#and for once this feels like it's being done on purpose

[redbird-tf]

Chamomile tea 

Dean winchester x (hunter ) sister reader

Summary: being alone for so long you’ve gotten used to only relying on yourself, a mindset that Dean starts to chip away at. 

Word count: 740

Notes: being creative is hard

Warnings: none

You sniffled, reaching across the table for a new tissue. You blew hard before discarding it in the bin with the dozen others.“Fever not letting up?” You jumped at Dean's voice, You weren't quite accustomed to having company around yet. The three of you were still navigating this new dynamic, which was proving easier for some than others. Just a few months ago Sam and Dean were the dynamic hunter duo, while you still navigated the world solo. You could still vividly recall the moment when John had announced the secret he had buried for years, the secret forced out because of a hunt.

——————

You remembered the look of shock that overtook everyone’s face and the screaming match that ensued between Sam and John. You could recall standing silently in the corner, feeling Dean gaze upon you from ten feet away. Once the job was done and John disappeared again you expected life to go back to normal, you couldn’t have anticipated the brothers to take you under their wing. “Family looks out for each other” Sam had stated to you, a mentality that you would come to learn.

What you hadn’t seen that night was the quiet devastation Dean had unleashed. He couldn’t pick a fight with John like Sam could, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as angry. His entire life he’d been forced into the role of a guardian for his little brother, and now to find out he had a sister—who had been alone in this life—turned that protective instinct into a fierce storm of emotions. The guilt of failing as brother was sallowing him whole and the rage towards John for keeping the truth from him boiled over. Least to say When they checked out, the motel room bore the scars of his turmoil.

——————-

“I'm fine” you stated blankly in response, your attention turning back to the lore book in your lap. You weren’t purposely being stubborn, to you it was true. You had gotten sick before and you'd get over it, no big deal. Dean didn't respond and carried on with his business in the kitchen. The sound of pouring liquid reached your ears, but it didn’t smell like his usual coffee so you assumed he was having a drink. Hearing what sounded like a spoon hitting the side of a ceramic mug you raised your head in confusion. Unfortunately, his back was turned to you, blocking your view of what he was conjuring up.

When he started to turn around, your eyes darted back to your book only looking up when hearing the soft clink of a mug being placed in front of you. You watched the steam rise, a sweet and sour aroma filling the air. “Is that chamomile tea?” A softer voice chimed in as Sam entered the room. “Not for you,” Dean stated firmly, taking a seat across from you. You stared at the drink “What is it?” You asked raising an eyebrow. “Tea, honey for a sore throat, and some lemon for the headaches” Dean explained leaning back in his chair. “Thats pure witchcraft right there, can fix anything!” Sam exclaimed pointing at the mug. “Drink up sis” sam encouraged, brushing his hand over your shoulder on his way to the door.

“You didn't have to do that,” you said softly to Dean. “I used to make them all the time for Sam, it's no big deal,” Dean reassured you. You fidgetedwith the edge of a page. “I'm not dying Dean.” Your tone came off defensive causing Dean to sit up straight. “You don't have to be dying, for someone to make you a cup of tea kiddo” his words prompted you to lift your head to meet his gaze. “I didn't mean…” your words trailed off, unable to defend your previous statement. “I'm your big brother, it's my job to look out for you.” He said with a stern tone. You could only stare at him in silence trying to comprehend his words. “I know it hasn't always been like that, but it is now. I've been a big brother for a long time and Sam’s still learning. i know you are too—just…” he took a deep breath “Let me do this for you, ok?” You nodded silently, noticing how his softened eyes contrasted with the weight of his words.

Without knowing what to say, you lifted the mug to your lips. The warmth of the citrus tea seeped into your chest, and you felt your tense muscles start to relax much like the protective wall you’ve built beginning to chip away. You gently placed the mug down, catching a glimpse of the small smile on Dean's face. “Thank you, Dean” you responded with a smile of your own. He didn’t respond with words instead, he stood up from the table, patting you on the shoulder as he passed by. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself when looking down at the mug in front of you.

———————-

[save-the-villainous-cat]

hurt//comfort with hero or villain tending to the other person’s wounds please….. tyty..

"I..." The villain felt their hands shake. How on earth were they supposed to handle this? Them being here in the hero's house was already too much contact, too much of a mistake. The villain was a mess, that much they could admit.

But was it because they had failed to do their job? Or because the damage they had caused was (inexplicably) too much for them to fall asleep to at night peacefully?

"Hm," the hero said. They closed their eyes. Jogging pants and a simple shirt had exchanged the fancy clothes from yesterday's evening and they sat on their couch, messy hair falling into their eyes. "Here to finish the job?"

The villain didn't find the right words. To be more precise, they didn't find any words at all.

In the back of their mind, the villain laughed at themselves for missing, but another part of them cursed themselves for picking up the gun in the first place.

It had been a simple order. To kill a target.

Killing people for money was merely work for the villain, nothing more. They had never had any ill feelings towards their victims, had never questioned what they were doing. It was as simple as it could get: a simple request, a simple answer, a simple amount of money. But when it had been clear to them that it was the hero, the person who got in their way regularly, they had felt worse than ever.

Although yesterday was already somewhat of a blur, they could remember the horrible feeling in their gut when they had seen the hero at the party through the spotting scope.

Their enemy was highly skilled and the villain had felt like a coward. Like someone who stabbed them from behind. The hero deserved a good and fair fight, not this.

Once the hero had been alone on the balcony, looking over all the other buildings, the villain had made up their mind. Their enemy had looked calm. Peaceful even. They had placed the glass of alcohol on a table nearby. They had leaned against the metallic bannister of the balcony and had stared into the villain's direction, almost as if they could sense them.

They could remember the way the hero's hair had moved in the wind. How tired they had looked, how the fresh air had cooled down the blush on their face.

So, for better or for worse, the villain had taken in a deep breath, aimed at their target and…missed the hero's head.

They had shot their shoulder instead. Had watched the hero's surprise, the quiet gasp, had watched as they had fallen to their knees, had looked around. Confused. Panicked. Desperate.

And the villain had stayed there on the rooftop, hadn't dared to move.

The hero had stood up, gone inside as quickly as possible, had grabbed their jacket and excused themselves. They had left the party without anyone noticing they had been injured and no one - the villain assumed - had gone after them to check if everything was alright.

The villain supposed the hero was good when it came to lying, when it came to excuses.

Now, the villain stared at them. Why were they here? Why hadn't they done their job?

It had been a clear shot. One entry wound, one exit wound. Not deadly. But very, very nasty. Why had they missed on purpose?

"You're bleeding," the villain said quietly. The hero's eyes followed the villain's gaze and together, they stared at the hero's shirt which slowly started to get drenched in blood.

The hero sighed.

"Shit. That's my third shirt this morning. Do you know how difficult it is to get blood stains out of clothes?"

"I...I am aware, yes." The villain didn't know what to do with their hands, they didn't know where to move, what to say. They had never been this stunned, this incompetent. But the hero acted instead of them. They headed for the bathroom and the villain followed like a dog without any hesitation.

"Thank you for missing, by the way," the hero said. They took off their shirt while they were walking and the villain did not miss how much they struggled with their injured shoulder. The villain wanted to touch them, wanted to help but in the last second, they withdrew their hand and the hero didn't even notice the villain's intentions.

"I'm a lousy shot," the villain said.

"Everyone knows that's bullshit." The hero came to a stop in the bathroom and the villain nearly bumped into them when they set a foot in the room.

The room looked like a scene from a horror movie. Blood was everywhere, bandages were everywhere. Pills were scattered on the ground, bloody clothes were hanging over the sink, the toilet, the bathtub.

"Excuse the mess, will you?" The hero crouched to pick up the green first aid kit.

And the villain didn't know their body was capable of those feelings. With their heartbeat in their throat and their heart sending waves of pain into their chest, the villain feared for a moment that they had gotten horribly sick in the last few hours. Judging by the dark circles under the hero's eyes, they had spent most of the remaining night here in the bathroom, trying to fix two wounds. One of which they could barely reach.

"Sit down." The villain managed to keep their voice steady. They swallowed, tasted bile. They were...angry?

"Just give me sec-" Not at the hero, though.

"No. Sit down. Right here, right now," the villain ordered. They put their hand on the hero's healthy shoulder and pushed them down until there was no protest. Once that was done, the villain kneeled behind them, put a flat hand on the hero's naked back and observed the doings of their bullet.

The wound on the hero's back was barely treated - it had been bleeding long before the villain had noticed the bleeding on the other side. Dark reds, fleshy pinks and sickly blues mixed together and created a gruesome painting the villain had seen too many times before but could barely handle now.

"You need to see a doctor," the villain decided.

"Pff, I'm fi-" The villain put minimal pressure on the red and purple bruises around the wound and the hero gasped hard enough for the villain to fear they would throw up any second.

"I can't tell how much your shoulder blade is damaged. If the bone splintered..."

"I'm fine," the hero said.

"I can stitch the wounds but that's all, you need to see a doctor nonetheless."

"I have never needed a doctor."

"I am not asking nicely," the villain said and this time, their voice cracked. The hero turned their head to look at them but the villain's attention was on the wound.

Or maybe they were too afraid to look at them.

"Honestly, I am not a resentful person, but let's not forget who did this in the first place."

The villain leaned back a little, the words stuck in the back of their throat.

"I'm..." They couldn't, they simply couldn't say it. They started to whisper. "It's just a job."

"Just a job," the hero sneered. They grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it into the open wound they could reach. Without another word, they grabbed the needle, cleaned it and gave it to the villain, along with some thread. "...like I said. I'm not resentful."

The villain got to work and pierced into the hero's skin. They could hear the hisses, the weak laughs to overshadow the pain. It wasn't pretty - soon enough the hero’s blood was running down the villain's fingertips but they did (somehow) manage to fabricate some decent stitches.

"...you don't have to say it. I forgive you either way," the hero said through gritted teeth. "And it doesn't matter anyway. You're...you are here now."

Once the villain was done, the hero turned around and the villain, for the love of them, couldn't look the hero in the eyes.

"But it was an order, wasn't it? You didn't just decide to shoot me."

The villain cleaned the needle and started again. This time, however, they could see the hero's grimaces, not only the pain in spasming muscles but also the pain in their eyes, the exhaustion between their words. And that made it more difficult.

The villain wanted to touch them, to comfort them. But they couldn’t, just like they couldn’t apologise to them.

There was something wrong with them, something broken within them. What kind of person couldn’t whisper a simple apology?

"Yes, it was," the villain said. Their hands were still shaking a bit.

"I was pretty drunk when it happened," the hero admitted. "And my adrenaline was kicking in immediately. At first, I barely noticed. Once I was home, I was crying instead of screaming. Didn't wanna wake up the neighbors. I honestly thought this was it."

The villain didn't answer. Their heart was heavy enough and even though the hero didn't consider themselves resentful, forgiveness was still arduous to ask for and even harder to deserve.

"Please," the villain said. "Please, just hate me. It would make this a lot easier for me."

"I'm not here to make it easier for you," the hero said and with that, the villain finished the stitches and felt even worse than before. They supposed they deserved it, but whatever peace of mind they had longed for, the hero didn't give it to them.

Instead, they gave the villain undeserved compassion, horrible understanding and infuriating kindness. It was enough torture for the villain already.

[just-a-itty-bitty-kitty]

Thinking about how the Narrator doesn't really know if the world stays saved when we die, and yet in some cases He tries to reassure/console us during our 'last moments'.

"You've paid a terrible price, but you've saved us all." He doesn't know that. Maybe He's just trying to describe it into existence, hoping that if you die with the thought, it'll become true? But in other times, He's sure that our death means doom for whatever world we've left behind. "The world doesn't stay saved if you die." Then why tell us that we've saved it?

I also think it's interesting how emotional Narrator gets by the end of each chapter 1. He treats us differently based on our actions and how we approach the situation.

If we try and save the Princess, he purposely makes our death as long and painful as he possibly can, presumably, out of pure spite. "It is agony. But you aren't dead yet." "She sinks the blade into your chest again, and again, and again... and you feel every inch of burning pain that slices itself into your body."

If we resist his instructions at first, but give in later, he seems genuinely apologetic. "This can't actually be how everything ends..!" "I'm sorry, but it is." or "As much as I'd preferred for things to have gone differently, I can't deny the reality of what has happened." He wants this to work, and he wants us to come out happy and content by the end of it.

He seems caught off guard in the Spectre route if we try to kill her while she's in our body. "Slay her would slay you. Are you sure you're willing to do that?" One would expect Him to immedietly be on board with whatever plan gets rid of Her, but the "heroic"(in His eyes) gesture immedietly makes Narrator develop a soft spot and start to worry for our well being. He doesn't like the idea of the hero being denied their happy ending.

He genuinely believes the Princess to be a manifestation of everything evil in the world and constantly denies her any personhood. It's not an active choice either, as Narrator is an Echo with a set amount of beliefs that cannot be changed. He never changes His mind about anything and one of His core beliefs is that He is right. He has to be, otherwise everything he'd done, everything he went through, it would all be for nothing.

That which was once a defensive thought, shaped by his own hurt and unwillingness to see another perspective, becomes a universal truth.

[mydarlingclaudia]

I will love you ‘til the end of time

note : divider is from @/toastray. I have nothing to say this was supposed to be a couple hundred words but yk.

wc : 2.7k

tags : @lottiies @luvrgreyy

desc : he’s been in love with the memory of you for too long, falling back in love with the newer you took a matter of seconds. fluff, bit of angst (?), au, re4rLeon, fem!reader, not proofread, I talk a tiny bit about sex at the end but there’s no smut.

Leon doesn’t remember the sound of your voice, it’s been too long, too many years have passed since the day you died.

Six years was all the time the two of you had together. Six good years. All a really, really long time ago. Leon hates it, he knows he’s forgetting, memories are serving less and less of a purpose to him everyday. How is he to remember lying under the trees with you when those trees have been cut down and turned to homes and firewood? How can he remember you gutting fish for the two of you to eat when the fish have left the river you lived by?

The home you originally lived in had been torn down and rebuilt dozens of times by now, Leon wasn’t always there, even when he was, it wasn’t very lived in after you died. He’s been around the world more times than he can remember, before you, with you, after you. No place looks the same. Leon has many homes, stays there for a few decades, packs up, and moves to the next house in the next country.

He had been gifted with everlasting life for being some hero, for fighting monster when those were still a thing, it was well after he had married you, he didn’t tell you, but he thought you’d spend forever together. Didn’t happen, obviously. You got sick, he took care of you, nothing helped.

Leon prayed to whatever God that had bestowed his immortality to him to give it to you too, to keep you alive, to make you healthy again. He received no answer and you died not long after, Leon was left to spend the rest of his eternal life alone, but the world was his, and he has all the time that the universe has to offer. But what had he done to not be granted the one thing he wanted in the world? Why would some God reward him just to let him live the rest of his life miserable?

Leon’s seen everyone fall in love, but love evolved from courting to dating apps, he’s seen an embarrassing amount of shitty first dates. But he’s also seen a lot of good ones, ones where the first date turns to a second one, then a third, then a fourth, then before he knows it, those twenty-something-year-olds he had seen fall in love in a small restaurant were now taking their teenagers to the mall and going to high school reunions.

You would have loved this, or he hopes you would’ve. Because he really wishes that you were there to cuddle up to him on the couch and watch tv with him until midnight, he wanted to take you on cute dates, he wants to buy you things and renew your vows once every few years.

He wishes that the memories are clearer in his head, he can really only see them when he closes his eyes, or when the weather is a certain way, or when a certain smell hits his nose. Leon wants to feel your skin against his again. he wants to hear you talking directly into his ear and see that smirk on your face when you suggest something you know he won't refuse.

But it's been so long and he knows that your body has long since decomposed and your grave has been swallowed up by the ocean, a good half of the time since then he's been living on auto-pilot, the other half he's painfully aware of your absence with each day that passes.

He's not even sure he'd be able to hold you correctly, should you fall back into his arms one day. Would you still love him despite that?

He's gone so long without a lover, would he remember how to kiss? The Hollywood movies don't do it justice, kissing. But no one in those movies kissed like you had, Leon's seen all kinds of romance movies, read all kinds of books, he's always imagined you and him as the main characters, but you never kiss him the way you used to.

Would you even choose him? There were so many different men out there and so many new ways to meet someone and stay connected, there was no rush to get married or have kids, would Leon be the man you'd pick once again? He hopes so.

He doesn't remember Beowulf having a wife, and Beowulf had been great. He knows that many heroes aren't able to keep their wife and their glory at the same time, the decision is often made for them, and they go on fighting until they die. But Leon stopped fighting with the same determination when you passed, he still did it, people needed protecting, but if he wasn't there to protect you, then was there really anything to fight for?

Despite all of this, he's still here. Leon looks the same as he did all those years ago, some things have changed, a lot, really, but not just about him. The world around him has grown, he's watched generations come and go just to get to some shitty grocery store in Raccoon City twenty minutes before they close at eight.

Leon doesn't like to have to work all the time, he thinks it's crazy how he went from hero to cop, more money was needed to live now than he ever imagined would be possible. He has money saved up from years and years of work, but he can't keep using the "generational wealth" excuse when he's got no family.

He doesn't like being bugged much, either. Maybe that's why he's buying his dinner when he's already supposed to be in bed, could be why he works so much even though he can't stand it sometimes, too.

Leon should have grabbed a shopping cart, the basket he carries is overflowing with shit he doesn't even need, when has he ever even eaten Devil Dogs and Zebra Cakes? He really needs to eat more than just pasta and steak every other night, maybe stop getting deliveries from the pizza place, too. He's looking over the ingredients on the back of a cereal box he knows he's going to get no matter what when there's a soft tap on his shoulder, he sighs and stops, turning around and preparing to be asked a question a cashier would know the answer to rather than him.

But Leon freezes the second his eyes land on your face. He must've gone crazy, it can't be you, can it? You're not really standing in front of him with a basket in your arms, wearing a winter jacket over your sweatshirt and smiling at him as if you're some stranger to him.

"Where did you get those?" Your voice is quiet when you speak, his gaze doesn't even follow your hand when you point at the sweets in his basket, he just stands there and admires you for a few seconds.

Leon wants to cry, he wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, tell you to run away with him, find someway for you to become immortal and stay by his side until the world ends. But he doesn’t, you look at him like he’s a stranger.

"Oh- Th-the uhm, the Zebra Cakes?" Leon finally asks after a few seconds, you only nod. "The e-end of aisle six." Why is he stammering? He's thought about all the things he'd say to you for hundreds of years, and he's instantly throwing every single word out the window the second you come out from whatever corner of the world you've been hiding in.

"Alright, thanks." God, it really is you. Your smile's the same, you look the same, you smell the same, you sound the same, you just- it's you. He remembers the way you sound again, God, please don’t ever take your voice away from him. He stops himself from reaching for your wrist when you walk away, knowing that you don't remember the things he does and that it'll only make you feel weird about him. But he'll settle for knowing that you're alive and that you're in the city, and that hopefully this won't be the last time he sees you.

—

The next time Leon sees you is on the subway a few weeks later in December.

You're not really looking when you step into the train, reaching up too high for the pole to hang onto and instead grab onto his hand. Your hands are so cold, you really need to wear gloves. But you gasp and pull your hand away when you feel his warm hand touch your skin, instantly holding lower down on the cold pole and looking at him.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" It's cute how quickly you apologize, it brings a smile to his face.

"No- No, you’re fine." He wants so badly to wrap his hand around yours, to hold you close and keep you warm, but he couldn’t, he was still a stranger to you. Being in a crowded train and standing a few inches apart was enough for now.

Leon just watches you, you don’t notice because you’re too busy staring down at your shoes, but his eyes are tracing over the curve of your nose, the way your eyelashes look when you blink, how kissable your lips look. He missed this view, although he'd much rather have you looking back at him with the same adoration in your eyes.

Neither of you speak again for the rest of the ride, you can feel him staring at you, though, you don’t entirely mind, you’d probably looking at him if his eyes weren’t burning holes through your skull.

You haven’t left his mind since he saw you at the grocery store, he’s been trying to figure out ways to find you again without getting put on some kind of radar, he’s too impatient to let things happen naturally, but it’s really the only choice he has.

He knows you recognize him, he can’t help but wonder if you’re getting some kind of vision from the past of him kissing you, of you resting on top of him in the sunlight, of him looking at you with awe in his eyes as you laugh at a story he told you.

But he can’t think about that for long, the train comes to a stop and you leave again, looking back over your shoulder at him and giving him a small goodbye smile. Where have you been all these years?

—

Sometimes, shitty dates were a good thing.

Both parties normally end up having a bad rest of their night, but if some man-child asshole you had been put on a date with hadn’t just thrown a whole tantrum and stomped out of the bar, you wouldn’t be sitting next to Leon.

He didn’t know you’d be here tonight, he was just here because he wanted to grab a drink after work, but this was better.

It’s awkward, he really, really doesn’t hope you think he’s stalking you. How small could a city be? Is it really so odd that the man you said a few words to at a grocery store and bumped into on the train would be sitting next to you at a bar?

Leon’s always had a staring problem when it came to you, he’s sure you’re too pretty for him, not that you were really his anymore. And Christ, you’re still beautiful, maybe even more so now. Modern clothes look good on you, he likes your dress, your shoes, the way you did your hair, the color you painted your nails.

He has to stop staring, because now you’re looking back at him. Leon expects for you to yell at him, or slap him, or something, but you just smile at him and turn towards him a tiny bit more.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare, zoned out.” Leon apologizes once his eyes snap up to yours, you had moved from your table up to the bar a few minutes ago, most likely embarrassed. You brought your drink over, too, though you didn’t really pay attention to it, just circling the lip of the cup with your fingers and taking a few sips every few seconds.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Your smile only grows, Leon has to bite back a grin threatening to stretch across his lips. Once again, he’s not sure what to say. Does he ever really know what to say now, though? You take the words right out of his mouth and turn them into broken mumbles that he tries to cover up with a fake cough or forced chuckle.

That didn’t use to happen, he’d still get nervous around you, but seeing you now made him feel like he was falling in love again.

“I’d feel like I’ve seen you before…?” You say, you know you’re right, you just want him to talk to you because you haven’t been able to get him out of your head, for some reason.

“Oh, uhm, yeah- Yeah, I think I’ve seen you around, too.” Is he seriously fucking blushing right now?

“Hm, small world.” You take a sip from your drink, he does the same.

“So, uh, bad date?” Leon asks before he can stop himself, he knows the answer, but you were probably going to get mad at him, get offended and ignore him if he sees you again.

“Yeah,” You sigh, “It’s fine, though. Blind date.” Leon nodded, staring down at the ring of water his glass left on the countertop. “You just here for a drink?”

“Mhm,” Alcohol was like water to him now, not the way that he drinks it everyday, but that it hardly has an effect on him anymore. But he can’t sit here and drink glass after glass unless if he wants people to get concerned, so he just sips on one or two for an hour and leaves. You’re drinking the same drink as him, though, so he decides to stay for longer than usual.

And to his amazement, you stay, too. You laugh and nod at the stories he tells you, he listens intently to the ones you tell in return. Of course you’ve been living a different life than the one he had with you, but this is already getting better than the last. And you seem… into him? More into him than you were with your actual date, he’s not complaining.

By the time you and Leon go your separate ways, it’s pitch black outside, well, not really, it’s never completely dark in a city. The lights of driving cars and buildings illuminate you beautifully, like you’re something holy.

Leon finds a napkin with a phone number scribbled on it in his jacket pocket, it must’ve been yours, he couldn’t be happier.

—

Whatever higher being blessed him with another chance with you, he’d praise for the rest of eternal life. Because after a few hour-long phone calls and a couple more coincidental meetings, he’s taking you out on dates and you’re holding onto his arm and kissing his cheek.

It’s better than he remembers, the city offers more things for the two of you to do, and he’s up for anything you suggest.

Leon is finally able to feel your skin underneath his fingertips, feel your lips against his, listen to your voice in his ear, buy you nice things, have you cuddle up with him on the couch, he has you back.

You look so peaceful when you sleep, your head resting on his bicep, his naked skin pressed against yours. It’s been a year, you both still look the same, but he knows you’re changing. Leon hadn’t had sex in so long that he was sure that he would’ve fucked it up, you had taken charge, and it had been soft and slow, anyway. Nothing for him to worry about.

He’s been awake for an hour, just looking at you, trying to imprint this memory into his mind in case you were to disappear soon. But you finally start to stir, blinking your eyes a few times as you start to wake up.

“Leon…?” You mumble, he pulls you closer.

“Go back to sleep,” A kiss to your eyebrow, then the bridge of your nose, your lips twitch up into a sleepy smile.

“Mm… ‘kay. Love you.” You yawn, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes again and nestle into his shoulder. He hasn’t heard that from you in ages, he doesn’t know if you meant to say it, but he’s thankful you did.

“… Yeah, love you, too.”

[cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond]

Demetrian Titus x Reader - Gratitude

Sorry i'm a little rusty but I just NEEDED to get this idea out before sleep consumed me -

You were a serf. No sugar coating it.

You had more honor than a servitor, and you were fortunate enough to not be essentially lobotomized and turned into a husk of circuitry and flesh made to have no consciousness or independent thoughts, but you weren't seen as much else than a mere speck in comparison to those around you.

Usually you kept to yourself, and that was okay. You had a better life than other mere humans in the Imperium. You weren't being made to charge in the frontlines of battle, knowing that you'd be speared by some Tyranid Gaunt or cleaved in two by an Ork craving blood, nor were you stuck in a muddied hut, doomed to die at a young age from disease or exposure due to the poor conditions.

You had your one meal a day, you had robes, you had access to a bath and you had a bed. You also had your faith in the Emperor and his angels, which made you feel more secure on this Battle Barge. The whole place was teeming with angels, it felt.

Your current duty was lighting candles in the sector where the mighty Astartes had their scheduled 4 hours of rest when they returned from combat and had the time to do so. You also extinguished and replaced candles that appeared a little short, stowing them in a satchel to be melted down into fresh candles later.

As you turned to leave this particular set of quarters, you flinched at the sight of an armored form filling the doorway. It was imposing, and you couldn't help but mumble an apology as you attempt to scurry off like the rat you were.

The marine, with his guarded stance and tired demeanor was just in the way. Whether purposely done or not, his wide form took up too much space for you to slip by so you were stuck in front of him - hunched, apologetic and reluctant to look upon his holy form and the guts that clung to his armor.

At least, until his index finger crept under your chin and nudged it upwards just enough so you would have to face him. His eyes, while stoic, betrayed a hint of softness - appreciation, maybe? Whatever it was, the warm blue gaze focused on you almost seemed to make your heart thrum on command.

His expression eased slightly and the faintest tug of a smile pulled at his scarred lips after he took in your work done concerning the candles in his quarters. "Thank you."

An angel? Thanking you? For lighting candles?! Absurd!

"What?" You sputtered weakly.

"Thank you, for tending to the light." His thumb would move to press against your chin, the tip threatening to graze over your chapped lower lip. "While it may be a small task in your eyes, you are still proudly serving the Imperium and for that, I am thankful."

You felt your brain turn to mush as you took in that low baritone. His gratitude hardly registered as your ears burned at the praise, and once it became evident to this particular Lieutenant that he wasn't going to get a response, he gingerly released your face and lumbered into his quarters, seeking a moment of solace after such a grueling time in combat.

Meanwhile, your head felt foggy as you shuffled out to resume your candle-lighting duties. It felt good being acknowledged, and you couldn't help but bow your head in a futile attempt to hide the blush his small bit of gratitude caused.

[gravidwithlore]

Has anyone else ever thought about curses and kink? Not just someone being cursed and then discovering a new kink, but someone having a kink and purposely trying to get cursed in a way that fulfills that kink?

Like for example, witch gf has to leave on a business trip for a weekend, but she knows her bf will be so lonely without her. Knowing her bf has a pregnancy kink, as a kinky little parting gift, she curses him so that every time he masturbates the more pregnant he gets (with what? Guess itll be a surprise). She leaves with a wink and tells him she expects to see a sweet little baby bump by the time she gets back. When she gets back 3 days later, he's already cummed himself senseless, all the way to laboring and crowning around the head of a big demon spawn. Overstimulated and whining, he's still doing his best to touch himself. Because the spawn is partially born already, the curse doesn't just grow the spawn spreading his legs, it instead creates a sibling for his leaving occupant. As she walks into their bedroom, he cums again, and she can see his belly visibly start to swell again. The witch puts down her suitcase and wonders if she can get her slutty bf to cum enough that the 2nd spawn gets big enough to be born once her bf is done cumming out it's sibling.

Or you're single, and happy that way, but still looking to get a good spanking and its so hard to find someone to do it right. Too impatient to go through the human interaction and negotiation, you go to a witch and get a custom curse. Anytime you do some inane, mildly bad habit, you get a solid SMACK! across your backside. Let's say it's something you're more likely to do at home than out in public, or a certain phrase or gesture you tell the witch you're trying not to say or do. The more you do it the more the curse evolves, changing up the position and force of each slap. Sometimes you swear you can feel the metaphysical hand lingering, as if admiring it's own work. Instead of dissuading you from doing this 'habit' the activation thing genuinely becomes a habit of yours. Once it happens accidentally in public, you realize you might have a new, but still related, kink.

A man has always secretly dreamed of becoming a hucow, and after getting tired of his draining soulless business career, he finally decided to make it a reality. They make fake social media accounts and reach out to a curse creator. He pretends he's someone else who hates him, who wants to see him suffer and be humiliated. He DMs them a whole rant about how he needs to be taken down a few pegs, how he's awful and absolutely deserves this horrible curse to change him for the rest of his life. The curse creator absolutely agrees to help, even providing him a discount out of sympathy for his fake story. Since he knows it's coming, he feels when the curse hits. It's not long until people around him start to comment on how ditsy he's been lately, how much weight he's gaining, how his voice sounds 'different.'

Eventually, he tearfully admits to his friends and family that he thinks someone's cursed him! How could he possibly know who? And no one's come forward to gloat, who could possibly hate him so much to curse him like this? His loved ones look on in sad, if slightly condescending, empathy. It's not his fault he can't keep a thought straight in his stupid little cow brain, or that he keeps getting distracted by the growing teats bouncing on his chest, or that half the time he tries to form a complete sentence he can't help but moo a little! Eventually, when he's almost unrecognizable from the person he was, a family member suggests maybe joining a farm? They have a friend who's just bought one, and they're trying to get started, besides wouldn't it be so much better to be able to roam around a farm, rather than be cramped in his city apartment?

The moment he arrives at the farm and catches sight of the big minotaur running the place, he can't help but bat his long beautiful eyelashes and let out a visceral, lowing heated moo. When the curse creator reaches out to ask them to leave a review, he rates them 5 stars. Then immediately forgets what he was doing as he rubs his hyper-sensitive gravid belly, full to bursting with the minotaur's babies already, which is miraculously dwarfed by his massive udders, hooked up to the strongest milk pump his beloved farmer could find.

[giantkillerjack]

Watched two episodes of the new one piece show tonight. Absolutely blown away. Finally an introduction to one piece that's fucking watchable!!!!

Also so far Garp is really evil-coded, and that makes me unbelievably happy. A lot of fans always wanna make excuses for Garp because they can't turn the boot-licking part of their brains off long enough to realize that he's a terrible fucking person. So it is very reassuring to see that the writers of this show seem to be on the same page as me here.

Edit: so my wife and I finished the show and Oh No

[rambles-about-minecraft-ocs]

one of my favorite things about zedaph is that on a server full of people that find strange and oft-overlooked minecraft mechanics or rare events and then see just how far they can push them in the name of spectacle or efficiency or world-breaking, zed is over here finding these mechanics in order to do the weirdest things he can think of in as entertaining a manner as possible

like i 100% have faith in zedaph's theoretical ability to be just as efficient or spectacular or world-breaking. if he wanted to do that stuff, i trust that he absolutely could. but thats so far from being his priority. instead, hes going to spend around a week of irl time focused entirely on eventually having the good luck to spawn in something insanely rare so that he can convert it into something even rarer, the result of which being something that 99% of the server reacts with complete and utter shock that it even exists in the first place, just because its zany and funny and he wanted to. and i love that

[puppyeared]

I made a lmk oc

[ubike-official]

as i said b4, cant wait til I'm 30 to experience my own yuri cherry maho. its gonna be great

[backpackingspace]

How does one even go about having feelings about escaping being murdered?

[lyriumsings]

i’m also just baffled people are simultaneously saying like “oh no i was so invested/i didn’t even have time to get invested!” like ?? which is it? the show has always revolved around osha and mae we really on had jecki and yord for like ??? two-ish episodes? bc there was a whole flashback they weren’t even in at all. the show has truly focused on mae and osha how dare the show be about the main characters i guess

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

There always seems to be one kid who just screams like a tornado siren, all day long, at any given opportunity. Like, kid, I love you, you are precious and deserve all the happiness in the world; but please for the love of god shut up. There are people trying to learn here and you’re not helping them or yourself.

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

openly weeping at the idea of someone genuinely hating soul punk.

[tortademaracuya]

Dont you love when someone says you are like family to them but also ignore you for months if you arent the one constantly seeking them out and the second they make plans with you they just stand you up

[mariyekos]

Motivated by this post (image below), I decided to start writing a fic based on some of my tags for this and sure it's not ready to share fully and won't be done for a few more days at the very least, but I want to share so. Share it is! Under the cut. In image form so I don't hit any of tumblr's search functionality by picking up words in it.