#AND THEN I HEAR HIS GOOFY VOICE FOR THE MANNEQUIN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

faegoddessog · 1 year ago

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Dripping in Leather 2/2

Part 2 of 2: Ass over teakettle

Chapter Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only, Cunnilingus, unprotected PIV (play safe ya'll), fingering, overstim (f&m), him in that black fucking leather (swoon)

Summary: I'd not spent much time alone in Austin's house, but he was off to the gym and I had some getting ready to do. I wandered into his office only to see the '68 leather sat on the mannequin and dusty as hell. 'Well, Elvis would NOT abide by that!' I said to myself. Maybe if I cleaned it and happened to leave it on the bed... maybe... just maybe Austin would put it on for me. It was a long shot, but you never know unless you ask.

A/N: A big thank you to @richardslady121 for this request and inspiration! Writing Austin in the '68 leather was... arousing, to say the least. I hope all ya'll beautiful people enjoy it! Let me know what you think! I appreciate all kindly feedback. Please message me if you'd like me to tag you on future work!

Part two: Ass over teakettle

I am sitting at the antique vanity in his bedroom back in L.A. I’m in my bra and panties. My hands are pulling my hair back, there are bobby pins in my mouth. I’m trying to decide how to wear my hair for the spring costume party we had been invited to tomorrow night. The theme was, ’come as your favorite decade’. I had brought over a couple 50’s dresses I wanted to try on for him.

I look up into the mirror to find Austin leaning against the door jamb, watching me with his arms crossed. There is a softness in his eyes and a hint of a smile on his gorgeous lips.

“Oh! I didn’ hear you ge’ home, babe.” I say through the mouthful of bobby pins. He had been in meetings all morning and decided to hit the gym that afternoon.

“Well, I was being ‘sneaky’,” he says in his silliest Gollum voice while tip-toeing across the room to me. His hands tickle my torso before sliding around my waist. I squeal and giggle at his antics, barely keeping the bobby pins in my mouth. It’s moments like this, when he is just his goofy self that I treasure.

“I think you should go to the party like this, we’ll call it the Decade of Debauchery,” the look he gives me in the mirror makes my heart rate increase, just before he bends over and presses those full, soft lips to my neck. The bobby pins make tiny tinkle and clinking noises as they hit the marble vanity top. These are the other moments I adore, when he is the epicenter of all my sensations and the world just falls away around us.

I turn around and kneel up onto the low stool in one motion. His arms wrap around me and I press my lips to his, my body to his. His hand floats to my cheek in a classic Austin-style kiss. I love it when he does that. It makes me feel like the only girl in the world.

“Will you try it on?” I ask when he pulls back.

He looks at me confused, then follows my head nod to the bed.

On the bed is the ‘68 special double black leather.

He turns back and gives me a pursed-lip look, frowning just a little. I wonder if he is mad that I brought it in here.

“Listen,” my palms face him placatingly, “I was in your office putting away a book when I noticed it was dusty. So I took it off the mannequin and cleaned it. It smelled so good and you are so…. I just thought maybe…” my voice fades a little as my eyebrows plead.

“Darling,’ he caresses my cheek and kisses my forehead before taking a big breath in. “I spent too much time with him and have too much respect for the man he was to make him into some costume party joke. I won’t wear it to the party and that’s final,“ his tone is kind, but firm. “Let’s figure out something else. I can do the basic jeans and white t-shirt James Dean thing, then we can match?” he offers with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I understand not wearing it to the party,” I say matter-of-factly, “and that’s not what I’m asking, I want to know if you’ll wear it, “ I lick my lips, and give my best fuck-me eyes, “just for me?” I have been dying to see/touch/fuck him in the ‘68 leather, ever since I confessed to him my go-to masturbation routine when we were in Mexico.

“Oh,” he turns his head to look at the outfit again, “is that it?” he looks back at me, his head cocked to the side. “You, uh, cleaned it huh?”

“Uh huh,” my palm draws circles on his chest, nearly distracting myself, “rubbed it down with leather cleaner and conditioner. Took me all afternoon.”

“Did it now,” he smiles slyly, ”I think I remember Catherine telling me that if it got cleaned, I should wear it for a while after, just so it- uh- keeps it’s fit.”

“Smart woman, that Cathrine,” I nod seriously. I have no idea if she actually said that or if that is remotely necessary, but I’m not looking any gift horses in the mouth.

“Well then,” he blows out a breath, ”I guess I have no choice now.”

His shoulders begin to take on the slightest sway and his hips start to roll as he walks to the bed. He picks up the pants, unbuttoning his own. I only just refrain from clapping my hands and jumping up and down. I can’t help the gigantic smile on my face though.

“Go get yer dress on then lil’ mama,” he nods to the bathroom. It’s like just touching that leather wakes up the Elvis in him.

When I come out of the bathroom in my new halter neck, pastel striped, picnic swing dress. My hair is swept up in a neat ponytail and there are pearls around my neck. The outfit came with a pair of shorts. But oh darn, I forgot to put them on… oh no. More than just my legs flash through the front slit as I take the two steps in my kitten heels, into the bedroom.

Austin is sitting on the bench at the end of the bed, facing away from me. He seems to be leaning down tugging on his boots. I guess the boots are a requirement for the ‘68 leather. I imagine he is having a mental conversation with Elivs right now, checking in, making sure this is all right. I can’t imagine it wouldn’t be.

I think I can hold it together, though my insides are shaking like a leaf. I can do this, it’s just Austin, I’ll be fine. Then he stands up, fiddling with the front of his jacket.

Oh. My. God.

Even from the back he looks so seductive and powerful. He rolls his broad shoulders, shrugging them a little, almost as if he is shaking out nerves. Images of the film flash through my head and I’m not sure if I’m dreaming. The tall collar hides his neck but the sides of the jacket angle to his snatched little waist, drawing my eye down as if to say ‘welcome lil’ darlin’, here is my gorgeous fucking ass’.

And gorgeous it is. I am literally drooling, from both sets of lips.

He takes a deep breath and rakes his hand through his hair. As he turns around, everything seems to slow down: his hands pulling his jacket down at the waist, his loose-hip swagger, my heartbeat, my breath.

The pants are aesthetically snug over his legs, not as tight overall as the ones he had on in Mexico, but they show off his legs, if not his dick. The jacket opens in a long, narrow V, from the high collar to just below his sternum, and is fastened in an overlap at his waist.

The boots, yup, the boots were necessary. His whole body just oozes Elvis’ swagger. With the exception of his blonde hair and lack of sideburns, it’s my very own fucking Austin/Elvis walking toward me. As he gets closer, one of his hands reaches for me and the front gaps open, giving me a peek at his muscular chest.

My heartbeat drops into my pussy and my lungs just can’t, they just won’t.

“Why you look good enough to eat lil’ darlin’,” he drawls in that southern sex-god voice.

Thank god he has pulled me close, as my legs are threatening to buckle under me. I can feel the thumping of his heart mimicking my own in my ears as I press my hand to the skin of his chest and all I can do is stand there. My fingertips clumsily pawing down his chest, I am unable to form thoughts. I am completely starstruck, no- pussystruck, whether for Austin or for Elvis I have no clue at this moment. Thankfully, my reptilian brain kicks in and forces me to draw a shaky breath before I pass out.

“Austin, I… I…. holy fuck,” yup, my brain is not yet online. No one should be allowed to be this sexy. It’s hazardous.

In a decidedly un-Elvis moment, he puffs out a breath and looks down bashfully, then back up, a typical shy Austin look. It breaks me out of the spell enough to remember this is Austin, my Austin. Out of nowhere, it suddenly hits me just how much I love this man and the extent that I would go to just to see him happy. I mean, yeah, we’ve been dating for over a year and it’s been wonderful, he has been amazing. I figured I loved him, but it’s not until this moment that I realize I am totally head over heels IN love with him. Fuck, what does that even mean for us? Neither of us have ever actually said the words. Should I? Does he even feel the same? What the hell is going on in my heart and why is it like 15 sizes too big for my chest.

“H-how does it feel, baby?” I manage to ask. Having not yet processed my feelings in the blink of an eye, I use Austin’s trick and put the focus on him.

“Well, I’ve definitely bulked up in my thighs and shoulders since then,” he laughs, body shrugging and twitching, “but Catherine had left them roomy so I could move,” the last two words are dripping with Elvis. He plants his feet a little wider apart and rocks his hips right to left, hands out to his sides. How many times had I watched that scene?

How many times had I watched my baby move his hips like that on the screen and wanted nothing more than for him to do it for me.

My body response is Pavlovian.

A whimpery sort of moan flies from my chest along with the oxygen that I had just managed to recover. He apparently has no idea what he is doing to me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath trying to control my reactions. This wasn’t going to be any fun if I just stood there and drooled at him. Cuz that’s sexy.

Then I feel his lips pressing, almost chastely, to my own. I melt into him. The vast puzzle of emotions that just cascaded over me, suddenly click into place.

I am in love with Austin Butler and it’s just that simple.

“You really do look stunning, darlin’,” that fucking voice, his voice is in my ear. My panties would be wet, if I had any on.

I open my eyes to his blue ones, inches from my own. Yup, I’m ass over teakettle and that’s that.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my hips to his. Maybe I can somehow gain control over the puddle of mush he’s turned me into.

“You look like a bad boy, are you gonna corrupt me?” I say, batting my eyes in a useless attempt to look innocent. I run my finger down his neck to his chest. My hand plays with the edges of his jacket.

Austin laughs softly, his eyes following my hand.

“Well, I can’t promise anything,” he smirks, ”afterall, temptation is hard to resist when you look so… delicious.”

“I mean,” I shrug one shoulder, giving him the barest of pouts, ”what’s a little temptation between friends?”

“Friends?” his eyebrow cocks and he pulls his head back a little.

Fuck me, why did it have to come out like that?

“It’s just the expression,” I shrug the question off. Completely thrown by my very own self, I do the only thing I can and let my hands slide over his hips and down under his bum. The supple leather is starting to form fit to him, warming up with the heat of his body. The feel of both the smooth leather of the pants and the glorious ass filling them out sends goosebumps down my spine grounding me in the moment.

“Good, cuz it might be more than just a little corruption,” I can almost feel his heart thumping in my own chest as his hand instinctively moves to rest on my hips. His blue eyes darken a shade.

“Oh, I fucking hope so, ” I murmur into his mouth as he leans down for a kiss.

At moments like these, I usually go for his hair. I love running my fingers through his hair. Today, understandably, they are drawn to the leather like a moth to a flame. They plot a course, smooth down his hamstrings and back up his thighs to the front of his hips. My palms turn, pressing into his hip bones before my fingers dig into the muscles of his hips. I pull him closer to me. The leather emits a low creak under the friction of my skin. One hand slides back around, unable to keep away from the curve of his ass. The other hand chases the column of his erectors up his back. My fingertips dig into the hollows of his spine and glutes as he deepens the kiss.

His hands, which had been warm on my naked back, slide forward and down to discover the slit in the dress. He runs his fingers lightly up my thigh, almost tickling. I can sense that he is expecting to find the panties I had on earlier. The fact that there is nothing but me under my skirt makes him pull back, eyes narrowed at me.

“Oh mercy,” he slides against my slippery labia, “No panties, wetter ’n April showers, what’s a man to do?”

‘Me’ I want to say, but my teeth are vicious against my lip as my hips rut gently against his hand. All I can manage is a heavy “mmmmm” sound.

Then his hand is laced into mine and he’s pulling me, the low stool in his other hand.

“C’mon, ‘lil darlin’,” leaning into his accent, “I don’t want ta ruin these by bein’ on ma knees,” as though that will explain him marching me to the bathroom.

The counter is long with two sinks at either end. He puts the stool down, then clears the space in between with one sweep of his arm. My brush clatters to the floor along with my travel hairspray. My makeup bag and deodorant end up knocked into the sink. A soap dispenser rolls away, lost to the same place as toothbrushes and their stand.

He twirls me around, grabs my hips and helps me hop backwards up on the counter, legs slightly apart. The slit that starts at my waist, drapes open. I catch sight of the matching shorts dangling from the hanger on the other side of the room and smirk.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, aren’t you th’ lil’ hussy t’day,” he looks me up and down, “It’s like y’ want me t’ fuck ya silly.’

“Well, yeah… that’s the general idea,” I raise my eyebrow at him. My tongue rubs against my teeth and upper lip corner.

His chest heaves and his eyes dilate to black just before he is on me. Hands on my tits, tongue in my mouth and leather concealed cock pressing against me as I wrap my leg around his waist. I’m dripping and ready for him.

“God I love it when you are so excited that I can smell you,” he kisses down my neck and the deep V of my dress. Slowly he sits on the stool, adjusting his cock. I can’t even think of a response before he pulls me to the edge of the counter.

“Give me that pussy baby,” he looks up at me through his long lashes,”Didn’ I say you looked good enough ta eat?”

My mouth hangs open in a little ‘o’, brows pulled together in lust, nodding. Eagerly I open my legs to his face and I watch as he nuzzles into my mons. I feel his tongue tease my lips, flicking up and down, tasting the leaking juices. His touch is so light, like butterfly wings brushing me. He moves his head, his tongue dangerously close to my clit. I breathe in sharply. I fucking love it when he does this, threatens my clit with touch, only to deny me.

“MMM” he growls as he pulls back, using his fingers to lightly pull my outer labia apart. My pink little lips glisten and wink as I clench for him. I know he likes it when my pussy grabs at him.

“Babeh” he looks up at me, “you are so fuckin’ hot.”

I can barely catch a breath before his face is buried in my cunt, tongue probing deep, nose against my mons. He laps against me. I want to thread my fingers into his hair and fuck his face. Instead, my fingers curl into claws over the edge of the counter to keep me from falling, at least off of here.

His head moves slowly, nose doing little circles, teasing my clit. His hands are anchored; one under my leg that he has thrown over his shoulder, the other arm around my back, his hand spread wide against my sacrum. His last two fingers digging into my flesh. Little moans flit around the room from both our throats.

He pulls back, messy faced and licking his lips. My hips buck towards him, wanting more, so much more.

“My needy little hussy,” his voice is so low it’s almost gravely, “you want more?” He pets my pussy with two fingers, “D’ya want me to lick you ‘till you spill on my tongue?”

“Okay,” more a whimper than a moan.

He just smiles and with an amused shake of his head turns his two fingers over at my entrance.

“You want these fingers too?”

“Uh huh,” I nod.

“You’re going to have to convince me of that, lil’ mama,” his eyes don’t leave mine as he leans forward as he laps at my lips. His fingers spread my outer labia, exposing both my clit and my inner lips. He nestles his face deep, eyes closing. His tongue is like magic just below my clit, rubbing up and down then licking deep into me. His fingers play at my entrance, my hips rock, trying to get him to push inside, but he won’t.

“Please, Austin,” I moan.

He just chuckles against my pussy and moves up, tongue swirling around my clit. I am clenching on nothing, thighs pressing down as my hips press up. Then his mouth closes over my nub with gentle suction.

“OHHHH Yes! That is so good!” I moan, my head back.

I can hear the little slurping suction from his mouth on me. The fingertips on my back dig into my skin.

“Austin, please finger me, please,” I beg.

Apparently it’s not enough as his fingers continue to tease and pet but not enter.

His tongue ripples down along my little lips and pulls my juices up to my clit. The tip of his tongue flickering across as he sucks me into the vacuum of his mouth.

“MMMM” he moans, long and low, clearly getting into it.

“Oh my-fuck!” the vibrations against my clit are unreal. My vagina pulses, trying to pull his fingers into me of its own accord.

Heat spreads quickly to either side and down my inner thighs like the red wings of a butterfly. His lips sucking, then his tongue lapping. I’m getting so close. I just need… more.

“Give them to me, Austin,” I say through clenched teeth, “I fucking need them.” My hips are shaking against his face.

“MMMMMMMMM,” another long, low hum makes my back arch, pressing towards him.

Then his two fingers are worming their way into me, back and forth one inch, two inches, three, four.

“Oh! Fuck yes!!! I moan, my head thrown back.

He slows his finger movement into a long and slow ‘come hither’, pushing against the spongy tissue on my front wall. His mouth never lets up.

His fingers in me start to make squashy noises as I flood onto him.

He licks and slurps, his noises of pleasure intensify, his fingers speed up.

“So close baby, keep going” I moan, one hand finally on his head.

He doesn’t falter for a moment, my baby. He is so good at eating my pussy.

I can hear the wood of the stool creaking as his hips pulse forward and backward. In the back of my mind I wonder if he is rubbing himself against the softness of the leather as he is eating me out.

“Harder, harder, yes!” I tighten my grip on his hair.

He is shaking with the effort of pounding his fingers into me. Doubling down on my clit.

I am moaning non-stop now. A deluge of vowel sounds, near wailing.

The rising tide finally crests and washes over me. My legs clamp down on him and I rut against his face.

“I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming,” I rise in pitch, rise in gratification.

Just after my orgasm reaches fever pitch, the sound of creaking leather reaches my ears along with his heaving breath. He is rising, his cock spills out. It’s long, hard, swollen, red and searching for my warm wet slit. Little drips of my juices, of my cum, glisten on his chin, down his chest and on the leather jacket. He watches his cock probe at my entrance, my hips in pursuit, eager to engulf him.

Never has this man looked hotter about to fuck me, and that is saying something.

I grab his face, pulling his dirty, fucking, gorgeous mouth to mine, wanting to pull any and all parts of him into me. He pushes home, nearly peaking my orgasm again as I stretch around him.

A raspy moan resonates from us both.

He goes slow and deep, pausing to let out a shuddering breath when he is sheathed fully. I bury my face into his shoulder, into the leather.

Oh. Lord. What did I just do?

The scent of the leather, warm and slightly woodsy, rushes to my nose as I inhale. It carries the barest hint of sweet vanilla from the leather conditioner I used on it earlier.

It feels like everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I ever needed. I cling to him, fingertips digging into the black material.

He pulls back, hand on my neck. His forehead is pressed to mine. He is playing back and forth in me.

“Open up baby,” he intones low.

I open; my mouth, flickering my tongue; my legs, pushing wider; my knees, bending to my armpits; my eyes, gazing right into his.

“Yeah, keep lookin at me,” his jaw is tight, “I wanna watch you cum again,” his eyes fill my vision, nearly black. His cock fills my pussy, he is so deep in me. He leans back, thrusting hard. Pulling me to him with the hands on my hip and neck

I reach down with my fingers to my clit.

“Oh fuck yes, show me how you do it princess, when I’m gone,” his voice is gravely with desire.

“Oh Yeah? “I pant at him, “you really want to see?”

I fish in the sink for my makeup bag. I dump it onto the counter next to me and snatch my little vibe.

“Oh fuck, you brought it?” his hips stop.

“I always do, just waiting for this,” I click it on and press it to my pussy.

“Oh shit baby,” his hips start up again, slower so he can watch me work my clit.

I watch him watch me, my Austin/Elvis in black leather, a second skin. His face is wrapped in growing lust, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Good lord he is my dream.

I can feel myself getting closer, my breath panting, my pussy tightening on him slowly as his cock works in me, keeping a perfect rhythm. Then he glances up at me, catches me watching him. A slow smile spreads over his face, lifting one lip.

“C’mon lil’kitty, gimme that cream,” it’s so fucking perfect, reverberating so deep in his chest. It’s like a fucking orgasm bomb on my brain.

I push the vibe directly on my clit and clamp down hard on him. My hips are shaking, my abs pulling me toward him as I scream. My legs clamp onto him, knees bent and I’m pulling him in as he thrusts against me. I’m so lost in pleasure, I’m not sure if I should stop, or fuck him harder.

“That’s ma girl,” He just rides my orgasm out, gradually slowing down his motion. He pulls me close as I shake, his dick still in me. I take one deep breath after another, curled into his chest, my cheek pressed against the soft leather. Jesus, it’s like a drug.

I look up at him, my face still shrouded in desire.

“I want you more,” I shudder out.

“Oh, you are gettin’ more, for certain,” he finds the zipper on my back and pulls it down. I reach and unsnap the collar of the dress at the back of my neck. He pulls away, unfastening the jacket. I slide off the counter, the dress puddling at my feet. He goes to take the jacket off.

“No!” my voice is suddenly desperate. I reach out and stop him.

“I oughta bend you over the counter right here, sweetheart,” he smiles.

I smile and step towards the door backwards, holding his hand.

“Uh-uh,” I shake my head, “I need to feel you on top of me in that leather, baby.” I crook my finger, dragging him to the bed.

He smiles and shakes his head, walking with that tell-tale gait. His cock out, framed in the supple black, and his chest is all exposed. It’s everything I had ever imagined when I closed my eyes after that clip ended.

And it’s all mine.

I am staring at him.

He is breathtaking.

I let go of his hand and crawl backwards on the bed as he toes off the boots. He stops for a moment, taking in the sight of me. I am propped up on my elbows, not a stitch on. My knees are bent, legs splayed out.

“God you are beautiful,” he says almost to himself as he looks me up and down.

“I love th’ smell o’ you,” he takes a deep breath.

“I love th’ taste o’ you,” the leather creaks softly as he leans down over the bed.

“I love th’ feel o’ you,” his eyes bore into mine as me stalks cat-like up my body to lay between my legs.

“Baby, I just love you,” he whispers against my lips at the same time “I love you” slips from between them.

His mouth muffles my shuddered intake of breath.

I lay down all the way, nearly dumbstruck at his words. I want to say something more. But the softness of the leather on my inner thighs, the warmth of his chest pressed against my body and his soft, sweet lips against mine distract me from everything else. My hands slip between the jacket and his torso, feeling the hard flexing muscle beneath.

I am so swollen and wet from arousal, his cock slides inside me effortlessly.

He pulls away from my face, looking deep into my eyes. His hips move dolphin-like, rubbing the soft supple leather against my skin. The sensuality of it is incredible.

He pauses, brushing a hair away from my lip then cradles my face in his hands.

“Do you want it?” he nearly whispers, eyes dark, “want me to fill you with it?”

“More than anything,” I know what he is asking, I grip his ass, pulling him toward me, my fingers making the leather softly groan. Gods, he is so sexy.

“Alright baby, ‘m gonna fuck that sweet little pussy ‘till I cum in it,” when he says that, I know he won’t stop if I start cumming too. Sometimes it takes him a bit, sometimes he overstimulates me into oblivion. I fucking love it.

I wrap my legs around him, nodding, ready for the ride.

“Fuck me, Austin,” I say low and wanton.

With a growl he begins buffeting my pussy, almost ferociously.

The feel of his naked ass flexing under my hands is one of my favorite things. But now, covered in the smooth second skin of his pants, my god. He puts his head down next to mine, hips snapping to me, in pursuit of his pleasure. The slap of the leather against me is surreal.

My hand threads into his soft hair. It’s like the holy trinity, his cock, his ass and his hair, all in my grasp.

“Fuck that pussy, ” I know how much he likes it when I talk dirty in his ear, especially when he’s chasing his orgasm.

“Your cock feels so fucking good.” It does too. I start to clench down on him, grabbing at his dick with my pussy.

“Oh god yes,” he moans into my neck.

“I fucking love it,” a sly smile creeps over my face.

“Fuck yeah,” he moans.

He sits back on his knees, the coat falling down his back, his tip just teasing me. Grabbing my hips, he pulls me up onto his lap, impaling me on his cock. The leather is stretched smooth over his thighs, rubbing the back of my legs, tickling my ass. He hits me just right as he moves in me.

“Ohmigod! Yes!!” I moan, my core tightening around him,

“You like that?” he says through clenched teeth, pounding into me.

“Yes! Yes! I do, fuck! Oh fuck!” my orgasm begins to bloom, like ink in water, threading its way through my body.

Suddenly pleasure saturates my cells as I cum, arms thrust outward as though to keep me in this plane of existence.

He keeps fucking me, jaw tight. At this point, my orgasm is as much for him as it is for me. He definitely gets off watching me writhe on the end of his pounding cock.

My hips buck on him. My head thrusts back. My tits bouncing as he keeps thrusting.

“Yeah, so fucking hot,” he murmurs, gripping my hips harder. He doesn’t miss a beat. My baby has the cardio capacity of a fucking arabian stallion.

I am shaking, fists tight on the comforter as another surge of pleasure rises over me.

He groans, guttural in the back of his throat as my hot wetness floods his dick. I know he is close, or I would know if I could think straight. His leather covered hips pummel into me, slapping my skin. The earthy warm smell suddenly hits my nose and I groan.

Wave after wave rolls over me until I can’t differentiate between them. I am moaning over and over like an engine trying to start. My brain is fogged with oxytocin and serotonin, I’m not sure where I end and he begins.

Finally a roar rips from him and he pauses deep, cum pumping from him and into me. He thrusts one, twice more, moaning at his own movement. He collapses, chest heaving, next to me, smiling.

I take a deep breath, and push with my leg, flippin over on top of him.

“What the-?” he starts, putting his arm around me.

I have always wanted to do this, give him a taste of his own medicine. I have to do it now, while he’s still hard.

On my knees I grip him like a race horse, sliding him back into me. I clamp down hard on his cock, and ride him, leather and all, just like a jockey.

My clit is grinding into his abs, holy shit it feels so damn good.

“Oh- holy- fu– what— god!” his eyes blink and flutter in confusion at the overstim I’m giving him. He doesn't shove me off though, in fact he clenches his ass, pushing his hips up the way he knows that I like it when I’m on top. Always the giver, my baby.

My hips snap back and forth, my hands pressing down on his lower ribs. As sensitive as I am, it only takes about a minute and a half until I’m bucking and jerking. ‘Ohs’ are falling from my lips, and I am gone again, lost in pleasure.

I shake, I pant. I look down at him. His lower lip is caught hard under his teeth, his nostrils are flaring. His eyelids are still fluttering.

I slowly raise my hips, like I’m going to dismount.

“Oh god” he whispers.

In a fit of pure evil, I slide back down his shaft. His body curls up toward me.

“WOMAN!” he belts out, eyes popping open.

I fall over top of him giggling.

“Geeze,” he giggles back, wrapping his arms around me, “are you trying to kill me?”

I squeeze my pussy on him.

“STOP!” he tickles me briefly, making me squirm. “Oh lord, sweetheart. Is that what it’s like? When I do it to you,” he pants out, “I had no idea.”

“Yeah,” I lean to kiss him, ”I kinda love it, most of the time.”

A bit later, when we’ve both come down, still wrapped together. He is Big Spoon and I’m Little Spoon. He’s still in the leather, so soft and warm against my skin. Austin is playing with my fingers.

“So, corruption between friends, eh?” He asks somewhat casually with a little chuckle.

I take a deep breath to explain myself. But before I can utter a word his deep gorgeous voice is in my ear.

“I mean it, you know,” his hot breath on my neck.

I frown a little and roll over in his arms to look at him.

“That I love you,” that softness of his gaze again with the hint of a smile, “I wasn’t sure you heard me, what with all the you telling me-”

“I love you,” I interrupt him, “so, so much. I’ve fallen so hard for you, Austin.”

His breath puffs from him, his smile wide as he shakes his head slightly.

“God you are amazing, I feel like the luckiest man in the world,” he crushes me to him, “cuz I’m so lost in you, darlin’.”

If you want to know, Austin ended up going the James Dean route, with his own leather bomber jacket. I, of course, had to wear the other dress as the pastel striped one… well let’s just say it did its job beautifully.

-FIN

#austin butler #austin butler fanfic #austin butler smut #austin butler fic #austin butler x reader #@slowsweetlove #@purejasmine #@richardslady121 #austin butler/reader #@austinbutlersmut

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

Text

Stabbed

This was written following an anon request that read as follows:

Hello sweetie, can I please request a dean x reader one shot in which she gets stabbed during a rough hunt and it's a race against time to save her (maybe Sam is the one driving and dean gets in the backseat with her?) And dean is scared of losing her and he has a panic attack after she wakes up but she manages to calm him down?

Obviously everyone’s experiences with panic attacks are different, but I tend to think if Dean had one it might manifest more externally as a violent outburst; I think he would subconsciously feel like it’s a more acceptable way to express ~freaking the fuck out~. This fic is sort of loosely set during early season 3, partly because that contextualization made sense to me with what you were describing and partly because I feel like that tenderhearted, slightly-less-jaded Dean would be more likely to allow himself to be perceived as vulnerable in such a fraught moment.

I’ve also taken a couple liberties with the medical situation described for literary purposes. 😋 Don’t @ me, I know this isn’t exactly how hypovolemic shock plays out.

Title: Stabbed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4206

Summary: Dean’s anxiety gets the best of him when the reader appears fatally injured on a hunt, and is soothed only after the danger is gone.

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence, description of panic attack, swearing

Sam slammed the door once Dean had hauled you into the backseat, propping you up like a mannequin next to him on the bench. Your vision was starting to fade in and out, but the sense memory of the muscles in Dean’s side and the leather seat underneath you were comforting anyway. It seemed like the car started flying before Sam had even closed the driver’s side door and you tried hard to focus on Dean’s babbling.

“You’ll be able to give me shit about this one forever, right, kid? Should’ve listened to you, you said they would’ve left the barn by the time we got there. Always so smart, when am I going to learn?” He was trying to chuckle but it came out breathy and wrong, Dean never quite able to actually hit the casual affect he wanted in moments like this. Honestly, it made you more nervous, knowing that for injuries he wasn’t worried about he wanted to look over you with clinical precision, chastise you for being careless. He only did this pretend calm when he was trying to keep it together—you used to think it was only for you or Sam but after a few years and more than a few bad scares you started to understand it for the defense mechanism it truly was. Not that you needed extra evidence that this was bad; you could feel the life leeching out of you like a water balloon with a pinprick leak.

“Hey, come on—open your eyes for me, lemme see those stunners,” he said, guiding your chin up where you had begun to slump onto his shoulder. “Perfect, yeah, just like that. Hey, stay with me—”

You mustered up everything you had to swim to the surface of the sleep-darkness your body so desperately wanted and straightened your spine to take a deep breath. Bad idea, the wounds in your side feeling like they were splitting you clean in half even through the haze. At least it woke you up for a moment to catch Dean’s eyes, fiery with panic even as he tried to smile.

“Dean, I—” you started, feeling like your throat was full of broken glass.

“Babe, don’t try to talk, it’s okay, you can tell me whatever it is when we get to a hospital.”

Sam turned his head away from the rural highway the Impala was absolutely sailing down to look back at his older brother. “We’re hours away from a hospital, we’ve gotta go back to the motel,” he said, low and serious.

“If we’re hours away from a hospital then I guess we’re driving for a couple hours, aren’t we, Sammy?” Dean was getting worse and worse at covering the hard edge of fear-driven anger in his voice as the seconds ticked by.

“Dean, we—she’s—we don’t have a couple hours.”

Dean closed his eyes tight and set his jaw firm. “We’re going to a fucking hospital.”

His brother swerved deftly around a giant pothole, somehow able to turn the wheel so slightly that the car’s path barely changed. “Listen to me. She can’t bleed like that for long enough to get to a hospital. We have to try to handle this one ourselves or there’s no chance—”

The whole conversation felt like it was happening to someone else, your senses starting to detach from your body, and you couldn’t hold onto those trains of thought for long enough to process them. You were forced to expend all the energy you had on what you needed to say, and reached for Dean’s hand with a weak grip.

“Dean, look at me.”

He sounded like a hurt puppy when he said, “please,” and you knew he was asking you not to make him listen but you were worried you were out of options, out of time. That frantic smile looked almost crazed as it started to quiver on his face, eyelashes clumping with moisture.

“Sam, can you hear me too?” you asked, frustrated in an abstract way at how frail your voice sounded.

He gave one tight nod in the rearview mirror with a jaw set firm as iron, and when he said “Yes—yeah,” it was choked.

“I love you idiots so much. These last—ow, Jesus—however many years have been some of the most fun I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t take it back for anything. Sam, I—you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I—fuck,” you winced, something about the breath you took to keep from crying sending an electric jolt of pain through you and doubling you over.

“It’s okay, I know,” Sam said up into the rearview mirror, and you couldn’t tell if the way the headlights were falling on the trees impossibly fast was something about your sight being distorted, because if it wasn’t then you were surprised the Impala hadn’t broken some kind of land speed record. You made a mental note to tell Dean to start drag racing before remembering you might not tell him anything ever again. What you were nearly positive you weren’t imagining were the break in Sam’s voice or the reflection of tears on his cheek as he locked eyes with you in the mirror.

By the grace of whatever higher power the Winchesters were on the good side of at the time, you connected with him in the reflection, were able to absorb some fraction of the bone-crushing, pick-you-up-off-your-feet hug you wanted so badly from Sam in that moment. You tried to be thankful for what you got and drifted back to Dean’s gaze.

“And Dean, baby,” you continued, some bizarre flutter of second wind giving you enough force to clench your hand tightly around his and remember to keep your breaths shallow, keep talking even if your eyes couldn’t quite focus. “This was not your fault, you gotta—promise—me you know it wasn’t.”

“I, ah—” he faltered, throat vibrating as he tried to keep the inevitable tears down.

You gripped his hand tighter, felt your fingers going numb, and tried to smile hoping it didn’t look too grotesque on a face almost certainly drained of lifelike color. “C’mon, gotta obey a last wish, right?” The grief-stricken chuckle of surprise that dark joke punched out of Dean opened the floodgates, and tears burst forward to stream down his face. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

You’d thought of some goofy punchline to try to give, some ‘no sleeping with random girls for at least a year, want you guys to pour one out for me every day’ bullshit but seeing the love and pain in Dean’s eyes as your vision came in and out zapped it away. “I love you baby. I just—thank you for—everything—and—”

It was getting too hard to take even those shallow breaths, your hearing gone fuzzy around the edges, and the last thing you remembered was seeing a streetlight on the edge of town as Dean took your face in his hands, “I know, kid, I know, come on—please,” fading out like he was being zipped away through a long tunnel.

You were completely motionless in Dean’s arms, pulse gone thready enough that Dean was having a hard time finding it through the rumble of the car.

“Fuck, Sam, FUCK!” Dean screamed, one hand wrapped up in the hair at the back of your neck as he fought desperately to keep you upright.

Sam muscled through the lump in his throat and tried to stay focused. “When we get there you need to be ready to go, okay, Dean? HEY, listen to me. Don’t quit on me like this,” he barked, trying to catch his brother’s eyes in the rearview mirror without taking his focus off the road, terrified at the speed of the Impala and the potential of repeating what had happened the last time he’d had someone he loved bleeding out in the backseat.

The car skittered around two corners and Sam prayed as hard as he had ever prayed for anything that there weren’t any Keystone cops looking to meet their month’s ticket quota by hanging around dark parking lots with radar guns, willed Dean to stop punching the window of the car with the hand that wasn’t clutching your head to his chest. He couldn’t decide if he thought it would’ve been better to have Dean drive, if he would’ve been able to hold it together any better than Dean was right now, if Dean could’ve focused if he was driving and not feeling you drift in his arms. There wasn’t time to figure it out and it ultimately didn’t matter, his brother turning into a bomb in the backseat and Sam needed to figure out a way to funnel Dean’s sheer panic back into the denial that would fuel him to keep moving, do anything to keep you alive, regardless of whether there was any hope left.

“It’s not over, you’ve gotta keep it together. She needs you. See, we’re right around—"

But he didn’t get to finish through the flurry of action as he pulled into the motel. He careened the Impala straight up to the door of the room, more than half of the car parked over a strip of grass intended to make the nondescript building feel more homey. By the time he’d torn the keys from the ignition Dean was practically leaping out of the backseat, carrying you into the room a quarter step after Sam half-busted the door open, laying you on a bed and tearing your t-shirt off with his bare hands like a cheap wrestling gimmick.

Sam didn’t bother closing the motel door, moving too fast to care as he ripped a cork out of whiskey bottle with his teeth and poured it all over your now-exposed side, grimacing with nausea at the way it didn’t make you draw back in pain even a little. Dean tried his best to thread a needle with floss and remember whether it was better or worse that the blood was still flowing fast and bright red out of those stab wounds rather than slowing or oxidizing—this is bush league shit Dad pounded in years ago why can’t I remember fucking any of it? His hands shook with too much adrenaline to get the floss through the needle but Sam was already working on patching the biggest wound, tying knots with the rapid precision of a surgeon.

It was only when he started getting in Sam’s way that the younger Winchester said anything more, encouraged that Dean was at least trying to pull himself together. He began talking through the stitches, muttering when he had to pull one tight with his teeth.

“We—Dean, look at me.” Sam drilled into him with those brackish eyes, struggling to maintain the appearance of being in control that his brother needed of him when he could feel you going cold underneath his fingertips. “We’re going to need to give her a lot of fluids when she wakes up; all we have is beer. Go get some stuff for her to drink—electrolytes, she’ll need electrolytes.”

“I’m not going to fucking leave, asshole!” Dean was strung out and not even pretending to hide it anymore, voice taking on that juvenile squeak Sam had only heard a handful of times since Dean was a teenager.

He took a deep breath in an effort to soothe himself before speaking as clearly and firmly to Dean as possible, no room for negotiation. “Dean. This is not helping. The best thing you can do for her is to go get some fluids. Gatorade, OJ, bananas too, if they have them. She’ll need iron but we can deal with other food once she wakes up.”

“What if she doesn’t—” Dean half-moaned, sounding like he’d been struck by something that was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs, looking like he was on the last ten feet of a hundred-mile race.

“She’s going to wake up.”

And Sam’s stubbornness actually did help Dean a bit in that moment, knowing that even if his life was about to change radically, that never would. “Go get some fucking Gatorade.”

By the time Dean came back—arms filled with so many bags of sports drinks that it would be comical in any other context—his brother had stitched up every wound, cleaned off most of the blood, and put all your limbs atop high stacks of pillows in an attempt to get as much blood to your vital organs as possible. Dean was near catatonic with the singular focus of a task, which was Sam’s intention. One thing at a time.

After about five minutes of sitting alongside Sam watching you, thick, viscous panic bubbled back up to the surface.

At first, he was muttering like he was talking to himself. “She told me, she fucking told me they wouldn’t be in the barn anymore, I didn’t listen. I should’ve been right behind her, Sam, what the fuck was I thinking—she was—she—she was alone, they wouldn’t have—” and then the way his voice built to a fever pitch matched his body, Dean perched on the mattress like a sailboat in a tempest, slammed against invisible waves of panic.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean. You couldn’t have known—”

“She was alone against five of them, Sam, do you get that? I left her fucking ALONE!” Dean wailed, springing forward from the bed with eruptive energy and bashing the nightstand lamp hard enough that its base shattered against the opposite wall, coming clean out of the socket as easily as if it hadn’t been plugged in. Sam flinched but didn’t get up, instead taking a quick visual inspection that no shards of ceramic somehow bounced back to cut your still body. By the time he glanced up again he only had a millisecond to react as Dean threw a chair from the kitchenette against the wall, exploding the mirror there into shimmering beads of glass and ricocheting back, forcing Sam block it with a forearm lest it hit him or you.

“DEAN, enough!” he yelled, crossing over to his brother with a few powerful strides and grappling with him, battling to keep Dean still as the older of the Winchester brothers fought to destroy the room to match the chaos in his mind. Sam knew exactly what was going on, the way Dean’s brain converted fear to rage, but hated when his brother got like this, not only because it cut so deep to see him in pain but because the explosiveness was so similar to the knock-down drag-outs they’d grown up with, made it impossible to try to fix the root of the problem.

Sam tackling Dean to the ground was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes.

“Do I pull this shit when you guys are sleeping?” you croaked from the mattress, trying to sit up and immediately abandoning that plan, stilling yourself and holding your breath until the pain settled a fraction.

Sam and Dean scrambled to get to their feet and ran over to you, hovering over the bed looking like their backs had a light dusting of glitter rather than a million tiny shards of glass.

“What’re—are you okay? What do you remember?” Sam blurted out, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade out of a plastic bag and cracking it open for you. He snatched a pillow and helped you sit up slowly, jamming it under your head so you could drink.

“Well, I’ve definitely felt better,” you tried to chuckle, but the tension it caused in your abdominal muscles made you wince. “I’m really sorry, you guys, I shouldn’t have—” you began, immediately stopped by the way Sam and Dean shook their heads, sucked on their teeth.

“I’m—ah,” Sam started, smiling self-deprecatingly through the shake in his voice and looking down at the ground for a beat with his tongue in his cheek. It was like his body knew that the worst of the crisis had passed and refused to let him hide his emotions for one second further. After a second he met your eyes again, faintest hint of tears in his eyes. “I’m really glad you’re up.”

Behind him, Dean collapsed into himself, his expression simultaneously complete relief and like he’d seen a ghost. You peered around Sam to meet his gaze. “Hey, dork,” you breathed, unable to come up with anything to match the weight of the moment.

He opened his mouth a few times and couldn’t find anything either, wincing and biting his lip hard as he rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I’m so sorry,” he finally choked out.

As always, Sam knew what Dean needed and snatched the car keys off the table as his brother tried in vain to keep his restless limbs still. He gazed at you with such naked thankfulness it made you smile involuntarily. “I’m going to see how much red meat I can find you, I’ll be right back, okay? Drink as many of these as you can and don’t stand up alone.” You nodded gratefully to him as he backed out the door.

When Sam left, Dean still shifted uncomfortably on his feet, clenching and unclenching his hands until he ultimately jammed them deep into the pockets of his coat with enough force that it shook loose almost all of the glass, sending it floating to the ground around him as if he was a mirage. You could see, even as he stood a few paces away from the bed, that his breathing was quickened from the rapid, shallow movements of his chest and neck. “I’m—ah, I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have—” he stammered against a jaw locked shut tensely enough to make the muscles bulge out of his cheeks, and the lack of the self-assuredness that was normally so Dean to you made him seem unbelievably young, made you want to leap across the room and wrap him up in your arms. As it was, you beckoned him over with a shaky hand.

He walked over to you hesitantly, only sitting down on the side opposite your injuries when you patted the sheets next to you. Awkwardly trying to move your torso as little as possible, you tossed the pillows on that side to the floor and motioned for him to lay down.

“I don’t want to hurt—”

“I’ll be fine. Please?”

Reluctantly taking off his coat and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground, he gingerly tucked himself under your arm and laid his head on your chest. You faintly dragged your fingertips down his back, waiting for his heartbeat and uneven, shallow breathing to slow down. When they didn’t and all you felt was a spreading wetness on the remaining upper half of t-shirt you still had, you twisted laboriously to see Dean’s face.

Tears streamed down onto you, Dean biting his lip so hard to keep quiet you were shocked you couldn’t see blood, the whites of his teeth almost matching the pressure-blanched skin.

“Oh, Dean,” you hummed, pulling him close to you with your one arm. “Babe, I’m here, I’m right here. Everything’s okay; I’m okay, you get to treat me like a princess for a few days and I’ll learn for the hundredth time that I shouldn’t go off by myself.”

“I—I thought you were gone,” Dean whispered between stunted sobs breaking the words off in short staccato, still fighting to speak as though he wasn’t crying even as his tears soaked you.

You craned your neck slowly to kiss the top of his head. “Not gone, right here. Always going to be right here.”

“You were bleeding so mu—just like Sam, it was just like when Sam—” he faltered, speaking slowly to try to grab the reins of his voice as it shook.

“Not just like Sam, baby, I’m still here. Everyone’s okay. And Sam’s okay too, right?” You waited for him to confirm what you knew was true and emphasize your point, drawing back to meet his gaze when he didn’t. “Right?”

Reluctantly, Dean nodded. The redness around his eyes made his irises seem almost unreal in electric green contrast and you couldn’t believe you were so close to never seeing them again. His lashes were even darker than normal, spiky black frames formed with salty tears like cartoonish mascara. You waited a beat then let him settle back into your chest before continuing, feeling the choke-hiccupping of his breath stop even if it stayed rapid. “Everyone’s okay. You’re okay,” you hummed into his hair. “You’re okay, baby.”

The two of you stayed like that until Dean’s breathing finally steadied, waiting past the clearly forced long held breaths and through to the point that he genuinely seemed like he’d hit the smooth rhythm you knew so well. “How are you feeling?” you murmured.

“Like a bitch,” he grumbled softly against your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile, thankful beyond anything for the glint of humor back in Dean, that shimmer of normalcy returning.

“Sorry for scaring you.”

“I’m never fucking letting you out of my sight again,” he said, words still sticky with swirling emotion and muffled by his cheek pressed against you. You knew he was only partly joking but also that now was not the time to push back, just kissing his hair in response.

There was no way it took Sam an hour to get you a diner burger but you were thankful for his intuition nonetheless, because by the time he got back Dean was calm enough to get up and had even helped you to put on a new t-shirt—one of his black ones; he said it was because it was looser but you suspected it was some kind of metaphor, covering you with part of himself—and shimmy into a pair of mesh athletic shorts. Standing up for a shower was still too ambitious, but the fresh clothes made you feel a little less gross. He was trying his best to clean up as much broken glass as possible when his brother opened the door and tossed him a paper bag with a bubbly illustrated hamburger on it.

Walking into the room without taking his jacket off, Sam set your food on the nightstand and grabbed a motel binder of local attractions (minimal) as a makeshift tray for you to eat off of before carefully helping you to sit up a little more. “Double cheeseburger—eat it before the fries, you need the iron. Oh, and I almost forgot—couple of these too.” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved two bottles in one big hand that appeared to be acetaminophen and an iron supplement.

“You’re the best, Sam.” It was nice to hear your voice sound more normal, lubricated with two bottles of Gatorade already, and you tried not to imagine how awkward or painful it was going to be to try to get up and go to the bathroom later.

The Winchesters sat on the other bed, still in their boots because of the rug of broken glass no one wanted to acknowledge, and Sam turned on whatever dumb comedy he could find first. For a fleeting moment it felt like any normal night on the road, nursing an injury and eating greasy food in a room you’d never see again past tomorrow morning, and you almost forgot that (minutes? hours? you still didn’t know how long you’d been out) earlier you thought you were saying goodbye to the two people you loved most, who’d moved heaven and earth and miles of rural highway to bring you back, whose superhero resilience you’d seen start to crack at the thought of losing you. A searing jolt of pain when you reached for another Gatorade reminded you all too much, and when you hissed both Sam and Dean leapt off the bed with faces contorted in concern.

“Just stretched too far, I’m okay.”

Watching them take twin deep breaths could’ve been funny and you hoped it would be in a few days—hoped in a few days laughing wouldn’t feel like being impaled. For now, you tried to drink in this little moment of peace and made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t take another one for granted ever again.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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hinatas-sunshine · 4 years ago

Text

Synopsis: You reminisce with your boyfriend about how you two met, while the team listens, seeing how your hate turned to love.

Genre: Fluff, maybe goofy idk I try

A/N: I thought of this when I didn’t write much all day because I was so exited to write again! but I’m so excited to put it down now! Enjoy this and thanks again for always being so kind to me 🥺 requests are open! KITHES!

Kuroo:

• He hadn’t know you didn’t like him, he just thought you were shy

• When he would approach you and you’d look away, shove your headphones on and walk away he thought you were just not a talkative person or in a hurry

Yaku: Oh y/n? She’s cool, she’s super hyper - doesn’t like you though

Kenma: Yeah I can relate

Kuroo: Kenma 🥺💔

• When you two where in chemistry together you knew he was the smartest person in class

“For this project you will need partners.”

• Everyones silently cheered

“But I’ll be choosing your partners.”

• Now everyone’s cheers became groans

• You silently prayed you didn’t get with the last person you wanted to be with, but the universe had other plans for you...

“Kuroo and y/n-“

“Excuse me, Miss, could I maybe work alone instead?”

• All the other girls beamed and raised their hands asking to work with him while your teacher shook her head and Kuroo blushed, wether it be from the amount of girls who offered to work with him or that you just lowkey humbled him

“Sorry y/n - but you have to have a partner for this one.”

• You only sighed and eyed Kuroo who still had a blush on his cheeks - and a bunch of girls glaring at you.

• You rolled your eyes and sat with him once your teacher told you guys to sit with your partners

“What’s your deal y/n? I don’t remember doing anything to you.”

• You glared at him before opening your notebook and starting to write stuff down making yourself busy

“Let’s get this project over with.”

“Okay... fine.”

• His eyes would wander over to you as you lost yourself in your work, but his eyes didn’t go unnoticed - they were practically burning holes in the side of your head

• You turned your head and glared at him

“Whats your problem Kuroo? Stop staring at me!”

“Me? You’re the one who’s mean to me for no reason!”

“What? Because I’m not one of your stupid fans? Sorry I’m not begging to be your partner but I have a little more decency than that.”

“I don’t expect you to be! But you have no real reason to hate me!”

• You glared at him one more time before the bell rang and you stood up shoving everything in your bag stomping out

• Kuroo hurried to follow you, catching up to you he grabbed your wrist

“Oh my gosh why do you care so much if I like you or not?”

• He let go of you and looked to the side scratching the back of his head

“Because you hate me for no reason...”

“Because you’re a player! You’re a flirt Kuroo! I hear it everywhere but I’m not gonna fall for your tricks just because you have a pretty face!”

• He raised his eyebrow and let out a laugh his cheeks painted red at the compliment

• You sighed and grumbled smacking his arm

“It’s not funny! Shut up rooster head before I sell you to a farm!”

• He started cackling at this point holding his stomach causing you to turn red

“Y-Y/n... I don’t know if you know this or not but I am not a player - I would rather not spend all my time flirting.”

• Now it was your turn to blush, you looked away before crossing your arms

“Doesn’t mean your face isn’t any less annoying you dumb bedheaded beanstock.”

• He shrugged and smiled at you

“It takes time to grow accustomed to people, I’ll let you have your time to begin to like me.”

• Your face grew red again and you stomped your foot

“This is what I’m talking about! You flirt!”

“That’s was flirting?!”

• Your eyes shot open and you smacked your head

“You’re so slow..”

• You two began walking and arguing

• and that’s how you two were...

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Inuoka: So... you hated Kuroo?

Y/N: with my whole chest.

• Here you sat at the Nekoma boy’s practice, Kuroo lazily slumped over you as you tried to push him away

“You’re sweaty, nasty unwashed potato.”

• Kuroo raised his eyebrow at you and Yaku laughed silently next to you

Yaku: it doesn’t sound any different, sounds like she still hates you

Kuroo: Y/n loves me! That’s not true at all!

Y/n: no wait let him speak

Kuroo: WHAT-

• You giggled placing a small peck on his cheek, showing him that you’re kidding - to which he picked you up and hugged you tightly

Kenma: Disgusting

• You look at Kenma and he smiled at you before looking at his game again

“Why don’t you smile at me Kenma?!”

“Because you’re irritating Lev.”

Atsumu:

• LMAO EVERYONE BUT HIM KNEW YOU DIDNT LIKE HIM

• When you sat with your friends, all they did was talk about Atsumu, while you ate your fruit slices because Yum 😋

“HES SO CUTE!”

Y/n: he has the IQ of a mannequin

“He does not! He’s really smart! Which reminds me oh my gosh-“

• You shrugged tuning out your friend before looking back at your fruit slices and taking a bite happily

• Then there was Atsumu, in his own little world in the middle of practice - until a ball hit him in the back of the head

• Osamu glared at him while Kita shook his head

Kita: Why are you so spaced out today?

Osamu: He jus has no brain - it takes em a second to regain his brain cell

Atsumu: NOT TRUE! I jus- I saw this cute girl today

• The whole team groaned while another ball came at the blonde head with a thump

Osamu: who even is it this time?!

Atsumu: ...y/n 😳👉🏽👈🏽

• The whole gym went silent before everyone laughed at him making him go red

Atsumu: WHATS SO BAD ABOUT Y/N?

Suna: She literally hates you

*y/n: oh my why am I sneezing so much? Am I getting sick?*

• Atsumu frowned before looking at everyone

Atsumu: wait why?

• To which everyone shrugged and went back to their practice

• But that kept him only wondering what made you hate him...

• The next day you were enjoying your daily fruit slices happily on a bench alone, you popped a slice into your mouth bouncing of happiness at the sweet taste

• Your happiness faltered when you saw Atsumu approaching you with a sickingly sweet smile while all his fan girls glared at you already

• he couldn’t be approaching you right? Maybe he was gonna pass you? Yeah - that’s most likely it. He doesn’t have any reason to talk to y-

“Hi y/n!”

• Yeah no. You picked up your fruit slices and bag walking away

“Wait! Y/n!”

• You turned, half a fruit slice sticking out of your mouth, the other half being chewed

• He looked at you like you were the cutest in the world - and you took the fruit slice out of your mouth

“What corn head?”

• He automatically stopped smiling and glared at you

“Why do ya hate me huh?”

• You shrugged and turned around and kept walking but you came to a halt feeling a force pulling you back - he grabbed the strap of your backpack and you gasped falling back

• He put his arm around you and smiled down at you with closed eyes opening his mouth to speak

• But your fist in his side and his gasping fangirls stopped him from speaking

“Did she just hit Atsumu?!”

“She’s so ungrateful! I’d love to have him with me like that!”

• You internally gagged at their annoying remarks and sent them a glare worse than they had given you making them scatter

“You perv! This is why I totally despise you! You think you can do whatever you want and you get away with whatever because everyone likes you! But you’re just an asshole!”

• He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as you stomped off

• He didn’t do anything wrong did he?

• He walked back up to you and you groaned turning and pressing your foot onto his making him wince

“Ouch!”

“Stop following me! It’s creepy!”

• You frowned and held the straps to your bag while he gasped and reached in his bag

“You like these? Right? I made sure to save mine for you!”

• He held out some fruit slices and placed them in your hands, before smiling at you, patting your head and walking away

• When he got to practice his brother was already laughing it him

“We tell you she hates you and you think you can get her to like you by just approaching her? Oh my gosh!”

• He growled at his captain but all eyes snapped to the door when you walked in

“Did ya come to confess ya love to me?”

“No I’d rather avoid looking at you at all costs.”

• He frowned and you handed some papers to Kita telling him they were for coach while he thanked you

• You walked to Atsumu who was sulking, thinking maybe you were too harsh on him...

“Listen... you should really try working on your people skills... then maybe... I’ll be your friend if you’d like.”

• He smirked at you

“Oh so-“

“Nevermind.”

• You turned to walk out before he was in front of you for a split second

“I’m sorry! I’ll be a’ better person!”

• This had everyone’s eyebrows raised - and you nodded smiling at and putting a hand on his shoulder

“I’m sure you can do it!”

• Yeah he was a puddle in your arms at that point watching you walk out

“Ya wouldn’t last a’ day trashsumu.”

“Shut up ‘samu!”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

• Atsumu recalled the story to Bokuto, Sakusa, and Hinata

“Wow so you changed just for her?! That’s so romantic!”

• Hinata’s eyes grew wide as he smiled at Bokuto who had a tear in his eye

“That’s so sweet!”

• Sakusa rolled his “You didn’t change you liar.”

• You smacked your boyfriends head

“I was not that mean you stupid corn head!”

• He rubbed the back of his head looking at you as you placed a kiss on his cheek

“I was actually really nice he was just super annoying”

“Was not!”

Sakusa: I believe it

Atsumu: Omi 🥺

• You giggled and smiled at Atsumu, he smiled back at you sliding an arm around your waist leading his head on your shoulder

“Either way she helped me change for the better.”

• This causes you to blush and look down at your lap

“Shut up corn head.”

Hinata: Oh my gosh so that’s what she sounded like while he was explaining the story!

Bokuto: No! She sounded more high pitched probably like this

• Cue Bokuto saying “shut up corn head” in a high pitched voice

Oikawa:

• He thought when everyone said you hated him it was just a joke :(

Iwaizumi: she hates you

Oikawa: Haha so funny

Iwaizumi: no really she hates your guts

• He didn’t get the memo - THE VERY CLEAR MEMO - because when you two were forced to sit next to each other in class and you ignored him, he was confused

“Can I borrow a pen y/n? I left mine-“

• you have already flicked a pin at his forehead to which he caught

• when he sat next to your table at lunch with his own friends he realized how much you hate him

“Okau y/n, kiss, marry, kill: oikawa-“

“Kill oikawa.”

“I didn’t finish.”

“Oh yeah sorry.”

• The look of fear on his face was very noticeable and not only that Iwaizumi cackling made it even more noticeable they heard because you turned around

“Huh? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Y/n-Chan!” “Don’t call me that” “You just said you’d rather kill me than be with me!”

“Yeah what about it?”

• He was sulking the rest of the day and everytime Iwa thought about it he laughed so hard

• By the time he was at practice, he knew his worries would go away. But when his fan girls approached he started getting... bored?

• Iwaizumi quickly caught onto his fake smile and realized how he quickly told them he was in a rush

Iwa: Aye shittykawa!

Oikawa: Huh? What did I do!

Iwa: What’s up with you?

• This confuses oikawa, what was wrong with him? He didn’t think anything was wrong with him...

Mattsun: Yeah usually you’re all *bats eyelashes and puts fake hair behind his year* with your 5,000 girlfriends!

Oikawa: I am not!

Makki: Are too! And they usually go *appraches Mattsun with hands behind his back shyly* for you and you eat that up!

• Yuh Makki and Mattsun Debby Ryaning! Get into it!

• This had Oikawa red and blushing

“Shouldn’t you guys be practicing!?”

• The rest of the team laughed at their upperclassmen and continued on with practice

• He walked up to you the next day smiling at you while you groaned and walked into the girls bathroom to avoid him

• You stood in there for 3 minutes before you walked back out - thank god he was gone

“Y/n!”

“OH MY GOSH!”

• You jumped and swing your backpack at the boy who fell back with a thud

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! Oikawa! What were you doing!”

• He held his bleeding nose and sat up

“I know you said you’d kill me! But I didn’t think you’d actually mean it!”

“Huh? When did I-“

• the color drained from your face when you remembered your own words

“I’m not a psychopath! You just scared me! You creepy stalker!”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

• You helped him up and made him sit at a nearby bench in the hall heading back into the girls bathroom to get some paper towels

• You cleaned him up and pinched the bridge of his nose

“What do you have in your bag y/n? Bricks!?”

“Wha- no?! I carry a lot for school!”

“You knew today would be your attack day!”

“I’ll let your nose bleed out if you don’t shut up 💞”

• He slightly laughed and you smiled at him, when he was up close maybe he wasn’t so bad...

“Y/n... why do you hate me?”

“You’re cocky.”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

• He growled and sighed letting you take your hand off of his nose

“You also think you need to show everyone you’re so good at everything, Oikawa you don’t have to do that all the time. Everyone likes you enough as it is - stop stressing yourself out.”

• He looked at you as your blush painted your cheeks

“Y/n... do you like me?”

“Shut up! I’ll hit you with my brick back again!”

“Okay okay!”

• He smiled at you as you growled lowly, you threw away the napkins and sat down next to him

“Listen Oikawa, you’re a great captain. You’re a leader and above all you’re kind. But sometimes you let the fangirls get to your head and it’s - annoying to say the least.”

• He looked at you, you were gripping your skirt and your hair was covering your face

“Y/n...”

“Shut up oikawa I’ll punch you if you say something cheesy.”

• He smiled to himself, the butterflies in his stomach now becoming way more noticeable as he scooted closer to you

• You noticed this and stood up

“I’ll see you later Oikawa.”

• He nodded and watched as you walked away, you shot a smile at him and turned your head back around to continue walking

• He cherished that moment forever

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Kindaichi: So... She actually had a crush on you the whole time?

Oikawa: Ye-

Y/n: no. Definitely not.

• Oikawa pouted and you kissed his nosed laughing, while the other boys gagged

Kunimi: I think this was a cute story!

• You smiled and linked arms with Oikawa - who smiled down at you as you talked excitedly about their upcoming match while the other boys talked back just as excited

Iwa: you coming to watch the retired circus clown?

Oikawa: Iwa 😔

Y/n: Of course Iwa-Chan!

• Iwaizumi nodded patting your head

Oikawa: HUH? Why is it different when she does it?!

Iwaizumi: Because you’re just weird about it!

Tags:

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thisisawonderfulusername · 4 years ago

Text

let's save the world

season one, episode three

five hargreeves x reader

trigger warnings: cursing, a bit of angst if you squint, violence

summary: five gets his apocalypse lover back and the two of you have a small argument. then, when you’re back at the academy, looking around for clues, you have some visitors.

word count: 2.2k

a/n: bro all this support that i’m getting for this series means so much to me ;-; i don’t want to be all sappy but i used to write on wattpad and like it’s hard to get anyone on there to read your stories, but coming on here really just brought my motivation way up because of how nice you all are :) so thank you, and i hope you like the third part of this series *3*

"you're a fucking idiot." you grumble as you sit at five's side, the medical kit beside you open with it's contents disarranged from the panic you went through as five woke you up, a huge gash in his arm. now, you were helping him clean it up, and you weren't very happy with what he had done with his night.

sighing softly, five glanced at you. "it's not like i died." he defends himself, as if it would help your worrying. "it's just a scratch. it'll heal quick."

glaring at him as you finished stitching him up, you cleaned up all the blood. "’just a scratch’ my ass." throwing the bloodied rag to the side, you grab one of the bandaids, which happened to be designed with 'billy the choo-choo' which would have made you laugh if you weren't angry with him. "all this for a mannequin? seriously?"

that comment irked him, and he stood from the bed, putting his old uniform back on over the tank top he wore. "she's not just a mannequin." he mutters, going to grab the big duffel bag, which you knew 'delores' and various other things were inside.

"i'm glad i didn't go as mad as you." you throw everything back into the box, shutting it and just leaving it on the bed. you knew you'd need it again anyways.

five rolls his eyes as he pushes the window open, and you look at him in confusion. "you above doors now?" you question as he hops out onto the fire escape, quickly following behind.

he looked up at you as he started climbing down the ladder. “we don’t have much time, and this is the quickest way.”

sighing softly, you follow him down, and are met with klaus who was digging through the dumpster. stopping for a moment to look at him, you raise an eyebrow. “having fun?”

he looks to the two of you, a flask in hand as he leans against the edge of the trash. “oh! hey, hey.” he takes a swig, a goofy smile on his face, “you guys need any more company today? i could, uh, clear my schedule.”

five stops just a few feet away, holding onto the straps of the duffel hanging over his shoulders. “looks like you got your hands full.” he nods to the bin he had been digging around in, and klaus pushes himself away from the rim, practically slapping the metal.

“no, no, i can do this whenever. i just-” he suddenly falls down into the dumpster, and you jump slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “i’ve misplaced something.” he calls out as you could hear him rifling around all the trash, and your nose scrunched up at the thought. suddenly he pops back up again, holding up a bagel, taking a bite out of it, “found it!”

you swear you could have thrown up right there. he really was an interesting character. “i’m done funding your drug habit.” the young looking boy says simply, turning on his heel to leave, which you quickly follow.

“why are we here again?” you question, leaning back in the seat of the stolen plumbing truck. for some reason, five brought the two of you back to meritech, and you found it useless. “this is a dead end. we don’t know when the eye will be made and we can’t just wait here until the apocalypse comes.”

pursing his lips, five doesn’t take his gaze away from the building as people walk up and down the street, sometimes going inside or leaving. “this eye is our only clue to what makes the world end. we will wait here if it takes the whole week to find out when it’s made and who gets it.”

you groan, letting your head fall back against the cushioned head rest. there was no way in hell that you would wait in this stuffy van for more than a few hours.

slapping your hand against the arm rest, you sit up, “alright, then. you do that.” opening the door, you hop out, looking to five as he finally looks away from meritech.

“where are you going?” he hisses, eyes narrowed in the way that told you he was definitely mad. you just didn’t care at this moment.

brushing your skirt off, you glance around, “i’m not sitting around waiting for something that may not even have anything to do with what happens. so i’m going to look for clues.”

he just looked at you for a moment, obviously in disbelief by what you were saying. “you’re just going to leave me? you don’t trust me?”

at the accusation, you groan. “you’re kidding, right?” you lean against the side of the seat, the door still open next to you. “of course i trust you. i’ve trusted you for over forty years, and sometimes, five, you’re wrong!” you laugh bitterly, motioning to the building across the street. “i’m not going to wait around in hopes that your hunch about this eye is right!”

five just stares at you, eyes slightly widened from your outburst. after a moment, he turns away and looks back to the building. “fine. do what you want.” he mutters, and you almost feel bad about blowing up on him. almost.

“have fun with your mannequin lover.” you grumble, letting the door slam shut behind you as you walk away from the van, determined to figure this out by actually doing something.

your day was spent rooting around the academy, looking in every nook and cranny of every single room. the rest of the siblings showed up around noon, and they stood around in the main room, arguing about something that you didn’t care about. it was all useless to you, unless it lead to the end of the world.

now, night had fallen, and you didn’t find a single thing. you thought reginald might have known something. maybe left a clue for the kids to find. but no.

absolutely nothing.

you laid on five’s bed, fingers laced together on your stomach as you stared up at the ceiling. while you were trying to figure out somewhere you might find a hint to what ended the world, you were also worrying about five and how you blew up on him. sure, you two would get over it, but you weren’t sure how angry he was. he could hold grudges, and you knew that very well.

your train of thought was interrupted by gun shots, and your body shot up as your eyes widened. jumping up from the bed, you grabbed the pistol that you had carried around with you from your days at the commission, which you brought with you when you went through that portal. you just hadn’t gotten the chance to use it yet, and you assumed this was it’s shining moment.

running downstairs, the shots got louder, and you cursed under your breath. looking down off the balcony into the main room, where you could see diego curled behind the couch with two people shooting mercilessly at the furniture. before they could notice you, you ran towards the stairs, thinking up a plan for how to deal with this.

they were definitely from the commission. you were absolutely sure of that. the suits they wore, paired with the metallic and colorful animal helmets gave it away. so they were here for you and five. you just didn’t know if they knew of the reverse-aging you guys went through. here’s to hoping.

as you got to the archway, one of the assassins was thrown through it, you barely dodging it as luther followed them out, probably prepared to fight. looking back into the room, you saw allison being choked by the other, and quickly jumped into action.

not wanting to risk shooting the woman, you stick the gun in your skirt’s pocket before jumping onto his back, your hands igniting with flames.

there goes another perfectly good shirt

the burning was enough to get him to let go of allison, but he quickly threw you off of himself, not getting the chance to turn on you as luther came back in and chucked him out the door as well.

all three of the siblings looked at you, breathing heavily and shocked, “what the hell was that?” diego questions, and you groan, pushing your now burnt sleeves up.

“we don’t have time for this right now. let’s deal with these assholes and maybe we can have a nice little pow-wow after.”

the discussion was cut off when the assassins got back up and started firing again, all of you dropping to the floor to avoid the shots and you quickly crawled away, managing to get cover behind the bar. grabbing your pistol, you hear luther and diego shouting at each other and the fire ceases. you assume they scrambled to safety and neither of the assassins wanted to waste bullets.

you heard them converse before they separated, and you noticed one of their shadows approaching from behind the bar. calming your breath, you pull the hammer of the pistol down, hearing the soft click that told you it was ready to fire. as the man rounded the corner, turned away and towards a glass case, you jumped up from your spot, quickly shooting at him and effectively landing a hit on his arm.

with a shout of pain, he turns on you, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s angry. he holds a mace that he took from the glass case, and you quickly cock the gun again as he makes a move towards you.

“it’s you.” he snarls, and you smirk.

taking a step back, you don’t lower the gun as you grab an empty bottle, “so she did send you.” you state, lunging towards him and smashing the bottle over his head. he stumbled back, the mace swinging around on it’s chain.

a voice calling out from the hall caught your attention, and while he was dazed, you take a glance towards where the arch was, seeing vanya. you curse, taking a shot at the man before sliding over the bar and running to her.

“you can’t be here!” you yell at her, and you’re lucky that luther comes in just in time to stop the man from attacking you once again.

she looked confused, and you didn’t blame her, but you didn’t have time right now. you just had to get her out. you glanced back into the room as the man with the blue helmet lifted luther and threw him to the ground, wincing at the sight.

when he turns to leave the room, you grab vanya and pull her against the wall, steadying your breathing as you somehow managed to go unnoticed when he looked down the halls and turning the other way.

once he disappeared down the hall, you run back into the room to see if luther was okay, not even caring if another attack would happen. as you got to him, the other two came barreling in, allison calling out to him and both of them swinging one of his arms around their shoulders to help him up.

as he stood up, he noticed the woman atop the balcony, a bloodied knife in her hand as she went to cut the rope that held the chandelier up. you didn’t have time to move out of the way and unfortunately luther didn’t have three arms to push all of you away, so it crashed down on both of you, though you got more lucky as it landed on your thigh.

still hurt like a bitch, though.

hissing from the pain, when luther lifts himself up it gives you the wiggle room to pull your leg out from under the chandelier, cursing as you see the blood that surrounds a shard of glass that managed to wedge into the side of your leg.

the room went silent when everyone saw luther’s hairy body, something you never expected to see, and honestly, you wish you didn’t. he runs up the stairs, and you sigh as you fall back, hand wrapped around the glass as you hyped yourself up to pull it out.

a few minutes later, you managed to get the glass out and wrap an old rag around it to hopefully slow the bleeding, and you were ready to pass out from the exhaustion coursing through your veins. you didn’t even care about the fact that your wound may get infected.

you stood from the ground, watching the others as allison and vanya sit down, diego pacing back and forth. when allison asked him if he was okay, he burst, yelling at the two of them before he turned on you. “and what the hell was it that you did?” he hisses, pointing his finger at your singed sleeves, “i don’t remember you having any kind of power like us. so what was that?”

you glare at him, pushing his hand away. “i was lying about the pow-wow.” you state simply before turning away and making your way up the stairs.

main taglist: @horrorklaus

tua taglist: none yet

five taglist: @anapocalypseinmymind @five-hargreeves-official

lstw taglist: @aspiringwriter1 @thetrashypanda423 @lilacs-lavender

if you would like to be added to any taglist, just ask! :)

#tua x reader #tua #the umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five #five x reader #one shot series #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #lstw #let's save the world

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snorlaxlovesme · 4 years ago

Text

wishing for a shadow

Did anyone ask for a fix-it fic that actually addressed how fucked up it was to make a 15 year-old girl fight naked?

We really don’t talk about Hagakure Toru enough. I know that invisibility is a pretty well-used superpower by now, but Toru has been invisible ALL HER LIFE, ALL THE TIME. There’s so much good story potential there and Horikoshi is like, let’s have her do peace signs in the back of class 1-A pictures sometimes or whatever.

So here’s 8k words of Hagakure actually having a personality and searching for a way to have a hero costume. Cheers!

(Content warning for nudity, obviously, and implications of nonconsensual groping due to the invisible nudity. Did I mention that fighting and rescuing people naked as a teenage girl is really fucked up?)

--------------------------------------

Toru hated her hero costume.

Or maybe it was fairer to say she hated her quirk. While everyone else had a special power that they could turn on and off at will, Toru had to deal with her quirk all. The. Time. And it was exhausting. Wearing special clothes on the train so she wouldn’t be sat on or shoved against a wall. Flicking on a designated lamp in her parent’s house so they’d know when she was home. Making just enough noise in class so that people remember she existed.

Being invisible had so many unnecessary drawbacks that early on in Toru’s life she decided there must have been a reason she was given this quirk. And maybe the reason was that she was meant to be a hero.

After all, it was the only real way to practically apply her quirk, wasn’t it? The choice was either to use her unique ability for good or fade into the background of her own life. So she chose to stand out, and what better way to do that than to apply to UA, the best hero school in all of Japan?

Newsflash: Hero school was hard. And even though no one could see them, coming back to the dorms every day covered in bruises and scrapes was not how Toru had planned to live out her teenage years.

What Toru really wanted was to be a normal girl. To go to the mall with her girl friends for make-overs and stay up way too late texting each other about which boy would ask them to the next school dance. She wanted to wear her hair in goofy styles and cry about zits and not worry about a building crushing her during her midterm exams. It was a simple dream, but Toru didn’t have a simple life. She’d thought by now she’d be over these silly fantasies, but when she saw her classmates’ modifications to their hero costumes the feeling hit her again before she could stuff it into that part inside of her where she kept her lost dreams.

Midoriya was testing out kicks at Ground Beta with his newly armored boots while Uraraka laughed a few feet in the air, marveling at her lack-of-queasiness from her new electromagnetic helmet. Toru stared forlornly at the new pair of gloves she’d received, with new colorful stitching. Her costume was….

Well, it wasn’t. The whole point of an invisibility quirk meant that she couldn’t wear a costume. It would kind of defeat the whole point then, wouldn’t it? To remain transparent, she couldn’t have any floating garments or gadgets attached to her body. Even the gloves themselves were technically a hindrance, but she needed some object to orient herself with her setting, otherwise her depth perception would suffer. It was a lot easier getting her bearings if she could tell whereabout her body was, and without her gloves she tended to move slower, not entirely sure where the rest of her body was while she moved.

Practically speaking, not having a costume for someone with a quirk like Toru’s made sense. Reasonably speaking—

“Oh! Hagakure-san, is that you?” Iida asked, embarrassed. She was lucky it was him who had run into her. His hero costume was made of bulky armor, so she doubted he felt it when he had brushed his arm against the side of her naked boob. She shrunk away.

“It’s not your fault, Iida-kun,” she said, hoping he could hear the smile in her voice and not the fakeness of it. “I’ll be more careful.”

It was hard, though. To be careful. The students of 1-A were gathered in a loose crowd in front of Aizawa-sensei, ready to hear what their mission was for today’s exercise. Toru was used to standing on the outskirts of groups to avoid being bumped into, but today she had gotten swept up in the middle. She held her gloved hands out at her sides, her default position to show everyone how much space she was taking up, but she still jumped when she felt Ojiro’s tail brush the small of her bare back. He flinched too, and sent an apologetic smile in her general direction, though nowhere near where her face actually was. She apologized again.

She hated her hero costume.

When class 1-A returned to the dorms, Toru made a beeline for her room, not that anyone noticed until her door slammed shut. She dug through her closet frantically until she found her warmest, fluffiest pink robe, and through it over her shivering body. She was so sick of this.

Aizawa-sensei was known as one of the toughest teachers of UA. He was also known for not playing favorites. But would it have killed him to warn her that they were doing underwater exercises today? While everyone else had at least some form of pants and a shirt to do their rescue dives in, Toru had to swim through the freezing-cold pool completely naked. It might have been an advantage if she didn’t have to spend most of her mental energy trying not to touch her rescue victim (Sato) with most of her body.

And coming out of the water? That was a treat. The water droplets that clung to her transparent body made her look like a sex-shop mannequin, perked nipples and all. She had no choice but to leave the training grounds immediately, nothing but wet footprints in the cement to prove she was even there to begin with. Toru waited until she had dried off before returning to class, making up a lie to Aizawa-sensei that she felt sick and hoping no one but Sato saw her dripping wet figure before she’d fled.

How come no one else had to deal with this? She’d tried to talk to Momo about it once, feeling like she of all people would understand Toru’s pain. After all, she had a quirk that required her to show a lot of skin as well. But ironically enough, Momo had responded that her quirk wasn’t so bad. And besides Mineta, all the other boys in their class were very respectful about not looking at her while she pulled back her hero costume to use her Creation quirk. Using it in public was hard, but certainly not impossible. Besides, Momo had pointed out, in the heat of hero-ing she barely had time to think about modesty. She was too focused on saving people.

Toru had left that conversation at that. Any further discussion would make her sound jaded, and that’s not the type of image she liked to project to the world. She didn’t have an actual image, so to others Toru’s attitude was all she had. So she kept quiet about how frustrating it was to have to constantly avoid being sexually harassed while saving people, all while hoping that others didn’t think she was sexually harassing them. Toru, the fifteen year old girl with a very unfortunate quirk, didn’t want to be made out to be a villain for something she simply could not help. But what was the right answer?

Toru searched the floor of her messy dorm room until she found a terry-cloth towel and then began to scrub her head with it, trying to dry off as quickly as possible and maybe just scrub the rest of this awful day off of her. The type of towel she was using would cause her hair to frizz (she watched enough beauty gurus online to know), but it made no difference to someone like Toru. The world didn’t know the incredible condition she normally kept her hair in.

Sometimes it felt like everything about her was a secret.

“Just hot soba again, Toru-chan?” Tsuyu asked her the following week at school as they grabbed their lunch trays. Even though her voice was even as she said it, Toru could tell there was concern in it. Even at lunchtime, Toru could always be found with either bread or a sweet on her tray. It had been quite a while since she’d eaten a red bean bun. She just wasn’t in the mood lately.

“Yeah, I’m just not very hungry today,” Toru told her friend, trying to sound chipper. She didn’t want to concern anyone, not in the least, but it was getting harder and harder to keep up her upbeat attitude when everything about her quirk just seemed to be bothering her lately.

Tsuyu nodded, though she didn’t look convinced. But thankfully she wasn’t the type to pry, so she led them to an empty table in the cafeteria. Toru sat across from Tsuyu and removed her face mask, a plain black one that she had bought online a few months back when she had hay fever. Lately she’d been feeling very self-conscious of people constantly talking to her chest, so she started wearing the mask to give people something on her face to focus on when they spoke to her.

She slurped her soba noodles in silence, not having much to say, when Midoriya and Todoroki passed by.

“Are these seats taken?” Todoroki asked. Toru glanced around to make sure they were talking about actual empty seats, not hers. But there were two vacant seats next to Tsuyu, who gestured to the boys that they could join them when she continued peeling an apple for herself.

“Have they bothered trying to see if Eri’s quirk would work on him?” Todoroki asked, continuing a conversation they must have started while getting their food.

Midoriya shrugged. “I haven’t asked lately. I think they’re still scared that Eri wouldn’t be able to control her quirk and would rewind him too far. She’s still so young.”

“When would be an appropriate age for her to finally use it on him, then?”

“Are you talking about Togata-senpai, ribbet?” Tsuyu asked.

Midoriya nodded, looking pained. “I don’t know, Todoroki-kun. He’s still coming to school, at least, but not full-time. Without his quirk he doesn’t have much use for the hero courses he was taking.”

Toru had vaguely heard about this from Tsuyu and Ochako. Apparently the third-year who had done a fight demonstration for class 1-A after the provisional exam was injured during the Shie Hassaikai raid. He’d been hit by one of the darts manufactured to take away people’s quirks while rescuing a child. Toru, in one of her darker moments, had selfishly wondered what would happen if she had gotten hit by a dart like that. Would all of her problems be solved? If her quirk was erased would she be visible? Could she finally live her life like a normal girl?

But then she had passed by the hospital wing shortly after, to get some bandages for Kaminari. Togata Mirio sat alone in a hospital bed with a bandage wrapped around his waist and the blankest expression she had ever seen on the normally-cheerful upperclassmen’s face. She was thankful for her quirk in the moment, so Togata didn’t have to see the shame written all over her.

The feeling still burned through her at the mention of his name, so Toru kept to herself as she ate her lunch, seamlessly blending with the background as she often did.

“Le Million isn’t gone just because Togata-senpai doesn’t have his quirk,” Tsuyu told the boys insightfully. “He’s still plenty heroic without his Permeation.”

“He could always just be a citizen for a few years until Eri gets older, I suppose,” Todoroki said idly. “Or he could be a police officer. Quirks aren’t required to be a part of the force.”

Midoriya stared off into the distance. “I guess. I just can’t imagine him in a police uniform instead of his hero costume. It’s too hard to think about.”

Toru slurped her noodles a bit too loudly at that, and all at once all eyes were on her. Well, her chopsticks.

“Hagakure-san?” Midoriya said.

Toru cleared her throat delicately before speaking. “Hero costume? I thought that Togata-senpai couldn’t wear clothes while using his quirk.”

“Oh!” Midoriya said cheerfully, understanding her surprise. “The only time you saw him fight was in his P.E. uniform, wasn’t it? No, Le Million’s hero costume is this really awesome full-body suit with a cape and the number one million written across the chest! I think he got the inspiration from—”

“But how does it stay on him?” Toru asked, cutting Midoriya off before he could start rambling.

If Midoriya was put off by her interruption, he was kind enough not to show it. “It’s woven out of some specially-made fabric,” Midoriya said. “The inspiration appears to be from—”

And for the second time that day, Toru cut Midoriya off. But this time it was to abruptly leave the table, leaving the rest of her soba and her friends behind.

Toru hoped all the work she had put in making friends with her classmates for the past few months would make up for her rudeness at lunchtime. But after hearing that there was a specially-woven fabric that could form to quirks, Toru could no longer sit idly by.

This could have been her solution! Not the one she had secretly, selfishly wished for, that her quirk would one day disappear and she would wake up a normal, visible civilian. But the more attainable goal, that she could find a way to make a costume that wasn’t so revealing. Something that gave her more coverage while still allowing her to maintain the one advantage that her quirk gave her in the field.

She had run immediately to the Principal Nezu’s office and requested Togata Mirio’s contact information, saying that it was urgent and related to education. The principal gave it to her with little hesitation, perhaps seeing an outcome to their meeting that she couldn’t fathom with her human brain. But Toru didn’t care, so long as she was able to talk to Togata about the nature of his costume.

Texting him had been a little nerve-wracking, especially since her senpai probably didn’t even know she was alive, but after explaining through text that she was a student from 1-A with some hero questions, Togata seemed perfectly happy to meet her in the courtyard on campus and chat with her.

Feeling better than she had in weeks, Toru made an effort in her appearance. Wearing a form-fitting black turtleneck, checkered skirt, and thigh-high stockings, she was feeling more like herself than she had in a very long time. Another girl would probably style her hair or apply make-up for a meeting with an upperclassmen boy, but Toru didn’t. She brushed her transparent hair and let it hang down straight, not that anyone else would know the difference. She did choose a more stylish mask today, looping a purple one with a bedazzled kitty face on it around her ears before heading away from the dorms to their meeting spot.

She sat on a bench in the courtyard, a few minutes early, and anxiously tapped on her thighs as she waited. Now that she was here, she was starting to get nervous. As excited as she was to talk about hero costumes, it was now occurring to her that her blank-faced senpai might not actually want to talk about hero work now that he had been forcefully relegated to civilian status. He’d gone through a traumatizing ordeal and had his whole life ripped away from him only a few months ago. Was she being incredibly selfish again?

“Hagakure-san?” Toru heard, and leapt to her feet awkwardly as Togata entered the courtyard.

“S-senpai! I’m glad you could come on such short notice!” she squeaked. She shouldn’t have asked him to come, what was she thinking—

“I like your mask,” he said with a sunny smile, coming to sit beside her on the stone bench. He didn’t look upset in the slightest. “I really love cats.”

“Really?” Toru asked stupidly.

“Yeah!” he said enthusiastically. “The way their tails swish back and forth, their rough tongues, their little toe beans? Cats are the best. If I could spend a day in a pile of cats, that would be the best day ever.”

Toru….did not know how to respond to that. The last time she saw him he had looked so depressed. She didn’t think that he would come here to talk to her and look so happy. Togata was sitting beside her, all six-foot-something of him, with his broad shoulders and his perfect hair and he was talking to her about cats. What did she call him here for again?

Thankfully, Togata could not see the way she was gaping at him and just took her silence as a means to continue. He went on a Midoriya-like ramble for the next few minutes or so about his favorite breed (Singapura) before Toru finally found the will to speak.

“Togata-senpai?” she said gently, trying to make up for her earlier rudeness with her friends by at least interrupting this boy kindly. He stopped talking to look at her curiously. “I actually didn’t come here to talk about cats. I was hoping to talk to you about hero work…if that’s okay,” she tacked on lamely, hoping not to offend him.

He looked unbothered, smiling at her kindly. “Sure! I have a lot of experience out in the field, so I’m sure I could offer you some advice if you need it. Is something bothering you?”

“Well,” Toru said, looking down at her lap. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to bare her soul so openly to someone who was basically a stranger to her, so he kept her explanation brief. “Due to my quirk,” she splayed her arms out to gesture to her invisible form, “I don’t have a lot of options, costume-wise. Midoriya told me that your Le Million costume was constructed of a special fabric so that you could wear it while using your Permeation quirk, and I was just wondering if the same material might work for my quirk as well?”

Togata looked on thoughtfully. “Well, you see. My costume was made from my own hair.”

Toru blinked.

“Your hair?”

He nodded. “With Permeation, I phase through every solid object around me when I use my quirk. You saw me fight your class, I could barely keep my P.E. uniform on,” he said with a bashful chuckle. “But if my costume is made from me, I can use my quirk on it so both me and my clothes permeate. You see?”

“Oh,” Toru murmured.

She really didn’t realize how much hope she had in this plan until it was dashed right in front of her eyes. There wasn’t some special all-in-one fabric swatch she could use to make her own full-body suit with a cape. She was Hagakare Toru, and life did not treat her that kindly. She would spend the rest of her hero days either shivering from the cold or being unintentionally (or even worse, intentionally ) groped by every person she attempted to save.

Her vision swam from disappointment, and when the tears started beading in the corners of her eyes, she did nothing to stop them.

“Hagakure-san! What’s wrong?” her senpai asked, flapping his hands wildly in concern when he saw the water drip down the invisible contours of her cheeks.

“I just thought—I just hoped I could have a costume like yours, Senpai,” she sniffed miserably. “I can’t stand doing hero work with no clothes on. I don’t want to want to be a hero if I have to be naked for it.”

Togata seemed to finally understand what she was here for, and the sympathy in his eyes showed it. While the pity was appreciated, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be around anyone right now. She stood to leave, but before she could turn away from him Togata touched her very gently at the elbow. She stopped and looked down at his hand, and he immediately took it away.

“Wait, don’t go yet. I understand completely what you mean. I spent so much of my first year at UA forced to laugh it off whenever my clothes would fall off while training with my classmates. I know how it must feel for you, to an extent.”

Toru thought of her classmates, who brushed off her concerns dismissively. “You do?”

That constant smile returned to his face, though there was a sad twist to it. “Embarrassing. Vulnerable. Incredibly lonely.”

She blinked a few more tears away and nodded.

Togata continued. “It’s hard when you have a quirk with such a unique drawback. No one wants to think too much about how hard it might be for you. Especially since you’re so cheery; you can’t possibly be bothered by it. Sound familiar?”

To a tee.

“It sucks having to be the positive one all the time,” she said, brushing her cheeks with the palm of her hand. “It means no one likes you when you act truly unhappy.”

Togata swallowed and nodded. She wondered what it must be like for him now, to have lost his quirk and still keep that sunny smile on his face. She wondered how genuine he was when he first showed up here, or if he was putting on an act just like she did every day.

She thought to ask him. “Togata-senpai—?”

But Togata was already pressing on. “But I do think there’s something we can do for you. While the material for my suit won’t be usable for you, there’s no reason why the same method of costume production won’t work for you, Hagakure-san.”

“My hair?”

Togata shrugged. “If it worked for me, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work for you. It’s worth a shot, anyway. How long is your hair?”

Without asking, his hand reached out. Toru never got used to this. It was always worse because of how horrible people were at guessing body position. You’d think that after looking at so many humans on a day-to-day basis that people would be able to reasonably guess where certain body parts were, but Toru was often unpleasantly surprised by where people grabbed her first.

She closed her eyes and waited for it to be over, but his hand never fell. She cracked open one eye and saw Togata’s hand, suspended a few inches above the crown of her head. Her eyes then flicked to his face, where he waited patiently for her.

The saltwater didn’t seem to have fully left her eyes as she reached up her hand and took hold of his own, before guiding it gently down the length of her hair. His fingertips grazed the very ends of the strands for a moment before letting it fall back to her shoulders. He smiled again.

“That should be plenty to start.”

“Shouldn’t we be going to the Costumes Department?” Toru asked as she followed Togata’s lead, walking towards a wing of UA that she’d never needed to enter before today.

“Nah, they’d take too long to make it. They’re always backed up. But the Support Class students are always itching for new projects,” Togata said like the wise senpai he was. “No one is more Plus Ultra than UA students themselves, after all,” he said with a wink.

Toru took this logic in stride as she stood before the Support Class Workshop, but admittedly she was a little nervous. They were still students, after all.

“What if they mess up?” she asked. She’d be foolish to not voice her fears now, before it was too late.

Togata seemed unfazed. “Then we try again. Hair isn’t a finite resource after all. It grows back. And if you can find someone with a helpful quirk, your costume material could grow back faster than you think!”

Toru supposed she couldn’t argue with that, so she steeled herself for whatever was to come and opened the door.

A drone zipped past her head and out the door, so quick Toru didn’t even have time to duck.

“Don’t leave the door open!” a student covered in grime yelled from on top of an incredibly tall ladder. “My babies will escape!”

“Babies?” Toru asked curiously. Togata closed the metal door behind them and caught another drone flying their way before it could smack into the wall. The student who had yelled at them before was already focusing her attention elsewhere, picking up an electric tool that Toru couldn’t identify and hopping inside of the cabin of a giant mech.

“That’s Hatsume Mei,” Togata told her. “She’s a first-year, but she’s already at the top of the Support Class. If anyone can help you, it’s her.”

“Is that praise I hear?” Hatsume Mei called out, poking her head out of the robot and grinning wildly. “Le Millioni! It’s been ages. What can I do for you?

“We’re actually here for Hagakure-san today.” Togata explained the situation to her while she worked, undeterred when Hatsume climbed back in her machine and continued working on her invention. He told her of Toru’s unique problem as impersonally as possible, only telling her the necessary details, which Toru was grateful for. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her skirt as she waited until Togata ended his explanation, wondering if Hatsume could fashion a costume for her out of her own hair.

“So you said it was mid-back, right?” Hatsume Mei yelled over the sound of a drill. She was back inside the robot and sparks were shooting out of it at rapid intervals. Toru and Togata ducked their heads in tandem as some shot their way.

“Closer to my lower back, actually!” Toru shouted back.

Toru had always been incredibly proud of her hair. It was a personal thing, obviously, since no one could see it, but that didn’t stop Toru from meticulously maintaining it from a young age. Even if it wasn’t visible, Toru could still feel it, so she’d always gone out of her way to treat her hair properly so she could at least revel in the sleek texture of it. She’d followed beauty influencers online for years to discover the perfect balance of shampoos, conditioners, leave-ins, and other miracle products to keep her hair in perfect condition. Hair length like hers could only be achieved through proper care of healthy hair.

The drilling noise cut off suddenly and Hatsume pulled herself out of the robot and climbed down the ladder. She flipped up her grease-smudged goggles to eye Toru curiously. Toru, used to this reaction, let herself be scrutinized.

“I can work with that,” she said finally. “Though there is the caveat of it being invisible. I need to be able to see my materials in order to make a beautiful baby out of them.”

There was always something, wasn’t there? Every time Toru thought she was taking a step in the right direction, the rug was pulled right out from under her—

“That’s an easy fix, though,” Togata said. “Temporary hair dye will help you cut it off of her and work it into usable fabric. Then you can wash the dye out when you’re all done.”

And just like that, there was hope again. Toru looked at Togata in amazement.

Hatsume smiled grandly at Togata. “Look at that! Beauty and brains. What don’t you have, Le Million?”

A quirk , Toru thought glumly. But Togata didn’t miss a beat. “Time to waste, Hatsume. Toru needs this costume done as soon as possible, okay?”

“Don’t they all,” Hatsume said flippantly, tossing her tool on a desk behind her. “Alright, cutie,” she said, addressing Toru this time. “If you want support gear from me ASAP then I’m going to need you to come back to me as quick as you can with dyed hair, got it? Then I’ll get to work on turning it into something usable for you.”

“Do you really think you can do it?” Toru asked. All of this hoping was exhausting her.

“Ye of little faith. I perform miracles in this workshop every day!” she shouted, extending her arms out widely to gesture to the room of junked parts. “Now, begone until you’ve returned with dyed hair. I have schematics to work up.”

And just like that, they were kicked out of Hatsume Mei’s workshop of miracles, something Toru believed in for the first time in a long while.

Two days later, Toru walked out of the Workshop of Miracles feeling lighter than she had in all the time she’d been a student at UA. Most of that was due to the 13 inches of hair cut from her head, but she couldn’t deny that optimism had something to do with it too.

“I like the haircut,” Togata told her as he met up with her outside of the workshop. He was smiling that same sunny smile, but Toru didn’t have it in her to question it after feeling so high.

She shook her head from side to side, reveling in the feeling of the tips of her hair hitting her face. The other night she had approached the girls of 1-A with a proposition: make-over night. Thrilled beyond all belief, they were incredibly eager to follow her to the drugstore for a night of fun, picking out nail polish and facial masks and of course, hair dye. After mixing it with care, Ochako had taken a specially purchased paintbrush to apply the dye evenly and consistently to her hair, making sure every strand was fully coated. The morning after, she had sent an email to Aizawa-sensei saying she wouldn’t be able to participate in Stealth training for a week and then took the day to bask in the feeling of being truly seen.

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to see it while it was still long,” he said as he walked beside her, matching his pace with hers as they made their way to the cafeteria. Despite the fact that she had a freshly-cut, lilac-colored bob swishing on her head, he still made the effort to focus his gaze on the space between her hairline and her mask, a white one with rainbow-colored cat whiskers. Toru smiled widely.

“It’s alright, Senpai. You didn’t miss anything,” she said genuinely.

What he wouldn’t want to miss was still yet to come.

This was, perhaps, the one time Toru truly allowed herself to be manhandled. Even the word “allow” felt a little strong, for Hatsume Mei had come to her with an eagerness that couldn’t be denied, but with Toru being just as ecstatic as the engineer was, she didn’t push back too much when Hatsume insisted that she blindfold Toru for the reveal of her new costume. So after tying a UA uniform-standard tie around her eyes, Hatsume set to work dressing Toru, making easy work of her and not once misplacing where certain body parts might be.

“Are you guys almost done in there?” Togata asked from outside of the crudely-made fitting room. It wasn’t more than some strategically placed Support Pieces and a curtain draped between the stacks, but it was more privacy than Toru usually got when she undressed, so she was grateful.

“Al-moooooost,” Hatsume sang, in an extraordinary mood, which only made Toru’s spirits climb higher. After the rustling of fabric and a few tugs later, Toru felt herself being spun in a circle and led to the outside of the fitting room. Togata remained quiet as Hatsume untied the tie and pulled it from Toru’s eyes in a grand flourish.

Before Toru was a large full-length mirror, with Togata off to the side, watching with quiet awe. She almost couldn’t understand his expression at first, until she turned her body slightly and saw her hair catch the light, a purple shimmer still tinting parts of it even after she’d washed it several times.

But that’s all she saw.

Toru walked forward and touched her hand to the mirror before pulling it away. The glass felt cool and smooth beneath her palm, but she had not seen her approach the entire time she’d walked towards it. Only Togata and Hatsume’s giant smiles as they stood behind her.

Togata’s expression started to dip when he saw the tears rolling down Toru’s cheeks, a similar sight to what he had seen the day he first met her, except now they were suspended alone in midair.

“Oh, no. Hagakure-san, if you don’t like it—”

A little laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop herself, then another, until Toru found herself crying and laughing in equal parts.

Togata looked confused until Hatsume, who had never stopped grinning, handed over her goggles to him.

“Click the right button twice for thermal imaging, Beauty,” she whispered to him.

And then Togata was able to see Toru as she truly stood, a smile practically splitting her face in two as her hands roved up and down her body. Just her 13 inches of hair had made enough material for a shirt the length of a crop top, with spaghetti straps crossed behind her back. Her bikini-cut bottoms covered her front and backside completely, and there was even a tiny bit of material left over to make a tie for Toru’s hair, so the longer strands of her bob could be pulled back into a small ponytail at the back of her head. She was invisible, but she was covered , for the first time in her life, and Toru couldn’t stop crying as she clung to the feeling of security around all her most intimate parts.

“Now once your hair grows back, I’ll be able to add more to it, of course. This is just the prototype stage. If you take your vitamins or, if you’re like our senpai over here, you find someone with a hair-growth quirk, we’ll be able to add all sorts of pieces to it, such as—”

Hatsume couldn’t get any more words out, crushed as she was in Toru’s vice grip embrace.

“Thank you,” she cried into the engineer’s neck. “Thank you so much.”

Hatsume hummed and patted her back. “All in a day’s work. Glad I could help.” She rubbed Toru’s bare shoulder for a moment before jumping back. “Oh! Wait, I didn’t show you the best part.”

She extracted herself from Toru to head back to the makeshift dressing room, where she brought out the briefcase that all UA students carried their costumes in. Toru’s had previously only contained her white striped gloves. But when Hatsume opened it up, she saw much more.

It almost looked like a miniaturized closet, a rod going across the top of it and a tech-y looking hanger dangling from the middle. On the bottom of the velvet-lined case were a bunch of black discs the size of silver dollars, each with a blinking red light.

“This—” Hatsume said as she pointed to the hanger “—is where you put your costume after you’re done wearing it. The hanger is weight sensitive, so when your costume is on it, it will light up green so you know that it’s there even if you can’t see it. Should it not be in your case and you need to try and locate it—” Hatsume picked up one of the small discs “—use one of these sensors to track it. Your costume gives off a signal that can be registered on one of these from up to 500 meters away. There’s a tiny twist of wires in both pieces that act as a homing beacon. I made them as small as possible so they’re barely visible to the human eye unless you’re dancing in front of a stark white background. Otherwise you should be good.”

Toru twisted and turned about, patting down her sides, unable to even feel the wires Hatsume was talking about. The engineer was good.

“Why are there so many sensors?” she asked.

“Ah, yes. These also double as tools to be given to your team when you go out on assignment for hero work. Now your teammates can locate you even if you can’t respond to them aloud. Helps with rescue ops and things like that.”

Toru didn’t know what to say.

“You put a tracking device in my suit so my friends can find me?”

“Yes, essentially.”

Toru swallowed, the emotion in her throat coming close to clawing out of her. How did Hatsume know? How could she have known that Toru was terrified of getting lost or injured during her hero work? Of no one knowing where to look? She’d never told anyone that. She was Hagakure Toru, the upbeat attitude of 1-A, the comic relief when everyone else was feeling overwhelmed. How did she know Toru was petrified that a stealth operation would turn into a mission where she’d be lost forever?

“I can’t take the credit for that idea,” Hatsume continued good-naturedly. “Brains here came up with that one.”

Toru turned to her senpai, who had been standing back the entire time and staying out of the girls’ way as they discussed the details of the costume. He was still wearing Hatsume’s ridiculous-looking goggles, which meant he could still see Toru, though it seemed like he didn’t need the goggles at all for that to be possible. Maybe he’d been the one person truly seeing her this whole time.

She stepped toward him, not at all feeling self-conscious for perhaps the first time in her life and took his hands in hers.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Togata-senpai,” she said, her voice packed with sincerity.

She’d seen so many smiles from him in these past two weeks, but the crooked one that climbed up his face now felt the most genuine out of all of them.

“I’m always here to help,” he told her.

No, this was the most genuine smile she’d seen him wear in weeks.

“I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”

She laughed good-naturedly as the former-hero Le Million lay on the floor of a cat café, covered in kittens. He’d been shrieking with joy for the past half hour while she sipped her coffee and watched him. This was the least she could do for her upperclassmen after all he’d done for her lately. A small orange kitten crawled over his chest and flicked its tail at Togata’s nose, and he looked like he just won the lottery.

“This is the best day,” he said happily, his hands patting at the floor while an older striped cat batted at his fingers. “I feel like now I owe you something, Hagakure-san. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I absolutely did,” she said, setting down her cup. A cat sitting on the chair across from her scurried away at the noise, not being able to comprehend how the cup had seemingly moved on its own. “And frankly I owe you about a thousand more cat cafés after all you’ve done for me.”

Togata sat up, holding the striped cat up to his face to give her forehead a kiss before setting her down to run away. He looked at Toru, eyes still full of light. “Now that’s just silly.”

Maybe so, but Toru felt he deserved it nonetheless. She wouldn’t be feeling as happy, as safe, as she felt now without his help. And the trackers…she really couldn’t thank him enough. He’d done so much for her despite barely knowing her.

She wished she had been able to do the same when she saw him in that hospital bed all those months ago. When he was feeling lost, who had helped out Le Million? Back then, Toru had seen the pain on his face and had only thought of herself. Toru felt the venomous shame coursing through her veins again. Underneath all the smiles and child-like exuberance was a boy who was suffering without his quirk. The fact that she’d envied someone who’d been hurt so deeply still made her stomach twist. The cat café could provide him temporary happiness, but she could see that saving people was the thing that caused him real joy.

“Togata-senpai?”

Togata, who’d been dangling a feathered toy in front of an uninterested black cat’s face, looked up.

She was going to ruin his good mood, but she felt like she had to say it.

“I’m sorry you lost your quirk.”

For once, Togata didn’t plaster an automatic smile to his face. “Why do you say that?”

Toru fiddled with the hem of her uniform skirt awkwardly, unable to look him in the eye. “You seem like a really kind person. I know that you would have made an amazing hero.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “The fact that you lost your quirk is really unfair.”

Togata remained quiet. Toru did as well, not knowing if she should continue or change the subject to lighten the mood. Hagakure Toru, known for her cheery attitude, was not known for her grace when it came to serious topics. She probably shouldn’t have brought it up. It was out of her own guilt that she felt the need to mention it, and now she was forcing Togata to think about it—

Togata stood up, leaving the bell toy in front of the cat, and sat at the table with her. His voice was uncharacteristically somber when he spoke.

“I won’t lie to you. When I lost my quirk, I thought it was unfair too. I’ve worked hard my entire life to be able to turn my quirk into something useful, and having all that hard work taken from me so suddenly felt like a slap in the face. Like a part of me was taken, you know?”

Toru nodded sympathetically.

“But you know what?” Togata said. “After a while I began to realize that no one can control what is or isn’t fair in their lives. We can only control how we react to it.”

There was truth in the simplicity of his statement. Toru felt it in her bones every time she’d been dismissed, ignored by people who often forgot about her if she didn’t work so hard to take up space. Life was unfair, and the bitterness she felt in her heart about her own quirk probably wouldn’t go away for a long time. But stewing in hate wasn’t going to help her move forward either.

Togata continued, “I lost my quirk, maybe permanently, but that doesn’t change my purpose. Le Million’s goal is to save a million people. I don’t need to be a hero to do that. Every day that I help someone in need is another person saved, and I use that reminder to stay focused on the future.”

Toru thought about that. “Does that mean I’m another person you saved?”

Togata hummed pensively. “Maybe. But I think that asking for help means that you already did half the work for me. And now that you can do hero work more comfortably, you can save lots of people too!”

The smile forming on his face was infectious. She felt the corners of her lips turning up, hope lighting a fire in her heart that hadn’t been there a month ago.

Toru put her hands on her hips, but kept a teasing edge to her voice.. “Don’t think that you can use my rescues towards your count, Le Million!” Toru retorted playfully. “If you want to save a million people you need to do it fair and square!”

Togata laughed at her joke—a full, exuberant sound that Toru found she quite liked. The conversation tapered off from there as her senpai located a lone Singapura cat basking in the sunlight a few tables down, but Toru was fine with that. Something told her that this was the beginning of a new chapter for both of them.

The future was looking brighter for her already, and with a new costume and a new friend, she was excited to see the kind of hero she’d turn out to be.

#hagakure toru #hagakure tooru #bnha #my hero adademia #togata mirio #hatsume mei #my writing #bnha fic

44 notes · View notes

sugar-petals · 5 years ago

Note

Can you, please, do a reading about the reason namjoon always feels underappreciated?

i drew a card and it explains his situation well. it’s THE FOOL, but in reverse.

-interpretation-

namjoon’s circumstances are the following: he is the kind of guy who already feels like he reached the end of the journey.

he’s advanced. while k-pop is more about a youthful spirit, everything bright and new. in tarot, THE FOOL is a fun and original person who’s a beginner in life, just starting out and fascinating others with that. brimming with ideas and curiosity, like a baby learning to crawl. it’s the first archetype in the tarot deck, after all. every debut group carries that kind of innovative feeling, and that’s why it appeals to fans. think about TXT and NCT Dream stepping on the scene. that caused a huge stir. meanwhile, namjoon is someone who feels like he’s seen and done it all. he had his piece of the cake, he’s completed his youthful dancing and prancing — or, at least, that’s what people see on the surface. namjoon’s playful, very idol-esque side is very much thrown under the bus in favor of emphasizing his responsible and mature qualities. he is totally goofy, but it’s not acknowledged all too often as his public image. his appearance contributes to that, he does not look like a haechan or hyungwon or baekhyun or jimin. his build is non-standard and not what this industry expects to sell, even if he does have many desirable qualities that many people clearly see.

look at the sun on the card, but flip its symbolism upside down: his mood isn’t perfectly bright all the time, he’s not an extrovert, his energy is not endless, he is unafraid to show the unhappy sides of things (see MONO). all that does not perfectly resonate with a lot of people. namjoon is too many steps ahead and nonconforming by default. he doesn’t deliberately act like the literal fool in the circus to get his fans going. he doesn’t want to be that kind of puppet, pretending and joking around. which means he caters to a smaller demographic and he knows it. he wishes he was more recognized for that authenticity, but he knows that the audience looks toward more fun idols to get what they want. and, that he can’t be entitled to get appreciation for being the odd one out. still, he feels left behind but also too high up, too far. namjoon is out of reach and way, way too experienced to play the game of his peers by now. he’s annoyed by naivety, irrationality, carelessness, nuisance, lack of focus, stupidity. he can’t entertain it, he can’t help it.

what aggravates that is his position in the group. the philosopher-leader and chronically overworked writer. since years. people look up to that, but there is less of an incentive to fawn unless his sexy frame and voice is concerned. namjoon does not incite as much of a childish (FOOL-ish), squeaking response like other artists do. his role is not spontaneous enough. how reflected he is takes the wind out of those sails. he gets very different clout from very selective people, even if his appeal has been getting broader. bts is a seasoned group and namjoon as its central mind embodies that tenfold. even his idealism is laced with a kind of serenity. his prudent ways are extreme. that has people who are in it for the fun like woah, this guy is deep, he makes me think a bit too much there. there is no glaring appeal of innocence to fans in namjoon, that’s what the card communicates. he is underappreciated because he is not carefree and reckless, doesn’t deliberately spark excitement the way you would expect an idol to do it. RM stepping out is like oh shit, here is the intellectual authority. he induces a different awe. not many people are ready to really respect an idol. namjoon commands it effortlessly, when he is present you have to pay heed to it. so, many fans choose to ignore him because they would be forced to recognize an idol’s humanity — the person behind THE FOOL — for once.

in terms of dress, THE FOOL is a gaudy, sexy prankster showing up in a hundred colors at once. but in reverse, that showy quality disappears. namjoon is not an instagram guy. he keeps it simple and practical in his free time. his body is what’s sexy, not the clothes that people want to ogle. he’s the real deal, but others want the mannequin, so he falls short. on stage, the same often happens, his frame can’t get dressed the jimin way, after all. and that is chosen, but it brings with it only the people who see his essence behind the surface. quality stans who want to hear what he says, but fewer. while the rest runs after the more flashy, quirky, sparkly idols. that fans are easily blinded and literally FOOL-ed leaves smart and thoughtful namjoon overlooked. he can stand out with his english and brilliant mind, but it is taken for granted all too often even if a whole group functions on that very base. it’s the person shouldering the most that gets underappreciated until they don’t contribute anymore and people are like ‘oh…’. it all boils down to namjoon’s less easily relatable leading edge mindset and complex intelligence that is hard to digest, few can keep up with that. he’s just not a fool. in short, namjoon is cursed by greatness.

#tarot #namjoon #tarot reading #anon #cub mail 🐅#long post #bts tarot #bts tarot reading #namjoon tarot reading

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baku-no-alt · 5 years ago

Text

by design: eight

The following four days felt like the longest of your life. You ended the night of your birthday celebration with Mei and Kirishima at a McDonald’s; you sheepishly told them Bakugou had gotten tired and left when they asked where he’d gone to.

Half of Saturday was spent working, the other half with your family. The work and the nice dinner your family made for you did nothing to help take your thoughts away from the last conversation you had with Bakugou.

Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday were all dedicated to putting the finishing touches on Bakugou’s hero costume. When it was done, you stepped back and stared at your creation on the mannequin - it was most certainly your best work to date.

And then came Wednesday, the day of the Expo. You packed up the costume and made your way to the convention center, nerves bubbling in your stomach. You had started out so determined to win Bakugou over, and now you’d be presenting the finished costume to him and the judges while he was pissed at you.

These thoughts mingled in your mind as you stood backstage, waiting for your name to be called to make your presentation. You smoothed the fabric of the costume over the mannequin, built specifically to Bakugou’s measurements, and tried to steady your breathing.

A small cough behind you nearly scared you out of your skin. You whipped your head around, hoping against hope that you’d see a mess of spiky blonde hair standing behind you. But it was a woman in a suit, holding a bag.

“Ground Zero sent me to give these back to you,” she said quietly.

“Oh,” you said, trying not to sound disappointed. You reached your hand out, and she placed the bag in your hand. “Did he say anything else?” The woman shook her head.

You heard your name called over the loud speaker, paging you to the stage.

“Good luck,” she said, giving you small smile.

You walked to the wings and waited your turn while the person before you finished up their presentation.

Inside the bag that she had given you were the mini-detonators. You let out a sigh as you turned the bag upside down and let them all fall into your hand. You placed them on the sleeves of the costume one by one, and by the time you were done, it was your turn to take the stage.

You felt like your heart would spring out of your chest as you rolled the mannequin to the center of the stage. A crowd of about a thousand people were gathered in the chairs placed in front of the stage, and at the forefront of the crowd was the panel of judges, seated at table. There were three in total, including Bakugou, who sat with his arms folded, red eyes boring into you. You nearly shivered, although you felt hot with so much attention on you.

“My chosen assignment was a re-design of Ground Zero’s hero costume,” you began. There was a scattering of murmurs in the crowd.

You started from the top of the costume and worked your way down, explaining every piece, why it was changed, and what the functionality of the new costume was. A projector illuminated the large screen behind you, which would show pieces of the costume in larger detail as you spoke about them.

“The fabric of the costume is a creation I worked on with Mei Hatsume,” you explained, “It’s bullet proof, but still breathable. I added in color-changing nanites for stealth purposes.” You clicked a remote, and the orange patterns on the costume shifted to black. This drew applause from the crowd, and you smirked. Color-changing was always a people pleaser.

“The gauntlets were replaced by mini-detonators. They work much in the same way, collected nitroglycerin to be used in explosions. Ground Zero has the option to use one at a time for smaller explosions, or use them all at once for a larger impact.”

“The pants are now a little more form fitting, and the kneepads are built into them. His boots I kept aesthetically the same, but added in some technology in the soles to help with balance in the event that an explosion sends out shockwaves.”

“This costume is a sleeker, updated version of Ground Zero’s original costume,” you said. Your eyes flicked over to his and caught the scowl on his face. You took a deep breath and continued, “but, in the spirit of evolution, the theme of our convention, I think I should also point out that we should remember where we came from.”

Silence from the crowd.

“It’s important to remember what inspires us. Why we do the things that we do. What started our love for what we do in the first place,” you said, smiling. “And that’s why -” you gestured to the screen behind you, “- this costume is designed to be compatible with, or even enhance, every piece of Ground Zero’s original costume.”

The projector screen showed Bakugou’s gauntlets fitting snugly over the mini-detonators, using their power to let off incredible explosions. The small, sleek neckbrace you designed connected to his and created a powerful neck guard. The nanites in the costume next to you shifted, and the bright orange ‘x’ that was featured on Bakugou’s current costume was mirrored on the one you designed.

“Evolution is about improvement, but it’s also about where we came from and what makes us unique. And I wanted my costume to reflect being able to make improvements without compromising how genuinely himself Ground Zero is. Thank you.”

You bowed, signaling the end of your presentation, and your heart soared as the crowd cheered. You came back up, smiling, and glanced over at Bakugou again. His expression had softened, and he rolled his eyes at you as he untucked his arms and began to clap as well.

A stagehand brought your mannequin closer to the judges so that they could inspect it, and you hurried backstage. You found a chair and collapsed into it, exhilarated. You couldn’t stop smiling. You covered your face in your hands and let out a muffled squeal to try and release some of your emotion.

When you removed your hands, you saw Aiko running up to you. “You nailed it!” she said excitedly, and wrapped you in a bear hug. You hugged her back tightly.

“There’s a table with refreshments for the participants, want to get some food while we wait?” she asked.

You nodded, still unable to process thoughts or words correctly, and followed her to the table.

A few hours later, everyone had finished presenting and the judges had time to inspect each costume up close. All the participants were waiting backstage for the award ceremony to begin.

You had separated yourself from everyone else, trying to calm your nerves by getting some time alone. There was a hallway to another part of the convention center connected to the backstage area. It was far away from the stage and dimly lit, but you could vaguely hear the announcer. You leaned up against the wall, and closed your eyes.

“Hey.”

Your eyes shot open at the sound his voice. Bakugou stood in the doorway at the far end of the hall.

“Hey,” you said back. He walked towards you, and leaned his back against the wall opposite you.

“The color-changing was a nice touch,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“So you liked it?” you asked.

“Of course I did, dumbass.” You breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

“In third place...” It was Deku’s costume designer. She had done really well. You folded your arms tightly against your body, trying to squeeze the nerves out.

“Listen,” Bakugou said, “I’m... sorry I walked out like a jerk the other night.”

“It’s alright,” you shrugged, “I may have been a little unreasonable.”

“In second place...” Froppy’s costume was announced. Her designer did a complete re-design, and included an entire set an amphibian environment.

“Fuck...” you hissed leaning your head back against the wall.

Bakugou pushed himself up and took a couple steps closer to you. “I don’t know what you’re so fucking worried about,” he said, “You’re going to win.” It sounded like more of statement than words of encouragement.

“Don’t jinx me,” you mumbled, looking up at him. You heard the sound of cheering as Froppy’s designer was done accepting her award. Mirroring Bakugou, you pushed yourself up off of the wall.

The hallway was tight, and you were standing very close together now. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body. Your mind flashed back to the night he rescued you.

“In first place...” You didn’t dare to breathe.

“Hey,” he whispered. You looked over at him. “You kicked ass, okay?”

And then you heard your name. Your eyes widened, but didn’t break contact with his.

“You won,” he breathed. You tried to respond, but all you could do was suck in a breath.

And then he kissed you.

Grabbing both sides of your face, he smashed his lips against yours, and you draped your arms over his shoulders. You could hear the crowd cheering in the background. You smiled against his lips, jumped up and wrapped your legs around his torso.

In a move you didn’t expect, he spun you around and then gently let you down, your lips still connected. You both gently pulled away.and you couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off of your face.

“Go on,” Bakugou said, gesturing towards the stage. You bit your lip, squeezed his hand, and ran to claim your victory.

---

masterlist

@yeet-these-hoez @frenchspeakingfilipina @hanatsuki-hime @chims-kookies @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @ha-tep @the1975thing @lookslikeleese @thatlonelypieceoftoast @ayeputita @missalienqueen

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha bakugou #bnha x reader

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sherryaptx4869 · 5 years ago

Text

Cycle Decoded

This is my first Senhaku fic also on ao3.

A bit OOC 😬 This took place sometime around chapter 86 of the manga. Some spoilers ahead 😊

After returning from the oil exploration mission, Senku noticed a big acne perched atop Kohaku’s nose. He dismissed it, teenagers get it ten billion percent of the time.

“You can take a rest while the others prepare for the provisions needed in our biggest project yet- going to the side of the earth where the petrification light started. There are tons of tasks delegated to everyone so basically everyone’s plate is full.”

“I can’t do that. I have to help anyone who needs assistance. And you said that everyone’s plate is full, might as well share the burden.” Kohaku crossed her arms in front of her chest taking on a defensive stance.

“Tch, such a gorilla! Where do you even get that unlimited strength?” Senku tried to convince her by goading her.

However, despite Kohaku flipping him off, he saw the exhaustion on her face as well as on Chrome’s and Ukyo’s faces. The trio travelled by foot after all.

“You know, taking is a rest is part of the job. How will you perform ten billion percent when your limbs are about to fall off from exhaustion, you lioness?”

“Well I’m not a lioness for nothing,” she smirked.

This banter did not go unnoticed by Yuzuriha. It’s been quite some time since she’s surrounded by lots of people. She wondered how the Ishigami villagers who were only used to seeing each others’ familiar faces are taking this new development on their daily lifestyle.

Yuzuriha is about to pass by the arguing duo on her way to the crafts room when Senku caught her attention. They stood a few steps away from Kohaku who remained rooted in her spot. They talked out of earshot while looking at Kohaku every now and then. Kohaku felt funny especially they kept on looking at her while Yuzuriha’s face was reddening a bit.

When it is apparent that Senku finished whatever he is telling Yuzuriha, Kohaku exclaimed, “I’ll enlist Ukyo’s help for that magnificent hearing he’s got and eavesdrop from even a hundred paces from you.”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try lioness. Later!” Senku waved and went to see updates on how the others are doing.

Before Kohaku has the chance for a witty retort, Yuzuriha led her by her arm.

“Kohaku, let’s go to the crafts room and take your measurement. We have plenty of cloth to work with after all.” Yuzuriha practically beamed and bounced her steps while dragging Kohaku. She can imagine different designs for Kohaku and she can’t wait for Kohaku to try them on like she did with Kinrou and Ruri.

Kohaku gave a bewildered look at Senku’s retreating back before following Yuruziha’s lead.

Inside the crafts room, Kohaku spotted different assortments of clothes, and cloths yet to be sewn into Yuzuriha’s beautiful creations. She saw a wood carved in the likeness of a human form in the corner. “Is this for target practicing?” she asked.

“Oh no, that’s a model for wearing clothes I designed. It’s called a mannequin.” Yuzuriha answered.

Yuzuriha measured the bust of Kohaku with a string. Kohaku sat there quizzically looking at dresses, clothes and a number of other clothing articles while Yuruzuha did wonders with her nimble fingers and agile hand movements. After a few nips, and stitches here and there, Yuruzuha handed her a small fabric.

“This is called a bra, and you clasp it here at the back, adjust the straps here and here so it fits snugly.” She explained to Kohaku, while showing how the straps work.

“Er, thank you, did Senku ask you to do this?” Kohaku asked after she changed into the article. She found that the texture and softness of the material somehow made her more comfortable than wearing what she was accustomed to use as animal skin for breast binds.

“Well he may or may not have,” Yuzuriha answered vaguely with a smile blossoming her face.

“Uhm, I have to talk to him again. Thanks for this Yuzuriha!” said Kohaku as she dashed off.

She found him talking to Gen, Chrome and a few other people from their generation who jumped ships from the Tsukasa Empire to the Kingdom of Science. She marvelled at how Senku’s charisma and manipulative stunts brought them the kind of manpower they need in order to bring back the glory of their lost civilization.

After Senku received updates with how their projects were moving along, Gen and Chrome left the two of them alone. She watched as Senku slumped on a chair and cracked his neck.

“You look tired,” she commented. She sauntered towards him and just stood by him.

He looked up only to see turquoise orbs meet his crimson ones.

“That’s rich coming from you.” He laughed. “We only moved 1 millimeter from where we started and there’s lots of work that need to be done. With that prospect, get excited!”

“Well, speaking of excited, did you ask Yuzuriha to make me this?” she asked as she gestured towards her chest.

“You don’t go around showing that to everyone, idiot!” Senku replied while looking away.

“No one’s interested 1mm of what you’re wearing.” He added while touching the back of his neck.

“Surely if you were the one making stuff, there has to be a scientific reason behind it right?” Kohaku prodded. She sat on the table with her arms crossed.

“You are a valuable ally of the Kingdom of Science and it won’t do if you’re not in your best element of ten billion percent.”

Kohaku stared at him with a big question mark written on her face.

“Why, what do you think is up with me Senku-sensei?” she asked.

“The past months I’m with you guys, it can’t be helped that I noticed. I pretty much know your cycle like the back of my hand,” Senku smirked.

Kohaku stood up abruptly, disbelief written all over her beautiful face. “You’re keeping tabs on my monthly cycle?”

“So as not to awaken the gorilla in you,” Senku in a low voice, “like now.”

“Hah! And how sure are you Senku, that you are correct?” Kohaku subconsciously took a step back.

“With your grumpiness level, I would say you’re having PMS right now.” Again that goofy smile.

“PMS?” Kohaku repeated.

“Premenstrual syndrome. You feel tired , irritable, bloated, you have acne and you’re feeling sore and tender breasts.”

As Senku rattled on the symptoms, Kohaku can’t help but agree for once with what Senku is saying.

“From when you got back, it seemed that your breasts grew bigger with the way the fabric of your dress was stretched more than usual. I figured, the increase in your estrogen caused your boobs to get bigger and progesterone made your milk ducts puff up making your breast feel tender and heavy. I asked Yuzuriha to make you a firm, supportive bra. You tend to move a lot and a good-fitting bra will help the pain associated with excess swaying of your breasts. And that’s why you feel grumpy is because of all the discomfort.”

“The what now? As usual, I don’t understand 1mm of what you’re blabbing on.” Kohaku deadpanned, though she did not miss the fact that Senku is looking at her. And he even knows her body clock at that!

“Bottom line is, it just means that your body is getting ready for a baby.” Senku stated matter of factly.

“WHAT!?” To Kohaku’s amazement, her fist connected to Senku’s face that put him in a much-needed sleep.

“Oops, that was a bit much,” she muttered to herself while she placed a sleeping Senku on his sleeping mat and covered his form with a blanket.

“Oh Kokahu-chan. Leaving already?” Gen greeted Kohaku as she was about to exit the crime scene.

“I might have accidentally knocked out someone to sleep,” was her sheepish reply.

After three days.

“Since every preparation for our numerous projects are well underway, we’re planning to go to the hotspring to gather some sulfur powder, would you like to come?” Chrome asked Kohaku.

The hike will take about a day by foot. The party consisted of Chrome, Senku, Suika, Ruri, Kohaku, Gen, Taiju and Yuzuriha. Chrome took the lead while Kohaku brought up the rear. With her abdominal cramps, she figured she could take it easy by walking slower. And there’s Senku whose physical stamina needs major overhaul.

Upon arriving, Kohaku wanted so badly to take a dip in the warm water but something held her back. Although the warm water looked inviting, she sat on a boulder satisfied to dip her thigh and her legs, keeping her center and the rest of her upper body out of the water.

The others did the same, they looked for spots that will keep them relaxed as they bask in the hot spring before they go on a long and arduous journey towards the source of the petrification light. Chrome and Senku are inspecting the rocks right off the bat. Taiju helped them position their tools before joining Yuzuriha at the hot spring.

Yuzuriha watched as Senku approached Kohaku. It is interesting indeed. She remembered how more than a year ago, the three of them were so desperate to escape Tsukasa. In the same place, Senku met his demise while practicing the one that he loves- science. But before that, she did not fail to notice how Senku discretely gave space to her and Taiju to talk privately. Senku wasn’t the odd one out in their group, he just felt he’s not one to be a romantic type. He is the intellectual who does not have time to fool around with feelings. Today however, she watched as Senku approached Kohaku who was sitting by herself and not taking a dip as the rest of the gang. Only Kohaku and Senku are not in their bathing wear.

“You managed to knock me off unconscious.” Senku told Kohaku.

“Are you mad that I made you sleep?,” she retorted.

“No, either way I couldn’t ignore my exhaustion button anymore, you just made it sooner.”

“You’re welcome,” Kohaku smiled. She splashed a little of the water running on her feet.

“Why don’t you take a full dip?” Kohaku asked Senku who made himself comfortable by claiming the seat beside her.

“Why don’t you? Besides, I came here to collect sulfur powder.” Senku noticed how badly Kohaku wanted to jump in the water.

“You always think of work.” She stared at their party, how everyone loved the rejuvenating power of the warm water after hard days of work, apparent in their faces.

“It never hurts to be prepared. Especially a lot of the reagents were knocked off after the battle with Hyoga.”

“You know, I might take up Ukyo for his offer,” Kohaku visibly winced when the cramps in her abdomen demanded the pain to be felt.

“Why, what’s wrong?” Senku asked when he saw Kohaku grip her abdomen.

“The cramps in my abdomen are very uncomfortable “

“There is rose geranium oil back at the lab. You should use it when we get back. Suika collected the plants Pelargonium roseum. Gen and Chrome obtained the essential oil by hydrodistillation for three hours.”

Senku launched into a lengthy explanation of her anatomy and physiology, but seeing Senku in his best element does bring a smile to her face.

“The abdominal cramps are from prostaglandins which make your uterus contract helping to shed the endometrium out of your body.”

“You seem to know more about my body than I do.”

“I also know when your cycles are, mind you.” Senku said with that irritating smirk.

“What the hell?” A nerve found its way on her temple again.

“So what’s up with Ukyo?” Senku interrupted her before she get too violet and knock him down again.

“I think he’s good at mapping on the ground, he’ll be of tremendous help to the Kingdom of Science. I also wish to learn how he fully utilizes his hearing capabilities… ”

Senku’s mind wandered while Kohaku gushed about how amazing Ukyo is. He is brought to attention when Kohaku mentioned how Ukyo saved Chrome from falling when he caught Chrome with his arrow just when Hyuga and Tsukasa dealt him the killing blow.

“Care to repeat that again?”

“He said it will be totally okay for him to teach me archery. It will be so cool to fight from a distance,” Kohaku repeated while glancing at the spiky-haired man beside her.

“Is that right,” he said with a devious smirk.

“You look like a villain right now Senku. Stop making that face, you’re creeping me out.” She admonished him.

“All right, just stay put while I do this.”

Senku kneeled, balanced one of Kohaku’s legs above the water and perched it on his lap.

“Okay you’re freaking me out. I can still fight you know,” Kohaku threatened. She looked around and saw Ruri and Yuzuriha glanced their way, but they quickly averted their eyes when they caught her looking right back at them. It seemed like they were prying on such a private moment. Which isn’t because Senku is doing something weird again.

“Lo and behold the pelvic and menstrual busting powers of scientific knowledge.” Senku told her dramatically.

“There is a pressure point around your ankles called spleen 6.” He explained as his fingers located the inside of Kohaku’s left leg just above the highest point of her ankle. Then with four fingers width up her leg, he gently applied deep pressure behind her tibia (bone) and massaged the area for 4-5 seconds.

“This pressure point effectively alleviates pain and menstrual distress,” he said as he gently propped Kohaku’s leg down.

“Wow, so this pressure on my leg will trigger something in my gut?” Kohaku asked excitedly, eyes twinkling.

“Yes, and there’s a lot of pressure points that produce significant pain or other effects when manipulated properly.” Senku added.

While still on his knees, just before the sunset, the golden hour has approached. While everyone around them were soaking the healing power of the hot spring and minding their own business, Senku leaned over to Kohaku and she let out a small yelp from the sudden onslaught. When he finished, there is a small yet noticeable bruising on her neck from where Senku sucked on her skin. “This will help Ukyo mark out territories” his traditional smirk in place.

Unknown to them, Gen laid back and watched all of it unfold.

“Humans are such silly creatures. When they lose something they thought they had for sure, that’s when they stress and feel the most loss. Many psychological experiments have been conducted on this especially in love and relationships.”

“I never thought I’d see the day when Senku-chan experienced this himself.”

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

To New Hytes (Group fic) 2/? - Mac

AN: Again, this entire work would not be possible without my lovely betas Meggie and Grapefruit. You girls keep me young!

Summary: Blair and Kameron find themselves bonding over their respective passions, Brooke loses her cool at Vanessa, and Nina and Monet think they all should just make out.

Blair sat back and admired her work.

Vanjie - or as the young dancer has insisted - Vanessa, looked like a vision in gold. Blair patted herself on the back mentally for the fringe that hung off of her small frame ever so delicately.

“Now I know she said you ain’t performin’ for a few weeks, but thought I’d get your measurements and stuff done heada time.”

Vanessa gave her a winning smile.

“I don’t mind pretty girls like you takin’ my measurements.”

Blair blushed and ducked her head a bit. The young costume designer wasn’t used to getting compliments often, so she tried to ignore how her brain short circuited at the statement.

“What about shoes? You good in a heel?” She tried to change the subject.

Vanessa nodded. “Nothin’ too tall though. Can’t be breaking myself out there.”

Blair laughed lightly and turned to the closet on the far wall. She rifled through a few boxes before coming back with a sensible heel.

“I’m a size six.”

“I know.”

“Who told you?”

“Nobody. I just got a gift for knowin’ people’s sizes I guess.”

“Pretty and smart, huh?”

Blair blushed again. “A dancer and a flirt, huh?” she shot back.

Vanessa laughed, loud and unhinged. It took Blair aback for a moment before she let herself laugh too. It felt freeing in a way.

“Not to rain on your parade or nuthin’, and I appreciate the compliments, but I don’t date dancers.”

“Oh yeah? Too many broken hearts?”

Blair nodded firmly and Vanessa didn’t press the issue.

“Oh well.” Vanessa sighed overdramatically. “Guess I can settle for friends.”

Blair smiled. “Friends it is.”

…

Kameron never imagined she’d end up here.

Maybe she was torturing herself. Being so close to the thing she loved. The thing she still craved like a drug.

It didn’t happen suddenly either. She had been with the company since the beginning. When it was just a thought Brooke tossed out one drunken night.

Brooke, Nina, and Monet had gone over to Kameron’s place with the thought of going out and letting loose, but had ended up on her worn down furniture passing a bottle of wine around in a circle. Nina has been too focused on Monet’s antics to really hear the idea, but Kameron jumped up as soon as she heard it, albeit she jumped up gracelessly and almost fell back on her ass.

She smiled at the memory now. She doubted anyone knew that she was one of the original co-founders of the now acclaimed company. Not that she cared much for the recognition.

She had spearheaded the whole process, looking into spaces to rehearse and business laws. It was a lot of work and long nights. Brooke had been right there with her through it all though. It had been nice to have a friend, a sister almost, supporting her and putting in just as much work.

Nina and Monet had thought they were crazy. Off and running with this idea that was never going to pan out.

They were all fresh out of out of NYU after all. They were baby adults, living off of ramen noodles and Red Bull, but still…No one expected them to make it.

That was when Kameron had the idea. A YouTube channel. They could rent a dance space for a few hours and bang out three to four videos. She and Brooke performed duets and solos, any style they wanted. They had fun. Kameron sometimes would miss those days before their lives got so hectic. When she and Brooke would pass out on a studio floor because they had filmed in one night enough videos to last them a week.

The channel grew slowly, and then not so slowly. Almost overnight they had amassed enough followers and garnered enough views to buy their own studio. It was teeny tiny and run down. It needed a lot of TLC for sure, but it was theirs.

Almost overnight the dance world was looking to them for the next big thing. It was incredibly intimidating, scary even, but Brooke and Kameron were ready.

Nina agreed to stage mom duties as well as marketing, and Monet enthusiastically accepted the offer to take pictures, dusting off her old camera.

It was all starting to come together.

Then it all went wrong.

Kameron quickly pulled herself out of those thoughts. The memory of a too bright stage light still burned her eyes.

“Are you ok?” came a small voice to Kameron’s left.

Kameron had been so lost in thought that she hardly realized she had been sitting on the floor for nearly ten minutes now, back leaning against a large speaker.

Kameron sat up immediately and looked at Blair. The sweet girl was looking at her, concern creeping into the reassuring smile she gave.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Well, your nose is bleeding a bit there.”

Kameron’s hand shot up to touch lightly at her aforementioned affliction. When she pulled her hand away, bright red coated her fingers.

“Come here, darlin’, come sit with me.”

Kameron bit back her reply that this happened all the time, curiosity getting the better of her.

Blair took Kameron’s hand and the older girl surprisingly didn’t jump at the contact.

Blair weaved through the backstage area like she had done it a million times before. Kameron supposed she had. The costume designer rarely made it out on stage, except during rehearsals to solve a fashion emergency, so moving around in the shadows must have been a frequent pastime of hers.

Blair opened the door to her small office space off near the side exit of the theatre. It was cluttered with half-finished garments on every surface and sketches that lined the walls. The mannequins looked passively at the two as they made their way to the stools near the back of rows of costumes.

Blair tilted Kameron’s face up with the pads of her fingers that left sparks in their wake. Kameron looked up at her as the young woman searched for tissues in the crowded workspace.

Kameron let her eyes wander around the office until they fell on a nearly finished sketch hanging out of a notebook on the desk.

“What’s that one? It doesn’t look like any of the girls we have on tour.”

“Oh that’s nothin’.” Blair quickly shoved the paper back in the notebook, but winced at the crinkling sound it made.

She came to stand in front of Kameron, eyes trained on the red liquid still fresh around her nose. Blair dabbed at it hesitantly, almost as if she were scared to hurt Kameron. Kameron’s heart surged at the thought.

Blair studied the area closely, but avoided eye contact. She resolutely kept her eyes trained on the afflicted area, and no higher. It made the tension in the room raise noticeably.

When Blair was satisfied with her work, she sat down in the stool across Kameron, their knees would be touching if Blair hadn’t pulled hers closer to her body, almost unconsciously.

“All better.”

Kameron smiled at her and Blair smiled back. It was a rare moment of silence. Of peace.

They both started laughing at the same time. Breaking the silence and the ice between the senior stage crew member and the costume designer. They must have looked crazy. Sitting and laughing at each other like old friends.

They hardly knew each other, really. If you didn’t count passing greetings in the hallway they were perfect strangers. Still, Kameron hadn’t laughed this hard in a while. It was refreshing and terrifying that this person, this stranger, could bring a part of her she thought she’d lost, to the forefront.

Kameron stuck out her hand. “I’m Kameron, but everyone calls me Kam.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Kameron. I’m Blair.”

“Oh, I know who you are. I’ve seen you around before. Never said ‘hi’ or anything ‘cause most people treat us crew members like we got the plague.”

Blair suddenly looked seriously at her. “I’m sorry for that. Y’all are the reason the whole show is possible, I imagine it’s frustratin’ not havin’ your hard work appreciated.”

“You’re one to talk! The costumes you make, you make from scratch, yeah? All of them original and come from your head. That is a talent that goes underrecognized, I bet.”

Blair blushed and looked down, avoiding eye contact. “Well, yeah, I suppose. But I’m not in it for the recognition. I just love designin’, ya know?” Blair looked up, meeting Kameron’s eye finally. “You ever had that thing you love more than anythin’ else in the world, and nothin’ could ever take you from it. Like even if you tried you couldn’t give it up?”

Kameron nodded. She did have something like that once.

“Show me your favorite design then. Something you wouldn’t give up for anything in the world.”

“Oh, I don’t have a-”

“Don’t give me that. I know you’ve got one. C’mon, I’m sure it’s just as phenomenal as all the other ones, if not more so.” Kameron winked.

Blair blushed and looked away again. Kameron thought she looked even more beautiful with color high on her cheeks.

Blair stood up and turned back to the notebook Kameron had eyed earlier. She opened it up and Kameron saw every page covered in different outfits on the same model. The model girl looked nothing like any of the dancers they had in the company.

As if sensing her question, Blair quickly rambled out, “She isn’t supposed to be anybody in particular! Just a model for the outfits. I don’t know why she keeps popping up in my head, but when she does, I sketch out a costume for her and send her on her way.”

Kameron looked up at her with a goofy smile.

“I’m not crazy! I know I sound it sometimes,” Blair defended herself.

Kameron laughed. “You don’t sound crazy at all. But you are lying to me.”

Blair looked taken aback for a moment before Kameron explained. “She is somebody in particular. Who is she?”

Blair sighed. “You’re good at that, ya know? Readin’ people.”

“I know,” Kameron answered confidently.

Blair laughed but it was with less joy than before. “Her name was Brianna. We dated for almost three years. She danced and I did her costumes.” Kameron nodded along, encouraging Blair to keep going, if she wanted. “We worked well together, ya know? One of those couples that just worked.” Blair took in a breath. “And when it stopped workin’, we just didn’t mention it. We pushed on for the sake of her career, and mine too, but mostly hers.”

“Wait, Brianna Palandrani?”

Blair groaned. “Yup. That’s the one.”

“She married that Giovanni guy right? The heir to that million dollar makeup company?”

“They got married a week after we broke up.”

“You’re kidding! Oh my god Blair, I’m so sorry.”

Blair shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s really not. That’s horrible.”

“Her career was important to her, I always supported that, but then it became more important than me and my feelins.”

“I’m so sorry, Blair. You deserve better.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

Blair swallowed heavily, the tension was suddenly back, but it felt a bit different this time. “What’s done is done. But I made a promise to myself that day: no more dancers.”

Kameron’s heart sank a bit at that. “So you decided to surround yourself with them every day of your life? Seems a bit counterintuitive.”

“I’m puttin’ my career first. For the first time, I’m being selfish and focusin’ on me. Gettin’ my designs and name out there.”

Kameron smiled wide. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Kameron.”

“You can call me Kam, you know, everyone else does.”

“I like Kameron. It suits you.”

It was Kameron’s turn to blush.

Their little bubble of peace was suddenly broken by a disheveled Yvie slamming the door open, looking around the room wildly.

“Kam. We may need you onstage.”

Kameron looked at her quizzically, but followed after the contortionist. She shot one last apologetic look at Blair before the door shut silently behind her.

…

Never in her life had Brooke yelled at someone like this. Let alone one of her dancers.

“You can’t speak to me like that, I’m your boss!”

“You sure don’t fuckin’ act like it. Gettin all mad and shit from a little comment. Not very professional of you, mami.”

Vanjie was calm, collected, and cocky, which made Brooke lose it even more.

“What the hell would you know about acting professional?”

“Clearly a bit more than you, since I’m not currently screaming at one of my employees.”

Brooke was seeing red. She wanted to scream some more, wanted to put the fear of god into Vanjie. Wanted to wipe that smug fucking smile off her face for good. And suddenly it hit her like a ton of bricks.

It took all her willpower not to smirk triumphantly. She breathed in and out and suddenly, Brooke was composed, calm, yet predatory.

“I’m sorry, Mateo. That was out of line.”

Vanjie’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. Everyone’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. Was Brooke Lynn Hytes, the Head Bitch herself apologizing? To Vanjie of all people?

Vanjie didn’t have a response. Didn’t have any words.

Brooke let herself smirk at that reaction. She wasn’t going to give Vanjie the fight she was aiming for. She was going to give her the opposite. Two can play at Vanjie’s game. And Brooke hated losing.

Brooke turned her head to her other dancers and raised her eyebrows expectantly. “The show must go on, ladies. Up and at ‘em. Let’s go.”

The dancers quickly made their way up the stage, shock still clear on their faces, but the boss was still the boss, apology or not.

Brooke surveyed them for a few minutes before she decided to cool down in her office. She made her way up the stairs but paused when she reached the office door.

She heard muffled voices through the wood.

…

Nina sat in her and Brooke’s shared office. Brooke liked to think of it as her own office, but as Nina did all the heavy lifting, she considered it a shared office.

Monet was sitting in the armchair across from the desk looking through photo after photo from the camera around her neck. Nina watched her. She found herself watching the younger girl a lot these days. Call it mere exposure effect, call it fate, call it the lack of girlfriend, Nina didn’t care. She liked looking at Monet. Liked how the younger girl carried herself. Liked that she put others first.

“Any salvageable ones?”

Monet smiled, still looking down at her camera. “Hmmm, I dunno. You tell me.” She hopped up from her seat and came around the desk to stand next to Nina. She pulled out her memory card and some device Nina still couldn’t figure out, although she was sure Monet had explained it to her many times over. Monet plugged the device into the computer and they waited in a comfortable silence for a few seconds before the pictures popped up.

Nina clicked on the first few. They were of Violet, of course. Monet had admitted once that Violet was her favorite to take pictures of. “She gives so many good angles, and there’s not a flaw to be seen on that bitch.” Nina had rolled her eyes.

Monet pulled up a chair and the two sat side by side scrolling through pictures. Most of them were incredible, as always, a few were silly candids. The one that caught Nina’s eye though was a picture of herself.

It was of her backstage, with the stage lights in front of her. It was clearly edited with a black and white filter over it, but it didn’t look staged. It looked organic. It captured Nina in her favorite spot, just offstage. Supporting her friends and their passion. It looked like some artsy film project from college. She looked majestic. Nina paused on it for a minute.

Monet looked at her worriedly. “Sorry, I-”

“It’s beautiful.” Nina meant it.

Monet shrugged. “I had a lot of beauty to work with.”

Nina could have snapped. Could have acted on the growing attraction they both had been feeling for the past few months. Could have just leaned over right then and kissed Monet senseless.

She didn’t.

Monet broke the suddenly thick tension with a cough. “There’s more.” She reached across and clicked to the next picture. It was another picture of Nina, this time, her face was visible and she was looking off - probably at one of the dancers - she looked so incredibly happy. Monet blushed and clicked through what must have been at least twenty more photos before finally coming to one that wasn’t of Nina.

This one was of Brooke standing with her arms crossed looking up at an equally cocky looking Vanessa.

“I think you captured their dynamic perfectly.”

Monet laughed again, effectively breaking up the tension a little more. “Honestly, I’m waiting for one of them to snap and just start sucking face one day.”

“Me too!”

“No way, you were getting that vibe too! God, I swear they just need to fuck some of that anger out of each other, maybe it would make Brooke less uptight.”

“Hey!” Nina said defensively.

“Oh bitch, we all friends, don’t pretend she hasn’t been a stick in the mud since she became the boss.”

“She’s just stressed,” Nina insisted, less forcefully this time as the smile started to eat away at her face.

“Know how she could get some of that stress out?”

Nina laughed and it echoed around the room.

…

Brooke’s mouth hung open so long she was surely going to swallow a bug.

Did her friends really think she was into Vanjie? Sure the girl was hotter than hell. Sure she met every one of Brooke’s comebacks with an equally snarky one. Sure she had wormed her way into Brooke’s mind from day one. Sure Brooke thought about her all the time.

DidBrooke like Vanjie?

“Fuck.” Brooke was pulled out of her thoughts by the door to her office being swung directly into her face.

“Oops! Sorry, B!” Monet apologized immediately, then she paused. “Wait, how long have you been standing there?”

“Since you two started flirting, so, the whole time.”

Monet blushed but pushed past Brooke and headed for the stairs she had just come up. “Well, you know what they say about eavesdroppers,” she spoke over her shoulder.

“What do they say?” Brooke called after her.

“They only ever hear the truth.”

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booksviolinsandembroidery-moved · 5 years ago

Text

YES OKAY HERE WE GO

Sam peeks his head in the doorway and flits his eyes around the room. “Expelliarmus!” Shortly after that, the thud of someone hitting the floor sounds and Sam hears the groan of pain from where he is. That person will likely have some minor bruising.

“Sammy!” At the sound of the nickname, his gut starts twisting itself in knots.

“You made it just in time, my friend. Come in, come!” Diego is an excellent dueller, but he doesn’t need the jelly legs curse to make Sam’s knees weak. Diego opens the door wider and Sam averts his eyes as he walks in. He felt so small in this room with so many people and Diego smiling right at him.

“Ah, Mr. Gabehart. Has Mr. Caplan finally convinced you to join the dueling club?” Sam could feel the heat burning the tips of his ears. “Um... I suppose?”

Professor Flitwick gave him a knowing smile. “Marvelous. I look forward to seeing you here more often.” A shy smile takes over his face and Sam nods slightly. The small professor takes that as his cue to leave and help other students.

“I don’t suppose you warmed up? Not that you need to, really, looking the way that you do.”

Sam’s brain comes to a screeching halt. What? Before realizing it, a few goofy laughs escape his mouth. He slaps his hand over his mouth in horror and looks nervously to the other. ‘Merlin, his smile... It’s dazzling...Wait, shit, did he ask me a question?’

Sam tries to fumble for an answer before Diego decides to show him some mercy and laugh it off. “I will take that as a no. Let us start with this...”

~~~

“Why don’t you show me your Flipendo? On that training dummy there.”

Sam takes a breath before going to the spell at the dummy. The first syllable is already on his lips when he feels warm hands on his hip and wand arm. He can feel the brunette’s breath against his ear and that alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine. “Bend your knees a little more and move your arm... here.” The sentence almost sounds garbled in Sam’s hazy mind, though somewhere in the fuzziness, his brain provides him with the information that Diego lowered his voice and pitch, and he lets Diego gently manipulate his posture. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps on Sam’s skin.

“Perfect. I expect nothing less from the famous Hogwarts curse-breaker. Now cast it.” The command snaps Sam out of his daze and he blinks. His eyebrows pinch together as he mutters the incantation softly but firmly, “Flipendo.” The mannequin rocks back violently when the spell hits it and a self-satisfied grin plasters itself on Sam’s face.

He turns to look at Diego, full of excitement, and when he sees the proud look on the dueller’s face, all he can do is blush and look away abashed. “Like that?” he asks timidly.

“Phenomenal,” Diego states confidently, smiling playfully at Sam. “And I don’t just mean your execution of the spell.” That surprises a giggle out of Sam.

“You’re better...”

Diego’s eyebrows shoot up and Sam realizes with terror that he had said that aloud.

“Don’t sell yourself short Sam. After all, you did defeat me. And a troll...”

He snorts. “With your help.”

In a heartbeat, Diego is in his space again with a hand cupping his cheek. “You are a magnificent wizard Samuel. You are incredibly intelligent and kindhearted and I am lucky to be able to call myself your friend.”

Sam doesn’t mean to but he reaches into Diego’s mind with legilimency to check the sincerity of his words. He’s blind sighted by the rush of information but somewhere in the stream, he catches a glimpse of what Diego is remembering. It’s their battle with the troll. It’s almost like it's in slow motion and it’s glorious. Sam sees himself the way Diego sees him. He looks regal as he volleys hexes toward the beast. He feels the admiration Diego had for him when the first question out of his mouth was “Are you hurt?” and “Is anyone else?”.

It’s... eye-opening.

“Ooh Diego, are you gonna smooch the curse-breaker?” Laughter erupts in the room and Sam hurriedly cuts the connection.

“I gotta go...” is what comes out of his own mouth, barely above a whisper, and Sam bolts out of the room, pointedly ignoring the way Diego desperately calls after him. He quickly transforms into his animagus form as soon as he’s past the door and flies as fast as his small wings can take him to the Ravenclaw Tower where he can hide until dinner.

@slytherin-puffskein

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #jacob’s sibling #diego caplan #diego caplan x mc #Samuel Gabehart #that got angsty...#oops #sorry it took so long #my writing

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gutterdreams · 7 years ago

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Hi could u maybe do 41 with Billy ?? ✨

“Have you seen yourself?” /Requests are closed.

Billy knew that things would be different when he returned to California. A new family, probably nuclear, would be in the bungalow that he once called home. His friends would have graduated from high school. Brett probably dumped Lucy for the umpteenth time, the old garage they used to hang out in and get high had been torn down to be turned into a condo building. He just didn't think you would make the list of changes. You had always been so consistent in his life. From the time he first pushed off the tire swing in Thomas Edison Park to the stiff upper lip you tried to wear when he stopped by your mom's apartment building to say goodbye. He could count on you. You were every collect call he made from Hawkins, needing a comforting voice after a hostile exchanges with his dad or a fight with some jock that he didn't win. Billy hadn't caught on to any indication that you weren't the same girl he knew anymore. He had been so excited to finally see you in the flesh again. At your suggestion, he met up with you at the waffle House that you two frequented at three in the morning when you one of you was desperate to sober up. Billy was almost embarrassed by the size and goofiness of the grin he had plastered on his face. His perfect dream girl was about to be back in his orbit and he could not wait a minute more. It seemed as soon as he slid in across from you, after letting you go and breathing you in from a tight hug, that Billy wished he could go back in time. He had changed some and that was okay, but now he was face to face with the truth that you weren't the same girl that he left behind. You hadn't just waited like a mannequin in a window display like he foolishly told himself you would. "What's with the ring?" Squishing up his face at it like it was an atrocious scar on your finger, Billy asked. It had caught his eye, glistening in it, as you unwrapped your arms from around his shoulders. "How are you, too?" Sticking out your tongue playfully, you teased and then lifted your hand and looked at the small square cut diamond that you now wore daily. "Yeah, it's uh...." There had been one call since you were proposed to, but the words never managed to bubble up in your mouth. You never knew what to say. Billy was one of the closest people in your life, but he also was the one with the strongest opinions. "I'm engaged." Finally, you held it up to your face and bashfully grinned. Just as you suspected, he barely blinked. "Who? I didn't know you were even with someone." You had always been 'Billy's girl' even when he had a girlfriend. "Uhhh..." You braced yourself, knowing he wouldn't like the answer. "Jordan. Jordan Kennedy."Now, Billy was expressing himself. He threw his head back until it met the leather of his booth and stretched both hands out over the table's surface, knuckles ready to be cracked together. "When did you start hanging out with that fucking weasel?" Billy never liked your fiancé. He had lost a lot of money and a watch to him in what was supposed to be a friendly game of poker and ever since then, they were enemies. Billy hated his friendly smile, his whistling in the hall, his poker face, and now he hated that he had asked you to marry him. More than all of that, Billy hated that you said 'yes'. "Before senior year started.""So, like, right after I left? Did you two fuck when I was here?" It wasn't his business, but to Billy, he was entitled to every detail of your life. "No. We shared a locker and then...""Then you two got engaged? What happened to just a lame corsage for prom?""You're really freaking out." It seemed silly to point out since it was obvious, but looking at his hands shaking by the napkin and cutlery, the words just fumbled out. You really hadn't foreseen things going this way. You two were supposed to pick up exactly where you left off. "Yeah, you're engaged to fucking Jordan Kennedy.""So, I'm guessing you don't want to come to the wedding?" Since you had only been engaged for a few weeks, you hadn't begun planning, but it felt like a fair guess. It was obvious that he wasn't supporting the union your parents were so thrilled about. They always worried you would wind up Mrs. Hargrove. "No. Jesus, what happened to you?" "What happened to me? Nothing. I'm still me." Looking down at yourself, trying to understand him, you responded defensively."Have you seen yourself? You look like..." A goddess. A dream. A ray of sunshine. You were still the girl that he codsidered too good for him with a gentle approach to the world and a laugh that he played in his head like a lullaby on nights that felt particularly endless. "You look like the kind of chick that would hang out with fucks like Jordan Kennedy." Billy spat. He was convinced this was just a stupid prank. In one more second, you would peel off the ring and reveal the whole thing as a ruse. "I know you are being mean, but I'm taking that as a compliment." Billy didn't hear you though. He was staring off into the distance with hate in his eyes and his tongue poking out between his chattering teeth. "I bet he waited 'til I was gone to slip in. I always said... He's a weasel." Scowling with his hands rolled into fists, he finally looked at you again. "You're talking like we were together. Jordan is -""We were supposed to be!" Billy cut you off and surprised himself with his slip. Stunned, you both wore your pupils wide and ill-prepared. A truth you always wondered about had just flown out of his mouth with angry vibrations. Neither of you knew what to do or say. The waitress approached the table with a notepad and pen in hand, but neither of you were ready to order. Waffles were the last thing on yours or Billy's mind.

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amplesalty · 4 years ago

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Halloween 2020 - Extra - The Stand (1994) - Episode 2 The Dreams

Now, here you go again You say, you want your freedom Well, who am I to keep you down

I guess it’s going to be a running thing that the episode opens up with some licenced music, eh? And I don’t mean Molly Ringwald’s character singing Amazing Grace as she sews up the homemade body bag for her dearly departed daddy, the former Kelso. She and her nerdlinger friend relax to the soothing sounds of Crowded House. There’s certainly some foreshadowing in there considering how the episode pans out:

There’s a battle ahead, many battles are lost But you’ll never see the end of the road when you’re travelling with me

Foreshadowed in a more literal sense, it feels like there are battle lines starting to be drawn with the ‘dark man’ and those on their pilgrimage to Mother Abigail’s home, with the dark man now appearing much more prominently on screen and revealing himself as ‘Randall Flagg’. He’s a bit of a curious one is Randall Flagg, he appears in human form rocking a Canadian tuxedo look with this big hair and has this goofy sort of charm to him but can turn on the venom and intimidation in a split second. Much like Abigail, he too has been appearing in visions to the survivors but not just a select few, it sounds like they all see visions of both Flagg and Abigail so I guess it’s down to that person which side they end up on. Among those on the darkside are a prisoner who Flagg springs from jail and a homeless guy dubbed ‘Trash Man’ that hears the voice of Flagg tell him to blow up an oil silo.

But amongst all these evil visions and general wiping out of the general population of the United States, the episode still has a fairly upbeat feel to it in my eyes. We’re introduced to yet more characters but it’s always with a sense of relief for them as they’re finally meeting another lost soul in the lonely wasteland. I was worried that this might drag things down a little but oh no, quite the contrary. For instead we get the team of Nick Andros and Tom Cullen.

Gosh these guys are just the best. Nick is Rob Lowe’s character who is deaf and mute. In the first episode, he’s set upon by a bunch of thugs who beat him up and dump him in the middle of the road where he’s found by a passing doctor who takes him to the police station. I mean, hospital might have been a better idea but okay. The local Sherriff soon brings in the guilty party but has to deputise Nick when he falls sick. When it soon becomes clear that it’s time to leave town, Nick doesn’t hesitate in freeing the men even though their ring leader has spent the entire time shouting threats of violence at him. And even when the Doc asks him to join him in heading to his remote cabin to hide out from this whole mess, Nick is reluctant to leave as one of the trio is suffering badly from the virus. It just speaks to his compassion which is further underlined when he meets Tom.

At first he cycles onto main street of this small town and is greeted with the sight of a bunch of mannequin dummies throughout the street dressed in bright colours, with chalk drawings along the pavements. At first I thought this was the work of a child but, not exactly. Tom is more nice but dim, shall we say. I mentioned Of Mice and Men in the last episode and this definitely has a George/Lennie relationship going on. I feel like if God was being particularly cruel here he would have had Tom be blind just to complete the set between the two of them. As it is, they form something of an odd couple tag team, Nick is the brains and Tom is the talker...kind of. Even when Nick stumbles across a woman whilst looking for medicine for Tom, his first though is to care for his friend even when this woman is pretty much ripping his pants off within seconds of meeting him because she hasn’t see another guy around here in weeks. And when she starts playing tricks and teasing Tom, Nick isn’t standing for any of that shit and just straight up slaps her across the face. Holy shit, I never knew he had it in him.

Aside from the wholesomeness of these two, there’s just this sense of discovery to the whole episode, people ditching wherever they call home in order to follow their dreams of heading to meet Mother Abbie. It’s like a very strange road trip movie where most of the other cars lay abandoned along the road with their drivers now hanging out of the window, merely corpses or skeletons. It much more feels like everything is getting tied together than in the first episode where we just getting a feel for the different characters and what was going on in the world. Here there’s an overarching sense of purpose being established, everyone needing to converge upon this cornfield in Nebraska for some higher purpose.

It’s uplifting in a way, even if it’s just to build a new community together, all of these survivors will be coming together as one thanks to their shared vision. Only, obviously not everyone has interpreted that vision in the same way so there’s still an ominous feel in the air should Flagg or his minions make their presence felt in future.

#Halloween 2020 #Stephen King #The Stand

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stephenjaymorrisblog · 5 years ago

Photo

1965

(Year One of My Rock & Roll Fandom)

By Stephen Jay Morris

Wednesday. June 12. 2019

Selective memory? Why not? It’s my past and I can review it anyway I want! Yes. I do remember the bad times. Yes. I try to avoid past mistakes. True. Nostalgia is a symptom of depression. I went to my doctor and he prescribed a drug from which I am still withdrawing! You want to know what’s over rated? Modern day. Now! The only people who are happy are narcissists. Technology? Fantastic! Pretty soon a drone will deliver my pizza. I’m still waiting for flying cars. Well? Where in the fuck are they!?

So, let me indulge in my reminiscences of a crappy youth. I may die of natural causes tomorrow. This is my party and it’s freaking me out, baby! You don’t dig old farts? Then flake off!

Every older generation thinks the music they heard in their youth was and is better than that of the present day. I plead guilty. Let’s explore why I feel that way.

A certain musical tone will reflect the character of the times. As recording Technology changes and improves, the tone of music changes. In my youth, analog magnetic tape produced an inimitable sound. In the 50’s, most music was recorded live onto a two-track, stereo tape. In the, 60’s it grew to four-track and was no longer done live. Engineers would overdub recordings onto each individual track. Well, not to go over the evolution of recording, but to put it succinctly, recording went from analog to digital. Hell, you don’t even have to sing well anymore; you’ve got auto tune! Warning: old man whining alert. That is why there aren’t any more requirements for talent. It’s all about sex appeal and fake masculinity and not emoting the lyrics of a song. It’s no longer about art! It’s about being a braggadocios Dandy. Well, you can have it. Not me. I am going back to 1965.

Where do I start? All I need is a list. The science community always said that one’s olfactory is a trigger mechanism to memory. You smell something familiar and you are transported back in time. For me, it’s a song. With every song, comes a memory. Here is an example: Whenever I hear a Four Tops song, like “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch!),” I remember my dad driving my young family to the Natural History Museum in Exposition Park. We would drive through the Black community of South Central Los Angeles to get there. I would see Black kids sitting on stoops of old Craftsman houses, listening to portable radios blasting out that Motown sound. They were engaged in happy conversations or good, old fashioned horseplay. I wanted to get out of the car and join them! Instead, I had to listen to my dad pontificate, like he was some collage professor! I would later learn that he was really stupid and it was all a false front. What I resented was his absolute control of the car radio. We either had to listen to news or a station that played only classical music. Conversely, whenever my mom drove the car, she would tune it to the local pop/rock station. I used to tell my mom I was saving up to buy a Japanese transistor radio. I really was. I had my own piggy bank. In 1963, she bought me a transistor radio for my birthday! For the next two years I would listen to Dodger radio with Vin Scully. Then, I saw the Rolling Stones on the Ed Sullivan Show. I recently looked this up: It aired on a Sunday, October 25, 1964. That would be only time my dad allowed me to watch the Stones on T.V. After that, he would chase me out of the room because of something negative about them he’d read in the newspaper. But, all I needed was that first exposure. I fell in love with Rock & Roll!

I must have spent a lot of chump change on batteries for my handheld radio. The station I listened to the most was 93 KHJ AM. It had the strongest signal in Los Angeles, 1600 Kilocycles. At night, its waves would travel all the way to Utah! Then, there were the DJ’s who had funny pseudonyms like “Machine Gun Kelly,” “Bobby Tripp,” “Robert W. Morgan,” “Sam Riddle,” and the one and only, “Humble Harve.” He would play the most Rolling Stones records than any of the other disk jockeys.

In 1965, radio was popular among teenagers for music listening. Television soon got worried, so they created dance shows to attract the youth market. On the local stations there was “She-Bang,” “Hollywood-A-Go-Go,” and “Boss City.” On the major networks, there was “Shindig,” “Hullabaloo,” and “The Lloyd Thaxton Show.” They all booked musical acts who would come on and lip-synch to their records. They also featured dancers, most of whom looked like mannequins. These shows aired for either 30 minutes or one hour. However, the radio was on 24 hours a day! That was except for holidays. Every Christmas and New Year’s, they played only stupid Christmas music! Radio was everywhere you were! At supermarkets, car garages, public parks, the beach, and just about any place within earshot. I did most of my radio listening in the privacy of my bedroom, with the door locked.

There wasn’t much reading material for Rock fans. There were the teenybopper magazines like “16” and “Tiger Beat.” These consisted mostly of gossip and interviews with the musician of the month, asking such questions as what his favorite color was. I’d glance through it, flipping pages. The only redeeming value of these zines was the photographs, most of which were in black and white. That was the scene in 1965.

I didn’t like all of the music that year. There was this novelty record called, “The Name Game.” It was an American pop song written and performed by Shirley Ellis, as some rhyme game that creates variations on a person's name. You could take anybody’s name and make it rhyme. Here’s an example, using the name “Katie:”

Katie. Katie. bo-batie,

Bonana-fanna fo-fatie,

Fee fi mo-matie

Katie!

It was as an annoying song, especially when my sister sang it!

One thing I can say about the music on A.M. radio was that it had variety! You could hear all types of music. Country & Western, Soul, Motown, Folk-Rock, Jazz, Tex-Mex, British Invasion, Pop, and good old Rock & Roll. There was one country song I remember by Roger Miller. It was called, “King of the Road.” Then, I heard my first “answer song,” meaning the music was the same, but the lyrics had been changed. It was called, “Queen of the House,” by Jody Miller (no relation to Rodger), about the trials and tribulations of being a housewife. There were the double-entendre songs that sounded goofy, and I mean goofy! Their music sounded as if it was produced by a roller rink organ! One was called, “The Birds and the Bees,” by Jewel Akens. It’s about this horny guy, reciting the facts of life to his virgin girlfriend. The music sounded so fibrous and idiotic; you would think the song was about watching clowns at a circus. This next one was a channel changer. When I heard the first five notes, I was out of there! It was called “Yes, I’m Ready,” performed by Barbara Mason. It was lyrically about a young, inexperienced girl who didn’t know how to make love. Of course, the man was going to teach her. Barbara intentionally used a voice inflection that was off-key to sound like she was nervous. It worked! For years, this song had no face to me. I thought some white, nerdy, teenage girl did it. It turned out it was actually recorded by an attractive, Black R&B singer. She later had another hit that made a lot more sense, “Baby, I’m Yours.” I’ll bet her manager put a gun to her head and made her do it! The song did make it into the Top Ten.

Recently, I found a list of the top 100 records from 1965. You know something? I know 98% of the songs listed! Every one evokes a memory.

My mom and our neighbors took turns in car-pooling us kids to school. One morning, we had a sing along in the back seat. We sang Herman’s Hermits’ “Mrs. Brown You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter.” We mimicked their British accents as we sang. In the schoolyard, during lunch period, my classmates broke out in song and sang “The Game of Love” by Wayne Fontana & the Mindbenders. I sang the bass part.

At this time in my life, I was not having a happy childhood. I was a fat kid with braces. It was at this time that I started experiencing panic attacks, but didn’t know what they were. I also had a bad constipation problem, so much so that family and neighbors dreaded me using their toilets! I was doing very badly in school and suffering very low self-esteem. My dad verbally abused me and physically hurt me. School bullies would come after me. I was an uncoordinated fat kid who was fearful of the world. The only thing my dad would say to me was, “Be a man!” Yeah. At the age of 11, I was supposed to be Superman!

My transistor radio was the only refuge I had. Music was my best friend and it consoled me in that extremely difficult time of my life.

So, if I seem sentimental about the music of 1965, it is because I am. I am currently going through a rough patch in my life, and while I lay in bed at night, I revisit the music of 65.

#60's music #baby boomers #rocknroll #motown #poets on tumblr #stephenjaymorris #history

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mysticstorytime · 8 years ago

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Jumin x Saeyoung: Shopping For Love

This is a special request fic for @seulpeun–sonyeo

This is inside one of Jumin’s private dressing rooms. Saeyoung likes to go shopping for dresses rather than just ordering them the way Jumin prefers so Jumin bought a private room for Saeyoung.

“What about this one?” Jumin watches the skirt half of the dress lift off Saeyoung’s skin as he spun. Each rotation lifted it higher occasionally revealing the panties Jumin had chosen for him.

“It doesn’t suit your shape, but otherwise it’s fine,” Jumin frowned sliding his vision up the dress. He locked on the chest area fully aware that space cannot be filled. He didn’t mind; it was the way it fit that bothered him.

“Hmm,” Saeyoung sashayed up to Jumin shaking his hips and lifting the skirt with each step. Jumin adjusted himself in his seat straightening his back and eyeing the man before him.

“What are you doing,” Jumin almost laughed watching his goofy boyfriend dance in the dress. Humming some song that attempted to be sexually appealing, Sae made dramatic dips and twirls.

“Dontcha wish your boyfriend was hot like me,” Saeyoung sang, slowly shedding his shoulders of the strap dipping himself to the ground. He quickly snapped back up returning the strap to its place and gave the dress another strong spin exposing the underwear once more; this time intentionally.

“He was,” Jumin was amused, but the song went straight over his head. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the performance. He admired the way Sae put so much energy into pretending the changing room door was a pole to hang off of and dance against or that the mannequins were partners in his sinful crime.

“What was that, Mr. Han? He is?” Sae raced to Jumin hopping onto his lap. “Exactly who might that be?” Saeyoung straddled Jumin feigning shock and awe. He grabbed Jumin’s tie tugging it playfully wrapping it around his knuckles.

“As I said, he’s just as hot as you are, but my husband is hotter.” Jumin wrapped his arms around Saeyoung who proceeded to bounce playfully.

“Is that so,” Saeyoung dismounted Jumin proceeding to try on more clothes, “good thing I like a little competition.” He dashed into the changing room picking up a piece of black lingerie he knew Mr. Han would find appealing. Sliding out of the dress, Saeyoung eagerly slips the lingerie on. He poses in the mirror, pleased with the way he looks and strides out to Jumin.

Jumin nearly chokes on his wine as Saeyoung slinks out of the dressing room. The lingerie was basically see-through and it ended right below Saeyoung’s hip. He struggled to cover his erection crossing his legs and watching Saeyoung over the edge of his glass. Jumin wanted to trace his lust along Saeyoung’s smooth legs with his teeth and nails, marking him as his own. To hear Saeyoung’s strangled breath as Jumin towered over him fucking him over the edge.

‘Oh ho ho, I’ve got your attention now,’ Saeyoung slid his hands up his body accentuating his curves and exposing otherwise covered skin. “Oh, Jumin, what do you think of this,” Saeyoung got down on all fours crawling towards Jumin. Saeyoung couldn’t wait to have Jumin take him again. His mind danced in and out of possibilities making his heart race. He leaned back in his chair as Saeyoung made a show of posing on the floor and sucking his forefinger. He then slid the finger in his ass moving in and out slowly.

“Excuse me,” Just as Jumin was growing increasingly intrigued by his husband’s performance, his phone rang. The caller ID revealed Assistant Kang and several missed text messages. “ I have to take this,” Jumin nodded in Saeyoung’s direction then turned to answer the phone. “Yes, Assistant Kang?”

Jumin answered the phone cool and composed occasionally glancing at the lingerie that refused to cover any part of Saeyoung. Meanwhile, his husband wanted to play and was in no way deterred by the sudden business call. He removed his finger balling up the lace in his fist. He pouted determined to have Jumin.

“Yoo hoo, Mr. Businessman,” Saeyoung bent over in front of Jumin presenting his ass and panties. “Mr. Businessman, I need to be reprimanded for my poor work ethic. Spank me~.” Saeyoung spanked himself twice letting out a few fake moans. He pulled his underwear down a little tapping his cheeks to encourage Jumin to do the same. Jumin watched in the corner of his eye but did not end the call. Undeterred, Saeyoung persisted in attaining Jumin’s attention by running up to a mannequin and proclaiming his love for it.

“Oh, Mr. Mannequin, at least you care about me,” with a hmph, Saeyoung wrapped one leg around the plastic man feigning a passion he wanted to give to Jumin. “Take me, Mr. Mannequin!!” He gave the mannequin a hard exaggerated kiss running his hands all around its frame.

“Assitant Kang, please find a solution without me. I will…yes…,” Jumin eyed Saeyoung for making such a ruckus while he was on the phone, “I will attend to that later. Very well. Goodbye, Assistant Kang.” Jumin hung up the phone turning it off and placing it next to the glass of wine on the small table and turned to Saeyoung. He rose from the chair and walked calmly to Saeyoung, a fierce spark in his eye.

“Huh? Jumin, what are you-,” Saeyoung’s body collided with the wall beside the dressing room door. His face was smooshed against the cold wood while Jumin busied himself with the panties that clung to Saeyoung’s ass. He tugged the fabric out and snapped it on Saeyoung’s skin enjoying the soft gasp that dripped from his lips.

“Above your head,” Jumin growled in Saeyoung’s ear biting the lobe, “that’s not a request, Mr. Han.” Saeyoung lifted his arms above his head which were immediately seized in Jumin’s grip. The other hand slithered its way beneath the lingerie cupping Saeyoung’s cock.

“Hey, you shouldn’t play with things you don’t know how to handle,” Saeyoung chuckled nervously as Jumin’s warm breath blanketed his neck. His hand traveled up and down Saeyoung’s abdomen dragging his nails over his skin. Jumin loved that shuddering breath and that tiny whimper that begged for him. Jumin bit down along Saeyoung’s neck to his shoulder dragging out those breathy yelps he adored so much.

“Fine,” Jumin released Saeyoung turning him around and pushing him to his knees, “you show me.” His voice was husky and low. Saeyoung gazed up at Jumin’s feral eyes and smug grin. His expression was wild which only made this that much hotter.

He wrapped his hands around Jumin’s member twisting his hands around it. His eyes never left his husband’s with each tantalizing lick as he lapped up the precum. Saeyoung ran the tip along his lips before taking the head in. He sucked hungrily, pressing the tip of his tongue against the head.

Jumin grit his teeth watching Saeyoung take his sweet time to suck him off. His body burned and he needed Saeyoung to hurry up, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he had done; flashing those panties that squeezed his ass to a perfect plumpness in his face and wearing the translucent lingerie

Saeyoung watched his husband suffer long enough eventually taking the entirety of his cock into his mouth. His hands gripped Jumin’s hips as he bobbed his head up and down Jumin’s length. With each bob, Saeyoung took more and more of him until eventually, Jumin’s tip reached the back of Saeyoung’s throat. He moaned around the cock sucking his cheeks in to squeeze against Jumin.

Jumin clutched Saeyoung’s cherry red hair from the scalp to guide him along his length. It felt so great to be inside Saeyoung this way; hot and tight, Saeyoung was trying to suck the cum out of him. He grunted knowing he was too close for comfort to continue this. Saeyoung’s tongue slid along the underside of his cock coaxing out his semen. Jumin prepared to fill Saeyoung’s mouth up holding his cock inside Saeyoung’s mouth. Sae fought Jumin trying to pull his head away but it was too late. Jumin bucked, spurting his warm seed into Saeyoung’s throat.

“Good boy,” Jumin slowly removed himself watching the semen pool out of Saeyoung’s mouth. He looked down watching Saeyoung gag and cough as cum and drool spilled down his chin. Saeyoung wiped his face with his hands swallowing some of what was already too far down his throat.

“Hey,” Saeyoung called for Jumin as he tried to walk away, “what about me?” He gestured to his erection poking out of his underwear. Jumin chuckled sitting back down in the chair and lifting his glass of wine.

“Why don’t you ask that mannequin?”

#juciel #juyoung #saemin #i dont know all the ship names #im trying here #jumin han #saeyoung choi #luciel choi #707 #special request

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