#can you tell i was too lazy to draw all of them at the end | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonstruckme · 10 months

Note

So, obviously you don't gotta do this request if you are not comfortable, and you can totally delete it, don't feel like you gotta, really.

I was wondering if, you could write some like angst-comfort-fluff type thing with poly!marauders? Where they have been dating reader for a hot minute now, but during (and long before they started dating) reader has been on-and-off cutting herself? And the boys don't know?

Like I said you do NOT have to write this, and just like any request do NOT feel like you EVER have to write a request.

Have an amazing day <3 <3

Hi lovely! I appreciate the disclaimers. I was a bit hesitant to do this because I feel like I'm not always sure where the line is between comforting/validating people who experience this and inadvertently glorifying self-harm, but I hope the general message of getting support and help comes through. Thanks for requesting and hope you're having a good week <33

cw: self-harm scars, mention of current self-harm

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

James doesn’t see so much as feel them, hands roving under your clothes as has become his favorite pastime when you’re both feeling lazy. A series of neat, raised lines starting at the skin of your hip. Curiosity moves his hand upward, following the rows up to your waist. It’s impossible to tell how many there are. They just feel like vague ridges to James’ touch.

His heart takes on a too-familiar heaviness, and he strokes the lines absentmindedly as he thinks of what to say.

In the end, he doesn’t have to. You’d been on the precipice of sleep, your form lax between James’ legs, but suddenly you’re startling, an almost imperceptible jolt and your hand covering his own.

“What’re you doing?” you ask dazedly.

You sound panicked, and James hurries to placate you. “Sorry, I should have asked before touching you there.” Your alarm attracts Remus’ attention, and he peers over the top of his book from where he sits on the opposite end of the couch. James isn’t sure what to do. He wonders if you’d want this to be a private conversation (based on the fact that you haven’t brought it up yourself, he doubts you want it to be a conversation at all), but he can’t just not mention it and have you think he doesn’t care. He does what he can to keep the wariness from his voice. “Do you want to talk about it, lovely?”

Remus lowers his book as you slide down James’ torso, shrinking yourself. “Talk about what?” he asks, concern already infiltrating his tone.

James won’t speak for you. You’re quiet for a few long, heavy moments, and he can feel you growing tenser with each one. Finally, you say, quietly so that Sirius can’t hear from the kitchen, “It’s okay. I was going to tell you at some point.”

“Tell us what?” Remus asks again.

James sends him a look that begs for patience, bringing his hand to your shoulder to knead tenderly at the taut muscles around your neck. “Okay, thank you sweetheart. Would it be alright if I pulled your shirt up a little?”

He knows he’s handling you in that extra-gentle way that sometimes frustrates you. You resent kid-gloves, and he can’t tell for certain if this situation is an exception or if you’re just too embarrassed to say anything. You only nod, and James pinches the hem of your top between his fingers, bringing it up to just below your ribs.

The lines look thinner than they’d felt against his fingertips. Remus sets his book down, forgetting to save the page as he leans forward, palm moving up your leg as if to keep you in place while he looks. He fingers the waistband of your shorts, looking to you for permission before drawing it down until the lines stop where your hip bleeds into your upper thigh.

“When—” He swallows, voice painfully quiet. “When were you going to tell us?” There’s a sound from the kitchen which signals Sirius has finished preparing his snack.

Your eyes are almost frightened. James can tell there’s a myriad of placations vying to be the first to leave your tongue, but what makes it out is “Please don’t be mad.”

“Ooh, what do we have?” Sirius hears and comes running at the first whiff of trouble, perching on the armrest and sidling up to Remus. “A secret tattoo or—” You turn your hip into James’ thigh, and he doesn’t try to stop you, but you’re too slow, and Sirius’ voice seems to run out of air. Usually mirthful gray eyes flit up to yours looking almost betrayed. “Baby.” The word sounds as if it’s been hooked from some wretched part of him and dragged forcibly out. “When did…how long has this been going on?”

James can feel your ribs expanding and contracting faster as your breaths come quicker. You feel cornered. He puts his hand over the marks on your waist protectively, and you flinch.

“Hey,” he shushes you. “You’re alright, darling. Nobody’s upset with you, okay?” He lets his eyes flit up to meet the other two boys' warningly. Okay? “We’re just a little worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, and your tone is so fraught James’ heart very nearly shatters. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“We don’t mind worrying, love.” Remus’ voice is still quiet, but the gentleness in it is more apparent now. “But whatever you’re comfortable sharing, we’ll take it. Has this been going on a long time?”

You nod. James begins stroking up and down your side.

Remus’ lips pinch, but he doesn’t waver. “Is it still going on?”

Your shoulders stiffen and your breathing stops. James’ insides fill with concrete, but he forces himself to peer around the back of your head to see your face. You’re biting down on your lip, hard.

“Even now?” Sirius sounds devastated. Remus reaches behind him, setting a pacifying hand on his knee.

Silver lines your eyes, but you take a slow, shuddering breath, and your voice comes out calm. “I’ve almost got it under control,” you say. “I’ve slipped up a few times, but…but I’m working on it.”

“Alright,” Remus replies, giving Sirius’ knee a squeeze and you a kind, if thin-lipped, smile. “Is there anything we can do?”

You shake your head immediately, but Sirius shoots you a look. “Don’t,” he says, and his voice is so uncharacteristically stern that even James startles, hand faltering on your side. It’s quiet as Sirius can manage, though still strained with emotion. “Don’t try to shelter us by keeping it to yourself. There have to be things we can do.”

James recollects himself, wrapping both arms around your middle and drawing you closer until the back of your head rests against his collarbone rather than his stomach. “Maybe,” he suggests, “you could let us help by telling us when you think you might slip, and we could try to find ways to distract you. Does that sound alright, lovely?”

You turn your head to look at him, and James steals a selfish kiss to the skin just near your eye. The corner of your lips twitch, and he hits there too, the little peck aiding the spread of your smile.

“That might help,” you say, quiet, tentative. Your smile fades as you turn your gaze to the other two boys. Sirius’ eyes have gotten stuck again on the scars lining your side, but he looks up when you speak. “Are you…do they bother you?”

Remus’ eyebrows stitch together, but he lets Sirius answer. The raven-haired boy looks almost surprised. “The marks?” he asks you, and despite James’ sympathy for the shock of all this, he sort of wants to kill him. He couldn’t make it easy on you, could he? Your hand finds James’ where it rests against your side, fingers worming between his, and he gives them an encouraging squeeze. You nod. “Baby, of course not,” Sirius says, ardent, and James swears he can feel you relax against his chest. “It bothers us—it bothers me that you’ve been upset, and that you’ve been dealing with it by yourself for so long, but I couldn’t give less of a shit about the marks. I care about you, your pain, not how it—how it looks on your body.”

“I agree,” Remus says, smiling a little as he pats Sirius’ knee like settle down. “Honey, so long as you’re doing what you can—and letting us do what we can—to help yourself feel better, the scars don’t matter.”

“Thanks.” Your voice is quiet, but more bashful now than ashamed, which James considers to be some improvement. “It’s just awkward to talk about, you know?”

“It’s not,” James tells you. “Or, it doesn’t have to be. Listen, we don’t have to talk about it like, every day, but you should be able to tell us when you’re feeling down, okay?” You rest your head against his shoulder, and it feels nice, but James gives you a playful little jostle to let you know his question wasn’t rhetorical. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” The words leave you in a sigh, and Sirius rolls his eyes amusedly while Remus watches you with a knowing look. You were on the brink of a nap before, and the weight of this conversation has thoroughly tuckered you out.

“Good,” James says, mock stern as he tucks his chin into the juncture of your neck. Wordlessly, Remus pulls Sirius down from the armrest and into his lap, picking up his book again. Your breathing slows, and James’ thumb strokes at your side underneath your shirt, indiscriminate between smooth skin and scars.

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ckret2 · 10 days

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@marsupials-of-mars submitted:

I was planning to do maybe a fic and more doodles of this but now I'm busy with school so I might as well show what I did do!

Based on how the goldilocks fic seems to posit that Bill at his best is a silly professor who loves to teach his own way

Introducing Professor Locke!

Things about this idea:

-post redemption, however that will go. I'm calling it an AU because I imagine it is not your plan for what happens after lol, but currently canon-compliant.

-Bill is at first not very on board with the idea of working in the higher education system. It's a scam and it's dumb that they tell adult people how to think.

-He's eventually convinced to bless Backupsmore with his tutelage, on the grounds that they're less stuck up there, they seem to care about giving their students opportunities despite their backgrounds, and the kids there care about learning rather than going to college just because their parents said they should.

-Ford uses his academic connections to vouch for Bill even though he is very mysterious and has no academic records. This is another reason why they picked Backupsmore: i's a little more lax when presented with a shockingly smart mystery professor. Bill gets an interview and charms the pants off the university president.

-He teaches "astrophysics" in theory (that's the job description) but he ends up teaching a little bit of everything.

-He's one of those professors you either adore or despise. He's very loud, often outright mean, and if you're too shy to speak up in class he does not give a SHIT about you. You gotta want it!

-However, his class is notoriously easy. He thinks homework and tests are facist, but he's required to have a curriculum, so his "quizzes" are like a few true or false questions and then a short answer where he asks something he thinks would be funny or wants to hear about, like "what's the dumbest thing another student has said in class since the last test and why was it dumb" or "fashion advice: what's the coolest thing I wore this last week? Extra credit: draw something cooler I SHOULD wear."

-as a result, students who have completely unrelated majors will take his class. If they end up being interested, he deems them worthy. If they're just there to be lazy, he will bully them into dropping out.

-Mabel buys him stickers to put on people's tests when they pass, or to just hand out when they something he likes. He gets along most with the college kids who know how to appreciate a classic gold star.

-He really wanted a big pretty lecture hall, where his voice would echo and he could point at a big chalkboard. But all Backupsmore could provide was a cinderblock and linoleum basement classroom. The lights buzz very loudly and it smells musty. They have stools and folding tables. Bill finds he enjoys the more intimate environment where he can walk between the tables and also sneak up on people.

-He's broken multiple folding tables by trying to do the cool professor thing where you hop up onto your desk and cross your legs and talk all casual. He is able to do this on his own desk thankfully. It's aluminum.

-Ford gets a bit nervous if he did the right thing when bill tells his school stories at the dinner table, so he finds an excuse to accompany Bill to a campus event where he can meet some of his students.

-His fears are quickly assuaged when he sees how beloved Bill is and how well he gets along with the kids. When he eventually joins in on one of these conversations, one of the students asks if he's Sixer. The students are excited by this. Bill tries to shut them up, to partial success.

OK I guess I just ended up writing the fic more or less so enjoy I guess lol.

Aww, this is adorable! Thank you! (And the fact that you're imagining a future for Bill makes me so happy.) He's absolutely be the weirdest professor in the school and he'd ADORE having a crowd full of trusting impressional minds whose parents are paying him to change the way they think. Talk about playing to his strengths.

Your idea is so wholesome, meanwhile the moment I saw "Professor Bill" I went,

#submission #marsupials of mars #fanart #bill goldilocks cipher #my art #(i call his aesthetic Dork Academia)

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pricegouge · 2 months

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Get Her a Dog (She'll be Happier For It)

Part One | master list | MDNI

Soap x reader, Price x reader, eventual PriceSoap x reader

series cw: cheating. dubcon. angst. cuckholding. pet play.

chapter cw: angst, pining for someone who isn't your husband

reader is fem and fat

It's raining in York again, the soft tatting upon the windows your only indication. It's evening, but you've still got the blinds pulled because you couldn't be arsed to draw them. In the apartment next door, a baby cries its head off and you sigh, turning up the volume on your b-movie romcom. It cries a lot.

You don't immediately reach for your phone when it buzzes against the coffee table because you can't think of any pressing reasons someone would be contacting you tonight, but it goes off twice more in as many minutes so you relent, unlocking it without really looking. Thumbing through to your messages, you find your husband's contact photo beaming back at you, top of the list. You pause, lip twitching slightly. Johnny's supposed to be halfway across the world, his phone inaccessible to him. It should be a good thing that he's texting you - returning from a mission early could go one of two ways, but if he was well enough to text then surely you should be excited for him. Except you're not, because you know what his message will read before you even open it.

Used to be, Johnny would stumble through the door after a deployment all battered and bruised, laughing when you yelped because you weren't expecting him - wandering the house in lazy day clothes because you thought he was supposed to be away another week. He always rushed home the second he could, never wasted enough time for so much as an 'I lived' text because he couldn't bear to be away from you one more unnecessary moment.

Used to be, you two missed each other when he was away.

>having the boys over for dinner

<you're back in town?

>got in yesterday yea

>can u make that pasta dish gaz likes? owe him my life

You sigh, torn between being more annoyed by Johnny's presumption, the fact he hadn't even let you know he was alive let alone at base, and the fact that you know you should be worried after a comment like that.

Mostly, you're just too tired.

The pasta dish Kyle likes involves heavy cream which you don't currently have. There's a small shop just two streets up and you'd hate to waste the gas so despite the weather, you grab an umbrella and some boots and head out, patting yourself down for the mandatory keys, wallet, phone check. It's dreary out. In addition to the rain, the season's coming to its long, slow end and bringing with it the cold sort of damp that soaks into everything, the whole world seemingly saturated with the miserable chill. Normally, this is your favorite kind of weather, but lately you've been too dreary yourself to properly enjoy it. So you amble along, unfocused. Unappreciative. Foggy.

Identical brick houses line either side of the street, stretching out around the bends in either direction. The winding of the road lends a claustrophobic feel to the entire city, population density driving houses tall enough to obscure the movement of the sun throughout the day.

It wasn't a bad place all told, but Johnny had chosen it for its proximity to base back when he was still just a young recruit and it had never really felt like your home. There'd been promises, back when the two of you were still engaged, ones you should've known better than to hold him to. Dreams of a house in the country, or talks of moving you out to Scotland. You hadn't been lying when you'd told him you didn't need any of that, but you'd never expected him to interpret that as you being content to live in the same dingy building the rest of your lives. It wasn't really your place to complain about it, though, given it was Johnny's income that paid the bills. You worked as well, though mostly just to keep yourself busy, as Johnny had insisted on your being a stay at home mom for the first few years of your babies' childhood. You weren't sure why you didn't find something more stimulating now, given how many years had come and gone without the man committing to the prospect of children.

It used to hurt, the reneged aspirations. You've gotten used to it.

You're a regular at the shop by now, having lived in the same little apartment for the last five years. The owner greets you as you enter, the little bell above the door chiming as you close your umbrella, tapping it on the doorframe a few times to dislodge any excess droplets.

"How are you now, Mr. Hudson?" you call, making a beeline for the kitchen staples. If there were still good things to be said about your marriage, at least you no longer cringed at convenience store pricing.

"I'm well, yourself?" the old man croaks back politely. He's not doing well, actually, as his wife is wont to tell you anytime she's the one manning the counter, but you think it would be impolite to ask him how his prostate is out of the blue, so you don't call him on it.

Instead, you tell a lie all your own as you set your find in front of the register. "Can't complain."

"What's for dinner, then?" he asks, nodding at the carton.

"Smoked sausage alfredo." Not for the first time, you're grateful Gaz's favorite dish is consistent enough that you regularly have thawed sausage on hand. The last time Simon had saved your husband's skin in the field, Johnny had thought you'd be able to whip up a chicken dish in two hours and you'd had to run half across town for protein.

"Mm," Mr. Hudon hums appreciatively. "Am I invited?"

"May as well be," you laugh, perhaps a little meanly given the poor man isn't in on the joke. You take mercy at his confused look. "My husband's inviting a few friends over. Wasn't expecting to cook for so many people." You weren't expecting to cook for anyone, actually, completely content to rot away with a bag of crisps but that's beside the point.

"Oh, yes… big man? With the… hair?"

"The very same," you grumble, taking your receipt.

"Haven't seen him in a while, how's he been?"

"Well, I gather he almost died recently, but I couldn't tell you much else. Haven't seen him either." The parting smile you give the old man feels rotten on your face. You bid him a good night and wave, scurrying out the door before he can properly respond.

The sight of John standing on your stoop when you return startles you, although you should really be used to his early arrivals by now, as John tends not to linger in the company of his subordinates too long and often finds his own rides to and from base. He's also generally more eager to stop by than your husband is, though you can't think too long about that without feeling like you're going to walk off a pier.

John greets you warmly as he always does, pulling you into a one armed hug as he kisses your cheek. With his free hand, he pulls your umbrella from your grasp, keeping you both under its protective circle as he straightens back up.

You search your pockets for your keys, a good excuse to eye yourself over to be sure you hadn't accidentally worn something inappropriate out of the house. Like hosiery and a big graphic tee that said 'fuck me daddy' or something on it. John always brings out this paranoia in you, that same instinct that has people re-reading work emails to check for porn links four times before hitting send. But with him it's, 'Are you dressed? Is a dildo about to fall out of your shirt sleeve? Did you remember to put your wedding ring on?'

You didn't.

"Hi John. Sorry to keep you waiting. I didn't realize anyone would be in so soon."

"And here I thought I'd be the last to show for once," he counters, grabbing the cream from you and slipping it into the brown paper bag he carries on his hip. Something about his expression darkens minutely when he clarifies, "The boys left base a few hours ago. They still not in?"

Somehow, you don't find this as surprising as you maybe should. "No."

John hums, following after you obediently as you make your way to the lift. Normally, you try to get some exercise in by climbing the stairs, but you don't feel like huffing and puffing your way up with John in tow. Instead, the two of you pile into the small shaft where John does nothing to minimize the width of himself, standing directly by your side instead of slightly behind, squishing you between himself and the mirrored wall. You keep your eyes forward, glued to the metal doors. You can feel his eyes on you, shameless and assessing. Can even see his head turned toward you in the blurry reflection before you. He's always like this when he first gets home, as if he can ascertain how you've been spending the time without your husband's company just by staring a hole through your temple.

Probably, he could.

John's an attentive man. Always has been. So it shouldn't surprise you when he huffs gently and pulls himself to his full height with an air of grim determination. He's gonna ask one of his questions again, you just know it - the kind that leaves you exposed, crawling back to your husband's familiar apathy with renewed appreciation. John draws a breath, you close your eyes, and then the lift dings, doors opening with a rush of air that rivals the relieved breath you take. You step out before John can motion you forward as is his custom, ducking through the door to prevent him saying a word.

Distraction comes with the general din of settling in. John tucks your umbrella away in the tiny entrance closet and brings his bag into the kitchen. You dip quietly back to your bedroom to make yourself more presentable, calling from the bedroom for him to make himself at home. It takes you no time at all to get ready, the casual dresses at the back of your closet all hanging clean and untouched. You check to make sure they've not gone musty before pulling one on and applying some basic makeup. Rotting on the couch hadn't called for mascara, but a houseful of men certainly did.

You blink when you realize the implication of that, smudging the dark product all under your lower lashes. You only resist the urge to roll your eyes at yourself for fear of repeating the process under your brow.

John's in the kitchen when you emerge, sudsing up the dishes from your lunch to your horror. "John! You don't have to do that," you squawk, attempting to shoo him along with fluttering hands, as if he were an overgrown pigeon.

Unflinching. "Of course I don't. Wanted to be helpful but I didn't know what you'd planned for dinner so I couldn't get started on that."

"You didn't have to do anything," you counter, still hoping that your defiant presence at his side would cow him away from the sink.

He just smiles at you, that overly cheeky one that crinkles his eyes charmingly. "Wanted to, love,"

Well, who are you to say no to that?

The two of you slip into companionable silence as you get to work, though you play it up when he completes his task, leaning his hip against the counter with that same intense expression from before. You're not ready for the question, whatever it is. Maybe never will be.

John seems to sense this, changing approach by making a show of unpacking his paper bag, setting the options he's brought for wine out in front of himself. He eyes the ingredients you've assembled carefully, and sets a white bottle aside for dinner before helping himself to the drawer where he knows you keep your corkscrew, popping open a bottle of red as he knows you prefer it. You collect glasses as he does so, watch him warily as he pours you a generous glass. Once he's served you both, he settles into an island stool with an exaggerated air of relaxation.

When he starts, the question is blessedly easy, though you remain on high alert lest he pull some intelligence acquisition maneuver on you before you even see it coming.

"Well, how's it been on the home front?"

You know where it's going. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, get out of your house, scream and yell and pin everything on him - for always taking your husband away or for being an impossible standard to hold him to you don't even know. Another part of you just wants to be seen. John's got his arms crossed in such a way to make him impossibly broad, imposing. There'd be no getting past him even if you wanted.

The worst part is, you don't.

"All's well, John, thanks." A lie, despite knowing how you feel, how you want him to force you to talk, crack you open and pry your injuries from you with strong hands, get you back in working order. You both know it.

"You sure? Been looking a little blue of late." It's not judgemental. You remember the old tan line he used to sport on his finger - wide and pale on his weathered hand. It's long gone, a nicely healed wound. He doesn't even worry the space with his thumb anymore, a habit you'd picked up of late, as if the band itself burned. You wonder how long you'll try soothing it once the ring is gone and nearly bite through your tongue when you realize what you'd just thought.

A clatter at the door saves you from answering and you force a smile as you turn to greet Johnny. He roars through the door as is his custom, loud and singular and enigmatic enough to make you forget your qualms when he hoists you into his arms and peppers your face in kisses. "Oh, ah've missed ye, bonnie," he crows, only putting you down when Gaz insists it's his turn.

You're turned about between the two of them, a mess of 'missed you too's, and 'good to see you's, and 'come on in, can I get that for you?' Gaz kisses your cheek, tells you dinner smells lovely despite it barely being comprised of more than its base components yet and you grin at him, letting yourself be charmed through another boisterous night with the boys.

It's not until much later, as you're sending everyone packing with to go containers of extras and squeezing shoulders in parting that you notice your fingers gripped tight around John's bicep, finger conspicuously empty.

Next>>

#get her a dog #this is half baked but i needed to get it out of my head so i could concentrate on haul #captain john price x reader #john soap mactavish x you #captain john price x you #john soap mctavish x reader #pricesoap x reader #fat reader

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lost-and-ephemeral · 7 months

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Hi 👐 I have some ideas for our LDS Boys that could be interesting to see 😁 some headcanons for Boys x reader on vacation for two whole weeks (what destination they choose, how they plan this trip, what would they do, some sfw etc). Another one - Let's say the boys have a friend who has a crush on them and she interferes in their lives and tries to make reader jealous. How will they cope in this situation? Thank you ♥️

HCs: Vacation With Them

Pairing: Xavier x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader (seperate)

Tags: fluff, established relationships

A/N: thanks for request ♡ i decided to write the first idea, but! later i'm planning to write the second one!

-`♡´- MASTERLIST -`♡´-

Rafayel

As an artist, Rafayel often travels to other cities for various reasons. Sometimes he's looking for inspiration, sometimes his help is needed somewhere.

But a two-week vacation with you?

Just perfect.

Rafayel will personally handle the preparations for this trip.

He'll probably decide to visit a city with beautiful architecture that will "help inspire him". Like Rome, Florence or Venice. Or any other equally beautiful city in the world.

And have no doubt that he'll pick the best hotel he can find.

Rent a big room with a view on the most picturesque part of the city? Sure.

Especially if this will make you happy.

Will definitely take you to the sightseeing spots and tell you about their historical/architectural value.

Either he's very smart or he researched all this information on the internet before coming here. Just to impress you.

Rafayel likes to visit small cafes that have their own special (ahem, romantic) atmosphere. They don't have to be too fancy.

Loves to take you out late at night. You look magical in the streetlights.

Speaking of which, Rafayel always has his camera close to him. He likes to take pictures of you, being able to capture every special moment when your eyes shine with joy.

At the end of the day, he makes sure to cuddle with you in bed while listening to you talk about what you enjoyed the most that day.

Probably fall asleep at the sound of your voice. But he can't help it, you soothe him very much with your presence. He's not doing it on purpose, so don't feel bad.

On "lazy days" likes to stay in the room with you, no going out for walks or anything. After all, you came here to relax.

Rafayel teases you all the time for different reasons, that's his nature, but in this atmosphere he seems to soften a lot. After all, even here you are his favorite sight.

When you point to something you think is beautiful, he keeps looking solely at you and says, "Yes, beautiful."

And then starts blushing like crazy as soon as he realizes exactly what he just said.

Even on vacation, he continues to make some scetches about your trip.

By the end of your vacation, he'll have a couple of drawings of you in his sketchbook. Like you sitting in front of the window with a glass of wine or reading a brochure while lying in bed.

Xavier

Let's face it, Xavier just needs a vacation.

This poor guy is ready to sleep even while he's standing because sometimes he spends days and nights without proper rest.

So a two-week vacation with you is just what he needs.

And it will be the most relaxing type of vacation.

You will prepare everything for the trip together, consider different options and choose the most suitable one.

It is best to choose a warm place somewhere by the sea. So both of you can relax and let go of all your worries.

Just imagine a hotel with windows that are facing the sea. Falling asleep and waking up to the lulling whisper of the waves. Right thing for a good rest, yeah?

During your vacation, Xavier's favorite thing is waking up next to you in this serene atmosphere.

Xavier loves it when you wake up before him (which is almost every morning) and gently caress his face or his hair.

He doesn't have to rush anywhere and can just enjoy your time alone with each other.

Especially when you look so beautiful in the morning sunlight.

Xavier could spend every day, from morning till night, in your arms. And it would be the real paradise for him.

Hold him, cover every inch of his face with kisses. As long as he doesn't have to put everything aside and rush to fight Wanderers, he's happy.

I think he wouldn't mind visiting cute small cafes either. The ones with a cozy and almost homely atmosphere.

When you're at the beach, splash water at him and get ready for a playful battle until he catches you and pulls you into the water with him.

Usually reserved Xavier will finally allow himself to fool around a bit.

Cherish this moment.

After that, he will 100% help you dry yourself.

Xavier wouldn't mind napping on your lap right on the beach. Even the sun won't bother him. His one and only sunshine is already with him.

He likes to watch sunsets with you. When you rest your head on his shoulder and talk about anything you can think of.

But even more than that, he likes to stargaze with you.

Spread a blanket on the sand and get comfortable next to him. Even if you fall asleep in the process, he can carry you to bed, don't worry.

The cool night breeze from the sea can't make you cold as long as Xavier is by your side. He'll keep you warm.

He likes to buy souvenirs so that even when you return home and get back to work, he can look at them and remember something nice.

Zayne

Zayne is a doctor, and that's the reason why most of the time he works until exhaustion. Even if it seems that he hardly gets tired, this is not so.

He needs rest as much as any other person do.

And a two-week vacation with you will be a breath of fresh air.

It's going to sound cliché, but Zayne wouldn't mind going somewhere a bit more colder.

Vacations aren't always about warm places, right?

A city like Reykjavik would be ideal, the nature of Iceland itself is so beautiful and breathtaking.

How about combining a vacation with hiking in beautiful places? Sounds good.

Even if you insist, Zayne will still do all the preparations by himself. He will select a city, a place to stay and make sure that you take everything you need. Especially warm clothes.

Don’t worry, he won’t force you to travel miles on foot in order to look at pure and untouched nature.

Most of the time, he won't mind walking around the city with you and popping into a couple of shops in search of local sweets.

Zayne is the type of person who puts both your and his hand in the pocket of his coat when you're holding hands. This way your fingers will definitely not freeze. And also he just doesn't want to let go

Sitting in warm and cozy cafes with you while drinking hot chocolate is something he loves the most. Your smile, your reddened from the cold cheeks. Just beautiful.

It's hard for him to show his care verbally, but his actions speak louder than any words, so he doesn't mind hugging you from behind to keep you warm.

Allows you to take as many photos with him as you want. And there's so much love in his eyes as you show him those photos.

He, too, prefers to fully enjoy his vacation and rest, not dazedly run back and forth. And that's understandable.

But that doesn't stop him from waking you up with breakfast in bed every morning. He says it's easier to keep track of your nutrition, but it really melts his heart to see how sleepy and happy you look at that moment.

It's a huge plus if the room you're renting has a fireplace.

In that case, you can spend your evenings warming up next to it while Zane sits behind and holds you in his arms.

He rests his forehead against your shoulder and lets himself relax completely. You don't have to speak at this moment, just gently stroke his scarred hands, hold them, showing your love and care for him.

He will be sure to keep a few photos from your vacation. Always. So that your warm moments together will never be erased from his memory.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader

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art · 2 years

Photo

Creator Spotlight: @velinxi

Hello! I’m Xiao Tong Kong, better known as “Velinxi.” I’m the creator of the webcomic Countdown to Countdown and have been doing freelance artwork since I was a teenager. I love telling stories with my illustrations! Tumblr was where I first got my start as an artist, specifically a small fandom artist as a hobby… and now I’m somehow here! When I’m not trying my best to stay awake in front of my tablets, I’m usually cooking, gaming, or sleeping. Sometimes all three, in my dreams.

Check out our interview with Velinxi below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

Yeah! I’ve basically been on track to become an artist since I was a child. I went to a middle school with an emphasis on arts and a high school specializing in it. I went to SVA briefly for computer arts but dropped out to pursue freelance and webcomics after my first year.

Over the years as an artist, what or who were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

My biggest inspirations growing up were Yuumei and Shilin Huang, two titans on DeviantArt back in the day. They still inspire me today, but the list of inspirations has grown exponentially over the years, including artists, movies, entire art movements, etc.

What was your thought process behind the creation of your webcomic, Countdown to Countdown?

Well, Countdown to Countdown started as a passion project back when I was 15, in high school, and pretty depressed. I just wanted to draw whatever story I thought was cool, inspired by my favorite media at the time. There was a very loose beginning and outline, but I was truly just writing as I drew the story. That’s why I had to stop the comic in 2018 and restart from scratch the year after. Now, the story has a set story and a clear outline. It still has similar roots, characters, and themes of neglect, abuse, and escape—but I think the story is a lot easier to follow now. It’s got an artstyle I can actually keep up with in the long run. The origin of why CTC exists also remains the same: I simply wanted to make a story I wanted to read for myself. Which happens to be about two dumb boys with superpowers navigating a hostile world that wants them dead or caged—together.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

Oh, all the time. It’s part of the process. Personally, though—I just have to draw through it. Every month on my Patreon, I have my patrons vote on a theme I have to draw by the end of the month, and I try my best to make it as interesting as possible. I draw quite a few—tens even, of doodles or compositions for each of these themes to try to make something that tells a story while still being aesthetically pleasing and clear. I think pushing myself like this helps with art block, really. I also do remember to take breaks and simply consume other media I like! It gets the inspiration juices flowing.

Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?

If you do one—your first webcomic should be a short, fun, messy thing. It’s not often you can get it right the first time, but you’ll certainly learn a lot through sheer experience. This goes for a lot of things in art, to be honest.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

3D Animation. I briefly learned it at SVA, and I think that’s enough of that tech for me. I accept that there are some things that are truly beautiful if done right, and I am too simple and lazy for it.

What is your goal for the rest of this year?

Get Countdown to Countdown book 2 finished! And live HAHA

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@yuumei-art on Tumblr, still! They’ve been a huge inspiration for digital artists and storytellers online for years. I have no doubt that many digital artists of my generation have been influenced by them, and they’re still here, making beautiful art and stories. It’s a thing to behold.

Thanks for stopping by, Velinxi! If you haven’t seen her Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here. You can also follow her for more amazing art over at her Tumblr, @velinxi!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #velinxi #xiao tong kong #countdown to countdown

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inawickedlittletown · 1 month

Text

How Do I Love Thee (BuckTommy) - one-shot

Summary: A sweet moment between Buck and Tommy where Buck gets to tell Tommy what he likes about him.

BuckTommy Positivity Week Day 1: what they love most about each other.

Rated: G

Words: 1.3k

Notes: Title comes from the poem of the same title by Elizabeth Barret Browning, the beginning of which is quoted below:

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace."

@bucktommypositivityweek

Read on Ao3

Fingers traced a line on Tommy’s back. It felt like the ghost of a touch, but he was so attuned to Evan that it didn’t matter how gentle the finger went or how it barely even touched his skin.

“Hmm, I love how I could just play connect the dots with your back,” Evan said, voice low and warm.

“What are you drawing back there, then?”

“Stars. Stick figures. I’m not a very good artist.”

Tommy laughed and he felt Evan drop his head to Tommy’s back, laughing as well. Laughs turned to kisses soon enough, a trail of them going up his shoulder and to his neck, Evan pressing his nose right behind his ear and lingering there. Tommy didn’t move, felt Evan’s arms circle him and then Evan’s chin on his shoulder.

Across the left side of his bed was the wardrobe whose right door was a full length mirror. Reflected on it were the two of them. He could see that Evan had captured the reflection too, meeting his eyes on it and earning a smile.

“We look good together,” Evan said and he pressed his head to Tommy’s. “Especially when your shirt is off.”

“Is that what you like about me?” Tommy asked.

“Hmm, yes, that and so much more,” Evan said, pulling at Tommy so he could turn to face him.

Evan was on his knees, bare except the underwear he’d slipped on after their shower and if it wasn’t for the activities before the shower and in the shower, Tommy might have been inclined to get them off of him. Just looking at him, at all the skin on display and at the warmth that he exuded was enough for Tommy to reach for him and draw him into a slow lazy kiss. It was enough for him to consider if going a third round was an option.

“That,” Evan said against his lips. “I love that.”

Evan pulled away to lay down. His curls were free of product, already drying, and they stood out on the pillow. Tommy loved getting to see him like that, in a way that most people didn’t. Tommy took his time joining him on the fresh sheets, taking Evan in. He had scars like they all did, but they didn’t mar him as much as told a story of his survival. His tattoos were a testament to dumb decisions because from Evan’s own admission they weren’t very deep or thought out. In Tommy’s eyes they were a mark of who he had been when he was younger.

“Come here,” Evan said.

Tommy settled himself next to Evan, head on the pillow, facing him. Evan’s hands immediately went to Tommy, a gentle touch to his shoulder and his neck and then to caress his lightly stubbled cheek.

“You want to know what I love about you?” Evan asked. “The list is long.”

“Yeah?”

Evan chuckled. “You already know I think you’re hot,” he said. “That’s such a small part of what I like about you.”

Tommy hated a little bit that it felt so good to hear that. Not that Evan had ever in the four months they’d been together, made him feel like it was the thing that kept him with Tommy. It was just that there was always that niggling thing that asked why he could be so lucky as to have Evan in his life when so many others had only been interested in his muscles and what Tommy could do for them in bed. Evan was different.

Evan kept touching him. Light distracting touches. Tommy could only watch him as he inhaled a breath and smiled at him.

“I like that your chin has a cleft. I like that I can actually feel small in your arms. I like that your hands are big but that you can do so much delicate work with them. I like that you have a bunch of hobbies and you’re good at so many things. I like that you wear reading glasses. I like that you snore when you’re tired — no, don’t deny it. It’s cute.”

Tommy closed his mouth, felt Evan’s finger linger over his lips. He kissed the finger and Evan grinned, leaning forward to replace the finger with his lips for a quick chaste kiss.

Evan kept going, “I like that you run cold so we can cuddle all night without getting too sweaty. I like that you’re patient. I like that you’re understanding. I like that you know who you are. Your confidence.”

Tommy made a noise to interrupt, but Evan gave a subtle shake of his head.

“I’ve never met anyone so sure of who they are,” Evan said. “And I know it took a lot for you to get to this point, Tommy. That’s why I admire it so much. You changed for the better and you grew into this person…the person you were meant to be all along.”

“Oh,” Tommy said and why did words feel like a hug felt? How was it that Evan could do that to him?

“There’s more,” Evan said.

Tommy didn’t know if he could handle that, hadn’t known that there was so much for Evan to list. Evan’s hand had found his and he gripped it.

“I’m building to something,” Evan admitted. His eyes were shining and Tommy squeezed his hand because he was emotional too.

“I like how much you love to fly and how you’re freer up there than anywhere else. I like that you can only really make pasta well and not much else because it means I can cook for you and feed you. I like that you have a secret sweet tooth and that you have strange taste in ice cream, I mean whose favorite flavor is matcha? Also you liked that cilantro ice cream which I’m still questioning.”

Tommy laughed. “It was good, I swear.”

“If you say so,” Evan said. “Do you want me to keep going?”

He wanted to say no, but instead he nodded because he could tell that Evan wanted to keep going. Tommy also knew that it would take him over the emotional edge.

“I like that you let me set the pace and that when we finally got to the good stuff you made sure I was alright every step of the way. I like that you text me everyday even when we’re both on shift and busy. I like that you let me talk at you about random things and that somehow you actually listen. I like that I can lean on you and trust you. Most of all, I like that there is no doubt in my mind that you care about me with no strings or conditions or in spite. I like that you like me maybe even more than I like that you’ve let me love you.”

“Evan,” Tommy whispered, his emotions in his voice. He wasn’t a cryer, but he’d already cried in front of Evan twice, what was once more?

Evan inhaled. He looked close to tears too and he was staring at Tommy with wonder.

Sometimes, very early on, Tommy had wondered how long it could last between them. How quickly would Evan realize that it wasn’t Tommy he wanted even if he’d served to awaken his queerness. He’d wondered if Evan would get curious about other men or if he might decide it was easier to keep dating women. But, Evan proved him wrong and four months in, Tommy didn’t fear that anymore. He knew Evan loved him, they had exchanged those words and it had been more about saying it than anything else because they had both already known about the love shared between them.

“I missed one,” Evan said suddenly.

“Evan,” Tommy whispered.

“Your smile,” Evan said. “I really really love your smile.”

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #buck x tommy #911 abc #911 fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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avonne-writes · 9 days

Note

“how embarrassing would it be if i told you i’d dreamt of this since i first met you?” is so clegan <3

Thank you 🥰 The drabble is set in my a/b/o au where Gale is an omega who doesn’t have normal heats due to childhood trauma.

Edit: you can consider this set in the same universe as @anachilles's lovely smutty one-shot ❤️‍🔥

If there's one thing that Bucky learned in the ten years since his first time in bed with an omega, it’s that you'd better talk about what you want before you pop your knot rather than regret the whole fucking thing when you wake up alone again. His previous partners never seemed to care to linger once he had given them that satisfaction. Not that he blames or resents them for it - it’s his own damn fault that he came across as an omega-chaser, just a fun partner for the night, instead of an alpha longing for a mate.

Don’t make this out to be more than what it is, they said if he caught them before they slipped away. You're a sweet man, but I can’t stay. Countless versions of the same story, leaving Bucky sitting alone with his head in his hands and his heart hollow again.

But not this time. No, with Gale, he’s determined to do it right. He courted him the way he deserved, with all the gifts and love and care Bucky could heap on him without drawing the kind of attention Gale didn’t want. No throwing himself at Gale’s feet in the barracks, no sweet talking in public, no jealous outbursts even if it killed him. It was all in the small details with Gale, and in the unwavering devotion he craved. Grand gestures didn’t appeal to him, no matter how Bucky's instincts urged him to belt it out for all the world to know that he’d do anything for his Buck. His best friend, his beautiful mate.

Well, all right, they’re not mated yet. But they’re going to be. Bucky can feel the warm certainty of it deep in his chest, spreading through his veins with every swipe of Gale's thumb over the juncture of his neck as they kiss lying on top of each other in the hotel bed they rented for the night. Would Gale touch him like this if he didn’t want it too? No, Bucky doesn’t think so.

He draws back just far enough to look into Gale's eyes and comb through his short blond hair. When he shifts his hips to the side, Gale’s slim thighs part to let him sink between them, a perfect fit. "Are you comfortable?”

Gale nods, watching Bucky's face with lazy affection. He slides both of his hands down Bucky’s back and untucks Bucky's shirt to get to the bare skin of his lower back.

"Tell me if I'm too heavy.”

"Don’t start on this now." Gale drawls, the contentment in his tone at odds with his words. He pushes his hands between their stomachs to undo their belts. He smells happy, his scent heady like the warmth of the sun on a humid summer afternoon.

They kiss again, grinding together slowly. John wonders if Gale's all wet for him already or if he needs some help - he’d gladly put his mouth to use. But first, they need to talk.

"Can I ask you something?" He starts. They're so close that he sees the flash of concern in Gale's eyes and feels the minute tightening of the cradle of his thighs.

"You’re a good alpha, John." Gale says quietly, stroking John's face with his right hand. "I'll let you knot me tonight if you want.”

John can’t help the way his lips purse at the answer given before he could even ask anything. He doesn’t know why Gale assumes that's all he’s after, when he has done everything he could to show that he isn’t.

"It’s not what I want." He says, a touch too firmly, if Gale's startled blink is anything to go by. "I want to mate you." He clears his throat, reining the emotion in his voice back. "That’s what I wanted to ask. I want to be your mate.”

Out of all the ways this played out in his head, Gale pulling away from him was one of the worst. Cracks cut sharply into his heart as Gale pushes at his shoulders, then sits back against the headboard. Bucky ends up kneeling beside him on the mattress, a pleading look in his eyes. The change in Gale's scent feels sharp in his nose, but it's not acrid like disgust or fear. It’s sour distress, deeply pained. The way Gale pulls his knees up to rest his arms on them makes him look achingly young.

“Why?” He asks. The disbelief in his eyes hurts.

“Because I love you.” When Gale closes his eyes, Bucky presses on. “I love you. I want to be yours. To take care of you, protect you… I want to be your mate. And I want to do it before we ship out.”

Gale worries at his lip, then gives Bucky a look full of tumultuous emotions.

"That’s not something you should do on a whim." He tells Bucky. His voice is calm, but he’s digging his own nails into his arm. "Think it through carefully. You know I don't have normal heats. I don't think I can get pregnant, John. It’s the way it's always been. Ain't ever gonna change. I'm not the kind of omega you deserve. I don't mind if we -"

He cuts himself off. A soft "damn it" gets caught in his suddenly tight throat. He rubs the bridge of his nose as if to keep his tears in, then shoots Bucky a wry smile. "I don't mind if it’s just sex and nothing more.”

The noise that escapes Bucky's throat is filled with helpless frustration. He scoots closer and cups Gale’s cheek with his right hand. "To hell with sex, Buck! It’s not what I want. I would rather not knot anyone ever again if that's the only way I can be your mate.”

For a moment, Gale doesn’t say anything, just searches Bucky's eyes, then his scent starts changing again, becoming gradually sweeter with hope. Something eases in Bucky too in response, and he lets his body lean forward until his forehead is pressed to Gale's. When he gives Gale a soft kiss on the lips, Gale slides his arms off his knees to wrap them around Bucky’s neck.

“You actually mean it.” Gale says quietly. There’s still some uncertainty in his voice, but there’s growing hope too.

“I do.” Bucky replies. Then, because he can’t keep holding it all bottled up anymore, “Please be my mate, doll. I'll be so good for you, the best alpha you can ask for, I’ll take care of you -”

“Shh.” Gale shushes him with a small chuckle, pulling Bucky’s head to his neck to let him scent Gale there and lick at the spot he’s going to bite if Gale says yes. Soothing fingers comb through his hair, and Gale’s thumb presses to the base of his neck again. It’s so calming that Bucky could fall asleep just like this in Gale's arms.

“How about -” Gale starts, stroking Bucky’s back now. “- we wait until the morning. If you still want it when we wake up, then… we can do it.”

Bucky lifts his head to look at Gale with wide eyes and the wobbling beginning of a grin. “Is that a yes?”

The curve of Gale's cheeks turns rounder as he smiles. “It is.”

Bucky crows in joy and tackles Gale sideways on the mattress, trying to kiss him through a happy laugh and babbling the first thing that comes to Bucky's mind. “How embarrassing would it be if I told you I'd dreamt of this since I first met you?”

Gale hugs him tight and nips his neck. “Is that why you gave me your own goddamn name?”

Feverish with happiness, Bucky nips Gale back, shuddering at the thought that tomorrow, he'll get to bite him for real. “Had to claim you.”

“Possessive.” Gale hums, his linden blossom scent intoxicating to Bucky's nose.

Bucky’s love thrums in his chest like a song. “You love it, Buck.”

Gale laughs. He doesn’t deny it.

#mota #buck x bucky #gale cleven #john egan #clegan #anon #my writing #prompt fill #abo hc #omega!gale

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sourpatchys · 9 months

Text

My personal Shigaraki Tomura Headcannons that I will defend with my life

—

He’s actually pretty shy. He keeps to himself, he’s not going to tell you about his interests unless he trusts you with his life, he won’t even so much as share his favorite foods with you if he doesn’t know you well enough. Not because he’s afraid you’ll make fun of him for it— he just genuinely finds opening up to be embarrassing and prefers not too if he can help it.

He never lost his love for video games and he still thinks about strategies with a lot of the terms in mind. Being the leader of the league of villains and losing the original hide out made him pull the break on his hobby’s.

He likes to draw. He figured out at an early age that art doesn’t take all five fingers. It started as something silly he did when he didn’t feel like paying attention to kurogiri, and steadily over the years it’s become something he relies on to help with stress

He wears all black because he’s too lazy to figure out what looks good. He does care about his appearance, but not badly enough to go through multiple outfits.

He’s actually really self conscious of the scars on his face. He thinks they make him look weak, unkept and disgusting. If he could change anything about himself he’d get rid of them in an instant.

Due to his self conscious nature regarding his looks— he’s super on top of everything else. As a kid he was so worried about looking the way he does and smelling, that he actually had to be temporarily banned from using cologne and body spray because of how overwhelming it got for everyone around him.

He has insanely good handwriting. It’s actually really alarming to see for the first time.

His internal dictionary is also pretty well established. Shigaraki is not afraid to use big words, and he tends to use extremely well put together sentences, both verbally and otherwise.

AFO made sure shigaraki had a proper education, even going as far as to hire private tutors, which is why his vocabulary is so top of the line.

(Sometimes while speaking the league will stop him midway through and ask him to use ‘normal people’ words)

He does have manners— some might even say he has an annoying amount of manners. And he will get pissed off if people don’t follow his footsteps, especially if the situation calls for it.

That being said he has never— and will never— sit in a chair properly. His legs are all over the fucking place and that’s how he likes it.

Growing up he wore mittens to bed to stop from absolutely disintegrating his mattress because he’s a stomach sleeper.

He sleeps with his mouth open, he drools AND he snores.

Contrary to what you may think, he’s not going to be an angry spiteful boyfriend.

He takes everything to heart because he hates everything, that’s who he is and that’s what he does! But he doesn’t hate you. So he will learn to take things with a grain of salt when it comes to you.

He’s not going to be a confrontational type of guy with you, he knows it wouldn’t solve anything if he came in with guns blazing. He doesn’t want you to ever see him that angry as long as he can help it.

He’s not going to apologize if things go wrong on his end though— at least not vocally. Honestly he doesn’t even know how to apologize, so you’ll just get a gift or some tighter cuddles that night compared to usual.

He’s afraid of spiders. He thanks the universe every single day that there isn’t some weird ass mutated spider hero that he has to deal with.

His “rebellion phase” was just him trying to overcome his murderous thoughts. (It didn’t work)

This man loves loitering. It’s the stupidest crime there is and he genuinely cannot get enough of it.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to understand that not everyone had endless amounts of money. Growing up he could order or buy whatever he wanted, so he just assumed that’s how the world worked for everyone until his early teens

If he were to start developing feelings for you, he wouldn’t know what the hell was going on. “Love” and “attraction” are not emotions he’s familiar with.

He will absolutely test out his theory by building a life with you in the sims.

Shockingly enough he’s not opposed to having kids. It’s just not something he’d ever think about unless you were to bring it up.

He has a My Chemical Romance hoodie tucked into the very back of his closet.

He collects vinyl records

He doesn’t like animals but if he had to choose between a dog or a cat he’d choose a cat.

Yes— he does own a pair of pink fuzzy bunny slippers, your suspicions are correct. (They’re so comfortable but he’d never been caught dead wearing them)

As a kid he collected bottle caps, he still has one he carry’s around with him as a good luck charm

He constantly forgets to tell you where he’s going and how long he’ll be gone— and he’s never on his phone so don’t expect him to answer your texts or calls if you’re worried.

A Domesticated shigaraki is just like having an old man as a pet. He complains— is a little too good at playing chess— is always wearing some kind of pajamas and smells like aftershave

Has the largest sweet tooth you’ve ever encountered. This guy could eat an entire cake in a single sitting and not get nauseous.

He either won’t eat at all and then gets pissed because he’s hungry or he’ll eat too much and get pissed that he’s full

He keeps a small sketch book on him at all times and 80% of the pages are of you

He’ll eat anything once, including shit he finds on the floor

One of his front teeth is fake, the adult tooth literally just never grew in

He hates hero’s but sometimes in order to get ideas he reads old marvel comics

He’s a green goblin stan

He has a “shoot first ask questions later” mentality that no one can take away from him. He simply does not gaf what your reasons are

He’ll kill anyone regardless, but he goes a lot harder on people with outdated opinions

#shigaraki x you #tomura shigiraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki imagine #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #tomura shiragaki #mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia

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pockyteau · 2 years

Text

JUST LIKE ICARUS

✩ a chishiya x reader where the sun is a lot closer to him than he realised.

"Do you know the story of Icarus?"

The question catches Chishiya off guard. He turns to you inquisitively, but you are already looking elsewhere; you stretch your arms out behind your head lazily, leaning back against the side of your bed. The sunlight that filled the room was enough to make one drowsy with all its warmth, little specks of light scuttling across the ground like golden ants.

It's always weirdly sunny, when you're around.

"I'm familiar with it, yes." Chishiya says mildly. He briefly wonders whether he should've admitted to it - while it was true he had read the book, it had been completely unintentional. He'd picked up an old paperback of the book in a library once, under the impression that the gold lettering on the cover meant the book held a multitude of literary treasures. On that day, Chishiya learnt two things: that Icarus was an idiot, and that he should never trust the gold lettering on books.

He had come to dislike the story since.

"Really? You know it?" You look at him with wide eyes, your earlier drowsiness thrown off. The expression you are making is glowing with excitement, and he feels as if he should de-escalate the situation before you get any ideas.

"I didn't like it much," he warns. Much to Chishiya's distaste, he had come to know that you were a lover of storybooks, of which he never had much patience for. You blink, falling back against your bed with an audible thump.

"But why not?" You ask, tilting your head to the side. From your lips the question sounds incredulous; it's almost as if you had, in fact, greatly enjoyed the story of Icarus.

Chishiya frowns. He had initially expected you to dislike it too, since the story ended in Icarus' death and you were the greatest lover of happy endings he'd ever met. After tuning many of them out, he had come to know that your personal favourite tales were the ones about love - sappy ones of sweetness and longing that spanned over many lifetimes. He didn't care much for them either, though they wouldn't have bothered him nearly as much if you didn't insist on telling him every single one. So, with that in mind, what reason could you have for liking this tale?

"Icarus dug his own grave," Chishiya shrugs. "If he'd just been careful, he would've lived. He should've listened to the advice he was given."

You snort. "That's why you don't like it? You and Icarus are one in the same, then," you point out. "You never listen either."

It appears you've noticed him tuning you out.

"Well," Chishiya muses, "I can afford not to." He turns his head to shoot you a lazy grin. "The same cannot be said for Icarus."

You press your lips together. "Wow, you are awful," you comment, though Chishiya can tell by the way your shoulders shake gently that you are trying not to laugh. Your attempt to stifle your laughter ends up in vain when your voice disappears towards the end of your statement, dipping your head forward to conceal the grin adorning your face.

Chishiya finds he is smiling before he can stop himself - it's easy to make you laugh. He knows that if you lifted your head, he would see the crinkles under your eyes.

He allows you a moment to compose yourself before asking a question of his own. "But why do you like it?" he says, careful to keep the curiosity out of his voice. You raise your head when he speaks, traces of laughter still painting your lips. "The Icarus story, I mean. Since he dies in the end, I would've thought you'd hate it."

The question seems to surprise you. You frown, your brows drawing together. "Well, I wouldn't say that I like it, exactly," you say thoughtfully. "But it does have its charm. Icarus was happy for a little while." You muse. "Maybe being careless was worth it for him."

"That's ridiculous," Chishiya snorts. Icarus was happy for no less than what, five seconds? No form of death could be worth that. Now he doesn't know why he asked in the first place, because of course you would supply him with an answer like that. "He still died."

"Hey, what've you got against Icarus?" You tease, arms folded as you lean back against the side of your bed. "To be honest, I think his story is a little sad. He was just glad to be in the sun."

"Mm," Chishiya makes a noncommittal noise in response, knowing that if he were to give a full answer it would probably be rather scathing. You smile at this, giving him a little nudge.

"Okay, not a fan of Icarus," you say. Your voice is soft, tinted with amusement. Huh. Chishiya feels a small ache hatch in the centre of his chest - it pricked him in a strange way to see your smile as you spoke. You carry on, unaware of the sudden pain in his chest, that same smile still on your face. "Got it. Ah! Do you know Psyche and Eros? You have to have heard of them! Their love story is unrivaled."

Chishiya is vaguely aware of how he shakes his head, which causes you to clutch at your chest in mock horror. You then launch into your rendition of Psyche and Eros' romance, eyes shining. It seemed that unlike Icarus, Psyche and Eros got their happy ever after; their love was free to last forever, unbound by the constraints of mortal life once Psyche was immortalised.

Of course, this was the ringer for you - a love that lasted forever. Chishiya doesn't believe in forever; he knows everything must eventually come to an end. Perhaps that was where the two of you differed the most; you firmly believed in forever, simply because you insisted that things such as love could transcend all boundaries, resist the tests of time.

He supposes this should only be expected from someone who pitied Icarus, for whom Chishiya has no sympathy for. Despite how careless he may seem to you, him and the boy with the wax wings are nothing alike, because Chishiya is careful. He takes care not to let his mind wander when he sets his gaze on the sparkle in your eyes, the curve of your lips. He takes care not to let the sunlit vision of you sink too deep beneath the surface of his mind. Chishiya is careful, always careful. He knows that the repercussions of getting comfortable with you could cost him everything.

Even without you telling him, he knows the story of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun.

Today you are telling him about something new - probably another love story, judging by the delight in your voice.

It's sunny again. Chishiya is sitting with his back against the wall of your room, basking in the golden sunlight that streams through your window. The atmosphere is peaceful, calm. The way Chishiya likes it.

He leans his head forward slightly to stretch the stiffness out of it; he had long since stopped listening to you, and was now trying to figure out how to a rig a flamethrower. And every other step to making a flamethrower, really. It would be a lot easier to dance that risky line between life and death with one, and Chishiya intends to use it as his ticket out of this poolside hotel. He dreams of somewhere he doesn't have to attend meetings on the whim of an obnoxious man in sunglasses.

But where would he get the materials? If he were to ask someone like Ann for spare flamethrowing parts, he would most likely be bombarded with questions. Ann was terrifying in her own right, with her ability to speak so fast. It's a dilemma, certainly. Perhaps he could ask the handyman, Tatta, instead.

He doesn't seem like the type to ask what Chishiya would use them for, and Chishiya believes that is a quality more people should have.

"Chishiya?"

He lifts his head at your mention of his name. "Hm?"

You grin. Chishiya feels that little ache between his ribs again, filling in the empty space between his heart and his bones. It seems to be spreading, which he tries not to find concerning.

It's probably nothing.

"You weren't listening again, were you?" you chide, but you don't seem to mind. The teasing look on your face makes that plain enough.

Chishiya sees no need to lie. "I was not."

"Of course not," you sigh dramatically, flopping down to sit next to him. He smirks at you, knowing that you would roll your eyes in response. He knows you, predicting the way your head tilts away from him slightly, covering a quiet laugh. "Actually, I don't know why I'm surprised. Do you even listen to all those executive meetings you go to?"

Chishiya grins, which means the obvious answer is no - it's a close call between who he respects less, the Hatter or the mournful looking worm he'd spotted on his way back from a game. In fact, he might've even lent the worm an ear if it had deigned to speak - it probably had more worthwhile things to say than the Beach's number one.

You seem to be able to follow his train of thought. "I guess not," you say, a small laugh escaping your lips.

He finds himself thinking that the sound of it is rather nice.

Without warning you lean in closer to Chishiya and for a moment his mind goes blank, but all you do is reach out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. "Here," your fingers brush lightly against the side of his face as you do so, the warmth of your skin lingering on his jaw even though the touch was only a brief one. "Now you'll be able to hear me better, hm?"

Chishiya snorts. His eyes flick over to you, that smile he wished wouldn't affect him so much dancing on your lips. Perhaps he should untuck the strand of hair from behind his ear again, just to annoy you. "There's a difference between wanting to listen and being able to listen."

"Hey-" you open your mouth to protest, but close it just as quickly. Chishiya is all but ready to give you a smug look, anticipating the way you would groan and pretend not to laugh - but then you lean in even closer, inspecting his face with curious eyes. He raises his brows in question. He doesn't like how your eyes have widened, mystified, as they rest just below his own eye level.

"What is it?" He frowns.

"You have a beauty mark!" You say, a delighted smile spreading across your lips. "I never noticed! Why didn't you tell me?"

Chishiya's brow furrows. He has to stifle the sudden urge to reach up and cover the little mark below his left eye. Why would he tell you? Perhaps he had fallen into the fool's trap of assuming you had working eyes, since the mark was, you know, on his face. "It must have slipped my mind," he says dryly.

Unfortunately, you take no notice of his wry tone. "It's so cute!" you exclaim. You look dangerously close to clapping your hands in joy, and you are still much too close to Chishiya. He feels the warmth on his skin beginning to burn as you reach out a finger to lightly tap the mark under his eye. "Oh! that reminds me - did I ever tell you the story? Beauty marks are where you were kissed the most in your past life."

Chishiya brushes your hand away from his face. "I can't say I've heard that one before," he says, keeping his tone even. He hopes it will be enough to stop the liquid gold in his chest from spreading.

"I thought as much," you hum, reaching out to poke the mark under his eye again, grinning when he swats you away. "Hey, that means you were kissed there a lot. Isn't that so sweet? You must have been really loved in your past life."

Chishiya's frown deepens. Here is your precious everlasting love again.

It's no secret that he doesn't believe in things like this; he knew better than most that human hearts were feeble things, easily stopped. As the vessel of love, didn't that show how not even the greatest love could last longer than the average human lifespan?

"Is that so." He says flatly. The mark below his eye was merely a fixation of his face, nothing more.

Your eyes dart over his unsmiling expression, the corners of your lips still turned up. "It's okay, I know you don't believe in things like that," you say mildly, eyes sparkling. Chishiya's gaze flickers; he didn't realise you had become so apt at predicting his thoughts.

"You're right. I don't."

You merely hum again in response before falling silent, as if in thought. In the hush Chishiya allows his gaze to wander to you momentarily; it comes to rest on the pensive crease in your forehead, angling lower to where golden shapes are being cast over your face by the sunlight coming through the window.

He's not sure if he can remember a time where you haven't been touched by light.

"Ah!" You do clap your hands now, and Chishiya eyes you in apprehension. That can't mean anything good. "Alright. Why don't we test something out?"

"Test?" Chishiya squints at you for a moment to accentuate his reluctance. "And what would that be?"

"Well...why don't we give you a new beauty mark?" You smile. "You don't believe me, so I'll prove you wrong."

Chishiya has to bite back his immediate scorn. What purpose would that serve? It's not as if you would be able to check if your theory worked, anyway. Even if you were right, neither of you would know what had conspired in this room, dappled in sunlight, in your next life.

He's already forming the word "no" in his throat, well aware that he shouldn't indulge you - but there are little crinkles under your eyes, the look of pure joy you usually wear when telling him your precious stories. Why were you so happy about his beauty mark, he wonders, and why hasn't the ache stopped by now? He should shut you down now, before this gets out of hand.

It is with these resolute thoughts that for some unfathomable, fanatical reason, Chishiya opens his mouth to find the words "do whatever you want," escaping off the tip of his tongue.

Just like that, the precarious nature he had built up around you is dealt its first blow when your face lights up with a pleasant surprise.

"Really?" you say, so tentatively that the pull in his chest becomes so strong it almost hurts. Chishiya has to pull himself together to shrug in indifference. But it's fine. This is but a small allowance, one he will only let slide once.

He still has to be careful.

You delicately put both hands on either side of the blonde's face, turning it this way and that as if inspecting it. He looks at you, unimpressed, as you gently poke his right cheek, designating it as the spot for his next beauty mark. "Is here okay?"

Chishiya shrugs again with his face still in your hands, your hold on him causing a slight difficulty for him to do so properly. "It's your test, isn't it?"

"Okayy, here it is, then."

You lean in and place a gentle kiss on his cheek, then another, and another. The touch of your lips is sweet and light - Chishiya's soft chuckle is audible when you kiss him a fourth time, and he loses count of the ones that follow after you can't seem to help but kiss him once on the lips.

Chishiya knows he shouldn't. He is aware that the wax wings fixed to his back are loosening by the day.

But no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he is compelled to push open the door to your room in his free time, the daylight hours before he leaves for a game. Where he is enveloped by golden sunlight the second he steps in, the way your face brightens like heaven is on earth there with him etching itself into the very corners of his mind. He listens silently to your stories, the lull of your voice. You've begun to kiss him on his right cheek regularly, like a habit, and he can't bring himself to stop you.

He does his best to ignore the thought that perhaps he doesn't even want to stop you.

Chishiya knows that this is temporary. He has to be careful, make sure he doesn't forget. That no matter how many times you kiss him, he cannot stay. He is already flying much to close to the sun - the sudden warmth that consumes him as he does so is so immense that it scares him. Because every time you kiss him like that, he wonders what it would be like to sit there and listen to you tell stories forever.

And Chishiya knows forever doesn't exist.

Chishiya declines citizenship in the Borderlands.

Even after playing Kuzuryuu, he had honestly considered staying. No matter where he was, forever still would not exist; he would eventually die in either world. It would be interesting to see what the future held for him here, in any case. Perhaps he could run the Diamond games - there's no question of him being able to take the crown of the King of Diamonds with his intellect. And after all, if he stayed, he wouldn't have to return to the tedious problems of the real world.

But in the end, he finds that something inside him has changed.

Maybe it's because he's slowly bleeding out, which probably doesn't bode well for him. Maybe it's because he's slumped against a car and it's less than comfortable. Maybe Kuzuryuu got through to him after all.

But maybe it's also how you find him there, hidden behind the car, worry painting your usually so sunny face as you rush over to kneel beside him.

"Chishiya?" you whisper urgently. "Are you okay?"

He feels a gentle weight on his shoulder where you hand has immediately come to rest, like it's the most natural thing in the world. You don't even think twice about it; it surprises Chishiya that such a simple movement could feel so comforting, safe. He's gotten used to your touch, no matter how hard he'd tried not to. You're checking his wounds, eyes widening when you realise his hoodie is soaked in blood. "What happened to you? Oh my god, have you been shot? How bad is it?"

Chishiya manages a weak chuckle, even as you begin desperately searching for the bullet wound. You're worried, really worried, whispering something about putting pressure on the wound. Should he tell you he's been shot more than once?

His eyes roam over your face, cast in deep shadow by the darkening sky. Where are the crinkles in your eyes? The look of unobtainable joy that never left your face? It's so strange - ridiculous, even - that all he can think of is that stupid story you'd told him so long ago, the one about the beauty marks. He aches to see you smile again, like you did then, and the all-consuming feeling almost outweighs the blood seeping from his wounds.

"Are you laughing?" you say tearfully. Another laugh forces itself out of Chishiya's chest even as he winces slightly, although whether he laughs out of amusement or exasperation he can't really tell. You give him an incredulous stare, eyes shining with perspiration, before you finally crack a small smile of your own.

That's all it takes for the dam to break and you exhale in relief, the panic leaving your body in the form of a heavy breath. Your whole body relaxes and your hand slips a bit on his shoulder as you slump down beside him. "Chishiya," you breathe his name like it's the only thing keeping you alive, burying your face in your hands. "I was so worried about you."

Chishiya's broken laughter subsides into a grin. He leans back against the car, closing his eyes for a moment, although his look of amusement still lingers over his features. It's almost ironic - you seem more concerned about his own life than he is. And while Chishiya's concern usually reaches the brilliant heights of almost zero, he suddenly thinks that surviving his multiple bullet wounds wouldn't be so bad.

"Why?" he says, opening his eyes slightly to peer at you through half-lids. "If I died, we could test out your beauty mark theory."

You groan, but the sound is half-laugh-half-exasperation. "I can't believe you." Your head falls forward to rest on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie muffling your voice. You sound weak, as if you had spent some time calling out his name, trying to find him. He exhales a soft laugh. it was always your voice that gave you away, but now Chishiya only finds it endearing rather than a weakness. Despite the situation he finds himself relaxing.

He could get used to this.

And that's when it hits him.

That Chishiya has already become Icarus, the fool.

He breathes out. No, he's been a fool from the very start. He wants your head on his shoulder, just like it is now. He wants the warmth of your touch. He wants forever, full of your dancing eyes and your buoyant smile. He wants too much, has flown right against the sun so that his wax wings have melted away and he's plummeted into the ocean. Look at where being careful had gotten him; everything he's ever believed to be true is lost in the deep water.

But then you raise your head to graze a kiss on his right cheek between murmurs, your own cheeks slightly wet with tears, and Chishiya finds he doesn't care. He's willing to indulge in the idea of forever, no matter how unlikely it might be that it actually exists. He'll sink deeper into the ocean as long as you're holding on to him.

Fireworks explode around the two of you, marking the end of the world he'd met you in, and Chishiya makes his choice.

"I don't want citizenship," he says, and his eyes slide over to you as the words leave his mouth. He can admit, if only to himself, that he's looking forward to your reaction. "I think."

Your astonished face is illuminated in the light before it splits into that beaming smile.

"I thought you would stay," you whisper, but you're smiling so hard even as glittering tears are sliding down your cheeks again that Chishiya can't help but laugh once more. You reach for his hand and clasp it tightly, intertwining your fingers and his in a way that can only be described as tender and sweet, and he knows he's made the right choice.

"Let's go home," you say, eyes shining, and Chishiya is falling, falling. He wants to go back and live in a world with you, where a love that outlasts even the two of your beating hearts is more likely to be possible. Because even though he doesn't believe in forever, you do.

And Chishiya has never wanted so badly, with all of the heart he thought he didn't have, for it to be true.

Chishiya couldn't shake the feeling that something was strange.

He knew exactly where he was before he even fully woke up - the beep of the heart monitor, the sharp scent of sterilisation, the coolness of the pillow behind his head. From all the time he'd spent in residency, the atmosphere of the hospital was unmistakable.

He opens his eyes slowly to ease his transition into the waking world. His body aches with injury, and there is a stinging pain in his abdomen. The thoughts in his head are sluggish, bleary. He's still gaining his bearings, trying to figure out what happened.

A sudden jolt of urgency shoots through him and he almost bolts upright; he is met with the resistance of the tightly tucked in hospital bedsheets, and has to slowly push himself up instead. He looks around, scanning the other beds in the room. There is a strange new ache blooming rapidly in his chest, but he doesn't think it's related to his injuries. Where is...

He blinks. Where is what?

He frowns, freeing one of his arms from the linen sheets to rub his forehead. He tries to summon the thought up again, but it's like grasping at sand. Where is...? He attempts to close his fist over the question, but it slips through his fingers like the grains of an hourglass. What was he so desperate to find just now?

He just can't seem to recall.

The curtain around his bed is drawn with the slight scrape of metal, revealing a nurse with a clipboard. Chishiya is momentarily distracted from his thoughts when the nurse looks surprised to see him awake, her mouth forming a little 'o' of astonishment.

"Oh! you're awake," her expression quickly eases into a professional smile. Chishiya dips his head slightly in acknowledgement, but he is still unsettled. It's the strangest thing. It feels he's missing something, but he just can't figure out what.

The nurse begins to check his vitals, scribbling something down on a clipboard with a ballpoint pen. To Chishiya's newly awoken mind, the scratch of pen against paper is louder than it should be. As she writes she tells Chishiya what happened - the tragedy of the meteorite, how he was one of many victims of the crash.

"Your heart stopped for a full minute," she says, "you went into cardiac arrest. The same thing actually happened to a lot of the other patients here who were injured by the meteorite crash..."

Chishiya stops listening there. The nurse continues to talk, but his mind is already is elsewhere. His heart stopped for a full minute. He wonders, briefly, why it even bothered starting back up again. Perhaps he had some underlying will to live that even he didn't know about.

Human hearts were strange things.

It turns out that Chishiya has to stay at the hospital for a while before he can be discharged. He's familiar with the procedures - although his injuries aren't as severe as the man in the bed next to him, who is bandaged from head to toe, it'll still take a while before he makes a full recovery. Though Chishiya isn't too happy about this, he supposes there's nothing much he can do about it. And while the man stationed beside him is rather boisterous at times he does talk to Chishiya on the occasion, and it's not too irritating. In fact, he thinks they might even be a little bit alike in some ways.

But even as his injuries slowly heal, the ache he'd woken up with still lingers. It's such a strange, implacable feeling. Something inside him yearns for a specific kind warmth, the gold of sunlight that filters through windows. The hospital wards are too silent, too dull. Since when did he begin to long for company? But it's not even that - the room he's been staying in is full of people, yet he still feels as if someone is missing from his side. It's endlessly frustrating.

If his heart was going to torture him like this for surviving, maybe it shouldn't have yanked him back from cardiac arrest after all.

Chishiya's hospital days blur together with the utter sameness of them all. He goes through the motions, the scans, the checkups, all without a second thought.

Until, that is, he catches a proper glimpse of his reflection in the chipped bathroom mirror.

He stops in his tracks, leaning in closer to check whether it was just a speck of dust on the mirror, but no - it's really there. He frowns. That's weird.

He has a new beauty mark.

Has it always been there? There had always been one, just below his left eye. He had never paid it any heed. It was simply there, an affixation of his face. But he finds that there is now another mark, sitting on his right cheek. If it had been there all his life, he certainly didn't remember it. How had he never noticed it before?

He raises a hand to brush the new mark in confusion, his fingertips grazing the skin. As he does this, he recalls something odd - in the very back of his mind, it's almost as if he can feel the gentle press of someone's lips against his cheek.

Chishiya is finally going to be discharged from the hospital today.

He will not miss this place. In fact, his parting from the bed he'd known for the last month or so was joyful, to say the least. The ache he had woken up with still hasn't disappeared, but maybe the unsettling feeling that he'd forgotten something would fade once he left.

The sooner, the better.

He is just making his way to reception, having bid an amused farewell to the boisterous man in the bed beside him. Unlike the others in his room, neither of them had had any visitors, so he supposed the least he could do was be civil to the guy.

For once, there is silence in the hospital's white-walled corridors; visiting hours had not yet begun, and while Chishiya had grown to find complete silence somewhat unnerving he welcomes the change. There are no families weeping in the grey couches, no nervous chatter as they waited to be given updates on their loved ones' condition. There is even an abundance of sunlight, drifting in through the windows. It's peaceful, calm. The way Chishiya likes it.

Except when the receptionist's desk is finally in sight he finds someone else is already there, talking to the receptionist. By the looks of it, it's another patient - probably another crash victim, like him. Chishiya slows down, not particularly wanting to wait around for the conversation to finish. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, turning to look at the grey visitor's couches and then back at the receptionist. The patient is filling out forms now, blue ballpoint pen in hand. He spots the receptionist holding a rather thick stack of papers in her hand and frowns.

This may take a while.

Chishiya resigns himself to the grey couches, sinking into the soft fabric of the furniture. At least there's plenty of sunlight, streaming in through the rectangular glass pane overhead. He shoots another glance over at the counter, where the receptionist's stack of paper has diminished by about two sheets. He wonders if he would be chased if he just walked out of the hospital without signing the discharge documents.

With a sigh he leans back into the couch, turning his head to the side. With a note of surprise, he realises that there is a book lying open-faced a few inches away from him - judging by how it's been left open, someone must have left it there in the middle of reading it. With nothing else to do he lets curiosity take over, reaching over to pick the book up by its spine.

The book is a thin copy of an old story, battered and clearly well-read. He frowns slightly when he reads the title, bringing it closer to him to make out the words - gold lettering, the font of deceit. It's the story of Icarus; who wanted too much, giddy upon his taste of the heavens, and paid the price for it. Chishiya had always held contempt for that particular tale. If the fool had just been a little more careful, perhaps he would've lived.

"Oh! You know the story of Icarus?"

The question catches Chishiya off guard. He looks up from the book to see someone standing in front of him, smiling. It's that patient, the one who had been talking to the receptionist, silhouette dappled golden in the sunlight trickling into the room. That must mean the receptionist's desk is free now - but for some reason, he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the patient's expression; sparkling eyes, lips curved sweetly. Those bright eyes study him as he feels a familiar pull in his chest, the ache growing stronger by the second. And then, he hears the soft words:

"You have lovely beauty marks."

And it's so strange, because suddenly he feels a tug at the back of his mind. He feels as if he's heard something like that before, in another room dappled in sunlight. Where he felt warmer, safer than anywhere he had ever known.

Chishiya feels the smile come to his lips before he can stop himself. Perhaps his admin papers could wait a little longer. "Is that so."

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