This blog was created to post non-NSFW content, yet it will contain drama, angst, and depressive things along with fluff. For NSFW in all its ways, you should check my other blog – @rottendollface.
Characters I write for:
I like all the characters from the following list, but my favs are marked with ☆ !!
Dan Heng was on top of you, his hand caressing your gentle cheek. You hug him by his neck, putting him closer to inhale the scent of his skin and hair, mixed with the bitter smell of cheap shampoo that he bought at the nearest gas station.
Both of you tried not to make any noise, pretending like you were sleeping. Other members of the Astral Express settled in the next room and promised to slap Dan Heng if he touched you that night. They didn't care that Dan Heng and you had known each other for a long time already. On this mission you, a stranger that Astral Express met during an emergency stop in the middle of the Space, performed a special role – you were a messiah, an angel, that was sent on the board to help the crew members overcome hardships on their thorny path to justice.
Dan Heng didn't like it. He was ready to share everything with his friends but not you. He wanted to shout, howl with pain, when you granted your attention to someone else and behaved with them as if they were your beloved and faithful friends too. You helped Dan Heng find the purpose of his new life, thanks to you, he forgave himself for the old sins. He was the only person who deserved to be close to you. He needed you more than anyone else. Without you, he was just a nonentity.
“I love you, Dan Heng,” You whispered in his ear and kissed him at the temple. “This is our little secret.”
“Only ours.” He leaned to you, his lips found yours, involving you in a deep kiss. “I'll never let you go. You're mine… forever.”
You heard his heart beating in the same rhythm with yours. If one of you died, the other would pass away as well to reunite in eternity. It happened once, and would happen again in the never-ending cycle of death and rebirth.
In this old shabby motel, in the cold lonesome room for two Dan Heng and you had finally had an opportunity to spend some time together, whispering silly sugary words to each other. Your hot skin scorched him, leaving small scars on his body but Dan Heng ignored them, leaning closer to you. He was ready to endure every torture only to touch you one more time, see you alive and feel the breath of life radiating from you. Dan Heng got another chance to entwine his fate into yours – but only for a moment. You were gone with the sin by the morning, leaving a promise to meet him million light years after.
Warnings: SFW, fem!reader, mention of nightmares and self harm, smoking.
Blue sparkles flared and died down only to let the white flame shine in the darkness of the sleeping room. Aventurine lit a cigarette and put the lighter in a gold case, adorned with diamonds, on the nightstand, and drew on his cig. He heard a noise coming from your sleeping form and shivered. Aventurine turned back to see if you were awake. You didn't react to his fingers caressing your cheek, so he assumed you were in your dreams, and exhaled the smoke.
He couldn't hear the sound of your breathing – he could only feel the warm breath of yours tickling at his bare back. You were sleeping in a strange pose that troubled your breathing which resulted in terrible nightmares and you tossing in bed – that had always woken Aventurine up, so he could turn you over on your back and hug you. Usually, it helped.
Aventurine flicked the ash, and listened to the noises behind the door: laughing, happy voices of IPC workers, who were fussing around the dorm. The living area on the spaceship was never silent, and instead of usual annoyance, Aventurine felt relieved this time. In his moody, lost state he wished to hear sounds of people to remind himself that life was going on in endless triumph over death.
The smoke was stored under the ceiling, absorbed by air filters and ventilation belatedly. You hated him smoking: your face got that disgusted expression with your brows arched down and your nose wrinkled from the stench. Aventurine shrugged his shoulders. It was funny how he could clearly imagine your face; it was similar to his, when he had to look at the scars on your forearm. Aventurine tormented himself with guilt for his feelings towards your scars but he couldn't accept these vulgar deformities that didn't match your perfect image. He saw them in their true form: like canyons of torn up flesh with pieces of skin and bloody rivers.
Aventurine often thought about you, his relationship with you, and the words of others about you. They were right, he just needed to wait. You stopped being perky and cheerful in his presence some time after you two started dating, and he stopped being joyful and resourceful in your presence as well. It was better this way. There was no need to come up with jokes, try to make an impression and keep each other in constant interest in each other's person. The only issue that perplexed his heart was certain hesitation whether both of you truly loved each other or just endured each other's company to rot together in silence behind the closed doors.
He dismissed these thoughts. There was no point in a depressive mood. Aventurine realized the fact that meeting you was the only bright event in his life. Only you could accept him in his true way, forgive his every mistake and insultive word, and apologize first after a fight.
You rubbed your eyes and squinted them, trying to see the time. You moved closer to Aventurine and hugged him, crossing your hands on his tummy and snuggling your head in his back. “Still awake?” You mumbled, rubbing your hot cheek on his cold skin.
“I love you.” Aventurine said suddenly, putting the ashtray on the floor. He turned around to you, and kissed you, still drowsy from the sleep.
You responded lazily to his astringent kiss, broke it off only to whisper how much you loved him too. For Aventurine it was enough. He ran his fingers through your hands, held it to his face and kissed the densed skin on your scars, then returned to your sweet lips.
Warnings: SFW, gn reader, reader is sick with unnamed lung disease, Boothill lore in its worse way, established relationships, angst, character drama, little man problem, guilty feeling, good ending.
Picture: Leonardo AI, Meitu.
He didn't have any news for you.
He tried to write at least a single line, but he neither had any mood nor desire to do it. His thoughts were all about vengeance and the exact way he would execute his filthy plans.
How long would you wait for him? How many winters were you ready to spend alone waiting for someone as craven as him to knock at your door? He thought of himself as a beetle, crushed by the bottom of someone's shoe: his wings were all broken and he was left laying on the ground, looking at the sky and living through a never-ending moment in which he fell asleep and woke up, fell asleep and woke up time after time…
Fell asleep and woke up…
He was thinking about you only. He knew you worried about him, and it pained every cog of his mechanical heart. He couldn't keep calm with you being so far away from him, yet he felt relieved that you couldn't see him playing the main role in the masquerade of sins he got involved into against his will.
He was watching you through every star and moon that you could see from your planet. He was touching you with every raindrop and sun ray, taking care of you with every breeze of zephyr. He was killed by his thirst for revenge. He couldn't recall the last time he smiled. He missed the sound of your laughter – lighthearted, childish, and naive.
His worthless, rotten, mendacious lips were blaspheming the Aeons as they let his family perish, they put him through all the horrors of loss, they left you fighting your terrible lung disease, the name of which you withheld from him. Even in his dreams he was doomed to see you hunching in stifling cough and spitting blood, your teeth and lips always painted with pinkish shade. Even in his dreams he was doomed to press the little body, that felt like a rag doll, to his chest, as if all the might he had put into his farewell hug was able to revive it.
Hatred took its toll. The civilization was corrupted. Wolves lived with sheep, tormented, and ravaged the Planets. He tried to eliminate the evil root, but he could see it growing and prospering with every day.
He lost his meaning of living. Greed took over officials, the Space was enraged by irrepressible hunger for treasures. They inflicted violence over others, preyed on those less fortunate.
Did you remember how the two of you used to lay in a field of rye next to each other, engulfed in the moment of tranquility and appreciation? Did you remember how your fingers used to play with his hair, light from the mighty and torrid Sun? Oh, the laurel and the gold of his life, he didn't have any news for you. He promised to bring you white lilies once he came back home. In exchange, he wanted you to bring him joy of your recovery.
A soft smile touched his exhausted lips, and zephyr caressed his pale face. With a bouquet of white lilies in his hand, Boothill knocked at your door and heard a familiar, lovely bustle behind it.
