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minimomoe · 8 months ago

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Believe Me

another song association. this time No One Noticed by The Marias

Toji stood on your front porch with heavy steps. From the looks of it, the house was completely quiet with all the windows devoid of light. It should be, given that it was 1 in the morning. He winced when he checked the time on his phone. You were going chew him out for this. You had every right to. He promised to come home earlier, even went as far as telling you to get all dolled up so that he could take you out and your eyes glittered at the instructions. There was no way you wouldn't be pissed off by his change of plans.

Toji fitted his copy of the key that you gave him into the locks quietly turned the handles. He toed off his shoes and silently padded through the house in search of you. What he didn't expect was for you to be sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around your body, scrolling through your phone with disdain.

"Fucking hell," he started. You had startled the large man. Not enough to make him jump out of his skin but he was sure you'd be sleeping by now. You were usually knocked out once the clock hit 10pm.

"Look who finally decided to show up," you muttered. You didn't even spare him a glance. Swipe, swipe, swipe is all you did with your fingers. Toji carefully treaded to where you sat at. His feet touched something on the ground, and when his eyes adjusted he the black heels that he loved to see decorating your feet on the floor. You were going to wear them out tonight.

"Is your phone broken?"

Toji should answer carefully. If he lied it wouldn't help him, but if he told the truth it would only make you more upset. He got down on one knee, resting his hand on your blanket covered thigh in hopes of warming up to you but you shrugged him off. He sighed.

"No. It isn't."

You sniffled, refusing to look at him. "Right. You told me to get ready, then didn't answer your phone for hours, just to show up here at the dead of night. I went through all seven stages of grief for nothing. Thanks."

"Something came up."

"Something came up," you echoed. Even with the faint glow of your phone illuminating your face, Toji could see the tears start to well up in your lashes. "Must've been important."

Silence stretched for miles between the two of you. Toji could see your walls building up, shutting him out, and he felt a tinge of panic in his chest. He knew he put you through a lot, but that's part of the reason why he loved you. He felt like you understood him better than others. You didn't pry, you didn't have some unrealistic expectation of him; you took him as he was. You loved him. But it seems like even you had your limits.

"Listen, I--"

"Don't worry about it, Toji," you sighed. You swung your legs out from under you and stood up from the couch. The blanket pooled around your feet on the floor, revealing a new dress he hasn't seen before. It was beautiful, hugging your curves and showed off the top of your cleavage. Toji mentally kicked himself once again. "It was my fault, really. I got excited. Too excited. I know how unpredictable your schedule is. I should've expected it."

You sounded defeated. You wanted to walk past him but Toji wouldn't let you. He latched onto your wrist, silently begging you not to go.

"I'm really tired, Toji. So fucking tired," you whispered.

Toji took your by the waist, pulling you closer to his body and you tried to protest. You stiffened your hands on his biceps, wanting to keep the space between your bodies but he wouldn't let you. Toji couldn't afford to give you space right now. Not when you sounded like you wanted to pull away from everything.

"I'm gonna make it up to you," he promised. As if his promises were any good. Your gaze was elsewhere- to the side of him, on the floor, past his head. Anywhere but his eyes.

"I should've called you." His lips found your cheek, kissing away the single tear that trailed down your skin. His hands snaked tighter around your frame, encasing you, trapping you in his affection.

"I' fucked up, okay? Look at me." Consoling you for a mistake he made was hard enough. The sincerity and vulnerability that came with being in a relationship is something that Toji had to dig deep to find. It was hundreds of feet below his tough exterior that he has meticulously built and hardened over the years, but he would chip it away to give you his heart. If you were still willing to put up with all of his bullshit.

"Look at me," he said again. Ordering you to... pleading for you to. When you spare him a glance he felt his chest open up. Your lashes clumped together in spikes as you blinked up at him with a look stained with apprehension.

"You think I'm easy," you muttered.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," he said. Toji cupped your chin and tilted your head up. You resisted it stubbornly at first, but he would stay there for as long as it took. When you tipped your head up to him, he kissed the corner of his mouth with all the softness he could muster up. So tenderly he wasn't even sure he touched your skin but you sighed. The tension in your body melted ever so slightly.

"What do I gotta do to make it up to you?" Another kiss on the other side of your mouth. Firmer, needier. He resisted the urge to take your lips fully, but even the corner of your mouth made him ache for you.

You stopped pushing him away. That was a good sign. There was a chance. "I don't know," you mumbled. "I don't know."

"Come on, ma. Tell me what you want."

You looked like you were deciding just how serious Toji was this time. He didn't deserve your patience but you gave it to him anyways. "I want to spend time with you, Toji. And I don't always want it to be after the sunsets but before the sun rises. It's like I'm in a relationship with a ghost. You're holding me now but then you'll leave without a trace." You avereted your eyes. Toji was plunged back in darkness. "I'm getting tired of it all."

"You want me to leave?"

It was unfair of him to push it back on you, he knew that, but he has never played fair in his life. Toji would do whatever you wanted him to... as long as you didn't really want him to leave you. He doesn't think he could at this point. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath until you spoke again.

"No. No I don't," you said quietly. You bit your bottom lip and nestled your cheek into his hand. "I miss you so fucking much but you're just gonna do this shit again."

"I'll work something out," he whispered on your lips. You still wanted him. He was selfish, he was greedy, and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. You moaned, clutching the fabric on his chest as you got swept up in his advances. You had on that lip gloss that he always found amusing, the one that left his lips cool and tingling. He drank you in, leaving no way for you to shy away. He needed you, and for reasons he couldn't understand, you still wanted him too.

"Give me another chance, yeah? You won't regret it."

You had no reason to believe him. You should've kicked him out the second you had the strength to, but you were weak to his advances. Toji knew that, and he used it to his benefit. He kissed your jaw, neck and shoulder. You were obsessed with each other leaving was never going to be easy.

"One last chance."

"That's all I'm asking for."

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communicationthroughlyrics · 11 months ago

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Watch The World Explode, From Underneath Your Glow

It was supposed to be a relaxing night with your wife. People forget things, that happens. But the way people look at your wife? Well, that drives you insane.

A/N: Hello friends, thank you all for your continued support and kind words. I appreciate it! As a thank you, a ONE-SHOT, smutty lil' thing with an Intersex Reader. Much love y'all!

TW: Intersex!Reader, P in V sex, jealous/kinda anxious reader, and just some sex that I desperately need to dish to someone 😅

Word Count: 5.1K

I Wanna Take You Home

There was a faint smell of perfume as you crossed the threshold to your shared loft. Tossing your backpack off to the side, you shrug the blazer off your shoulders, hanging it up behind the front door. The space was eerily quiet, which was unusual for a weekday evening. You could've sworn that Lizzie said she would be home tonight when you got off, but it doesn't seem like she is.

"Lizzie?" you call out, waiting for a response as you stand in the middle of your living room. The only reply is the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, echoing through the open-plan space. The loft's high ceilings and large windows normally filled the apartment with a comforting warmth, but tonight they only emphasized the emptiness. You glance down at your phone, seeing it's already 6:42 PM. You start to walk to your bedroom, recalling the conversations over the past week that would tell you where she may be.

Perhaps she got held up at work again or went to meet friends without mentioning it. You decide to call her, quickly pressing her contact photo, a photo that makes you smile at the memory. You had gone to a pumpkin patch to pick out some of the orange orbs for Halloween decorations. Her laughter had been infectious as you both tried to find the perfect one. She had walked ahead of you, oblivious to you fishing out the device from your pocket, and snapping pictures of her as she twirled and skipped through the field. The autumn leaves were a perfect backdrop as her blonde hair swirled around, a bright smile on her face as her eyes finally landed on you.

The line rings, and just when you think it's going to voicemail, she finally picks up. You can tell she is laughing, her voice having familiar breathiness, before hearing her speak through the line.

"Hi baby," she began. "Did you just get home?"

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, the question echoing in your mind. "Yeah, I was expecting you to be here," you laughed a little, walking around the living room, and rubbing the back of your neck. "Did something come up?"

Her laughter trickled through the speaker, and you felt a pang of annoyance. "Oh babe, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot to text you. I'm at that restaurant on the corner of 12th and 47th. We had some last-minute changes to the project we've been working on, but since we got them all worked out, we are officially done and celebrating."

You leaned against the wall, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. "It's okay," you lied, trying to keep the edge out of your voice. "What time do you think you'll be back?"

"Well, we're just about to order some food," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "But I'm not sure, there's a bunch of people here. You should come, I want to introduce you to everyone."

Your eyes scanned the empty kitchen, the fridge barely holding a few takeout containers. "Okay," you respond, typing the restaurant name into your phone to get the GPS directions there. "I'll be there in 20. I love you, babe."

"Love you too," she says, and before you can ask anything else, the line goes dead. You let out a sigh, tuck the phone into your pocket, and head to the bedroom to change into something more dinner casual. You opt for a shirt you know Lizzie loves- a coppery, silk button-up that shows your tanned skin underneath. After slipping on a pair of loose-fit tan linen pants and some black loafers, you grab your keys and head out the door.

You muss your hair, ruffling it slightly and making sure it looks how you want it to, before pushing the brake pedal to the floorboard and starting the car. The engine purrs to life and you pull out of the garage, navigating the familiar streets to the restaurant. The evening air is cool and crisp, hinting at the coming winter, and the streetlights cast a warm glow that makes the city feel alive. You park and head inside, the buzz of conversation and clinking of glasses growing louder as you approach the large group in the private room in the rear of the restaurant.

As you enter, Lizzie spots you and waves, her eyes lighting up. She stands, and you take in her effortless beauty. The black blouse she chose was tucked into a heathered, almost canvas-like skirt that hugged her hips tight. The black heels she wore clicked through the restaurant as she began weaving through her colleagues with a grace that was as mesmerizing as it was frustrating. She's surrounded by a sea of faces you don't know, all of them looking at you with curiosity. She kisses you on the cheek, and you catch a whiff of wine and something else - a scent that isn't quite her perfume. "Everyone, this is my wife," she says, her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "This is Y/N, the one I've been telling you all about."

You force a smile, feeling a bit like an intruder in her professional world. The introductions are a blur of names and job titles, none of which you can remember. They all seem friendly enough, though you notice a few lingering glances from one of her colleagues, a man with piercing blue eyes and a cocky smile. You try to ignore the knot in your stomach and focus on the conversation, sipping the wine someone hands you. The room is a whirlwind of chatter and laughter, but it feels forced as if everyone's playing a role in a play you don't know the script to.

As the dinner progresses, the stories get louder and the drinks flow more freely. You sit next to Lizzie, trying to engage in the conversation, but she seems more absorbed in the banter across the table. You can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the ease with which she interacts with her work friends. You've never felt particularly welcome in this part of her life, always the plus-one at work functions and the one left out of inside jokes. The blue-eyed colleague keeps looking over, his gaze lingering just a beat too long.

The server brings out plates of food, the aroma of garlic and butter filling the air. You take a bite of the pasta, hoping the carbs will help soothe the discomfort in your stomach. The conversation turns to the latest office drama, and Lizzie leans in, recounting a story with animated gestures. Her hand lands on your thigh, and you give it a gentle squeeze, hoping to remind her that you're there. But she doesn't seem to notice, her attention fully on her colleagues. You begin to feel a familiar pit of jealousy and anger in your stomach, you don't like to be ignored. Especially when there is someone who is practically eye-fucking your wife from across the table.

The blue-eyed colleague, whose name you've already forgotten, tells a joke that has the whole table in stitches, except for you. You've heard it before. It's not funny, it's just a play on words that only people who don't know any better find amusing. You manage a polite chuckle, trying not to let your annoyance show. But as the laughter dies down, you catch his eye, and he winks at you. It's subtle, but it's there. The wink sends a cold shiver down your spine, and you take a sip of your wine, trying to wash the feeling away.

"Lizzie, dear?" You lean in, trying to get her attention. She turns to you, her face slightly flushed as she is now onto at least her 4th glass of wine.

"Yes, my love?" She purrs, her eyes a bit glazed over as she leans into your chest.

You swallow hard, willing the anger to stay at bay. "Could I talk to you for a second?" You ask, your voice calm but firm. Her face drops slightly, but she nods at you.

"Of course," she says, before she follows you out of the room, her stumble slightly exaggerated as she stands. You lead her to the quieter bar area, where the music isn't as loud and the lights aren't as bright. You lean against the polished wooden counter, the coolness of the marble seeping through your shirt.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, her eyes searching your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. "Well, yes, I would say 'OK' is an adequate way to describe everything," you start, keeping your voice steady. "But I just wanted to talk to you about something."

Lizzie's expression shifts from tipsy cheer to concern. "What is it?" she asks, reaching for your hand. You pull your hand away from her, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Actually, it’s a couple of things," you begin, your voice a tad shakier than you intended. "One, why didn't you tell me about this dinner? I would have liked to be included from the start."

Her eyes widen, the concern deepening. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. It just came up, I didn't think it would turn into this," she gestures vaguely to the noisy room behind her. "But I'm so happy you're here now."

You nod, acknowledging her apology but not letting it dissolve your feelings entirely. "And two, while you say that you wanted me here, and you're happy that I came, I cannot help but feel like you wouldn't have invited me had I not called, and you haven't been the most attentive since I got here." You let the words hang in the air, watching as the color drains from her cheeks. She goes to speak, but you stop her. "And lastly," you begin, glancing over to the room where her colleagues were all seated, laughing and clinking glasses as thier banter grew louder. "Flirty Mc Blue Eyes has been practically eye-fucking you all night. Is there something I need to know about, Elizabeth?"

Her hand flies to her mouth, a gasp escaping her lips. "What? No, no, it's nothing like that. I swear, he's just a flirty guy, it's his thing." She tries to laugh it off, but her eyes dart back to the table where the blue-eyed colleague is watching the exchange with a smug look. "Baby," she steps towards you, her arms wrapping around your neck as her fingers work through your short hair. You look into those green seas that you find so much comfort in, seeing nothing but genuine honesty within them.

"You have nothing to worry about, darling." She purrs into your ear, standing on her tiptoes to reach. Her breath was warm, tickling the shell of your ear and sending shivers down your spine. "He's just a colleague. You know I only have eyes for you. Do you want me to prove that to you?"

You feel your anger and jealousy shift to desire and arousal at your wife's words. You feel a growl echo through your chest at her words. Leaning down to her ear, you whisper, "Those better not be empty words, baby girl." She shivers in your arms, and you can feel her breath hitch as you pull her closer. You kiss her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under your lips.

Lizzie pulls away, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. "Now, let’s go be social, shall we?" she says, taking your hand and leading you back to the table. As you sit down, you notice the blue-eyed colleague's gaze lingering on the two of you, his smug look replaced with something resembling annoyance. You decide to make it your mission to show him that she's yours and you're not just some forgotten plus-one.

The conversation turns to the upcoming office retreat, and you listen intently as Lizzie's voice becomes more animated. You lean in, whispering sweet nothings in her ear that make her giggle and blush. You make a point to touch her frequently, your hand resting possessively on her thigh, your fingers tracing patterns that only she can feel. The tension between you two is palpable, and the blue-eyed colleague's glances become less frequent, his smirk fading.

Deciding to test the waters, you lean over, resting your lips against Lizzie’s ear. "You look stunning tonight, doll," you murmur, your voice thick with desire. She giggles again, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she nods. You nuzzle your nose under her ear, right by that sweet spot you know she loves. "Makes me want to take you home and rip that skirt right off of you." She shifts in her seat, her hand flying to your upper thigh, squeezing it tightly. You press a lingering kiss to her pulse point before pulling away slightly. "If you’re that beautiful in those clothes, you must be beautiful out of them, right?"

The room is a blur of conversation around you, but the only voice you’re tuned into is hers. Her hand slides up your thigh, sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. "Oh, baby," she whispers, her breath hot against your neck. "You have no idea." Her eyes dart to her colleagues, who are still deep in conversation before she leans in closer. "But then again, you only think you know what’s underneath this outfit."

The tease sends your mind racing, and you squeeze her thigh in response. The night wears on, and the alcohol loosens everyone's inhibitions. You watch as Lizzie laughs at every joke, her hand sliding higher up your leg with every touch. It's a silent battle of wills with the blue-eyed colleague, but you're winning. He tries to rejoin the conversation, but she's focused solely on you now.

The teasing touches and remarks continue throughout the dinner, she has finally made her way up to the apex of your thighs, rubbing your member through the loose fabric of your pants. "Someone is liking this," she whispered, placing a kiss on the shell of your ear. "But don't get too excited, I'm not sure if we're going to be able to leave just yet." You bite your bottom lip, trying to compose yourself as the heat builds between the two of you.

You continue to think when you finally get an idea. You scoot back as subtly as possible, excusing yourself to the restroom. You walk down the darkened hallway towards the lavatory, thankful that the majority of the dinner rush has left. You look back over your shoulder, ensuring no one has followed you. The bathroom is empty, the soft lighting casting a warm glow on the tiles. You enter a stall, lock the door behind you, and pull out your phone, typing out a quick message to Lizzie. You feel like you're back in high school.

-Meet me in the restroom. 2 minutes. -

You smile as the text goes from delivered to read, indicating she knows what to do next. Not even 30 seconds later, you hear the door creak open, and her heels click on the tile floor. She locks the door behind her and you can feel the anticipation thick in the air. She opens the stall, and you take in her flushed cheeks and smoky eyes. Without saying a word, she straddles you, her skirt hiking up around her waist. You groan as she grinds herself against you, the fabric of your pants the only barrier between you two.

"Oh, baby, no panties?" you groan into her ear, nipping at the side of her neck as she whimpered and rocked on your lap. She smirks, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Thought you might like that," she whispers, her hand reaching down to unbuckle your belt. You tutt, swatting her hand away. Her eyes dart to yours, a mixture of lust and confusion.

"Home," you growl, standing with her legs still wrapped around your hips. She whined at the thought of having to wait, her eyes misty with passion. You give her a quick, hard kiss before setting her down and exiting the stall. You wash your hands, fix your shirt, and glance at her in the mirror. She straightens her skirt, fluffs her hair, and fixes her lipstick. The sight of her doing this in such a public place sends a thrill through you.

"Good thing you chose loose pants," she giggled, leaning into you and stealing a kiss, grasping firmly on your throbbing length. The sudden stimulation causes you to gasp, allowing her to push her tongue into your mouth, quickly overtaking and dominating a very sloppy, passionate kiss. She pulls away, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come on baby, let's go."

You nod, leading her out of the bathroom, and glance at the table. "Should we say goodbye?" you ask, a wry smile on your features.

"No," she smirks back, quietly working through the main dining room of the restaurant. "I just want you."

Her words are music to your ears as you both sneak out of the bathroom. You can feel the tension between your legs, a stark contrast to the casual air you're trying to maintain as you make your way to the exit. The cool evening air hits you as you step outside, and you immediately feel a sense of urgency. You lead Lizzie to the car, the engine purring to life as you drive off, the city lights blurring past the windows. The drive home is a battle of wills, both of you fighting the urge to rip each other's clothes off.

As you pull into the garage, the tension is palpable. You can't even wait to get to the bedroom. You press her against the car, kissing her hard, your hands roaming her body. She gasps as you pinch her nipples through her blouse, her hips bucking against yours. You can feel her wetness through your pants, and the thought of her being this turned on because of you is intoxicating.

"Oh darling," you growl in her ear as your body presses her against the passenger door of the car. "I am going to destroy you for tonight." She gasps, her breaths coming out in short pants as she nods, eagerly anticipating what is to come. Your hand reaches down to lift her skirt, sliding your hand between her legs to feel her heat. She is soaking wet, and you can't resist sliding a finger into her, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure.

"More," she whispers, her voice needy. You comply, adding another finger, curling them just right to hit her g-spot. Her legs quiver around your hips, and you can feel her beginning to lose control. You pull away, suddenly turning and walking to the elevator doors. She stumbles after you, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Once inside the elevator, you push her against the wall, your mouth claiming hers in a fiery kiss. Your hands roam over her body, tugging at her clothes, desperate to feel her bare skin. The elevator dings, announcing your arrival at your floor, and you break away, smirking as you pull her out into the hallway. She stumbles slightly, her eyes glazed with lust.

You unlock the door and push her inside, the loft bathed in the soft glow of the living room lights. The quiet starkly contrasts the restaurant's buzz, and it feels like the perfect playground for your desires. You slam the door shut, spinning her around to face you. Your hands trace the curves of her body, the fabric of her blouse feeling like sandpaper against your fingertips. You rip it open, buttons flying everywhere, and she giggles, her cheeks flushed with excitement as her eyes darken to forest-green seas of lust.

Her skirt follows suit, landing in a pool around her ankles. Your kisses become more frantic, more possessive as you devour her neck and collarbone. She arches her back, pushing her breasts against your chest, her nipples pebbling with need. You reach behind her, unclipping her bra and letting it fall to the floor, revealing her perfect, perky breasts. You take one in your mouth, sucking and biting the sensitive skin as she moans your name.

Her hands are equally busy, unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders. Her nails trace the lines of your abs, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You lift her, her legs wrapping around your waist as you carry her to the bedroom. The room is dimly lit by the moon shining through the windows, casting shadows across the bed. You lay her down, taking a moment to drink in the sight of her, sprawled out before you, bare and beautiful.

You kiss down her chest, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her breasts before moving down to her stomach. You can feel her tense with every touch, her breath hitching as you reach her bare waist, nipping and licking above where she needs you the most. She's begging for you, her hands tangled in your hair, guiding you where she wants you. You look up at her, her eyes hooded with desire, and smirk as the smell of her arousal slowly invades your senses.

"What do you want, baby?" you husk at her, not quite willing to give in until she tells you.

Her eyes flash with something primal and she growls, "You know what I want."

You kiss down her body, your tongue tracing the path of your fingers, until you reach the juncture of her thighs. You hover there for a moment, feeling her pulse against your mouth. "Tell me," you demand, your voice low and commanding. Her legs we shaking as they tried you close around your head, but you were forcing them to stay open.

"I want you," she whispers, her voice trembling with need. "I want you to taste me, to make me cum."

With a growl of your own, you give in to her demand, pressing your mouth to her pussy. Your tongue flicks out, tasting her sweetness, and she arches off the bed, her hands gripping the sheets. You lick and suck, exploring her with an intensity that makes her toes curl. Her legs tighten around your neck, and you can feel her getting closer, her moans filling the room. You love the way she tastes, the way she feels against your tongue. It's intoxicating, and you know you could spend hours doing this. You take the opportunity with her back off the bed to push yourself upwards, effectively lifting all but her head and arms off the bed, wrapping an arm around her hips while one supported her ass.

You pushed your tongue into her wet walls, slurping and licking at all of her arousal as she writhed and mewled in your grasp. Her moans were urging you on as you explored every crevice of her pussy. You could feel her getting closer, her juices becoming even sweeter as she neared her peak. You sucked hard on her clit, flicking it with your tongue in a rhythm that had her breathless and shaking. Her legs tightened around your neck, her heels digging into your back as she begged for release.

"Please, baby..." she moaned, as you leaned back, pulling her with you as her back came into contact with your front. You could feel her shiver as you continued to probe her entrance with your tongue. You took her clit into your mouth, sucking and biting gently, while you slid two fingers into her, curling them in that magical way you knew she liked. She bucked her hips against your mouth, her cries of pleasure echoing off the walls. You could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening around your fingers. She was wiggling and moving you both around, desperate for her release.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over the shoreline of your senses as she screamed out your name. Her entire body tightened, her pussy pulsing around your tongue as she came hard. You didn't stop, keeping the rhythm steady as she rode out her climax, her heels digging into your shoulders. It was a sight to behold, one that you never tired of. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream as her body trembled in your arms. You pulled away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you let her back down on the bed. You crawled up, resting between her legs as you kissed her passionately.

She moaned as she tasted herself on you. Her hands were everywhere, clawing at your back, pulling you closer as she kissed you with the same desperation she had felt moments ago. "I need you inside me," she gasped, her hips rocking against yours. You could feel the tip of your throbbing member poking at her wetness, and as she kept rocking against you, she began to tease herself with your length.

With a groan, you pulled away from her kiss, sliding down to position yourself at her entrance. You looked into her eyes, watching as she bit her bottom lip, her pupils blown wide with desire. You pushed in, inch by inch, her walls clenching around you like a tight fist. She was so wet and ready, and you felt yourself get lost in the feeling of her heat surrounding you. "Fuck," you breathed, as you reached the hilt, her pussy stretching to accommodate your girth.

She arched back in a silent scream, her hands blindly searching for you as they came to rest on your breast, thumbing your nipples as she lay back down. "More," she begged her voice a breathy whisper that sent chills down your spine. You didn't need any more encouragement. You began to thrust into her, your movements slow and deliberate at first, feeling every inch of her tightness. She was so wet, so warm, and so incredibly tight around you. It was like sliding into heaven.

Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper into her with every stroke. You could feel her nails digging into your back as she moaned your name, urging you to go faster. You obliged, your hips moving faster, the slap of your skin against hers filling the quiet loft. Her walls were tightening around you, contracting as she neared another orgasm. You leaned down, your teeth grazing her neck as you whispered dirty words into her ear.

"You're mine, Lizzie," you said, your voice gruff with desire. "Say it." You nipped and sucked at the column of her throat, leaving a trail of marks that would need to be covered if she goes to the office. But you didn't care. It was childish, but you wanted everyone to see your marks.

"I'm yours," she breathed, her voice was a sweet surrender that was music to your ears. You thrust into her harder, feeling the tension in your balls tighten. She was so wet, so hot, and she felt so good around you. You could feel yourself getting closer, your rhythm becoming erratic.

Her nails raked down your back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Again," she begged her voice a whimper that sent a shiver down your spine. You didn't need to be told twice. You picked up the pace, hammering into her with a fierce passion that left her panting and whimpering your name. Her walls tightened around you, squeezing you in a vice-like grip that was both painful and pleasurable.

"I'm going to cum," she screamed, her legs tightening around your waist. You could feel her pussy spasm around you, and it was all the encouragement you needed. You thrust into her one last time, feeling the warmth of her orgasm as it washed over you. You followed her over the edge, your release filling her up. You collapsed on top of her, both of you panting and trying to catch your breath.

You lay there, your heart pounding against her chest, your cock still twitching inside her. You kiss her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath your lips. "Fuck, Lizzie," you murmur, your voice still thick with lust.

She giggles, the sound is music to your ears. "That was... intense," she says, her voice filled with awe. "Maybe I need to get you jealous more often..." she teased, tracing her fingers over the red, angry welts from her nails on your back. You can't help but smile, feeling a swell of pride at her admission.

"Don't push it, darling," you murmur, kissing her forehead. "Or I might just have to take you in public." You both laugh, the tension of the evening dissipating as you lay in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of your passion.

You roll over, looking into her eyes. "I love you," you say, your voice earnest. She smiles, her eyes sparkling. "I love you too," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. You can see the truth in her gaze, and it fills you with warmth.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your mingled breaths and the distant sirens of the city outside. You kiss her softly, savoring the taste of her lips. Your hand finds hers, your fingers interlocking as you both lay there. "I'm sorry for being such a jealous prick," you admit, feeling the weight of the evening's tension lift from your shoulders.

She giggles, stroking your cheek with her thumb. "It's okay," she says, her voice soothing. "It's kind of hot, actually."

You can't help but chuckle at her response. "If you say so." You lean in for another kiss, feeling the love between you stronger than ever. The sound of her laughter, the feel of her skin against yours, it's all intoxicating. But you know you can't stay here forever. You roll off her, pulling her into your arms. "We should get cleaner up, get some rest," you murmur, your voice lazy with satisfaction. She nods, snuggling closer.

You both get up, a little wobbly on your legs, and make your way to the bathroom. The cold water from the faucet is a shock to your system, but it helps to bring you back to reality. You clean up, and she watches you with a smile on her face, her eyes roaming over your body. You look back at her, the love and lust warring in your gaze. "Ready for round two?" you ask, a wicked smile playing on your lips. She nods, her cheeks flushing with excitement. She grasped your semi-erect member, slowly pumping it as her eyes darkened.

It was going to be a long night.

#communicatethrulyrics #wlw fanfic #lesbian nsft #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x fem!reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x female reader #lizzie olsen #wanda fanfic #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader

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ofthewoodwork · 1 year ago

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Find Charming Designer Wall Clocks Online at Of the Woodwork

Of The Woodwork, your top home accents destination, redefines timekeeping with our exclusive range of bold and unusual designer wall clock online.

#wooden wall clock #wall clock decor #designer wall clock online #modern wall clocks online #home decor wall clock #large decorative wall clocks

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presleyvinyl · 3 months ago

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Caring For Presley | Part 2 |

Part 1 here

tags: 1973 Elvis, nurse!reader, eventual smut, slow burn, flirting, angst, fluff, fighting/arguing, drug abuse, protective Elvis

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ᝰ.ᐟ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The car ride felt surreal, each mile passing faster than the last, as you made your way toward Graceland. The familiar streets of Memphis blurred outside the window, replaced by grand homes and stretches of green lawns. When the car turned onto Elvis Presley Boulevard, your heart skipped a beat. There it was, the iconic gates of Graceland.

You could feel the weight of history in the air as you pulled up the driveway, the towering mansion rising before you. Jerry and Red escorted you out of the car, and you couldn’t help but stare at the mansion’s ornate façade, the place where legends had walked. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as the front door swung open.

And there he was—Elvis himself. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his smile wide, and his blue eyes shining with excitement. He wore a casual, navy-blue jacket and jeans, but to you, he looked every bit the king. “Well, look who finally showed up,” Elvis said, his voice rich and smooth as he took a few steps toward you. “I’ve been waitin’ for ya. Hope the ride wasn’t too bad.”

You managed a nervous laugh. “It was fine, Mr. Presley. I mean, Elvis. It’s just—” You stopped yourself, feeling a little embarrassed.

Elvis chuckled, stepping closer. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. You’ll get used to callin’ me Elvis. It’s gonna be a lot more comfortable around here.” He offered you his arm, and despite your anxiety, you found yourself taking it instinctively. “C’mon, I’ll show you around. You’re part of the family now, and we take care of our own.”

Elvis led you inside Graceland, his steps confident and casual as though this was just another day for him. You tried to take in the surroundings, but your focus kept returning to him—his presence, his charm, the way he moved with such ease through the massive, luxurious house, he gave you the toue of the house before leading you upstairs.

He stopped in front of a door, turning to you with a smile. "This is it," he said, pushing the door open. Your breath caught as you stepped inside. The room was spacious, decorated in soft, neutral tones, with an elegant bed draped in rich linens.

A vintage vanity sat against one wall, and the large windows let in the soft glow of the setting sun. You could see the sprawling gardens outside, a quiet retreat from the world beyond. "I wanted you to have a space where you can unwind," Elvis said, his voice softening. "Graceland’s big, but it’s home. You’ll have everything you need here, and more."

You glanced at him, overwhelmed by the kindness in his words. "Thank you, Elvis," you said quietly.

He nodded, his smile warm. "Anytime, darlin’. You’re family now." With that, he gave a small wave and walked out.

Later that night, the house had quieted down, the hum of activity fading as the evening wore on. You found yourself in the kitchen, nervously preparing the medication Elvis had been prescribed. You had gone over the instructions with the doctor earlier, but now that it was time to administer it, your hands were slightly shaky. You glanced at the clock—it was nearly 10 p.m.

The mansion was still and peaceful, the only sound being the soft rustling of the trees outside. You took a deep breath and made your way down the long hallway toward Elvis's room. When you knocked lightly on the door, there was a soft “Come in” from the other side.

You opened it slowly, finding him sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in a loose shirt and pajama pants, his hair tousled from the day. "Hey, darlin', how's it goin'?" Elvis asked, his voice low but warm as he looked up at you with a small smile.

"Just here to give you your medication," you replied, walking over to the nightstand where you placed the small pill bottle and the water glass.

He raised an eyebrow playfully, a familiar glint in his eyes. "A nurse and a personal assistant all in one, huh?"

You smiled softly, handing him the pills. "Only if you're good, Mr. Presley."

Elvis chuckled, taking the medication from your hand and swallowing it with a sip of water. "I’m always good, sugar," he teased, but there was a softness to his voice.

"Anything else you need tonight?" you asked, standing a little taller, trying to keep things professional. He leaned back against the pillows, looking at you with a slightly mischievous expression. "Well, I could use some company for a bit. It gets lonely around here sometimes."

You hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. "I can stay for a while." And as you pulled up a chair beside the bed, you found yourself feeling more at ease than you had since arriving.

You sat beside Elvis for a while, chatting softly about nothing in particular. He seemed more relaxed now, his usual energy giving way to a gentle calmness as the sleep medicine began to take effect. His eyes, usually so vibrant, started to droop, and his posture softened as he leaned back further against the pillows.

"Think I might be outta here soon," Elvis murmured, his voice growing drowsy, the words slurring just a little. He stretched one arm above his head, then let it fall back to his side, his fingers curling loosely around the sheets. You watched him closely, noting how his usual charm had given way to a more vulnerable side, the man behind the legend, letting his guard down.

His breathing had slowed, becoming deep and steady."Are you okay?" you asked, softly, unsure if he could hear you clearly.He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes fluttering shut. "Yeah... just... need some rest, darlin'. Been a long day..."

You smiled gently, standing up to adjust the covers around him. As you reached for the bedside lamp to turn it off, you heard him mumble again, his voice barely a whisper: "Thanks for bein' here..."

A lump formed in your throat, and you softly whispered, "You're welcome, Elvis." And with that, the room fell silent, save for his peaceful breathing as he drifted off to sleep.

You quietly stood up from the chair, careful not to disturb Elvis as he drifted into a deep sleep. You pulled the blankets up over him a little more, making sure he was comfortable, then quietly made your way to the door. The soft click of the door closing behind you seemed louder in the stillness of the hallway.

You took a deep breath, leaning against the door for a moment, and then started walking down the corridor. Jerry was standing at the end, leaning casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets. He looked up when he saw you approach.

"How’s he doing?" Jerry asked with a raised brow, his voice low.

"He’s asleep now," you replied, glancing back toward Elvis’s door. "But... why does he take so many medications? I mean, I get it for sleep, but..." You trailed off, unsure how to finish the question.

Jerry sighed, his expression turning slightly more serious. "The Colonel wants him to. Keeps him working, keeps him on schedule. Elvis has always had a lot on his plate, and the Colonel's been pushin' him to the limit for years."

You frowned, the weight of Jerry’s words hanging in the air. "But at what cost?"

He shrugged, the concern in his eyes softening. "Sometimes it’s hard to say, but it’s all part of the business."

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis the king #elvis presley x you #elvis smut #elvis the pelvis #70s elvis #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfic

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fanfoolishness · 1 year ago

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Breaching the Wall

For the @summer-of-bad-batch Week 2 prompt "injured," with a serious side of comfort. After Crosshair's injuries on Tantiss, AZI treats his pain with heavy-duty medications -- and Crosshair starts talking. To everyone. Angst, hurt/comfort, whump, family feels. 5800 words, plus illustrations of Crosshair and Wrecker, and Crosshair and Omega.

---

The pain in his hand woke him.

Stabbing, searing, burning, throbbing — it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He could feel his hand spasming, shuddering with each pulse of agony. He tried to clench his fist, hoping that would help, but something wasn’t working. He reached out with his left hand to try to rub the ache away —

His right hand was gone.

Crosshair shivered, memories flooding back in the dark. He rolled over, fumbling until he reached the side of the bed. Where was he?

He panted with effort, slowly sitting upright, staring at the walls. Moonlight was faint through the window, but it was enough for him to see his surroundings. A bedroom with decorations; an old fishing net on the wall, patterned vases, a few holoframes of a familiar family.

That was right. This was Shep and Lyana’s place; Shep had opened his home to them after their escape. Told Hunter they could stay for a few days until they were more recovered. Crosshair glanced back at the large bed, where an exhausted Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega had curled up beside each other.

For a moment, watching their chests rise and fall, rise and fall, the pain receded.

Then he moved slightly and the pain roared back, a blinding burst of it rippling outward from the stump of his wrist. He gasped, doubling over, shivering violently.

It was hard to think with everything raw and jangling. Get up. Don’t disturb them. You can rest out there… then try to find the droid… He should have seen him earlier, but the droid had been busy with many of the other clones and their injuries. Echo had given him some stims on the shuttle, enough to drive the pain back and keep him on his feet, and stubbornly, he’d told them it it was enough.In all the commotion, no one had questioned him.

But he felt everything now. He’d screwed up. Badly.

Another wave, roiling, blinding, incapacitating. He hissed through it. Kriff, it was getting hard to breathe.

For a moment, he tensed his legs, trying to steel himself to get to his feet and take the first step into the next room.

But he thought of resting his arm on Hunter’s shoulder, their breath syncing in the pouring rain. He thought of his eyes locking with Omega’s, the trust on her face, the shot of his life.

He thought of Omega’s arms, flung wide around him.

”Hunter,” he managed.

For a moment, there was no response, and he nearly despaired. Hunter had his own injuries, his own pain to deal with. Normally he probably would have already heard Crosshair and gotten up with him, but he must have been fast asleep, trying to recover himself.

Crosshair took a deep, shaky breath, and tried again. Please.

”Hunter,” he whispered.

”Crosshair?” Hunter murmured. Crosshair felt the weight on the bed shift. Hunter sat beside him, swinging his legs out over the edge of the bed. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were sharp and alert in his haggard face, clocking the situation. “Your hand.”

Crosshair nodded tightly, pressing his arm hard against his abdomen. “Can’t — sleep,” he bit out. He shivered again.

Hunter rested his arm on Crosshair’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “Stay here. I’ll get the droid.” He leaned back, reaching out and nudging Wrecker. “Hey. Hey, Wrecker.”

”What is it?” Wrecker groaned, wincing as he rolled to the side.

”Crosshair needs AZI for his hand. Stay up with him ‘til I get back.” He got carefully to his feet, hunching over, rubbing his back with one hand.

Wrecker nodded, stifling a yawn, and sat up stiffly. “Right.”

“No. I’ll go.” A glow-lamp turned on, filling the room with soft golden light, and they all drew back against the brightness, trying to let their eyes adjust.

Omega slid off the bed, hurrying over and taking Hunter by the hand, pushing him back to sit on the bed again. “You rest. All three of you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at them, though the worry in her eyes was clear.

Crosshair smiled weakly at her. The kid had steel in her, that much was certain. He couldn’t speak — he was breathing too hard — but Omega gazed back at him. He could see his own pain reflected in the sorrow on her face. Guilt rose up in him.

“I’m sorry, Crosshair,” she whispered.

He tried to shrug, but the movement was interrupted by another hug from her, this one gentle, measured, careful. She was trying not to nudge his arm. She rested her cheek against his and whispered, “We’ll help you. It’ll be okay.”

He raised his left arm, curling it around her. He closed his eyes, his breathing softening, growing a little easier.

Somehow, he believed her.

---

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Omega arrived with the droid. Everything was blurred, between the radiating pain and the late hour. Hunter and Wrecker sat beside him, each with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly any time he shuddered. The distraction helped.

“CT-9904.”

Crosshair lifted his head, squinting until things shifted back into focus. AZI-3 hovered in front of him, wide yellow eyes staring. Omega stood beside him, nibbling on her lip, watching anxiously.

The droid scanned him, the scanner lingering on his stump. Crosshair looked down at his wrist. The white bandage Hemlock’s people had placed on the wound was tinged reddish-brown. It made his stomach turn.

AZI finished his scan, then hovered forward, injecting something into his right shoulder without fanfare. He then lifted Crosshair’s wrist, the sound of mechanical whirring evident as the droid replaced the bandages at the end of his arm.

Whatever AZI was doing, Crosshair didn’t feel it. A cool wave flooded down his arm, numbing as it went until it reached the wrist, bringing with it a blessed relief. At the same time his head began to feel floaty and strange, a different kind of haze than the fog of pain. He wobbled slightly where he sat.

AZI finished redressing the wound. “Your wound will require further attention, though without access to a full medical bay, I am afraid my services will be somewhat limited. Your attackers provided basic battlefield wound closure and temporary pain relief, but a revision surgery will be necessary to remove bone fragments and prepare the amputation site for interface with a prosthetic, should you choose to use one. I will explore the area once the swelling has begun to abate.”

The droid’s words slid in one ear, out the other; Crosshair could barely make sense of them. He wavered, listing to one side. When he spoke his words slurred slightly. “Why can’t I -- Why am I --”

A hand, sturdy and familiar at his shoulder, bracing him upright. “Hey AZI, I think those pain meds you gave him kicked in,” Wrecker said. “He’s way out of it.”

AZI nodded, his confusing chatter fading. “With the mild anemia from the amputation, it is unsurprising that he would react more strongly to the sedating effects of pain relief than the typical clone. He may exhibit altered mentation with this dosage, but it is necessary with an injury this severe.”

“Ahhh, he’s always been a lightweight,” Wrecker chuckled, though the laugh turned into a groan. He rubbed at his chest, grimacing at his own wounds.

Crosshair managed a scowl at his brother, though it made him dizzy to turn and look at him. “Not true,” he muttered, though distantly he remembered a particularly brutal night at 79’s, years back.

“No, it’s true,” Hunter chimed in, smiling faintly despite the concern in his eyes.

The droid hovered forward, giving Crosshair another injection of something in the arm. “This will allow for rapid replacement of your blood, CT-9904. You should start to feel less lethargic within the next rotation. The pain medication I have given you is a long-acting infusion and should provide comfort for the next three days before redosing is necessary…”

The droid’s voice tuned in and out of his ears. He was drifting in a sea of half-formed memory, drifting somewhere dark, somewhere painful --

The boot on his wrist --

The blade swinging --

Flesh tearing, bone screaming, bone crunching --

Crosshair gasped, his head swimming. He looked up, lost again. He was here in Shep’s house, Hunter and Wrecker sitting beside him, exhausted, pale, worried. AZI hovered in front of Wrecker, examining him now. Omega stood beside the droid, her arms crossed over her chest, peering closely at him.

Crosshair caught Wrecker’s eye, and his brother gave him a small smile.

“Hey, you back with us, Cross?”

“Everything’s… I don’t know,” Crosshair said slowly, shaking his head. He raised his left arm, rubbing his face. He felt disconnected, as if he might float away. He had a vague sense that this was much better than how he had felt a few minutes ago, but he was having a hard time remembering why.

“Does it still hurt?” Omega asked.

“Does what still hurt?” Crosshair mumbled. His gaze wandered down, and he saw the bandage on his wrist, the missing hand. Ah. That. “No. Not anymore.” He closed his eyes.

He remembered now. He’d asked them for help, and they’d given it. He leaned to one side, and Hunter leaned in to close the space between them, letting him rest his head on his shoulder.

He breathed in; he breathed out; again, and again.

---

The sunlight felt a galaxy away, gold and white playing shadows against his closed eyes. Crosshair wandered somewhere beneath it, eyelids flickering open, bracing against the light. Everything was muted, far away with blurred edges. He was here on a bed. The walls were dawn-yellow. The ceiling rippled. He watched it move placidly, then reached up to scratch an itch on his face, straining his fingers to reach.

His stump bumped against his cheek, and his skin crawled.

They took it. They took it. It’s gone. Nothing -- nothing there --

“Crosshair?”

He turned his head with a great effort. Sitting at the edge of the bed was Hunter, looking out the window, watching whatever lay beyond. He looked better than he had last night -- his hair was combed, and he’d found clothes somewhere that looked like they belonged on Pabu, not armor castoffs.

“It’s morning,” Crosshair said, the words stretching out for what felt like hours. He rubbed his face with his left hand, keeping his right as far away as he could. “Why’s it -- everything’s off.”

“AZI’s got you on serious painkillers,” Hunter said. “Better for you than combat stims, but he said you’re gonna be loopy for a few days.”

“I doubt that,” Crosshair muttered, but the bed had turned into a pitching sea, rolling him back and forth. He groaned, fighting back a wave of nausea.

“Here. Let’s get you upright. See if that helps.”

Hunter carefully helped him up, putting some pillows behind him so he could lean back against the wall. The dizziness shrank back into the distance, but the world still felt like it was at a remove. Several of them. He rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes again, breathing hard.

“You need anything? Hungry? Thirsty? ‘Fresher?”

“No. Not yet.” Crosshair shook his head, then smiled, a grin lazily stealing across his face. “Toothpick.”

Hunter laughed slightly. “So you’re not totally out of it, then. Lemme check your belt.” He stiffly got to his feet, searching the pile of discarded armor in the corner of the room. “Ah. You’re running low, you know.”

“Not the only thing I’m running low on,” Crosshair said slyly. Everything seemed oddly funny. He reached out to take the toothpick Hunter held, fixing it between his lips. “I also seem to be down a hand.”

It was funny, wasn’t it?

Hunter winced, and Crosshair felt a twinge of guilt. Not funny, then. “I -- uh, yeah, I guess you could say that.” Hunter sat back down, folding his own hands in his lap, seeming to search for words. “So. How are you feeling?”

Crosshair stared up at the wavy ceiling, worrying the toothpick between his teeth and tongue. The wood felt both richly textured and yet wrapped in fuzzy wool. He rolled it between his molars, incisors, molars, incisors, until its end was sodden with saliva.

Oh. Hunter had asked him a question.

How was he feeling?

He closed his eyes. He saw a wall, familiar, vast, unbreakable. One he’d carefully built up foot by foot, a shield, a fortress. It kept things hidden. It had towered overhead after the Order went out, after Bracca, after Kamino. It had threatened to block out all light and leave him there alone in the dark. Yet it had protected him on Tantiss, there a lesser evil.

But there’d been breaches. Cody, questioning Desix. Mayday, his life in Crosshair’s hands.

Omega, never giving up on him.

He was floating up somewhere above the clouds, somewhere high above the wall. Up here, it didn’t really seem to matter. Up here, it seemed small and inconsequential.

He looked down at the bandaged stump at his side. He took a deep breath. Hunter’s question… he didn’t know the answer to that. But there was something pressing, a thought twisting and itching in his head, trying to get out through a breach in the wall.

“You were right, you know.”

Hunter cocked his head to one side, slight confusion on his face. “About what?”

“Plan 99. I wanted to call it,” Crosshair said quietly. “Planned to, after they took her.”

Hunter stared at him, his eyes narrowing. “You were planning it before we got to Tantiss?”

Crosshair shrugged, the movement sending him floating further amongst the morning sunlight. Hunter’s horror barely registered. Why shouldn’t he tell him? The instant Crosshair had seen the tracker fall into the waves, he’d known what needed to be done.

A trade, his life for hers.

“I thought it was the only way. What I deserved.” His breath caught in his throat, a pain the medication couldn’t touch. “But -- you stopped me. You and Wrecker.” Were there words for what he’d felt, that moment in the jungle? To see his brothers stepping up beside him at last, even after everything he’d done?

No. He’d never have the words for what that had meant to him.

“Crosshair.” Hunter laid his hand on his arm for a moment, and Crosshair looked at him, ignoring the way his eyes burned. “Whatever you’re carrying, you can lay it down. You saved her.” Hunter smiled fiercely. “She’s right outside with Wrecker, having breakfast. The first day of real freedom she’s maybe ever had. That’s because of you.”

The bridge. The rain.

His breath, in and out, focused and sure.

The shot.

Crosshair’s voice cracked, the words leaking out of him, pouring through the breach. “She… did you see? The look on her face, when she saw me, when she saw --”

It was burned into his mind. The beaming relief, fading to a horrified realization when she saw his missing hand; the tears streaming down her face, mingling with the rain; her face twisting into a sob as she ran to him.

To him.

“She loves you,” Hunter said softly. “You’ve got to know that by now.”

Why was his face wet? He let out a shaky breath, nodding, blinking away the water in his eyes.

“I know. I knew.” He bit down on the toothpick, his teeth stamping little ridges along its end. He remembered Omega asking him for one, the way she’d sat there on the Marauder nibbling it in perfect imitation of him.

His sister. Safe now. Because of him.

He didn’t have words for what that meant, either.

He shook his head, the room spinning around him, and sank back against the pillows. Hunter’s voice rolled over him.

“It’s all right, Cross. Get some rest.”

---

“You’ll get through it. But it’ll be hard, I won’t tell you otherwise. And… they won’t really understand.”

Crosshair raised his eyes, looking around the room. Echo sat in the chair beside the bed, his outline blurred in the streaming sunlight.

They’d been talking, hadn’t they? Time was looped and stretched and meaningless. When had he last seen Hunter? It felt like last year, but maybe it was an hour ago. Crosshair wasn’t sure. He tried to keep up with what Echo was saying, concentrating with a great effort. There it was. He found the thread again and followed it, clinging to it with both hands.

“You never complained,” Crosshair said at last. “Arm. Legs. How did you —“ He took a deep breath. “How did you do it? This part, right now?”

Echo smiled ruefully at him. “Sorry. I can’t say I remember it all that well. I still don’t know everything the Techno Union did to me, but from the Citadel to Skako Minor, there’s a lot of dead space. First time I really realized what was missing was when I saw Rex’s face.” He sighed. “It took a long time for the shock to wear off. To realize everything that had really happened. So to answer your question, I’m not sure. I just kept going, one day at a time.”

”’Just keep going,’” Crosshair repeated. He could do that. He’d been doing that every day since he was small.

“AZI will help you out,” said Echo. “Don’t be afraid to talk to him, even after everything’s technically healed up. I used to see him sometimes when we’d stop back at Kamino, during the war. He’d help with phantom pain. Exercise ideas.” A wistful, distant look crossed his face. “And sometimes he was just good to talk to. Like about Fives.”

“Fives. A reg.” Crosshair frowned, then shook his head. No. That didn’t matter anymore: they were all clones together, like Cody. Like Mayday. And he’d heard Fives’ name before, remembered through the fog what he was to Echo. “A brother.”

Echo tilted his head, a look of surprise crossing his face. “Yeah. Don’t know if you remember me talking about him, but we made ARC trooper together, back during the Kamino invasion. We were close. You’d have liked him. Tough as durasteel, and one of the finest troopers I’ve ever met. And just enough of a mouth on him that you’d have been fast friends if you didn’t kill each other first.”

Crosshair chuckled. “Sounds like a good man.” He sighed, his smile fading. “No word from Cody?”

Echo shook his head. “No. Rex’s contacts are always keeping an ear out for him, but no one’s had any word. If anyone could stay alive out there on his own, it’s Cody, but… it’s been a long time.”

”He tried with me,” Crosshair said softly. “Tried to help me see the Empire was wrong. But I… let him down. If you find him…”

“I’ll let you know, Crosshair. That’s a promise.”

He closed his eyes tightly, breathing hard. He reached up to pull his collar down and missed, his stump going wide. He groaned in irritation, using his left hand instead, and cracked his eyes open to glare at Echo.

“I keep forgetting,” Crosshair growled. “Stupid, I know. How could I forget --”

“Takes time to adjust,” Echo said. “It’s not stupid at all. You all never looked down on me for it.”

Faint memories, flickering up. Echo needing help donning and doffing his armor at first. Reaching for something with his scomp arm, remembering halfway through, switching to his left hand. Tech, helping repair his leg after a rough early mission. It hadn’t seemed strange back then. “You were defective, just like us,” Crosshair said slowly.

“Another bad batcher,” said Echo with a warm smile.

Crosshair grinned, shifting. His stump grazed against the bed, and he jerked backwards, expecting it to hurt. But the droid’s drugs were working. His stump felt like a dull, frozen log attached loosely to his shoulder; everything was numbed and confused. Better than the pain, but no less disorienting.

The smile on his face slid away, remembering his hand straining, struggling, shaking, desperate --

“You all right?” Echo asked.

“I remember,” Crosshair said haltingly. “A vibrosword.” He swallowed. The room seemed darker suddenly, sunlight vanishing, or was that his imagination? “‘You should be more careful with your shooting hand.’” He shuddered. “Tried to -- tried to stop him --”

Echo’s left hand, resting on his shoulder, a firm squeeze. “I’m sorry, brother.”

Crosshair reached up, fumbling, his own hand searching for Echo’s. He gripped it as hard as he could, chancing a look at the other clone’s face.

His chest ached at Echo’s smile. “Brother,” he whispered.

---

“What do you do?” Crosshair asked, unsteady on his feet. He leaned heavily against Wrecker as they walked back from the ‘fresher. His feet tried to slide out from under him. How could his head feeling so light make his feet work so badly? The two weren’t even connected. It didn’t make sense.

“What do I do when?” said Wrecker, helping him back down to the bed. Crosshair sat there, staring out the window for a long minute.

“What do you do when you’re afraid?” Crosshair mumbled. “Always… wondered.”

Wrecker sat down carefully beside him. “Huh. Yeah, you’re uh… you’re definitely feeling it.”

“So?” Crosshair scoffed. “Answer the, the question.”

“Well… I dunno. I guess just… keep trying? Why?”

”I don’t know,” Crosshair said. He’d already half-forgotten asking the question, though it had seemed important somehow.

There’s no room for fear on the battlefield. No room for cowards.

So why did he feel so afraid?

Wrecker leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I dunno. I mean, there’s afraid, and then there’s afraid. I guess maybe there’s some stuff I never could figure out.” He ducked his head. “Like heights. ‘Specially after… after Tech.”

Crosshair stiffened. He didn’t want to think about Tech.

Not when he should’ve been there.

Not when he could’ve been there, if he’d chosen right.

But even though the wall was floating far below him, his tongue froze in his mouth. He couldn’t speak. Not yet. Not about him. It was too hard, too much, even now.

He just leaned to the side, resting his head on Wrecker’s shoulder.

“Aw.” Wrecker laughed, a soft, pleased sound as he raised a hand to clap Crosshair on the back. “Like when we were cadets. Remember? You always used to sleep on me. ‘Til suddenly you were all about ‘personal space.’ Whatever that is!”

“Hrhm,” Crosshair muttered, adjusting his head to find a more comfortable spot. He did remember. Sometimes they used to fall asleep on the same bed after a long day of training; sometimes it was naps in a pile of all four of them. He didn’t remember why he’d stopped. One day, it had just felt like something he shouldn’t do anymore, not if he wanted to be a real soldier.

“Wrecker?”

“Yeah, Cross?”

”Shut up.” He leaned in harder to his brother, and Wrecker’s arm around him was something he’d lost, then found again. He closed his eyes, sinking against him.

“I know you don’t mean it, you big softy.”

”Shut up.”

He fell back asleep with Wrecker’s warm laughter in his ears.

---

”You’ve got to eat,” Omega said, sliding a tray of food across the table to him. “Hunter said you wouldn’t listen to him.”

”Hunter doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Crosshair muttered. He rested his head on his hand, staring down at the tray of sliced fish and marinated seaweed and fresh fruit. He supposed it looked good. But he hadn’t felt hungry all day, too busy floating and rambling and sleeping and trying not to think about his hand.

Omega grinned. “You’re still so grouchy. AZI said sometimes that medication can make people giddy. Or just very sleepy. Maybe you’re just being extra Crosshair on it.”

”Nobody needs that,” he groused. He tried to pick up a wedge of fruit with his right hand and succeeded only in smearing fruit juice across his bandage. He pulled his arm away, growling as Omega reached for a napkin.

“Can I help, Crosshair?” she asked.

He looked at her face, kind and concerned, and begrudgingly pushed his arm toward her. She hesitated for only a second before carefully dabbing at the bandage with her napkin, laying one hand tenderly on his forearm. He wished he could fully feel her hand there, instead of a faint pressure that was all he could sense through the drugs.

“It isn’t fair,” Omega said quietly.

“That you’re stuck babysitting me?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, please! Come on. No.” Her mouth twisted into a frown, her eyes suddenly too bright. “It isn’t fair about your hand, of course. You’d been getting better. You were working so hard. I could see it. And then they hurt you —“

She let go of his arm, folding her own arms on the table and resting her head on them, looking away from him. “Because you were trying to help me.”

Crosshair’s jaw clenched. “None of that,” he said sharply. “Not your fault. Don’t you ever think that.”

She raised her head, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “But it’s true —“

For a moment, they stared at each other, both flushed and breathing hard.

His head was jumbled, aching with how his thoughts swirled around each other. He had to figure out how to put the words together, how to make her understand. He reached out clumsily and took her hand in his.

”Omega, if this is what it took, it was worth it.” He swallowed. “Understand?” He squeezed her hand, and hers was the one that trembled.

She nodded, trying not to cry. “Crosshair?”

”Yeah?”

”I’m so proud of you.”

He blinked, tears sliding silently down his cheeks, and nodded. He let go of her hand and pulled the tray back to him, and started eating, not bothering to wipe the water from his face.

---

Hunter again, silhouetted by moonlight this time instead of sunlight. Night again already? Crosshair sighed. He was getting sick of the way time slid away from him so quickly.

”How much longer?”

”Until what?”

”’til this wears off. Tired of it.”

”AZI stopped by again today, remember?” Hunter asked, crossing his arms. He leaned back in his chair, looking at him with mild concern.

”Vaguely.” He’d half-thought he was dreaming.

“He said this dose should wear off in another two days. Once you’re a little more recovered then he said he’s got to go in and work on it more so it heals properly. So you’re not done just yet,” said Hunter. “It’d be a faster process if we had a full medbay, but the Empire doesn’t exactly leave them lying around.”

Crosshair huffed. “Of course.” His mind drifted back to Echo. “Guess it’s one day at a time.”

“Good way to look at it,” said Hunter. He paused. “Glad Omega got you to eat something.”

”Can’t say no to her,” Crosshair said. He chuckled. Things were funny again. “Maybe that’s her enhancement.”

Hunter laughed. “That’s a pretty good theory. When she gives you those eyes, it’s hard to say no, even if it’s for her own good.”

”Uh-huh.”

Crosshair sat up, testing his balance. Still off. He wobbled to one side, then slowly sank back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. He thought of the kid, so damn earnest.

“She tried so hard to help me,” he said. “With my hand. Told me you put her up to it.”

“Some of it,” Hunter admitted. “But she came to me about it first. She’d been worried about you for a while. She knew you weren’t ready to talk to me or Wrecker about it.”

“No,” said Crosshair. He curled the fingers of his left hand up into his palm, relaxed them, curled them again. His right wrist felt like a strange ghost, numbed and muted, a thousand parsecs away. “The droid said it was all in my head. I guess it was.” His throat was tight again, and he looked away. “Just couldn’t… Tantiss…” The words choked in his mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Hunter said. He let out a long, shivering breath, the sound of it echoing in Crosshair’s ears. “Hemlock told me what he tried to do to you. Tried to do it to me, too.” He hung his head. “I -- I didn’t know. What you’d gone through.”

“I wasn’t exactly telling,” Crosshair muttered. He looked back at Hunter, whose face was blurry, sliding away. For a moment he looked young again, a cadet with brown eyes blazing, face set with determination. Then things shifted, and he was a tired clone who’d been through hell, his eyes weary. Compassionate. It was almost more than Crosshair could bear. “Felt like I deserved it.” He held out his stump. “Like this.”

“No one deserves this,” said Hunter flatly. “Look. I’ve been talking to AZI. It might take a while to find a source for one, but we’ll get you a new hand. I promise.”

“But this one’s still gone,” Crosshair hissed, flaring with a sudden rage, incandescent, poisonous, raw. He thrust out his arm, shoving it in Hunter’s face. “I don’t care what you find. It won’t be the same.” He let out a sharp huff of breath, his heart pounding. “Maybe I’d ruined it, maybe I was never going to be that sniper again, but it was mine.”

Hunter held out his hands in a placating gesture, and the anger ebbed away, a foggy memory. Crosshair sank back against the pillows, shaking.

“Sorry,” said Hunter, and something like pity crossed his face. “You don’t have to have a prosthetic, if you don’t want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Crosshair said roughly.

I should figure out how to get along without one.

I don’t need their help.

Maybe a prosthetic would just shake, too --

The thoughts ringed around his head dizzyingly, too difficult to get out even through the crumbling wall and his lowered defenses. He clung to them, confused and ashamed.

Hunter’s voice cut through the cloud of thoughts. “You don’t have to know, yet. You can take the time.”

The thoughts quieted down again, and he fell back into a remove again, faded and muted.

Hunter spoke again. “Sorry, Cross. I don’t know what it’s like.”

“No, you don’t.” He gave Hunter a twisted smile. “Hell, I don’t either.”

”You talked to Echo.”

”A little. It’s — hard, like this. Good man, Echo.” A wave of drowsiness rolled over him, heavy and oppressive. He stifled a yawn, trying to keep focused on Hunter. “I’m talking a lot, aren’t I. Must be whatever the droid did.”

“Must be.” Hunter reached out, offering a toothpick. Crosshair took it with his left hand, shimmied it into place. This one tasted of stale sawdust, and he frowned, the dryness of it puckering his mouth.

”Keep seeing it,” Crosshair said under his breath.

”What?”

“That moment. After the explosion.” He sighed. “Should’ve stopped him. Could’ve, if I’d had a knife. Stupid not to carry one. Why’d you let me talk the Kaminoans out of it?” He shuddered, rubbing his right wrist with his left hand, grimacing at how tender it felt even through the numbing of the pain meds. He rolled up his sleeve cautiously.

There was a dark purple-black bruise on his forearm. A swollen crescent shape. It took him a moment to realize it was from the rim of his gauntlet, crushed into his arm from the weight of the trooper.

He rolled the sleeve back down hurriedly and gnawed on his toothpick.

“Because if our sniper was having to engage in hand-to-hand combat, we’d failed as a squad,” Hunter said dryly. “It didn’t make sense to add the extra weight to your kit when you hadn’t had the hand-to-hand training Wrecker and I had. Remember? I backed you on that.”

Crosshair snorted. “What did we know back then?”

Just battle sims and life as Clone Force 99. What else was there?

He gazed out the window. The night sky was a wash of blues and blacks and grays, white-gold starlight twinkling across the immense sky.

“You know something that doesn’t make sense,” Crosshair ventured. It seemed important to tell him, though it was stupid, it was shameful.

“What?”

“I thought, at least it’s over.”

“I know. Tantiss is gone.”

“No, not that. This.” He held up his stump. “The tremor. It was getting worse.” He grimaced. “You saw. I’d let Omega down. Couldn’t handle meditating after they took her. But now it’s… gone. She’ll never have to know I couldn’t -- I couldn’t fix it --”

“Hey, hey. Crosshair.”

He spat out his toothpick into his palm and turned away, burying his face in the pillows, his back to Hunter.

”You think that matters to her?”

”I — I don’t know.” It matters to me.

For a moment, Hunter fell quiet. The only sounds were their breathing, soft and steady.

Like on the bridge —

Hunter’s voice was quiet but determined. “We all have our battle scars.”

And? This was news?

”I don’t think they’re always the kind that we can see,” Hunter said. He paused, as if trying to figure out what to say. ”There’s some injuries… you don’t fully recover from. That doesn’t make you weak. Look at Wrecker’s eye. Look at Echo.”

Crosshair was very still. With his eyes closed like this, Hunter’s voice enveloped him, the world shrinking down to his brother’s words.

”Maybe you’ll be different now. Maybe some things can’t… really be fixed. But I think you can get through it. You’ll still be Crosshair.”

”You sure about that?” he asked softly, so softly he wasn’t sure if Hunter had heard him.

”Crosshair, you’re the most stubborn bastard I’ve ever met.” Hunter’s voice was warm, affectionate. “If you decide to get better, you will. I know it. You just… you have to decide you deserve it.”

That was the hard part.

He hovered in the dark, the wall far below him, crumbling into a shadow of itself. It wasn’t gone. He’d probably add a few more bricks to shore it back up, once he got out of this fog. But it was a ruin now, broken down, far easier to get over and through than it ever had been before.

Maybe it was something he wouldn’t need for much longer.

“Hunter?” he asked sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Think I’ll remember this, tomorrow?”

”I don’t know.” Hunter reached out, patting him on the back. “But if you don’t, I’ll tell you again. As often as you need to hear it.”

That sounded fair to him.

He drifted off into the haze, his arm dull and quiet, his mind blank and free of pain. He thought of his brothers beside him, Omega’s hand in his, and he slept deep and long and dreamless into the morning.

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #crosshair bad batch #echo bad batch #hunter bad batch #wrecker bad batch #omega bad batch #crosshair tbb #crosshair the bad batch #summer of bad batch #summer-of-bad-batch #injury #whump #my batcher fic

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onyxrosess · 1 year ago

Text

You Have a Way With Words

vergil x reader

Hello! First time posting on tumblr, it’s definitely testing my patience- but here I am.

・warnings: n/a

( + cross posted on ao3)

The evening had dragged on, ever so slowly. It was to be expected when waiting for something— someone— time did move so terribly slow. Vergil had been gone most of the day, usually, jobs went fairly quick for him, as he is the strongest half-devil you know, and probably is the strongest half-devil. That being, he’s now been gone since 11:00 am, it’s now, you glanced over at the clock on the wall, 9:48 pm. And you are exhausted. Finding anything to do at the shop was a challenging task, there weren’t any books. Vergil didn’t even keep books, or well very many. You didn’t feel it would be appropriate to read his chosen literature, as it seemed quite personal to him.

You’ve now retreated to your bed—Vergil’s bed. The neatness of the room was still a little alien to you. Not that it was just clean, there was practically nothing in his room. A dresser, two nightstands, a hook to hang his coat, and his large bed. That was it. Maybe it was instinct, a decorated room was a human trait. Though Vergil’s gotten better about his humanity, it is nowhere near perfect and never will be. You slithered under the comforter, laying on your side. Half of you wanted to tape your eyes open just in case Vergil got home so that you could greet him. The other half wanted nothing more than sleep. And one ended victorious, sleep.

It had only been an hour since you had fallen asleep, the silence of the building was not to be disrupted, especially by Vergil’s light steps. A habit he gained from the hells. However, the bedroom door opened with a prolonged squeak. Vergil’s eyes fell on your sleeping form, though he was not surprised. He had already been listening to your heartbeat from the other side of the door before making his entrance. Vergil momentarily propped up the Yamato against the wall as he methodically hung his coat on the hook attached to the drywall. Now walking over to his bed, which you are claiming one side of. Resting the sword against the nightstand, he sat down on the mattress. His weight made the mattress dip, and you remained unaware of his presence. Vergil’s first thought was how weak , but he was quickly overridden by human reason, reasoning he had been taught, especially by you and Dante. Vergil’s gaze settled on your features, ones he could barely see due to your position facing away from him. His hand, which still had his weathered gloves on, moved to grab a section of your hair, feeling it between his fingertips.

Maybe it was to check if you were real. Not many lowered their guard around him, well, those who knew of his strength. Regular civilians would always have their guard down, they were oblivious. But you who showed him patience granted it didn’t come without its respective frustration, but you still did it. You still trusted him, as stupid of a decision he thought it was at first: to trust blindly. Over time he realized it wasn’t blind, you saw something in Vergil he couldn’t see himself. His ability to be a man, and maybe you two had a different definition of a ‘man’, didn’t stop you from trying. Even when he would be covered in gore and carnage, and no regard for human life, you still saw him . It was buried down so deep there was only a sliver showing. But you knew it was there.

Your body shifted in your slumber, switching to the other side. The hand previously tangled in your hair quickly retreated, he observed your micro-movements. How your chest rose and fell slightly, your lips slightly parted. The dim lighting didn’t allow for many details of your face to show, but Vergil’s eyes saw you perfectly clear, thank you demon genetics. Vergil slipped his boots off before sitting up against a pillow on his bed, though you did slowly awaken. You didn’t see him at first, but you smelt him, it was nothing bad, it was just him. Something you had grown very accustomed to. His once cold blue eyes turned warm, at least that's what his gaze felt like on your skin. Vergil’s hands sat idly in his lap, “I apologize if I woke you.” You shook your head and pulled your body closer to him, “I don’t mind, I wanted to see you anyway.” Vergil didn’t respond, your head laid on the pillow next to where he sat. His eyes trained on your face and you couldn’t help but do the same. Admiring his sharp features, his eyebrows were more relaxed, and the shadow that they usually cast over his eyes was lightened.

Vergil wasn’t extremely well versed in affection, barely versed at all. You settled for the small touches he gave you in private, it never extended beyond. You would usually wake up alone or Vergil faced away from you on the other side of the mattress. Though the man was very possessive, he rarely touched you. As if you were made of glass and the smallest thing could send you shattering. Regardless if you fought alongside him or he simply observed you, he would still treat you so carefully. Fighting your inner turmoil, you shifted your weight closer to him. Moving ever so carefully, lifting your head to lay on his thigh. Your actions were immediately met with his muscles tensing, yet again, he remained silent.

You didn’t dare move to look at his expression, admittedly feeling nervous, though if Vergil was not comfortable, he would have no problem voicing that. A few long seconds later, the muscles of his thigh slowly relaxed under your head, and you released a small breath that had been held captive in your lungs. Then minutes passed, and Vergil remained still, but calm, or so you hoped from the few clues you could gather together from your current position. Your eyes began to close shut once again, without your permission of course.

A slow hand came to your hair, pushing the pieces back behind your ear. You couldn’t help but crane your neck up a little to maybe get a glimpse of Vergil’s face. His expression was blank as ever, till he caught your eyes. His lips twitched into a tiny smile, that was reward enough. “What took you so long to get home?” You questioned, your neck still in an awkward position to see him. “I had an errand to run before returning home.” You hummed, he was being vague. Your heart told you he was being truthful, but your head said there was something else- no matter. He would tell you, or at least that's what you told yourself.

Resting your head back down comfortably on his lap, you pondered what his ‘errand’ was. He didn’t need to buy anything, he had food here and he wasn’t very materialistic. Maybe he was seeing someone . The thought made your chest burn, trying to put out the flames you tried to think rationally. Vergil and yourself were not officially dating, you know he cares about you. But the situation is so unique you don’t know if proper dating applies to him. But then again maybe he just needed to get off, he was human after all..well part human. The water you tried to pour on your fiery thoughts was not enough, and the heat from the raging flames morphed into jealousy. Was he with someone else? The thought of Vergil sharing the tender moments you have with him made you boil.

Maybe Vergil heard your heart begin to beat faster, or maybe it's a demon’s 6th sense. One of his hands laid idly on your back, and you were quickly pulled out of the burning house that was your mind. “What's on your mind?” Vergil broke the silence of the room, you bit your tongue. You could not bear to admit jealousy over an imaginary woman you created in your head, it was ridiculous. “Nothing, it’s stupid.” You turned your head farther away from his gaze, “If it was nothing, you would not call it ‘stupid’” Vergil tested you, why must he be so nosey ? You groaned, lifting a hand to cover your face. “I’m…I’m just thinking too much, it’s fine.”

That answer was not sufficient enough for Vergil. His hand pried yours away from your face, though it wasn’t much of a struggle for him. He tilted your head with his hand towards his face, he was staring at you, and a couple of his white strands of hair fell out of their place.

“Tell me.” Vergil demanded, he wouldn’t just let it go. “I… I just was…” Jealous wasn’t the right word, what were you jealous of? Vergil was not exclusive to you. “wondering what your ‘errand’ was, and… I thought you might’ve been with someone else.” Vergil’s expression was back to normal, a deep shadow cast over his eyes, his brows knitted together. “I could tell you, but I’d prefer not to.” Now you were fucking confused, what does that mean? “If it would put your mind at ease, I would.” Vergil’s expression softened slightly. If he was so willing to tell you, maybe it wasn’t anything bad. “No, it’s okay, I trust you.” Your own words were not a lie, you did trust Vergil, with your life and your secrets. Vergil nodded, as his body relaxed against a pillow. Now you were curious, not as jealous anymore, maybe a little still.

Vergil shifted now to laying down, so rudely making you move. He laid on his back as he stared at the ceiling, the air was beginning to feel thick with tension. You managed to scoot your body closer to him, your eyes following a muscle in his neck that twitched as he clenched his jaw. He moved his arm, making way for you to cling next to him. It wasn’t often he felt comfortable with contact like this, it was usually directed by you. Your head now rested on his chest, as it calmly rose and fell.

Just like that, your worries slowly seeped out of your mind, discarding themselves. Everything felt like it was going to be okay. Even just for a moment, maybe just for tonight, but it was enough to make you smile. The comfortable warmth that radiated off of Vergil made your body lax, while his hand played with a strand of your hair gently. “What are you smiling for?” Vergil asked, his fingers lacing through your hair, and before your brain could filter the words that slipped out your mouth, they went rouge;

“I love you, Vergil.”

“Foolish girl.”

Thank you for reading! - onyxroses

#devil may cry #dmc vergil #dmc #vergil x reader #dmc vergil x reader #vergil #vergil sparda #vergil sparda x reader #fluff #soft vergil #im coping #devil may cry 2 #devil may cry 3 #devil may cry 4 #devil may cry 5 #dmc fanfiction #onyxroses

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Hi since I know Sanji is your husband ; how about A , b , I , k , l for him please 💗 👀😈

It's funny, even though he's my husband, I almost never write him as a yandere lol

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

God, how doesn't he show his affection? He's always got a hand on you when he isn't cooking, he acts as if you'll perish if he doesn't kiss you every five minutes, he's constantly doing your work for you, and, of course, he makes all of your meals and snacks. You don't have to lift a finger with him around. On top of that, you don't go a day without him singing your praise or showering you with compliments.

He's also a big fan of taking you shopping. He loves to pick out new clothes for you that he thinks will further add to your beauty. Anything that you so much as glance at will be yours.

The never ending onslaught of love and affection is suffocating to say the least. Sanji loves intensely. He's desperate to make you feel loved, and it never occurs to him that he's going too far or that you may not even want it.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

There is nothing that he won't do in the name if protecting his darling. He doesn't care how messy it gets so long as that means that you'll be out of harm's way. He will try to make it quick, though. Not out of mercy, but because he wants to get back to you as soon as possible.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

This man is constantly fantasizing about his future with you, and he has no problem telling you about it. As much as he loves being a part of the Straw Hats, he does want to find a place to settle down with you after Luffy has become the pirate king and the crew has decided to retire from piracy. Ideally, this home would be in the All Blue and be a floating craft that doubles as a restaurant like the Baratie. He talks ceaselessly about how much fun it will be to decorate it with you and make it your home. Any opposition you have to this is severely downplayed or misinterpreted into something else entirely because Sanji is the reigning king of being delusional.

More likely than not, you guys will be married within a year of meeting. Sanji is desperate to be your husband and spends all of your relationship trying to prove to you what a good husband he will be. Can't you see how doting and caring he is? Doesn't that make you want to grow old with him?

Sanji is extremely eager to have children. Like having a baby before the first anniversary levels of excitement. Every time he sees a child in public or you interact with one, he's dropping very blatant hints about you two having one of your own some day. You two will have children some day, it's an inevitability. And refusal on your part is taken as you just being nervous and needing a little persuasion.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He acts completely whipped. He's the most lovesick man the world has ever seen. The man will kiss your feet if you don't kick him away. He's constantly finding any opportunity he can to hug and kiss you. If your back isn't to a wall, he's hugging you from behind and taking the opportunity to smell your hair.

Of course, he's also making you food around the clock. If you were skinny when you met him, you won't be for long. He acts as if hearing your stomach growl is what failure sounds like. You get an extra large portion for each meal, and he's constantly bombarding you with snack in between meals.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He comes on strong and unrelenting. You're his beloved, perfect god(dess), and he is not going to let you slip between his fingers. He gets you extravagant bouquets every time you're on land, and he'll usually buy you a few other gifts while he's at it. He'll wax poetic about how perfect you are and how much he loves you for hours on end. You're under a full frontal assault of love bombing with no end in sight. This is also the point when he starts doing the food thing mentioned in the previous letter.

#sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #one piece #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #reader insert #x reader #yandere alphabet

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frudoo · 1 year ago

Text

Mister Asylum (2)

Title: Claudeland

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Warnings: Gross imagery, self-deprecating thoughts, one mention of medical abuse of power.

“Lights out, Mr. Riley.”

The squawking voice of the bitter nurse, ironically named ‘Sunny’, makes Simon’s eye twitch, fists clenched by his sides as he treks his way into the scarcely decorated room. There are no windows, no lights aside from the fluorescent overhead that gets switched off the second he thunks down onto the rickety bed. A couple of motivational posters hang high on the walls, held up by sticky tack and pure spite, at this point. The cheery words mock him, contort into vicious reminders of how useless he is in this place, in this world.

There’s not even a clock on any of the four taunting walls surrounding him and his roommate. His roommate, who talks to himself more often than not, only getting out of bed to get his vitals checked or slurping down the scrambled eggs he sneaks into his pockets at breakfast. Simon actually misses the smell of gunpowder and blood—anything is better than the vile stench of rotten food and day-old feces. The sorry fucker can’t even be bothered to flush the toilet. He’s nicknamed the gremlin ‘Egghead’ since he’s unsure of his real name. Not that he’d care regardless.

It’s no use complaining, either, no matter how many times Simon tries. He’s always dismissed with an annoyed frown and a wave of whatever nurse’s hand he’s decided to bitch and moan to. If he persists, they just threaten to give him an ungodly dose of Benadryl to keep him doped-up and compliant. Fuck, prison would be paradise compared to this place.

Simon huffs and pulls his mask over his eyes rather than his nose and mouth, turning on his side to finally try his hand at sleeping. He hasn’t caught a wink in the past two days he’s been here, and whatever little teaser of a nap he manages to fall into gets destroyed by the nightmares he’s plagued by. He’s lost count of how many times nurses have been sent to his room to try and calm him down to no avail—he just has to ride the terrifying wave the way he always does. It’s his own personal form of torture.

He’s nearly halfway asleep in a record time of fifteen short minutes when he hears rustling beside him. Simon stirs but ultimately ignores it, sniffing and allowing his body to relax once again. He probably just imagined it. No threats in this place. He’s safe.

He’s on the brink of blissful slumber when he feels it again. This time, he knows it’s not a figment of his imagination—that much is proven by the weight that settles on his waist. The unmistakable odor behind him proves his suspicions as his roommate cuddles up behind him like it’s his birthright, a pleased sigh escaping his filthy mouth.

“I jus’ wanna know when ya plan ta kill me,” he rasps, and Simon nearly loses it.

Fucking hell. Enough is enough. Simon elbows the freaky little greaseball in the stomach and skyrockets out of the bed, storming into the hallway where the night shift nurses are making their rounds. He spots the one who forced him back into his room and strides over to her, furiously pulling the mask back over his mouth and nose.

“No’ stayin’ in there w’him,” Simon growls, staring down the much shorter woman whose glare is equally as sharp.

“And what do you expect me to do about it?” Sunny cocks an eyebrow, arms crossed and one hip popped to the side to show she’s not intimidated.

“Dunno, but I ain’t goin’ back,” he squints, large foot tapping against the linoleum floor impatiently, looking much more like an angsty teenager than a battle-ruined soldier. “Can I switch rooms?”

“This isn’t a hotel, Mr. Riley,” the older woman exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of her nose before her eyes meet his again. “But I’ll see what I can do. For now, you’re gonna go back in that room and sit on the bed. Understood?”

Simon groans in disapproval but nods, moping his way back into the torture chamber where Egghead has made himself at home on his bed, sprawled out like a damn prostitute. The freaky bastard’s not even sleeping, just staring up at the ceiling with a cavernous grin on his oily face, acknowledging Simon’s presence with a squeal. The lieutenant actually flinches, reaching behind him habitually as if to retrieve a knife, despite having nothing but his pajamas on his person.

“M’ready,” Egghead giggles, lifting his arms and plopping them down again childishly. “How ya gonna do it?”

Simon peeks down the hall, hoping to find Sunny making her way towards him with that wonderful news so he doesn’t have to respond to this madman. No such luck, to his dismay. When he turns his head back, Egghead is standing right in front of him, jaundiced eyes wide and bloodshot.

“Answer me!” He shrieks, his grubby hands grabbing onto Simon’s shirt and tugging him so close that the taller man can see the plaque on his teeth.

Utterly repulsed, Simon shoves the fun-sized ogre back, fully intent on beating him to a pulp for ever daring to touch him in the first place. Egghead hits the edge of the bed with a grunt, palms rested on the mattress behind him to brace himself. The soldier raises a clenched fist, wild brown eyes locked on his target, but he can’t bring himself to plummet his knuckles onto the smaller man’s face. There’s no fear in the poor bloke’s expression, something more akin to relief, and it makes Simon question everything about himself.

Had he been on the field, Simon wouldn’t have hesitated to dig a knife into the enemy’s neck. But here, in the quiet of the hospital where he can hear the whimpers coming from the pitiful throat before him, where there’s no pressure on him to keep his team alive, he finds himself incapable of the violence he’s always known to resort to. If it wasn’t for the rapid fluttering beneath his chest, he wouldn’t be sure he even still had a heart. The feeling is foreign and it scares the hell out of him.

“M’not gonna kill you,” Simon grumbles, smoothing his rough palms over the mess of overgrown hair on the top of his head. “Stand up, mate.”

Egghead whines dramatically before following orders, using the heel of his palms to push himself back onto his feet. He trails back over to his own bed where he starts reciting his usual bedtime story to himself, like nothing had happened. Simon settles for kicking the wall to release his frustrations, not even flinching at the shooting pain that resonates through his foot. The rubber slipper that the hospital provided snaps in half, rendered useless in his rage. Funny, he thinks, that he can relate to such an inferior object.

“Mr. Riley, if you’re finished damaging property, I’d like to speak to you,” Sunny’s unimpressed voice rings out from behind him, and he turns around hopefully.

“Sorry,” he mutters, nodding for her to continue.

“There’s a room on the floor above us that the director herself has offered up. No roommates. You will still be on our schedule, but the nurses will be different. And, Simon?”

“Hm?”

“Just because we’re making this one exception does not mean you will be treated specially. It is simply a different floor. You will proceed treatments like normal,” her voice is firm as ever but holds a depth of sympathy that wasn’t there previously.

“Understood, ma’am,” he fiddles with the hem of his cotton tee, avoiding her steely gaze. “Thank you.”

“Grab your belongings, I’ll escort you.”

𝝑𝝔

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