended him.

I just don’t want you anywhere near whatever it is I decide to do.

Now he heard the words for what they were. Now he heard the truth.

“Well,” he said quietly, “I didn’t.”

Alex opened his front door at almost four in the morning to a miserable Michael slumped against his doorway.

“This is why you didn’t want me anywhere near whatever you decided to do, isn’t it?”

Alex leaned against his door and sighed. The corner of his lips tugged up for a split second. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

They sat there in silence for a while under the warm yellow light of the lamps, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Michael studied Alex, the way his shirt ran tight over his muscles, his flat stomach, his toned chest, his strong arms and pursed lips and long fingers. Then he noticed the smaller things; the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, the scratches on his fingers and faint bruises on his jaw, the hollow of his cheeks. He was tired. Exhausted. Michael had been so happy to see Alex back, to have him close, that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I hated that you didn’t want to work with me,” he said, and Alex looked up, meeting his gaze. “I hated that I had to convince you. I guess I always knew that you would do anything I wanted, and . . . I wanted . . . I want to do this with you. Because I don’t know how to be good for everyone without you.”

Michael exhaled shakily. “I trust you, Alex. You’re the only one in the world that I trust. Whatever you decide, I know it’s for a good reason. I just hate – I hate . . . I hate not being part of it. I hate that you’re doing it alone.”

Slowly, Alex leaned back against the couch, his finger tapping the mug in his hands.

“I left the Air Force.”

Michael almost dropped his cup. “W-What?”

“Full honors,” he said, smiling for the briefest second before something weary took its place. “What I’m doing now . . . I think I know how to find Kyle.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “You knew that he was missing.”

“Hours before you called. Even got his . . . what’d you call it? Suicide bat signal?”

“And the tower? You knew about that, too?”

Alex pursed his lips and nodded. “Let’s just say I’m not working with people that like to share information.”

Michael realized he’d known that. He’d always known, if he was being honest with himself. He’d known Alex had had his own lead, that something was different about him this time. It wasn’t like when he’d come back from war. Back then, it was like Alex had lost something and didn’t know what to do. Now he’d found it and had a plan to get it back.

“That’s why you didn’t want me working around it.”

Alex smiled sadly. “Would you believe that it’s for you? That everything I have and am is for you?”

Michael swallowed thickly. He didn’t need to say the words. Alex knew he believed it. “And you? When do you get a turn?”

Alex shrugged a tired shoulder and whispered, “I don’t know how to be good for everyone without you.”

Michael didn’t know what to say to that. His eyes burned and he wanted more than anything to take Alex in his arms and kiss his forehead and help him sleep. But they had work to do.

Alex sniffled and sat up, stretching an arm over his head. “You should go,” he said, his eyes on a hallway engulfed in shadows. “Keep looking for Kyle on your end.”

As he said the words, Michael heard the silent message beneath; And I’ll find him on mine.

Michael nodded him to himself, then stood. He stared at Alex, clenching his fists, and said, “You better enjoy these last moments going solo, Private. Because after we get Valenti back, whatever it takes” – he came in close until his lips brushed the shell of Alex’s ear – “I’m not letting anything come between us again.”

Without another word, Michael walked out, and as he left, he could’ve sworn he heard Alex’s resolute, “Neither am I.”

For the record, I think the fandom is being ridiculously dramatic, that teaser was wonderful and filled with delicious tension, so please don’t rant to me about it because I absolutely LOVED it and this little fic was just for fun.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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chaotic-noceur · 4 years ago

Text

puppy therapy

pairing: Sukuna x reader (ft. Yuuji, Megumi, and Megumi's dogs)

summary: when Sukuna finds you in a slump of burn out, he calls in a favour from Yuuji in an attempt to help

universe: modern + roommates au ; same-ish universe as what's unspoken isn't unknown

warnings: depression/burn out symptoms, wearing his shirt, headphone usage, no-shoes-in-the-house living setting, kisses

a/n: i'm tired, probably going to fail something, and i really want to pet a dog so i self projected :) shoutout to @ezrasarm for being the bestest hooman ever and beta-ing this even though she has never read/watched jjk in her life 💕💕

Sukuna does a double take when he passes your room on his way for a coffee refill. The last thing he expected was to find you still curled up in bed, watching an episode of whatever it is you had borrowed his Netflix account for. As he takes in your figure, a frown forms on his features. He doesn't need to see the look of exhaustion on your face to recognise the sure signs of burnout. He knows the feeling all too well himself.

He knows the wave of indifference that washes over you every time you're reminded of your deadlines. He knows the hollowness in your chest that refuses to be filled, no matter how hard you try. He knows the heaviness in your limbs that are so worn down by fatigue that every move feels like a workout. He knows the insults that your mind hurls at itself for its own inability to push past this slump. And he refuses to let you wallow alone.

The sound of your door being nudged open catches your attention and you pause the show before glancing towards Sukuna, unamused at the interruption. “Get dressed,” he says as he tosses one of his shirts at you — knowing you find comfort in wearing them, “we’re going out.” You move to protest, instinctively drawing up an excuse about how you have work to do. But you stop yourself short, it’s not like you're going to get anything done anyway.

"Good morning to you too," you grumble instead as you move to pick up his shirt from where it had landed on your bed. Sukuna snorts in response and you roll your eyes before moving to usher him out of your room. Mechanically, you shrug out of your sleepwear, and get yourself into a semi-presentable state before meeting him at the door.

Sukuna hands you your keys as you walk up to him, his sunglasses pushed into his hair. You do a quick check to ensure you have everything you need as Sukuna does the laces of his boots. Putting your shoes on, you spare a glance at your reflection in the mirror before following Sukuna out the door.

You slip your hand into his when you catch up to him by the elevators and he brings it up to his lips before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. He smiles at you with a softness that you rarely see in public but when your eyes turn to meet his gaze, there's a tiredness behind them that makes his heart ache. Sensing his concern, you squeeze his hand in silent reassurance, and he returns the action.

As you step into the street, you're tempted to ask about his plan. But Sukuna was never one to reveal his surprises before they unfolded in natural order and you're in no mood to pry the answers from him. Instead, you connect your earphones to your phone, pass the other earbud to Sukuna and shuffle your shared playlist as he leads you through the streets.

You lose yourself in the melody as the pair of you make your way to the secret destination. Occasionally, Sukuna tugs on your arm to signal that you're turning but otherwise, you allow your mind to wander, trusting in him to keep you out of harm's way.

Your thoughts drift to the list of deadlines that should induce more stress than they currently do and a pang of guilt spreads across your chest. If you had any sense, you should've said no to this impromptu date. You don't deserve to take a break, not when your list of responsibilities continues to grow and your care for them dwindles by the day; not when you know you're setting yourself up for failure but don't have enough care left to give to change the ending; not when —

Something in your expression must have alluded to the thoughts swarming in your mind because Sukuna stops the pair of you then. He moves to stand in front of you before sliding his sunglasses into his hair. "Stop thinking so much," he says as he runs his thumb along your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes, "just focus on me. Focus on us being here, okay?" You nod minutely and he sighs before bringing his lips to your forehead. He intertwines his fingers with yours again and continues his journey, hoping that his surprise will lighten your mood.

"Does this mean you'll tell me where we're going?" you ask after a moment. Sukuna snorts.

"No way in hell. Besides, we're almost there."

As the sound of laughter and barking fills the air, you perk up and glance around at your new surroundings. You turn to Sukuna, curious, but he's tapping away at his phone. He comes to a stop when he reaches a clearing, a sea of dogs running around before the pair of you. You're about to ask him what was going on when a head of strawberry hair enters your peripheral vision.

"Sukuna!" Yuuji cheers as he runs up to the pair of you, his phone clutched in one hand. Sukuna removes the earbud from his ear and passes it to you as you do the same.

"Brat," comes Sukuna's response before Yuuji turns to greet you. He moves to hug you but falters when Sukuna puts a hand on his shoulder, unsure of how your current state mixes with hugs from sweaty individuals. Yuuji seems to understand. He shrugs his brother's hand off before spinning around and guiding the pair of you to his picnic blanket.

You spot Megumi a little way away, Ghost and Shadow running in circles around him as they wait for the tennis ball in his hand to be released. When you notice the snacks and your favourite drink perched on the blanket, the pieces fall into place and your mouth falls open in shock. "Sukuna! You didn't have to trouble them into all this!"

Yuuji responds instead of his brother, waving off your exclamations. "It was no problem! We were planning on coming here anyway and the dogs love people!" As if on cue, Ghost and Shadow come bounding towards you, Megumi following after them. Sukuna lets go of your hand to kneel and pet the bundles of excitement that have huddled around your legs, a chuckle escaping him as Megumi settles into a seat beside his friend.

"You didn't have to do all this," you say to Megumi as you take your seat.

"It's fine," he shrugs. "The food was on the way and those two needed to expend their energy." He gestures towards his dogs as hints of a smile creep its way onto his face. Ghost detaches from Sukuna to come greet you then and settles his head into your lap once he'd given you several affectionate face licks. You giggle at the sensation as you ruffle his fur.

Yuuji and Megumi fall into conversation amongst themselves and you grab what you assume is yours and Sukuna's drinks from the cardboard holder. He seats himself beside you not long after, Shadow retreating back to Megumi's side. You offer him his drink once he's settled and he takes it with a quiet 'thanks' before falling naturally into the conversation between Yuuji and Megumi. Sipping from your drink, you bask in the air of joy around you as you rest your head against Sukuna's shoulder and let your eyes fall shut.

You chuckle as you watch Yuuji dote on Shadow, Megumi begrudgingly handing over yet another treat. They're far away enough that their voices are drowned out by the screams and barks of the others in the park but judging by their interaction, you imagine Megumi's saying something about spoiling the dog in question.

Sukuna returns from disposing the trash that you had collectively cumulated and slings his arm over your shoulder as he seats himself once more. Ghost stirs in your lap, blinks lazily at Sukuna before closing his eyes again. You lean into Sukuna's side, skin tingling when he places a kiss onto your temple.

"You really should stop taking advantage of your brother's kindness," you chastise after a moment, but there's no bite to your words. A soft smile lingers on your face as you card your fingers through Ghost's white fur.

Sukuna shrugs before running his thumb over the curve of your lip. "It made you smile again though didn't it?" The beginning of a smirk forms across his features and you refrain from rolling your eyes at him. Instead, you lean your forehead against his before connecting your lips together, a silent thank you exchanged.

The remnants of numbness still linger in your chest and your mind still drowns in a dizzying fog. There’s no guarantee that you won’t wake up tomorrow without an ounce of motivation. But, for now, it’s enough. For now, you relish in the warmth of the sun that beats against your skin, the sound of joy and bliss that filters into your ears, and the love that Sukuna envelops you in — safe and ever present. He is your light, and for now; that’s enough.

#sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kay writes #**jujutsu kaisen #depression symptoms #burnout symptoms

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

Text

My Darling Cat Roommate

lmao this isn’t lambden, as the title may suggest. sorry folks

@stinastar hit me with some feels over and modern roommate au where Geralt just doesn’t know what to do to make Jask feel better and this happened.

Warnings: We go into some Seasonal Affective Depression stuff here so like be careful with that if it triggers you, jask beats himself up a little, mentioning feeling numb at things that usually bring him joy, i swear in this one. I haven’t changed, dont worry lol

_______________________

Jaskier trudged home from work on Friday, exhausted but relieved he had the next week off. He wolfed down the leftovers Geralt had heated up for him and almost fell asleep on the couch before Geralt hauled him up and walked him into his room, where he promptly fell asleep on top of his duvet in jeans and his shoes. Sometime around when early morning coffee workers were getting up he undressed and snuggled under the warm blankets.

When he woke to Geralt making a smoothie he was prepared to launch into a full ‘morning people’ rant, only to check his phone and realize it was 2pm. So, maybe he’d needed rest.

It was still grey enough out that he shrugged and went back to sleep.

When he woke up again it was dark and the TV was going. He wrapped up in his comforter rather than putting on sweats and shuffled out to the kitchen only because his stomach growled when he tried to roll over.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty!” Geralt called over his shoulder as he floated past with the pasta he’d left in the microwave.

Jaskier just grunted a small “Thanks,” before he disappeared back into his room. He scrolled through various apps as he ate and rolled back into bed.

He might have fallen asleep, he might not, but he certainly didn’t get out of bed until his bladder absolutely demanded it on Sunday morning.

Geralt intercepted him in the hallway before he could make it back to his room, “You feeling okay?”

“Hm? Why?” Jaskier took a moment to respond, staring at Geralt like he’d grown a second head. He knew his hair was probably greasy but he couldn’t look that bad.

“You slept all day yesterday.” Geralt looked like he was diffusing a bomb rather than talk to his roommate, “Did something happen at work?”

Jaskier just shrugged, “I’m just tired.” And a little numb.

Geralt nodded, “I’m headed to the store. You sure you don’t want me to pick anything up for you?”

“I’m okay, Geralt…” he sighed, slipping past his brick wall of a roommate to slink beneath his blankets once again and make himself as small as possible.

It was late January and the Seasonal Affective Depression was in full swing. He should have bought that fucking happy light when it was on sale. Should have bought the Vitamin D tablets he saw last week. Should have let Geralt drag him to the gym a little more when he felt the initial dip. Should have blah blah blah. He thought over every little thing he knew would have helped that he just hadn’t done and sighed, pulling his blankets tighter around him. He knew he wasn’t going to do any of it until it got bad enough that his hair would stick to his forehead once he hit this point. Might as well hurry it along so it could be over with.

Geralt knocked on his door, snapping him out of his mini spiral. He hummed, not even bothering to turn over until he heard the rattle of the doorknob.

“I know you didn’t want anything, but… uh. I was in the bulk section. Got you the peach things.” Geralt’s voice was lower and softer than usual as he raised the frankly massive bag of peach rings for emphasis before he set them on Jaskier’s desk.

“Than-” Jaskier coughed when his voice came out raspy and broken, “Thank you.”

Geralt leaned against the doorframe for a moment, a curious frown on his face, “Bake Off is on in an hour if you wanna watch it.”

Jask forced a smile and shrugged, “We’ll see.”

Geralt pursed his lips and nodded, pausing a moment before pushing off the doorframe, “Okay.”

Jaskier stared at the peach rings for a while after Geralt closed the door. Eventually he compromised with his brain and rolled out of bed onto his knees, waddling a couple of steps until he could reach the rings then launch back to bed.

Normally he would have almost cried with happiness that Geralt had gotten his favorite treat. He loved it when Geralt did little things for him or thought of him enough to give him something, but he felt rather indifferent as he shoved the twentieth peach ring in his mouth.

Without warning his door opened just enough for a plate to appear and be gently set on his desk.

Geralt muttered, “For the sugar high…” before his hand disappeared and the door once again shut.

Jaskier almost smiled when he saw the neatly arranged concentric circles of Totinos Pizza Rolls on the plate. He got to his feet to fetch them this time.

Around ten that night there was another knock at his door that pulled him from an hour long scroll through tiktok.

“Jask?”

“Yeah?”

Geralt held a big grey bundle in his arms, “Do you- Uh. I thought- weighted blanket?” He held his arms out with a hesitant smile.

Jaskier sat up, “But don’t you use it to sleep?”

Geralt shrugged, unfolding the bean-filled blanket and laying it over Jaskier’s legs, “I’ll be fine.”

Jaskier stared at the ceiling for a while after he left, confused by Geralt’s suddenly attentive behavior. He would have expected the grouchy man to enjoy the silence that came with his bad days. For how much Geralt complained about his loud music, he certainly wasn’t expecting gifts.

Geralt left a note in the kitchen Monday morning saying he’d made Jaskier a breakfast sandwich with instructions on how to warm it up without it turning soggy. Jaskier stood in front of the panini press reading and rereading the note as he heated his breakfast like it was in Old English. He ate at the kitchen table this time, annoyed with the crumbs in his bed, and counted up all the little gifts he’d been brought. He could come to only one conclusion.

Geralt was part cat.

He’d stopped functioning and Geralt kept bringing him mice.

He smirked and sent him a quick text, “Thanks for the breakfast. 👌 V good.”

After breakfast, he decided maybe he could change his pajamas, but he stayed tucked under Geralt’s weighted blanket for most of the day. Every now and then Geralt would text him something stupid Eskel or Lambert did, or a meme he found on his break, and every time Jaskier would grin and send back an emoji. Words were out of reach but Geralt frequently only communicated in emojis and one-word sentences. He should get the message.

Jaskier fell asleep around two, really asleep not just the fitful light sleep he’d been having the last couple of days. He was rousted from a dream about a talking panini press by Geralt tripping over a pile of laundry and softly swearing as he tried to right himself without crashing into the bed or Jaskier’s lute.

“Geralt? Darling, what are you doing?”

Geralt finally caught himself and nearly blinded Jaskier with a smile as he straightened up, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Jaskier sat up and scratched at his hair, “Yes, but doing what?”

“Oh! Yeah. Uh. I-” Geralt, still grinning, pointed to a small fern in a bright orange clay pot sitting on his windowsill.

“You got me a plant?”

Geralt was practically beaming when Jaskier glanced back at him.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a cat?”

Geralt snorted, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “You’re feeling better?”

Jaskier tilted his head, “I think so? What makes you say that?”

“You called me ‘Darling’.”

A hesitant smile crept on Jaskier’s face. There was an echo of the usual all-consuming warmth spreading in his chest that he usually felt when Geralt smiled at him. He may indeed be feeling a bit better. Come to think of it he actually wanted to shower.

“I taped Bake Off. If you’re feeling up for a trek to the couch,” Geralt offered, forced nonchalance dripping from every word.

Jask nodded, “Let me shower, then we can finish off the peach rings.”

Geralt’s smile nearly stopped his heart, a sure sign he was nearing the land of the living again, “I got lasagna on the way home too,” he chirped as he jumped up and made his way to the door.

“Hey, Darling?” It felt a little forced and goofy saying the pet name like that, but Jaskier just couldn’t help himself, “Thank you.”

Geralt’s smile softened, “Anytime.”

#listen yall idk who im projecting on more with this one #but the feels are strong and i yearn #geraskier #geraskier roommates #geraskier roommates au #roommates au #the witcher #the witcher modern au #the witcher roommates au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #seasonal affective disorder #seasonal affective depression #cw SAD #depression #thems some heavy tags for something meant to be fluff #that kinda just hits the nail on the head for the fandom tho yeah?#lol #soft geraskier

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babybatscreationsv2 · 3 years ago

Note

if you’re taking prompts;

so; tony is the devil. Or hades? Although hades isn’t technically “evil” so idk. And peter’s very literally made a deal with the devil. Only he couldn’t keep up with his end of the deal and now his soul he belongs to tony. aND THEN, tony kinda likes pities him and it turns into a beauty and the beast sorta thing where tony has his undead servants make feasts n all that sorta stuff so peter feels comfortable. And then they fall in love. And then they screw 😌

Thank you for this because I've been looking for an excuse to write a Hades and Persephone story. This ended up so tender and romantic that you can't call it smut. These beeches be making love. Also this ended up full fic sized so here's the details.

Eat the Fruit

Summary: When Peter's lover dies in an accident, he offers his soul to the God of the Underworld to save him, but when he is unable to fulfill his end of the deal he finds himself in the Underworld. Now Peter is left tending to the pomegranate grove where the only balm for his loneliness is Hades (aka Tony), a god with a prickly edge.

Rating: Explicit

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed with gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

You must love him to offer your soul to me this way.

Please, you are lord of the dead. If anyone has this power, it's you.

I am not cruel, Peter. I will restore your lover's soul. In return, you must stay with him in life until he dies a natural death.

I promise.

So be it.

----------

The agony of heartbreak still echoed in his mind. His mind replayed the moment as Harry told him goodbye and turned away, closing the door as he went. He wished he could try again. Despite how he had pleaded with Harry not to leave, had promised him whatever he wished, he felt that maybe there was something he could have done. Harry did not love him anymore. He left him.

And so Peter fainted... and he awoke in a vast orchard.

He sat up in the grass and looked around at the low trees each baring heavy red fruit. Pomegranates. They looked beautiful, delicious. Peter stood and brushed himself off. He looked around feeling unsure how he had gotten here. Then he remembered and a sob escaped him. Not only had he lost the love of his life, he had broken his deal with Hades. This beautiful grove must have been a part of the Underworld.

"So soon," said a voice. Peter turned to catch sight of a man. He was handsome, a bit older than Peter, with wrinkles around his eyes, yet those eyes shined with livelihood. When he last saw Hades it had been a shadow of his true form, something massive and hulking and terrible. He seemed almost kind now. He had been kind enough to him then.

"Please, Lord Hades, send me back. Let me try again."

The god plucked a fruit from a tree and examined it. "Sorry, kid. That was a one time offer. No take backs." He looked Peter over, then he placed the pomegranate in his hands. He walked past him and Peter followed along, afraid to be left alone in such a place.

"Please. I'll give you anything. Lord Hades-"

The god huffed and turned on the spot. He held up a finger. "First of all, there's no need to call me that. Hades is more of a title and I'm over it. Call me Tony."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Tony. Now, listen up because I've got a short temper." Tony looked him in the eye. His hand held Peter's chin. "You will never leave the Underworld. Do you understand? Your soul belongs to me. You belong to me. This is where you will stay. Forever."

"Forever," Peter repeated. Not a question, but a realization. He had given everything for Harry. Everything.

The god took hold of his arm and turned him to look across the orchard. "Do you see the river there? You are never to attempt to cross it. If you try, its current will drag you under and you will drown in its waters until I see fit to retrieve you. The river Styx will not allow a soul to leave so easily."

Tony patted his shoulder. "Got it?"

Peter nodded. "I get it. Don't cross the river." It sure didn't sound fun to drown in a river until this oddly blase god decided to have mercy on him. "What happens now?"

Tony shrugged. "Tend the orchard or something. What do I care?"

Peter looked at him like he had grown a second head, which maybe he did have two heads, this probably wasn't his true form. "You let me sell my soul to you so I could just hang out?"

Tony's face shifted and Peter shrank back. His sudden anger was sharp and cold like a dagger made of ice. He encroached on Peter's space and with a clenched jaw he tried not to back away further. "Listen up, kid. You made the deal you wanted to make. You wanted to sacrifice yourself for what your heart desired and I gave you the opportunity. Life isn't the fairy tale you thought it was. Now, tend the trees and keep out of my hair."

Peter watched him go. He stared off in the direction that he went a while longer. Then cold began to seep into his bones. He sat down under a pomegranate tree. He wrapped his arms around his legs. Then he cried, wet tears staining the clothes he had died in. It could have been a lifetime that he cried, but when he finally got up he was numb.

Harry was gone and his life was over, but there was no going back. Peter turned in a circle, looking at the orchard. It was beautiful. If he had to spend the rest of eternity here it certainly wasn't the worst place to be. Sometimes when a breeze kicked up, he thought he heard screaming off in the direction he had decided to call south. There were certainly worse places to be even in the Underworld.

Peter walked to the edge of the pomegranate grove. Several feet from the edge, the ground began to slope down until it reached the edge of the Styx. A boat floated along the water. A man with a scraggly goatee and messy, curly, hair rowed along while a woman with red rimmed eyes sat in the seat. When she looked up, she looked right through him as if he were glass. A chill went through him. Once the feeling passed, he tried to wave at her, but she didn't respond. Was she in shock? Did she know yet that she was dead? Where was she being taken, he wondered. He hoped it was somewhere nice like his pomegranate grove and not the place where the screaming came from.

He kept walking, following the tree line, never passing the trees on the very edge. The orchard was vast, but not endless. On one side was the river Styx. On the next, the river Lethe. Or he assumed it was as the mist that came off of it made his head feel hazy. When he reached the third side is when the screaming grew louder. He walked faster until it grew distant again.

The fourth edge of the orchard stretched on into a garden. Peter stopped himself at the edge of the trees. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to leave the orchard or not. He hadn't been explicitly told not to. So he did.

He followed along low hedges and passed through clusters of hydrangea. Then the ground began to change from grass and plant life to cold gray stone. Peter looked back at the garden and the orchard beyond it. Was this allowed? He couldn't tend the trees without any tools. He'd need baskets if he were to collect the fruit and if they got sick he'd need medicines. He wasn't sure what else one could possibly do for trees. Perhaps Tony could tell him.

He found the god in question sitting a top a throne of slate. He looked far larger than he had before, but he still took the same form. He seemed bored, or perhaps indifferent was the word, as souls lined up at his feet. One soul grovelled on his knees.

"Please, my lord. I am meant for Elysium. I was a good man in life. An excellent one. I always gave to charity, I swear!"

Hades, for that's what he was a top this throne, waved his hand. "That does not make you special nor important by any means. You are not exceptional by any measure. To the fields with you." He snapped his fingers and two souls, each with hollow, black eyes and wrists wrapped in cuffs of slate, came forward and dragged the pleading soul away.

Another stepped forward and their plea was the same. They wished for Elysium and Hades waved them off.

"Won't you even listen to their stories?" Peter asked.

The god looked down at him. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I wasn't sure exactly what I was meant to do."

"The trees will tell you when they need," he said, but Peter noticed that he did not wave him away as he did the pleading soul so he assumed he was allowed to stay.

The next soul pleaded not for Elysium, but for their lover. They begged to be reunited with them in Asphodel.

"It is not my job to see that lovers unite. If you are soul mates you will find one another," Tony said with a terribly bored voice.

"Please, my lord. I has been a hundred years-"

"Be grateful I do not drop you in the River Lethe before you are returned!" he snapped. "Be gone with you."

"You are too harsh," Peter said as the soul was dragged away

Tony glared down at him. "You don't have to listen to the same nonsense for eternity."

"You are a god. You should be grateful for that."

"You should be grateful I don't sick my hound on you," Tony growled. "Now go."

Peter hesitated, not wishing to be alone again, but the look on Tony's face was far from kind. With a deep frown, Peter turned and walked back to the orchard.

The trees weren't much for company. Peter walked through the boughs, lonely and with too much time to reflect. He thought about the life he had lost and all of the things he had given up. He thought about Harry. Did he regret leaving him now that he was dead? Did he miss him? He wondered if Harry would go to his funeral and if he would ever bring flowers. After a long while of wandering, he couldn't take it any longer. He made his way back to the place where the grass died and became stone.

There were no souls there now, only a massive dog which sat at the foot of the throne. It opened one big eye as Peter came near. When he didn't stop it raised its head only for Peter to realize that it had not one, but three. A growl rumbled in its throat.

"Sorry to bother you, big guy. I was just looking for the other big guy." Peter reached out a hand inviting the dog to smell it. It lowered its heads suspiciously. Then it sniffed.

"It's okay. I'm not up to any mischief, I promise. I was just lonely. You look like you might be lonely, too."

Peter smiled as the dog allowed him to pet his hairy nose. It watched him curiously as he came closer so he could scratch behind his ears.

"You're sweet aren't you?" Peter cooed. "Sweet boy."

"Peter?" Tony's voice called. He turned his head to see him coming up the path. "I wouldn't bother him if I were you."

"He seems to like me," Peter shrugged. "I was just looking for some company."

Tony stopped and looked at them both. He tucked his hands behind his back, watching silently while Peter pet the happy dog. His giant tail wagged into the gray dirt.

"You were lonely?" Tony finally asked.

"Trees aren't the best company as it turns out. I'm not used to be alone. Harry and I..." Peter took a breath. Just mentioning his name made his chest burn. "Well, we were always together."

"I see..." Tony stared off toward the orchard. "Come and see me tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. It doesn't always get dark here, but night will fall in a few hours. Come back here then, but not before."

Peter looked at the man, but he didn't seem likely to divulge what he was up to. "Alright... I will see you then."

He gave the dog, Cerberus, one last pet. Then he turned away and walked back to the orchard.

As promised the sky above began to darken. Peter watched it with fascination for a moment. There were no stars in the Underworld. The sky was a deep navy, almost black. Yet, Peter could see perfectly fine. He walked back through the trees to where the ground became stone and there he found a grand table set with candles and silver platters.

"Peter, glad you could join me," Tony greeted. The look on his face was almost a smile.

"What is all this?"

"You said you were lonely so I thought we could share a meal together. If you'd like."

Peter smiled. "Of course! That sounds great."

Tony looked relived. He pulled out a chair for him. "I don't know what you like, but I had nearly everything I could think of prepared."

Peter sat down, offering his thanks as Tony pushed his seat up. He sat down on Peter's right. He flinched as Tony's dead soldiers melted from the shadows and began to serve him from the many plates and platters. When his plate and cup were full, they took a step back waiting to serve him again.

"This all looks amazing. I thought you couldn't eat the food in the Underworld."

Tony picked up his glass, the only thing in front of him. "If it is grown here, then it is true. Eating food grown in the Underworld can have undesired effects." He stared into his wine. Then he looked up and gave Peter a smile. "Eat," he said.

Every bite was divine. Sitting together with Tony helped chase the loneliness away. They talked about Peter's happy memories in life, his time in college, holidays with his Aunt May, being Uncle Peter to Gwen's twins. Harry wasn't there for most of the good parts. Peter couldn't help but find that strange. Harry had felt like such a big part of his life, but had he? Maybe the Underworld was making him forgetful.

After dinner, they stood together and watched the light return. Tony's odd little soldiers cleared everything away.

"Thank you, Peter," Tony said. He gave him a smile. Peter admired the way it made his eyes shine.

"No, thank you. That was a lovely dinner. I'm feeling a lot better, too."

"I'm glad." He paused for a moment and they stood simply looking at each other as the sky changed above them. "You're welcome to return here whenever you please."

Peter's smile widened. "Are you saying you enjoyed my company as well?"

Tony shrugged. "It's wasn't the worst dinner I've been to."

Peter rolled his eyes as he walked away. He returned to the orchard where the boughs were heavy with fruit. He spent hours, maybe days, picking the fruit and collecting it into baskets that he couldn't recalling seeing before. There was a pail and some tools as well.

He stuck to picking fruit for now. That is until his arms grew tired from reaching and legs grew tried from carrying him. He left the orchard to return to the throne. There was Hades, sat atop, looking terribly bored as he dealt with the unending line of souls.

"Please, Lord Hades-"

"Shoo," the god wave the soul away and they were dragged off. Peter went and took a seat, cross legged on the ground beside him. Tony spared him a glance.

"Come to watch the show?"

"I like being with you."

Tony stiffened, but said nothing in answer. Another soul stepped forward. A sort of gray tone clouded not only their skin, but their clothes as well. Peter wondered why he wasn't the same way. Was it because he Tony's soul, belonging to the orchard, while this soul belonged somewhere else? The souls from the Fields were all a bit gray.

"Please, Lord Hades, it has been one hundred and fifty years since my death. I wish to be united with my daughter. I walk the Fields endlessly and never find her," the soul pleaded.

Tony sighed. "Fine," he said. Peter blinked, sitting more upright. "When you return to the Fields, your daughter will await you at the gate."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed wjth gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

"That was kind of you," Peter said.

Tony huffed in response, but he continued this way. Whenever a soul made, what seemed to Peter, a reasonable request Tony honored it. Souls were united with family, friends, and lovers so long as they walked the fields together. And when it was done, Tony walked with Peter back to the orchard.

They walked beneath the trees, the smell of pomegranate in the air.

"What changed your mind about the souls?"

Tony stood and examined one of the trees. He ignored Peter's question. "They seem happy with you here," he said.

"You were right. They do tell me what they need."

Tony smiled. "Of course I was." He turned and took Peter's hand. His heart fluttered. They kept walking until the Styx came into view. They watched the river pass by in silence. Then after a long while Tony said, "I have to go." Then he disappeared.

Peter turned in a circle, but the god was truly gone. He smiled to himself and turned back to watch the river pass. Tony left him feeling warm. He missed his company already, but he was glad to have had it in the first place.

He went back to his trees, tending them with a smile. Time as usual, without measure other than a weariness in his legs from standing. Then the trees began to ask for water.

It made sense. It never seemed to rain in the Underworld. Certainly trees would need water. He had a pail he could collect it in, but where would he get it from? The only water source nearby was the Styx. He looked around for Tony, but the god was not nearby. So he took it upon himself to get the water.

Peter carried his pail down to the riverside. He placed his feet carefully to keep from slipping into the water. Then he leaned out and scooped some water up with the pail. He set the full pail up on the bank, but its weight unbalanced him. His feet slid in the rocks and he was pulled under the water's surface.

While the Styx looked steady and calm, there was a current beneath its surface. It claimed him easy, dragging him under and pulling him far far away from the orchard. Peter tried to swim up, sometimes his hands breached the surface, but never his head. His lungs burned with lack of air, then with water. Then he was drowning. Drowning without dying.

There was never any telling how much time passed in the Underworld. But finally, finally... he was pulled from the river.

He vomited what felt like gallons of water, coughing the rest from his lungs. The pain faded quickly. Peter laid on his back and blinked wet eyes at the man standing over him. He was a shadow, blocking out the light above.

"Tony?" he rasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall in. The trees needed water and I slipped."

Tony knelt beside him. "I know. I saw the water pail by the river." He scooped Peter up and pulled him to his chest. Instantly, he was dry. "You're safe now."

"Thank you." Peter's body shook in fear and relief. "That was horrible."

Tony pet his hair and held him close. "Come and get me next time the trees need water. I will call the rain to water them."

Tony helped him stand. With slow steps they walked back together to the orchard. Tony seemed far more quiet than usual. Peter couldn't place just what was wrong. He'd been warned not to try to cross the river. Was he not allowed to go near it at all? Or did Tony think he had tried to leave. Why would it bother him so much if he did?

They passed under the first branches of the orchard. Without thinking, Peter plucked the first pomegranate he saw. He stopped and admired the round, red, fruit in his hands. Tony stopped and turned, looking back at him.

"I've never tasted one of these." Peter laughed softly. "All this time picking them and caring for them, but I never eat them."

"If you eat the fruit in the Underworld, you can never leave," Tony reminded him.

"You wouldn't let me leave anyway."

"Maybe I would." There was a vulnerable honesty there in his eyes. He was right, wasn't he? This time he was right. Harry had never loved him. He had been young and foolish and naive. Tony didn't just show him desire and adoration in the way that Harry had, no. From Tony he received respect, admiration, trust. Because Tony loved him, truly.

"You thought, even if it was only for a moment, that I had tried to cross the river. Were you relieved when you realized it was an accident?" Peter looked at his face. He said nothing, gave nothing away with his expression.

Peter looked at the fruit in his hand. He dug his thumbs into the skin and pulled it apart. It bled pink onto his skin. Tony watched him in silence, seeming to hold his breath. Peter examined his face searching for one last reassure that he was truly wanted. Then he brought the fruit to his lips and bit into its seeds.

It was perfectly sweet. The taste of it coated his tongue. Juice dripped down his chin. When he swallowed, it was heavy in his stomach. He dropped the fruit and looked at the god.

His gaze was adoring, worshipful.

"Allow me a taste," Tony said. He reached for him, pulling him in. Their lips met and Peter moaned at a taste that was far sweeter than the fruit.

His hands held Tony's face, staining his cheeks pink. Strong hands held his back, guiding him to press in closer until they were flush. Peter moaned as a tongue slipped over his own, exploring and claiming his mouth. He felt high on him, willing and receptive to any of Tony's desires.

They stopped, only for a moment, and gazed at each other's faces. Then Tony took him and laid him back in the soft grass beneath the trees.

Tony stripped away his clothes. Each article was removed with gentle care and hot kisses pressed to his newly exposed skin. Every inch of him felt sensitive to the softness of his lips and the scratch of his beard. When he was naked, Tony returned above him to kiss his lips again. Peter let his hands roam over his chest and found that his clothes were gone, revealing a muscular and scarred chest. Tony caught his hand, holding it above his heart.

"Do you mind?" he said. His eyes shined.

Peter shook his head. "You're beautiful, Tony," he said. Tony caught his mouth in a kiss that was ripe with need.

Peter spread his legs apart and Tony settled between them. His kiss were soft and tender as he pushed slowly inside him. His mouth captured the high pitch whined that escaped Peter's lips. Slowly he was filled until Tony was fully inside him. His hands clung to Tony's shoulders and he stared up into gleaming brown eyes.

He dragged his fingers over his skin to cup his face in both hands. "I love you," Peter whispered.

Tony's smile was joyous. "I love you, Peter."

Peter gasped, head falling back into the grass as Tony moved inside him. The friction felt so intense that he could form words but that didn't stop him from whining and babbling. Tony kissed his lips, his bared neck, his chest. His lips sucked his nipples, tongue flicking and teasing over them. Peter's nails dug into Tony's shoulders. All he could do was hold on as his cock dragged over his prostate and Tony fucked him fast and deep. Frantic, like he was starving. When his mouth returned to Peter's, he held him tight, kissing his lips as if they dripped ambrosia. He refused to let, kissing him deeply and desperately until he could hold on no longer. His nails cut scratches into Tony's back as his body ached and shivered beneath him. His cum splattered, sticky and warm on his skin.

He panted hard, looking up at Tony again with nothing but adoration and love. He held Tony's beautiful face.

"Cum in me, please," Peter begged.

"Anything you want is yours," Tony pledged.

He moved him again, cock deep inside, body screaming with sensitivity. A tear rolled down Peter's cheek and he whimpered painfully, but he was euphoric. Tony kissed away his tears. Peter tasted the salt on his lips. Then Tony moaned, holding him tight. Peter covered his face in kisses. He felt him cum, making him sticky and wet inside.

Tony's cheeks were red and his smile was bright. Peter couldn't help but smile, too, and pulled him down into a deep unending kiss.

#marvel #starker #prompt fill #hades and persephone #fluff #romance #nff

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