#[when all it takes is a shift of inflection to turn your name into a common insult >w>] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neiptune · 1 year ago

Text

ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

c/w: 11k wc, SUGGESTIVE, summer romance, strangers to fwb to lovers, eren is a surfing instructor, overall it's just a light and hopefully enjoyable story full of sea, conflicting feelings & newfound friendships! it's been a minute since i published anything but i'd love to come back with part 2 if you guys enjoy :)

i've read i wish you would by @meowzfordayz so many times i eventually got inspired to write my own lil summery piece 🤍

PART 2

Eren doesn’t think anything of it.

He’s used to being watched as he runs back and forth by the shoreline, salt drying on his tan skin and surfboard faithfully tucked underneath his arm.

He’s used to drawing the interest of girls, women and some men whenever he hangs out at the beach cafe with his friends. Eren actually gets a kick out of the thrilled glances he receives as he travels from thick towels to colorful beach umbrellas, in search of strangers bold enough to take part in a volleyball match against his team.

But it’s the third day, your yellow towel is always in the same spot and he finds himself glancing back at you more often than not. You’re a tourist, most probably from the city. It’s clear from how you shield yourself from the sun and the way you keep attempting to brush the sand off your legs with a frown he finds comical. You’re a reader, if the thick book you carry around in that straw bag is an indicator. You’re also alone, he’s never seen you in the company of a friend or a relative. Or a boyfriend.

Somehow, you manage to pique his interest, if only for the smile you grant when meeting him halfway to give back the ball Sasha’s serve has conveniently thrown too far away. As he watches you walk back to your towel and right as he manages to catch the brief glance you shoot him from over your shoulder, Eren thinks he just needs the right chance to try his evergreen luck once more.

Fortunately, the perfect opportunity comes earlier than expected.

He’s fresh out of the water, one hand running through brown locks rendered thicker by ocean salt. The pace is cheerful as they walk towards the cafe, hungry as ever after what felt like hours on end of catching waves, adrenaline slowly flowing out of their bodies and heart rate calming down. Eren spots you right away, suddenly so distracted he doesn’t reciprocate Jean’s playful shove nor does he wince in annoyance when he flicks his forehead.

You’re sitting across from Connie and Sasha, polite smile that turns into laughter at what’s most probably one of his friend’s lame jokes. Despite Jean’s yo! that loudly announces their presence, it’s Eren’s the face your gaze flickers to. The smile is still there and wouldn’t it be unkind of him not to return it?

“Man, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse” Jean is absolutely oblivious to your presence and ungracefully lets himself fall down onto one of the rattan stools.

“Burgers are on their way” Sasha pushes her plate of fries towards him and he thanks her with a grin so bright it’s blinding. Her hair is still wet from the lazy swim she took shortly after they arrived at the beach, auburn hair drenched in enough red saturation to contrast with her magenta bikini.

“I don’t think we’ve met” Eren hasn’t let his eyes shift from your features, so relaxed while witnessing his friends’ antics. You lazily return your attention to him once more and, with a pleasant squeeze of his stomach, he senses the anticipation. Is this encounter so casual, after all? Or is everything going exactly how you’ve been wanting it to? Either way, he’s more than fine with it.

“We haven’t” you reply with a sweet smile, offering a hand he oh so easily envelops in his.

Connie introduces you and your name rolls off from his tongue with a fond inflection already.

“She’s gonna spend the summer here and doesn’t really know anyone—” he interrupts himself to land a protective slap to the back of Jean’s head. He’s been choking down way too many of Sasha’s fries.

“She was asking for some advice on what to do, where to go” Sasha takes it from there, flashes you a smile “so we invited her to join us tonight”

“And I already said I don’t want to intrude” you shrink in your seat a little and Jean scoffs at your demeanor, a lazy wave of the hand to brush your concerns off.

“It’s cool. The more, the merrier”

“Besides” Eren worms his way into the conversation “you’re gonna need reliable allies if you want to survive in the wild”

Genuine amusement settles at the corners of your lips while you take note of the jovial glint in his mirth gaze.

It’s exactly what you must look like to them, you think while trying to decide what to wear for the impending night out. An outsider in need of some guidance, the right companionship not to feel too lost while attempting to navigate the pathetically lonely summer ahead of you.

The simple truth is that you don’t really mind being on your own. This was a last minute, impulsive trip you had booked without thinking too much about it. You sort of wanted to get accustomed to the quieter life, idyllic days puncuated by late brunches, ocean waves crashing against the shore, the familiar rustle of pages of your favorite books, perhaps a movie or two while comfortably snuggled in the big, soft bed your small vacation rental came with.

All you’re actually after is a peaceful summer but sure enough you don’t mind meeting a person or two, nice people you can have a chat with at the beach instead of spending hours on end listening to true crime podcasts. You don’t mind having an excuse to finally put on something other than your sleeping shorts, pull out the only lipstick you have carried with you halfway across the country and actually spend some time outside of your room.

You definitely don’t mind having the chance to get to know hot surfer boy either, pretty much the embodiment of any summer romance trope a girl could think of. Doesn’t take a genius to understand that he’d be the main character in each individual one.

Attractive? Check. Charming? Check. Residing on a remote island in the middle of the ocean? Check. Eats, sleeps and breathes just to flirt with anything that moves? Most probably, check.

And although romance is definitely not what either of you are after, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have some harmless fun.

Isn’t that what summers are for?

That’s the thought you carry with you as you approach their table at the bar, a confident smile hopefully concealing the slight tension in your shoulders. In the end, you opted for a striped blouse and a simple, white denim skirt.

Connie enthusiastically chirps your name and Eren, who is seated on the outer edge of the booth seating, makes room for you right away. The space is cramped enough for everyone to be basically leaning against each other and you think it’s not exactly a coincidence that your thigh has to be flush against Eren’s in order to fit in the booth.

“You have to try this, it’s amazing!”, Sasha grins while gently pushing her drink towards you, the glass leaving a trail of condensation on the mahogany table. You lean over to take a small sip from the green straw. It’s a classic piña colada, the frozen blend of pineapple and creamy coconut a little too sweet for your liking.

“Think I’ll go with a moscow mule” you smile an apologetic smile and she just shrugs, unimpressed.

“I second that” a gentle yet unfamiliar gaze meets yours, copper mug raised in a metaphoric toast “I’m Armin, so nice having you with us tonight!”

“Thanks, Armin” with a soft chuckle you introduce yourself as well.

They’re such a diverse group but manage to fit amazingly well together, you find. The common denominator is genuine friendliness, there’s not an ounce of fabrication in the kind tone used to direct questions your way, each and everyone of those present genuinely curious and determined to make you feel included.

“You can’t be serious” Connie’s nose scrunches in a displeased grimace “books? Tv shows? Is that seriously what you’ve been doing?”

“I’m technically on vacation” your weak attempt at justifying yourself is laughed at.

“A great reason not to stay indoors the whole damn day” Jean downs his third beer of the evening and points a finger in your direction “consider yourself under our wing from now on”

“Not sure sweating under the sun while jumping after a ball matches my idea of fun” you give him a skeptical albeit playful look.

Sasha, three piña coladas in, slams her fist on the table .

“That’s exactly what I tell them every summer!”

“No one forces you to play like, ever” Connie smirks her way “wish you’d spare us the agony of having you on the team actually”

“He’s kidding” Armin is quick to chime in, alarmed by the childlike astonishment suddenly filling Sasha’s big brown eyes.

“What’s your idea of fun, then?” a deep, warm voice pulls you away from the funny scene taking place in front of you.

“This night is fun” you smile, gaze finally meeting sage eyes that have been so intently focused on you throughout the evening. Your leg is still shamelessly pressing against his, more of an intentional touch than a forced one. The amount of warmth radiating through his jeans is enough to send a shudder down your spine.

Eren mirrors your smile.

“We’re fun people” he concedes “what else?”

You pause, pensive for a moment. It’d be great to actually be the mysterious, secretly entertaining stranger from the city he’s probably picturing but the sour truth is that you own a boring, quite ordinary personality.

“Reading at the beach instead of my bed?” you crack another smile, met with a chuckle and an eyeroll this time.

“Ever tried surfing?” despite the amused expression, it’s clear he’s not mocking you.

“I literally live in Tokyo”

“Not even on vacation? As a kid? Ever?”

It’s cute, the authentic shock painting his features. So you smile again with a slight shrug.

Eren clicks his tongue.

“I’ll teach you. You’ll never be the same again”

This time it’s you who’s laughing as he frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just trying to picture how many girls you must’ve said that to”

Slightly taken aback, he offers half a smile.

“I don’t need to say that to girls, I’m actually an instructor”

“Right, so they come looking for you anyway”

“What’s this sudden interest in how I get girls?”

You innocently cross your ankles underneath the table, which causes your leg to press against his a little more.

“Not sudden”

Another boyish smirk splits across his face as he leans slightly closer, a dangerously inviting scent enveloping your senses already. He’s not even wearing any cologne.

“Seriously, come take a look tomorrow” Eren pauses for a second, intentionally, eyes travelling down to the soft curve of your lips “I usually make it fun, or so I’m told”

Sulking in your seat, you playfully raise your eyebrows because this is a game two should play.

“Does that mean you’re not gonna show me your place tonight?”

Without missing a beat, Eren fakes a pensive hum, magnetic gaze shamelessly lingering on your lips again.

“I might. If you promise to come take a look tomorrow”

He’s not one to be intimidated and, as a matter of fact, he has been fighting the urge to place a hand on your thigh for the entire night.

You huff, newly found boldness courtesy of the second moscow mule and the thrill of the unknown. Surf is something you’ve never been interested in and you sincerely doubt all the women telling him how good of a teacher he is weren’t simply after the same thing you are being offered right now. But if a little stroke of the ego and some acquiescence will get you what you want, which is for him to finally just touch you, would you really be dumb enough to miss the perfect opportunity?

“Fine. I’ll stop by” you concede but whatever he has to say in response gets harshly sucked in by Sasha’s sobs.

The invisible bubble that had shortly enveloped you both suddenly bursts with a pop as you redirect your attention to the rest of the party. Jean seems genuinely horrified, Connie is just laughing with literal tears in his eyes as he watches Armin whisper comforting words to their friend.

“What the hell did you say to her?” you’re slightly surprised to hear the protective annoyance embedded in Eren’s tone, especially when you thought he’d just laugh the whole situation off.

“Nothing!” panic makes Jean’s voice squeaky and Connie only laughs harder, slamming a hand on the table.

“She thinks the ocean has dried up!” he can barely spell the words out before erupting in another fit of laughter right as Sasha’s desperate sobs increase in volume.

“Sash, I promise nothing has happened to the ocean” Eren attempts to gently take one of her hands and move it away from her face but she just harshly slaps his fingers away.

“I don’t believe you!” she wails so heartbreakingly Armin deems wise to catiously hide what’s left of her drink behind one of Jean’s beer bottles.

“Sasha” you softly chime in and perhaps it’s because your voice is still unfamiliar that she looks up, puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks “I just got back from the beach, with a gift” it takes everything in you not to laugh as her eyes widen in shock when you pull out a glass of water from underneath the table.

“Special ocean water, just for you”

“How did you get that?” before you even have the chance to come up with a believable answer, Sasha gasps so audibly a few people turn around to look at your table “are you a mermaid?”

Connie is howling with laughter at this point, as Jean slaps a hand to his mouth to no avail. Eren just sighs.

“Why do we let her drink every time?” he mutters under his breath.

You ignore each and every one of them as you inch across the table, palms facing upward.

“You can’t tell anyone” the conspiratorial whisper is what probably gets her as she leans over in turn, absolutely amazed while inspecting your wet fingertips.

“Guess it’s time to take her home” with a sigh of relief, Armin finally relaxes in his seat.

“Your turn” Connie grins mischievously at Eren, who just rolls his eyes.

“I could use a hand” his lips conveniently brush against the shell of your ear as he pretends the sudden proximity was nothing but a natural consequence of his standing up. You follow suit with a soft smile and so does Sasha, who refuses to let go of your hand.

“We’re not like this all the time” Armin looks exhausted and something tells you he’s usually the one responsible for keeping tabs whenever things get out of control. It suits his kind nature, or at least that’s the impression you get after spending a few hours with him.

“Will you come to the beach tomorrow? I’d really like to continue that conversation about confessional poetry” and so you smile at him, no ulterior motive besides the genuine pleasure that comes with meeting a new potential friend with interests so similar to yours.

Sasha impatiently pulls you by the hand as Eren balances her body against his, an arm around her waist to make sure she stands.

“Yeah” warmth radiates from the tired albeit gentle smile Armin offers you “I’ll bring my Robert Lowell book”

“Remember what I said” Jean scoffs impatiently as Connie waves goodbye with a pestiferous grin glued to his face “our wing. Fun summer. No more indoors”

“Aye aye, captain” you chuckle.

“Let’s go!” Sasha tugs at your blouse twice and Eren has to literally keep her from collapsing on the floor when she clumsily stumbles upon her own feet.

You gently untangle your hand from her grabby fingers and secure her arm around your shoulders, careful not to fall yourself as she suddenly leans in to press her nose to your cheek.

“Your hair smells like the ocean” she mumbles dreamily and you can’t hold back the giggle that bubbles from your throat while you help her out of the bar, Connie’s chuckle the last thing you register before stepping out in the humid hair of the night.

“Everything okay over there?” Eren can’t help but smile when he glances in your direction, sincerely amused by the way his friend is all over you.

“Absolutely” your smile is intended for Sasha instead, who is walking pretty much blindly since her undivided attention is still focused on something that’s entirely different from the sidewalk. With a careful brush of your thumb, you clean off some of the smudged mascara underneath her eyes.

“Maybe someone should’ve stayed with her” you discreetly whisper over her head.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll tuck her in, make sure she wakes up with water and some painkillers nearby” Eren meets Sasha’s gaze and laughs when she grins widely at him.

“You’re my best friend!” she cheers so loudly you jump a little “the best Eren I know!”

“I’m the only Eren you know” he gently flicks her forehead, fingers barely grazing her skin.

You chuckle again, too caught up in the moment to realize how disarmingly nice and attentive and attractive he actually is.

Sasha is not steady enough on her legs but you can barely feel the weight you’re supposedly sustaining, Eren most likely doing the majority of the work. He hums and distractedly mumbles reassuring nothings in response to his friend’s incessant nonsense, still more amused than annoyed. When you reach her apartment at last they both insist you step in with them, Sasha being particularly excited at the thought of showing you her seashell collection (“it’ll make you feel at home!”) but you kindly refuse and watch as he quite literally drags her inside while she enthusiastically waves and promises to visit you the next day. Whether she means to come by your place or dive underwater, you can’t tell.

Because of what you’re wearing, sitting on the sidewalk is a hard pass. Still, Sasha doesn’t live far from the beach, much like basically every other island resident. You don’t mind waiting outside, not when you can hear the faint sound of crashing waves and the brackish breeze gently ruffles your hair.

It’s relaxing, really, getting to quietly stand by as everything else drifts before you. Couples taking a stroll by the shore nothing more than dark silhouettes barely discernible from where you’re standing, an old man slowly pushing a gelato cart and then stopping to take a break, groups of friends loudly making their way through the street as some bystanders direct them glances expressing disapproval.

“Hey” Eren materializes next to you out of thin air, a smile tugging at his lips when you wince “want one?”

With a small nod, he indicates the ice cream cart. You smile back.

“Ah, no, thanks. Is she okay?”

Something passes through his handsome face, some sort of indefinite emotion gone before you have the chance to even fully notice it, the apology remaining tucked up in the corner of his mouth.

“Out like a light. C’mon, I want one, we can share”

He doesn’t give you the time to decline again. You just have to promptly follow him not to fall behind as he marches towards the vendor. They seem to know each other: Eren calls him uncle Katsu and the older man seems delighted about the encounter. He asks if his favorite customer wants the usual but Eren glances at you, amusement conquering his relaxed features once more.

“Nah, she wouldn’t understand. Give me something more tourist friendly”

Brows furrowed, you open your mouth to protest but you’re cut off by Katsu’s boisterous laugh.

Sullen, you end up with a butter pecan cone Eren lets you hold more than a fair amount of time for two people who are supposed to be eating equal amounts of ice cream.

“What’s the usual?” you grumble and he grins walking beside you, hands shoved in pockets and pace comfortably slow.

“Pineapple, with chunks”

“Nice” the attempt at playing off your skepticism as nonchalance fails miserably.

“You’re gonna try it eventually, I’m just giving you some time to get accustomed to the wilderness first”

With a huff you pass him the cone, trying to ignore the pleasant flip of your stomach at his words. Is he assuming you’ll hang out more than just this once?

“You really like living here” it’s a sincere observation that just slips out, past all the casual facade you’re trying to keep up.

Eren shrugs but there’s fondness in the way he looks at the ordinary street ahead of him.

“I do. Can’t imagine myself anywhere else”

The affection vibrating in his tone makes you bitter. You never experienced that sense of belonging, not to a place, not even to your own family. The only person who’s ever been the closest at becoming home has let you down so violently, so suddenly, your scarred skin is still having a hard time healing itself.

Eren peers down at you, taking in your pensive expression. He wonders why you look so gloomy all of a sudden, if your friends ever call while you’re busy spending your days all by yourself on the other side of Japan. He wonders why you’re here on your own.

“What about you?” his tone is light, poised between genuine curiosity and the urge to elicit a shred of actual information “how come you’re staying here all summer?”

The gloom dissipates so abruptly it hardly looks natural.

“Ah, my rich parents agreed to pay for the vacation so why not take full advantage of their kindness?” you shrug with a smile that hopefully covers up the lie well enough. His furrowed brows indicate that he’s not fully convinced but genuine intimacy and heartfelt confessions in the middle of the night are not what you need nor what you want, therefore it’s only fair to batten down the hatches.

“So, where’s this place of yours? Far from here?” you jokingly ask with a light shove of your shoulder to his arm.

Eren pauses for a second, seeming so taken aback you feel your face getting hot with embarrassment.

“You actually want—”

“You don’t—”

Both of you look at each other with furrowed brows, until he stops in his tracks.

Fuck.

“Uh” you let out a nervous chuckle “I’m so sorry. That was weird of me, I don’t know what I was thinking. Probably stood in the sun too long today. Anyway, I can totally walk myself home, don’t feel obligated to—”

He too laughs but, again, it’s not to poke fun at your pathetic little self.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” the playful glint in his eyes only contributes to embarrass you further, so he promptly softens his tone “I should be the one apologizing. I just thought you wouldn’t want to, you know, after Sasha and everything”

You blink a few times, candidly confused.

“No? I mean, I like Sasha. I like all your friends” it’s the unexpected truth, one that makes him smile.

For a split second, he considers asking if you like him too, even if your willingness to let him take you home already speaks volumes. But why would he? If Sasha getting absolutely plastered and almost throwing up on you wasn’t enough of a turn off, Eren should just shut the fuck up and savour the opportunity he’s been waiting for ever since seeing you at the beach for the first time. He’s been picturing the pretty creases of that blouse on his bedroom floor pretty much the entire evening.

“I’m just a few blocks away” therefore he smiles that attractive smirk of his, right before taking one last bite of the crumbly cone in his cream-stained hand.

“Don’t feel compelled to—”

“You look beautiful right now” Eren cuts you off abruptly, words dying in your throat as you look back in shock “the whole night, actually. The last thing I’m feeling is compelled” his noses scrunches slightly, as if feeling nauseated by the ridiculous assumption alone.

Another beat passes before you allow your lungs to deflate with the release of a breath.

“Okay” you mutter, still dazed by the sudden, straightforward flattery.

Eren’s smile grows in softness this time. An entire second is spent thinking that smile suits him more than the confident smirk of a moment ago.

“Okay” he says back.

When he arrives at the beach the next morning, earlier than usual, he spots you right away. You’re sitting on your yellow towel and seem engaged in a heated discussion with his best friend, both of you interrupting the other with a frantic gesturing of hands.

Eren stops for a second, surfboard planted in the sand for good measure, one hand on top of the other as he just takes a moment to observe you. His mind travels back to the slight disappointment swallowing the convenience of waking up with an empty spot next to him, the sun bleeding through the shutters because he’d forgotten to close them. How could he had remembered with your fingers running through his hair and the goosebumps blossoming on his forearms?

He didn’t have the time to explore you like he had intended to, he couldn’t take his time because you were so eager and it was surprising how impatient Eren found himself to be in turn, how rapidly you adapted to each other. He even remembers genuinely enjoying the short, embarrassing incidents that came with growing accustomed to such a sudden yet highly anticipated proximity: your head bumping into his while straddling his lap, him knocking over the lamp from his nightstand, airy laughs swallowed by each other’s mouths.

Little to no foreplay was needed, the memory of your fingers closing around his wrist to confidently guide his hand between your legs still pulsing in his mind. He barely got the chance to kiss you, nowhere near as how he would’ve liked to, his lips being hastily reclaimed everywhere else.

He’s not even sure why he’s still lingering there, uncertain. Eren’s had countless one night stands before but once both parties got what they needed none of them were really there to hang out again, certainly nowhere near his friends anyway. He’s had longer affairs with tourists, mutual attraction and harmless fun lasting from days to weeks, his conquests eventually recognizing Jean or exchanging a few pleasantries with Connie. But this has never really happened. He’s never made plans with someone before even getting to the point of having them in his bed, for the next day no less. He’s never frowned upon waking up alone and he’s definitely never chuckled while barefoot in his own kitchen, the messily scribbled note you had tucked underneath his french press in hand.

Your coffee sucks.

You didn’t even bother to wash the mug abandoned in his sink but still you made sure he’d wake up to a freshly brewed serving anyway.

Eren’s never truly liked any of his one night stands enough to frame them as potential friends in the long run and so it was a little unsettling, the feeling that you were just about to change that.

“Can you believe they deemed this as lazy writing?” Armin’s finger skims across the page he’s holding open, underlining a particular verse “now the hot river, ebbing, hauls its bloody waters into holes; a grain of sand inside my shoe mimics the moon that might undo man and creation too”

You hum, appreciative.

“It’s the absence of flowered language. Nobody liked reading about raw trauma and dramatic events but at the root of hypocrisy is always fear and low self-esteem” with a little shrug, you smile “essentially, they were a bunch of assholes”

“You can’t truly appreciate poetry if life scares you” for some reason, Armin’s words make your insides twist for a second. You remember one of your favorite Anne Sexton’s poems and its brutal honesty: suicides have a special language, like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. It felt dangerously similar to how you were living.

“Enough of this unsettling realness” Armin closes his book with a loud thud and gently places it between your bodies, on your soft towel. You wonder if he’s noticed your sudden gloom or if he just genuinely wants to talk about something else. “Anything fun planned today? I know Jean can be insufferable but we do have some cool activities around here” he smiles.

“Eren wanted me to check out his lesson but I’m not sure surf could ever be my thing” the smile you return is shy, because you don’t want to sound ungrateful nor make the conversation weird. It’s pretty evident that you’ve spent the night with him, if only from the hickeys scattered at the base of your throat. Armin has just been nothing but a gentleman, too polite to even stare at them.

Once again, he doesn’t even falter at the mention of his friend’s name.

“Still, you should give it a go! I used to think the same and now I can’t go a day without riding a wave. Even when I’m not on vacation, if the weather’s nice enough I’m here as soon as I’m done working” he grins.

“I never asked what you do, by the way”

“I’m a copy editor in a publishing house, mainly work from home but sometimes I travel to Tokyo. Leaves me a lot of freedom, really. What about you?”

You hesitate. But he’s looking at you so candidly, head slightly tilted to the side, that you can’t find it in yourself to lie.

“I’ve been laid off a few weeks ago, actually. I was a winemaker at a pretty famous winery in town”

Armin lets out a slow whistle.

“That sounds so cool!”

You chuckle.

“All I do is monitor the maturity of grapes, oversee the process and place orders”

“I’d love to visit once you start somewhere else. I’m sure it’s gonna happen in no time” he places a warm hand on your shoulder and briefly squeezes it. You’ve never experienced the kindness of a stranger, not at such a high level anyway. As you thank him with a touched smile, for the first time this impulsive vacation doesn’t feel like just a way out anymore.

“I suggest you two sit closer to the shore, the first group of the day is gonna be here soon” a playful voice interrupts your chitchat and you look up to find a familiar figure silhouetted against sunlight right before your towel. A flash of embarrassment seems to take over his features for a few seconds as he takes notice of the now very much noticeable marks on your skin. But then he just smiles that friendly smile of his, one that tells you there’s a chance of not letting any potential awkwardness stand in the way of what could become a harmless friendship. You appreciate the maturity.

“Wanna help me out?” Eren then looks at Armin, who’s squinting his eyes in attempt to stare back.

“I’ll keep her company. Maybe later, with the kids”

“You’re pretty special, he never skips the chance to hop on a surfboard”

As you get up and start collecting your things, Armin’s book secured underneath your arm while he helps you out with the towel, you briefly glance at Eren with half a smile.

“Let’s see if you’re good enough to convince me to get on one in the first place”

He rolls his eyes, feigning exasperation.

“Just watch me”

And so, you and Armin look at each other with an equally amused smile, the complicity over a moment so simple warming your heart.

While sitting there with him, feet sunk into where the sand is cool and damp, you observe Eren with genuine curiosity. The variegated group he’s handling consists of ten people, it’s most probably not their first class as everyone seems to already know what to do.

They’re going over what they’ve learned until now, Eren repeating instructions out loud and nodding proudly as his students comply. Two girls, friends by the looks of it, keep asking him to help them position their bodies better on the surfboard. When the blonde one fails to properly stand up and her foot theatrically slips, with an exaggerated grimace she begs him to support her weight as she tries again. With Eren’s hands on her hips, she succeeds in hopping up with a form so perfect you can hardly hold back a scoff. Armin chuckles beside you.

“It’s pretty much always like that”

“No way” you mock “that’s crazy!”

“I mean, it’s kinda part of the job to go along with it” he shrugs.

Does he think I’m jealous or something?

“You didn’t have to stay” there’s softness in your tone, just to make sure he doesn’t take it the wrong way, but he blushes nonetheless.

“It doesn’t happen as often to me” the spluttering makes you giggle. You’re not blind: he has arms, he has abs, shoulders wide enough to well pique one’s interest and a smile so sweet he’s probably the favorite instructor of more than one student.

“I find that hard to believe” the implied compliment tints his cheeks with a richer pink and he runs a hand through his fair hair to conceal the embarrassment.

“But I didn’t mean it like that” you decide to put an end to his misery “I just meant, feel free to go ride some waves”

Armin shakes his head.

“I have the entire day to do that” he smiles “and no one else likes to talk about books with me”

“But your group is great. You guys seem pretty close”

“We all grew up here, I’ve known Eren since kindergarten and I met everyone else along the way. Some of us you didn’t meet actually, like Christa and Mikasa”

“They don’t live here anymore?”

Armin sighs, plants his heel in the sand a little deeper.

“Yeah, they moved for college and never really came back. They prefer the city”

You can understand that, to be honest. You grew up in a small town near the countryside and although it’s not nearly comparable to an even smaller island, you remember the primal need to run away, driven by the firm belief that there’s surely more to explore, better ways to live and opportunities to seize in the big city. Back then, Tokyo felt like a dream. An endless pool of magical possibilities.

“You probably think it’s insane, wanting to stay on an island that only comes alive a few months per year” Armin’s gaze is lost across the ocean, so you look ahead too. Eren’s group is in the water now, paddling in and taking off on the foam that propels colorful surfboards onto the waves. Most of the students previously warming up by the shore succeeds in remaining upright, cheered on by those who have either been less brave or simply not balanced enough.

“No, I think wanting to stay requires a lot of love. I never had that for the place I grew up in”

“And are you happy now, in Tokyo?”

You force your lips into a smile, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, I’m happy”

Another cheerful fit of screams has you both returning your attention to the group challenging the ocean, one particular figure paddling perpendicular to an exceptionally big wave, angling his take off perfectly to the left before popping up and digging the inside rail of his surfboard into the water. Knees bent, he’s a sight for sore eyes as he beautifully rides along the vertical center of the wave, the sun complimenting his tan skin.

“Showoff” you snort and Armin laughs.

“Let’s go get a drink, Sasha makes a killer frozen lemonade”

“Sasha?” you ask, surprised.

He nods.

“She should be on shift today”

“She works at the cafe?”

Armin smiles.

“Her family owns the cafe, actually. She just helps out in the summer, whenever she can catch a break from the internship she’s doing”

And sure enough she’s actually there, all smiles and cheerful pitch behind the counter.

She turns ecstatic as soon as the spots the both of you, calling you by your name with such warmth your cheeks hurt a little from how wide you’re smiling already.

“Hey! How’re you feeling?”

You and Armin sit on the rattan stools opposite to the counter and she leans over with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Amazing, whoever left that ibuprofen on my nightstand has my endless devotion”

“T’was Eren’s turn to take you home” Armin shoots her a good-natured glare, which elicits her silvery laugh.

“I don’t think he was too bothered about it” Sasha’s intentionally looking at you and her grin has your cheeks grow hot.

“Leave her alone, make us some frozen lemonade” Armin gently grabs her chin and directs her attention to him.

“Oh come on, none of Eren’s special friends ever hangs out with us, I want some details!”

“Sasha!” he hisses as you shrink in your seat, head hanging low in embarrassment “you can’t remember this but she’s been nothing but caring last night, they both took you home”

“Armin, there’s no need to—” you mumble but he shows no sign of having heard you.

“It’s none of our business what they do” he grumbles, letting go of Sasha’s chin “now, please, lemonade. Before I die of dehydration”

She juts her bottom lip out, sullen, eyes back on you.

“I’m sorry, I was just curious. Don’t get me wrong, I’m actually happy I get to finally spend some time with another girl”

You shake your head with a soft smile.

“Please don’t apologize. You’ve all been way too kind to me”

Truth is, the fear of being seen as nothing but their friend’s easy fuck has been nagging at your brain. Especially since deciding you actually, really like them and wouldn’t mind tagging along if they’ll have you. And, of course, if Eren isn’t bothered. The last thing you wanna spend your summer doing is imposing your presence to a group of childhood friends just because you’ve had sex with one of them. That’d be gross.

“Here, it’s on the house” Sasha slides two tall glasses of frozen lemonade across the counter.

Armin grabs his with a sigh of relief, the creaminess of his drink rapidly decreasing in quantity as he gulps it down quickly. You carefully mix it with your straw, then have a first taste and have to keep yourself from moaning.

“I’m gonna need ten of these” you mutter and they both laugh. It’s genius really, the idea of combining the consistency of a milkshake with the tanginess of freshly squeezed lemonade.

You end up staying at the cafe to keep Sasha company while she prepares orders and entertains you with the latest gossip concerning people you don’t even know. You wonder where she gets all that energy from but you also think it suits her, that bubbly aura she so effortlessly carries around. If customers smile a little brighter and leave generous tips, it’s probably thanks to her never ending friendliness: she remembers their names, special orders and always offers free ice cream to kids. She even has special ice cream for dogs.

After a while, Armin leaves to help Eren with his next group of students, as promised. They’re all children this time, so you doubt they’ll bring them into the water: the whole class consists in some training by the shore, Armin and Eren patiently showing them how to paddle and corretly stand on a surfboard over and over again. When what you can only guess are some heated protests erupt, they patiently allow the kids to practice some paddling as close to the shore as possible. You catch glimpses of Eren’s smile and hear his laugh when two kids start splashing him with water, deaf to Armin most probably attempting to draw their attention to the lesson once again.

Eventually, he’s forced to surrender too, as one particularly agile kid climbs onto his shoulders and demands to be carried around. The whole class turns into nothing more than a game session and you find yourself smiling.

After each kid is collected by their corresponding family member, Armin doesn’t waste any more time and he swiftly grabs his bigger surfboard to jump into the ocean once more, finally free to chase waves at its own pace. Eren seems to hesitate, lingering by the shore for a moment, looking around as if searching for something. Then he turns around fully, seemingly scanning the cafe and meeting your gaze although, from that distance, you’re not completely sure he’s looking at you specifically. You’re quick to redirect your attention to the pasta salad Sasha has recommended.

“Ah, here comes the athlete” she pulls a face “let’s see how many wraps he’s gonna down, last time it was three”

“Hello, ladies” the familiar voice is so close you feel a shudder run down your spine as memories from the previous night resurface. He’s leaning on the counter, body facing you and arms crossed showcasing swollen biceps you’re surprised are not carrying any signs of the crescents you very clearly remember being a consequence of your tight grip.

“You’re dripping on my napkins” not nearly as dumbstruck as you, Sasha shoos him away with the impatient push of a hand. In response, Eren shakes his head like a dog would after getting a bath, splashing both his friend and you with ice cold water. She flips him off.

“You’re an ass”

“Will you make me one of your delightful wraps if I behave?” he grins like a child while taking a seat next do you.

“One?” Sasha skeptically raises an eyebrow.

“Make it three”

You chuckle as you meet her knowing look, which causes him to turn to you. He’s even prettier up close, salt already drying on his smooth skin, cheeks slightly flushed.

“So? Opinions on getting started with the best sport in the world?”

Pensive, you bring a forkful of pasta to your mouth.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to give it a go”

You had half an idea of teasing him by suggesting Armin be your instructor but the way he quite literally beams at your words forces you to shut right up.

“I’ll pick you up later this afternoon”

“Pick me up?” you frown, confused.

“This beach is way too crowded, there are better places to go”

“So considerate” Sasha loudly places a plate in front of him and Eren just rolls his eyes.

“You don’t even know where I’m staying” trying to swallow yet another lump of awkwardness, you keep your attention on the now almost empty bowl in front of you.

He huffs, brushing your concern off by gesturing vaguely with a hand.

“I know where all vacation rentals are. Of course, if you wanted, you could make it easier for me”

A funny sound comes out of Sasha’s nose and this time you go along with her demeanor with the raise of a brow.

“If you want my number, just ask” the challenging words roll off your tongue playfully, you don’t really think anything of them.

But much like every other time you thought you had him cornered, he simply looks up from his plate and plants those resolute eyes in yours without so much as a hint of hesitation.

“I want your number”

Why your heart picks up its pace as you both let a beat pass while staring at each other, you don’t really understand. Nevertheless, as the corners of his mouth upturn in a smile with yet another one of Sasha’s scoffs in the background, you think it’s convenient that he’s pretty much doing all the work. Because of course you want his number too.

The place you rented is nothing more than a small beach cottage and while Eren doesn’t exactly live in a penthouse, his house is bigger and way cooler than yours. A mere 100 yards from the beach, it comes with a colorful, eclectic exterior and cute double doors opening out to the porch where he keeps his surfboard, a lounger, one whimsical sign that reads it comes in waves and a small table with two chairs. You don’t really have a porch, just three steps that lead to the front door, which is where you’re sitting while you wait for him to come pick you up. Your straw bag is resting at your feet, filled with the few things he recommended you to bring: sunscreen, a swimsuit, water, all wrapped in a towel. It’s later than you had anticipated and you nervously wonder if he’s actually gonna show up, how long it’s gonna take before you’re done. How ridiculous you’re going to look.

And then he pulls up by your little house with the peeling white paint, window rolled down and one arm gracefully hanging out a silver pickup truck. The two surfboards stored on the bed are reflecting the late afternoon sun.

A light honk has you standing up, his warm smile so wide you can guess the excitement shimmering behind those dark sunglasses.

He pushes the door open for you, so you rush to the car and climb onto the passenger seat. Eren barely gives you the time to fasten your seatbelt before his foot is on the clutch pedal again: his hand swiftly moves the gear shift to the left and then up and the accelerator pedal is pressed down way more harshly than needed.

“You do know that this is probably going to suck, right? I have no idea what to do” you anxiously shift on your seat, to no avail because your back remains glued to it.

Not bothered in the slightest by the ungodly speed he’s driving at, a genuine laugh slips out of him.

“It’s gonna be amazing, I’ll teach you everything you need to know! Plus, I’m taking you to one of my favorite spots, consider yourself lucky” he glances at you with a toothy grin and you let out a panicked sound.

“Look ahead!”

Eren laughs again but complies, not a care in the world or so it seems as he sprints through roads that are way too narrow and bumpy and lacking concrete for him to be driving like that.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why’s my coffee so bad?”

It’s the first actual semblance of a reference to the previous night. You swallow.

“Too bitter. Coffee shouldn’t be too strong, aggressive and off balance. It definitely shouldn’t have just one flavor either”

“Just like wine?”

Surprised, you just stare at him until he cracks another smile.

“Armin told me. You’re kinda cooler than what you come across as”

Eren fakes a groan when you smack his shoulder.

“I just meant” he refrains from looking at your scowl “you don’t really do yourself justice. All that talk about tv shows and books and spending the summer alone—”

“Those things can be cool too. Sorry, not all of us feel the need to live and look like olympic athletes” you cross your arms, stubbornly averting your gaze from his handsome profile to look ahead like a cross child. That’s how you miss a smirk he promptly suppresses.

“I wasn’t trying to offend you. I really do think you’re cool, regardless of your career”

A beat passes before you reluctantly eye him again.

“You’re tolerable, I guess”

The laugh he lets out is so genuine you have to fight back a smile yourself.

His good mood remains seemingly unaltered throughout the ride, lithe fingers absentmindedly drumming on the steering wheel as he strives to make conversation. By the time you arrive at the secluded beach he’s chosen for your first lesson, your nerves are calm enough for you to be actually excited about what’s to come.

The beach is nothing less than a little slice of paradise, sand so white it almost looks fake and turquoise water so inviting you can’t wait to jump in. For the first time, the island presents itself as something other than an overpriced magnet for seasonal tourists: it’s raw in its beauty, so quiet it’s hard to believe you’re not the only two people currently on an uninhabited piece of land in the middle of the ocean.

One thing you’re learning quickly is that Eren is scarily good at easing unnecessary tension. Perhaps it’s because he never seems to feel any, always so relaxed and ready to handle any unexpected circumstance or setback. Sure, he’s outgoing enough for people to easily like him but there’s something about the genuine smiles he offers to everyone, in the attentive care he reserves to his friends. Despite his well-trained figure and intimidating good looks, his touch is gentle and at times timid. He blushes just like everyone else if you trace the line of his jaw with sweet kisses and emits pleased hums when you run your hand through his hair.

You can tell this isn’t something he has set up to lure you back into his bed: how could it be, with that child-like excitement embedded in the instructions he’s giving you? You don’t even feel self-conscious nor ridiculous wearing the wetsuit he’s brought for you, he’s that great at making it fun and keeping it professional. Well, mostly professional.

For the nth time, you jump up with your feet planted and arms out to your side, stabilizing yourself and feeling the breeze flow through your hair as your personal instructor hums.

“Again” he demands and you huff.

“Are we gonna get into the water eventually? I feel like it’s been an hour of this!”

“It has been an hour of this. Now, do it again”

With a pout, you lie belly-down on your longboard once again. You practice your paddling motion once again and then place your palms on the flat of the board just below your chest. In one quick motion, you push your body up with your arms and tuck your feet up and under you. You had started by getting up to your knees first and then bringing up one foot at a time, but you have gained more confidence over the endless minutes spent practicing the same movements over and over again.

“Look at that. You’re a natural” he finally grins, letting some warmth leak through the all too serious facade.

“Thanks to a good teacher” you smile back and he rolls his eyes, barely refraining from uttering a cocky comeback to your obvious statement. He steps closer, calloused fingers gently placed on your hips and warm breath suddenly ghosting over your cheek.

“Don’t spread your legs like that” he mumbles, his own foot gently pushing from behind your left ankle to guide your foot into a better position “this might feel comfortable but it actually makes it harder to control your movements. Balance is always side-to-side, never front to back”

You comply quietly, the sudden closeness leaving your mouth dry. What the hell? It’s not like you weren’t on top of him just a few hours prior. What on earth could be making you so nervous, like some damn bashful teenager?

“Eyes up” Eren gently grabs your chin to lift your head up “always look in the direction you are going”

His other hand is still on your hip, your skin burning so much at the contact you’re positive his fingers are going to leave a mark somehow.

As he lets you go, you’re left so cold you actually shiver.

“Okay! Let’s take it into the water” he gets down on one knee to secure the leash around your ankle, the pads of his fingers grazing your skin once again sending an electric buzz throughout your veins. What the fuck.

Perhaps he senses your weird bodily reactions because he stands up again and motions you to take your board with the impatient wave of a hand. He has his surfboard too, although after seeing what he’s actually capable of doing with it, you doubt it’s gonna be used to ride an actual wave.

“Just get comfortable first, see how it feels” when you’re both waist deep into the ocean he holds your board for you, helping you lie on it again and chuckling when you slip right off a few times.

“You shouldn’t laugh at your students” with a grimace, you try to hold on to it by curling your fingers around the edges. He untangles your grip immediately, one hand gently pressing on the small of your back to keep you balanced on the slippery surface immediately after.

“Never do that, your hand’s gonna slip off and you’re gonna slash your chin open” a subtle teasing is still laced into his tone, so you roll your eyes.

“Okay. I can do this” you mutter, as determined as ever not to fall off the stupid thing again. You haven’t even started yet.

“I know you can” he sounds so goddamn sincere it’s a pain to refrain from glancing in his direction and actually focus on what you’re supposed to do.

With a deep breath, you start paddling around and although you drink your fair share of water in the process, after a while it starts feeling more natural. Your board planes across the waves, nose slightly up, your feet rightly positioned with your toes grazing the leash string. You paddle with long, deep strokes, and Eren keeps shouting instructions and encouragement even if you stray too far from him.

Adrenaline starts circulating in your system and your confidence gets a boost the first time you manage to pop up and shakily cruise on what’s probably the smallest, insignificant wave in recorded history for three entire seconds before slipping back into the water.

But you shout your astonished cry of victory nevertheless and Eren smiles so widely, so proudly, you let excitement cloud your senses and quite literally jump into his arms. It’s not embarrassing, not even when you realize what you’re doing, because he hasn’t tensed a second and is actually hugging you back, happier than ever for the smallest of accomplishments of someone that’s not even him. Of someone he barely even knows.

“Let’s go” you mutter and actually have to take a poorly balanced step back because he’s not, by any means, the one breaking the impulsive hug “I wanna do it again”

This draws an airy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re already hooked, aren’t you?”

“I just can’t believe how good it feels!” you beam, absolutely euphoric “hate to admit it but maybe you had a point”

“Yeah, that happens a lot”

“People being skeptical whenever you say anything?”

Eren huffs and then inches closer to brush some wet hair away from where it’s sticking to your cheeks and forehead, his touch pleasantly cool on your heated skin.

“Me being right” he doesn’t let go of your face, seemingly conflicted about whatever is going through his mind. Oh, he looks good like this, like he belongs to the sea and the summer and whatever beautiful scenery he may be surrounded by. He just fits in. He’s like a tanned Apollo peering down at you, if his hands weren’t on you it would be alarmingly easy to think he’s just a figment of your imagination.

The adrenaline rush still hasn’t worn off, perhaps that’s why you crack a smile.

“Anything else you feeling right about?”

The self-discipline Eren has to exercise not to kiss you knocks the wind out of his lungs for a moment. Because what would become of him if he’d let himself yield to a temptation he doesn’t even completely understand yet? It’s just day two of knowing you.

Get a grip.

“I think we’d be good friends” it’s not lying, he tells himself. It’s just telling a partial truth. And he wishes so badly not to notice the disappointment that flashes in your eyes for a second, as you take a wobbly step back and force another smile on your pretty lips.

“Totally, I agree”

Eren clears his throat and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, which he hasn’t tied back like he had in the morning.

“The sun is about to set, I think you’ve trained enough for today. Let’s head back”

“Can’t we stay a little longer?” you peer up at the sky, only then noticing the soft orange hues painting it “just ten minutes. I haven’t been anywhere this quiet in a while”

“Ten minutes” he agrees and straddles his surfboard, hands pressed on the surface in front of him as he looks up as well.

You imitate his position and sit on your board as well, reveling in the gentle way the waves are lulling your body.

Eren thinks you look beautiful like this, eyes shut and facing the setting sun, features relaxed and hair wet. He can easily see himself dating you, someone who has already won his friends over and whose touch he seems unable to stop craving. But what would be the point? He’s all too familiar with what being an islander means. It’s a fluid state of being, his existence nothing more than a fleeting detail in the lives of those who come and, inevitably, go.

Insularity is painfully romanticised and although most times he gets a kick out of the benefits that come with belonging to a place so distant from the mainland, he also realizes the downsides.

You won’t be here when the days will get shorter and tourists will fly back to their dull lives. You won’t witness the way leaves turn a deep shade of crimson and fall from the trees of his beloved cedar forest, you’ll never take part in one of Connie’s notorious christmas parties nor you’ll taste the Kansai-style ozoni Sasha always brings to their new year’s dinner.

And so, Eren will just keep doing what he does best. Remaining nothing more than a fleeting detail in someone else’s summer.

“Thank you for doing this” your voice snaps him back to reality. He cocks his head, confused.

“I didn’t do anything”

You smile with a little, timid shrug.

“You were up early, training group after group and still took the time to indulge me. I can only guess how tired you are, let’s head back”

He’s not tired. He’s so not tired, he would gladly spend the rest of the evening sitting on a surfboard in the middle of the ocean just talking to you, apparently. Perhaps one of his students’ boards collided with his head?

Eren notices your subtle shivering and clicks his tongue on the way back to his car. He carries your surfboard too and secures it on his truck once again, right next to his. He then undoes the tab at the back of your neck, pulls it down and unzips it to help you out of the wetsuit, patiently waiting on the other side of the car while you get out of your wet swimsuit and slip back into the white sundress you had on earlier that day.

“All done!” you walk around the vehicle, eager to climb onto the warm passenger seat once more. But Eren sees the goosebumps blossoming on your arms and another shudder is enough to inch forward to keep the door of his car locked. You turn around to look at him, a questioning look on your face.

“Come to my place” he blurts it out before he has the chance to stop himself. Your brows knit.

“Why?”

“You’re obviously cold and my house is closer” Eren does his best to play off his tension as sense of practicality “just take a shower, warm up and then I’ll drop you off. I swear I’m not gonna try anything, it’s not—”

“Okay” you interrupt his pathetic rambling and he blinks back the surprise.

Oh.

“Okay. Good. Let’s go then” Eren clears his throat and opens the door for you.

It feels a little weird to be honest, but you’re not uncomfortable as he drives back to his place. This is probably the last time you two will hang out anyway, so what’s the harm in accepting a friendly offer, especially when you can’t seem to stop shivering?

“So… what d’you do once summer ends?” the quietness is slightly unsettling, so you take it upon yourself to make some small talk. He glances at you, no panicked reaction elicited this time as he’s driving more carefully.

“My family has been in the fishing industry for decades, I mainly help them out and try to catch whatever job I can handle from home”

“Do you ever travel? Like, to cities”

Eren huffs out a laugh.

“Yes. You think I’m some kind of savage?”

“No!” heat crawls up from your neck to your cheeks “of course not, I didn’t mean—”

“Relax, I’m kidding” he grins “my college was in Osaka. Lived there four years, got my degree, came back”

“Which degree?” still a little flushed, you avoid his amused gaze.

“Mechanical engineering”

“And you’re not offered engineering jobs?” there’s outrage laced into your tone.

Eren just shrugs.

“Yes. But they all require my presence in an office on the mainland”

You don’t say anthing, mainly because you don’t want to risk blurting out another poorly phrased sentence. It would come out all wrong, it would sound as if you’re looking down on him.

Eren senses everything that’s sitting behind your silence and he’s not bothered. His personal life is not really any of your business and although he understands you mean well, yours is an opinion he’s heard way too many times before. It’s a topic not even worth discussing, least of all with someone he’s barely just met.

When you arrive at his place, your hands and feet are ice cold, your hair painfully frizzy. He asks to give him a second and disappears into the bathroom, rattling sounds coming from behind the closed door making you smile as you hop onto the kitchen counter and take a look around. The small living room is messier than it was last night, or maybe you simply didn’t have the time to really look around on your very first entry to the house.

He comes out of the bathroom with a folded drying rack filled with clothes in his arms (I forgot I was drying laundry in there) only to disappear into his bedroom once more, the sound of closets being harshly opened and closed alongside what you can only guess are wardrobe doors slamming against the wall makes you chuckle.

“What are you doing?” amused, you have to shout the question from where you’re sitting.

He comes out of the room with arms full once more and directs you a quick smile before heading back to the bathroom.

“Fixing you towels and something to wear, that dress won’t do!” he shouts too, which makes you giggle.

“Don’t give me your clothes!”

“They’re clean!”

You laugh again, shaking your head.

Eren finally walks into the kitchen, seemingly exhausted, all the way to the counter you’re sitting on.

“Okay, the bathroom is more guest-appropriate now” a small smile tugs at his lips and you notice the wet stains on the front of his black shirt. Has he cleaned it?

“Thanks” you mutter, a sudden, small lump of uneasiness you can’t seem to swallow.

“I’m such an idiot” he snorts “you must be thirsty. Water? I also have orange juice somewhere, or maybe iced tea”

Right as he takes a step to walk past you and towards the fridge, your body moves on its own accord and your fingers instinctively grab the hem of his shirt. Eren stops, surprised gaze flickering from your hand clenched around the fabric of his clothing to your face.

“I’m sorry, Eren” your brows knit in a frustrated frown “I didn’t mean to come across as judgmental, or worse, an elitist asshole”

You exhale, unable to sustain the look in his eyes. “It’s not my place and definitely none of my business. But please know I really didn’t mean—”

“Fuck” he curses under his breath, cutting you off abruptly “you’re making it very fucking hard for me”

Disoriented, you cock your head.

��I’m making what hard?”

Eren plants his palms onto the counter, on either side of your hips, body inching forward. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, forehead dangerously close to be leaned against your own. You can’t resist the urge to gently nudge the tip of his nose with yours, an insignificant gesture that somehow has him sucking a sharp breath in. You’d love to giggle, the teasing question does kindness turn you on? dancing on the tip of your tongue but then his tongue is peeking out to wet his bottom lip a second before he leans forward and traces the soft edge of your neck with the tip of his nose. His mouth follows along somehow, not quite kissing your skin but certainly grazing it, anticipation having your breath quicken.

“You said we should be friends” you whisper, regretting it right away. Eren emits a frustrated huff, breath hot on the neck his parted lips are still gently exploring.

“I said we’d be good friends. And we can be” he places his hands on your thighs, a touch so incandescent the thin fabric of your skirt may as well not be there at all “friends who do this” and just like that he finally closes the gap between you two, capturing your lips in a burning kiss that draws a sigh of relief as you pull him closer. He tastes like the ocean, the strands you have buried your fingers into not as soft as the night before, rendered dry by the salt he still hasn’t washed out.

Eren is an eager kisser, right as his grip on your thighs tightens his tongue is languidly slipping past your parted lips with a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. Head tilted into yours, he kisses you so hard you think your lips might bruise, he kisses you until you start getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen and he does too, although he wouldn’t mind challenging something as silly as the chance of his organs shutting down if it meant keeping his lips moving against yours and having your hands cradling his face.

You break apart first, a panting, breathless mess when you rest your forehead on the curve of his shoulder. He relaxes the grip on your legs, chest heaving with the depth of his own ragged breaths. So long for self-restraint.

“I meant it” he whispers and you find it in yourself to lift your head and meet his gaze “I didn’t invite you here to—”

“Lure me back into your bed?”

Eren senses the playfulness laced into your tone and smiles.

“Yeah”

When he attempts to take a step back, you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him in place. Except he doesn’t offer any resistance, allowing you to effortlessly pull him closer until he’s flush against the counter and the tip of his nose grazes your cheek.

“I know” you mutter, honest “and I appreciate that. But, if you’re down, I’d really like to take that shower with you”

A beat passes.

Two days of knowing you and Eren thinks you hold all the right tools to drive him absolutely insane already.

PART 2

#eren yeager #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot #snk #aot fanfic #aot x reader #eren fic

690 notes · View notes

keirawantstocry · 8 months ago

Note

Prompt: fitpac learning about qtubbos nightmare polycule with 2 gods. Maybe bc he's possessed and they're arguing in his body LMAO

i made the nightmare polycule worse hope that helps

There were strange unnatural glints in Tubbo's eyes. That was the first thing that made Fit and Pac realize it wasn't just him inhabiting his body. Pac had seen the same look in Mike's eyes when his goddess wife was possessing him.

"Oi!" he said, looking curiously at the person currently in control of Tubbo. "Who are you?"

A voice similar to Tubbo's but louder said, "It is me, Tubbo. I fuck like crazy." Its voice descended into crazy laughter. Not Tubbo's laughter.

The inflection was deep on the uh syllable of Tubbo's name to the point where even an idiot would be able to tell this was not Tubbo.

"You're not Tubbo," Fit said.

Not Tubbo turned his face to Fit. "Heyyy sexy."

Fit froze. "I'm sorry what?"

Not Tubbo's face shifted into a concerned expression as his voice got higher and softer. "Ignore him. So sorry guys. My boyfriend is an idiot."

Tubbo's voice broke through. "He's an asshole!"

The female voice slipped back over his with a deep sigh.

A new voice cut in over the two of them, deeper than both of them. "Well, Tubbo's the idiot who signed the marriage papers."

Pac and Fit exchanged a look.

"Is your husband in there?" Pac asked carefully.

The voice that appeared first came back. "Yes. I am his husband, who wants to fucking know?" Not Tubbo squinted at him. "Is one of you the man he's trying to leave me for?"

Pac burst into laughter as Fit simply gaped in disbelief. "No?"

"Não, não," Pac affirmed. "I am very pro-poly. We can all have him."

Not Tubbo seemed content with this answer. "Fine. Still my husband."

Tubbo's voice forced its way through once more. "You have a girlfriend?"

The feminine voice cut over Tubbo's, softer than both of theirs but taking priority. "I'm used to it. He keeps flirting with men in front of me."

The deep male voice shoved its way through. "That's true. We had gay sex yesterday."

"That's not true!" Tubbo said, sounding so exhausted.

"Yes it is," the deep voice said.

"We're in a polycule," Tubbo's husband, Tom Pac thought his name was?, said.

"No, we aren't!" Tubbo cried.

Pac couldn't stop the laughter bubbling out of him.

"We're getting a fucking divorce!"

Tom's voice took the reins once again. "No we fucking aren't. Molly is fine with this."

The feminine voice, Molly cut in, sounding amused. "Did you ask me if I was okay with it or did you just assume?"

Not Tubbo rolled its eyes. "I don't need your permission dear. If I say you're okay with it then you're okay with it."

The deeper male voice made a return. "You are a horrible boyfriend, you know that right?"

"Shut the fuck up, Jack," Tom said.

Tubbo took control again. "Sorry for the crazy amount of voices today, guys. Tom and Molly and Jack are all here. They're excited to talk."

"It's been so long," Molly said. "Since we've had a human host to inhabit." She lifted her hand up to study it before smiling gently with Tubbo's mouth. It was slightly eerie. "Such a strong one as well."

Pac nodded. "Oh yeah he's very strong."

Tom's voice came through aggressively. "Hey, stop flirting with my husband."

"You were literally flirting with me like three minutes ago?" Fit countered and Tom squinted at him before sighing.

Tubbo laughed. The laughter wasn't just his own; it was a mix of a deep roarous laughter, light giggles, and the familiar tremor of Tubbo's laugh.

"That's so freaky," Fit said softly to Pac who turned to him with a grin.

"So cool though, right?"

As the voices began to bicker over each other, Fit just laughed to himself. "Yeah, so fucking cool."

#tubbathon shenanagins #qsmp #my writing #fanfiction #q!tubbo #q!pac #q!fit #what is this #but it was a lot of fun to write

130 notes · View notes

abibliophobiaa · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Two Preview: (coming 8/8/2023 @ 6pm EST)

mini series masterlist

events take place february 1995…

——

“I mean, we already have two boxes, babe,” she said, shrugging, “but if you’re craving it, buy it. I don’t wanna mess with those angry hormones or whatever you got going on right now.”

“I don’t get angry.” The petulant pout on your lips spoke otherwise.

“You cried when I drank the last of the coffee the other morning —”

“That’s different,” you grumbled, tossing the box into the shopping cart. “I think we got everything. Is there anything else that you can th —”

“Robin Buckley in the flesh. Get your ass over here right now, I missed you so fucking much.”

You stiffened on the spot, heart clenching tight within your chest. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t utter a word. The voice had come from behind you, but the realization dawned instant. The timbre of it, the inflection of his words, the jovial nature and affection lacing the sentiment toward your friend.

And Robin understood. You watched as clarity drained her features, a sickly pale color overtaking her cheeks. As her mouth dropped open and she glanced over your shoulder to offer him a smile. You’d never told your friends much about the father. Hadn't even so much as uttered his name once since he’d hung up the call. Had only said he’d been someone you knew briefly and never saw again. Someone who’d known about the baby, and yet wanted nothing to do with it, sparing you from further heartbreak in some ways by rejecting you both outright.

Now he was here, standing behind you in the cereal aisle in Hawkins, no longer in California.

With the tip of your head, you muttered, “I’m fine. Go say hi.”

Head bowing over the railing of your shopping cart, you listened as Robin and Eddie’s laughter filled the aisle. As he likely picked her up and spun her around, based on the sudden thump of feet you heard a short while after.

“And who is your friend here?” he asked, stepping closer to you. And when you turned, he stiffened, voice a little high and tight as he choked, “Buttercup?”

“It’s me,” you offered weakly, feeling very much like you’d stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone. “Guess you’re back from California.”

The words came out harsher than you intended. Barbed in a way that felt unfamiliar to you. Especially with Robin standing uncomfortably in the distance, shifting on the balls of her feet, eyes dancing between the two of you like she didn’t know who she should focus her attention on solely.

“And you’re…here. In Hawkins,” he murmured, sounding a little breathless, hand reaching out to touch like he thought you might float away into the wind before his eyes. You didn’t even think he noticed what he was doing, but you stepped back all the same, an arm coming to cross over your chest, head angling away from him. “I, uhm. Sorry, sorry — can we talk?”

Hurt seared anew in your chest, eyes meeting Robin’s briefly. The other woman shrugged, and you faced Eddie once more. “I don’t know what we could possibly —”

“Five minutes,” he offered, biting at his bottom lip. “Just…five minutes.”

——

taglist 💌: @aurora-austen @lottie-90 @rustboxstarr @daisyridleyyyy @eggo-segual @corrodedseraphine @kjcmama @trixyvixx @lezzy-bennet @aysheashea @siriuslysmoking @micheledawn1975 @ali-r3n @ilovetaquitosmmmm

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x pregnant!reader

99 notes · View notes

soulgazingwithbucky · 2 years ago

Text

protect, ch. 1 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've spent your whole life protecting your younger brother, until an invitation from Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes turns everything on its head.

Warnings: mentions of parent death, swearing, mentions of food, mentions of blood

Word count: 5k

A/N: this is another short series y'all, probably only gonna be two or three parts! also realized this could also work as a mom!reader fic too...if anyone would be interested i would be more than happy to post a different version. divider credits to @lesbiacebian!!!

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

You used to find it difficult to grasp that you were the painfully mortal older sister of an enhanced individual.

Even when your mother stomped off school grounds with you two in tow, having received word that your five-year-old brother displayed an impossible amount of strength against an older bully.

Even when your tween brother returned early from his first hunting trip, his best friend’s dad barely able to sputter praise at his near-professional level of expertise.

Even when he was accused of sneaking into the teacher’s lounge to get test answers, only to find out he had overheard the answer key…from three rooms over.

For better or for worse, it finally clicked when your nineteen-year-old brother proudly arrived home, one hand on his hip, the other shoving a recruitment letter from Captain America and the Winter Soldier in your face.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was. Steve Rogers passed his shield to Sam Wilson. Clint Barton was seen running around New York with a young archer. And you can’t forget when you turned on the TV to see the Hulk’s cousin, her emerald skin glowing from the bright camera flashes.

You’d be damned if your brother became some brooding stranger’s ticket to retirement.

But Tomas would be damned if you stopped him from working alongside his heroes. He was absolutely starstruck, having looked up to the captain’s predecessor his whole life. He would consume stories about Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, wondering who would be his right hand man in life.

So, you planned to do what anyone would in your shoes: go up to these buff-ass, tough-as-nails men who've seen war and tell them there was no way they would even get to touch a hair on your brother’s head. After all, it was now your job to keep him safe, lest you be eternally haunted by your mother’s ghost for forsaking her youngest child.

So when Tomas leaves for his daily martial arts practice, you march your ass on over to these alleged “mighty heroes” to give them a piece of your mind.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

Sam Wilson has no choice but to be completely honest with you. He sits across from you, arms across his chest, shifting in his seat. His partner, Bucky Barnes, sits silently beside him. This entire time, the only change in his expression has been the slight squint of his eyes as he assesses you.

“I said no.” You cross your arms over your own chest, tilting your head and raising your eyebrows.

You say it with so much confidence that the captain almost hesitates to continue questioning you. But he presses on, anyway, asking, “To…?”

“You both seem perfectly capable of fighting evil on your own,” you say, making a show of raking your eyes over the both of them. You tap your fingers along your bicep, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. “Not sure why you need children to do your dirty work for you.”

Bucky has already decided that you irritate him. His patience is running thin, and your grating voice and superior attitude are only serving to make it worse. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out at this point, but the older hero chides, “Sorry–who are you?”

Though his display of hostility is less outright than yours, you still easily pick up on the insulting tone and judging stare. You give him your name, inflecting as much scorn into your voice as possible. They recognize Tomas’s shared surname right away, and you don’t miss the knowing glance they exchange.

“Listen, I understand your concern–,” Sam begins, but you quickly raise a hand to stop him. His eyebrows furrow at your abrupt response.

“Don’t get too excited to lecture me, Captain,” you inform him with a scowl. “I’m not one of those senators you have to bend over backwards for.”

Bucky grits his teeth, reading your ploy to get under their skin like a book. Sam Wilson’s first notable moment as Captain America was him standing up to politicians. Who bends over for whom, again?

The hero formerly known as Falcon has had his fair share of difficult conversations. In fact, he’s impressed at your stubborn determination, but he knows better than to tell you that. But he can feel his partner seething beside him, and Sam speaks up before Bucky gets a chance.

“He won’t be out on assignments with us for a long, long time. We’re just hoping to give him guidance, given his abilities,” Sam continues his attempt to explain their perspective.

You scoff. “He has enough guidance, thank you.”

It’s true. You pushed your grief aside to keep your brother’s life stable. You dropped out of university to work full-time, determined to continue your mother’s goal of cultivating his skills. Martial arts training, gymnastics teams, and language tutors were not cheap. Even if you didn’t fully agree with your mom’s vision of developing Tomas’s talents, you’d be damned if you let all of her efforts go to waste. In your own way, it was the only way your grief could manifest: continuing your mom’s version of parenthood, even if all you wanted to do was hide him away from the horrors of the world.

“Guidance from the right people, though?” Bucky says. You’re ready to snap at the perceived jab at your guardianship, but Sam’s hesitant expression makes you think Bucky’s question has a different motive.

Your smart-mouthed reply melts away, replaced with, “What does that mean?”

“Bucky–”

“No, you know what, she should know, Sam.”

“Know what?” you demand.

The heroes hear the vitriol, but they don’t see it. Your arms have dropped and you’re now leaned forward, eyebrows raising rather than scowling. Sam’s eyes flit between the both of you, trying to make the most informed decision in the next five seconds. Finally, he sighs with the slightest shake of his head.

“Trust us, we had no plans to bring Tomas into any of this,” Sam begins carefully, evenly. “But we received word that he was on a lot of radars.”

“Radars,” you huff. You’re not sure what’s worse: that you don’t know what he’s talking about, or that you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Your brother’s skill set is valuable,” Sam continues. He leans forward, resting his clasped hands on the table. “In the right hands, he could help a lotta people. And in the wrong hands, he could hurt even more.”

Lips pressed into a hard line, you say, “And which are you?”

Bucky’s response earns an astonished look from both you and his partner.

“Come find out.”

And so you find yourself at a training facility, your posture as stiff as the bench you’re sitting on as Tomas warms up on the punching bag. Beside him, Bucky absentmindedly throws punches at a speed bag, the object swiveling into a blur as its assailant mutters to Sam under his breath.

“Hot in here, no?” Tomas says, cutting off the heroes’ conversation. Sam furrows his eyebrows at the comment, but shakes his head in response.

“Oh right, it’s just the steam coming off my sister’s head,” he says, shooting you a cheeky grin.

You mockingly laugh before Sam tells him they should get started. You watch as the three make their way to the boxing ring, where they take your brother through a series of drills. Tomas is eager as ever to show his skills off to them, landing punches and kicks on Sam’s mitts with a huge smile.

You stand abruptly when you think Bucky is aiming a punch at Tomas’s face.

“Hey! He’s just a kid!” you shout from the bench.

Tomas throws his hands up in frustration, but turns to show you his clearly unmarked face.

“I’m nineteen,” he tells his newfound coaches.

Bucky sighs at the way Tomas’s chest puffs slightly. “Elbows down, kid.”

Later, Bucky comes over to you–well, more like his duffel bag, which sits discarded on the floor beside you. He rifles through it, pulling out a new pair of hand wraps. He fiddles with the fabric, leaning against the water cooler. The awkward silence is pervasive as you both watch Sam run agility drills with your brother.

“He’s good,” Bucky says.

“I know,” you reply curtly, making a note to tell Tomas to stop hyperextending his elbow.

You both allow the silence to fall once again, amused by the way Sam rubs his temple when Tomas throws yet another unnecessary flip into a fight combination.

“You could be putting a bigger target on his back, doing all this,” you say.

“Could be,” he echoes. “But whoever’s coming for him won’t stop. Better to have backup.”

“Captain America is backup?”

Bucky cracks a smile, watching as Sam breaks and sets off on a lecture on why a back handspring doesn’t make a jab stronger.

“Something like that.”

And so you find yourself sitting next to Tomas, absorbing every one of Sam’s words. In front of you, an entire pile of Tomas’s…recruiters sit in a chaotic pile. Foreign government entities, underground crime organizations, maybe a fucking alien spaceship or something? You try to memorize every name, every detail, but they’re all blurring together. On top of that, you’re in a completely unfamiliar location. The meeting space could barely be considered an office, and you wonder how anyone could feel comfortable in the barren sterility.

When you shake yourself out of your thoughts, you’re surprised to find a glass of water waiting for you. You glance at Tomas, then at Sam, who are completely engrossed in their conversation. You look at Bucky, who meets your eye for a second before quickly turning his attention to Sam.

Swallowing a shaky breath, you bring the cup to your lips.

“So what do we do?” you finally say, eyes laser focused on the ripples in the water, thrumming your nervous fingers along the glass. You’re not even sure what they’ve been talking about.

“We focus on what we can control,” Sam says firmly. “We can’t make them forget about your brother, or turn their attention to something else.”

Sam turns to your brother, aiming his next words at him.

“We can focus on making sure your mind and body are strong. Stick to our training sessions, and it’d be a good idea to set up some counseling, too. You can do it with me, if you want.”

Tomas scoffs at Sam’s earnest gaze.

“You guys, I’ve been training my whole life. I’ll be fine. Shouldn’t we be hunting them down, anyway? Making sure they can’t hurt other people?”

At this point, your voice should be breaching stadium crowd levels, chiding your younger brother for his foolish determination. Instead, you can’t focus on anything else but the panicked thoughts swimming in your brain. No matter how powerful your brother was, you never relinquished your self-appointed role as his protector. You would practically bark at anyone who even looked at him in the wrong way, even as he grew older, bigger, taller. No one was safe if you felt your kid brother was in danger–not the geometry teacher, not his first boss, and definitely not that sophomore that called him an orphan in front of you.

But how could you stop a powerful crime boss? A cruel dictator? An otherworldly being with abilities beyond your comprehension? They would kill you without a second thought, wiping your blood off of their boots before stepping over your body to get to Tomas.

“You’re doing it,” you find yourself saying. At this point, you’re gripping the cup tightly with both hands, the tips of your fingers paling from the sheer force you’re exerting.

“What?!” Tomas cries, exasperated you’re not on his side.

“You’re doing it,” you repeat. “Chrissake, Tomas, these are heroes who have saved the world. You’d think they would know a thing or two.”

Tomas huffs at you, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. It kills you, bringing you back to moments in childhood where he would be told no to a shiny toy, or moments in adolescence where you told him he couldn’t stay out late. How small those moments feel now.

Your brother looks around the table, realizing he’s outnumbered. He mumbles his reluctant agreement as Bucky silently takes the cup from your vice grip. Feeling returns to your fingers, radiating throughout your body as you feel the slightest bit of relief. You’ll accept it, for now–you know it won’t last.

And so you find yourself straightening your back, trying to elongate your posture to match the two men in front of you.

“Absolutely not!” you tell them.

“Sis–,” Tomas begins, and you snap your hand up to quiet him.

“You’re training with Bucky nearly every damn day, and Sam, you’ve got him at your stupid therapy sessions–which you weren’t even in favor of, Tomas, need I remind you–this is so unnecessary–”

You slam your fork onto your plate, appetite gone.

“They’re not stupid,” mutters Sam, glancing at Bucky, who gives him an assuring shake of his head.

“He’s never been on a plane before,” you continue. “He’s barely even left the state–”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Sam insists. “I’ve never even seen Kamar-Taj before–”

“So what, my brother should feel so lucky?”

“I kinda do,” Tomas pipes up.

“Shut it,” you and Bucky pipe up. You shoot him a glare, and Bucky uses your theatrics as an opportunity to get a word in.

“He needs this,” he insists.

“And you know what’s best for him?” you spit, slamming your palms on the table and standing up.

“Apparently,” Bucky shoots back, lifting himself out of his seat. All your prior glowers have merely been practice for the look you give Bucky now. He seems completely unphased, meeting your eyes with an unnervingly calm stare. You’re ready to give him a piece of your mind, index finger pointed accusingly in his direction, but Tomas cuts in.

“I’m going,” he says. You laugh in disbelief, but he repeats himself in a tone you’ve never heard from him before.

“I’m going, sis,” he repeats sharply.

“And you don’t get to speak for me,” he continues, rising abruptly. “None of you do. None of you are my parents.

“And you never will be.”

Tomas’s final sentence hangs in the air. His face falters for a brief second, but he quickly regains his composure, stiffening up before stomping off to his room. You and the two heroes seem frozen until the door slams. Sam recovers first, shaking his head and glancing at the both of you with his eyebrows raised in sympathy, before heading in Tomas’s direction.

You and Bucky let the silence continue. It feels like the echo of Tomas’s slammed door is still bouncing within the walls of your mind. You step away from Bucky, turning your back to him.

“Hey–”

You flinch, though Bucky’s voice is barely a whisper. He reels at your fearful response.

“No. No,” you say, almost automatically, though you’re not sure exactly what you’re saying no to. Your hand is gripping the back of the couch, and Bucky thinks you’re about to inadvertently break off your own fingers. He wants to reach forward, peel your hand off, and shake some sense into you. Instead, he does the opposite, creating more distance between you and sinking back into the dining room chair.

“I was always in there,” he starts. He keeps his voice low. It sounds like gravel in your ears.

“I remember everything. I tried to stop. Every day for ninety years. I begged my body to listen, but it was like I was in the backseat. You know, even if your possessions burn up, even if the clothes off your back melt away, even if everyone you love leaves, you’ll always have you. But I didn’t even have me. It took nearly a century and almost killing my best friend to come back.”

He looks up at you, eyes searing with pain.

“I look in the mirror, and I gotta be honest, sometimes I don’t know who it is staring back. So who was it that came back? And at what cost?”

He rips his gaze away from you, burning holes into his metal arm.

“I couldn’t stop my body. Because I didn’t have my mind.”

“Bucky–”

"Let him go to Kamar-Taj. Don’t take away that chance from him. The world doesn’t need another…me.”

You take a deep breath.

When Sam eventually coaxes Tomas out of his room, he’s surprised to hear lighthearted quips. Tomas looks sheepish, trying to shrink himself behind Sam.

You’re speaking to Bucky: “So I’m guessing this elusive Camatidge–”

“Kamar-Taj,” Bucky interrupts.

“–Kamar-Taj doesn’t have wifi? You can only communicate with some sort of spell?”

The relic looks to Sam, hoping to tap him in for the modern technology question.

“I actually hear their wifi is crazy fast,” Sam chuckles.

While Bucky and Sam step out to call Dr. Strange and confirm their attendance, you focus on tidying up the kitchen. Tomas joins you, rinsing grime off of the dishes so you can load them into the dishwasher.

“Mom will never be you,” he finally says. “In the same way that you’ll never be her. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He chuckles as he watches the water run down a plate. “You’re both insufferable in your own special ways.”

You shake your head, meeting his mirth with a laugh of your own.

“It’s true–imagine if I got mad at you for leaving the house without ironing your shirt,” you chuckle.

“Or imagine if Mom yelled at my lit teacher because I got a B instead of a B+,” he retorts.

“It’s not your fault he had a personal vendetta against the Oxford comma,” you say. “...She would be proud of us, wouldn’t she?”

He passes you a mug. He knows you better than he knows anyone, which means he fully understands that your choice to continue his training was for Mom, not for him or you. He sees the way you wince when his capoiera opponent lands a strike, how you’re instantly on your feet when he doesn’t land quite right off of the parallel bars. He’s grateful, knowing the alternative would be doing nothing at all, but he wonders how much you allow your mom’s perceived influence to affect your decisions.

“I think she would want us to be proud of ourselves, sis. That’s all she ever wanted.”

You stop to stare at your brother. Though the bar’s low, that is the wisest thing he has ever said. You take him in, his tall figure, his lean muscles, the nose that was always a dead giveaway that you two were related. For once, you don’t see the little kid in overalls with melted popsicle on his shirt. You don’t see a scraggly teen looking at you in disbelief as you hunch over a “How To Shave 101” YouTube video together. You see a powerful, strong man who has more ambition in his pinky finger than most people have in their whole bodies, who wants nothing more than to make the world a better place.

You and Tomas snap your heads towards the door, watching Captain America and the Winter Soldier re-enter your home.

“We’re all set,” Sam confirms. “Pack your bags, kid.”

You can feel Tomas’s excitement radiating beside you. He looks ready to take off before he realizes he has a sponge and bowl in his hands. You nod at him and he drops the items in the sink, running to his room and inadvertently splashing you with soapy water on the way.

Bucky takes his place, rinsing off the dish before handing it to you. Sam follows Tomas once more, realizing your brother probably doesn’t even know what to pack.

“You were wrong,” you say as he hands you the final piece of cutlery.

“Here we go,” he muses as he rinses off the sponge, completely unaware that your next words would take his breath away.

“The world could use a lot more of you.”

And so you find yourself biting the edge of your thumb, trying your best to focus on the book you had selected from your shelf without much thought. It was an ill attempt to escape from the reality that your brother was in a foreign country, in the hands of two people you had just met a couple of months prior.

“Stupid retreat,” you muttered, flipping the page as though you had any idea what you just read.

You pick up your phone for the umpteenth time in the past twenty-four hours Tomas has been gone. It’s like you’re stuck in time, picking up your phone with the same hope of a notification, then feeling bitter disappointment when it’s only your bare lock screen. A few minutes of fruitless distraction later, and you lift your phone again, restarting the cycle.

The stupid novel is doing a terrible job at distracting you, so you think of Sam and Bucky’s advice. They’ve said it an infinite amount of times at this point, but it can’t seem to get through your thick skull.

Tomas is an adult, not a child. You can’t keep him sheltered, protected for the rest of his life. You can’t keep him from all the evils of the world, even if he was just a normal kid. The best way to protect him is to equip him with those tools and skills instead of expecting him to rely on you.

It’s great advice. Wise words, definitely. Just a lot easier in theory than in execution.

“Fuck!” you hiss, your nervous nibbling finally drawing blood. You quickly rush to clean and dress your thumb in the bathroom. You freeze. Is that–?

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

You run like you’re in the Olympics, damn near throwing yourself over the back of the couch to grab your device before the call goes to voicemail.

“Tomas! How is it? Did you get there okay?”

“It’s…Bucky,” he says. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Bucky,” you say, massaging your temples. “No, no, thanks for calling. How was the trip?”

“Great. Couldn’t have gone smoother. I tried to wrangle the kid to make this call, but he’s stupefied by the people making sparkles with their fingers.”

You find yourself laughing. “No, okay, that’s good. I’m glad he’s having fun.” You press your lips together, wondering if you believe yourself. “But if my brother comes back through a portal, Barnes, I’m coming to you first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles. You express your gratitude at his call and give your salutations.

Though you’re met with silence once again, it doesn’t hang as heavy.

And so you find yourself staring at the door. You sure as hell weren’t expecting company. With all the magic and supernatural in the world, maybe someone psychically divined that you really wanted a bowl of soup delivered to your doorstep. The past few days without Tomas have left you sleepless, and reprieve in the form of a comfort meal would be all too perfect.

Gingerly, you approach the door. Despite your hopes, you also acknowledge that the presence on the other side of your door could be dangerous. Fortunately, the brand new Stark security system can tell you who awaits beyond the wooden frame.

From the camera, Bucky adjusts the backpack clinging to his shoulder, waving a gloved hand at your camera. He’s back a few days early…without Sam or Tomas.

You fling the door open, and Bucky raises a hand to quell you before you’ve even started. You’ve never been on the receiving end of that before.

“He’s okay. I had to come back early to handle something.”

You stare at his muscular frame in your doorway. “Is that something me?” you question with a tilt of your head.

He furrows his eyebrows at your statement, then realizes the implication of his words.

“Oh, no–,” he begins, then pauses. “Just a quick check-in. Figured you were probably anxious and, I don’t know, rearranging the furniture for the seventh time.” He peeks over your shoulder jokingly, but you move to block him. His attempt at a jab was actually the truth, and you didn’t need him to know the dining table made a new home along the opposite wall.

You scratch your neck. “Even if it’s your mug I have to see,” you tell him, “I could use the company.” You step aside, beckoning him in.

He hesitates, and your eyes widen. He was expecting to make sure you were okay before retreating to his home across town.

You stammer, “Oh–sorry–you probably have places–”

“No–”

“–hero stuff–”

“I was just–”

“–shouldn’t have assumed–”

“Move,” he damn near barks. “Mug’s here to stay.”

You sit in silence for most of the night, save for your questions about Tomas, sitting on opposite ends of the couch and watching a silly slapstick comedy film. Though you can count on one hand how many words you speak to each other, you can’t deny the feeling of relief that washes over you.

In the morning, you wake up to sunlight filtering in from your living room window. You’re wrapped in a throw blanket, and you can feel the impressions your couch has left on your face. You’re groggy, and kind of confused.

But damn if that wasn’t the best sleep you’ve gotten all week.

As you pick up your phone to type out a mesasge, you wonder if it would be so bad to see if he could join you again.

Heyyy

Stop. Erase that now.

Free tonight?

What are you, a frat boy? Be serious.

I really appreciated you stopping by last night. I was wondering–

Is that bile rising in your throat? You would rather be the frat boy. You stare at the blinking cursor before opting to press the telephone icon in the corner instead.

“Hey,” you greet.

“Hi.”

“I, um–”

“I was actually in the area. You hungry?”

Your teeth find your bottom lip.

“Starved.”

You and Bucky are hunched over the dining room table, picking at the array of food he has brought over. You’re not sure if he’s aware that he bought so much food that you can barely see the color of your dining table, but you don’t mind. You hum as you bring the cup of chicken noodle soup to your lips.

Eventually, you’re stuffed, and Bucky huffs in amusement.

“What?” you say, leaning back in the chair.

“You both do the same thing,” he comments, drawing a circle over his own face with his finger. “When you’re full.”

Your eyebrows flick upward in amusement before you absentmindedly start replacing the lids on the takeout containers. He tries to help, but you smack his hand away. Bucky scoffs, but relents, leaning back with his arms comfortably resting across his torso.

“So he’s doing okay?” you say.

This is probably the third time you’ve asked, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

“More than okay,” he says. “Fantastic.”

“That’s good. You all haven’t suffocated him like I have.”

He lets out a long exhale.

“You’re just trying to protect him.”

Your nervous fingers trace the edge of the table, having lidded every container on the table.

“So you don’t disagree.”

There it is. That squint again, like he’s coming to conclusions about you that will forever be a mystery.

“I hope…,” he starts off slowly, “wherever my sister is…she has someone like you. The big sibling I couldn’t be.”

Your eyes widen at the confession.

“Dining table looks awful over here, by the way.”

And so Bucky has made your couch a temporary home for a few days, at your timid request. He has no issue honoring it, more than happy to keep you company. He's through ruining people's lives, but he realizes his and Sam's presence has only seemed to make things more difficult for you. He has been anxious knowing you were anxious, and staying over helps him just as much as it helps you. Though it does cause concern for your little brother, who is surprised to throw the door open and see Bucky stationed at the stove.

If Sam feels the same shock, he is much better at hiding it. He simply throws his bag at his feet as he settles on the couch with a plop, complaining, “Kid fell asleep on me for both flights.”

“Both?” Bucky humors him, shuffling a spatula underneath an egg.

“That’s, like, twenty hours each, man. Couldn’t even watch Cars in peace.”

“Your shoulder is surprisingly comfy.” Tomas can’t miss a chance to get a quip in, though he’s busy scanning the apartment you share. He approaches the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that he’s sure used to be buried in the back of the linen closet. Sam glares at him, feeling the tug underneath his bum. “You’d think with all those lateral raises you do…”

“I’m glad you think so,” Sam says wryly.

Come to think of it, isn’t that the pillow from your room that’s now under Sam’s elbow? Tomas reaches for it–is that a strand of Bucky’s hair that he’s seeing? Sam shoots daggers at the man invading his personal space yet again.

“Tomas, can I help you?” the hero demands, turning around to deliver yet another glower to the younger man.

“Did I hear twenty hours?” you say, stepping out of your room. “Tomas, do we need to make a doctor’s appointment?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve never felt better in my life,” Tomas responds, eyeing Bucky. He looks real cozy, setting four plates of breakfast down on the dining table. “Thanks…Bucky.”

“Yeah, thanks…Bucky,” you echo slowly as Tomas's perplexed eyes turn to you.

Over breakfast, your barrage of questions about Kamar-Taj finally quells the possibilities floating around Tomas's mind. He tells you about Dr. Strange and Wong, the mindfulness training he engaged in, the sorcerer trainings he observed, what his room looked like, how Sam snuck out one night to find pizza, how irksome airport security is, Kamar-Taj’s extensive library, how Bucky wouldn’t help him get the girl in 14C’s number, the protection spell Dr. Strange cast on him…

You let him go on, even when everyone’s plate is clear of food and the feelings of over-satiation subside. When he concludes his recollection with a deep breath of air, you reach over to grab his hand.

“I’m glad you had fun,” you say.

And you mean it.

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

A/N: next chapter takes a sharp turn ngl lol. excited for you to read it, thanks for reading!!

389 notes · View notes

nahisummerhold · 3 months ago

Text

Harbinger of Disaster, Part Two

Part the 2nd

Kyean frowned at her when she kissed his cousin, then he watched her take off. When he turned back to the bar he found his cousin looking straight at him. He might not be able to read people’s faces like he used to, but he knew that if Path was looking that intently he had a point to make. “What?”

“She is really nice, you know.” Pathyn said, “She hides from people getting to know her by being friendly and interested in them so they do not have time to question her. Damn adept at it too, I couldn’t even tell you what part of the city she lives in.”

“Wouldn’t know a thing about that. As you know I was only in that asshole prince’s ‘kingdom’ for that one night, and her friendliness was not the same then for sure.” He said, not appreciating the focus on him, no matter that he had just done the same to Nahilvi, a name he remembered all too well, even if he didn’t want her to know that. While they had practiced the drink she managed to stop being freaked out by his presence, she really did relax and her energy shifted, it was a lot different than it was the night they met.

Pathyn replaced the bottles they had been practicing with and cleaned the bar, “I didn’t even know her mother was a performer, and we have been working here together for two years.”

Kyean cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, I heard her mother perform that night, she was pretty impressive. Found out it was her mother as I was listening to others, assessing potential threats.” He wasn’t going to admit that after he saw her on the dance floor and she began to focus on him, he had planned to do his best to get between her and her underwear.

“And yet you didn’t learn her name?” Fuck he would pick up on that lie from earlier. “What was your assessment?” His cousin asked and leaned onto the bar.

“That she was a sexy piece of ass that was a challenging little brat who didn’t seem to take much seriously.” Kyean said with not much inflection to his tone.

Pathyn snickered, “Oh, so just,your type.”

Kyean laughed, finally relaxing. “Asshole,” he shook his head, “but yeah. Which is why I decided to play that night, not just work.”

“Yes I am,” Pathyn said, admitting that he was an asshole, “So, didn’t you have plans? What is her name, Arenytya? Don’t you normally stay with her when you come to town? I could have sworn you said you were planning on it again just this morning?”

“Shut up.” Kyean said and frowned.

Pathyn didn’t stop though, “She’s hot.”

“Aren?” He snapped back, “Yeah, has been for over a thousand years.”

“Remember that high elf you dated a few hundred years back?” The bartender smiled, “Nahi’s hotter.”

Kyean sighed, “There is more to a person than their looks, I can’t see them anyway. She had more ego than could fit in that keep, had to take her outside.”

“You were a Druid, you always liked it outside anyway, shithead.” Pathyn shook his head. “Did the woman that was here trying her best to learn how to bartend a few minutes ago seem egotistical?”

“Didn’t she say she wanted to look good for her friends?” He countered, beginning to think that his cousin wasn’t going to stop unless he did leave.

Exasperation filled Pathyn’s tone, “Do you like to look like an idiot? I know I don’t and so I wouldn’t think we should expect her to. Pride is different than ego, she has been working to learn this for almost two months, putting in the work. You used to appreciate people that took pride in what they did.”

A server came up to the bar and Path threw an ice cube at his cousin and walked away. Kyean sneered, “Asshole.”

“Runs in the family.” Pathyn turned his attention to the server and Kyean could almost feel the charm he was oozing as they spoke. His cousin always could charm the pants off… wait why hadn’t he .. he was about to call his cousin back when he heard her introduced, the Silver Banshee, if that wasn’t ego he didn’t know what was. Then he saw her energy move onto the stage and it was so much calmer than the time behind the bar, more beautiful even, he might have thought her a different person except he would never be able to mistake her with anyone else.

As she began to sing he closed his eyes, he didn’t need them anyway but it was sheerly in reaction to hearing her, not only was her energy beautiful, her voice was. She was so magically unlike the woman he remembered from that night, that sexy little creature had been exactly what she was described as then, now she was different.

He had thought often of that night, the fact that he left her to die at the hands of the attackers made him feel completely ill for a while. There were survivors he knew but before he could even consider looking, the ‘heroes’ had turned their attention to the temple and he was put on ice for ten years. How could he even have checked for those that fled after all that time?And there was the whole Legion thing, then the conflict with the Horde… again… if the people of Azeroth hadn’t kept shitting on her, he definitely would have tried to find information about those survivors, *”Don’t make excuses.’*

*’Shut up.’* he replied, why couldn’t he have absorbed something quiet, like a fel stalker, or a blob?

*’You didn’t make an effort, you can’t just wave it off to circumstances. You felt like shit because you thought she died and you didn’t want to admit you followed your orders over helping someone that might actually have needed help.’* The nathrezim said plainly, Kyean’s hero complex was often a topic of conversation.

The demon hunter couldn’t argue the point with a being that knew his mind intimately, so he just relaxed and listened to the music. Her voice was better than her mother’s in his opinion, he wondered if anyone ever told her that before. They probably had, he couldn’t be the only one to notice.

“She is pretty good, huh?” His cousin’s voice spoke from behind him and internally he started, which made his demon laugh. He always knew what was around him, there was no way the rogue should have gone unnoticed especially as he probably hadn’t tried. Already she was becoming a distraction… again.

Waiting for a few moments to respond, he wanted to act like he didn’t care but he decided to just be honest, no matter how much shit he was going to take for it later. “Yeah, better than pretty good.” His voice came out huskier than normal and that was saying a lot, His cousin remained over his shoulder watching Nahi with him, “Her mother was an opera singer in Kael’s court. Even Easolii said the woman was nearly unrivaled.”

“That’s the shivarra right? The one you were a bodyguard for?” Pathyn knew a lot about Kyean’s time in Outland, not everything, but as much as he was willing to tell anyone.

“Yeah, Easolii said she had to use so much magic to make her performance better than Nahi’s mother because the woman was one of the truly gifted.” He jutted his chin at the stage, “Why haven’t you slept with her?”

The bartender snorted and walked off to help a customer, why couldn’t he have answered before he left? *’Because it is none of your business really.’* With a sigh he focused on the music once more, the song she was doing now was low and sultry, and it made him shift on the stool. *’That is the key she moaned in isn’t it?’*

It jarred him from his focus on her, *’Fuck you…’*

Pathyn came back, it didn’t seem very busy at the bar itself, most of the people were at the tables by the stage, in fact almost all were filled and the bar had just opened. “Never asked her, didn’t think my ego could take being shot down by someone I saw once a week, no matter how nice she was about it.”

“She would have said no?” He sounded surprised, not many women said no to Path, or him either, they used to compete in the notch on the belt race. Man they used to be dickheads, *’Haven’t changed much, have you.’*

His cousin was contemplative, sucking on his bottom lip before answering. “The bar owner here fucked her and then pressed the issue when she told him she didn’t want to be in a relationship with him after he asked and expected she would fall all over herself to be in his bed again. She had said it had been fun but she wasn’t interested in more. The whole thing became an issue where he was harassing her whenever she was working, she got to the point of threatening to stop performing here before he left her alone. He doesn’t even come in when she is here now, makes him too much money to let her quit just for his ego. Always figured she didn’t want another issue with him by sleeping with the help, so I didn’t ask, and she is a really sweet girl that doesn’t deserve his shit.”

The center of Kyean’s chest ached with a rumble he was not going to let escape, *’Temper temper.’* “Why do you still work for the asshole?”

“I like the bar, I like the people here, her included. I might have pushed the issue of us sleeping together more, but watch, by the end of the night she will have at least three guys hit on her. She deals with a lot of this, probably nice to have a friend that doesn’t try.” Pathyn shrugged, “Sometimes I am not an asshole.”

It was a perfectly reasonable response, but Kyean felt pissed off by the suggestion he was just going to sit around to watch all night while men tried to get her into their bed. *’Aren’t you though?’*

*’Shut the fuck up!’* he nearly roared at his demon. A low laugh worked its way through his mind but the nathrezim quieted.

“Sure keep telling yourself that,” Kyean joked, he was still looking towards the stage, but now he was also watching the room for whatever asshole might come up and bother her. “She is actually better than her mother.”

Path leaned in, “What’s that? A compliment? Here I thought you considered her a shallow tramp.”

Another snort of laughter and he shook his head. “Asshole.”

#wyrmrest accord #nahilvi #nahisummerhold #oc

5 notes · View notes

lemonluvgirl · 2 years ago

Text

The Whipping

written for @andretries

I’m roused from the useless stupor I had fallen into by the sound of her voice, speaking quietly in the kitchen.

I sit up, ramrod straight on her living room couch, ears straining to hear her again. None of the horrible things I had been feeling, all the dark thoughts that had been burrowing around in my brain, wrapping themselves around me, tighter and tighter and making me nearly incoherent with pent up worry, exhaustion, and anger, can hold onto me anymore. They slide away at the sound of her awake and still able to speak.

For a long while there I really thought that the girl who had survived the death of her father, starvation, an unknown arena, fireballs and trackerjackers, the careers and the mutts and countless other dangers would finally be overcome by the furious whip of a new Head Peacekeeper.

I really thought we were going to lose her, when Delly had dragged me to the square, whispering frantically, ‘they caught her, Peeta, it's really, really, bad! You have to come quick!’

I really thought I was going to follow her to the grave, shot dead by a squad of armed peacekeepers because when I saw the back of her shirt torn and hanging open, her hands chained to the post, her head lolling half consciously, and her naked back, mutilated and bloody, carved open by the whip, I thought I would kill the man who had done it to her, without any regrets.

But thankfully Haymitch stepped in, and saved us both. But not before Thread nearly killed her, and I openly defied him when I jumped in front of the whip to take the thirteenth lash, right across my face.

“Prim’s fine, your mother’s fine. Everyone is safe.” Gale’s voice floats over from the kitchen. Deep and even, like he’s trying his best to be calm and reassuring.

“And Peeta?” Her voice cracks a little on my name. Everything inside me snaps to attention, and I’m halfway off the couch before I realize walking in on their private moment would be a really dick move right now. So I force myself to be still.

Gale’s tone is low, with that same chest deep rumble that accompanies almost all his conversation, but his voice is still audible.

“He’s okay too.” It’s said without inflection, or emotion. Like he’s trying to be very matter-of-fact about it. I wonder if it pains him to be asked about me. I wonder if he understands that she asks from a place of reluctant friendship, and not-

“Where is he? Did—did they whip him? Arrest him?” My thoughts are interrupted by her erratic sounding questions. I think I half imagine the rising concern I hear in her voice, but then—

“No—well, just the once, but-” Gale starts to explain but she cuts him off, as if no longer listening.

“Peeta?” Her voice is louder now, sharp, with a kind of panic that I’ve heard once before, in the arena. I can hear her clearly all the way in the living room. I imagine her turning her head frantically.

She sounds terrified, like when we split up to find food and both heard the sound of a cannon and thought the other had been killed. But really it was the red haired girl, the one who ate the poison berries by mistake, who had died.

I’m halfway across the room in a heartbeat. Half panicked myself at the searching sound of her voice, and worried that she’ll hurt herself more if she distresses herself, and moves the wrong way.

“Peeta!” She calls a second time, but I’m already by her side, my feet having made the decision while my brain was still processing why she was calling for me so desperately.

Her face relaxes immediately, and the panic leaves her eyes. Up close she looks so small, and battered, laid out the smaller, and informal kitchen table way she is. Her feet just barely skim the edge of the table, and she has more than a foot of extra room on either side. But the space next to her is decidedly not as generous.

I’m practically side by side with Gale. Large man that he is, Gale has to shift to make room for me.

In the back of my head there’s a voice commenting on the tragic irony of it all. Me, displacing him because the bizarre and unpredictable circumstances of reapings have made me someone in her life, a strange kind of footnote, when really I never should have been a concern of hers at all. Him, giving way and making room, not because I’m anyone of real consequence, not when compared to him, but because he can’t bear to see her in any more pain or discomfort than she already is.

Still, there is this moment where I matter enough for her to ask, and that alone is strangely comforting, and validating. Six months ago I probably wouldn’t have even been an errant thought in her mind. But jointly surviving a gladiatorial contest to the death, and then teaming up to deceive an entire nation with a made up love story does bring people together in strange and unpredictable ways.

I know it won’t last long, this moment of fleeting concern. She’ll see I’m alive and she’ll settle down. She’ll ask for him again, or maybe she’ll just pass out. I’ll do the expected thing, the noble thing, and take my leave. The world will be right again. All of Gale’s fears and doubts will be soothed and forgotten. And I’ll be forgotten but that’s ok. Even if I’m left alone in my big cold, empty house, at least I’ll know she’s not alone. That someone who loves her is looking after her.

“Shh, shh, Katniss. I’m ok. I’m alive. I’m right here.” The words tumble out, comforting and familiar, and second nature to me. It's exactly what I would have said if she were waking up from a particularly bad nightmare on the train. But this is no bad dream. Even though the deep, vicious stripes carved into the skin of her back could have been summoned out of my worst night terrors.

Gale takes another, quick step away from us. It's reactive, like he’s stung by the familiarity, maybe even the intimacy in my tone. I feel a twinge of shame, and guilt for half a second before Katniss reclaims my full attention again.

“Peeta.” She breathes my name in a whisper so full of relief that my heartbeat stutters irregularly in my chest, before settling back into a normal rhythm. I feel like I can breathe again, now that I can see her dark, silky eyelashes flutter against her olive cheeks with my own eyes, and hear the soft husky way she says my name with my own ears. She’s alive. She’s alive and she’s not locked up somewhere, or on a train to the Capitol right now. Something very wrong in my world has been set right, and an indescribably huge relief settles into my bones.

She lowers her head back down to rest against the dark grained wood of the table, and my fingers twitch, restless and automatically reaching for her, but I myself stop before they get too far.

It must be uncomfortable for her, lying on her front, I note distractedly. She’s a side sleeper, and I wish I had thought to slip a towel or small pillow under her head when we were setting her down. Then I remind myself that it shouldn’t be my concern, her sleeping habits and her level of comfort. It's a vestige left over from the victory tour, the instinct to tend to her, see to her needs, to soothe with a touch or gesture.

It feels wrong to think these things, to anticipate in my head what she would want or need, with Gale looking on. It’s not really my place, and now that the tour is over and we’re back to reality. I need to remember we’re just friends. At best.

But then she goes and reaches for me all by herself, just stretches her hand in my direction like it's the most natural thing in the world.

And again my body makes the decision for me before my brain can finish listing the repercussions this will cause. Because there’s no universe in which Katniss reaches for me and I don’t take her hand, regardless of any prevailing wisdom or propriety.

“I thought I’d lose you for sure.” She whispers and I’m so stunned, all I can do is shake my head. She’s looking at me in a peculiar way. I wonder absently how much morphling they actually gave her.

“No,” Is all I can think to say, gently, once I finally get a hold of my ability to speak.

“You could have been killed. Stepping in like that.” She says, eyes locked on me, insistent, despite the odd angle of her looking up at me while lying stomach down on the table.

“I wasn’t. The only one who really got hurt was you.” I reply, disapproval bleeding through at the end, despite the knowledge that it would be disastrous to start an argument right now.

And not just for her health.

Something is happening right here, at this moment, something about the way she clutches my hand while she lies broken and bleeding on her kitchen table. Something oddly reminiscent of the way she had once looked at me when my fever was burning hot and furious inside my body when we were in the cave.

A large part of me has been operating under the impression that that look I remembered was a hallucination on my part. A made up fever dream. Especially after the argument on the train tracks when we first came home. When she told me it was an act.

But now—now I can see it wasn’t just a wishful figment of my imagination.

Katniss Everdeen really is looking at me right now like I’m something irreplaceable. Like I’m something she wants to protect. Something she couldn’t bear to lose.

Which is ludicrous. Totally ridiculous. She’s probably high out of her mind. Driven nonsensical by pain and drugs.

But that look. And the way her lips are trembling.

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself.” She warns.

I almost laugh.

My world feels like it's been turned upside down again, just when I thought I had gotten it straightened out. There’s a riot inside of me. Inwardly I’m a frantic, hopeful, confused mess. But outwardly, I’m calm.

“Look who’s talking.” I murmur, as I stroke her knuckle with my thumb. It’s almost absentminded but on some level I’m aware of it. I’m also aware of how inappropriate it is. But the need to comfort her is strong, so strong. I give her a reassuring smile. I remind myself she’s heavily medicated.

“You should rest.” I say, in as even a tone as I can manage, leaning in just a little to return her hand to the table. I’m not sure she should be stretching her arm out, or moving at all right now. I’m undoubtedly sure I shouldn’t be touching her like I’ve been, with her—whatever he is, in the room.

But when I turn in Gale’s direction to get an accurate assessment of just how badly I’ve overstepped my bounds, and fucked everything up, Katniss’ voice overrides my surprise at seeing we’re alone in the kitchen now.

“Peeta!” She says, in a very put out tone, but I’m still reeling over the fact that Gale had apparently left sometime while we were speaking before. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or guilty.

“Your face!” Katniss says, horrified, as she tilts her head up to get a better look at me.

And I remember the sting of the whip. The white hot burn that split my skin in half a second. The sure and unflinching hand of the new Head Peacekeeper. It had been dizzying, and disorienting. Not the worst pain I had ever felt, but overwhelming in its suddenness.

Katniss had felt that pain 12 times across her back before Haymitch and I intervened.

It still hurts a bit, and my eye is almost swollen shut, but it's unbelievable that Kantiss is concerning herself with my scratch after she almost got whipped to death.

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Your sister already treated it.” It's not really a lie, the snow Prim insisted I put on, did help. “I’ll be fine. It's you who needs to rest now, Katniss.” I say, trying to infuse sternness into my voice.

But she’s still looking at me with concern, and that concern is quickly morphing into an expression I recognize all too easily on her. Anger.

“Thread whipped you 12 times before we could stop him. This,” I say pointing to my face, “is nothing Katniss. Barely a scratch compared to what you went through.” I tell her as I restrain her hand from trying to reach for my face, I fold her fingers inward and return them to the table, but cover them with my own hand.

To keep her imobile, I tell myself.

“You all need to go. Get out of here and far away from me.” She says in a plaintive, almost babbling voice.

“Shh,” I murmur as I carefully stroke the hair away from the side of her face, when she begins to shake her head stubbornly.

“Peeta, you’ll all be killed because of me.” She whispers, voice full of dread.

“No one is going to die today Katniss. They’ve had their fill of blood. They won’t get another drop.” I vow. My tone sounds far more sure than I can realistically prove or promise.

But in the back of my head, the rational part of my mind, that isn’t preoccupied with the need to get this girl comfortable and resting again, knows that the gamemakers in charge have filled their quota for violence, for now.

Katniss seems to take my words at face value, and settles down a little. Or maybe she’s just exhausted.

Yet that part of me, the unapologetic strategist, starts turning the gears, and starts going over the scenarios as I watch her try to get comfortable again on the hard wood table.

Internally I know the consequences this day will bring, for both us, and Snow, could be far reaching. Publicly whipping your victors in the town square, while it may be a power move, it will not be a popular one. Here in District 12 or in the Capitol. Public sentiment still counts for something even in our totalitarian society. And that could be used to our advantage. It could be used to keep her alive. If Haymitch and I can just figure out how to frame it.

While I try to work it all out, the rest of me, the bigger part of me that is physically standing in Katniss’ kitchen, is in overdrive comfort mode. I peel off my jacket, and fold it in two, and then gently, as gently as I possibly can, I lift her head and tuck it under her. So that she doesn’t have to lay with her face pressed against the cold, hard, bare wood.

“Thanks,” She mumbles, as she presses her face into the fabric, and of all things, inhales deeply. And then sighs, like she’s greatly contented by the smell of it. I worry absently, that it might reek of nervous sweat, after I forgot to take it off while I waited to hear the verdict of whether her mother would be able to save her or not.

“Don’t mention it,” I half plead, still wanting her to go back to sleep, to simply rest and get better. I need her to be ok. Need it, like air, or water.

“Smells good, like bread. Like you.” She whispers, sleepily. Her eyes are starting to droop. I almost let out a noise, a moan or groan of relief, the tension that had begun to gather between my shoulders lessening, at seeing her so close to falling asleep.

“I’ve been running around all day. Probably stinks. You’re just too doped up to notice.” I joke, relieved and yet sad that this conversation is coming to an end. It's been strange, and wonderful, but also, not real. Probably the morphing talking on her part more than anything.

“Nuh, uh.” She refutes clumsily. “You always smell so nice.” She admits in a hushed whisper, like it's a secret. And from the way red floods her cheeks I start to think maybe it is a secret that she’s been keeping. Something she secretly likes about me, like the million-and-one not so secret things I like about her.

Huh.

I notice then that I’m tilting my head at her in confusion, and it's probably that odd expression that is keeping her from closing her silver-gray eyes.

So I clear my throat, and adjust my expression. Give her another reassuring smile. Her hand clenches the fabric of the jacket tightly, and she looks like she wants to say something.

“Won’t you be cold?” She asks, voice slightly slurred, as if her thoughts are muddled. I’m actually glad to be free of the thing. I was overwarm, here inside her house but hadn’t noticed yet, my mind too preoccupied with Katniss and her injuries.

“Don’t worry about the jacket, I’ll borrow something to walk home in.” I say, trying to reassure her again.

“No!” She nearly yelps, hand darting out to grab the edge of shirt.

“Please don’t go.” She implores needlessly. My feet are already moving, not towards the door, though. My hands pull out the chair her mother had been sitting in an hour ago. I plop myself down without ceremony, gathering her small, cold hand in my own and clenching it fiercely. She must be cold because of the snow they had to put on her back, but better to be cold and numb than for her to actually feel the stripes of pure fire the lash cut into her skin.

I remind myself to be gentle, to softly, slowly rub warmth back into her hand, her arm, to stop clinging to her like--like--

But she is the most important thing in my entire world. And I’ve never been very good at hiding that. So at her kitchen table, with her back shredded, and her hand clasped in mine, I stop trying to hide it.

My cheeks grow wet with the unshed tears I’ve been holding back for what feels like forever and I say, “Please, don’t scare me like that again. You have no idea what would happen to me, if something happened to you.” I practically beg, in a wrecked voice.

Her voice is thick with sleep, but her hand is steady and impossibly gentle as she brushes away a tear, near my swollen eye. “I think I might.” She says in a sad voice.

We stare at each other unblinking, revealed to each other just a little more in this raw, and painful moment. Why is it that all of our deepest interactions are marred by danger, tragedy, or pain? I muse internally, as her hand finds its way back to mine.

“Then you know, I’d be a disaster. Without you.” I say, laying myself bare, and not caring at the moment how vulnerable I sound, how much it could end up hurting later, to be this honest. We’re both hurt, and bleeding, from everything that's happened today. Hell, from what’s happened in the past year.

There’s no use pretending with her.

“Then stay, and I’ll try my best, not to get into any more trouble.” She says in a voice that sounds surprised. As if she wasn’t expecting the words to come out of her mouth. Almost as surprised as I feel actually hearing her say something like that to me out loud. But my response is quick, instinctual, I don’t even have to think about it.

“Of course,” The words are automatic. The way my feet are always automatically rushing towards her, hand automatically reaching for her. Like a compass pointing north. Like the earth rotating on its axis. Firmly established in its immutability.

“Always.” I add, because it doesn’t matter if she only wants me for comfort, as a constant. As if she knows I can do nothing but say yes to her, and anything she asks of me. An unfailingly predictable phenomenon. Like the sun rising in the east.

If it's only for tonight, this one moment in time, that she wants me, then here I’ll be. By her side, because there’s no digging this girl out of me. I’ve tried, and she will not budge. She knows she owns me, heart and soul, and here she is claiming me when she has no business doing so. When she should be receiving comfort from another, more acceptable source.

But that’s just another thing I love about her. Her absolute disregard for how things should be done.

Most people don’t go volunteering for the Games to save their little siblings, no matter how much they love them. Or running headlong into obvious danger to save half dead boys they hardly know. Or outwitting gamemakers with a handful of berries when they try to go back on their word. But Katniss Everdeen isn't like most people.

If she was, maybe I wouldn’t be so hopelessly lost at the thought of life without her near permanent scowl, or the firm press of her calloused fingertips, tracing invisible patterns into my palm.

“Mmm,” She murmurs, incoherent. She’s quickly being dragged under by exhaustion and the promise of sleep.

I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead, lingering just a little.

Come morning this might all just be a hazy, morphing induced dream to her.

But right now, she needs me.

And I have never felt as alive as in these moments. When fate and circumstance conspire to make Katniss Everdeen reachable, and dare I say, attainable.

Yes, tomorrow it will be as if none of this ever happened. I’ll wake up and remember that she didn’t mean anything she said. It was just the medicine. Just the newest near death experience to add to the alarmingly fast growing list we’re compiling together.

But there’s a part of me that still wishes I could stop time and exist in this one moment.

My heart full of her halfhearted promise to try and stay alive, for my sake, and her hand dragging my mine closer, her lips pressing an unconscious kiss to my buzzing skin, as she nuzzles her face against my palm, and the rest of the world forgotten.

Forgotten, like all that matters is this.

And maybe that’s all that really does matter. That when it came down to it, it was my name she called, my hand that she reached for.

That in these crazy, unpredictable situations we keep finding ourselves in, we are for each other.

We stand unapologetically, unequivocally, together, despite whatever comes.

In that undeniable fact, I take comfort, and in the undisturbed, even breaths she takes as she sleeps, safe here by my side, finally.

#everlark #CANON DIVERGENCE #thg #fanfiction #lemonluvwrites #katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #gale hawthorne #Drabble Prompt #inbox prompts

71 notes · View notes

autumnalwalker · 2 years ago

Text

Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag, @dontjudgemeimawriter.

My words were glimpse, dance, suspicious, seal, & assume.

Tagging @magic-is-something-we-create, @void-botanist, @dogmomwrites, @kahvilahuhut, @oldwoolhat, and the usual open tag.

Your words shall be green, dozen, sound, send, & alive.

Glimpse: Empty Names - 4 - Prince in Gold

The band’s just reached the fourth movement where the stylistic shift from the composer’s death becomes obvious when Sullivan catches a glimpse of purple and green out of the corner of his eye approaching the table.

“You look comfortable,” a voice he’d recognize anywhere says.

“An ambience such as this is worth basking in,” he replies before turning to look at his friend standing next to the table wearing a sleek purple and green dress. “You look nice. Been a long time since I’ve seen you in a dress.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had both the desire and the occasion,” his friend says as they - no, it’s she tonight - takes her seat across from him. More than the dress or her words - less reliable indicators than most would think - it’s her voice that clues Sullivan in. A subtle brightness of resonance and twisting of inflection that he doubts most others would pick up on.

“And I see you still insist on wearing that same hideous vest as always,” she continues.

“No, this one’s gold. You’re thinking of the dandelion one. Or maybe the ochre.”

“It’s all the same pattern though, just different shades.”

“And it’s a lovely pattern, isn’t it. I’m considering wallpapering one of the guest bedrooms with it. What do you think?”

His friend laughs. “Only if you want to drive whoever tries sleeping there mad.”

“I’ll take that as your seal of approval then.”

“Don’t you dare,” his friend says, suddenly serious and glaring at him from across the table.

“Oh, I dare,” Sullivan says as he meets her gaze.

The two of them stare in silence for a solid minute before bursting into laughter in near unison. Not that any of the other restaurant patrons can hear. Privacy is part of the service here.

The laughter dies down and Sullivan wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye before saying “It’s truly been too long, my friend.”

Dance: The Archivist's Journal, Day 100

By some miracle I didn’t get lost on my way to the market forum, nor was I even the last “shade” to arrive and strip off their veils as musicians began to play. There were faces I could recognize among them, but none that I could put names to.

From the description I’d been given, I expected us to be inverting our sacks all at once, throwing their contents onto those who had gathered like splashing a bucket of water. Instead we took a more measured approach, tossing out sweets a handful at a time and giving out the slightly more fragile items directly, usually to children. It drew out the spectacle and gave stragglers a time to arrive and partake of the treats.

Normally I wouldn’t care to be at the center of a show like this - and it really was a center for my fellow ex-shades and I soon found ourselves moving about within a broad circle the crowd had formed on all sides - but the music helped. As did having two dozen or so others in the same situation to diffuse the attention and give me leads to follow. We fell into a rhythm, nearly dance, exaggerating our steps to match the beat, spinning our whole bodies as we loosed our gifts of sweets to spread them into flying fans, leapt toward children bowed low and retrieved toys from our sacks with flourishes. There was a part of my mind that found everything I was doing awkward and silly, and knew that I certainly had less grace than I thought I had or perceived the other ex-shades to have, but I could see that everyone around was happy and that made the inner-voice easy to ignore.

Eventually - was it better measured in seconds or minutes? - we scrapped the bottoms of our bags, waited for the music to reach the crescendo we could all feel approaching and inverted the sacks in (roughly) unison, tossing out the last of their contents and dispelling the final signs of the shades as the lumpy droplets of night became shimmering motes of swirling colors that caught the light when we threw them into the air. This in turn was the cue for those so inclined from the crowd to join in the circle and dance to the musicians’ new song, while the rest either stayed to watch or dispersed to start up other activities.

Suspicious: The Archivist's Journal, Day 68

Once we got closer to the Village I pulled up the hood on my cloak and gestured for Maiko to do the same. Way I figured it, one hooded figure in the mist attracted suspicion whereas multiple hooded figures together… well, would still look suspicious, but at least that attention would be diffused amongst multiple people and one person turning out to be normal would inherently vouch for the others? I’ll admit the logic sounded more convincing in my head.

Seal: A Dream About Anticipation

Every few years a group goes out into the gray wasteland to seal an ancient evil. The time before last, many were lost to the monsters that rise up against them every time. Last time there were fewer monsters than usual and of the twenty-two of us that went in, none were lost.

This time only my father, my brother, and I answered the call. Just the three of us to complete the ritual. Just the two of us really, given our father’s advanced age.

We’re spending the night at a hotel. Our last stop before heading out into the wastes tomorrow morning. I’ve been encouraged to send a last message to someone before we leave, should the worst happen.

But who to send it to?

My former best friend? We haven’t spoken in years, yet for some reason I find myself thinking of her more and more these days.

A current close friend of mine? She’s the only one I might feel comfortable confessing my fears of dying tomorrow to.

My second mother? She would be here with us if she could, but only humans can conduct the rite.

In the end, I compose all three messages, but can’t bring myself to send any of them.

Assume: Empty Names - 7 - Gathered Here Today

“So, we’ve got a boat shipwrecked on an island,” Eris says, “both of which crossed over from some other world at the same time, a storm making it hard to do anything, no idea if anyone’s actually alive to rescue or what might the ship might be carrying, our own boat, a bunch of boxes of what I assume are relief supplies and maybe a couple of magic trinkets to help us out, and a fifty-fifty chance that anyone who is alive might try to repay our kindness by trying to shoot us to keep their smuggling route quiet and steal our rescue boat. Did I miss anything? Local sea monsters that might try to eat us or drag us under?”

#tag game #find the word tag #manuscript search tag #my writing #writeblr #writing tag games #The Archivist's Journal #Empty Names

3 notes · View notes

sinceileftyoublog · 5 months ago

Text

Lightning Bug Interview: Believe It All Somehow Matters

Photo by Ingmar Chen

BY JORDAN MAINZER

It often feels like indie rock bands that dabble in atmosphere, inflecting their tunes with shoegaze distortion or dream pop haze, struggle to find lyrical ideas that match the grandiosity of their sound. Not so much for New York four-piece Lightning Bug. They first caught my attention with 2021's A Color of The Sky (Fat Possum), a soft, expansive exploration of the process of self-discovery-via-songwriting, an album that looked inward despite its skyward timbres. Earlier this month, the band released its long-awaited follow-up No Paradise, and though frontwoman Audrey Kang still digs deep inside of herself, the result carries broader thematic reach. It's a circular album based on the creation myth, bending time and space, triggered by a perspective-shifting 4,000-mile motorcycle ride Kang completed from Mexico to New York City, that was followed by a deep depression. In addition to creating the album almost entirely themselves--including using a studio that guitarist and bassist Kevin Copeland built and using cellist/synthesizer player Logan Miley to mix the album--the band chose to self-release No Paradise like they did their first two records. It's more than regaining total creative control: With No Paradise, in describing the start of the world, Lightning Bug have also created themselves anew.

Whether stark and minimal or layered and complex, the songs on No Paradise all achieve a certain level of immensity. Opener "On Paradise" starts basic enough, with coats of acoustic guitar and staccato organ. Eventually, Kang coos with passivity, "I'm happier here, slow / And indulgent in the sun / I'm happier here, weak / Let the night come when it comes," letting the song also gain steam and volume. "The Flowering" takes notes from Laurel Canyon folk but, too, gives way to stadium-sized drum programming, pedal steel, and swelling strings. The timeless one-two punch of "The Withering" (which features Allegra Krieger) and "Opus" delve into folktales but modern, wiry instrumentation all the same. First single "December Song" sees Kang use the language of Greek mythology to illustrate her depression, over instrumentation that's simple, yet cinematic. "I wish the gods would turn me into a tree / But keep my mind distinct, alive, and free," she sings, as if to want to bear witness to the wonders of the world without having to experience its hardships. And a couple No Paradise songs recall some unexpected forebears, from the Radiohead-esque bass bends and Dane Hagen drum patters of "The Quickening" to the trip hop stylings of "Serenade"; considering Kang's high-pitched, yet soulful voice, you could mistake the latter for Portishead.

Another key differentiator for No Paradise within the Lightning Bug discography is the effect of vocals being higher up in the mix, not as obscured by washy instrumentation. It's certainly apparent on "Just Above My Head", Kang's singing accompanied by only cello. But the effect of voice in general shines brightest on "Lullaby for Love". It's a song Kang wrote as part of a mixtape for an ex-partner, yet it's an effective encapsulation of what being in love with anything or anyone sounds and feels like. "When I hear your name in the hollows of my mind / It runs as a melody through the chambers of my spine / To float on that feeling till strong turns to weak / A truth so far greater than language can speak," Kang sings. Indeed, "Lullaby for Love" is far more than mere melody. It's encompassed by pulsating vocal samples, swirling guitar textures, and rolling drums, oceanic and vast. In a way, it exemplifies the paradox at the heart of the album. How can one wrap their head around concepts that are intangible, like existence and feeling, to begin with, let alone put their perspective to words and music? With No Paradise, Lightning Bug are your newfound philosophers, willing to try anyway what they know is impossible. Earlier this month, Kang answered some questions over email about various aspects of No Paradise, from its preceding motorcycle ride and the effect its songs had on her, to the album's mastering and album art. Read her responses below, edited for length and clarity. If you're in NYC, Catch Kang solo opening for Soccer Mommy at the Stone Circle Theatre in Queens on Friday.

Photo by Ingmar Chen

Since I Left You: Why did you ride a motorcycle from Mexico to New York? Did you expect it would be a transformative experience that might catalyze a chain of events leading to creativity?

Audrey Kang: Honestly, I only did it because I really wanted to keep my motorcycle that I’d bought in Mexico. I felt very attached to this bike because it had seen me through some brushes with death, it had been my faithful companion for many months, and because it was the bike I learned to ride on. The only way to keep it was to drive it home, so I did [laughs]. It was a very practical mission that had nothing to do with a desire for transformation, inspiration, or creativity.

SILY: Much of No Paradise seems to deal with the idea of living passively versus actively. Do you consider songwriting or music-making an active way of engaging with the world?

AK: I see songwriting as more of an internal thing. I stay deep in my own world when I write a song. I suppose once you share your music, you’re engaging with the world. But at least to me, the process of making music is quite introverted.

SILY: On "Lullaby For Love", you sing, "When I hear your name in the hollows of my mind / It runs as a melody through the chambers of my spine / To float on that feeling till strong turns to weak / A truth so far greater than language can speak." Do you ever find songwriting or singing the most effective form of communication?

AK: Hmm, that’s a tricky question for me. I definitely think you can get a feeling across in song that talking can really muddle up. But the truth is, we’ll always only be capable of guessing just how effective or ineffective our communication is, whether it’s through writing a song or extensive conversation or a really long letter. That’s always fascinated me, that you never really know how much someone else is absorbing of how much you’re trying to express.

SILY: When writing, how do you come up with instrumental compositions that reflect or perhaps contrast the lyrics?

AK: I think the composition usually comes along with whatever feeling or space I’m occupying in the song. Does that make sense? I’m so useless at explaining my process [laughs]. When I’m making music, I think/feel/move very fast; it’s really all a blur.

SILY: Your voice seems to be more upfront in the mix than usual. Was that a conscious decision going into the recording of the album?

AK: Yes, definitely. We wanted the vocal to stand out more and carry the plot.

Photo by Ingmar Chen

SILY: The video for "December Song" starts with a line from "Rex's Blues" by Townes Van Zandt, a songwriter known for exploring melancholy as a lived experience. Did writing this song change your perspective on what it means to be alive? Do any other songwriters have this almost existential effect on you?

AK: I would say that writing this song did mark a significant shift in me. I realize this a lot (then forget, then re-realize, and so on), but you can’t wait for life to feel meaningful or magical. In vast expanses of dreary despair, you kinda just have to put one foot in front of the other and commit to believing it all somehow matters. Writing “December Song” was a reminder of that for me. As for other songwriters who explore melancholy as lived experience, Nick Drake comes to mind. Paul Simon. Nina Simone in her expression and performance.

SILY: What is powerful to you about comparing yourself to or even embodying nature--trees, mammals, insects--as you do throughout the album?

AK: Hmm, I just do this without thinking, to be honest. But I will say all patterns in nature repeat themselves throughout all organic existence. I feel this very intensely.

SILY: How did you come to work with Allegra Krieger? What about the qualities of her voice made her fitting for "The Withering"?

AK: Allegra is Kevin’s partner, so that came about very naturally. We both have what I describe as “grandma voices” which I think made a good fit for the rather old-sounding “Withering”. I love how her voice holds it down in that song, but also how our voices interweave and play together.

SILY: On "Just Above My Head", you sing, “Let my death ask of me / Will my music remain? / My songs all may die with me / But when I sing, I find my own eternity.” Do you pretty often think about legacy, in general and when writing songs?

AK: Oh my goodness, I never think about legacy [laughs]. I can see why you’d interpret that line this way. But I guess it was more that I was thinking about how transient life is. So sort of the opposite.

SILY: Some of the songs on No Paradise feature Greek mythology or recall traditional folk music. On, "Opus", you use the word "o'er". What to you is significant about combining archaic or traditional language, stories, or song structures with contemporary songwriting and instrumentation?

AK: Again, like in the use of nature metaphors, this use of archaic language comes to me without me thinking much about it. I guess because I read a lot of old books [laughs]. It’s harder for me to connect with modern things. So that comes across when I write my own songs.

SILY: The video for "Opus" was based on a ghost story you wrote. Do you write any other sorts of poetry or prose?

AK: I scribble things, but nothing I take too seriously.

SILY: You notably tend to keep the making of your music in-house, so to speak, though you continue to work with Heba Kadry, someone with quite an extensive credits list. What does Heba bring to the table that makes her a great mastering engineer?

AK: Heba is an all around legend and boss. She’s totally committed to her art.

SILY: What's the background behind No Paradise's album artwork?

AK: Well, the album is a loose rewriting of the creation myth, so the artwork needed to reflect that. I wanted to contrast “evil” with “innocence” in some visual way. I ended up making a rather potent-looking evil apple, and a childish butterfly to alight on the skin.

SILY: When playing live, do you tend to find yourselves in the same headspace as when you wrote and recorded the songs? How do you see adapting No Paradise songs to a live performance?

AK: It depends on the day, the venue, the audience. Sometimes, you can enter a very special space that feels intimate and true to the writing of the songs. Other times, it’s harder to connect, and you can feel a bit like you’re just going through the motions of performing. I’m excited to perform these songs. They’re honestly extremely hard to sing due to wide melodic movement and rhythmic precision. But they’ll be rewarding to perform, because there’s a lot of passion in this album.

SILY: What's next for Lightning Bug?

AK: I really want to work on our live performances. We’ve never put enough energy and work into that part of music, in my opinion, and I want to change that!

SILY: Is there anything you've been reading, watching, or listening to lately that's inspired you or that you've enjoyed?

AK: I’ve been staring at ocean waves a lot. I find this to be incredibly enjoyable and peacemaking. I’ve also been reading short stories by old Russian greats, like [Nikolai] Gogol.

youtube

1 note · View note

timelostobserver · 1 year ago

Text

For the moment, Hades was silent, his gaze observant as always. Taking note of small gestures, their gait, even inflections in tone from the other Oni. All while keeping his ears open to the forest around them as well. He knew there was the bird hiding in the trees. Witnesses to what occurred here.

But for now, his eyes kept focused on the Kizuki.

"Dōma-san then? Very well. You may call me 'Hades'. No honorifics, or titles needed, nor do I have any regardless." They seemed amicable at least, almost.. in an indifferent air. But it was certainly a western or at least European name that this strange Oni possessed. Perhaps taken from literature rather than anything mythological or tied to what it had been before.

"Nor do I desire any." Indifference is how he treated the 'rankings' among the Oni. He cared little for it, and never lingered or was known enough for it to matter in any meaningful way.

The shuffling also caught his attention, and indeed, one of those pesky crows saw this calm as two Oni spoke as a means to make a break for it. It wouldn't get far, sadly.. As all Hades had to do was reach out and grab into the air, pulling his hand back in a fist. Those threads pulled taut in his grasp and the bird was now frozen, mid-take off.

"There's the last one..." He spoke simply, but it seemed their Blood Art was once more on display, a finesse and control to it. But what ever did it even mean?

"Hmm?" His gaze turned toward Dōma in that moment as well. He never lingered too long for any other Oni to question what he could do, the Blood art he possessed, ever so few even believed him to begin with.

"It's easy to keep anything suspended when you stop what allows them to move forward in the first place. Just as a clock-maker can stay the hand of the cogs of a clock, so too can I stay the winding gears of their Time." He kept a firm grasp of those threads as he approached where the bird was frozen mid fight.

"Though it does little for doing anything in regards to actual ripping and tearing of bodies, unlike your own.." It was often best used in tandem with another, or in how Hades often used it, to simply avoid a situation all together. Avoid fights, avoid confrontation.

All it took was a simple leap, and snatch, as he relinquished the hold, and now held the struggling, screaming bird in his hand by it's neck. He didn't even a spare a word for the crow as he easily snapped it's neck to silence it. Allowing the forest to return to a serene silence.

"I do apologize for the disturbance, though their presence here was not of my doing. I often find myself in the right place at the right time, thus I simply did what was needed." He dropped the bird, rather unceremoniously to the ground. No, they were here because this bird had led them off course, in the wrong direction of their initial target. A target that shifted as they got deeper.

A fluke that was easily remedied.

#[cryopathiic]#[Upper Moon 2 : Dōma ]#[Reply]

4 notes · View notes

ihaveatheoryonthat · 2 years ago

Text

Whumptober* Day 3: Impaled

(*But the author is incapable of inflicting hurt without also inflicting comfort)

Admittedly, I stretched the definition of this a little bit, but it was something I’ve wanted to try for a hot minute, and this was a perfect excuse. And in all fairness, impalement is a factor. I tried to cover all the bases, but if something doesn’t quite click or you wanted to see the original post this is based on, it can be found here.

---

It took several seconds for Emmet to process what he’d just seen.

The issue wasn’t that it was too far from the realm of possibility to be believed, nor because it was lacking a precedent. He was hung up on the fact that he knew what it was, and what it meant for his brother.

Unaware of the silent crisis happening behind him, Ingo went about buttoning his work shirt, pausing to shrug on the waistcoat he’d insisted on adding to his uniform.

That much was beginning to make more sense, now.

Before he could get it settled, Emmet called his name, and he half-turned, one hand idling beneath his sternum as if to smooth the shirt down.

“Is something the matter?”

Taking the question as invitation, Emmet stepped into the room properly, eyes never quite tearing away from the spot he’d seen. There was nothing visibly amiss through the extra layer of fabric, but it had still been faintly noticeable through the white dress shirt.

“There is a mark on your back.” He said, the lack of inflection serving him well for a change.

The response he got was a blank, legitimately puzzled stare. With the hand that wasn’t idling over his heart, Ingo reached blindly back, trying to understand. Wordlessly, Emmet took him by the wrist and guided the hand to the offending area, but the look of mild bewilderment didn’t shift.

“There’s… something there?”

Instead of offering what, at this point, would have been a redundant confirmation, Emmet asked, “May I look?”

A brief hesitation held the place of an answer, followed by the soft rumpling of fabric, but after a moment, Ingo nodded and took his hand away from where it pinned the clothes in place. After another beat of inaction, it became clear he had no intention of removing the shirt, and Emmet simply pushed it and the loose vest up, so as to get a better look.

He very pointedly didn’t touch, but he didn’t have to. Up close, when he hadn’t half-noticed out of the corner of his eye, it was perfectly clear what the dark spot had been: a dark panel of glass, just barely dampening the glow from the silver flame that flickered behind it.

The mark had no business being there-- or, at least, it wouldn’t have prior to Hisui. Knowing what he did, Emmet couldn’t necessarily be surprised to find it on his twin’s person, but was still dismayed at the realization.

There was little doubt that it was a scar signifying the bond between a human and Pokemon-- what else could it be, when it so resembled Chandelure’s radiant globe?-- but its presence suggested something substantially more grim: such marks only manifested where a close tie had saved a person from death. Something had all but killed Ingo, and he was only standing here by virtue of his connection to Chandelure.

On some level, Emmet understood the silence, but on another…

“What happened?” He asked, a question that demanded answer.

When Ingo looked over his shoulder, though, there was a genuine lack of comprehension, “I’m afraid I don’t follow. What happened to what?”

That was something to puzzle out later.

“You were hurt. Fatally. How?”

In rapid succession, his twin’s eyes narrowed in bemusement, and then went wide. As before, he reached back, searching, but didn’t need Emmet’s guidance to find the smooth panel along his spine. Emmet left him to the realization, busy with the perfect line between the point he’d first noticed and where Ingo had yet to drop the hand bunched up in his shirt-- both offset just slightly to the left. The one on his back was lower, but not by much. There were certain conclusions to be drawn from that.

With the newfound softness that Emmet was growing to hate, Ingo murmured, “I… didn’t realize...” and turned in full, gauging Emmet’s expression.

Emmet sighed, trying to breathe his building ire out with it, and reached up to brush his fingertips against the clenched hand.

“Will you show me?”

For just a second, it tensed, clutching more fervently to the wrinkling fabric, and then-- looking like he’d much rather do anything else-- Ingo gave a single nod. When he let go, his hand left a horribly rumpled patch in its wake, but more importantly, there was that same, faint glow, just barely permeating the layers he’d already donned. If the room had been any brighter, it might not have registered as anomalous.

When he tentatively bared the skin beneath, it showed the same window-- larger than the one on his back and closer to the flame, clearly much harder to keep dimmed. It also boasted delicate iron ribbing, identical to the curve of Chandelure’s arms.

He’d been struck clear through, then, from front to back. Emmet spared a brief thought for his brother’s newly acquired affinity for mountain climbing, but discarded it almost immediately; a fall onto a stalagmite would have been far larger and messier. This, on the other hand, seemed very straightforward.

Under the scrutiny, one of Ingo’s hands twitched upward, as if to shield the little window from view, but he resisted the urge. The timidity of the gesture was at extreme odds with the gravity in Ingo’s voice as he asked, “You’re correct in that it developed after I sustained a rather grievous wound, but Emmet, I have to ask: why do you know that?”

Emmet glanced up, inadvertently locking eyes with the searching gaze leveled at him, and blinked dumbly.

“It’s general knowledge.” He offered after a long, confusing moment, “The phenomena itself is not common. But you would be hard pressed to find someone unaware of it.”

Even as the words passed his lips, he realized he’d overlooked one rather important fact. Not for the first time, he’d forgotten to factor his twin’s amnesia into the equation. Dragons, what a mess this was.

“No.” He said almost immediately, aiming for reassurance, but relatively sure he’d fallen short, “I have not experienced it, personally. That is not something you need to worry about.”

Ingo relaxed marginally and, when he moved to pull the thin fabric of his dress shirt closed again, Emmet didn’t stop him. “Perhaps the knowledge is commonplace here, but back then, nobody was entirely certain what it meant. Irida saw it as a sign of Sinnoh’s favor. I believe she was in the minority.” He drew a slow, steady breath, “I’ve gathered that it signifies a killing blow, but don’t understand why it occurred; I’m far from the only person to have been injured so gravely.”

“Chandelure. It was because of Chandelure.” But, for all the overt similarities to the ghost, it didn’t explain the dark tint to the glass when she herself was a frosted white, “And… perhaps Gliscor as well. You told me the Hisuian people were wary of Pokemon. That is the difference. The bonds between people and Pokemon are capable of changing the tracks away from that terminal.”

Three buttons into refastening his shirt, Ingo seemed to remember the wadded up mess it had become, and abandoned the attempt, instead staring down at the muffled light. He closed his eyes and sighed, absently raising a hand to eclipse it, “That’s… but my memory of her was...”

Emmet let him sit with the thought for a few seconds, rummaging around for a new shirt in the meantime. When it seemed his brother was conducting himself into an unproductive circuit, he tossed the article over his head, to immediate, indignant, sputtering.

“You told me yourself that you remembered her out of everything you’d forgotten.”

Ingo pulled the shirt off of his head and shot his brother a significant look. Emmet waved it off.

“A nice thought. I do not believe twins possess that capability, however.”

“How do you know?” Came the immediate retort, “My ignorance did nothing to prevent this, so perhaps there’s a station you’ve missed as well.”

Emmet scoffed and turned away; he’d gotten distracted for understandable reasons, but if they delayed any longer, they’d almost certainly be late. While he’d already realized that it would be impossible to focus today, he went through the motions of his morning routine with the specter of ‘what if’ hanging over him. What if the force that had carried Chandelure’s love backwards through time hadn’t? What if Gliscor had still been too wary of its trainer? What if Ingo hadn’t remembered in time?

He knew perfectly well that there was no use in asking questions he’d never see the answer to-- that he was catastrophizing something that couldn’t have been more thoroughly in the past-- but he couldn’t get past the realization that his brother had nearly died in Hisui… that, by technicality, his brother had died in Hisui.

If they weren’t late, maybe he could make a last minute adjustment to the schedule-- to rearrange it so they were running the Multi lines for the day. For now, he on his own would be a lackluster opponent, and their challengers deserved better than that. He also wanted to thank Chandelure and Gliscor properly. Really, coupling their cars for the day would be in everyone’s best interest.

He wasn’t entirely sure when it was that Ingo cut in, steering him back on course, but as they reached the door, his twin paused.

“As much as I’d like to leave this matter at home, there’s one fact I wanted to impress upon you.” He reached over and took one of his brother’s hands, resting it over the hidden patch of glass, “You can certainly see Chandelure’s influence, and I believe you’re correct about Gliscor. The flame beneath isn’t purple, however.”

He let their hands drop, but didn’t release Emmet’s as they crossed the threshold.

“I can’t help but wonder what that might mean.”

#ihaveatheoryonthat pkmn #submas #fanfic #whumptober

25 notes · View notes

nanaminokanojo · 3 years ago

Text

BLOOM | Sukuna X You | Part 1/3

collection masterlist

one two three | Bloom Masterlist

His hair was the color of cherry blossoms, that's the first thing you noticed. It was the softest shade of pink, easy on the eyes, reminding you of the tendrils of filtered rays of the sun lightly touching the edges of clouds very early in the morning. Or your favorite angora wool sweater.

The man stole your attention from the book you were reading when you chanced a look from your periphery just to check who sat on the stool beside your usual spot on the bar – the seat at the very end by the wall. Your planned glance turned into a furtive stare at the sight of him from his candy-floss-hued hair, the rippling muscles hidden under his white oxford shirt and the array of tattoos that peeked through his neatly folded sleeves. And boy, since when did men smell like vanilla and spring while also exuding such a virile scent?

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth at the thought, internally shaking your head at your behavior. You should not be staring at people, and though you weren't exactly ogling him, you were still observing him enough to associate him with your favorite article of winter clothing.

"Hey. The usual for you?" you heard Maki, the bar owner, ask, giving you the idea that the man was a regular. How you haven't spotted him before was a mystery.

If it was already hard concentrating on the novel you were reading, you've completely forgotten about it when you heard him say, "Make that single-malt." It's either the gates of hell opened at the sudden heat you felt on your skin at the sound of his voice or the gates of heaven did with how delicious it sounded in your ear, thick like honey and deep with a distinct ring to it. It got you wondering what his mother craved for when she was pregnant with him, and your brain said, "Greek gods," when you lifted your eyes from the current page you were reading and briefly exchanged looks with him as he shifted his line of vision from Maki to you.

You turned your eyes back to your book, making it seem like you were just absently looking about, but in reality, it took herculean effort to wrench your gaze from him. In that brief meeting of your eyes, the features of his face registered in your head like a bar code scanner, etching itself in your mind like a white-hot brand. He wasn't shockingly handsome, but he was beautiful in his own right with those intense eyes that reminded you of drowning pools and the rugged yet refined planes of his face. It was as if an artist painted him in passionate anger, slowly fell in love with the piece and began redefining his features with gentler strokes.

You turned the page of your book despite not getting any reading done. Well, it has been the case for a considerable amount of minutes now, but you tried anyway, furiously staring down at the new page but not comprehending anything. Your eyes kept scanning the same sentence over and over again but it was not sinking in at all.

"Excuse me, miss," that deep voice you've already developed a strange affection for assaulted your senses again, making your head snap up to the direction it was coming from. Hell, you think you'll do its owner's bidding just hearing it at the rate you were going, reacting automatically as if you were programmed with a voice prompt or something.

You were about to look at him but Maki caught your attention as she pushed the smoothie you ordered towards you, placing it precisely in front of you on the hardwood surface with her fingers. She arched a brow at you, causing you to stiffen on your seat.

You've been coming to the quiet little bar since you grew old enough to drink. In fact, you considered it your regular watering hole, going there whenever you can even in the day as it doubled as a gastro-pub. You've already come to know the staff who reserved the spot for you every single time you told them you were coming, particularly the tough but very lovable Maki. She's basically a friend now, and you knew you were acting off if she was giving you odd looks.

"Thanks, Maki," you said just in time, even managing to smile. She just shook her head at you before walking away to tend to another client.

"I have to know what book you are reading," the person beside you said just as you began sipping on your drink, which, you've noted, was a cherry blossom tea smoothie that reminded you of him.

You let go of the straw between your lips, swallowing hard. Turning your attention to him, you found him sitting sideways, chin propped on the heel of his palm as he regarded you. "Huh?" was all you could manage to say to him.

A slow, crooked smile etched itself across his mouth, the action appearing sensuous with the gradual way his expressions changed. "That book," he said for your benefit. "May I know what it is about?"

You just blinked, still questioning yourself if he was addressing you.

"If you're that engrossed about it, it must be great," he said. "Mind telling me the title?"

"Book?" you asked dumbly. He was really frying your brain.

He pointed at the book you were holding with his lips, protruding them slightly before smiling again. Jesus, you loved the way he smiled. The gesture didn't belong there when you've already thought he was the smirking, grinning-devil type. It was too soft a gesture, but then again his hair was shell-pink – a contradiction to his stridently brawny features.

"Oh." Despite yourself, you found yourself chuckling. "I'm sorry, I was distracted."

"Not by the book, I hope."

You looked away, smiling to yourself as you closed the object in question and slid it over to him. When you looked at him, you were surprised to see him actually reading the synopsis at the back, interest flickering in his dark eyes. You were already expecting him to just read the title, probably the author, too, thinking he was just flirting with you judging by his last words. But he was actually reading it.

"It's about an architect," he stated. "He must be mind-blowingly awesome if you're too transfixed on his story."

"No, Howard Roark is mostly a recalcitrant bastard who breaks rules here and there, doesn't cooperate or collaborate and is stone-faced about most anything."

"But it's what you like about him," he supplied.

You nodded. "He’s a breath of fresh air in a world governed by stuffy archaic principles. The spring to a long, stagnant winter of conformity. I'm in love with him." Noticing the look of amusement on his face, you were quick to add, "What?"

"Nothing." His smile didn't waver though. "Are you an architect, too?"

"Too?" you repeated with inflection then tilted your head. "Ah, you're an architect, huh?"

"Guilty."

"Any projects of note?" you asked, tilting your head in wonder when he seemed flustered. "What is it?"

He shook his head slowly. "You're very straightforward."

At that, you grinned. "Should I take you out to dinner before I get that information?" You sipped leisurely at your smoothie, glad that you throw him off as much as he flusters you.

"You don't have to," he found himself answering anyway. "But I work for a firm, so they get most of the credit. We built that new hotel at Shinjuku."

"Eh? Didn't pin you for a baroque kind of guy."

"You know..." He was all ears now judging by how he leaned closer to you. He leveled his expression to yours then. "So, what kind of guy did you think I am?"

There it is, you thought, the smirk you've been waiting for. Without giving it much thought, you said, "The Howard Roark type, of course."

***

"You seriously don't remember, do you?"

It wasn't that you didn't. You simply had no idea how you got home, considering how you ended up all smashed after enjoying too many margaritas after your smoothie. You seriously just didn't know certain things. You didn't know what happened after you reached your limit. And out of all the things you know you should not have missed, you didn't know his name.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter, nursing a headache, trying to fill in every bit of information your friends were trying to leech out of you in your addled state. You've been expecting it - the great inquisition - especially after you returned in a state lesser than they've been expecting, unconscious, according to the collective stories of your roommates, when you told them you were just stepping out to get some reading done. And on a school night, no less. Very atypical of you indeed.

"What should I be remembering?" you responded to Ieiri. You weren't exactly fond of her worrisome nature although you knew she was just watching your back especially since she has been rather disapproving of your escapades with these guys you somewhat dated back then. You appreciated it, but it didn't mean you liked it.

"Oh, I don't know, Y/N. Strawberry blond? Tats? Drives a Jeep? Ring any bells?" she said, jogging your memory. "He came knocking at two in the morning, carrying you in his arms. I mean he was hot according to Satoru, but do you even know the guy?"

“Cherry blossom,” you absently corrected the color Ieiri mentioned.

“Huh?”

“Him, I remember.” You smiled at the thought, not hiding your delight from them. You were sure they were just annoyed that they weren't in on the action since Satoru, your other friend and roommate, who seem nonexistent recently, was the one who interacted with the man you met and supposedly brought you back to the house you rented with all of them. And Satoru doesn't know basic decorum to actually ask what the man’s name was. "Howard."

"Howard?" Suguru, another one of your friends who was in the literature department as you were, asked. "Howard Roark?" He knew the reference, obviously. You forced him to read the book before it even became one of your study materials.

You nodded enthusiastically. "He's an architect."

"He didn't look like a 'Howard,' apparently," Ieiri said.

"That name is from her favorite book," Suguru supplied, his dark eyes shifting to you as he tucked some stray strands of his long, raven locks which were currently tied in a half-up. "So your guy's an architect, too."

"That, but he isn't 'my guy' and I don't know what his name is."

He grinned then. "If you're openly calling him by the name of the character you claim to be in love with, I'm assuming..."

"No!" Ieiri gasped.

You laughed despite the action making your head hurt. You were still hungover after all, but you didn't mind, not when you knew you had a good night. Probably a great night to allow yourself to be hammered like you have been. You only ever drank to your fill when the company is great and when you were in a jovial mood.

"It's nothing like that. He just feels like spring time. Looks like it, too." You waved your hands in front of you for emphasis. Still, your expressions said otherwise.

You weren't in love with the man because you didn't believe in mushy things like love at first sight, but you knew you liked him, just that you weren't getting your hopes up cause there's a chance you might not see him ever again, assuming your meeting was something transient like the blossoms his hair made you think of. Even if he was a regular at Maki's, if your schedules didn't coincide with one another, it would not be easy to meet. You've been coming to the same bar for years and yet, you've only ever seen him that time. You never really know.

But then, you got your answer pretty quickly.

From: Satoru

See you at 7 tomorrow night. Same place.

That’s how Satoru's message read, sent late the previous night. You almost forgot about the agreement you’ve had with him to get unlimited barbecue after sleeping the rest of the day but you made it out just in time. It was something you did with all three of your friends as a way to bond with them individually.

You glanced at the clock on your phone, feeling the stares of the restaurant staff on you. Well, you’ve been there for more than an hour waiting for him. One hour and thirteen minutes to be precise. All you’ve ordered so far was a glass of lemonade and you were able to finish that in the first half hour, sitting on a table for two when evidently, you were alone. All your texts were ignored and your calls were always being redirected to voicemail.

“Where the fuck are you, Gojo Satoru?” you asked him in one of your messages, hissing low into your phone just so the other diners would not be offended by your words. You got a message another twenty minutes later, the sound of your phone almost making you jump from your seat. However, when you looked at it, it was from an unknown number.

You were about to check the message when one of the waitresses came to your table, pad and pen on the ready. She’s always the one who served you whenever you and your friends would go there for a dose of beef and pork fat, and she has always been nice to you.

“Not to be nosy but I think your friend isn’t coming.”

You nodded, grimacing. “Tell me about it.”

“The boss has been giving you the stink eye, too.”

Looking over the counter, you saw the elderly man really looking at you. He looked away when you met his eyes, muttering to himself. You knew how the owner could get, but you simply loved going there since their food is good and the service is just the same. You smiled ruefully at the woman before you. “I’ll have a sukiyaki set and warm sake, please. Thank you.”

“Would that be all?”

“Yeah.”

“Coming right up.” She flashed you a bright smile before disappearing into the back rooms.

You almost forgot the message you saw earlier, but then, your phone lit up again with that familiar tone. The new message was from the same number.

From: Unknown

How are you?

From: Unknown

I hope you’re okay.

You frowned, not having the slightest clue as to who could be texting you.

From: You

Who is this?

Your order came but there was no response from the mystery texter or Satoru. You felt pathetic looking at your phone every once in a while as you ate and drank. Normally, you wouldn’t even have given anybody, including your best friends, the time of the day, making you wait for longer than an hour without as much as a message. You don’t ever wait for people over the agreed meeting time. You hated it with passion. And you were already thinking of ways to make Satoru pay.

You were about to eat a mouthful of beef when you heard the chair across you being dragged back. Your eyes flicked to the direction, and to your utter shock, you almost dropped your chopsticks if it weren’t for the hand that reached out and held onto your hand, securing the utensils.

Once again, you were sitting on your usual spot at the bar, eyes clashing with those intense ones owned by the pink-haired guy who apparently drove a charcoal grey Jeep and reminded you of spring, the same one who drove you home the other night.

“Careful,” he said, his scent assaulting your senses.

A lump formed in your throat, making you unable to form proper words, so you settled for putting down the chopsticks. You folded your hands together on your lap, recovering from your consternation before you finally looked at him, unable to help it but grin. He looked different that day, more laid back in a white baseball cap mussing his candy-floss hair down, a loose-fitting shirt in the same hue and jeans. He looked so fresh, you felt the air around you cool down considerably.

“How did you…” you hesitated and shook you head. “Hello.”

He broke into that crooked smile. “Crazy how the moment you sent the message, I saw you through the glass walls while I drove past.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it again, not quite knowing how to react to it when suddenly, the first part of his statement registered in your mind. “Wait, message?” You picked up your phone, showing him the messages. “This is you?”

He nodded slowly. “Looks like you’re doing great.” He regarded the bottle of sake on the table. “I had to get your number to check up on you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Y-yeah, I mean, no, not at all. Thank you by the way.” You chuckled, saving his number and naming him Spring God in your contacts. “I wasn’t really expecting you to bring me home.”

“I got your address from your driving license.” He grinned then. “I thought of taking you back to my place, but I didn’t know how that would sit with you.”

Who says chivalry was dead? “I’m sorry for acting crazy, if I did anyway." You chuckled. "I don't remember…and for having to bring me all the way to the house.”

“It’s fine. It was lovely meeting Satoru.”

At that, your face flushed red. You winced. “I’m sorry for whatever he did while I was out of it.” He could be crazy at times, and you wouldn't be surprised if he did something untoward.

He shook his head, letting out a slight chuckle. “He was very nice to me, don’t worry.” He furrowed his brows then. “I also got your name. Y/N. I don’t know if you forgot to tell me or you just didn’t trust me enough, but I’d like to think it’s the former since you didn’t seem to think twice about getting wasted with me like you did.”

You deliberately didn’t tell him your name, but he was making it sound a little nicer. It wasn’t really something you planned on doing again, meeting him, but somehow, he found you. You shook you head, coming clean. “If you put it that way, okay, but really, I thought it was better if you didn’t know.”

“Hmm. Why is that?”

You found it endearing that he tilted his head a bit to the side when he asked the question. Your lips curled upwards at the corner. “I just never thought I’d meet you again.”

“That would be unfortunate.”

You laughed awkwardly at his remark. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

“I’m not offended.”

“Okay.”

You requested for another order of barbecue for him. He declined but you insisted. “Come on. My treat for your act of kindness.” You snickered. “Besides, my supposed date bailed.”

“Date?”

Sighing, you said, “Well, not really. Satoru. We agreed to meet here over an hour ago but he hasn’t been answering my messages or calls. Something probably came up.”

He eyed you thoughtfully. “If you don't mind me asking, is he your...?"

"My what?"

"Your boyfriend…maybe."

You chuckled at the thought, but then you realized you didn't even know his name. "I don't really tell strangers about things like that," you teased.

“Okay, but I thought we’re past being strangers.” He smirked then and you swore you felt your stomach flip.

“We’re in the getting-to-know-each-other phase,” you told him with a laugh, acceding. "Since I didn't tell you my name, I didn't expect you to tell me yours. Plus I didn't ask, so may I have yours?"

"Sukuna," he said. "Ryomen Sukuna."

"Su-ku-na," you repeated, liking the feel of the syllables as they rolled out of your tongue. Finally, the person you've gotten so fond of in just a short time had a name. You didn't know what his name meant but it seemed to match him well regardless of how arbitrary it was to his person. You couldn't think of any better name though. "I like your name. It's pretty." You smiled brightly at him then. "And no, Satoru is not my boyfriend."

Ryomen Sukuna was an absolute puzzle to you. How he could look so badass and pretty much intimidating with his strapping physique and inked skin – throw in the multiple piercings on his left ear which you were noticing or the first time – while also pulling off all these adorable little actuations was a quandary to you. Tall, solidly built men like him should not be reminding you of soft, cute things, but the moment he blinked in confusion, you knew you couldn't get enough of it.

"Nobody ever said that about my name, but thanks," he returned in that deep voice after a moment's pause. And was that a dusting of roses over his cheeks? The surprises you were getting from this man was endless. He really was such a breath of fresh air, so far from the usual stereotypes.

Your face seemed to be perpetually pulled into a smile whenever you were around him, and you didn't think you were doing a good job suppressing the urge to be beaming like an idiot around him. "So, anyway, what made you think that blue-eyed idiot is my boyfriend?" you asked, changing the topic.

"Well, he was a bit hostile at first when he took you from me, making me explain things but then started apologizing after. He told me you could be a handful when inebriated..." He let his voice trail off as if letting you chew on his words.

"You agree with him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Sukuna pretended to frown. "He also calls you 'his princess'."

You threw your head back, covering your eyes momentarily in embarrassment. "Now I wish you met Ieiri and Suguru instead," proceeding to explain that the nickname was something akin to what a father would call his precious daughter.

"He was rather intimidating, but I guess he's just looking out for you."

"He's still not off the hook for standing me up," you quipped, "But you finding him intimidating is funny."

"Why?"

You scoffed, gesturing over to him. "I think you can snap him in two if you wished, too."

"He was scary," Sukuna insisted.

"He's harmless...most of the time, but yeah, he’s rather protective. That’s one of my dads for you."

He laughed then. "There's nothing scarier than a fiercely protective friend…or a doting father. I can't muscle my way out of that for sure."

"Ah, then you'll find Ieiri scarier."

The night pretty much went well and ended on a good note. Sukuna did most of the talking for the rest of the night. You learned he was six years older than you at twenty nine, one of the head architects at the firm he worked for, has a love-hate relationship with his job cause he wants to draw portraits instead, was a delinquent when he was younger but got away with things cause he was a straight-A student, loved dogs so much that he cries when they die in movies, was closer to his mom, got his tattoos on a sudden whim, and was pretty much a sweet, charming genuine person which contrasted his appearance. What you see isn't what you get. That just isn't how it worked with him.

You loved it when he talked. It was rather entertaining as he had a way of telling stories which made you feel like you were actually there when it happened. Eventually, you forgot the reason why you were at the restaurant in the first place. It was as if you went there for the purpose of meeting Sukuna himself. Satoru was all but forgotten as you dissolved into carefree laughter and playful banters, and you felt at ease and more like yourself around him, pretty much like when you were with your three favorite people in the world.

“It’s not really that funny,” Sukuna told you, watching you laugh heartily at that one episode in his freshmen year when he made a mistake of going on a date with the wrong girl who happened to have the same name as his supposed date. You continued to laugh as if he didn’t say anything.

“It’s just crazy that both of them were there at the same time. I mean, what were the odds?”

He parked by the sidewalk in front of your house, killing the engine. “That’s the reason why I have never agreed to a single blind date ever again.” He pulled the key out of the ignition, glancing at the direction of your house. “We’re here.”

Your laughter died down when you followed the direction of his gaze. The lights were off except for the one lighting up the porch of the house you shared with your friends. You returned your gaze to him then. “Thanks for driving me home. Again.”

“I enjoyed your company. It’s the least I can do.”

You smiled warmly at him, reaching over to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek when he suddenly turned his head a fraction towards you. That minute change made your lips end up against his instead. He was surprised at first and remained immobile against you, but when you pulled away, he chased you back, connecting your mouths, his lips feeling soft and warm yet emitting that air of dominance as it coaxed yours to move in sync with his. You were kissing him back in no time, but you immediately caught yourself and withdrew, utterly flustered.

Your heart thudded heavily as he held you in his intense gaze, his tongue slowly running over his lower lip, making you even more mentally incapacitated. It made you want to just pull him back to you and covet those lips with yours again. You snapped out of it though. You already knew he was capable of hot-wiring and hijacking your brain.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you told him when you were able to form words again.

Sukuna looked at you from under his lashes, smiling slightly. “I’m not.”

Taken aback, you chuckled nervously. “No?”

He shook his head, reached over and ruffled your hair a bit. “Go inside. It’s late.” You nodded and disembarked from the car while he leaned on the steering wheel, watching you. You were already on the pavement, about to close the door, when he spoke again. “Can I come see you again?”

“Sure,” you said without thinking. “Good night, Sukuna.” Man, you just loved saying his name.

“Bye, Y/N. Good night.”

He drove away while you made your way towards your doorstep. Your fingers flew to your lips once you were standing on your porch, smiling to yourself at the realization of having kissed him. Shaking your head, you fished for the keys from your pocket and entered the house, not quite remembering how you got to your room, but you slept that night with pleasant dreams of running your fingers through pink locks of hair.

***

"I'm really sorry. Something came up and my phone died."

You acceded. It wasn’t as if Satoru did something so big. You went to the outdoor kiosks near the parking lot by the football grounds to catch up on some reading while Satoru ate and told you bits of his past few days, since he got held up at their family estate. Having such a traditional, high-ranking family in the country sure had its downsides, and you weren't about to make him even more agitated than he already was. He had it difficult, you knew that, and you weren’t about to be petty over him not coming to your supposed bonding time. He may be happy-go-lucky but you felt tension simmering just under the surface when you squeezed his hand in assurance.

Suguru and Ieiri followed shortly after Satoru fetched you from class, also surprised to see him there. "So, you finally decided to show up," the former said.

"Don't ask," Satoru said.

"Wasn't planning to," Suguru scoffed, his attention shifting to you. “What are you working on anyway?” he asked, flipping the file you were reading haphazardly to peer through the contents.

“I’m making an analysis report on ‘The Romantic Manifesto’.” you answered, looking up from the notes you were writing when your eyes suddenly strayed over his shoulder. You almost did a double-take, glancing at Suguru before returning your line of vision at the spot beyond where he sat.

“It’s due…” your voice trailed off when you realized just what, or rather who, you were looking at. You weren’t so sure whether what you were seeing was real or a mirage, a very familiar, specific and detailed one, but then, you figured it was the former when the person smirked and cocked his head to the side, beckoning you over to where he leaned against his grey Jeep as he raised a cup of what looked like cherry blossom tea.

Suguru arched a brow at you, looking behind him but not really noticing the object of your distraction. “Hey, you okay?”

Ieiri followed the direction of your gaze and nudged you when she saw who you were looking at. "Is that your Howard? Damn, girl. He’s sizzling."

You nodded, but at that same moment, you rose from the table without any explanation, your feet immediately leading you towards the outdoor carpark. When you were within earshot, you said, “What are you doing here?”

You stopped a few feet from him, glancing behind you to where the others had already turned their heads to follow the path you took, flashing you shit-eating grins. It wouldn’t surprise you anymore if they had pieced together who the person was before you. They claimed to be your ‘parents’ but acted like children at times.

“I brought you tea.” Sukuna walked towards you, standing so close that you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds as you inhaled his scent and took in his appearance, looking immaculate in a plain white shirt and faded jeans, but your brain only seemed to register those lips and the memory of how they felt against yours.

You shook your head, snapping out of your trance, mentally cursing at yourself. “Hi.” You exhaled loudly, trying hard not to smile like an idiot while you absently twirled your hair on your finger, suddenly seeing the world through a pinkish filter. "How do you keep finding me?"

Sukuna's smile dropped. “Did I come at an inconvenient time?” he asked gently, trying hard not to sound miffed, but he obviously was taken aback by your words.

“No.” You shook your head, placing a hand over your forehead. You finally smiled at him, letting out a choked snicker. “No, Sukuna. It’s good to see you. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see you here. And you didn't really tell me you were coming.”

He grinned at you then but he still appeared unsure, placing a hand behind his neck. “Right.”

You flashed him a helpless look. “Please don’t look at me like that. I’m just really surprised.”

“Hmm." He moved closer to you, wrapping your hand around the transparent disposable cup. His proximity was affecting you in ways you couldn't admit out loud. "Are you happy to see me, too?"

"Too? So, you're happy to see me?"

"Always."

That's it. You're done for. Trying to avoid his intense gaze and escaping his scrutiny, you glanced over your shoulder to find everyone on your table observing you blatantly. Satoru raised a thumb at you while Ieiri was giggling with Suguru.

"Are those your friends?" Sukuna commented, his minty breath fanning against the side of your face which made you turn a little too quickly to face him again only to be confronted by his face leaning towards yours, mere centimeters away.

“Y-yeah.” You leaned a bit backwards but he moved forward. “That they are.” You stepped backwards again, nearly faltering on your feet, but you immediately gained your balance when he grabbed you by the arm, steadying you.

"Are you alright?" Sukuna asked, looking at you with concern written all over his face which morphed into wonder when you said, "Yeah, you're just overwhelming."

"Huh?"

"I can't think properly when I'm around you," you stated casually, your expressions not giving anything away as per usual. You arched a brow at him when he did the same. "You hot-wire my brain."

"I know what you mean." He smirked despite his confusion. "Is that good or bad?"

You eyed him thoughtfully, biting on your lower lip. "Good for you, bad for me. You can probably tell me to eat dirt and I'd do it in a heartbeat."

He chuckled, looking at you tenderly. "You're too honest."

"To a fault," you agreed, "Suguru tells me all the time. Wanna meet them?"

He ruffled your hair. "Sure."

***

While you weren't exactly expecting to see Sukuna again after the night you met, he became of constant presence around you. You have gone out with him several times over the course of two months. He was a busy person and you also had your priorities, but he always makes you feel special whenever you two would be out and about, behaving like such a gentleman opening and closing doors for you, naturally shifting closer to traffic while you walked, bringing an extra jacket in case you felt cold or a larger umbrella so you don't get wet, bringing you your favorite tea whenever he could.

He picked you up from school for lunch twice, making the most of the hour, and one time, you brought him lunch at work when he suddenly canceled on you, saying he was swamped with work. He sounded really upset so you decided to go to him instead. You brought Suguru with you as a buffer, but Sukuna's colleagues still teased him. He was different in the office – gruff and strict which fitted him more – but he still beamed at you happily when you brought him food, not caring who saw.

Apart from the brief phone calls, you two never really texted. It wasn't really your thing and he didn't like it either, so it could go days on end without you saying anything to each other, but when you do get a chance to speak, it would always be like picking up on where you've left off. He has only ever sent you two messages. One to remind you to take good care of yourself because he was going to be away for a while and another one a week later asking if you wanted to go out with him that coming Friday night.

"Your timing's off," you told him over the phone. You really wanted to say yes, but, "Ieiri, the boys and I are going out that night. Gang tradition."

"Some other time then?"

"Sure."

You hung up after a few more exchanges of words, getting started on reading some notes when Ieiri entered the kitchen. "Was that Howard?"

"Yeah. He's inviting me to go out on Friday, but I already said yes to clubbing with you guys."

She grinned cheekily, wrapping an arm around you as she poked you on the cheek. At times, it feels like Satoru was rubbing off on her. "Are you sure you don't want to ditch us for the hot architect?"

"Hot architect –" You snickered. "Did you just say that?"

"I was supposed to say 'sugar daddy,' literally and figuratively. Sugar and his cotton candy hair. Get it?"

You narrowed your eyes at her, shaking your head. It was supposed to be amusing, but when Ieiri says it, it just sounds weird. "Can I read in peace now?"

She left you alone, but laughed at your expense.

Friday couldn't have rolled around fast enough and you headed out with your friends at the club owned by a friend of yours, prepared to party in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, a crop top and your hair hanging about in wavy layers. You were already expecting the place to be cramped as hell given the day of the week so much so that Suguru had to hold onto you tightly so as not to lose you when you entered until you found the area you had reserved for the night. It was for good measure too since the place was drenched in purple, blue and green laser lights which were disorienting at first. And so, your night began as such.

You were in the middle of dancing, only pausing when you had to down your nth shot for the night when your eyes suddenly strayed to the bar area at the elevated part of the club adjacent to the the leather seats. You looked away but returned your gaze towards said direction when you realized this very familiar guy was looking at you. He was watching you as you danced and let loose, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You craned your neck, looking back and thinking the guy looked a lot like Sukuna, but then he couldn’t be. He was engaged elsewhere, still you continued to ogle him until you were pretty sure it wasn’t the same person. But the longer you looked, the more it was being proven to you that it was him.

That lopsided smile drew itself across his lips, seeing as how you were doubting yourself about his identity. There was no mistaking that look on his face, the way his dark eyes seemed to sparkle whenever he smiled even if the action didn't belong there.

“Sukuna?” you mouthed his name and he nodded, motioning for you to come over with his head. It had been a solid ten days since you last saw him, and for some reason, your heart raced at the thought of seeing him there.

Without saying a word to the people you were with, you squeezed yourself through the crowd, your feet carrying to the upstairs bar, to Sukuna. It took you a while to traverse the space between you, and when you finally stood before him, all you could do was smile up at him, taking in the soft look about him as he regarded you which were at odds to those fiery eyes that had the capability to turn into bright orbs of light when he beamed down at you.

“Hello, Y/N. Once again, fate has brought you to me,” he said rather dramatically, a smirk drawing itself across his pretty mouth.

Laughter escaped your throat, unable to say anything when you realized that you actually missed him, missed looking at him. Unable to help it, you stood on your toes and reached out to touch his hair, the action surprising the both of you. He eyed you, his expressions that of a half-smile and a look of confusion while you retracted your hands as quickly as you felt his soft locks with your fingertips, wincing at the realization of what you were doing.

At that, he laughed heartily, stealing your hand and pressing it over the side of his head. “Go ahead. I don’t mind you touching me,” he told you, staring into your eyes that you felt like all the air in the room was gone.

You blinked at him, processing what he said and joined in his mirth. “You're here!” You shook your head when it dawned to you that you were stating the obvious. “I’m sorry. How are you, Sukuna?”

“Pink?” he offered and chuckled at his own joke which made your face heat up. “Kidding. I’m great. I missed you these past days. How are you?”

“You did?” You felt your insides melting at his statement, made worse when he nodded to confirm it. “I’m fine. Great. Where have you disappeared to anyway?”

He snickered a your question. “Madrid.”

Your jaw dropped. “As in Spain?”

He nodded. “Had to do something there.”

“Uh-huh.” His words were rather obscure, but you didn’t want to encroach on his private life.

“What are the odds that we’re at the same club?”

“The owner is a friend,” you answered, smiling awkwardly as you glanced at the direction of your friends on the dance floor. You saw all of them looking at you. Suguru winked at you, giving you the thumbs up, making you laugh at his silliness.

“The gang’s all here, I see.”

“What?” You faced Sukuna, finding him leaning close beside you against the metal balustrade. Just then, a waiter passed by holding a whole tray of shots, and before you could duck, he grabbed you by the waist so that you were leaning against him with no quantifiable space between your bodies. Your eyes widened in shock and you froze, your thoughts clouded by the familiar smell of rain in a bamboo forest during Maytime. “T-thanks…”

He hummed in response to your gratitude, but he didn’t let you go. “I didn’t know you enjoyed places like this, too.”

“Why is that?” you asked, feigning ignorance to how close you two were.

"I never pinned you for the party animal type. I kinda developed a fondness for that quiet, nerdy girl sitting at the corner of the pub."

"Not exactly. I prefer Maki's place to be honest but coming here once in a while doesn't hurt. Especially with those three." You frowned slightly at him then as you thought of something. “So, why didn’t you approach me?” You motioned towards the dancefloor. “I'm sure the three-headed monster won't mind if you joined us. You alone?”

“Yes, sweetheart, but aren't you supposed to be hanging out with them?" You grabbed his arm before he could refuse you and started leading him towards where the others were.

However, he had other plans in mind. Again, he hooked an arm around your waist until your back was leaning against him. You eyed him sideways, startled by his actions, but unable to counteract it anyway as you’re just stunned speechless all the while. “You can go back to them, Y/N, but I don’t think I should go with you.”

You turned around, gently easing away from his hold. “Why not? They already know you, and they like you.”

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a party pooper.” He leaned towards you, tilting his head to the side while his lower lip slightly jutted out.

"What are you talking about?” You rolled your eyes at him then snickered.

He eyed you seriously then. “Just in case this is a friends-only affair?”

“Satoru already ruined that by bringing his girls into the mix.” You laughed at him when you saw him hesitate. “Come on, Sukuna. Join us. For me?” You showed him your best impression of puppy-dog eyes. “Pretty please?”

When you saw that he wasn’t budging, you changed your argument. “Fine. Dance with me then.” You didn’t give him any time to contradict you as you took him by the hand and dragged him to the dancefloor.

He was just standing still, looking uncomfortable as you started to groove to the beat, so you took his arms and started moving them until he was moving on his own, finally breaking into that smile. He looked too awkward that you wanted to laugh but decided against it, simply raising your hands and feeling the music.

“Aren’t you having fun?” you asked him as you were bobbing your head to the bass.

“I am!” he answered above the music.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun. Are you shy?” You chuckled openly at that.

“No.”

“You don’t dance?”

“I can dance.”

You giggled. “Then show me what you’ve got!”

Without a warning, he started moving in sync with you, taking your hands in his and finally letting loose in such a graceful manner as you both got into the beat and started waving and swaying against one another, his hands slowly running at your sides in sensual rhythms that got you reeling in excitement. You almost forgot that you were with other people as you danced with him. It was fun and it felt good to be that carefree, not minding your friends, drinks flowing in nonstop.

Soon, the group you’ve left joined you and Sukuna. They all greeted him excitedly while the boys exchanged high-fives with him as they were dancing. Satoru and the two girls who were with him also joined in and somewhere along that, Suguru offered everyone cigarettes, and you gladly took one when you saw Sukuna taking one as well. You didn’t really smoke on a regular basis but you didn’t exactly shy away from the so-called cancer sticks.

After taking another shot, you pulled Sukuna out of the dancefloor, hollering at the others as you raised your cigarette, signaling where you were going in case they wanted to come with. You made your way to the smoking area at the veranda situated at the back of the building with the older male in tow. You were pretty much buzzed, calming down from the high you had while dancing, grinning wide as the cool night air met you, making your lungs expand as you breathed in.

Sukuna watched you as he took his place against the banister, following him shortly as you produced a lighter from your pocket, something that you always carried just in case.

“You smoke?” he asked, toying with his own battered stick, twirling it around his long fingers.

“Sometimes,” you admitted, watching his reaction. “And you?”

“Not really.”

“You took one anyway.” You wedged the item in question between your lips and raised the lighter, but before you could light it, it was pulled out from your mouth and the next thing you knew, Sukuna was kissing you, his lips pressed against yours as he pulled you closer by the hips which he seemed to have a fixation for since you came up to him. It was a soft yet urgent kiss that cajoled you to respond, and not long after, your lips were submissive clouds moving to the will of the wind that was his luscious mouth.

Like the first time you felt his lips against yours, electricity ran through your body as if he was touching you elsewhere apart from your mouth. It was driving you off the edge of sanity, and you knew you’d probably jump off a cliff for the male. He grinned at your dazed state when your eyes met after he finally pulled away, showing you the cigarette that was supposed to be between your lips before he unceremoniously laid claim to them.

“You’re going to ruin your lips by smoking. I’m keeping this,” he told you.

You were too mesmerized with the tingling feeling in your mouth while your eyes stayed glued to his as you blinked slowly, your mind and heart racing at a thousand miles per second. “W-why would you do that?” you stammered, feeling your throat go so dry that you had to drag the words out.

“Apart from the fact that it’s terribly unhealthy, it ruins your sense of smell and taste.” He waved the cigarette in front of you before shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. “Scientific fact.”

You couldn’t quite process what he was saying. You were asking why he kissed you, but he misunderstood. “Are you going to taser me with your lips every single time I’m about to smoke?”

“Taser…” He chuckled and narrowed his eyes at you. “I might just if it means these dangerous things don’t touch your pretty mouth.”

“What the –” You didn’t know if you would be scandalized by what he said or if you were going to laugh. The latter won and you tittered. “That’s a good one.”

“I mean it, Y/N.”

Boldness engulfed your whole thought process as you stepped closer to him, looking straight into his eyes. “And if I insist on it? Placing dangerous things in my pretty mouth? What are you going to do then?”

He, too, leaned forward, eyes flicking to your lips. “Then I guess I just have to keep your mouth too busy to even think about smoking again,” he whispered to you, his breath hitting your lips.

You smirked at him then. “I guess I just have to make sure you aren’t around if I do feel like smoking.”

He pouted. You burst out laughing.

You reached over and pinched both of his cheeks. “You’re so adorable.”

Sukuna swatted your hands away, but smiled nonetheless. "You're the only one who says I'm adorable."

"You are. You just don't know it."

“Okay then. If you say so.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear then, your skin tingling where he touched you. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Not really.”

“Good. I wanna do something for you.”

You eyed him questioningly. “Hmm. What?”

“That’s a surprise.”

It was already around two in the morning when everyone had the unanimous decision to leave the club which was still packed. You, too, were getting tired especially after Ieiri ended up hammered and Satoru was emptying his guts through his mouth. Suguru was a bit drunk, too, but he was trying his best to help you take care of them. Sukuna had been very nice all night, even helping you load Satoru and Ieiri into the backseat of Suguru’s car.

“Would you like me to drive you home?” he asked you after shutting the door to the backseat.

“No, I’m gonna be fine. Besides, I can’t just leave Suguru to deal with them both.” You motioned to his Jeep. “You should go ahead, too.”

Sukuna grimaced as he nodded. “I guess that would be for the best. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. You take good care now.”

“You, too, sweetheart.” He stepped forward and pulled you against him, hugging you, enveloping you in his warmth and that scent you loved profusely. “It’s really great seeing you tonight.”

You returned the gesture, smiling up at him as you tried to compose yourself. “It’s great seeing you, too.” You stood on your toes and pecked him on the cheek before giving him a gentle shove towards the car. “See you, Sukuna.”

He waved at you then boarded the car. You watched as it disappeared down the street before turning away to enter the club to get Suguru who was left to settle the bills. You found him seated on one of the couches, finding your way easily since the crowd thinned a bit.

“You okay, dude?” you asked when you reached him. He was pale and he looked like he was going to throw up anytime. “Do you need to go to the restroom?”

He shook his head. “Just get me out of here.”

You chuckled, leading him faster out of the club. You sat him down on passenger side and soothed his back, asking after him again as you started the engine. He said he was fine, laughing when he caught a glimpse of the two who were already passed out on the backseat with Satoru lying on Ieiri’s lap while her head was lolling limply to the side.

The drive was rather short without much cars on the road, but Suguru was still able to squeeze in a conversation, and of all the topics he could broach, it had to be about Sukuna.

“I thought Sukuna will be driving you home,” he began, glancing at you.

“He offered, but I can’t just leave you.”

“That would have been okay.” He glanced at the rearview mirror then, checking on the two, you could only guess. He could be such a mother hen at times. “I think he’s cool.”

“Mhmm.”

“And he’s really good-looking,” Suguru threw in with a chuckle. “Just date already.”

You chuckled. “Why don’t you date him instead?”

“Don’t you want to try it out with him?”

“He hasn’t even asked me to date him.”

“Yeah, but he already kissed you –”

“How did you know about that?” you demanded, mortified. Your cheeks were heating up again at the memory of it.

“Well, you’re in a public place.” He laughed. “So, it’s bound to end in dating anyway.”

“Not necessarily.” You turned sideways to look at him. “He’s older after all, not that I see the age gap as a problem. But you know, he might just be passing time.”

“He obviously likes you. If you date him, it’s a win-win situation. You like him, too, you just don’t know it.”

You scoffed. “How can you say that?”

He blew a raspberry. Typical Suguru behavior. “You can be yourself around him. You’re all smiley face around him, too. I saw you. You can’t lie to me.”

“Really now?”

“Yeah. You look your best that way. And don’t ever think you are just a pastime. I’ll kill him if he treats you as such.” He smiled knowingly at you. “Besides, you should date properly. Enough with your flings with stupid boys in campus.”

“Okay, dad.” You sighed, trying to contain your excitement. “I do like him though. He’s so nice to me.”

Suguru reached over patting you on the shoulder. “Ah! My daughter is a grown-woman.”

You swatted at his hand, laughing at his antics.

-end of part 1-

If you're curious who Howard Roark is, he's one of my fave literary characters from Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead." He's excellently made. That's it.

Can architect!sukuna please call me "sweetheart," too?

If you want to be included in the tag list, please DM me :) I'll be posting every week (or I'll try to anyway). Someone remind me to post the next chapters please?

Additional notes are available in the masterlist, particularly on the reasons why I wrote some things the way I did. I don't know what I'm trying to prove there, but haha!

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART SOURCES FULLY CREDITED TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

346 notes · View notes

kurokoros · 4 years ago

Text

liar liar | bakugou katsuki

Rated: M

Words: 9.4K

Pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

Summary: Of all the things he’s experienced working as a Pro Hero, Bakugou never expected his dick getting too big to ever be a problem, let alone one in his top ten.

Bakugou is hit with a strange quirk. You reap the benefits.

AN: This fic is 50% crack and 50% raunchy smut. I have zero explanations for this. Also big thanks to @lady-bakuhoe for ranting with me once about the fandoms weird level of hatred towards Bakugou, thus inspiring me to write something for him. I’m so sorry it was this.

Warnings: smut, language, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub undertones, rough sex, degradation, spanking, choking, inappropriate use of quirks

***

Of all the things he’s experienced working as a Pro Hero, Bakugou never expected his dick getting too big to ever be a problem, let alone one in his top ten.

Kirishima glances at him out of the corner of his eye as they step into Bakugou’s office, red eyes narrowing in concern as he sees Bakugou’s gritted teeth and clenched fists. “Are you sure you’re okay, bro?” he asks, a little hesitant.

“I’m fine,” Bakugou practically snarls between his teeth. Fuck. The tingling sensation starts in his gut, heat spreading through his limbs, and he nearly swears aloud as the sensation shifts to his dick, his boxer-briefs getting uncomfortably tighter. Shit, he’s probably up to at least another inch by now. Thank god his pants are baggy.

Unfortunately, Kirishima isn’t so easily convinced. Brows furrowing, he looks Bakugou over slowly, searching for any lasting effects from their earlier scuffle with a few low rank villains. “You’ve been acting kind of… strange,” he settles on after an awkward beat of silence, “since you got hit by that quirk. You know, you probably should have gone to a—”

“I said I’m—” Bakugou cuts himself off as that tingle comes back. “I’ll be fine,” he corrects himself. The tingle goes away, and he almost groans in relief as his dick returns to its normal size. “Drop it, Kirishima.”

Kirishima holds his hands up in front of him, placating his huffy friend. “Okay, okay. I get it.” He backs off, still eyeing Bakugou warily as he pulls his phone from his pocket. He glances at the time. “Look, man, I gotta go. I have a date in twenty, and she’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.” His smile is apologetic, but exhausted.

“Whatever.” Bakugou tosses off one of his gauntlets, letting it clatter against the floor noisily. Breathing slowly through his nose, he peels off his mask as well, setting it down on his desk. It’s fine. Everything is fine. He can handle this. It’s just a really fucking annoying quirk that’ll probably go away on it’s own by the end of the day.

Another tingle stirs in his gut, and then his underwear tightens again.

Fuck. He can’t even lie to himself.

Just as casually as before, Kirishima says, “Yeah, and since I figured you shouldn’t be alone, I called you a babysitter,” as he types out a quick text on his phone. If that wasn’t bad enough, Kirishima calls out your name in a sing-song voice.

Bakugou drops his other gauntlet on his foot and whirls around. “You what?” he hisses, only half because of the pain. The sound of your name definitely doesn’t cause his heart to do something stupid like flutter in his chest. And his pants definitely don’t get snug around his crotch as he blatantly lies to himself. “Kirishima, what the fuck? Why would you call her?”

Taken aback by the outburst, Kirishima puts his phone away and shrugs. “I figured she’d make you feel better.”

“I don’t fucking want her here,” Bakugou tells him. Nothing happens in his pants. Like the bullshit quirk affecting his dick can’t decide if that’s a lie or not. Hell, Bakugou isn’t really sure either. Sure, he likes having you around, even if he’d never admit it. He likes seeing your pretty smile as you come flouncing into his office wearing one of those little skirts that make him want to bend you over his desk and—

He squeezes his eyes shut, banishing the thought before it can go any further and his pants grow any tighter from non-quirk related reasons.

On the other hand, you’re quite possibly the last person he ever wants to see him like this. Too bad the universe seems intent on fucking him over today.

“Nice to see you too, Bakugou.”

The sound of your voice hits him like a lightning strike, still sweet despite the sarcastic inflection of your tone. Bolts of electricity shoot up his spine. In his chest, his heart pounds viciously against his ribs, and Bakugou’s shoulders tense as every one of his senses suddenly becomes a tune to you. Even from across the room, the scent of your perfume tickles at his nose—something floral or fruity that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s heavy and enticing and he tries not to shiver as it wraps around him.

He doesn’t dare turn to look at you as you take a step further into his office, determinedly staring at the wall and hoping you’ll leave with Kirishima. Yeah, un-fucking-likely.

When his silence persists, you roll your eyes and turn to Kirishima instead, the pinched expression on your face relaxing into a pleasant smile when you meet the eyes of the more friendly half of the duo. “Thanks for calling, Kiri,” you say, smoothing out your skirt.

A wide grin is the response you get. “Of course,” Kirishima says, stretching out and linking his fingers behind his head. “Figured he’d listen to you over anyone else.” He ignores the glare Bakugou sends his way, his lips twitching in amusement at the stark silence coming from the explosive blond.

You scoff. “Hardly, but I’ll try.” Casting a glance at Bakugou, you’re a little glad he seems intent on ignoring you, because it gives you the perfect opportunity to give him a slow once-over—for injuries, of course. He looks fine to you, a few superficial scrapes and bruises, but nothing severe enough for Kirishima to call you.

The tension in his shoulders is the first thing you notice. Bakugou is awkwardly hunched over himself in a way that isn’t like him at all. Usually, the Pro Hero exudes confidence that would border on cockiness if he didn’t have the skills to back it up, but right now he just looks... uncomfortable. What little of his face you can see is pinched, but not in annoyance; it’s more like pain, you realize, but then his expression melts into one of relief and you’re left baffled once again.

Before you can think too hard about it, your gaze wanders lower and you’re promptly distracted by his bare arms.

Kirishima clears his throat when you stare at Bakugou’s biceps a little too long.

“What happened anyway?” you ask, turning back to Kirishima. Your face feels warm, and by the way he grins you can tell he notices your faint blush. “You didn’t say much on the phone.”

He sobers a little as you bring the conversation back to the other Hero. The humor bleeds from his eyes, his shoulders drooping. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t have much time. We ran into a couple of villains on patrol. One of them caught Bakubro off guard and he got hit with their quirk. Wouldn’t let anyone check him out after.” He shrugs halfheartedly, looking at you apologetically. “You know how he gets.”

Don’t you ever. You’ve never met someone as stubborn as Bakugou before in your life. He can be a real pain in the ass when he wants, and you can’t blame Kirishima for his best friend being a dumbass.

You prop your hands on your hips, eyes narrowing in on Bakugou again. “How long has he been sulking?” you ask just loud enough for Bakugou to hear you.

Ruby eyes pin you with a heavy glower that would probably make anyone else piss themselves. Bakugou’s lip pulls back in a snarl, his teeth bared, and you ignore the pleasant tingle that shoots down your spine. “I’m not fucking sulking!” he snaps at you, making your eyes roll.

“Sure you aren’t.” Before he can start arguing with you, you turn back to Kirishima. “What do we know about this quirk?”

“Nothing. Cops are questioning the guy now, but he’s not talking.” Kirishima gestures to Bakugou with his thumb. “And Ground Zero here keeps saying he’s fine.”

Across the room, Bakugou grumbles to himself under his breath, noticeably displeased with your lack of attention, but like hell he’s going to say anything about it. Jealousy is a bitter taste in the back of his mouth, and for once he can’t even pretend that’s not what it is as his glare shifts to Kirishima. Fuck, he wants you to look at him again. Pay attention to him.

The honesty is surprising to him, but he keeps his mouth shut and definitely doesn’t pout as you and Kirishima continue to chat like he isn’t even there. When it becomes clear that you aren’t going to end the conversation immediately, Bakugou huffs and turns around, glaring as he leans back against his desk, watching the two of you. His gaze skips right over Kirishima and lands on you, and he swallows back a frustrated groan when he finally gets a good look at you.

Fuck, you look good today. Unable to help himself, he’s absolutely shameless as he stares at your legs, your short skirt and high heels making them look even longer than usual. Bakugou grits his teeth as his mind drifts to those legs wrapping around his hips and yanking him closer. For once, he allows the thought to linger, lost in his own head.

“I see,” you murmur as your conversation with Kirishima comes to a close. With your lips pursed in thought, your gaze shifts back to Bakugou, only to find him already staring right back at you, watching you intently. Your pulse jumps under his piercing gaze, and it takes everything in you to break eye contact with him and smile at Kirishima instead. “I’ll take care of it. Have fun on your date, Kiri.”

Kirishima shoots you a megawatt smile and a thumbs up.“Will do! Good luck with this guy!” He pays no attention to Bakugou’s grumbling as he heads out the door, closing it quietly behind him, leaving you and Bakugou alone together in an office far away from other people.

Yeah, this should be fun.

You twist on your heels so that you’re facing Bakugou directly. Trying for a charming smile, you prop your hands on your hips. He glares at you and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly not planning on cooperating. And boy does it give you an excellent view of his muscled forearms, all tanned skin and silver scars from years of hero work. You wet your lips, suddenly thirsty.

“Okay, Ground Zero,” you start, giddily noticing the way he puffs up at your use of his hero name, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do we have to do this the hard way?” Your voice lowers at the end, coming out as a husky whisper.

Bakugou’s throat bobs with a harsh swallow, and he grits his teeth against the pleasant warmth that curls in his chest. “Piss off,” he bites out, a low and dangerous edge to his voice that you easily ignore.

If you hadn’t known him for years, maybe it would be intimidating, but despite his gruff attitude and biting tone, you know he would never lay a hand on you. “Come on, Bakugou,” you try again, taking a step towards him as a small pout forms on your lips. “Please tell me? I just want to help and make you feel better.”

The breathy whine you let out paired with you wanting to make him feel better does absolutely nothing to help the situation going on in his pants.

His gaze slides to the side, avoiding your eyes as he tells you to “Just go home,” because he doesn’t want to see the disappointment there.

But you don’t back down. You can be just as stubborn as him when you want to be, and there’s no way in hell you’re leaving just so he can cling to his manly pride, or whatever it is he’s worried about. Clearly, asking nicely isn’t going to work. Honestly, you’d be more surprised if it did. “Hard way it is.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen, and his head snaps towards you just in time for you to launch yourself at him. It’s a bit difficult, between your skirt and heels, but you catch him off guard, and that helps. He tries to twist away at the last second, leaving you to cling to his back, limbs wrapping around him tightly. A surprised grunt escapes his at your sudden weight on him, but he doesn’t even stumble, letting you curl your body around him in a one-sided hug.

“Get off me, loser,” he growls at you, glaring at you over his shoulder. Despite his irritation, Bakugou makes no move to shake you off. In fact, one of his big hands latches onto your leg when you start to slip, allowing you to shift yourself for a better grip. He lets go of you just as quickly, standing stock still in the middle of the room while glaring at everything that isn’t you.

Your fingers dig into his shoulder where you’re grabbing him. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong!”

This time, he does try to shake you off, and you squeal as your grip starts to slip. “I’m fine!” he snaps at you, only to wince a second later.

Ever the opportunist, you don’t think twice before hooking your leg around him and going for his knees. Bakugou swears as he loses his balance, and somehow you manage to knock him to the floor using a grappling move that he taught you. He ends up rolling in time to land on his back, cushioning your fall aa your knees press against the floor on either side of his hips, straddling him as you pin him with a firm look. Long fingers grasp at your upper thighs, his thumbs grazing the hem of your skirt, and he lets you go just as quickly, as if you’ve burned him

Bakugou looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but, again, he makes no move to shove you away, though he definitely could.

“Oh, yeah, clearly you’re just fine,” you reply, sarcasm laid on thick. Your hands are pressed against his chest for balance as you regain your bearings, and you can feel the angry breath he takes. Bakugou is warm and solid beneath you, hips pressed snug against yours. It feels way too good, but that’s not what you need to be thinking about at this moment. “Now stop acting like a baby and tell me what’s going on.”

Looking up at you, Bakugou sighs when your fierce look doesn’t relent. He mutters something under his breath that’s too low for you to make out clearly, then grimaces. “It’s nothing,” he tells you again, a harsh edge to his voice.

You pin him with a glare. “You got hit by a strange quirk, Bakugou,” you tell him slowly, contempt dripping from every word. “That’s not nothing.” The crack in your voice on the last word is what makes him drop the sour look on his face. You wince, fingers curling tighter around his shirt, like that might keep you grounded. All the fear you felt when Kirishima called you earlier comes surging back through you, and it feels like a blow to the ribs. You stare at his chest as you continue, the words bubbling up and out before you can stop them. “I know you. You’re too damn prideful to go see a doctor and admit something is wron—and that scares me sometimes, you know? One day you could get really hurt.” Slowly, you force your eyes up, meeting his stare with your own tentative one. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong. For me?”

Bakugou’s expression softens nearly an imperceptible amount. His glare smooths out. “Fuck,” he growls under his breath, trying to ignore the violent tug on his heartstrings that comes with that pleading look in your eyes. He’s always been a sucker for you, and you damn well know it too.

But he’s not going to give in this time.

The tingle that goes straight to his crotch proves him very wrong.

You freeze above him, body locking up as something big and hard presses against your inner thigh. “Katsuki,” you say, forcing yourself not to react aside from the widening of your eyes. “Is that your…”

“Yeah,” he replies, jaw clenched. His tone is nothing short of mocking when he tacks on, “You’re sitting on my cock, sweetheart.”

Well, shit. You blink at him owlishly, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as you try to think of literally anything to say in this situation that isn’t stupid, crass, or a blatant change of subject. It’s surprisingly hard to think with his bulge pressed up against your leg like this, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you turned on right now?” you ask incredulously, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I swear to God, Katsuki, I’m trying to be serious here, and you—”

He cuts you off. “I’m not fucking hard.” A pair of big, rough hands latch onto your thighs to keep you from squirming over his lap. “But if you keep moving around like that, I will be.”

“You liar.” A gasp sticks in your throat as he tightens his grip on your legs. By this point, you’re pretty sure you’re blushing, but honestly, you can’t find it in you to care when you are, in fact, basically sitting on his lap. Besides, Bakugou doesn’t look that much better. “If you were that big while soft, I’m pretty sure I would have noticed by now.”

Well that catches his attention. A smug smile stretches across his face. All teeth. “You spend a lot of time looking at it, angel?” Oh, this time he’s definitely mocking you. The palms of his hands slide up your thighs until his fingertips graze the hem of your skirt where it’s hiked partway up your legs, revealing a few tantalizing inches of your bare skin.

“Oh, no, you aren’t changing the subject,” you snap at him, sitting up a little straighter. “Why the hell is your dick so big, and what the fuck is going on?”

Your questions echo awkwardly through the otherwise silent room. For a tense moment, Bakugou just glares up at you. One of his eyes twitches slightly, his lips turned down in a grimace. You don’t relent, glaring right back at him. Eventually, one of you is going to have to give in, and it’s sure as shit not going to be you this time.

“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back against the floor. His fingers bite into your thighs when you shift on top of him, leaning a little closer. “It’s that dumbass villain’s quirk,” he sneers, baring his teeth in a snarl as he opens his eyes again. There’s nothing that could possibly prepare you for what he says next. “When I lie my cock gets bigger.”

You almost laugh. Almost. The deathly serious look in his eyes is the only thing that keeps you from bursting into a fit of giggles. And you believe him. You probably wouldn’t if you weren’t currently straddling his lap and sitting on his abnormally large cock. But, yeah. Sure. His dick gets bigger when he lies, and somehow that makes perfect sense.

“What, like some kind of kinky lie detector?” You almost suggest Pinocchio, but you doubt he’d take that well at all.

Predictably, he makes a face at your comparison. “Sure. Whatever.”

Again, neither of you say anything, letting an awkward silence develop between you. While Bakugou just looks all around uncomfortable with the situation, your brow is pinched in thought. Honestly, this quirk seems like some bullshit. You can’t imagine what benefit anyone would get out of making someone’s dick grow when they lie, aside from the exact situation you’re currently in. You almost feel worse for the poor sap stuck with such a bizarre quirk than the Pro Hero currently lying between your legs.

A full body shiver runs through you, and every nerve suddenly becomes highly aware of the man beneath you. Every breath he takes moves his chest beneath your hands, and you can feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath your palm. The tips of his fingers ghost against your thighs, not quite touching you, like he isn’t sure what to do with his hands anymore. And, suddenly, all you can think about are those hands grabbing you by the hips and grinding you down against him.

Unbeknownst to you, similar thoughts are wreaking havoc on Bakugou. From where you’re sitting on top of him, he has a perfect view of your legs and chest, and every time you shift, the movement goes straight to his cock. He almost hisses between his teeth as your thighs tighten around his hips, which only presses the growing bulge in his pants harder against you. His fingers twitch against your legs. It would be so easy for him to roll the two of you over, pin you beneath him, and show you exactly what you do to him. Fuck you senseless until you—

“What are you thinking right now?”

The question is like a hard slap across the face. His eyes snap from the apex of your legs to your face, caught red-handed. There’s no way for him to get out of this one without his dick giving him away or an actual slap across the face. He chooses his traitor dick. “That I want you to get the fuck off me.”

You look entirely unimpressed when his dick moves between your legs, growing larger in seconds. “Liar,” you deadpan. You drum your fingers against his chest, unintentionally matching the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll move.” Nevermind that he could definitely throw you across the room one handed if he really wanted to. Frankly, you’re a little surprised he hasn’t already, given your current situation.

Not that you want to move right now. You’re quite comfortable where you are.

Bakugou’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip. Those ruby eyes drag down your body slowly, shamelessly drinking in the sight of you sitting on top of him. An unexpected lick of run runs along your spine; your breath catches. “You look really fucking sexy right now,” he tells you, and his hands grab your thighs again.

It takes a second for you to register his confession, though you can’t say you’re that surprised. “Huh. Never pegged you as a guy who wanted someone on top.” You can work with that.

His brow furrows. “You know, you’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I work in quirk registration for the police,” you remind him, shrugging. “This isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve come across.” Honestly, you aren’t even sure it makes the top ten, but you keep that to yourself. You get the feeling he’d take that as some kind of challenge, and you don’t need that kind of stress in your life. “How long has it been like this?”

A shrug. “Shit, I don’t know.” Bakugou shifts beneath you, craning his neck to look at the clock on the wall. “Thirty minutes, maybe. Why?”

“Effects from quirks like this typically only last an hour or two,” you explain. “Maybe twenty-four hours at most, depending on how much training the user has.” Your head cocks to the side as you give him an entirely unsubtle once-over. “It sounds like he didn’t give you and Kirishima much trouble though. I’d put your... little problem at an hour and a half maximum. You should be fine.”

There’s a wicked look in his eyes. “Nothing little about it, babe.” His palms slide up your legs, rucking up your skirt even higher on his way to grab your hips. “Hour left, huh?” A low hum rumbles through his chest. “I can work with that.”

You freeze. “Katsuki, what are you—”

“Look,” he cuts you off with an irritated sigh, “I’ve liked you for a long time, so if you want to fuck right now, that’s fine with me.” Heartbreaking honesty shines in his eyes, only partially masked by a layer of annoyance and boredom, like he doesn’t care either way. The way his fingers dig into your hips tells a different story.

Your eyes widen at his crass confession, your lips parting as you stare down at Bakugou in shock. “Are you…” you hesitate, swallowing down the sudden lump in your throat as your fingers curl against his shirt. “Are you serious?”

Bakugou glares at you, but his faint blush gives him away. “You’re the one sitting on my magic cock, you tell me.”

You sit there for a good minute, just staring at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as you try to think of any kind of response. Eventually, you settle on, “That is, by far, the worst declaration of love I’ve ever heard.”

If you thought he was glaring before, it has nothing on the look he levels you with now. “Who fucking said anything about loving you, dumbass?” he snaps, huffing, cheeks turning an even darker shade of pink. “Like hell I do!” He grits his teeth as his dick tingles.

“Yeah, well, your magic cock reveals your deceit,” you mock him. “You’re such an emotionally stunted pain in the ass, Katsuki!”

He opens his mouth—probably to start yelling about something—but you lurch forward and meet his mouth in a fierce kiss before he can say anything. He grunts in surprise and squeeze your hips, but kisses you back eagerly, immediately tilting his chin for a better angle. The hands that were on your hips don’t hesitate to move. One slides up your back to fist in your hair, pulling you closer as the other drops to your ass. A hard grope makes you gasp against his lips, your fingers clenching tighter in the front of his hero suit.

Before things can get too heavy, too fast, you pull back, leaving just an inch of space between your lips. He doesn’t let you go much further. “I like you, too,” you whisper against him. He stiffens as your fingers touch his bare chest where his hero suit doesn’t cover him.

His heart is pounding just as quickly as yours, and he’d never admit it, but he swears your little confession does something funny to his chest. All of it does. The heat of your breath. The gentle weight of your body on top of his. Something about you makes him feel inexplicably soft, and he wants to hate that feeling, but he still can’t lie to himself without his cock growing two sizes. And if he’s going to stuff you full of his cock, he wants it to be all him.

At least at first.

With the hand still tangled in your hair, Bakugou yanks you back down. Your lips mold against his perfectly, the space left between you nonexistent. When he kisses you it’s all teeth and tongue, and your lips part readily beneath his demanding touch. He makes a low sound of approval in the back of his throat, slotting his lips harder against yours. Using the hand cupping the back of your head, he adjusts you above him, tilting your chin until he finds a position he likes.

The dominating way he touches you makes you keen, and your quiet whimper is smothered by his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you. Your legs tremble on either side of his hips as the hand on your ass gropes you again. By now, your skirt is hiked halfway up your waist, and if anyone were to walk in they’d get a perfect view of your ass and the damp spot forming between your thighs.

You arch into his touch at the thought, moaning as his teeth tug at your lip.

By the time you pull away, you both have kiss-swollen lips.

When Bakugou recalls what you called him a moment ago, he chuckles, deep and throaty, and it sends a thrilled shiver up your spine. “I’ll show you a real pain in the ass later, sweetheart,” he promises, squeezing your ass cheek for good measure. The squeeze is followed by a sharp slap, and you lurch forward, a startled squeal slipping out of your mouth.

You glare down at him. Well, you try to. It’s a little hard to pretend to be mad at him when his hand comes up to rub the spot where he smacked you, which only presses your hips closer to his growing bulge. Your tone is dry when you say, “I’m sure you will.” And then, because he’s already propositioned you and has his hand on your ass, you grind yourself against his dick.

“Shit,” he grunts, grabbing your hips. His fingers bite into your skin, twitching like he doesn’t know if he wants to still you or shove you down on his cock. A slow exhale hisses through his teeth. “You tryin’ to be a cock tease?”

The satisfaction that bubbles up in you only feeds the damp heat between your legs. He’s hardly touched you, but you can already feel yourself getting wet just from the thought of him filling you. You brace yourself against him, palms pressed flat against his chest. “You want me to stop?” Purposefully fluttering your eyelashes at him, you slowly work your hand lower, fingers grazing over lean muscle until you stop at his waist, pressing down on his belt.

As your eyes start to follow the path of your hand, Bakugou reaches out and grabs your chin. A warning squeeze makes you mewl expectantly. “Keep talking, baby, and I'll put that mouth to better use.” The pad of his thumb traces your bottom lip. Before he can let go, you tilt your head into his touch, teeth barely grazing his finger as you nip at him. “Such a little brat,” he sneers.

You’re thrown off balance when he sits up. His abdominal muscles flex against your stomach as he crushes you against his chest, and your hands fly to his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto. Bakugou kisses you again, lips hungry and demanding as they press against yours, and you give him complete control. He tilts your chin, pulls your hair, bites your lips, and every touch makes you feel hazy and warm.

Anticipation churns in your stomach. Your hands slide over his shoulders, looping around his neck. He grunts when your wrist brushes against the side of his neck, and when you card your fingers through his hair and tug, he lets out a sound that goes right to your core.

The hand on your ass gives you another sharp spank. The motion jerks your hips against his, and you grind down against the hard cock rubbing your inner thigh. His fingers knead your ass and the back of your thigh, groping and squeezing and helping your hips along as you rock languidly over his lap. Each roll of your hips has his cock dragging across your damp panties, the head kissing your clit through the layers of your clothes. You shudder, lost in the feeling.

You’re only half aware of him moving, not noticing until the hand that was in your hair slips beneath your shirt to palm your breast. An appreciative squeeze has you arching into him, hips stuttering against his. Bakugou nips at your bottom lip hard enough to make you whimper, and when he pulls away you’re sure it’s swollen and flushed from his treatment.

But he doesn’t leave you for long. You’re barely given a moment to breathe before his mouth is on your jaw, your cheek, your chin. Bakugou trails heated, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, only stopping when he finds a spot that has you lurching against him, a pretty little moan falling from your mouth. He laves attention to that spot, right over your racing pulse. Teeth dig into your sensitive neck, and your breath catches in your throat as he begins to suck, intent on leaving a mark. You don’t stop him as he works a hickey just below your jaw, eyes fluttering shut at the onslaught of sensation.

Before leaving that spot, he drags his tongue across your neck to soothe the bruise he’s left behind.

Desire curls in your chest as a thought comes to mind, and you’re too slow to stop it from spilling out. “I wanna touch you,” you choke out as his mouth trails lower. Bakugou pauses, lips hovering just shy of your throat. The heat of his breath fans your damp skin, sending little pinpricks of electricity all the way to where your hips are grinding against his. You swallow, one hand fisting in the back of his shirt as his thumb brushes against the lacy cup of your bra.

“Already are, baby,” he says, partly muffled by your neck as he ghosts his lips against you. “Grinding against my cock like a little slut. Gonna get yourself off for me just like that?” He’s hiding a smirk. It’s clear what you want by the way your hips roll against his faster, grinding down harder as teasing touches turn desperate, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you begging for his cock before he fucks you.

He ruts against you, alternating between squeezing your breast and ass.

“Bakugou!” You try to sound reprimanding, but his name comes out as a breathy whine. There’s no way for you to get your hand on him with the way he has you pressed flush against his chest. And he’s definitely not going to make things easy for you.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, the man beneath you laughs. “You want it that bad, you better take it yourself, sweetheart.”

Huffing, you try to put some space between your hips, but his grip is firm. Bakugou swats your ass when you try to move, and you whimper as it forces your hips harder against his. You try a second time, and he pinches your nipple through the flimsy cup of your bra. Your head falls back with a moan, giving him greater access to your throat, and he smirks as he bites down on your soft skin.

Fine. You can play this game, too.

With a sharp grind of your hips, you rub your clit against him just right. Your back arches. Your thighs tense around his hips. “Ground Zero,” comes out as a needy whine against his ear. You feel him tense beneath you, his grip faltering for just a second. That’s all you need.

The momentary distraction is all you need to slide back on his thighs, putting just enough space between your hips to grab his belt and grind the heel of your hand against the massive bulge straining against his pants. Even through his pants you can feel how thick and long he is, and your pussy clenches at the thought of him fucking you senseless.

He grunts as you palm him, squeezing gently as you trace the outline of his cock. His mouth leaves your neck with a wet pop. “Shit,” Bakugou murmurs. Soft strands of his spiky hair tickle the side of your neck as he rests his head against you, reveling in the feel of your light touches.

Your fingers brush against the back of his neck, your palm grinding against him when his hips rock forward. Strong muscles flex beneath your thighs. Bakugou’s throat bobs with a harsh swallow.

Unable to stop yourself, you duck your head, pressing your lips against the side of his neck. It’s hard to find an angle with the bracers around his neck, and your attention turns to the front of his throat instead. Bakugou groans as you kiss him, lovebites and lipstick stains left in the wake of your mouth. He lets you kiss and nip your way down to his collarbone.

Thank god for the low cut of his shirt, you think, biting down on his chest hard enough to leave a mark. At the same time, your fingers grasp at his belt, nearly snapping the buckle in your hurry to get your hand on him. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware of him saying something—calling you needy or naughty, you aren’t sure which—but you don’t care as you finally get your hand in his pants and grab his dick.

“You’re so big,” you murmur, eyes widening. The tips of your fingers don’t touch as you wrap your hand around his cock, stroking him languidly from base to tip. You can’t get a good look at him from your position, but you can feel every ridge and vein of his shaft, and you bite your lip at the sheer girth of him. “Is this from the quirk?” you ask him, swirling your thumb over the tip before dragging your hand back down, giving him a firm squeeze. You lean back a little, wanting to look at him, but Bakugou lurches forward to get his mouth on you again.

He groans against your ear, pressing a harsh kiss against the side of your jaw. “All me, babe,” he tells you, smug. For once, you really can’t blame him for being cocky. “Fuck, that feels good.”

The way your soft hand slides against his shaft wrecks havoc on his brain, and Bakugou presses another heated kiss to your neck to smother a loud moan. He’s already painfully sensitive from having you hump his lap, and your tentative touch only makes him harder. And that damn quirk didn’t help at all. After over a half hour of that bullshit cock tease, he’s just aching to bury himself in your dripping pussy.

Your thumb traces the thick vein on the side of his cock, pressing against it gently before twisting your hand. The sudden change in angle and the way you squeeze him have a low sound tearing from his chest, and then your hand is being yanked out of his pants. Bakugou’s fingers clench around your wrist in a vice grip, and you wince at the mild sting.

“Get up,” he demands, nearly growling. His fingers are digging into your ass hard enough to leave faint bruises, but you don’t care. When you hesitate, he releases you only to slap the back of your thigh. “Now.”

You pussy clenches at the pain that quickly dissolves into pleasure. “What’s wrong, Katsuki,” you can’t help but tease, hoping to get a reaction out of him, “afraid you’ll cum too fast?”

He doesn’t spank you again, though his palm does press against your reddening ass cheek in a way that speaks of a warning. “Don’t make me tell you again, baby.”

It takes another second before you shift off his lap, your legs quivering as you stand. You almost consider ignoring the command. Almost. But it doesn’t take much for you to decide you’d rather see what he has planned for you.

Your thighs rub together as Bakugou rises from the floor in one fluid motion, years of training making him silent, almost catlike. He reaches for you as soon as he’s standing, towering over you, an imposing figure. The scattering of small marks on his throat makes you grin, but the smile is wiped from your face as he grabs your chin roughly between his fingers and forces you to meet his eyes.

Ruby red and blown wide with lust, the look in his sharp gaze makes your breathing hitch. A wet crackling sound leaves your mouth as your lips part for him. His thumb grazes your bottom lip. “Such a dirty fucking mouth,” he growls.

You stumble a little as he starts walking you backwards, not touching you aside from the firm grip he has on your jaw. You go willingly, eyes on his. Excitement has your stomach flipping, a nervous flutter in your belly, and you gasp when your back hits the side of his desk, the cold wood pressing against your skin where he’s tugged at the hem of your shirt.

Bakugou’s thumb delves past your lips, dipping into your wet mouth, and your lips wrap around him greedily. Sucking gently, your teeth press against his skin possessively, tongue laving attention to his thick digit. With his free hand, Bakugou grabs the front of your plain blouse and yanks it open, careful not to rip any of the buttons. You let your shirt fall to the floor, wriggling a little as it sticks around your elbows. He reaches up to palm your breast, humming in approval once he sees your pretty bra.

“Get on your knees, baby,” he tells you, pulling his thumb from your mouth and smearing your spit across your lips, watching them glisten. “I want to see your mouth on my cock.”

You do as you’re told, practically shaking with anticipation as you drop to your knees for him. Now that you’ve gotten a feel for his cock, you’re desperate to have him inside you. Your mouth. Your pussy. It doesn’t matter which. Any thoughts of playing coy or being a brat disappear into the back of your mind as he pins you with a harsh stare. Bakugou pets your hair, threading the soft strands through his fingers to hold you still.

You bite your lip as his free hand drops to his waist, Bakugou shoving his pants and boxers down just low enough for his cock to spring free. The size makes you swallow. He’s bigger than you thought. Thicker. And you remember how your hand couldn’t wrap all the way around him. Your thighs clench, rubbing together as a dull ache builds between your legs.

He doesn’t waste his time. Shifting forward, he palms himself, lazily stroking his cock with his own fingers, just out of your reach. When you try to lean forward, he pulls your hair, forcing you back again. “Such a little slut,” he murmurs, allowing the head of his cock to press against your wet lips, his hips slowly rocking back and forth. Your tongue flicks out to taste him, and he groans. “There you go,” he says, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your face before he starts pushing his cock into your mouth.

You immediately close your lips around him, bobbing your head forward as much as his tight grip will let you. Bakugou feeds you his cock, sliding into your wet mouth slowly as you start to suck, letting you adjust to just how fucking thick he really is. His girth has your jaw stretched wide, forcing you to breathe slowly through your nose. You glance up at him.

“That’s it, angel,” he groans as you bob your head again, “suck my cock.” His hips rock forward in a shallow thrust; his eyes lock on your lips, stretched obscenely around his length. Wet trails of saliva stick to his cock as you pull back to swirl your tongue around the head.

Whimpering around him, you suck harder, swallowing around him, anything that might pull another filthy moan from his mouth. Your hands grab his thighs for balance, your fingers digging into his legs as you try to pull him closer.

You’re rewarded with a low moan rumbling from his chest. Bakugou’s eyes slip shut for a second, his head tilting back in raw pleasure. “Figures you'd be a perfect little cock sucker,” he says under his breath, almost too low for you to hear him. “I bet you want me to fuck your face, huh, baby?”

You settle for moaning instead of nodding, watching him through your eyelashes as he pants above you.

“Fuck.” A long, hissing exhale escapes through his teeth, and his hand tightens in your hair just a little bit as he watches you work his cock. You look so fucking pretty with your mouth wrapped around him, your lips slick with saliva as you take him deeper into your mouth. There are tears beading at the corners of your eyes. “Fuck,” he says again, “you feel so good.” He grunts. “How long have you been thinkin’ about sucking my cock, babe?”

You flush under his gaze, unable to answer with your mouth full of his dick, but the answer must be clear as day on your face. You don’t know what it is he’s thinking about, but you swear his cock gets bigger in your mouth, that strange quirk making him thicker so that you’re nearly choking on him.

Bakugou holds your head still as he starts to rock his hips; he moves slowly at first, his thrusts shallow and even, but he quickly picks up speed when you whine around his cock. It isn’t long before he’s fucking your mouth, thrusts as rough as you’d expect from someone like him. His cockhead brushes against the back of your throat, his hips stuttering as he holds you like that, your lips pressed nearly against the base of his cock.

Somehow, you manage to keep your eyes on him. You force your throat to relax and swallow around him. His eyes almost roll back at the sensation, but he keeps his ruby gaze locked on you, watching how well you take him. He can only imagine how good you’re going to take his cock, too. He speeds up again, groaning as the pressure in his gut starts to build.

His cock pulls from your mouth with a wet sound, and you cough, sucking in greedy mouthfuls of air. Bakugou drags you off the floor, and your startled gasp is cut off by his hand wrapping around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, unfortunately, just holds his palm there. The next thing you know, you’re being shoved against the nearest wall, your cheek pressed to the chilly surface as Bakugou all but rips off your skirt, leaving you in just your underwear and shoes.

The fabric pools on the floor in a crumpled heap, and Bakugou kicks it aside in order to spread your legs from behind. You brace your hands against the wall, ass out, and he’s on you in a second.

Teasing is thrown out the window as he finally—finally—touches you. One of his hands reaches around you to grope your chest, palming your breast roughly before shoving the cup of your bra aside to tweak and pinch your nipple. You’re a panting, whining mess by the time he gets his hand between your legs. Two thick fingers drag over the crotch of your panties, and he actually laughs when he feels how wet you are. “Shit, you get that horny just from sucking my cock?”

Blearily, you nod, pressing your pussy closer to his hand. Bakugou shoves your panties to the side, fingers skimming through your wetness before rolling over your clit. You nearly sob at how good it feels to have him touch you. It’s like his hands were meant to please you, big and rough, his calloused fingers providing the perfect amount of friction. Each precise stroke of his fingers feeds the knot in your belly, keeping you right on the edge of coming undone.

“You’re gonna feel so fucking good on my cock,” he tells you removing his fingers from your clit to squeeze your ass. His cock quickly replaces his hand between your thighs, his thick length rubbing against your slick pussy, the head bumping against your clit with every stroke. Bakugou lets go of your breast; his hand slaps against the wall beside your head for balance. “Pretty cunt squeezing around me. That what you want?”

“Please. Oh, please,” you mumble. Anything to get him inside you. It almost hurts how turned on you are right now. From the corner of your eye, you see him reach for the hem of his shirt, about to pull it off. “Don’t!”

Bakugou goes absolutely still at your sharp cry. The only movement is his eyes snapping up to meet yours, flooded with concern as he checks to see if he’s hurting you.

But you whimper, trying to shove yourself back on his cock. “Don’t take it off,” you clarify breathlessly, legs quivering with the effort of holding yourself up.

The concern bleeds from his eyes, and they’re taken over by something dark and hungry instead as he realizes what you mean. He thrusts his cock between your thighs, your slick covering his cock as it drips from you. Your eyes flutter as he pressed against your clit again. “Don’t take what off?” He wants to hear you say it.

And you’re so painfully aroused that the words come spilling out of your mouth before you can stop him. “Your costume,” you choke out around a loud moan. “I want you to fuck me while you’re wearing your costume.” That’s one dirty little fantasy you’ve had for a while, maybe ever since you met him. The thought of him fucking you while he’s still in costume is almost too much, but god do you want it badly.

“That so?” he drawls. His hand drops from his shirt back to your ass cheek, groping you before spreading you from behind. He takes a step back, ignoring your whine, and whistles when he gets a good look at your dripping slit. Bakugou tugs your hips back, forcing your back to arch for him. “What a naughty little slut. You got a thing for heroes, baby?”

Just you, you think, but all you can do is moan his name. “Bakugou.”

You cry out as he slaps your ass. “No, no, no,” he repremends. “That's not what you call me.”

“Katsuki, please,” you manage to whine around a harsh swallow.

He spanks you again. “Come on, angel, you know what to say.” It takes a second for it to click, but when it does you blush. “Fuck, look how wet you are.” He chuckles as he looks at your glistening thighs. Another love tap lands on your reddening ass. “You like it when I spank you?”

“Yes,” you mewl.

He spreads your legs open wider. “Yes, what?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, cheek pressed against the wall in front of you. “Yes, Ground Zero.” Your tongue runs across your bottom lip. “Sir,” you tack on.

“Good girl.”

There’s no warning as he adjusts himself behind you, cock slamming into you hard enough to steal your breath. There’s no resistance, you're so wet. You pussy clenches around him, your walls sucking him in deeper. That’s all it takes for an orgasm to rip through you, the knot in your belly snapping so fast that all you can do is let out a silent scream as you slump forward against the wall.

Bakugou is equal parts shocked and amused as you try to milk his cock, and he grits his teeth as his dick twitches inside of you, almost pulling him over with you. “Fuck,” he laughs. “You cum just from me filling you up?” You whimper and nod. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

He presses you closer to the wall, and his arm slips beneath your knee, lifting your leg and holding you open. Your thigh burns from the stretch. His cock drags along your walls slowly before, only the tip left inside before he thrusts back into you, reaching deeper.

He picks up a steady pace, slamming into you over and over. You’re already so sensitive from your first orgasm, and little gasps and whines keep falling from your mouth with every brutal thrust as Bakugou finds your sweet spot, hitting it perfectly as he pounds you. He’s thick and hard inside you, even bigger than he was in your mouth, and your eyes widen when you realize he’s doing it on purpose. “How big can you get?” you gasp, moaning as his cock expands inside you, filling you up completely.

“As big as you fucking want me,” he snarls back, fucking you faster, hiking your leg up higher.

All you can do is hold on and take it.

You don’t know how much time passes, the only sounds are your heavy breathing and his harsh panting against your ear. Sweat drips down your back where he’s sliding over you, and his fingers bite into your thigh as he almost loses his grip. “You know whose office is on the other side of this wall?” he asks suddenly. “Answer me, baby!” A particularly harsh thrust follows the demand.

“No, Sir,” you pant.

“Fucking Deku.” He grits his teeth as that now familiar tingle goes right to his cock, but you don’t seem to notice the lie. “You think he’s in there right now? His desk is right on the other side.” You pussy squeezes around him, and Bakugou moans against the side of your neck. “I bet he can hear you in here panting like a whore as I fuck your slutty little cunt.”

Your back arches into him, the revelation reigniting the fire he lit inside you. That knot comes back, just as tight as before, and you tremble as you realize he’s going to make you cum again. “Ground Zero,” you whine.

He lets go of your thigh, but keeps your knee hooked around his elbow. His hand snakes around your hips to rub your clit, and you jerk against him. “He’s got some new intern, too. Some little high school brat.” A high-pitched, needy sound falls from your mouth. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you moan my name.” He rolls your clit harder between his fingers, and the heat rolling from him is so sweltering that it’s hard to breathe. “Shit, you’re gonna be filling this kid’s fantasies for weeks. He’s probably gettin’ off to you right now.” His cock gets bigger inside you; his hips grind against you harder. “But your pussy’s mine, angel. Got that?”

You nod, delirious.

And, fuck, he just doesn’t stop talking. “You gonna cum?” he asks, fingers moving faster over your clit. “Gonna cum from thinking about Deku and his intern listening to me fuck you?” You shudder and gasp, shoving yourself back on his cock in a weak attempt to match his brutal pace. “That’s it, baby, cum on my fat cock. Let everyone know who’s making you feel so good. I wanna hear you scream so fucking loud that everyone in this goddamn building knows my name.”

Bakugou pinches your clit. Your eyes slam shut, body locking up as he throws you into another powerful climax. “Katsuki!” you shriek, his name ripping from your throat in a raw scream.

This time, he doesn’t hold himself back. A series of harsh thrusts drag out your orgasm until you’re sobbing, a few tears slipping out and rolling down your cheeks. His cock twitches, swelling, and he shoves inside of you as deep as he can go before cumming inside you, his thick seed filling you up and dripping down your thigh.

He doesn’t pull out, leaning his head against your shoulder as you both try and catch your breath. Bliss washes over you as he kisses your neck, mumbling a string of garbled praises against your ear.

You blush when something he said hits you full force, finally able to process it now that he’s not fucking you senseless. “Midoriya,” you gasp, trying to crane your head around to look at him.

Bakugou presses more of his weight against your back, slowly lowering your leg back to the floor. His hands grasp your hips when your legs threaten to collapse beneath you. “Bastards office is on the other wall,” he says, calming you down. “‘Sides, it’s his day off.”

Relief floods through you. “You have absolutely no filter, do you?”

He shrugs, kissing across your cheek. “I don’t see you complainin’.”

You laugh a little breathlessly. “You made me cum twice,” you remind him. “I don’t give a shit what you were saying.” You shift in his embrace, wincing as his cock moves inside you. Fuck, you’re sensitive.

He stills you. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks. When he sees your obviously confused look, he gives you a shallow thrust, his cock still hard inside you. “Oh, angel, we’ve still got thirty minutes, right? We’re just getting started.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnhabookclub #mha #bnha #bnha smut

8K notes · View notes