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ssamie · 3 years

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you’re all i need.

·˚ ༘⌗ reki kyan x gn!reader

·˚ ༘⌗ reki knew he was no prodigy like langa. he knew he didn't have anyone on his side, after all, they were right. he wasn't good enough nor did he stand in the same pedestal as his friends. but really, sometimes, all he needed was someone to believe in him, and someone to stay by his side.

·˚ ༘⌗ warnings: angst?, fluff, sad reki

gen masterlist. sk8 masterlist.

reki sighed for the umpteenth time as he struggled to keep in his tears. he kicked some rocks with his feet as he walked, wanting nothing more than to be with you right now.

watching langa skate, hearing the praises from the other skaters of 'S' and their friends, and getting constantly overshadowed by langa was taking a toll on him, that's for sure.

lately, he's been craving nothing more than a few words of praise or reassurance. he's been feeling quite unmotivated lately, and has barely even been touching his skateboard.

he finally came to a halt as he arrived in front of his house. his phone was still as dry as it could be, no replies from you, not even a single call back.

"goddammit." he swore under his breath as he pocketed the phone with a frown. his lips were quivering, and the built-up stress, anger and disappointment was too overwhelming at the moment.

"im home.." he announced to no one in particular. it was late at night after all. his family was already sound asleep, leaving him alone once again.

"this seriously sucks.." he mumbled as he took off his shoes, and headband. he ruffled his hair as he entered the bathroom to wash his face.

"this sucks. this sucks. this sucks." he chanted under his breath.

tears were falling down his cheeks. all the effort he had put into holding them back ended up being futile. not that he was surprised.

"i hate this." reki sniffled as he wiped his cheeks free from the salty tears. he pulled out his phone with his shaky hands, tapping on your contact in hopes of hearing your lovely voice even for just a second. it had always succeeded in cheering him up.

"no answer.." he muttered dejectedly. he let out a pained laugh as he hung his head low.

"even y/n's tired of me huh.."

reki stared at himself in the mirror, the statement was left lingering in the air as he blinked upon painful realization.

"they're.. they're tired of me?" he muttered to himself, his eyes widening in fear. "no, no.. that can't be. right?"

he let out a nervous chuckle as he pulled his phone out once again, tapping on your contact in hopes of getting a response.

"y/n, please answer.. please answer.." reki whimpered as he bit his nails out of nervousness. it had always been a bad habit of his.

"shit!" he exclaimed as tears started brimming his eyes once again.

he ran to the front door, fully ready to run to your house just to receive some much needed reassurance. though the sight of your shoes neatly placed by the side made him freeze.

"they're here..?" he blinked in surprise. instantly he sprinted to his room, not even caring that he was being too loud and that he might wake his family with the thumping of his feet.

"y/n! i-" he abruptly stopped as his eyes landed on your figure, sleeping peacefully on his bed.

he quietly closed his bedroom door and stealthily tiptoed towards you. he kneeled by the side of his bed, resting his chin on the mattress as his eyes raked over your features.

he carefully brought his hand up to cup your cheeks, his thumb gently carressing your soft cheeks as a faint smile etched itself on his lips

"hmm, reki?" you mumbled. "did i wake you? im sorry.." reki whispered back

" 's fine." you replied. you sat up on his bed and rubbed your eyes tiredly "you're home a lot earlier than usual" you pointed out

reki nodded with a sigh "yeah.. i didnt feel like staying there any longer" he said. "why? did something happen?" you asked with a look of concern

reki didn't answer just yet, he simply studied your look of genuine concern and forced out his usual grin

"nah! i was just tired, you know?" he said with a chuckle as he sat beside you on the bed "i've been practicing some tricks so i wanted to rest a bit"

you simply nodded and sent him a closed eyed smile "oh, im glad. i thought something bad had happened to you" you said

"but if you're tired, you should go to sleep and rest" you said

reki's smile dropped as he nervously reached out to tangle his fingers with yours. "hey y/n, y-you're not gonna leave me, are you?" he asked with a whimper

your expression morphed into one of disbelief as you stared at your boyfriend with wide eyes. "what? reki, i would never do that! why would you even think about that?" you exclaimed with a frown

"it's just.. you're not gonna leave me for langa or anyone right?" he asked yet again

with furrowed brows, you cupped his cheeks in your hands and forced him to look you in the eye. "im not gonna leave you for langa or anyone else, reki. you're my boyfriend and i love you and only you." you said

"i don't know why you would assume things like these but please stop. you're only gonna hurt yourself if you don't"

reki sniffled and weakly nodded, his tears was flowing down once again, staining his cheeks and your palms with wetness.

"y-yeah.. sorry." he muttered

you frowned and pulled him into your chest, your arms were gently wrapped around him as you rub circles on his back with your hand, and use the other to gently comb through his hair.

"do you wanna talk about it?" you asked in a hushed tone. "no..not really.." reki replied as he wrapped his arms around your waist, trying to close the already nonexistent gap between the two of you.

you leaned against the bed frame, and helped him adjust in a more comfortable position, seeing as he refused to detach himself from you for even a second.

"hmm, i don't know what happened but.. i got some things that i hope could cheer you up." you said with a smile

reki looked up at you, his eyes glinting with curiosity as he reluctantly sat up and untangled his limbs from yours. "what is it?" he asked

you smiled excitedly and reached for your bag, pulling out a separate plastic bag, and presenting it to him. he looked at it in confusion and waited patiently for you to explain.

"i got you some wheels for your boards!" you exclaimed "there's a lot of them in here, so you could use them when you build your skateboards"

reki's eyes widen in surprise as you start rambling about the wheels. "there's lots of different designs and stuff to choose from. plus i even got you stickers for decoration and if you wanna customize your board!"

"i know you like building your own so i didnt buy you a deck." you said "i was hoping i could help you build your next one since i know it must take a lot of effort to make them.."

"i also cleared my schedule for this week so i can accompany you when you practice. its not much but— eh, reki?" you blink in surprise as you watch your boyfriend suddenly breakdown.

"reki, what's wrong? a-are you alright? did i say something wrong??" you asked in a frantic tone

reki shook his head as he let out a strained laugh. he wiped his tears and tackled you on the bed, encaging you in his arms as he smothers your face in kisses

"eh?? reki??" you called out in utter confusion "are you sure you're okay??"

"well, i am now!" reki exclaimed with his usual grin. a light pink blush covered his cheeks as he looked at you with lovestruck eyes.

"honestly.." you let out a sigh of relief as you playfully rolled your eyes at him. "you're so weird, reki" you said as he lightly punched him in the shoulder

"hehe, im just happy you're here." reki admitted with a chuckle "you really brought my spirits up, you know?"

"really? i just got you wheels and stickers though?" you blink cluelessly. reki smiled and placed a quick but loving kiss on your lips. "y/n you might not know it but.."

".. you're seriously all i need."

"you're so cheesy." you rolled your eyes, though a bright red hue had covered your cheeks out of flusteredness.

"onii-chan! y/n-san! keep it down, im sleeping right next to your room!" reki's sister whined out

"oops, sorry!"

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libradusk · 4 years

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Morning Embers | Rex

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader

Summary: The morning after your unexpected ‘activities’ on Felucia leads both you and Rex towards a string of confessions you should have stumbled down long ago.

Warnings/Content: AFAB reader (though no gender is explicitly mentioned), smutty soft sex, admission of feeeeeelings and morning-after anxieties, a much more subby Rex than in the previous chapter (I mean...)

a/n: This is set during the events of “Bounty Hunters” from season 2 of TCW, except instead of fighting pirates the reader and Rex end up boning down.

Follow up chapter to this

It's the morning sun that first leads you to stir. It slips its finger-like rays through the cave’s mouth to rake across your marked skin, and play across your face until your lashes flutter open and force you to squint against the light. The rest of your body soon follows in whirring to life in a cascade of sensation, starting with the ache rooted across your muscles and ending with the solid warmth and weight of the second body currently entwined and draped across your own.

The trooper curled around you groans at the light’s intrusion, the sound vibrating down the slope of your shoulder from where his face nestles in the crook of your neck. You shiver at the feeling, it's a welcome distraction to the cramp brewing in your legs and the tenderness throbbing at the apex of your thighs.

You grimace slightly as you attempt to stretch out your limbs as best you can from where they remain trapped beneath the entanglement of Rex’s body. There’s a sizeable pool of slickness smeared across your inner thighs that has long-since gathered and cooled there following your ‘activities’ the evening before. It serves as another reminder of the line you had finally crossed alongside the Captain beside you, a prelude to the mark he had branded onto your heart that would neither fade nor be washed away, unlike the more physical reminders he had littered your body with.

But despite the discomfort and the aching and the little comfort your flimsy nest of clothing provided, you’re content, happy if not completely wrecked in a wonderful way.

You can’t help but smile to yourself as you turn to glance at Rex snoring lightly against your shoulder. For the first time since your impromptu landing, and possibly even before that, he seems peaceful, comfortable even despite sharing the same unforgivably hard surface of the cave floor, and no doubt sporting an arm that is devoid of feeling from where you’ve been laying on it all night. You risk the chance to ghost your fingers over the slope of his back, marvelling in the warmth of his skin even in the chill of the morning air. He’s no longer as furnace-hot as he had been at the peak of his lust-induced delirium, and you wonder if you had succeeded in fucking out the last of whatever toxin it was that had made a temporary home in his body.

The outside world begins to stir alongside you now, though you find it difficult to focus on the chimes of birdsong whistling through the morning air as your fingertips idly trace the indents your nails left behind on his shoulder blades, and the constellations of faint scars that you had failed to focus on before.

Your mind begins to drift and spiral before you can stop it.

Things were bound to change between you now.

Despite how much you had enjoyed your night with the trooper, it hadn’t exactly been with the Rex you had known for so long now. Granted you could look at it as a necessity for helping someone you cared for so deeply, as well as it scratching the itch that desperately needed sating between you both, but you still stung with the knowledge that when he awakened, you would no doubt be forced into an uncomfortable conversation, one that could only end with the two of you figuring out how to function as colleagues for long enough to survive the journey back to the others without getting yourselves dismissed for inappropriately fraternising before finally severing whatever it was that had built up ever since you had met him.

And that realisation hurt. You would happily spend the rest of your days trapped against the cold floor if it meant that reality would never unfold at your feet.

At least you could enjoy these last few stolen moments for a little while longer before they were locked away from you forever.

But as Rex subconsciously tightens himself around you once you place a soft kiss to his sleep-furrowed brow, you realise that it's never going to be that simple. Your chest aches with a newfound guilt that you know his own will mirror when he awakens.

You’re not entirely sure how long you lay there counting the steady rise and fall of his chest and daring to run your hand down the length of Rex’s back before he finally stirs awake, but it seems much too short all the same once his sleepy gaze locks with your own and causes the lump in your throat to constrict further. His vision appears honeyed and blurry as he releases an arm from you to paw at his eyes with the back of his fist, a yawn tapering off into a disgruntled grunt as he scowls at the morning light now spilling around the shield of your body and pouring through the entirety of the cave. Rex wears an expression that would be more befitting of a man hungover from a night at 79’s, rather than one who had just engaged in a night of toxin-induced fucking. The scene is almost too domestic in its nature, the contrasting softness of his expression and the painful emotions staining your thoughts only twisting your heartache further until it wrings your stomach between its claws with a sickening force.

Before you can spiral further into your misery however, he’s blinking the remainders of sleep from his eyes and focusing them directly on you.

You swear you can pinpoint the exact moment the realisation hits him as his pupils contract.

“Good morning, Captain.”

You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to say it. Even when you’re all but wilting under his gaze, your brain apparently can’t resist the urge to tease him, though your voice quivers despite its lightness, betraying what little attempt to save face your mind has scrambled for.

Rex remains frozen, and in any other setting you would find his expression comical. His eyes dart between your face and the way you absentmindedly worry your lip between your teeth, to down to where the two of you are tangled like lovers and sticky with a mixture of fluids. Another beat passes before his entire body catches up with his mind and attempts to curl in on itself in clear mortification. This time a bitter laugh tears itself from your throat as you shuffle away from him and catch the way he subtly attempts to flex the blood back into his dead arm.

“Oh, fuck.”

His expression is hidden as the expletive leaves him in a strained sigh, the shame coating his words like a clear, thick poison despite the hands smothering his face.

You bite down harder on your lip at the way his cursing muffles into frustrated gibberish as his body attempts to sink back into the unforgiving surface of the floor. His face remains hidden by the shutter of his fingers, though the flush colouring the tips of his ears red is a clear indication of what he looks like behind his hands. He lets out what you think is a cross between a sigh and a shout of frustration into his palms, tone raising in what you rationalise to be the finale of his self-deprecation. There’s a smidgen of comfort to be found in the way he has completely forsaken the stoic demeanour befitting for a Captain in the simple hope that the ground beneath him would mercifully open up to claim him.

You almost have the urge to pat him on the shoulder in a sign of solidarity until you catch yourself and cringe at the thought. Instead, you focus your attention on picking at a loose thread poking out of the seam of the uniform crumpled beneath you and attempting to formulate an excuse you could supply to the others to explain the various stains tarnishing the fabric.

Rex takes another moment to himself before clearing his throat and folding his hands atop his chest as he turns to address you properly.

“I’m sorry.” His words are simple and exhaled within a sigh, yet the crease etched deep in his brow speaks volumes in place of them. “I shouldn’t have - I wasn’t… kriff, I’m so sorry for everything.”

His face is painted in layers of shame and you have to fight back the urge to kiss away the guilt lining his forehead and mouth.

“I’m as much at fault in this as you are, maybe even more so.” Your voice comes out much smaller than you intend it to, almost getting lost in the shadows of the cave itself. Rex’s eyes wander from yours after you finish speaking, expression shifting into something unreadable, and for a horrible moment you fear you’ve said the wrong thing.

His fingers flex instinctively against each other, nervously - you note. You had seen them do this countless times before battle and meetings alike, though you weren't sure if he ever noticed this habit himself. The pair of brown eyes before you remain glossed over in thought even as you attempt to desperately search them for some semblance of a response.

“...No. I never meant for it to, you know, happen like… this, between us I mean.” The last word leaves him in another exasperated sigh that has him gripping the bridge of his nose in frustration. His tone holds a familiar discipline now, but his thoughts seem to spill out in a jumbled heap that reflect the state of his current head-space.

It takes a moment for the words to fully sink in, but as soon as they do, your pulse is back to hammering in your ears the same way it had yesterday when you had returned to stumble upon his naked form.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” The words jump from your mouth before you have a chance of reeling your thoughts back, and you hope to the stars that he doesn’t pick up on the swell of hopefulness buttering your shock.

You aren’t stupid, you can guess what it is he’s attempting to voice, anxious as he is, but you can’t trust that you’re not dreaming until the words fall from his lips themselves.

Rex breathes out deeply from his nose. For a brief moment, his eyes threaten to wander down to where the sunlight settles warmly over your naked chest before they firmly lock on to your own. An involuntary shiver passes through you at their intensity. The way he stares at you makes you feel more naked than what even your own bare body can reflect - though the urge to run away and hide has long since died. There was no point in attempting to hide yourself away at this point, especially considering you had all but implored him to expose the layers of his own vulnerability in front of you.

“I’ve wanted this, wanted more than just this I mean, for a long time now.”

A smile somehow manages to tug at the corner of your mouth despite the way your pulse has skyrocketed in your ears at his confession, the noise whiting out to a pleasantly shocked buzz as you let the words sink in and wrap around your heart. In the very back of your mind, you register the faint sting of a pinch against your upper arm. It's one that you don’t even realise you have bestowed upon yourself until your shoulder shifts uncomfortably with the pressure, but also reassures you all the same that, no - this is not a dream.

In a heartbeat, Rex has melted from a disgraced, morose soldier to a flustered mess of a man. He rubs at the back of his neck in a way that's almost cliché, but also so endearing that you can’t look away from the sight of him.

“‘Suppose there's no use in hiding it now is there? Not now I’ve gone and made a royal kriffing mess of everything, that is. Guess I’m the same old di’kut I’ve always been” He punctuates the statement with a bitter chuckle and a faux smirk that doesn’t meet his eyes. You frown, an uncomfortable weight settling itself in your gut once more.

“...Rex, I’ve wanted this too, you know. I just didn’t hedge my bets on it taking the effects of an alien toxin to force me to confront it.” Not the most eloquent way of putting it, but you attempt to match his embarrassed smirk with a smile of your own, hoping that the intention behind your statement reaches him all the same. “The only di’kut you’re guilty of being is an oblivious di’kut.”

That gets a grin out of him, one that stretches until the corners of his eyes are crinkling with mirth. Happiness blooms within you at the sight, and your body finally allows itself to relax for the first time since awakening that morning.

Where before there had been a burning heat stretched between you, now there is a comfortable marigold warmth twinkling across your skin as Rex leans forward to catch your lips with his own. This kiss is gentle, almost hesitant in how soft it is. You can feel the tickle of laughter bubble in your throat as your smiles meld together.

“I’ve made a real mess of you.” Rex murmurs the words half-apologetically against your lips as he ghosts a touch over the love-bites decorating your neck. The trail of his fingertips threads goosebumps across your flesh as he dips them towards your collarbone - itself painted with bruised hues that could rival the vividness of a night sky.

He sounds almost proud, feigning an apology through the way he dances butterfly kisses over your marked skin before drifting them back towards your face. You roll your eyes at him before sweeping him into a deep kiss that steals the breath from his lungs and has him keening into the hand you have cupped around his jaw, effectively silencing him with the sound of his own groan.

You remain like this for a while longer, lazily locked in an embrace that has you glowing from the inside out with a steadily creeping heat, both breaking apart only momentarily each time to mouth over the expanse of the other’s skin, hands caressing and exploring as though you hadn’t spent the better part of yesterday grasping onto each others bodies as though they were the only things that grounded you both. Rex’s broad hands rub apologetic little circles across the bruising peppering your hips and wrists, brow twitching each time your reflexive squirming forces his eyes to crack open to face up to his misdoings. You swallow his concerns behind kisses before they can leap from his lips, curling around him a little tighter each time.

He doesn’t fight you - finally content to give in to the affection dripping from every single one of your touches and allow it to wash over him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”

I love you.

The words slip off his tongue easily, as though they were always meant to be spoken against your lips. You find yourself smiling into the kiss once again, teeth scraping slightly against the plush velvet of his mouth just enough so that he knows you’ve translated it - you’ve spent adequate time around him and his brothers to pick up an inkling of mando’a, it proves to be enough to allow you to stumble through his words with a dizzy heart.

He freezes suddenly, and it dawns on you then that these words were not meant to reach your ears just yet. But he no longer needs to speak them for their intention to be known, to be felt by you in the way he holds you close as though you are the most valuable treasure across all the moons and stars. Your body sings as you press back against him with more fever than before, determined to have him feel the depth of your own adoration through the press of your lips alone.

I love you, I love you, I love you. I fear I have always loved you.

You kiss the mantra across his jawline, delighting in the way his heartbeat hammers in a crescendo with your ministrations as you flatten your tongue against his pulse. That all too familiar flicker of warmth begins to bloom deep in your stomach, snapping into something stickier once again as a particular scrape of your teeth sends a rumble echoing through his chest. The urge to pull him even closer prevails, and you resort to throwing your thigh over one of his own to tug him harder against you. The heat of his cock grazes against you as you straddle him. It weeps and twitches with the contact and succeeds in pulling a groan from you both even as your lips and tongues continue to mesh together.

Despite the ever rising fever of the situation, there is no animalistic urge driving the force of both of you this time. Instead you find yourself lazily dragging your hips over his, the movement slow and resonating with teasing affection and a desire to truly feel every part of him underneath you. Though you can feel his thighs shaking as they remain caged beneath the weight of your body, Rex remains largely still, the small cues his body whispers to you being the only indicators of his aching desire to be joined with you once more.

He’s being so good, but you can’t help but want to tease him a little more, to stretch this moment out even further behind each smile that twists into your kisses. A frown pulls halfheartedly at his brow and you trace it lightly with the tip of a fingertip in mock-comfort. Yet still he submits to your wiles, continuing to surrender himself to your mercy even as your core grinds wetly down against his arousal. It's only when the tip of it grazes over the slick seam of your opening that his hips finally betray his composure. They canter upwards with a jolt that has him hissing through his teeth and has you feeling the wettest you’re positive you’ve ever been in your life.

It's an impossible task to not revel in the sight of him twisting beneath you, blown ochre peering up through his lashes to stare up at you pleadingly as his hands sit patiently atop your hips. Your smile threatens to wobble into a smirk as Rex lets out a whine that edges on being pathetic. He’s so responsive to every touch, even the ghosting of your nails as you run them down and over the expanse of his chest with a feather-light caress.

You map out the crossfire of scars stitched across the skin there in the way you had longed to do the night before, circling each one lovingly as you sit back against the cushion of his abs. He moans openly now, emotion thick in his throat as you continue to lavish attention over the marks decorating his body, the sound betraying what little discipline he had left to hide behind. His hands drag themselves in an electrifying path down your thighs, fingers just barely brushing over the bone of your knees. Despite the lust swimming in his stare, his entire focus is trained on you as he silently begs for you to emancipate him with some form of relief.

Your touch wanders down towards the dip of his hips behind you, coming to rest just short of the base of his throbbing cock, and you delight in the way he twitches and writhes even further as you deny him once again. At last, the trooper throws his head back in defeat, practically growling with frustrated arousal yet never breaking eye contact with you, his face twisted with a tortured anguish of the most delicious degree.

“Please.” He mouths the words to you, voice stolen by a shuddering breath that falls from him in ragged pants. You cock an eyebrow, heart pounding all the while as you lean forward to tower over the quivering mess of a man you had sculpted with your teasing. Your palms press smoothly into the ground beneath Rex’s head as you support yourself to glance over him. The sensation is almost icy against the clamminess of your palms, but it's easy to ignore the cutting feeling as your lips brush just barely against his own with the proximity of your faces.

“What is it you want from me, cyare?”

Rex groans at the sound of his mother tongue on your lips, panting harder as his resolve crumbles to dust at last and forces him to jerk upwards to cup your face with a clammy palm. Your lower half sits slick and eager against the muscles of his abdomen and you know he can tell that you’re just as desperate for him as he is for you. But even still, you refuse to back down, not until you’ve succeeded in winding him just that last little inch further.

His thumb swipes over the apple of your cheek and you tilt your head to steal the tip of it past the part of your lips, tongue dashing across the pad of it just slightly, but enough to leave him reeling once more and tighten the fist his spare hand now has fisted in the mess of uniform beneath his hips.

“Please-” his voice is strained and gravelly as his words finally find purchase in the hazy air between you. “Need you, need you so badly.”

The way his groans wrap so delightfully around his whine of your name is all it takes for you to put an abrupt end to your foreplay. You grant him one last fleeting kiss before pulling backwards from his face, savouring the way his eyes snap open wide with shock and the way his upper body all but catapults upwards on his forearms when your hand reaches behind to finally grasp hold of his weeping cock. He barely has time to choke down on his words as you rise to angle your hips before you sink down and split yourself open across his lap.

Your eyes roll backwards behind closed lids at the stretch of him. He’s impossibly hot and pulsating within you as your hips settle flush together, his pelvis pushed directly against your clit with the angle. It dawns on you then, amidst the haze of sensuality clouding your thoughts, that you’ll likely never quite get used to the incredible size and strength of him, and that thought excites you more than you thought it possibly could.

You sigh deeply as you give an experimental buck of your hips, the sound tapering off into a moan at the creeping pleasure that licks up your spine from the shallow movement alone. The calloused palm of a hand laces itself with your own, and your eyes crack open to see Rex staring up at you with utter reverence. The borderline slack-jawed expression he sports as gazes over your body promises to turn you bashful with the sincerity of its emotion, of all things.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it and it threatens to sap the final dregs of your bravado from your bones, your dominance faltering to fold in on itself. You counter his praise with another roll of your pelvis, only to whimper as he hits up inside you so perfectly that stars flash behind your vision. Your hands splay out against his chest as you work yourself into a sloppy rhythm, pleasure dictating the pace of your hips. Rex’s free hand slips down your body until the pad of his thumb can swipe against your clit in firm strokes, his ministrations still managing to drag a sob from your throat despite the slight quiver in his wrist.

“Fuck, Rex!” Your words are as broken as the shuddering movement of your hips and Rex’s other hand unfurls itself from your own to support your body as you bounce on his cock. “If you keep - if you keep doing that…”

He’s thrusting up into you now in return, grinding against your cunt so perfectly that you can feel your toes curl. His thighs slap against your own in a way that’s almost obscene, but it's difficult to focus on the sound amidst the way his hands work you in tandem: rubbing tight little circles against your clit with one while the other firmly pulls you down in time with his thrusts.

“It’s ok.” He whispers hoarsely to you, concentration strangling around the pent up affection in his tone. “Let me take care of you - take care of you the way I want to forever.”

The force of your orgasm knocks your head back and drops your mouth open into a silent scream. It ripples through you, catching the breath in your lungs and causing you to flutter around Rex even as you still above him. The increased sensation has him gasping and lunging forwards off of the ground. He pulls you against his chest and holds you tight as his hips stutter up into you harder. The newfound angle catches the both of you off guard and has you warbling his name with a sob, wound tight and shaking through the waves of white-hot pleasure bottoming out within your belly, completely and utterly overstimulated as you chase the light few drops of your release.

Rex follows soon after, yelling out as your walls milk him for everything he has until you slump forward against him. A plea of your name fades into a groan that you echo in time as he releases inside you, his abdomen flexing as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and delight in the way his breath fans across your skin and tingles over your frazzled nerves.

Your limbs buzz with fatigue as you drop your full weight against him, completely sated but exhausted once more. A mewl of a moan shivers from you as Rex shifts beneath you to support your boneless weight and pull you closer within his arms. His breathing has evened out much faster than you thought it capable of, yet he’s currently still clinging to you as though you’ll disappear if he relaxes in full for even a moment. His head rests lightly against your own as you hazily latch on to the exposed stretch of skin next to where your face is situated, slowly but possessively marking his collarbone in a way that has him shivering and tightening his hold on you even further. Your lips and teeth pair to stain him with a wordless contract that mirrors the one that decorates your own décolleté.

You are mine and I am yours.

The sun casts warmly into the entity of the cave now and you know that soon you’ll need to begin your journey back to Obi-Wan and the others, or at the very least contact them with the reassurance that you are both still alive. But alas, your mind is foggy with the lull of your afterglow, and as Rex begins to massage the aching expanse of your back and hips you find your thoughts occupied solely on the Captain once again. You smile, love-sick and dopey and so grateful that he can’t see your expression from where you’ve melted against his neck.

Though the rumbling chuckle that sounds throughout his chest and the twitch of his jaw against the crown of your head makes you realise that he most certainly felt it.

Surely the Jedi could bear to wait a few extra hours at least.

You certainly needed the time to formulate a stream of excuses for the state of you both, if nothing else.

#captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex #rex x reader #clone wars reader insert #OK I will let this man rest now #mine #rex

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viriyanon · 3 years

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breaking down killer and healer's "achilles come down" gifset

i just want to talk abt this [x]. if u haven't heard the song, please do now. maybe as u read this.

why did i make this gifset? no reason. i was looking up the french sample of achilles come down on the internet and when i read the lore that inspired the songwriter, lying beneath each word and punctuation, i immediately thought, "this is it. this is killer and healer."

so i just did it while listening to the song as i picked the raw materials. the french sample is an excerpt from camus' book "the myth of sisyphus" that i havent got the chance to read.

Je vois que beaucoup de gens meurent parce qu’ils estiment que la vie ne vaut pas la peine d’être vécue

i witness that a lot of people are dying because they consider that life is not worth living.

i intended to use the scene where chen yuzhi sat in the rain and yu tangchun blasted himself in junbai's ammo warehouse to represent this line but i realized it wouldn't align and make a great contradiction with the scene for the next line.

(yes my preference is pain)

i reread the line and felt like, this sentence holds much more despair than just a fit of rage and vengeance. it represents achilles' helplessness after patroclus' death and his war against hector that had become meaningless. for after that, he still had lost someone who became the meaning of his existence.

and i thought of zhan junbai whose burning power had to smother because of yu tangchun's death, aside from his failed dynasty and being stripped off of his wealth. even if he succeeded in building his empire, what could the big city give him? what could a bigger mansion do to mend his broken childhood? what could his power do to fill his emptiness? his heart yearns for love, to be taken care of and nurtured, to regain the childhood that's never been fully his, to feel a mother's arms again, but he didn't know how to admit these.

and it led him to the consequence of his stone heart. an unworthy life with nothing but the cold winter wind and pathetic death that noone grieved for. even the one he considered as the love of his life didn't want to meet him in the afterlife, or the next life.

zhan junbai had lost yu tangchun but he knew yu tangchun lost nothing. so he held tangchun's prayer beads, the only thing he could hold on to for a while to relieve his fear of death but couldn't be taken to the other side of the great divide, and ended the miserable life he didn't choose. the beads falling was a sign that nothing from tangchun would be spared for him to be possessed.

J’en vois d’autres qui se font paradoxalement tuer, pour les idées, les illusions qui leurs donnent une raison de vivre.

Paradoxically, I witness other people who are being killed for their ideas, their illusions, which give their existence a sense.

on the other side, there was jiang yuelou who was "killed" there too, after witnessing chen yuzhi's life force withered, taken forcibly by his archenemy, not by a peaceful slumber. and his archenemy claimed victory on that, saying that jiang yuelou lost too. zhan junbai killed jiang yuelou's dream and ideas of living together with chen yuzhi in the countryside. he killed the core of yuelou's existence, someone who had helped him become human.

for zhan junbai had failed to metamorphose into a better person and it cost him the reason for his existence. he wanted to drag yuelou with him too, he wanted yuelou to lose the sense of life that allowed him to dream of the sunset in a quiet countryside.

alas, he didn't know about keying. yuelou survived the grief thanks to her but deep inside he was already dead at that time. he couldn't let himself dream again. his city was saved and his people were no longer haunted by opium but his sleep would only be visited by nightmares. like zhan junbai, he too was a shell without gunpowder. his existence made less sense without chen yuzhi but at least, chen keying filled half of it.

notice how i faded all colors behind yuelou and junbai except red shades? yes, i want it to look like their worlds dreaded the moment yuzhi and tangchun passed away. junbai had more prominent red in the gif, symbolizing the blood rain from the people he had killed and sacrificed for power also his strength, ambition, and malicious intention. while yuelou had a more brown-ish shade to signify the dream that'd been crushed so he had to come back to earth and live his life as it is. also a representation of his resilience, strength, and loneliness.

Ce, qu'on apelle une raison de vivre est en même temps une excellente raison de mourir.

what we call a reason to live is also an excellent reason to die.

different from junbai and yuelou, i made yuzhi and tangchun's more colorful and flat. they were the good memories that brought colors to junbai and yuelou's lives. their existence rounded both the two men's sharp edges respectively. even though tangchun is not entirely sincere with the gentle touch but his sole presence already evokes a junbai that the executive himself doesn't know exist. alas, he just doesn't know how to embrace that other side of him who wants care and affection.

i intended to keep the colors because both settings explain what kind of story follows after each of them. both yuzhi and tangchun are under the sunlight, probably symbolizing hope and light to yuelou and junbai. but if you look closer, in tangchun's setting, it is raining while in yuzhi's, it is pretty clear skied. in some culture, rain that pours from a clear sky is named as "the rain of dead people", "fox rain", etc. dont ask me the origin i wont bother to go to the archive's building. accidental or not, it's really tangchun's part of the story. the rain can also sign their stormy relationship. as for yuzhi, it's too much of a clear sky and sunlight, like a day when everything is too good to be true and you should beware instead.

also, notice how the red and brown are kinda mixing so none of them are too prominent? and added with the reduced blackness so it gets the misty vibe? i want to make them look like a fever dream; something that's too good to be true. they are probably just in yuelou and junbai's head, pulling them back to the ground while fulfilling their desire of a good day with a good person sharing their dining table and food, and noone blames them for that. they are their ideas, their illusions, something they want to pursue, a dream comes true, a reason to live. but when that dream is crushed, they are back to the ground, to the painful reality, get punched and kicked and being told unworthy by life. that's where yuzhi and tangchun become good reasons to die.

How the most dangerous thing is to love?

this is a line from achilles come down that stabs me the most. i just want to incorporate this part to the gifset to show where did i learn about the french excerpt from camus.

i suppose this is the tang yuan stall because yuelou and yuzhi were not near their house when this tragedy happened. also, yuzhi emphasized that he wanted to eat tang yuan with yuelou when he's dying and the director showed us this establishing shot so, i assume this is the tang yuan stall.

this is yuelou's dream that is killed together with yuzhi. a dream of a beginning of a life that's not lonely and dark. look at the steam wafting. i see that like a smoke from a burned dream. it's yuelou's burning passion and new spirit are being smothered by the snow. and the snow represents that one phrase about God taking back an angel home (if you read my fic, you'll know). it's a picture of fate.

#killer and healer #jiang yuelou #chen yuzhi #zhan junbai #yu tangchun #yuezhi #junchun #killer and healer meta

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jasperswhumpjourney · 3 years

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Hands: Doll

There was less focus on hands than I intended. We are going through a heatwave currently, can you tell? Also longer than I intended at 2792 words.

CW: Slavery, Whump, pet whump, caning of hands, caning, heatstroke, dehydration, stress positions, male identified person wearing heels/skirts/braids, female whumper, male whumpee, a/b/o dynamics,

Measuring the passage of time was not knowledge Jasper was privy to. He didn’t know how long he’d been in this position, only that it had been a long time. Long enough that his stretched out limbs and back were aching from the strain of it.

Not that that said much, as Jasper was constantly exhausted and aching.

This Mistress, his second owner, was very specific in her likes. Specific, but easy, theoretically. All Jasper ever had to do was stay in the positions and wear the clothes she placed him in. That was easy enough, right?

Then why did he always fail at it so thoroughly?

This position, however, was only made more difficult by the fact that she had hung things from his stretched out arms. Two thick winter coats, each heavy in their own right. He was a coat stand today, one that had to work to be attractive and pleasing. One that also, no matter what, could not let those coats touch the floor.

When he was first placed in the hallway, positioned with his arms in front of him and stretched out, the coats slung over the fists of his hands, it was dark. He knew that from the window he had passed on the way here, it had been dark outside when he started. However there were no windows in this hallway, and no way to even use that as an estimate.

It had been a long time though, it had to be. His arms were past aching, almost numb with how they were locked into place. His feet were similarly numb, unable to move them even to shift his weight, but in his back built a sharp ache that made it hard to breathe. The heels he wore were high, thin things, hard to balance on and and sending sharp pains up his legs after a while.

Jasper’s world was usually freezing cold, and a thick fur coat like that of the ones in front of him an unachievable hope. Now however, he was too hot. Sweat dripped from his body. Precious moisture that would be difficult to replace. The warmth in the room was only exacerbated by the thick fur covering most of Jasper’s arms. The lace of the petticoat he wore itched, and the layers of ruffles only made all this worse. Mistress had allowed his hair to grow out recently, and the ends of his braided curls tickled his neck.

His tongue stuck in his mouth, dry and gritty, and his head swam. His starving stomach, for once, wasn’t the forefront of his attention, squeezing and making its emptiness known. It was the thirst and the ache and the determination to be good. To be pleasing.

Very rarely it happened; where he was able to obey his Mistress’ demands until the end. Those times ended with simple, brief praise. The most precious thing he could receive, the greatest reward. It was something he craved over water (what he wouldn’t do for a simple mouthful of water right then!), food, or even relief from this stressful predicament.

Somehow he had missed the sound of her approach. She always wore beautiful shoes that would make pleasing clicking sounds on the floor as she walked. Beautiful heels, but never anything like the ones she put on Jasper’s feet.

Mistress was already in front of him when he realised she was approaching. It startled him, but he was too frozen in his position to react with more than a widening of his eyes. His heart sped up, not with fear, but relief and excitement. She was back! She was here! Not only that, but this had to mean this was over. He had succeeded in pleasing her! Maybe she’d bestow him with a kind word before allowing him to rest.

He wasn’t sure what all she’d do, in his time as her pet doll he had only been successful twice before, only to almost immediately ruin it the next day. A kind word. Water. Rest. It was too much to hope for all three, but maybe one of them?

Instead of addressing Jasper, Mistress touched a coat covered fist and slowly pushed it to his side. His right arm was straight out still, horizontal, but now to his side instead of in front of him. The movement sent shocks up his shoulder and he couldn’t help the slight tremble that broke out while he tried to lock his arm in the new position. Before he was fully adjusted, she did the same thing with his left arm.

Jasper almost dropped the coats.

The new position burned his muscles and made them shake precariously. The disappointment was a heavy weight too. He wasn’t done. He hasn’t been successful. Yet. He hoped at least.

Only barely, did Jasper manage to keep his arms up and balanced enough to keep the long coats from touching the floor. Once his position steadied and his arms locked again, Mistress walked away again without a word.

He wouldn’t be able to last the same amount of time he had before. Not without rest and this new change in position. Knowing her, this is what she would expect. Jasper’s eyes itched with the want to cry, but were unable to produce the moisture to do so. He was going to fail. Again. And there was nothing he could do about it, but try his absolute best to obey until the very last moment.

At one point, Jasper stopped sweating. To him, it was a relief. No more loss of water, no more drops tickling his legs and coming close to making him fail. The way his head pounded and he suddenly felt himself sway, was not. Nausea built up quickly, and before he knew it, his stomach heaved uncontrollably. Miraculously, the coats only barely brushed the floor before he was able to regain control of himself. It didn’t matter, however. The coats touched the floor. He had failed and he would be punished after this.

It would be worse, however, if he gave up then. Jasper was determined to not fail again, to not dirty Mistress’ coats further.

Jasper woke with a violent start.

The world was heat and painful pounding wracking through his existence. He couldn’t really feel his body, not in any specific way. Just that the pain and the heat were overwhelming. It was a struggle to breathe in the thick, humid air.

This horrible heat almost made him grateful for the times when he was cold and shivering, even though they were both truly terrible experiences. The cold would still burn his lungs, making it hard to breathe, but the thick air felt like he was being smothered.

The next thing Jasper realised was that he was on the floor. He felt the brush of soft fur from the coats in a heap next to him, and it all came flooding back. He wasn’t supposed to be lazy and sleep on the floor, he was supposed to be good and hold Mistress’ coats up to keep them clean!

Jasper tried to push himself up onto his feet so he could try and salvage the situation. However when he tried, he found he was too weak to do so. Just moving his limbs at all felt heavy and threatened him with unconsciousness. He only stopped trying when his stomach heaved violently again. Nothing came up, there was nothing to come up, but it was painful and sapped what little precious energy Jasper had left over.

That was how Mistress found him. Unable to even grovel at her feet properly, though that didn’t prevent him from trying. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see further up than her knees, he knew she was displeased with him. There would be no rest, no water, no relief.

“What a useless coat stand you are,” Mistress commented, lifting her foot to give him the opportunity to kiss and apologize to her respectfully. Jasper didn’t hesitate, appreciating her kindness greatly. He pressed desperate kisses to her shoes, pink sensible heels that had to be more comfortable than the thin stilettos he wore.

The world was wobbly and tried to spin around him, tried to make him fail at even apologizing to Mistress for the disrespect. He sobbed tearlessly, desperate to apologize and make it right.

Jasper didn’t feel time pass, but it seemed a moment later Mistress was yelling at him. He missed something — missed what had caused her to switch from letting him apologize — to her shrill voice tearing into him.

The world was still violently swaying and trying to spin, and he was so, so confused by what was going on around him. Jasper didn’t know what he could do to mollify her sudden anger. He couldn’t even understand the words she was hurling at him, they were muffled and warped.

The world went blank again, refusing to settle or stay in any one place. The desperate struggle for air, the overwhelming nausea, the heat; that’s all his existence was.

A sharp taste filled his mouth and Jasper felt his chest loosen, just a slight amount. His lips were pressed around a clear blue plastic tube. He didn’t struggle, not even when the bitter metallic taste filled his mouth again. By the time the tube was pulled away Jasper was able to take in air easier, his head much clearer, though the nausea was still an overwhelming pressure.

“... useless… keep alive… expensive…” Mistress’ words were fading in and out, but the anger and contempt in them were obvious. As the world came back to him, he could pick through more and more of what she was saying, and could piece together what happened a bit better.

Jasper hadn’t been able to breathe, and he had been allowed use of his inhaler. Not only that, but Mistress had administered the medicine herself, instead of leaving Jasper to gasp uselessly. A true kindness, especially after he had failed her and dirtied her things. He knew the medicine was expensive, and he knew he wasn’t worth the cost of it. It was by his Alpha’s grace that he continued to breathe.

“... disappointing fuckpet. Are you awake yet?” He saw her hand move and felt the sting on his cheek, but it took several moments for Jasper to realise that Mistress had slapped him.

“Y-yes M-mistress,” his voice was rough and broke; Jasper’s mouth and throat had been dry before, but the layer of medicine only made things worse. He was sitting up, leaned against one of the hallway walls, and Mistress was in front of him, standing over him.

Mistress looked livid, and Jasper couldn’t blame her! She hadn’t given him a hard task, and yet he not only failed, he’d slept and used up expensive medicine in his attempt. His failure was so crushing, he couldn’t help but let out a whine and force himself to kneel in front of her, face pressed to the floor. He didn’t know what words made it out of his mouth, let alone which were understandable through his dry throat.

It was clear his message had gotten across — penitence, please please punish me, let me atone — when her fingers sank into his braided curls and dragged him up and along in the direction she wanted. His knees, bruised already, scraped and bumped painfully against the flooring as she dragged him.

The plush chair in the hallway was mostly decorative. It went with the art on the wall, the fancy wallpaper, and the rich wood flooring. It was a rich red, with golden embroidered threads in an intricate pattern. Jasper was hopeful of what this meant, that his Mistress would sit in the chair and spank him as he lay across her lap. He could handle that punishment. He certainly couldn’t touch such a fine thing with how dirty he was, crawling on the floor and covered in salty dried sweat.

A spanking he could handle, but the thin cane that was leant against the chair… that would be harder. He couldn’t help the noise that escaped his throat when he saw it, the polished wood gleaming maliciously.

Instead of sitting down in the plush chair herself, Mistress pulled Jasper around it so that the thick arm of the chair was in front of his face. She grabbed his hands and pulled them so that his arms rested on the rich fabric, his palms up and hovering over the seat of the chair. When she moved away he knew better than to move from where he was placed, but without her support his trembling became obvious.

This wasn’t good. Her plan was becoming clear, and Jasper didn’t know how he would survive it.

“Last chance, omega.” Jasper froze and ducked his head, ice cold anxiety flooding through him. She didn’t like calling him that, much preferring to call him Doll. “Do. Not. Move.”

Jasper’s arms were already aching and tired, and the support of the chair helped him stabilize the tremors of both fear and fatigue. He had just managed to still them when the cane drove an angry line of fire across both palms. It was a desperate struggle to keep them in place, to fight the instinct to pull away from such pain.

There wasn’t a chance to recover between strikes. The next came down again across his palms, but in a different place. He couldn’t move, this was his last chance to be good! It was so difficult to keep his hands in place.

Mistress’ initial focus were his hands, laying painful welts across his palms. Not only was it unbearably painful, but it was hard to maintain the position with his hands hovering above the seat. Red lines cut through Jasper’s palms, occasionally overlapping. Blood surfaced to each welt, just under skin threatening to split.

The first strike of the cane that didn’t crack across his palms was a surprise. Jasper didn’t flinch, locked into place and trying his best not to move any muscle, let alone his aching arms. It did throw him off; the choked off cry was glaring evidence of that.

However, as she focused attention on his forearms, that was a whole different pain. There was support, and it would be harder to lose his position; Jasper was grateful for these mercies. The force she brought the cane down on his forearms was more aggressive, the “whump” of the cane hitting the thick cotton of the embroidered chair was intense.

It didn’t end there, Mistress traveling down Jasper’s forearms to his palms, and back up again. It didn’t end until Jasper was a sobbing mess, still tearless from the lack of water. Several of the welts on his palms and inside his wrists had broken open and were sluggishly bleeding, threatening to stain the delicate embroidery. Jasper couldn’t move, he hadn’t been given permission, couldn’t do anything but feel the warm blood slowly slide down the sides of his arms.

The cane came down again, but this time it rested on Jasper’s trembling palms and didn’t move. It was a thin, light thing that Jasper barely felt but had to work hard to balance and not drop from his trembling.

“When I come back,” Mistress started, pulling his hair until he could see her face, how serious she was. “You better not have dropped this. If you are very good,” Jasper couldn’t help the small intake of breath at this. He would be good! “I’ll allow you to be my towel rack for my morning bath.”

Mistress’ eyes were a clear blue and gleaming, a soft smile on her lips. Jasper imagined what a reward being her towel rack would be, how pleased she would be with him to allow him this. Especially after he had utterly failed at keeping her coats clean.

Jasper’s hair was tugged on, pulling his head up further but not so much that the position became impossible. To his absolute surprise, a bottle of water was held to his lips and a small amount allowed to pool in his mouth. Mistress allowed him a few small sips, enough to wet his tongue and slightly ease the ache of thirst, before pushing his head back down to stare at his bleeding palms. The water that remained in the bottle was poured over his head, and he wished desperately he could thank her for the kindness. The drops were cool as they soaked into his hair and ran down his body before evaporating.

Jasper stayed where he was placed, listening to her walk away and determined to make her proud even as his head spun and his blood seeped into the arm of the chair.

Masterlist

#Slavery #Whump #pet whump #caning of hands #caning #heatstroke #dehydration #stress positions #male identified person wearing heels/skirts/braids #female whumper #male whumpee #a/b/o dynamics #lady whumper #alpha/beta/omega dynamics

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absoluteindulgence · 4 years

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Vacay Away

A/N: OKAY SO LET ME START BY SAYING, THIS FIC IS 2 1/2 MONTHS LATE. I originally wanted to post this for Black History Month. But I'm black all year so better late than never! Also, I apologize to all those waiting for me to upload, I've been consumed by Sims 4 and even made Mirio in-game lmao. If you have not finished MHA Season 4, there's a mild spoiler. Lastly, this is smut, so read at your own horniness risk.

Pairings: Mirio Togata X Black/POC!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Cursing

Word Count: 5.1K

As new graduates, the world was bright and shiny, like an apple ripe enough to bite. You decided after all the hell you and Mirio went through this year; it would be enough to graduate and offer Mirio a well-deserved rest. Too many nights went on with sweat induced nightmares with tears flooding from his despairing blue eyes; Reliving the horrors of fighting Chisaki, losing his quirk and his mentor who always showed him promise until his last breath.

Although you were at another agency during the ordeal, you always kept in contact with Tamaki and Nejire. At first, Tamaki didn't want to share any information, because he knew how it would tear you apart, but after he saw where your loyalty stood, he had to. You spent the rest of your days taking care of Mirio. By his side as soon as you knew his whereabouts. Staying in the hospital overnight, even going home to get a spare change of clothes, just to come back. You watched as he vented what it felt like for him. Not a single bone in your body blamed Eri; she was a child after all.

You still trained with him and even accompanied him on his internship. You knew he was capable of hand-to-hand, but what mattered was the villains with quirks that were life-threatening. Eventually, you laughed with each hospital visit and became well acquainted with the staff. After graduating with just above average grades, the two of you felt a sigh of relief: no more pity parties and sad looks. You two had to get away from it all.

And so, the voyage outside of Tokyo began. Originally you were going to celebrate by staying over at one another's home, but that wasn't fun enough for you; you wanted to feel free. Not just for yourself, for Mirio. He deserved to feel like himself even though he said he wouldn't cry over spilled milk anymore. You wanted to be by his side.

And so the bustle outside the city proved to be challenging. It took more buses than trains to leave. And even then had to take the abstract route to get outside of the town and into the country. Your breathing was more steady with the air being exceedingly more lucid, camping out to watch the stars shine, even being cheesy, mentioning the shapes found in the midnight sky. And the impromptu sexy times would be something you two take to your graves.

When you finally got close to the hot spring you were planning to surprise Mirio with, you admitted into the closest hotel. Luckily, the staff knew who you two were and gave you a week free, along with benefits like the perks of free food and massages. Unsure if that was related to filling a quota for the month or if they loved LeMillion as much as management said they did.

You two were starting to look like people who lived in the forest, eating off the land. So, of course, you were going to take advantage of the salon there as well. But you knew better than to go in expecting them to know what to do with your hair. You had your hair products tucked away neatly in your oversized backpack and had even taught Mirio how to handle your naps. He liked playing with your hair because he found it therapeutic and saw it as another way to bond with you.

Mirio's face of content made you beam with hope into his recovery. You were pushing yourself to get him out of his rut. You weren't sure if he knew how much you still worried about what happened. But you wanted to make up for the time that you weren't able to be by his side during the life-changing experience, apart from blaming yourself, because he told you what had been plaguing him.

As his partner, you did your best to assert the situation and go based on logic instead of emotion. But the look on his face, knowing that he let Eri out of his sight, spoke louder than any words. Having obtained Eri, and getting to spend time with her to build morale, was challenging at first as she was hesitant when looking at you. At first, she thought you were dirty due to Chisaki's influence.

After realizing that's just how your skin looks, she apologized profusely — not wanting to hurt your feelings and be accepted by you. You worked your way into taking care of her, although not great with kids. And since she was a particular but essential case, you wanted to make your imprint on her memory. She began to ask you questions about yourself and Mirio. At times asking the dreaded ones related to sex since she was around Deku and his friend Bakugou. You kept calm but wanted to dropkick the self-proclaimed hero with murder in his name. Aizawa made sure to scold him and tell him not to slip up on the foul language around Eri again.

As you entered your hotel room, you dropped off all the luggage you brought — yearning for the chance to feel warm running water. Mirio's breath lightly fanned over you as he rubbed your shoulders for you. He insisted on carrying your belongings before the trip, but you ran ahead of him with all your things. Even though your bags were more substantial than his one.

"See Sunshine; I told you to let me carry them. And now you're rolling your shoulders to relieve the tension." It was clear that he was smiling, with every grip on your muscles.

Your moans were soft, reassuring he hit your tense areas, "And yet I didn't complain at all like you thought I would."

"Because I was watching you." His light chuckles tickled the back of your neck, "And you're too stubborn sometimes."

You giggled under his touch, eyeing your heap of bags near the king-sized bed, slowly undressing. Slipping out of your boyfriend's gentle hold, you placed your dirty clothes in a laundry bag you brought. You needed to take a shower soon; you were getting antsy and anticipating fresh water from a showerhead instead of a stream. The life of hiking in the wild could only be so good for so long. Especially with your hair not getting enough moisture in the fresh air.

Fully nude, you turn to look at Mirio with a playful smile, "Oh, you think so?"

You were pulling your hair out of its messy afro bun while Mirio ogled your hair defying gravity as it did, it left a pleasant grin on his face. You gave him a quick peck on the lips before you searched through the bags. Looking for your tried-and-true skin and hair care products that were placed throughout your belongings. Speeding into the bathroom, you turned on the cold, metal dial to hot water. Awaiting the warm water, you tried your best to detangle your hair, barely succeeding.

Assuming the water warmed up enough, you step into the shower and let the water run through your hair and down your body. An exhale leaves your body as you peaceably scrub your skin of scum. You inhale the smell of your favorite soap, and your mind clears with a serene smile. After lathering and rinsing yourself off, you gently detangle your hair, working the shampoo through it.

The door to the ugly white bathroom swings open slowly, enters your buff boyfriend. Undressing to get in with you, he yawns as he wraps his arms around you. You hastily scoff and turn to him, his sleepy smile says it all. Mirio pulls you closer as he kisses your neck.

"You took too long to get out, Sunshine."

"Because I'm at war, right now."

"Is that right? Well, you could have asked for my help."

Mirio lightly patted your curly locks, patting them down and occasionally scratching your scalp. The feel of his fingertips was enough to make you doze and lose balance. Catching you with his free hand and pulling you closer to his defined chest. With a little giggle, you smile and gaze into his eyes, looking at the water dripping off his hair.

"You know, I just finished cleansing my body, and now I'm getting back to square one."

Humming a tune, "Is that so?" he replied lazily with his chin resting atop your head, "I'm sorry, Sunflower."

You turn your body around to cross your arms over his broad, muscle-bound shoulders, sketching out the scars littering his body, some light scratches others with a firm texture. Your eyes lingered all over him as you slowly caressed the back of his head, placing kisses all along his collarbone and neck. Stopping at his jawline, Mirio cups your ass with his strong hands.

He leans down to reach your ear, "If you start, I'll finish."

You raise up your head innocently to look at him, eyes armored with honesty and lust. Pushing your luck, you lather him in soap and rubbing his chest in circular motions, moving lower to his abs. Pretending to graze his cock, then lather his shoulders down to the wrists and giving eye contact through the whole ordeal. Your lips curve into a sweet smile that causes him to groan.

The motions are simple yet affect him like the ripples from a waterfall. You lightly graze his collarbone with kisses as his muscles tense, placing your hands low to his sides, tracing his adonis belt. A light sigh leaves his thin lips, instantaneously, he picks you up, pushing your tiny frame against the cold wall. The chilliness gives you goosebumps all over, erecting your nipples — Mirio's grip firm around you and his breath heavy on your wet shoulder.

"See, you're pushing it, Princess." His chuckle fanning over your ear.

A tiny snicker escaped as he pressed his lips close to yours, smothering you in kisses, eliminating any free space between you two. His cock stood at attention, the tip tickling your flower. His soft, thin lips left no part of your neck and collarbone untouched. Your nectar seeped onto his thumper as you whimpered with impatience.

"Fill me up, baby."

"Be patient, my Sunflower," He hooked his arms under your thighs, positioned himself to kneel under you while gently sliding you down where your inner thighs touched his cheeks.

Facing your pretty essence, he bulldozes his tongue into your bud. The instant tremor to your clit as your legs quiver as his tongue swivels and explores every part of you. The jolts in your legs leave your voice hoarse as moans break out from your lips. His obligation to pleasure you is selfish and greedy as if his way of controlling you is to give you what you want. Your body rolls as his grasp around your plump thighs tighten, keeping you in place.

Your soft whimpers leave him to groan against your tingling golden arches, "You taste so good, baby." He gives a quick love bite to your shaking thighs, still balancing you against the cold wall as you thrust into him enthusiastically.

His body tenses under yours as he pulls your body close from your ass. He takes hold of your soft cheeks and does a solid lick to your clit, making you quiver. So deliberate with his actions as he purposefully teased you close into edging. You start to whine uncontrollably and grab hold onto his hair to push him closer to you. Resulting in a chuckle that reverberates through your bud, your cry is sensual as you let go of him and hold onto your breasts, playing with your nipples.

"Fuck, you look so hot." Mirio looks at you from between your legs, his blue eyes peering into your glowing, erotic ones. "I'll give you what you want Sunflower, but do me a favor: Don't hold back. I don't care who hears, let them know who you belong to."

You stare back at him flustered, the fault of hot water, or the excitement your powerful boyfriend brings to your flesh cavern. Your nod is subtle, but he catches it quickly, sparking him to make you lose your mind as Mirio dives back in. Without haste, his tongue thrashes around, promising with each taste of you he'll leave you screaming out his name.

The morning after, your body felt tight near your thighs, wishing you washed your hair instead of getting thrown off. Looking a mess, but filled with leftover pleasure. Your voice was loud since you lived to the expectations Mirio requested. Clearing your throat did nothing for you, either. You tried sitting up in the king-size bed but was wrapped in a firm bear hug and a kiss to your fuzzy mane.

"Where are you going, Princess?" His morning voice groaned into your ear.

"Nowhere now with your thick arms around me."

"Because there's no reason to stay up, right? This is where the trip ends, and I'm happy with this."

Mirio snuggles closer to you, your heart flutters, and your smile stretches wide and goofy-like. You're happy that he's in a state of happiness, you can feel the radiation more than usual. "Well, actually, this isn't where the trip ends; I have one more surprise for you."

His messy blond, bed head shuffles behind you; he rotates your waists to stare at you, "What are you talking about, Sunshine?" He tries to rest his shoulder on the pillow while the other hand lays tenderly.

"Get dressed, and I'll show you exactly what I mean."

There was an exception in getting ready; you took your time fixing your hair into a comfortable style deciding whether to leave it in or out, Mirio being a sweetheart asked you to keep it simple to avoid what may come of the day. After leaving the room, you made your way to the massage rooms. The masseuse present was fair and gentle. Making small talk with you, one of them mentioned a noise complaint from an older man. He was complaining about his hotel neighbors yelling about mangoes and cereal in the middle of the night.

"I believe it was the third floor he resided in," The masseuse cooly responded while working the muscles in your calves.

A shock shoots through your body as the dots connect, you try to hide your face further into the cushion. Mirio laughed out loud, "I guess he was hungry but had to wait till the morning, you know?"

"I guess so."

The rest of the massage went well, laughing here and there. It was the most relaxed you had been in a while. You remembered to check in on Mirio since he wasn't used to massages and was prone to outbursts of laughter since he's so ticklish. After the massage, he pulled you into a bear hug and smothered you in kisses, declaring, "I wish it were you that touched me like that."

With more trekking, you reached your final destination. Mirio blissfully bounced about, continuously looking at you and back at the environment. "Hot springs? Oh, babe!"

He was so excited; he couldn't form any other words other than how much he loved you. He pulled you close, littering your face with kisses and tight hugs. Couldn't even break his grasp or stop him from being excited, Mirio treasured the way he would love loud, concretely when targeted to you. His smile was just as infectious as your boyfriend made a scene in front of the entrance. Older couples passed by with sweet looks, whispering to themselves, 'the enchantment of young love.'

Management provided a private unisex bath usually reserved for a group of four or less that pass by. Mirio separated from you with a quick peck to the cheek and sprinted into the changing room for something more comfortable for the water. Women mainly littered the hot spring except that not a lot of people occupied the space today. Leaving the worry of interruptions or disturbances to diminish. You were the first to leave the changing room, wrapped in your bathrobe given to you by staff, and you brought your favorite towel for whenever you would go to the beach or spa.

You walked into the unisex area, finding the way into the pool of warmth. As you found your spot, you took off the towel revealing your nude body. Sinking slowly into the hot water, the sensation of heat traveled throughout your being. You took your time getting used to the pool of warmth, making gracious moves to familiarize yourself with the temperature and size of the domain. Momentarily wrapped into a warm blanket of water before you could be covered in the embrace of your sunny beau.

As you looked around, the space was stunning; a subtle but luxurious set up outdoors littered with banzai and bamboo trees all around the wooden barriers. The stones around the water resembled ashy grey marbled crystals, exquisitely scattered. Swishing in the water, you laid onto a pile of smoother rocks. The rocks were gracious to your back as you rested against them. As you reached comfort, the blond-haired man entered the serene environment. His beam caught your attention as he admired you from outside the water. Your smile allured him as your fingers motioned for him to come closer. Not wasting any time, Mirio recklessly dived into the steamy water.

Face colored in horror as he sloshed his way to you, still smiling. Mirio used his body to cloak yours as he grabbed your ass, sneaking a kiss to your cheek. "Who knew you could make the water look so good, Sunflower."

"Since we took that long shower last night, you don't remember?"

"Perhaps, but every shower you take is noteworthy."

You giggled softly in his embrace as he chuckled in response. Hearing his laugh was too divine, while the smile on his face is sickly sweet. He pulled you by your waist, eliminating the space in between you and his muscular figure. He feels warmer than the pool of water you are standing in. You look up to allow him to peck your lips, his index finger traces your jawline, thumb tickling your neck with subtlety. The touch is simple but intensifies the pleasure forming between your legs. He pays attention to your face, knowing it's hard for you to hide your need for him.

"Are you that anxious to be touched?" His question was hiding a seductive undertone. He peers into your eyes while holding your waist with his other hand, pulling you into his thighs, not shying away from how you're making him feel. His hardon grazes against you, "Can't say you're alone in that, my love."

He trails his hands down your body, kneading his fingers into your inner thighs, rubbing any tension he knows the masseuse didn't work out. The motions are gentle but firm as he hums a little tune. It's corrective in further easing your mind. Mirio came closer to your ear with his hums, placing sensual kisses on the sensitive spots of your neck. Freeing one hand, he takes your breast in his grasp, lightly pressing into it. The grip is just how you like it as he pulls his lips away from your neck and hunches over to meet your nipple with his tongue. The first flick leads to a sharp breath of air. He sucks in your supple flesh circulating your sensitive nerves.

Drowning in the feeling of him touching you, it's reminiscent of the first time you became intimate, and your body is over the moon. His other hand cups your free breast as he smothers them in the kisses they deserved when he wasn't able to see you and had to heal. Mirio's sensuality builds within as he's already beading precum from his love throbber. The eagerness to touch you as he feels your heart beating out your chest eggs him further, challenging himself to grab both with one hand as he rubs your inner thigh in circular motions.

Too anxious to neglect or half-ass any part of your body, he brushes against your dripping essence, still rubbing circular motions into your thighs, pulling his right hand back close to your face, "I know I'm keeping you in suspense, Sunshine. But I can't control how much you're affecting me right now."

Staring into his eyes, you saw a light that was once dimmed, almost dying to a burning lustful glaze. Nearly intimidating as his hands roamed all of you since he could no longer pay attention to just specific parts of your body, he made a swift move to lift you. No longer on your feet, your legs rest at his sides as he pulls you close. Your legs wrap tightly around him as he places kisses between your nipples, breasts, and neck. Airy moans leave your lips that only he could hear, purposefully grazing his ear with your sweet sounds. Heightening his sense and forming goosebumps on the traps of his neck and ongoing down his arms. A deep grunt escapes from Mirio's thin lips as he balances himself with you.

You rub the back of his neck, a trigger that always sets him off. He breathes in through his nose controlling his urges. Whether the reason is the way you would tip-toe to do it, the feel of your hands caressing him or the glow within your eyes that makes him grip you carefully. No way would he drop you, but you could feel his urge to melt. While preparing you for what's been on his mind since entering the luxury hot spring, he prods you with his cock. Pressing into your bud to tease, almost tickling. Still breathing down the side of his neck, you whimper, "Mir, please..."

"Nice try my sunshine, I'm just feeling how ready you are for me, I'll give you exactly what you want."

Deliberately and poise is the impact Mirio places into the junction of your thighs. Your arms wrapped around his shoulder blades, daring to bite at his shoulder to make contact quicker. His thrust made the perfect adjustment to your sopping core. You are gasping harshly into a sensual moan, as he licks the side of your neck behind your ear. The sensation makes you shiver close to him.

"Damn, Sunshine, you're sucking me in. I feel so connected to you."

"I agree, baby. Now, are you gonna move?"

A low chuckle escapes as he grins, "You're so greedy."

His thrusts are scarce as he relishes your inner muscles squeezing onto him tightly, refusing to let him go. Without warning, Mirio thrusts deeply within you. You grip onto him tightly as he licks the sensitive spots on your neck. The thrusts match how quick his hips roll into you, stretching your flower out with ease. The muscle memory of him coming into play as the sensuality leads to chill all throughout your body and hardening your nipples.

Mirio's passionate grunts reverberate through your ears, sending the shock waves straight to your silk igloo. The divinity in hearing them makes your moans louder and higher in pitch. He holds onto your frame like he'll lose you all while hitting your cervix, insanely intoxicating. Your legs tremble as you feel your body ready to give out.

"I hope you're not trying to cum just yet, my Sunflower." Pushing his cock further into you with each bounce, fucking you speechless. "I haven't even fucked you into every nook and cranny here."

His voice in your ear made your pussy turn into a waterfall. The sloshing rampage in your pink pearl wouldn't stop as Mirio kept a pace matching each broken moan coming from you. Your thighs were a clear indication when the coil within you read itself to be snapped. There was no letting up and stopping yourself from crying out his name or how hard the pounding jogged your brain.

With his rod expanding within you by another inch, you knew he was close. Readjusting his hands to grip your thighs, not before a playful smack to your ass. You wasted no time hooking one of your arms behind his neck before he pounded your flower. Too delicious to feel anything but pleasure, reaching your peak, you take soft nibbles into his shoulder in hopes for the coil to pop and overrun you into oblivion. Your body shivers within his hold as your cup begins to overflow. You grasp desperately to Mirio as he maneuvers your body to bounce on top of him, continuously smacking your ass.

You jolt from each smack as you tighten around Mirio's love rod, making less than unintelligible noises. His smirk is hidden from you, but you know it's there as his voice reaches a level of cockiness, "I feel how close you are, Princess."

No time to respond with a smartass remark, you're too enveloped in the sensations given. Short of breath, eyes closed tight as your chest tightens, the pressure rises until it's too much to bear, alluding to the build-up of your cream canal. The coil pulled so tightly finally snaps, as your body unravels within your buff boyfriend's arms. The orgasm hits and sticks, achieving the takeover of your nerves and sinking your body low into Mirio as he finishes inside of you, spreading both your cheeks to gain control.

His growl fluttered your pussy as he filled you with his seed, his hands imprinting your pert ass as the force of his thrusts stopped his touch from being gentle at the moment. You wince from the impact of his tense fingers against your supple skin, knowing a bruise will linger soon. You let out a deep gasp as you stare at your boyfriend. He regains composure quickly while holding you, making a noble face, with a goofy smile as he stares back. You shy from him as his face is too angelic compared to what you just finished doing.

"Hey babe, could you let me down?"

"Of course, Beautiful."

He rests your feet back into the warm, soothing water. You cup his face gently, pushing him into the corner where your towels and bathrobes laid. Your legs wobble as you push him back onto your robes, eager to drop to your knees. The water rushes through your thighs, tickling you, sensationalizing your clit in the process. There's no other way to stop it than to stand, and yet as you're steady in crouch form, your mouth envelops onto Mirio's love rod. A sharp gasp escapes and a fist clenches as he restrains himself from pushing your head down.

His gasps are loud with each soul-suck you perform, even yelling out your name at times. Surely some neighbors are above and below, but there are not enough hands in the world to cover your lover's mouth. He stares intently at you as his throbber expands with each slurp you provide. You return his gaze, his face is overly flushed as he calls out to you, fiercely.

"Fuck, you look amazing, babe. Your eyes are so beautiful." The passion he feels within achieving all the pressure you put and knowingly feel like he's curling his toes underwater. He's so close you can feel his balls twitch, even his growl is becoming more prominent. You push to get him to finish in your mouth, and yet he advances beforehand, raising your mouth off his cock and turning your body around to lift you and rest your tush onto his wide thighs.

"Not so fast my Sunflower, I'm not ready to blast off." Mirio easily controls your body, keeping your frame close to his throbber near your slit, dripping with essence, causing him to slip in with ease. You gasp in unison as your rosebud tightened around him, "Damn, there you go sucking me in."

"At this rate, I have to make you scream and shout to the whole world." Wasting no time, Mirio planted your face down, ass up into your robes while still inside you leaving little time to react.

Without warning, he propelled deep into your dripping flower. The impact indeed rough was enticing as he bent over close to your ear, breath huffing as he kissed your neck. Jittery to your sweet spot being acknowledged, he stands to smack your ass listening to the echo through the resort. It's enough to rattle you into oblivion. His hips roll fiercely into you as if the spanking was the sound to begin a race: Whether it was against himself or you was the mystery.

On the verge of tears, you felt your body surge with mighty ripples of water controlled by earthquakes. A well-acquainted feeling, and yet it was estranged. You murmured how close you were, and Mirio's grunts shook you to your core, tightening around him. He groaned rather harshly as he smacked your ass again, loading you up with all of him. The coil within you once again burned, binding brashly.

"Babe, I can't hold back," Your legs tense as each of your moans shudders out your full lips, "You feel so fucking good."

The master of positions, he places you onto the flat surface of the hot tub. His intent to drive you mad working as his hands lay firmly at your sides, to rub into your thick, soft ass. He holds you from behind, drilling his love rod into you deep. Your pussy clenches to him with unfailing devotion, as your final moans end your build-up. You stretch your hands out to grab Mirio's wrist as he deeply grunts for the last time as he finishes inside of you again. His cock twitches with ferocity as he clenches your hips. His breaths graze the back of the neck roughly, you stand slowly to gather feeling back in your legs.

Your body tries to adjust to the position as you stretch as high into the sky as possible. But your thighs hysterically give out, and you stumble into the embrace of Mirio. He's holding you from behind with a tired, yet satisfied smile. It's enough to release a light chuckle as sweat drips from his now messy hair. You lean back onto his chest with a huge exhale.

"Did I go overboard, Sunshine?" He crossed his arms around your waist.

"Not at all, you went above and beyond. I can stand now, but when we get back to the room, I think I might pass out."

A hearty laugh erupted from your blonde beau, loud enough to echo, and you could have sworn you saw a tear from his cobalt eyes. The vibration of his laughter traveled to his chest, feeling like the ground under your feet would crumble, jumping your heart rate.

"I'm sorry for laughing, Princess, but I just think you're so funny."

"What did I say that made you laugh?"

"The fact that you thought you would be sleeping when we're back at the room."

#mirio x reader #togata mirio x reader #mirio imagines #bnha Mirio #mha x reader #smut #mha smut #bnha smut #absoluteindulgence stories

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elyvorg · 4 years

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Wandersong character rambles 1 of 3: Kiwi

Wandersong is so incredibly good that I need to get all my Thoughts about it off my chest by writing a series of rambles analysing its three most important characters. There will be spoilers, obviously. Plus, this’ll probably be kind of hard to follow anyway for people who haven’t played the game. Go play Wandersong! You won’t regret it.

(For anyone unaware, Kiwi is the bard’s canon name. It doesn’t feel right at all just calling them “the bard” for this; it makes them seem like just a simple caricature and not a complex and fully-rounded person with issues. Since part of their issues are specifically about wanting to be seen as more than just a silly happy bard, I want to do right by them and call them by an actual name. I was tempted to use “Lute”, the name given to them by the Let’s Play that introduced me to this game, which I still kind of think of them as, but I really should use the name that others reading this post are more likely to be familiar with. So, they’re Kiwi.)

2 of 3: Miriam

3 of 3: Audrey

Hero issues

Kiwi spends a lot of the story being bothered by the feeling of not being a hero like they so badly wish they could be. Although they hide it and keep being their usual cheerful self on the surface most of the time, the few times they end up talking about this, they lament how they’re not a hero at all, they’re nobody, nothing they do matters. Which is heartbreaking to see – because, really, it’s so obvious the whole time to everyone except Kiwi themselves that, even without the Earthsong, they’re already every bit the hero they want to be.

They may not be your typical action hero with cool powers like Audrey, and Miriam may also have powers and be better at the logistical side of things in terms of flying them places and knowing where to go next. But those aren’t the only things that matter! Kiwi is a different kind of hero who focuses on people, on understanding and helping and inspiring them. They make at least a small difference to so many people’s lives, just through talking and singing and caring about everyone!

During Act 3, after getting super excited at the idea of going on this heroic quest and being the destined hero who would bring back the mermaids, Kiwi ended up being really disappointed when they realised they weren’t going to bring the mermaids back and be that great hero after all. But ultimately, they did the right thing and respected the mermaids’ wishes rather than shallowly trying to make themselves look cool. They put others’ feelings above their own – which was the far more meaningfully heroic thing to do in that situation. (And I imagine that Audrey would have done the exact opposite.)

And don’t even get me started on the BUGS, which were the absolute perfect way to show just how instinctively Kiwi cares about everyone and everything, no matter how seemingly insignificant. With all the reminders that the Earthsong has never ever worked before, it’d be easy for Kiwi saving the world in the end to feel cheap and unearned. But the narrative does a great job of building up, through so many little things, that if anyone is capable of actually bringing the world together in harmony through music and connecting with everyone like they need to for the song to work, it’s Kiwi. They get it more than anyone else does. (And, well, technically it wasn’t the Earthsong they sung in the end, but the Wandersong succeeded in saving everyone because of the exact same principle.)

Another obviously-heroic thing about Kiwi is how determined they are, even when things seem almost hopeless. The only point at which they ever truly gave up on their quest was very briefly after the Queen of Chaos died, since they believed collecting the Earthsong had just become completely impossible. But as soon as Miriam reminded them that they can talk to ghosts and therefore there’s still at least a tiny chance, Kiwi got right back up and kept trying, and they never stopped again, no matter how small and overwhelmed and unheroic they felt. Which just makes them even more amazing – there’s nothing truly impressive about heroic feats if the “hero” finds them easy.

I grew more and more attached to Kiwi throughout their adventure for all of these reasons and more. They’re just so good! I was so, so invested in seeing them finally realise how much of a hero they were and become as proud of themselves as they deserved to be.

And, well… that part of the story ended up being a lot more understated than I was expecting. It’s only in their final speech trying to get through to Audrey that Kiwi expresses something to this effect: the notion that her being “the Hero” is just a meaningless title, and that if she worked with them to try and actually save the world and do the right thing, that’s what would make her a real hero.

It was probably spending so much time being jealous of Audrey’s powers and chosen-ness, yet frustrated about the way she insistently did the opposite of saving the world despite this, that led Kiwi to realise that the kind of person who shoots lightning first and asks questions later is, in fact, not at all the kind of “Hero” that truly counts as one. That really, it’s way more important to actually try and do the right thing, even if you’re just an ordinary person without goddess-given cool powers.

This is all directed at Audrey, though; Kiwi never applies those ideas to themselves. Still, the fact that they’re able to say that at all proves that they have finally figured out what really, meaningfully makes someone a hero, so presumably they’re not going to be feeling insignificant over not being one any more, even aside from the part where they really did end up saving the world.

But maybe it’s appropriate that Kiwi never quite has that explicit realisation moment of “I guess this means I really am a hero after all”. Because this isn’t about them. Being a real hero means making things about everyone other than yourself. And since Kiwi genuinely is this kind of hero, they wouldn’t make things about themselves like that. So even though this wasn’t quite how I was expecting things to go, maybe it’s how it always should have gone after all.

…Or, perhaps, it’s because Kiwi is too selfless, and they just don’t think their own feelings about wishing they were a hero are important enough to bring up and address at all. Not in this moment, or in any moment in general.

Too selfless

That’s the other aspect of Kiwi’s issues. They share their happiness and good feelings all the time because it helps people, which is a lot of why they’re able to be such a good hero! But they’re so selflessly focused on helping others that it begins to be kind of unhealthy towards themselves. Sharing their bad feelings doesn’t help anyone (or so they assume), so they just… don’t.

Kiwi didn’t truly get over their moping about not being the hero for several acts. Rather, in their own admission, they just stopped thinking about it. They started focusing instead on the things they could be happy about, like having managed to help Miriam and the people of Chismest. But they didn’t ever deal with their own problem; they pushed it aside and ignored it. That’s… not actually a healthy coping mechanism.

Miriam comments in the dancing conversation that Kiwi makes it look like it’s so easy to just be happy, and they unthinkingly respond with, “It is!”. And then it’s only after some more prodding from her that they admit… maybe it isn’t; maybe they actually have to try really hard to ignore the things that make them feel sad. But they’re so used to suppressing their bad feelings, so stuck on the thought that they should just be happy all the time, that they’ve even suppressed the fact that it’s hard for them to do that.

In particular, Kiwi calls their bad feelings “not important” – even though they readily acknowledge that Miriam’s bad feelings, and everyone else’s, obviously are important and worth talking about, because it’ll help them! But apparently, their own bad feelings are the sole exception to that. Kiwi is the one person who doesn’t need to be helped, according to Kiwi themselves. They exist to help other people feel happy, and their own bad feelings won’t do that, so those feelings don’t matter.

When Kiwi empathised with the bugs being small and insignificant, it read a lot to me like that came so naturally to them because part of them feels the same way sometimes. Not necessarily about their singing and their happiness, since they recognise the value of that. Rather, it’s as if the part of them that feels bad things has been horribly suppressed and smothered and treated as unimportant by the rest of them for their whole life. Which is incredibly sad and not okay!

After sort of confronting some of this during their conversation with Miriam near the end, Kiwi admits, “I’m the crazy one”. And perhaps they’re not precisely wrong to say this – turns out they’re pretty messed up, actually. These kind of issues could simply be put down to “because they really are just that painfully selfless” – and, I mean, Kiwi is – but in their case, there’s actually a little more to it.

Parent issues

The short of it all is that this is Kiwi’s parents’ fault.

Recall the beginning of Act 4. Kiwi has just been laid up in bed for probably a day or two because they were struck by lightning and seriously injured. Even though they’re finally well enough to walk around again, they’re obviously still feeling very down about something. Yet their own mother doesn’t ask how they’re doing, doesn’t wonder what’s wrong, doesn’t offer to listen if they want to talk about it. All she says to them is, “don’t go out looking like that; you’d look cuter if you smiled”.

Which, when you stop and think about it, is really rather messed up. Especially knowing from later parts of the game that Kiwi has issues with expressing their negative emotions and feels like all they should ever be doing is spreading happiness for everyone else’s sake.

(Their mom is perfectly satisfied with their obviously-forced smile, too, apparently not registering that if they can’t even muster a real smile right now then things must be seriously bad. As a neat detail, Kiwi will only put up the forced smile in their mom’s house, dropping it as soon as they’re not looking at her and putting it back up only if they turn to face her. Seems like they fully expect to be nagged by her all over again if they dare to not smile in her presence.)

I found this family interaction vaguely odd and questionable already during my first time seeing Act 4. What really clinched things for me, though, was the casual reveal during the credits that, oh, hey, the Baron from the factory – you know, the guy who was trying to force artificial happiness upon the whole town and only making everyone more miserable in the process – was actually Kiwi’s dad.

So, that Happy Kid toy he was making, which was (in theory) supposed to be a fountain of pure joy that would bring happiness to everyone who owned one? All those sales pitches for it sure hit different when you know that its creator is Kiwi’s father, who was almost certainly basing the toy off of his own literal happy kid. Happy Kid exists to make everyone happy! Everyone loves Happy Kid! Every family wants a Happy Kid! (And nobody cares about how Happy Kid actually feels inside. That’s not important.)

When they were little, Kiwi probably was genuinely quite a cheerful kid in the first place, someone who could make others smile just by being around them. Which apparently inspired their father to disappear and devote his life to spreading an embodiment of that joy to even more people, in theory creating happiness for everyone… except Kiwi themselves.

Little Kiwi was probably pretty sad about it at first. Their dad just up and disappeared one day, after all! But it seems like their mom agreed with her husband’s philosophy of how their kid should just be nothing but a wonderful fountain of happiness for others, so she encouraged Kiwi to suppress that sadness and all but forget they were ever upset about anything. When commenting in the ending that they don’t even remember what their dad looks like, Kiwi doesn’t seem sad about it at all. They don’t even seem to realise that not remembering one’s own father is objectively kind of a sad thing, even though they’re perfectly capable of recognising that Miriam being straight-up abandoned by her parents is sad.

I don’t think it would be wrong to say that Kiwi’s parents genuinely love their child, in some sense of the word. But my god, making things about everyone except Kiwi themselves was precisely the wrong way to express that, and Kiwi grew up pretty messed up as a direct result of this.

At some point seemingly a decent while before the beginning of the game, Kiwi moved out of their mom’s house and got their own place near Langtree. And I don’t think Kiwi quite consciously realises why they wanted to move out. That would require them to be able to acknowledge negative thoughts involving awkwardness and discontent with their family that they’ve been conditioned for a lifetime to suppress. In the credits, when their mom wishes they would come back and live with her (and their dad) again, Kiwi just says “No,” with no elaboration as to why not. They don’t mention that they feel really at home in Langtree, and they certainly don’t express the idea that maybe they kinda don’t like it in Chismest. There’s so much not being said about how weird and awkward and not-okay their whole family situation is, because Kiwi has unconsciously learned to not think about any of it at all.

The climax of Act 4’s mini-story, the scene in the factory where everyone confronts the Baron with the sentiment of, “hey, your forced attempt to make people happy is actually just making us all way more miserable beneath it, please stop”… there’s no way that’s not also a metaphor for exactly the kind of thing Kiwi themselves should be confronting their parents about. The Baron says after accepting his mistake that he’s got a lot he needs to think about – and he sure does. Not just regarding his town, but regarding his kid. The real one. Hopefully he can figure this out himself, and maybe share that revelation with his wife. But still, I worry that this bizarre couple might need someone to tell them this… and Kiwi, on their own, doesn’t seem likely to do that.

Miriam is the best

Good thing Kiwi has Miriam! She is the absolute perfect person to gradually become their best friend over the course of their adventure. And this isn’t just because the two of them can relate to each other over feeling inferior hero-wise, or being outsiders, or having difficulty opening up about certain feelings.

More than any of that, it’s because Miriam just so happens to be someone who is only helped and inspired by Kiwi once she becomes aware that they’re not perfect. In order to help her, like they always want to do, they have to actually talk about their not-so-positive feelings for once.

I cannot overstate how much I absolutely love this. It is exactly what Kiwi needed to stop being quite so painfully selfless and finally begin to become more comfortable with opening up about their own bad feelings.

For the first three acts, Miriam will get mad if you sing within earshot of her. She stops doing this from Act 4 onwards (except for a single screen in Act 5 when she’s upset about her broom having just been blown up). So it’s not that she has a problem with Kiwi’s singing in and of itself. I think what really frustrates her about it is that it’s Kiwi being so loudly and obviously happy around her. It must feel like they’re just rubbing it in how easy it is for them to be perfectly happy all the time. That’s bound to sting when being happy isn’t remotely that easy for Miriam – so naturally, she responds by getting angry, which is her go-to way of covering up her painful feelings.

It’s only in Act 4 once she sees first-hand that Kiwi doesn’t always find it so easy to be happy that Miriam appears to realise that their singing isn’t them trying to be obnoxious about it at all. Now that she knows they’re not perfect, it’s easier for her to understand that they’re genuinely doing it to try and help people rather than just to show off. (Perhaps sometimes Kiwi even needs to sing like that to help themselves feel happy in the first place.)

During their conversation in Act 4 as Kiwi convinces Miriam to help take down the factory, Miriam initially refuses out of bitterness. She feels inferior and useless next to Kiwi, who’s been going around seemingly-effortlessly getting all these Overseer songs and Earthsong pieces and generally just being way better at this than her (and why are they even moping about anything when they’re obviously so good at this?). It’s only once Kiwi admits that they feel similarly inferior after having seen that Audrey’s the real Hero that Miriam reluctantly agrees to help. Maybe Kiwi isn’t quite as frustratingly perfect as she’d thought; maybe the two of them have a little in common after all. From this point on, the pair finally start to feel like genuine comrades who are in this together and can gradually begin to become friends.

In the dancing scene in Mohabumi, Miriam manages to admit that she admires Kiwi for how they never stop trying. But as part of this, she makes a point that this is despite them being in way over their head with all this saving the world stuff, and that’s what’s really inspiring about them. Knowing that Kiwi isn’t perfect and is struggling with stuff makes them more inspiring to Miriam, not less! (…Almost like a hero? Like maybe they’re actually a much better hero than someone like Audrey, who really is apparently perfect? (She’s not, of course, but that’s a matter for another post.))

Then there’s their conversation in Langtree just before the end, in which Kiwi eventually admits (after quite some prodding) that they find it hard to share their feelings just like Miriam does, at least if they’re bad ones. They assume sharing their bad feelings won’t help anyone – and I adore Miriam immediately countering that it would help *her*. It only exacerbates her inferiority complex to be around someone who appears so perfect all the time, making her feel even more useless and broken by comparison. Seeing that actually Kiwi is also just a human being with flaws and struggles – that’s what Miriam needs, to know that she’s not so alone with her problems, and that if her friend can keep trying their hardest to overcome them anyway, maybe she can, too.

Miriam is the best, and this kind of thing is exactly what a too-selfless hero like Kiwi who hides their problems too much for the sake of others deserves to hear. I very much hope that this is the beginning of Kiwi making an effort to express more than just happiness more often, because they need that. Even if they feel at first that they’re doing it more for Miriam’s sake than their own, at least they’re doing it at all.

I strongly headcanon that at some point after the ending, while hanging out together being friends and occasionally talking about heavier stuff such as their family situations, Kiwi and Miriam figure out between them why Kiwi is so bad at talking about their negative feelings – that there’s a tangible reason for them being kind of messed up like this. And then Miriam encourages them to embrace those painful, complicated feelings about their parents and lean in to the frustration, because they have a right to be angry about all this. (She’s bad at expressing her feelings, too, but at least she seems to have experience with the idea that getting angry and frustrated can be a helpful way to vent about things that upset you. Being at least a little more like that might be healthy for Kiwi as they get to grips with expressing things that aren’t happiness.)

So Miriam flies Kiwi over to Chismest so that they can finally confront their parents and be all, “hey, it’s your fault I’m kind of messed up and I’m not happy about it, and I just wanted you to know that”. Then hopefully their parents can reflect on that and maybe try and learn to actually put their kid’s feelings first for once. And Kiwi… still won’t necessarily quite feel better, because things don’t just magically become happy like that, but at least they’ll have let out their feelings about all this at last, and that’s good.

Kiwi’s name?

…Okay, so this last part here is some wilder theorising that I’m much less sure is likely to be what the writer intended. But I still find it interesting to think about.

One bit of dev commentary mentions that no two characters in the game address the bard the same way, which I guess is a fun detail in terms of the wide variety of nicknames that different characters use for them. But what it also incidentally means, and I don’t know if the effect of this is deliberate or not, is that Miriam is the only person who uses Kiwi’s actual name.

This kind of feels appropriate at a glance, what with how Miriam is the only person who really gets to know Kiwi as a person and comes to understand their deeper insecurities, while everyone else just sees the cheerful, carefree bard they appear to be on the surface.

But it’s also a little strange, because you’d think certain people other than Miriam should know Kiwi’s name. The people of Langtree should, surely, if Kiwi’s been living with them for a while and is considered part of the town by now? The villagers all address each other by name, for the most part, so why should Kiwi be an exception? Then there’s Kiwi’s own mother, who, sure, has a pet name for them, but it also reads as slightly odd that she never uses their actual name even once. It just adds a little more to the pile of weird awkwardness that this family already is.

So, here’s the wild theory: Kiwi’s name wasn’t even Kiwi until they were asked by Miriam and Saphy to give their name. They have a birth name that their mother gave them, but due to all the unspoken awkwardness with their family situation, they didn’t really want to bring that name with them to Langtree when they moved out. It’s effectively a deadname (…not that I think they’d quite word it that way to themselves, because that’d require openly acknowledging the bad feelings involved). They just never gave a name to the villagers in Langtree when introducing themselves, and said villagers never asked, either. Both parties were happy to simply use variations on “the bard”.

Then, when Miriam and Saphy actually did outright ask the bard for their name, because they didn’t want to give their deadname, they had to literally make up a new name on the spot.

The way in which the game makes you name the bard is really unique. It doesn’t give you freedom over a full keyboard of letters, so the naming process is a lot more haphazard and improvised than naming a player character usually is. You’re likely to initially land on a name that sounds silly and not right, then have to reject it and try a few more times until you get something you’re happy with, something that seems to fit for the character you’ve spent a whole act with by now.

Assuming you do take multiple tries, Miriam even has a line of dialogue commenting on how strange it is that the bard needed several tries just to say their own name. Then there’s her “Welcome to the ‘team’, ‘Kiwi’,” with quotation marks on not just the “team” (because Miriam is not happy about working with them), but also on the name, as if she’s extremely sceptical over whether that’s even their real name at all. Like it sounds like they just made it up on the spot – and this happens even if you do come up with it in one try.

Again, I’m not sure whether this is writer-intended; it could be just a coincidental side effect of the way the character-naming system is creatively integrated with the note wheel. But take the player out of the equation and view that scene at face value as something that really happened that way in-universe, and suddenly it reads a lot like the bard is coming up with a name for themselves off the top of their head!

The only other in-universe explanation is that Kiwi is just being silly and giving random letter-smushes as their supposed name before telling the truth, as… a joke? But that’s not even a great joke, not to mention just kind of rude to these people who are asking to work together with them. It doesn’t quite seem in character for Kiwi to do that.

…Mind you, they probably wanted Miriam and Saphy to think that the failed names were just some kind of weird joke. Actually admitting to any hint of the awkwardness with their family would never have crossed their mind as an option, because they’re supposed to be perfect and happy all the time, right? So, no, um, it’s actually totally normal to make several fake joking suggestions before telling someone your own name, and also to have a name that maybe possibly just came from you randomly picking your favourite fruit or something. It’s fine, they’re Kiwi now (they guess…?), and they don’t have any problems whatsoever. They want to help these new friends of theirs save the world, and having problems of their own would just get in the way of that.

Miriam probably did write it off as weird joking, but if we read this scene in a completely in-universe way, I think Saphy might have actually figured out what was really going on here. She’s the one who asks to confirm each time if this really is the bard’s name, which gives them the opportunity to back out and pick a different one if they’re not happy with this one. It reads like she knows exactly what they’re doing and is being understanding and patient, while also not prying into why they’re coming up with a new name here when they obviously don’t want to talk about it. Then, once the bard settles on something, she says, “What a wonderful name!”, like she wants to help them feel comfortable in the name they just picked for themselves. Saphy is good.

After the ending, as Kiwi has grown more comfortable with talking about their issues to Miriam, I imagine they’d confess to this at some point – but I’m sure they’d also decide that they’ve come to be quite happy with their new name by now. It’s what their best friend Miriam knows them as, after all, and that’s what’s most important.

#wandersong #the bard #miriam #ramble #character analysis #friends #oh hey looks like someone else has hero issues this time #see how much i love wandersong?#eight pages of rambling about just its main character much - and i'm not even done

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Note

omg please may i see 14. “Ew. Get away from me. No– not you. You stay.” with Luba?

A/N: Alright. This got a little angsty, but I think I like the way it came out. Word Count: 1413 Content Warnings: self-doubt, drunken idiots propositioning, alcohol references, social anxiety

The party was mostly made up of industry types, everyone who was anyone in biotech had tried to score an invite, and only some had succeeded. Which might be why you were faced with so many angry stares. After all, you had walked away from this game what felt like ages ago, and still here you were, because an old friend - one of the few you had left - had invited you. And in turn, you had invited Luba as your plus one (partly as an excuse to see him in formalwear, and he didn’t disappoint in his glittering suit).

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes as you greeted the people you used to know, and theirs were just as obviously fake. The evening was full of small talk and office politics; at some point you lost sight of Luba as he did what he did best and blended seamlessly into whatever crowd he found with charm and ease.

“Can’t believe Y/N is here…” you caught the whispered words as you made your way to the champagne tower and your steps faltered.

“...coming back to work?” another voice murmured. You couldn’t be sure that one was about you but it felt like it might be.

“...rising star...so many doors open for them...can’t just unburn a bridge…”

Your throat felt tight. Of course things couldn’t possibly be simple. You had accepted the invitation out of politeness and curiosity, to see what had changed in your old stomping ground since you left to chase a passion that made you more fulfilled. And maybe out of a hope that there was some way to have the best of both worlds. You had always loved the science, the innovation and the way ideas bounced around labs and office spaces like a hive mind. It had been the politics and ego-stroking that you couldn’t bear. But everyone here was mocking you now. You were sure of it.

Tipping back one of the flutes of bubbly alcohol, you grimaced and then gently pushed your way past the crowds toward the exit. You weren’t sure where you were headed, but you had to get away, before the gossip smothered you.

“Hey! There they are,” someone cheered, entering the room behind you and throwing his arms wide. “Their royal highness.”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking, winding your way through a maze of cubicles toward the disused offices you knew would be in the back. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to be taking the hint that you weren’t interested in conversation and continued to follow, navigating the dark, open space with ease despite their inebriation.

“The sexiest, and stupidest, genius to ever walk these halls,” the second one, finished before taking a deep swig from the bottle of whatever he was drinking (probably vodka. You realized now that you knew these men and they always used to drink unfathomably expensive vodka like it cost nothing.)

“And then you just walked away,” the first, Tom, said, finally addressing you, and shaking his head dramatically. “Why would you do that?”

“Never mind that,” the one you now recognized as Andre added, throwing an arm around Tom’s neck and leaning on him but talking to you. “The important question is whether you’d like to add one of us, or both of us, to your list of stupid decisions you made in this building. We can’t top bailing on the best job of your life for wasting your time on whatever tattoo shit you’re doing now, but it could be fun.”

“Ew, get away from me,” you shouted, more annoyed than anything, throwing your arms up, elbows tight to your sides in a disgusted gesture. You tried to pick up your pace, stumbling in the uncomfortable shoes you had worn.

“Oh come on, Y/N, it was just a joke,” Tom purred. “We’re just ribbing at you. Have a drink.”

He held the bottle out toward you, almost horizontal, and you watched the liquid nearly splash onto the floor, pale green reflecting the low lights from the distant window almost prettily (so they had apparently moved away from vodka and straight to absinthe in the five years you’d been gone).

“No. Fuck you. Just get lost!”

You had ducked out of the party to catch a breather, and now you felt even more overwhelmed instead. Not by their actions or propositions. After all, you knew them, had gone to school with them and worked with them for years. They were obnoxious but harmless, surprisingly good guys for all their stereotypical behavior. But the things they were saying, echoes of your own stubborn self-doubts, stung harder than blows or daggers. You could already feel the tears stinging at the corners of your eyes but you’d be damned if you let these two, or anyone, see you cry. You finally made it to the more isolated spaces of the offices, testing the handles until you found one that opened. You hesitated in the doorway, until your eyes caught sight of another figure and you instantly relaxed.

Luba hovered nearby, cast in shadow, watching with concern, ready to step in, to be bodyguard or boyfriend or whatever you needed. When your drunk ex-colleagues finally filed out, heading back to the ballroom making cracks between themselves about how you never could take a joke, he moved to follow them, to give you the space you needed.

“No,” you said softly, catching his attention. “Not you. You stay.”

Turning back to you, eyebrow raised in surprise, he waited for you to elaborate, always giving you the lead, the opening to take whatever you wanted, to ask for anything. You stayed silent, but pushed the office door wider. Following you, he moved closer to where you perched on the desk, one leg folded over the other. Reflexively, you let it drop back down, parting enough for him to step between your knees. His long fingers framed your face, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” he whispered, and somehow you got the impression he didn’t just mean in that moment or for tonight.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close so that you could bury your face in the hollow of his throat, drawing in a deep, calming breath of him.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, as if there was a simple answer to the question.

“I…” you let the tears slip down your cheeks finally, catching against Luba’s fingers and gently brushed away as quickly as they came. “Did I make a mistake?”

You hated the warble of your voice, hated how small you sounded.

Luba frowned. “When?”

“Here,” you gestured around you. “When I left all this behind.”

He laughed, tipping his head back, fully amused by your question until he saw the way your face dropped even further and realized it wasn’t a joke.

“Oh, Y/N,” he sighed, releasing your face so that he could pull you into a hug. “Do you feel how miserable you are right now?”

“Of course I do?” you cocked your head in confusion, arms sliding up beneath his to hold him closer.

“You left because you felt like that every day. Don’t you remember? This building and that job were going to kill your soul. That’s what you told me the day you quit.”

“I know but...I was good. I could have been something.”

“But you would have lost yourself. And that would have been an unforgivable thing.”

“Luba…” you sighed. “Most people aren’t passionate about their job. That’s the sacrifice it takes to get somewhere.”

“Y/N. No,” he pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you too much to let you think that your happiness is worth giving up. Because it’s not. Not for anything.”

You smiled softly, a few more tears, these ones of a different kind, escaping and rolling down your cheeks. He leaned forward enough to close the gap between you, kissing you tenderly and you felt yourself melt into his embrace.

“Let’s get out of here before the jackals make you doubt yourself again,” he suggested.

You nodded, taking lacing your hand in his as you dropped back to your feet and following him toward the door.

“Hey, Luba?” you said, making him pause and turn back to you with a raised eyebrow. “I love you too. And, well, thanks.”

“Of course.” He squeezed your hand. “And thank you for letting me stay to say it.”

“Always.”

#Break My Heart Right #a little look into the reader's history #and also just soft comforting Luba #angst with a fluffy ending #Luba x Reader #Mute (2018) fic

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pridewon · 3 years

Text

"You're not the first person to feel that, Atsumu. Everyone gets that way around me sooner or later."

Sakusa made no effort to lift his gaze from the floor. what good would it do? for as much as Atsumu explained that he felt like something had been taken from him, Sakusa felt empty. breathing felt like a hollow exercise he was being forced to do. a penalty. he’d even caught himself one too many times holding his breath as if passing out was preferable to conflict. fighting had never been his strong suit — silence over shouting had long since been the way he'd survived. arguments were busy, full of too many emotions in a single place to be comfortable for someone so fearful of crowds.

I'm not leavin', so you can stop worryin'.

it hadn't been a lie, per se. lies required foresight. for every part of him that wanted to blame the blond, he couldn't find it in himself to follow through.

it was easier to blame himself anyway.

"I don't want to fight any more, Atsumu. I don't want to feel like this any more. It was good while it lasted, wasn't it? The new year is in a few days, and we can use that as a new start. You said it yourself, maybe this... just hasn’t worked out.” Sakusa felt the last bit of sinking dread finally drop into the pit of his stomach. Atsumu had said it, and he’d agreed. there was no going back now, no more moments of hugging his pillow late at night, hoping that things would go back to the way they had been, that he’d wake up and all of their fights, the loneliness, and the silence would go away.

or, maybe that would all continue. maybe he’d think about Atsumu for the rest of his life, fearing that he’d never capture that happiness ever again.

“... the longer we talk about it, the more it will hurt.” pull off the bandaid, Sakusa. he tried, with all his strength, to not be the small child, sick in the hospital room, petrified of the pain of pulling off another bandaid. he knew the nurses dreaded him; he never got better, he never stopped needing. old habits die hard, he supposed. he needed too much, and it had finally driven the one person away he’d convinced himself could stand him forever.

slowly, he pulled himself up and off the floor of the gym, dark eyes finally coming up through even darker hair. it was a mistake, looking at Atsumu’s face. they were fire and water, one raging bright with every emotion on display, the other placid, hiding its secrets below icy floes. Sakusa had been made to smother Atsumu out, and Atsumu had been made to burn Sakusa until there was nothing left but steam. maybe they’d succeeded.

“Goodnight, Tsu — ... Atsumu.”

there were no more good nights, at least none that he could see.

It’s not you, it’s me. How pathetic must he be, to keep his eyes on the ground when Kiyoomi spurts enough nonsense to make his blood boil and bile rise in his throat; Atsumu’s strategy in the face of guilt and shame has always been anger, a burning fury directed at no one else but himself. Sometimes, though, others take the brunt of it - Osamu, most of the time, his teammates, on occasions. Atsumu knows himself to be a faulty hand-grenade; and so he keeps his mouth shut, for fear of catching Kiyoomi in the blast of his own stupidity.

With every new word that comes out of Kiyoomi’s mouth, he sinks a little deeper into a terribly dark pit of his own making. Atsumu is the one who called the shots. He’s the one shooting them both down. One fell swoop, one conversation, is all it takes to make the final push over that precipice.

I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t working out. We just can’t do it all.

Suna had phrased it better than anyone, once. No matter what Atsumu does, what he throws himself into, there will come a point where his focus breaks and falls apart. A moment where he can no longer hold it together, exhausted, burnt out, from burning too bright, too fast. A volleyball game, his studies, his twin brother, everything Atsumu touches endures the same fate. Kiyoomi only happens to be the last victim of his inconsistency. It is only fitting that he would take his heart with him on the way out.

Atsumu’s fingers curl up tightly into fists. He has just given up, just told Kiyoomi he wanted to break things off, that he couldn’t - didn’t want to - deal with the arguments, the distance, the combined pressure of their relationship and volleyball; and already he wants to take it back. The words are right there, pushing at the back of his throat. He suffocates as he holds them down. He knows Kiyoomi, he can tell - he can tell who the other boy is going to blame, feels the rift that is just starting to open up, and he wishes, desperately, that he could say something. Yell, scream, kick, like he usually does; but he fears that should he open his mouth, what would come out would only wedge the knife deeper into the wound.

Kiyoomi stands up, and Atsumu stays down; knees brought up against him, arms crossed over his knees, like a little child crushed under the weight of a guilt and devastating sorrow he has yet still to fully grasp. Resist, Atsumu. Don’t change your mind. Don’t reach out. Don’t beg.

It’s too late now. You did this. Deal with it.

When the words finally leave his tongue, they burn through his throat like wildfire.

“G’night, Omi.”

The next time they see each other, it will be on the court. Back to neutral territory. Back to square one. Atsumu doesn’t look as Kiyoomi leaves the gym; the door claps closed, and so does a lid inside his chest. What is done is done, he tells himself, pressing his forehead against his arms until stars dance behind his eyelids.

Even without witnesses, loss is nothing but rage and heartbreak. At least this time the only voice booing him, overwhelming him, is his own.

@agorace (part two)

#agorace #(miya a; interactions)#anyway i'm gonna go cry in a corner #goodbye world

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cant-blink · 4 years

Text

It’s Not Over Yet

Summary: Something I whipped up really quick. Godzilla wasn't supposed to be alive. Ghidorah saw him die, so how is he still alive? How is he able to take the form of fire? And how will they survive when Ichi refuses to yield?

This was never supposed to happen.

The former king, the false king was supposed dead, and yet here he was, standing over him in a terrifying new form. It's been so long since Ichi felt fear for his own life, not since he was a child on his first planet. He was able to escape to live another day back then, a luxury he felt he no longer had here.

So this was how it was all going to end. Almost half-a-billion years of life, smothered out in this moment. So many trials he's overcome in his life, hardships of his childhood now flashing in his mind. So many lives he's taken, toyed with, the idea of his own mortality never crossing his mind. A Ghidorah is meant to be an immortal being, and to be slain as a full-grown adult was unthinkable.

Yet it was happening.

His brothers were gone, but their neurons remained. He can feel them still, the fear from San was intense and palpable, fueling his own. He is meant to be the alpha brother, to let his own fears not be known to his siblings, yet he knew they could feel it.

Ni's neurons were silent, as it always had been. Ichi wondered if he too was scared.

Self-preservation would tell him to yield, to surrender and plea for his life, his brothers' lives. He felt the neurons of his youngest begging not to die, to be spared, but San had no voice to make his pleas known. He wanted Ichi to give up but the eldest felt their chest tighten at the idea, his throat refusing to speak such words. His pride was always his strongest asset, his biggest weakness, and he refused to back down even as he felt the intense heat and heavy weight upon his chest. His defiance remained strong as he felt their ribcage begin to give way.

His own neurons managed to whisper what should be his final goodbye to his brothers, his apologies for failing to protect them.

Should be.

For the fates had other plans, and that plan took a familiar shape, a familiar sound as a piercing shriek cut through the air. The weight was removed from Ghidorah's chest as a red firey form slammed itself into Godzilla, the glow of its wings just as intense and angry as the radioactive titan’s.

Rodan was used to the heat, he was born of the heat, and his former king's new form did little to frighten him. His body was still pained and stiff from the toxic blow from the fallen Queen, but he still pushed himself to defend his new king, his mate.

Having succeeded in pushing Godzilla away, Rodan stood his ground between the two rivals, wings flared and toothed beak agape in a threat. Godzilla had one hell of a temper, and he would not take kindly to this interruption, but the pterosaur didn't care. He was not willing to stand back and watch his mate be killed. If he had to fall to save them, then so be it.

At the very least, it would serve as a distraction.

Without a word, Ichi pulled his mangled wings painfully against his body as he pushed himself back onto his feet. Retreat was not something he was proud of, but it was certainly better than yielding. Or dying.

All three of their hearts racing, Ghidorah ran as fast as their injured wings and legs could carry them. Even on the ground, he stood a fair chance of outpacing the fat lizard, but in this state, the fear of being caught was very real indeed. He could hear the roar of rage from his rival, and a responding one from the fire pest. He could hear the impact of bodies behind him, he could hear the sound of a charging attack and-

He saw the light before he felt it. A blinding light that engulfed him.

He felt the agonizing wave of heat over his back, and he instinctively curled his head under his body, mangled wings circling around him. But even with this pain, he noticed that it wasn't as bad as it was supposed to be. He dared to look back and saw the their slave has spread his wings to take the brunt of the blow, his rock armor now glowing red as if new from the volcano.

Rodan would survive, and it surprised Ichi why he would bother to think that. Not like he cared about the bird, who served only as their loyal slave to the bitter end.

That seemed to be the last pulse his rival was able to give, for his terrifying new form was gone, his dark grey scales back to normal. Even with that, Ghidorah was not keen to stick around and Ichi pulled himself from his defensive ball and pushed himself forward.

He could hear yelling behind him, didn't care enough to try and understand it. He had to get away, as far away as he can, recover his strength enough to return to the nearest volcano, and use its energy to regenerate his wings and brothers.

Is it over? he heard San ask in their neurons.

"Yes," he whispers in response, echoing the word through his neurons so the youngest can hear him. "It is over..."

They kept going, even when the noise behind them faded, they kept going. The pain was only getting worse as their adrenaline ran itself dry. Their legs felt pulpy and shook beneath their weight with each step. Their wings shot out webs of agony through their shoulders and chest with each movement. Even their tails had not the strength to keep themselves from dragging on the ground.

Their energy was draining fast and there was no sun to help them, their own storm having yet to subside.

At last, Ghidorah could take no more steps and they fell still before collapsing onto the unforgiving ground. Breathe, that's all Ichi could think to do. Draw breath as much as he can, for although they did not require breath to live, it helped in taking what little energy there was in this planet's atmosphere. Ichi's lung was alone in this task, and he wondered if it would be enough to keep them conscious.

It wasn't.

Ghidorah did not know how long they were out for, only that it was the hot gust of wind that woke them from it. It was terrifying, Ichi's head snapping up with wide eyes, fearful that the former king has returned to finish the job. Already, a Gravity Beam was building from his chest into his throat. It would be very weak, but it had all their remaining strength put into it. Meant as a final act of defiance.

But there was no sign of Godzilla, no vibrations from the earth to signal his heavy footsteps. Instead a shadow falls over them, and another hot gust of wind came upon their scales as a winged form landed by them.

It was the fire pest. He survived after all.

Ichi swallowed back the Gravity Beam, and growled a warning at Rodan's approach. He never felt so vulnerable, where even a slave could threaten them, and his eyes gave a brief flash. The telepathic wave of fear emanated from their broken body, and Rodan hesitates for a moment. Just for a moment.

The damn bird always was stupidly suicidal and now was no exception as he continued approaching them. Ichi growls louder, urging a wing to move so as to push themselves up, but no such movement happened. He felt his own scales flinch tenderly as their slave gently settled beside their left side, a wing moving to drape over them in a blanket. He used to always do this, something Ichi used to enjoy. The heat, the volcanic energy always coming from the bir-

Of course.

Ichi felt himself relax, his growls falling silent. The bird's natural energy was helping to mend their smaller wounds, and he felt the impulse to bite down onto their slave, -his armor was still quite soft-, and drain every ounce of life he had, regain that energy faster so as be at peak strength once more. But he knew better. The fire pest always was more useful to them alive than dead.

There was silence between them and Ichi felt nibbles on the scales of his neck. He does nothing to push the bird away, only hissing when Rodan got too close to the burn wound left from the pulse that took his brothers' heads. Rodan paused and then just rested his beak on what remained of San's neck. He felt the twitch there too, but San's neck made no move to push him away.

Finally, after a long moment, Ichi heard Rodan whisper.

"I told him you've yielded," he starts. He feels Ghidorah's body tense up and heard the soft growl from Ichi's throat. But he was not swayed. "It's the only way to keep you alive. I really don't give a shit if you agree with it or not."

"It is-" His voice was soft, too soft for his liking, but at least it still held the level of menace he needed to get the message across. "It is not your place to speak for us."

"Then you can tell him yourself, when you stop dying on the ground," Rodan retaliated. "Honestly, this is the thanks I get for putting my ass on the line for you."

"That was your choice," Ichi stated, lifting his head off the ground to glare down at the bird. Weak as he is, he was still imposing towards the smaller titan. "I do not recall commanding you to get between us. Only to deal with the insect."

"And you just expected me to let you die like that?" Rodan was still not backing down, always so argumentative. "I already lost one mate, like hell I'm losing you too."

Ichi had no real response to that. He knew the fire pest had some odd bond with them, a bond he readily took advantage of to command their slave that much easier. He didn't really care to fully understand it in the past, to understand this dedication to mates that the bird exhibited. Among Ghidorah, there were no pair bonds between mates and the idea was an alien one to them. The only real attachment they had was between the heads, a brotherly love.

Yet here was this creature, completely unrelated and just as much an alien to them as they were to this world, ready to give up everything for this mate bond.

Ichi didn't know if he ever wanted to fully understand it. But at least for the moment, he was grateful that it existed, that it allowed them to live just another day. It's not often he felt grateful to a lesser life-form, and his voice became a whisper as he fights through his pride to say-

"Thank you" to a slave.

Rodan blinked, having never heard such words from Ghidorah before. He taught San to say thanks, but the left head never actually said it with any meaning behind it. Here though, he knew there was truth behind it and he felt his heart lift to be given such an honor. He gives a soft smile.

"You're welcome."

Ichi doesn't look at him, giving a huff as he rested his head back onto the ground, feeling the bird shift to now rest his beak upon Ichi's neck. No twitching this time; already the pain was getting more manageable thanks to their Rodan-shaped first-aid kit. He lets out a breath through his nose and closed his eyes once more. With the warm wing over them and watchful eyes keeping a look-out, he didn't feel so vulnerable anymore and rest was what they needed to get back on the right track.

Soon, they would be strong again and that FALSE king will perish. And this time, they'll make sure he stays dead.

#ghidorah #king ghidorah #rodan #rodorah #godzilla #king of the monsters #kotm #jumping ahead in the story #may or may not be canon

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vampiricsheep · 4 years

Text

I felt like posting my own mordrem as well (I don’t give them nearly as much love as I should) so

This is Merlin, he was an excellent archer and when he succumbed to Mordremoth’s call, one of the physical alterations involved the fusing of his right arm with his bow. That arm was ah, amputated in a scuffle with some pact soldiers that he barely escaped alive. With Mordremoth’s defeat he was able to recover his mind, but his body remained warped and scarred. For the past few years since, he’s kept himself smothered in as many layers as possible to hide what he considers the obvious signs of a past he’s ashamed to have and afraid to have others know. He’s slowly growing more comfortable with showing some of his face, but that’s his limit for now.

His companion is a former nightmare hound that he’s managed to bond with, and the two of them spend most of the time in the shiverpeaks hunting and trapping, only really coming into town to sell furs or visit his florist boyfriend.

Quincy was mordrem from the start, and burst from his pod years before the Pale Tree’s Firstborn awoke. During all that time he dwelled in the underwater aquatic passages of Mordremoth’s jungle looking like some kind of monstrous, mindless glowing merperson. During the Pact’s march through maguuma, a team of researchers with somewhat skewed ethics captured him as well as other mordrem they believed to be corrupted sylvari and the group were subjected to multiple experiments and procedures meant to find a way to free corrupted sylvari from the dragon’s influence. Since he was never sylvari from he start, he suffered even more from these procedures than his fellow subjects. The most dramatic physical intervention was a surgical attempt to “return” his tail to legs, following the contours of what seemed to be their roots. While they succeeded in this much, the new appendages were weak and painful to use. None of the magic or electric attempts made to sever Mordremoth’s bond to him worked - it wasn’t until the dragon fell that he was able to gain a fully free mind. After that bond severed, he and another mordrem (bird-bureau’s Lyatriss) conspired to escape the facility. Without the researchers’ medical supervision, he had to use necromantic magics to keep his legs from simply rotting, and needed his staff to remain upright. Later on he worked to weave the limbs back together to restore the tail, and while this was also a success, his tail is weaker than it used to be, leaving him winded after short swims, and he’ll always have to live with pain in it.

Now he lives in the Wychmire swamp with Lya, and they very much enjoy their shared solitude. While he knows that not all people are as vile as those who experimented on them, he has little trust to extend. He does, however, use his magic to heal injured wildlife in his range. While the swamp is dangerous for trespassers, the natural fauna flourishes.

#gw2 #sylvari #mordrem #merlin #quincy bicolor #my characters #merlin is demiboy and quincy is ?????#because like. what would the purpose of a gender be to a minion #he was afforded barely any sentience when under the dragon's control - just a tool with clear senses and moderate direction and faint wants #''he'' was used a lot for him during his capture and just by strangers so he goes with it #but he's not physiologically cis #oh uhhhhh #cw mutilation #cw amputation #maybe? just in case

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sylaesschasewind · 3 years

Text

A Little Piece

That laugh.

A shiver ran up her spine, twisting her shoulders with its violence.

Memory, dream, or hallucination? What a bitter game.

It seemed to echo in her mind. It really wasn't so hollow here to allow an echo; in fact it was too loud all around. The clatter of dishes. Wooden toys being scraped across the floor. Crashed together gently. The hum of casual, meaningless conversation. It sparked too much thought in her already strained mind. She knew it. Fleeting concern melted against the analytical side of thought.

Puzzles were a crux of hers.

So went the evening. She chased away the fog of memory with... What even was this? Some kind of brandy? Sylaess stared at the rim of the carved wooden cup, letting the flitting shallow thought pull her from the darkness.

Maybe. It burned all the same. She savoured it. Let her eyes half-close.

“Oh. Is it bad? Crap--let me get that.” His hand reached out for the cup before she knew what he was talking about. Caught her blinking in surprise. But she released her fingers around it, offering no resistance to its removal. “Huh. No, it wasn’t.”

Syl pulled her hand out of his reach, shaking her head slightly. The boy’s brow was knit again, big brown eyes flickering from each of hers in an attempt to read what she knew very well was a neutral face. Oh. Perhaps he was owed a small explanation? He fumbled with the cup a moment, pouring more brandy into it. Making his hands busy. Embarrassed? Perhaps.

“I was... lost in thought. My apologies.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He looked chastised. Shit. She tugged her lips up in an attempt at a bemused smile. It worked enough to lessen his hurt. Loosen the tension in his shoulders just enough that he didn’t look afraid of being hit. Not that she had ever threatened such a thing, but she could understand that undeath carried a certain... reputation.

He shrugged helplessly, grinning back at her. That smile just a bit too bright as he put the cup down before her, and poured a sliver of drink for himself.

Dax. Sandy brown hair, bright hazel eyes glinting in the lamplight and a sharp nose. Well. It’d been broken before, judging by the lump on the bridge. Maybe it was never straight to begin with. But she suspected it had been.

Guilt. It attacked so carefully, like a shadow sweeping through. Sylaess cast her eyes away, down.

Noted the way his mother, thought she was minding the young girl that was toddling about with wooden toys had an eye on her. Wary as a cat, but with a friendly smile that didn’t touch her eyes. His father whittled at a block of wood. Concentrated, but in a relaxed manner. One that suggested he, too, was not all that relaxed. But it was still better than the first time they had caught up.

A deep sigh filtered through her nose.

Damn. Damn it. Why had she come back? This was a horrible mistake. The headache settled in on her like a crown. The slow, heavy thump of her own heartbeat reverberating distractingly. They were becoming too common. Nearly daily. Sometimes enough that she needed to take a step back, take a moment to collect herself.

That wouldn’t do on the battlefield. No. She shouldn’t think of dinner as a battlefield, either.

This was a dangerous distraction.

“Hey... If you don’t want to stay, I’m not holding you here. I know it's uncomfortable.”

She blinked again, putting away the baggage.

“Its not..” A deep sigh. “Hm.” She shook her head, stuffing a hand into the loose hairs at the top of her head. Tugging absently. “I didn’t intend to be so maudlin. Forgive me.” Softly spoken.

Two apologies in one night.

Daxius gave her a warm chuckle. “I guess so. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, how’s Stormwind? Everyone settling in alright?”

His mother was cutting her concerned looks from the counter. Shooting them when she thought no one would catch her. Brow knit, lips thinned, eyes tight with worry. Smart woman, honestly. Sylaess could empathize.

“I suppose. Lots of refugees still.”

It was the third time she’d tentatively taken the invitation to dinner with his family. Just as awkward as the first time. She’d stay just long enough not to be overtly rude. Just enough that he’d lose his worries and stop looking for her.

“Pay the price.”

It froze her like a knife to the throat. The slithering whisper.

Sylaess grunted softly, finishing the drink. Rising from her seat nearly silently. A ripple of concern and then the acceptance of departure peripherally on the parents’ faces released a lot of that hidden tension around her.

No, she needed to leave. She’d been here too long. Too many times.

“You going already?” Daxius, mild disappointment dampening his bright eyes. He hoped to glean something from her. Experience? Fighting tips? Something. It was silly, naive, and utterly innocent. Did he actually look up to her? Oh, what a mistake that was. Far past time she should have left. Like a sword hanging above her head, the threat was real, and imagined all in one. Tricky.

A quick half-bow, and she slunk out the door like a shadow. No need for words. They’d only take more time. Felt the silent sighs of relief from his parents. The fleeting curiosity from his little sister. The honest and mildly smothered hope from Dax. She knew she hadn’t succeeded in pushing him off. Not like this. There was a certain art to it, but she’d missed the mark heavily tonight. Shut the door on it carefully. Felt like closing a book. Wished bitterly it was that easy.

Brandy still flavoured her mouth as she stepped smartly away. Not rushing, but not dawdling. Away. Putting distance between the tiny little hamlet and herself. The warmth of the windows fading.

The sense of danger doesn’t fade.

Sylaess grimaces in the starlight to no one but herself. Breathes out a soft sigh, collecting herself. Pulling that warrior calm on again and again. A worn out garment if ever there was one.

No. There isn’t an escape from this.

“I call upon its radiance to expunge the evils that have gripped this elf!”

The struggle is worse than the fight in the surf. No blades needed. Hands slipping, losing grip faster than they can catch anything. Hair. Clothes. Armor. Flesh. The leather of her gauntlets creaks under the pressure, but the salt water seems to laugh in a burble, causing enough pressure to peel her fingers off like a handful of sand. It’s impossible to catch, but that doesn’t dull her efforts to hold it. The very same reason she didn’t make it as a mage.

The Knight doesn’t budge. Much. Some subconscious part of her witnesses her hands shaking with the effort of just standing in the cascade of Light. Her heart thumps wildly, the threads of power are--

Can she see them? Is this just her imagination to make sense of the calamity? It seems so surreal. Disconnected, somehow.

It isn’t her body anymore.

Is it?

She can hear Argonas continuing his chant. The words sonorously pouring from him just as burning as the conviction he holds in his heart. He fully believes. No--he knows the Light can save her. It's not a question. His devotion. His determination.

Sylaess wanted to scream. It wasn’t true! It couldn’t be true. The darkness at the edge of her eyes, seeping through the fiber of her being... The very ties to her unlife itself. All of it in shadow. All of it some form of...

Dark threads folded around her, unbothered by the absolute storm of Light. Reflexively, she clenched her hands as if holding them.

No; pieces fell away. Her face burned. Eyes felt blinded. But she could hear the calmness of that whispering voice in her shadows. The conviction of the Vindicator. The love he held.

Her damnation.

No; Argonas would be the best prize she could offer. More than enough in payment for the trivial gifts she asked for. She could see how it could end up. What path to take. What words to say. She wanted to laugh. Scream. Cry.

Surrender.

It would be so easy to fall back into the darkness. Let the shadow defend this... corpse. Let loose the weapon. Let go.

“Enough--!”

The sound of her own voice jerked her back to the present roughly. Heart thumping a wild rhythm in her chest, she hissed out a slow breath between clenched teeth and hurried on. It irked her on some level how choked she had sounded. How small.

The cobbles were always damp near the ocean. The smell of rotting seaweed and damp wood all bombarded her. Sounds of the city. Usually so unobtrusive. Not so much right now.

She had made it to the bridge into Kul Tiras. Guards eyed her with a mix of curiosity and alarm.

Couldn’t blame them.

The Acherian stepped it out, long legs eating up the distance. To where, though? Where could she run to?

She shook her head violently. It didn’t work to remove the feeling of the hooks in her skin. Paused on the bridge, looking out at the reflecting lamp lights on the waters. Rubbed her arms harshly. Maybe not warding off a chill, but the sensation brought some form of reality back to her. Comfort, if fleeting.

To say she missed Argonas deeply was a sad understatement.

It hurt. Vividly. But it had been necessary. Had his child been born? Was he still recovering from her betrayal? A quietly reverent hope pled that he had forgotten her, but she knew it likely wasn’t so.

She couldn’t stomach the threat to him. The last piece of a life she barely remembered, stoically friendly despite the odds. Wouldn’t. Refused it.

#sylaess #sylaess chasewind #argonas #whoops i forgot to post a bunch #here comes a landslide

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hajimes-erect-ahoge · 4 years

Text

Postmortem- Chapter 6

Kaito and Kokichi talk.

ao3

Ouma stared at the former astronaut standing in front of him, his mouth agape. What was Momota of all people doing at his door? And how did he even know to come to the emergency room?

“Hey.” Momota averted his gaze, one hand placed at the nape of his neck while the other rested awkwardly on the door. “Mind if I come in?”

Betraying a feeling of seriousness, his eyes drifted upwards to meet Ouma’s. Normally Momota would’ve darted his eyes away by now, but he held on firmly, searching for any hint of emotion on the other boy’s face. Ouma rolled his eyes and spun on his heel, heading back to his bed.

“Sure. Whatever.”

Ouma paused for a moment before continuing to his bed.

“As long as you promise not to kill me again.” He smirked, collapsing onto the bed. Ouma could only imagine the grimace on Momota’s face.

As much as he wanted to shoo him away, Ouma knew that there was no changing Momota’s mind when he was set on something, his stubbornness rivaling even his own. Fatigue dominating his brain, he reluctantly let the other boy enter the room. He promptly smothered his face into the pillow, trying to forget that Momota was even there or that this conversation was even happening.

Ouma knew where this was going; Momota was so easy to read and straightforward that such an encounter was to be expected. What Ouma didn’t expect, however, was for Momota to confront him in the emergency room, where he was supposed to be hidden away from the others. After momentarily being taken aback, Ouma composed himself and prepared himself for the unavoidable.

A brief silence flickered between them, save for the noise of Momota pulling over and seating himself in a chair besides Ouma’s bed.

“I’m sorry about what happened in the dining hall the other day. Maki Roll, she…” Another pause. “None of us thought that you would end up in here.”

Ouma shifted in his bed, laying on his side facing away from Momota.

Momota sighed at the lack of a response.

“Look, man. I know you don’t wanna talk about this kinda stuff with me, but…”

Propping himself up on one elbow, Ouma turned to partially face Momota.

“But what?”

While Momota seemed to be searching for the right words, Ouma took the time to analyze Momota’s facial expression and body language. He was seated in the chair with both legs apart, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. Momota’s eyes were glued onto his hands, his expression pensive.

“I heard you screaming at the nurses the other day. That’s when one ‘em came out of your room and told me what was going on. I just...” He tapped his fingers together, his body itching for relief from the awkward feeling in the room. “I just can’t relax, knowin’ that you’re suffering cuz of the rest of us.”

“So you’re here because you pity me?” Ouma deadpanned. “Because you feel bad for the odd man out?” Ouma sat up, turning his body fully towards Momota. “Because you feel guilty for killing me?”

Bullseye.

Momota’s fierce gaze had returned, boring into Ouma’s soul, seeping into his skin and mixing into his veins. Seeing Momota so utterly furious at him ignited something within Ouma, an impish desire to taunt the other boy that he just couldn’t resist festering within him.

“I’m bein’ serious, Ouma!” Momota ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “You can’t just fucking kill yourself! This is the real world! You’ll be gone forever if you do something like that!”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point, ya know?” Ouma chirped, elongating his words. “But don’t get me wrong, Momota-chan!” He brought a finger to his lips, smiling deviously. “You don’t really give two shits about me. You’re only here to help yourself get over the guilt of killing me during the simulation. How selfish.”

“You little-” Momota cut himself off with another sigh. “Listen. I just wanted to check up on you after seeing what happened. I know you don’t want to hear this from me but we would be seriously upset if something happened to you.”

Ouma snorted. “Oh, suuuure! Everyone cares if Gonta and Iruma-chan’s murderer decides to off himself. Man, I’m sure Harukawa-chan and the others would be just devastated!” He snickered to himself before continuing. “Just be honest with yourself, Momota-chan… If I were to kill myself you would feel guilty, and you can’t take living with that kind of blame. Not after what you did to me during the killing game.”

Momota just shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

“Whaaaat? So you wouldn’t feel guilty if I killed myself? Geez, you’re way more heartless than I-”

“I’m not talking about that!” Momota pounded his fists on his knees, furrowing his eyebrows in frustration. “I mean that you’re wrong about thinking of yourself as the villain! You were just as scared as the rest of us! All you were trying to do was end the killing game!”

Ouma clicked his tongue and smirked. “Silly Momota-chan… Don’t tell me you actually believe what I said to you in the hangar!” He giggled and looked up, expecting to see a Momota seething with anger and about to walk out the door. Instead, what he got was a pitiful expression, and god did he hate having that sympathetic look directed towards him.

He got it from the nurses who entered his room where he isolated himself, from Saihara and Akamatsu helping him to his feet in the dining hall after Harukawa threatened him, and now from freaking Momota. That stupid look that just screams “Poor Ouma… If only he had succeeded in fooling the mastermind… if only he hadn’t sacrificed himself so tragically for the sake of his plan… if only he wasn’t so weak and helpless.”

“Of course I believe what you said!” Overly optimistic Momota was back in full force, pounding his fists together with that determined smile plastered on his face. “Why else would I have cooperated with your plan?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Ouma tapped his chin in mock thought. “Maybe because I blackmailed you using Harukawa-chan? Or was it because I knew that an idiot like you would believe such an obvious lie as me wanting to end the killing game?” Pfft, as if! I never wanted the killing game to end to begin with! I looooved-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Ouma just stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You do?”

“Of course I do! You’re too scared of being vulnerable or whatever so you cover it up with this whole ‘evil persona’ of yours… It’s pretty easy to see through you at this point, after… you know...”

“I told you, Momota-chan…” Ouma grit his teeth, resisting the urge to tear Momota into pieces. “I was lying! I never have two shits about ending the killing game!”

Momota sighed.

“Whatever… I’m not the person cut out for this. If I can’t get you to admit your true feelings then I’ll just have to rely on…” Momota paused for a second, deciding to retract his previous sentence. “Never mind. But I promise you!” He stood up, holding a fist to his chest. “I’ll take down that mask of yours sooner or later!”

Ouma shot him a disgusted look as he made his way towards the exit.

Momota placed one hand on the door before looking back at Ouma.

“Feel better, dude!” He flashed him a smile and a thumbs up before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

…

And just like that, Kokichi Ouma was alone once again.

That damn Momota-chan… Thinking he can just come in here and try and get a read on me. Who the hell does he think he is?

Ouma laid down again, pulling the shitty hospital sheets over his head.

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel like crying. Rather, he just felt empty, like all the energy had been taken out of him. Maybe talking to Momota was just that emotionally taxing.

Of course stupid Momota just had to come in here and try to have a serious conversation with him and he just had to overhear him screaming at the nurses to just let him fucking kill himself. Knowing Momota, their whole class probably knew about the whole ordeal already, and was silently wishing that Ouma had succeeded in killing himself. No one wanted or needed him around anyway.

...Should he have told the truth back there? Maybe just say fuck it and tell Momota that yes, of course he wanted to end the fucking killing game just like everyone else, and then have Momota run along and tell his “sidekicks” about what happened only for Harukawa to dismiss it as yet another lie and for Saihara to…

…

Saihara.

Stupid old Shuichi Saihara.

How would he react?

Stupid Shuichi Saihara, who probably hates Ouma’s guts for what he did during the killing game.

Stupid Shuichi Saihara, who isn’t so stupid at all and carried everyone through every trial.

Stupid Shuichi Saihara and his stupid long eyelashes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Maybe Momota was telling the truth. Maybe all the others really had forgiven him for his actions, including Saihara. Maybe Saihara and Ouma could become friends and bond over the killing game, and Ouma could gush about how he was proud of Saihara for ending the killing game, and then they could-

...As if. Momota-chan was definitely lying. There’s no way that Saihara-chan would ever forgive me, let alone want to be friends with me.

...Why do I even want to be friends with him anyway? It’s not like I like him or anything like that… Kokichi Ouma does not have crushes… especially not on handsome, smart detectives who play along with all of your games, and who bandage your hand after you accidentally cut yourself and who-

…

Yep. Definitely not a crush.

Ouma sighed, rolling over in his bed and willing himself to sleep, suddenly exhausted. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed him.

And in his dreams was Saihara, mercury eyes alight with passion as he cradled Ouma lovingly, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

In this particular dream, like many others, Ouma has no fear of opening up to Saihara, as he already knows all there is to know about him. They simply coexist, souls mingling and dancing with one another.

Clutching onto the bed sheets, Ouma peacefully snored, dreaming about a world that wasn’t as far off as he thought it was.

#ITS FINALLY HERE #ahahahaha #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #kokichi oma #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #kaito momota #maki harukawa #oumasai #saiouma #postmortem #my writing

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kmomof4 · 4 years

Text

Operation Secret Santa

And that is not just the title to the fic! Hello @teeandsnowflakes, I was your CS Secret Santa this year! It’s been so much fun chatting with you this month! I hope you’re enjoying your Christmas break and that you like this little fic I’ve written for you! I had planned a series of scenes showcasing CS getting ready for the holidays, but then presents showed up and the fic went in an entirely new direction. I still tried to incorporate some of your favorite Christmas things though and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you! I also hope you have a wonderful Christmas! Thank you to @cssecretsanta2k19 for organizing this fun event and to @profdanglaisstuff for beta services!

And now for your gift Tee! Merry Christmas!!!

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

ao3 link

Operation Secret Santa “Just a little more to the right, Killian,” Emma instructed, waving her hands in front of her as if her husband, who was currently hidden behind the newly cut Christmas tree, could see her.

Killian spit out the pine needles that he’d gotten a mouthful of as he tilted the tree to the right. He was so surrounded by the spicy scent of pine and scratchy branches that he could barely tell which way was up, much less whether it was straight or not.

“No, no, no Killian, the other right… my right,” she admonished, when the tree hovered precariously near the point of no return in its potential, imminent journey to the floor.

Killian huffed. “Well, how am I supposed to know that darling?” he groused affectionately as he straightened the tree up in the stand. “Ok lad, crawl under there and screw the trunk in place,” he said to Henry who was trying desperately, but unsuccessfully, to smother his laughter at his mother, who looked to him to be trying to take flight, and his step-father who he couldn’t even see properly behind the evergreen.

Henry crawled underneath the tree and proceeded to twist the screws into the trunk. Crawling back out, he was greeted with bright, happy smiles from his parents that he immediately returned. He turned around with a flourish of his arm. “Behold, the first annual Swan-Jones Christmas tree! Now for lights and ornaments!” He dashed off toward the basement to collect the boxes of decorations that had come with them from New York and that he and Emma had collected after the Final Battle in anticipation of their first Christmas as a fully intact family.

“Need some help, lad,” Killian called down when the teenager didn’t immediately reappear.

“Uh, yeah,” Henry called back, a note of, something, in his voice. “There’s more down here than I remember.”

With a cheeky grin at his wife, Killian sauntered over to the basement and disappeared down the stairs.

When Killian also didn’t reappear, Emma started down the stairs. “What’s taking you guys so lo- ohhh!” she exclaimed. For in front of her eyes and filling the basement were boxes upon boxes of not just Christmas decorations, but presents. Lots and lots of presents. Wrapped up in brightly colored paper, topped with sparkly bows and tags with the names Emma, Henry, and Killian.

Emma stared, slack jawed at the sight. There were enough presents here to make up for all the lonely years growing up when she was lucky if she got one present. And as an adult as well, when the only presents she ever got was if she bought them herself. Killian moved forward from the foot of the stairs to the first gift with his name on it. He ripped the paper and deftly opened the box with his hook. Looking inside, his eyes got as big as, well, a child’s at Christmas. His mouth opened and shut several times, before she finally asked, “What is it?”

He swallowed heavily before bringing it over to them. Peering down into the box, they found a soft, black teddy bear. A bear that was missing an eye, but otherwise was completely whole. Tears were gathering in his eyes as he explained, “He was mine… be…” he rubbed his hand over his face before continuing, “before Flint threw him overboard. Said only babies had those. I remember the day he lost the eye. I just couldn’t leave the loose thread alone and it came off in my hand. I cried for hours thinking I’d ruined him.” Emma gathered him in her arms as a barking sob escaped him. “I never thought I’d see him again,” he cried, his words muffled into her shoulder. “Where did this come from?” He raised his head from her shoulder and turned his inquiring eyes back to the piles of boxes.

Emma shook her head slowly. “I have no idea, Killian,” she said in awe, slowly making her way over to a gift with her name on it. After opening her own, she could feel her own tears gathering. She could feel her husband and son come up behind her on either side before she turned to them. “It’s a wooden music box. I remember seeing it in a catalog when I was about 10. It had Disney characters carved into the sides and played “When You Wish Upon a Star.” I remember thinking that surely wishing on a star and having that music box would mean that my parents would find me and take me home.” Now it was her turn to be enveloped in two pairs of strong arms and to feel the tears escape.

“And now you have, Swan,” Killian murmured into her hair before placing a gentle kiss there. “Your turn lad,” he nodded, encouragingly.

Henry untangled himself from their embrace and slowly walked to the pile of presents. Picking up a large gaily decorated box, he opened it. Inside he found The Chronicles of Narnia. The entire series. In hardback. He held up The Magician’s Nephew to his parents, stunned. “This was at the top of my Christmas list when I was eight. My other mom never really listened to what I wanted for Christmas or birthdays before I brought you home, Mom. I think she gave me a remote control car for Christmas that year. Along with an art set and some other books that I couldn’t care less about. How can this be?” he asked, incredulously. “Could Santa be real too?”

“Given the denizens of our fair hamlet, I’d have to admit to a sneaking suspicion that he is,” Killian speculated.

“But who?” Emma interjected. “Who could it be?” She turned her emerald gaze upon Killian first, then Henry.

A smirk broke Henry’s face and his eyes twinkled. “Sounds like Operation Secret Santa to me!”

Killian’s anticipatory grin could have lit up the Christmas tree all by itself. “A fine name for the operation, my boy!” He turned his eyes upon Emma. “Are you in, Swan?” he asked.

“Are you kidding?” she barked, “I’m the OG Operation cohort! Of course, I’m in!”

“All right!” Henry gave an enthusiastic fist pump. “Let’s get the rest of these gifts upstairs and the tree decorated, then Operation Secret Santa can commence!”

“Let’s go,” Emma agreed. Picking up as many boxes as they could hold, they moved back to the main floor of the house.

~*~*~

All of Storybrooke had gathered at Granny’s on Christmas Eve for a blowout Christmas party that rivaled any yuletide ball held in the Enchanted Forest. This was the first time since the original curse broke that they’d been able to celebrate Christmas, what with villians running amok and general magical mayhem. Granny’s was decorated with every tacky Christmas decoration you could possibly think of, from the tree in the corner covered with brightly colored lights, balls, and tinsel, tinseled garlands strung across the windows to the kitchen, balls of holly and mistletoe holding up the garlands and in every doorway, fake snow on the counters and a fairytale village in the front window. With the jukebox playing Celine Dion’s recording of O Holy Night, Emma looked around at all her friends and family talking, dancing, and eating their way through Granny’s bountiful Christmas buffet. Catching Henry’s eye, she joined him at the jukebox.

“Well?” she asked, “What do you think? Have you gathered any clues on who Santa could be?”

“None,” he answered. “But, everyone has had the same thing that happened to us, happen to them.”

“Really,” Emma exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he began, “Ashley, Shawn, and even Alexandra got a pile of presents. Ariel and Eric, Grandma and Grandpa, Mom, Zelena, and Robin, Archie, Pongo, even the fairies! No one’s been left out.”

“Hmmmm…”

“But, from what I can tell, everyone’s gotten presents based on the years of the curse, or…” he trailed away with a puzzled look on his brow, “their years as a hero. For instance, Mom only had six presents, the years since the curse broke, and Zelena had even less, but Robin had two, since she’s two. You had thirty-four, the years of the curse plus the years since, Killian had thirty-seven, as near as I can figure, his years growing up until Milah died and he became a villain plus the years since you all saved me in Neverland.”

“Interesting,” she mused. “It’s like he was saving them up for when we could all relax and enjoy the holiday.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Henry agreed.

“But that doesn’t get us any closer to who it might be.”

Killian joined them then with a grin that nearly split his face. “I have succeeded!” he exclaimed.

“Succeeded? You know who Santa is?” Emma demanded.

“What?” he asked, startled, “No! I sweet talked Granny into giving me her secret gingerbread cookie recipe.” He slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a cheeky smirk and wink. “Since I know your fondness for that particular seasonal delight.” He leaned in and whispered, “She doesn’t measure the molasses.”

Emma shrugged with a sheepish grin on her face. “Well, okay, I guess I forgive you.”

Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You now poured through the speakers as Emma’s attention settled on Marco and Archie sitting in the booth nearest them enjoying Granny’s gingerbread and cocoa. Marco got up suddenly and smiled widely at her. The booth was close enough that she knew he could hear every word they said. The twinkle in his eye made Emma narrow hers at the older gentleman, and when he shot a wink her way, her eyes grew huge as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Marco raised a finger to his lips before turning away and heading for the door. Emma could hardly contain her excitement as a plan began to take shape in her mind.

“I think it might be time for all the good little children to get to bed if they want Santa to visit,” she said, staring pointedly at Henry. “It’s getting late.”

Henry rolled his eyes at her. “Good grief, Mom. I’m sixteen, not six. I don’t need to be in bed yet.”

Killian pulled Emma closer in to his side and waggled his eyebrows lasciviously at his bride. “Well, I don’t know about ‘good little children,’ but I know a grown up pirate who’d like to go to bed.”

Emma giggled and slapped his chest playfully as Henry rolled his eyes again and groaned. “Ewwww, gross, Dad! Teenager present! Fine, I’ll go home and go to bed. Just keep it down, okay?” he pleaded.

“I make no promises, lad.”

~*~*~

Emma came down the stairs of her home, much later, on tiptoe, seeking to surprise their midnight visitor.

“Ah HA!” she whisper shouted.

Marco spun around with his hand to his chest. “You scared the life out of me, your Highness!”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You know better than to call me that, Marco.” She approached him as he turned back to his work, placing presents under the tree. “You’re Santa Claus?” She couldn’t keep the awe out of her voice as she watched him.

“I have many names around the world in this realm, my dear. The one I’m known by in the Enchanted Forest is Belsnickel.”

“Where did all the Christmas presents come from?”

“Always the sheriff,” he chuckled, “Have to have the answers to all the questions, don’t you? Henry was right. Years as a hero that I didn’t get to deliver presents,” he explained. “Whether that was because of the curse, or the chaos of the ensuing years.”

“What about Killian?” she asked. “He had thirty-seven presents.”

“That blessed boy!” Marco laughed. “As a child and lad growing up in servitude, and even at the Naval Academy, it would have been pointless to give him his gifts. They would have been confiscated or destroyed by his masters. Before he turned villain, it just wasn’t practical to give him the things that had collected over the years. A ship just wasn’t the place for them. Once he turned villain, after Milah’s death, he didn’t deserve anything from me, so there wasn’t anything for him for centuries. But once he chose the hero’s path, I started saving his gifts again. I knew this day was coming and how much it would mean to him to receive all those gifts from his childhood.”

“But…” She trailed away. He turned his bright brown eyes upon her as comprehension dawned.

He smiled gently at her. “Yes, I am many hundreds of years old. I have far sight and can see many things that are secret,” he winked at her, “and yet to be.” Emma’s eyes fell toward the floor as a blush graced her cheeks. “And now, my dear, my work here is done. I must move on to the other residents of our fair town before I retire tonight.”

Emma’s eyes were still focused on her feet as Marco raised her chin to look at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Your Highness.” And then he was gone.

~*~*~

Christmas night, Emma sat tucked between Killian’s legs on the sofa in front of the fire and Christmas tree just watching the blinking lights and enjoying a cup of cocoa before bed. Christmas Day had been magical and perfect. Filled to overflowing with love and laughter, family and friends. Killian shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he muttered, “What in the world is that?”

“Hmmm? What in the world is what?” she replied, twisting to look up at him.

“Every time the lights blink, something blinds me. Something on the tree.”

Emma hoisted herself up and walked over to the tree. “I don’t know. Is it reflecting off an ornament? Or maybe there’s something else hidden in the tree?” she wondered, aloud. She reached in and withdrew a tiny wrapped box with Killian’s name on it. She gasped in surprise as she turned and brought it over to where he sat. “It’s for you.”

“Thank you, love.” He reached up and took the small token from her, not quite able to hide his surprise.

“Don’t thank me. I don’t know where that came from. Must be from Santa,” she whispered with a small smile on her lips.

He smirked at her. “Marco, you mean?” he cheeked. “I still can’t believe that Marco is Santa,” he murmured opening the box. Inside was something that had his eyebrows shooting all the way to his hairline. He pulled out a pink pacifier with his hook and held it up for Emma’s inspection. A bashful grin lit up her face.

“I just found out for sure this afternoon,” she began, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re with child?” Killian choked out, rising from the sofa and drawing Emma into his arms.

“Yes,” she beamed at him. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

“A very merry Christmas, indeed, Swan.” He lowered his head towards her and captured her lips in a kiss filled with love and joy of the future laid out before them.

Fin

A/N Obviously in my timeline, Emma got pregnant with Hope much earlier than in canon. I hope you liked this Tee! Merry Christmas!

#cssecretsanta2k19 #teeandsnowflakes #operation secret santa #krystal writes #art by krystal

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