#Biting my desk brb | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moxfirefly · 4 years ago

Note

How about #25: can you help me with the zipper? And #35 spanking with our favorite purple genius?? Spice things up lol

👁👄👁 I am-

Y’all heathens, I’m more than happy to.

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

Stepping into the Lair you took in the serene and quiet atmosphere. It was late, very late to be honest but work parties can get pretty crazy after all. Regardless it had been fun, tiresome but fun.

Originally you were going to go home and crawl under the duvet for about ten years if possible.

But you missed Donatello.

You couldn’t drag him anywhere and while sometimes you wish you could it wasn’t best to dwell on it. Heels in hand you patted through the living room area and into his lab where you could hear him speaking. Judging by the time you figured he was doing his part time job. He had picked up the thing out of pure boredom and to actually have some income for future supplies. It was child’s play for him, with nothing too above his skill set. Usually you sat and listened to the colorful array of clients and had a good laugh while doing so.

Most times you liked just hearing him giving the step by steps of things, or how he remotely accessed the person’s computer to fix the issue himself. His distaste over viruses and worms while he angrily typed away. So what? You were hella in love, the mutant terrapin had slithered his way into your heart.

But you kinda wanted him to slide in your pants, or well dress.

You entered his room with sly smile, Donnie was bouncing a little ball while he spoke in his best ‘customer service voice’ as you liked to joke about. He gave you a tired smile, bouncing the ball towards you which you caught. “Well sir, if you in the near future receive an email stating some prince from Asia is trying to protect his rubies it’s adviced that you don’t give out your social security number” He briefly muted the microphone. “Hey beautiful” He greeted you as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“That ruby scam is honestly my favorite of this week” Came your muffled words, Donnie chuckled and rubbed your back. “He’s called me every name under the sun, brb” He clicked a button on his headset and kept up his polite tone. Reluctantly you let go of him and placed the little bouncy ball on his desk. “Can you help me with the zipper?” You whispered at him to which he happily obliged.

Giving a set of easy to follow steps to the nasty customer, Donnie gripped the delicate zipper and gently pulled it down. His gaze followed each patch of soft skin being reveleaed to him, which he couldn’t help himself but touch. You felt the palm of his hand on the middle of your back, the sweet gentle caress made you roll your neck until it popped a few times. As he continued his argument with the customer he let both hands wander, kneading the flesh presented to him, much to your delight.

“I’m more than happy to remove those viruses but the rest has to be solved with your bank, in the mean time I’ll email you a forum to fill out about the incident while I work on this” Donnie’s voice could be described as a verbal version of an eye roll, so much sass he possessed. Again he muted the microphone and sighed. “Men truly are stupid,” He gripped the straps of your dress and pushed them aside and down your body they slid. “I’m glad that even as a large mutant man you can accept that” The two of you chuckled.

You felt his lips on your exposed back and caught the small inhale he took of your scent. “Where’s your bra?” He peaked over your shoulder and made a soft surprise sound. “The lines ruin the dress so I put these nifty little cups on” You grabbed his mug of coffee and took a generous sip.

Then you felt him tap your rear.

“You gotta learn to share your coffee, babe” You smirked at his disapproving noise, he could be quite greedy with his caffeinated beverages. “I share, but I’ve seen you chug my coffee before” He sat back down on his swivel chair and shamelessly ogled you.

Donnie’s hand landed on your rear, palm caressing the left cleft of your cheek. “Shifts would be a lot more exciting if this is what I had to look at all night” He gripped the flesh, enjoying the silky material of your underwear. Looking over your shoulder you raised an eyebrow at him, not minding in the very least his ministrations.

Not even when he let go only to smack your bottom with a little more force, enough to make you grip the table for support. “Jerk, you get handsy when you’re running on three hours of sleep” You placed your palms on the table, leaning a somewhat forward and giving him a better view of your bottom. “Five actually, managed a nap” He pulled your underwear down to your surprise and leaned in to give the reddened flesh a soft kiss.

Then he gave a series of much harder taps, nothing to brash for it to be loud but enough to make you bite your lip. “You haven’t clocked out, you know?” You wiggled your rear to tease him, enjoying the happy content sigh that escaped him. “I’m supposedly fixing the mess this guy has on his computer,” He gave your rear two more hits before gripping the burning flesh. “But this is way more exciting” The outline of his hand on your bottom made him smile, job well done in his mind.

He pulled you back onto his lap, back to his plastron and used his own legs to keep yours spread. That delightfully merciless hand of his gripped your core, the warmth making him hungrier with anticipation. “Don,” You sighed his name enjoying the lazy outline he mapped out around your core.

Then he switched the mic back on, your eyes widened. He greeted a new customer with the usual name of the company and his name just as he spread your lips. “I’m sorry to hear you’re having difficulties with your new system ma’am” You wiggled in his grasp trying to glare at him but could only muffle your sounds when said digit dipped inside. Your back arched as he thrusted indolently, enjoying each squirm and quiet gasp. “I’m goin to walk you through some basic steps if it’s alright with you” He spoke dangerously close to your ear, tongue sneaking out to lick the shell of your ear.

You almost moaned right next to the mic of his headset.

It was torturous.

The call was reaching the half hour mark from what you could see on his computer and by now he was fully rubbing your clit. You prayed the wet noises couldn’t be heard through the call. Each swipe made your toes curl, sweat had already broken out on your skin and you had bitten down on the inside of your cheek with enough force for it to throb with pain. You knew you wouldn’t last long, and the feeling of Donnie’s hard on against your rear was driving you crazy. You smacked his thigh signaling him you weren’t going to make it.

“Ma’am Im going to be placing you on a brief hold, thank you and my apologies” He muted the mic quickly and grinned when your body went stiff. “OhFUCK!” You gave a loud and lengthy shakey moan as Donnie continued to rub you through your orgasm. He pressed his lips against your cheek, tapping your sensitive nub, clearly entertained with each tremble you gave. “I think you’re the happiest customer I’ve ever had while working” You chuckled breathless, smacking his leg again.

“God you’re such a jerk! They could’ve heard me” Your cheeks flushed embarrassed. “Half the fun if you ask me” He whispered it across your skin as you felt him shove his sweats away then lift you by your thighs. Your eyes nearly bugged out, he couldn’t possibly...?

He entered you, the position making it a tight fit and causing the two of you to moan.

“Can’t make a peep, darling” He thrusted lazily upwards. “Don- theresOH- don’t switch back to the ca-“ You covered your mouth when he unmuted the call.

“Sorry for the delay ma’am, as I was explaining” He cleared his throat, feeling the effects but recuperating quickly. His hips moved lazily, hands gripping the backs of your knees firmly. You caught a glimpse of his blissed out face through the monitor, god you bit down on your bottom lip and moved with him.

You were in for a long shift.

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello x female reader #donnie tmnt #donatello tmnt #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #Donatello #Donnie #smut prompt #ask #scholastic dragon #ns*w

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the-haunted-office · 2 years ago

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You can hold the boomslang. His name is Little Guy. Anyway im gonna go kill a blonde guy with a bucket hat brb.

"Excuse me, wh- Hey, wait, what are you- You can't just hand me a venomous snake and run off like that!!!" Thursday shouts after the Anon.

She then just stands there, staring at the snake sitting in her hands.

"Okay. Uhhhh. That happened. Okay, Little Guy, is there anything I can do to perhaps, um, convince you to not bite me? I mean, fair enough, I'll respawn when I die, but that doesn't mean I want to go around being bitten by venomous snakes and having my blood pour out of every orifice. Uhhhh. Would you like to, um, perhaps sit down over here by the window? Oh! How about inside this desk drawer?"

Thursday carefully attempts to maneuver the snake so that it will climb into an open desk drawer so she can shut it behind it. Hopefully she doesn't get bitten in the interim.

#anonymous ask #⭐ Thursday

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kbstories · 4 years ago

Text

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Kamino Arc, Kidnapping & Aftermath, Hurt/Comfort, Bakugou Gets A Hug

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Content warning for kidnapping, aftermath of violence. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

i’m gonna die (sent 19:08)

no seriously i’m this 👌🏻 close to losing it bro (sent 19:08)

aizawa’s voice is so zzzz and it’s like sir,, i’m begging,,,, (sent 19:09)

a little bit of energy. just a little bit (sent 19:09)

A nudge to his side, somewhat urgent.

shit brb (sent 19:10)

“Dude.”

Kirishima keeps his voice down to a hiss, shooting a glance at Aizawa’s turned back just in case. Hidden behind his pencil case, his phone shows Bakugou has read his messages – near-immediately, as always – before Kirishima locks the screen. His own face is reflected on sleek, innocent black.

Next to him, Kaminari is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Don’t dude me, dude”, he whispers back. “Texting in Aizawa’s class? D’you have a death wish?”

Next to Kaminari, Mina leans over her desk, clearly curious and uncaring of her notes crinkling quietly under her elbows. “You? Kiri, paragon of wholesomeness and sunshine, breaking the rules? Lemme guess, it’s because of Bakugou.”

Next to Mina, Sero joins the fray with a muted headshake. “So brave yet so reckless. Truly inspiring.”

“You can say that again. That guy’s scary, man.” That’s Kaminari again. He leans in conspiratorially, nodding at Kirishima’s phone. “You got Blasty’s number? How? He almost bit my head off when I invited him to the 1-A chat.”

“Uh, yeah? We’re besties. But guys…”

If they were anywhere else, Kirishima would let out a whine. All he wanted to do was keep himself awake by texting his bro, is that such a crime? Especially since Bakugou’s the only one of ‘em who is actually allowed out there, where the fun stuff is happening. It’s downright cruel to have a new challenge dangled in front of their eyes like the juiciest steak only to be dragged away to the equivalent of plain steamed broccoli. Or something.

Point is: Kirishima’s bored enough he could cry and Aizawa, bless his insomnia-plagued soul, is making it about a thousand times worse with his monotone mumbling while he continues to write whatever-the-fuck in chalk to illustrate his point.

Three mouths open simultaneously in what Kirishima knows will be a too-loud bout of teasing – a frantic gesture of his hand to shut up, shut up, shut up has identical grins bursting on his friends’ faces.

Grins that disappear the instant the familiar sense of Aizawa’s quirk washes over them. Uh oh.

Aizawa doesn’t even have to say anything. Not even a brief pause registers in his lecture yet Kirishima snaps to attention so hard his buttcheeks clench as he furiously scribbles down what’s on the board. Some sort of… diagram? (It’ll make sense later, Kirishima hopes. And if it doesn’t, there’s always his equally draconic tutor-slash-best-friend he can poke into helping him eventually.)

After a semester at U.A., everyone in 1-A is whipped enough that not a single word is breathed between them for a good fifteen minutes. Aizawa talks, they take notes.

Then the adrenaline wears off and Kirishima finds himself drifting once more, fingers automatically flicking the home button. There, over Crimson Riot’s confident grin, three new messages.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

pay attention (received 19:14)

ffs (received 19:14)

hope aizawa murdered your ass (received 19:16)

No surprises there. Well, the fact that Bakugou has deigned to reply just before a training exercise kind of is, and he even triple-texted which makes a sappy part of Kirishima’s brain think he must’ve rubbed off on him over the past months. The day Bakugou Katsuki discovers emojis can’t be far off now and it will be Kirishima’s greatest achievement to date.

He bites his lip to suppress an amused noise at that. Ignoring the incredulous stare from Kaminari to his right, Kirishima types.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

haha! i lived bitch (sent 19:32)

minus the bitch askdjfhsk sry (sent 19:32)

i’m just tired af lol (sent 19:32)

how’s things on ur end tho? (sent 19:34)

no asses left unkicked i’m sure (sent 19:34)

👊🏻💥💥 (sent 19:35)

Kirishima gets about a solid second to feel good about furthering his pro-emoji agenda before his phone is snatched away by rigid, white cloth. Wide-eyed, his gaze is met by a flat expression that exudes more exhaustion than any human should rightfully have to feel.

“Kirishima”, Aizawa says, as calm as ever. “How kind of you to lend me your attention.”

Lord have mercy. Whichever hell Aizawa is about to unleash on him, Kirishima will be in it for a while. And when that’s over, it’ll be Bakugou’s turn to have a field day with it.

Somehow, Kirishima is actually looking forward to that last part.

Then, a voice rings out in their heads. Aizawa jumps into motion. The villains strike.

Afterwards, all Kirishima can do is stand there and watch the forest burn. His phone is silent, held between fingers that won’t stop trembling no matter what he does. He unlocks, checks, locks, only to do it all over again a few minutes or seconds later.

Around him, everything is spinning out of control. Reality is too loud, too bright, already overwhelming where it waits to be acknowledged beyond the soothing green interface of his chat with Bakugou.

The messages are still there. Marked read until they aren’t, and Kirishima stares at that subtle difference like it’s the last thing tethering him to the ground. Blue tick, his best friend is fine. Grey tick–

Bakugou let Kirishima take a photo of him, once. Kirishima had complained about his profile picture being that creepy default silhouette, especially once they started texting on a daily basis. So Bakugou sighed and leaned over the tiny table of the café, his chin propped on one hand and his coffee in the other. He’d kept still just long enough for the shutter to go off and called him a clingy bastard right after.

In the soft morning light, there’d been something warm in his typical glare. It’s still there, tucked away in the top left corner of the screen. Fond, red eyes, looking straight at Kirishima ever since.

Higher and higher, the flames reach for the sky with greedy, cobalt fingers, bright enough to take the stars with them. And Bakugou?

Bakugou is gone.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

hey (sent 23:01)

it’s a long shot but (sent 23:03)

are u there? (sent 23:03)

these are going thru so ur phone is on and i thought (sent 23:08)

idk (sent 23:08)

please respond man (sent 23:37)

please (sent 23:58)

katsuki? (sent 00:40)

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

fuck (sent 3:24)

Bakugou Katsuki

um (sent 6:13)

the pros asked for ur number to track it and stuff so i gave it to them (sent 6:13)

turns out almost nobody has it?? so like (sent 6:20)

if u want a new one after all this it’s on me (sent 6:21)

pls don’t be mad haha (sent 6:21)

fuck that actually (sent 7:05)

be as mad as u want baku (sent 7:06)

u can do whatever ok? when u come back (sent 7:09)

free pass. i won’t guard this time (sent 7:09)

just come back (sent 8:00)

they’re looking for u so u gotta come back (sent 8:02)

Baku 💣💥

sry i just (sent 19:55)

ok still going thru (sent 19:55)

that’s good right? (sent 19:57)

i need it to be good (sent 20:05)

yeah (sent 20:06)

Baku 💣💥

it’s saturday (sent 2:33)

please be ok (sent 4:46)

i miss u (sent 5:00)

Baku 💣💥

we’re on our way katsuki (sent 12:45)

just hold on we’re coming for u (sending…)

wait (sending…)

oh (sending…)

Bakugou is quiet.

When all is said and done, injuries patched up and police statements given, Kirishima waits and Bakugou looks… tired. Small. Glancing back at the precinct with eyes a little too wide, a little too hesitant to truly belong to him.

Whatever he’s searching, if he finds it or not – Kirishima can only guess as Bakugou’s shoulders slump further and he mutters, “Let’s just go.”

In retrospect, he was probably talking to his parents. The Bakugous came for their son in a car as expensive as they come, white with chrome highlights and an interior clad entirely in tasteful, beige leather; it’s an aesthetic that’s the antithesis to Katsuki’s. Their expressions are full of love, though, brows drawn in concern carefully left unspoken. His father opens the back door for him first, going for his own in the front, while his mother ruffles Bakugou’s hair within the one-second-window he allows for the touch before shrugging it off.

“Welcome back, brat. We missed ya.”

Familiar phrases laden with far too much weight. From the outside in, it’s just that: Mildly exasperated parents picking up their kid after some school thing that dragged on into the night, or perhaps a late hangout with a friend. No one acknowledges the nightmare-ish three days they’ve left behind by the merit of time passing and the world spinning on and nothing else – the countless people injured or dead, an entire district torn asunder in a conflict much bigger than any of them, especially Bakugou.

Bakugou, who shuffles onto the backseat without saying much of anything. It’s only after Kirishima trails after him and Bakugou’s eyes meet his own over his shoulder that Kirishima realizes that’s what he’s doing.

Then Bakugou’s gaze softens and he kicks the door of the car open wider. “Um”, Kirishima pipes up, the noise of keys clinking together drawing his attention to one Bakugou Mitsuki. “Is it okay if I…?”

She snorts and ruffles his hair, too. “Kid, after what you did tonight, a ride home is the least I can do for ya. C’mon.”

Kirishima bows politely, a mumble of “Thanks, ma’am” waved away immediately. A moment later, Kirishima’s hand is being grabbed and he’s dragged inside. “Get a move on”, Bakugou mumbles, staring pointedly until Kirishima rights himself and digs for the seatbelt with his free hand. The click of the clasp snapping in is oddly loud in the ensuing silence.

It doesn’t last. The moment the engine purrs to life and the lights go off, a heavy guitar riff screeches from cleverly hidden speakers in perfect surround sound and Kirishima jumps. He’s the only one in the car to do so.

“Whoops, my bad”, says Bakugou’s mom as she turns the music down the slightest amount, her smirk – so familiar and yet not – clearly visible in the rear-view mirror. Next to her, Bakugou’s dad chuckles and shakes his head.

Bakugou himself is turned towards the window, the hand against his chin barely hiding the tiny smirk there. Kirishima lets him have it. Anything that’ll replace that lost expression from earlier is good in his books.

“So. Eijirou, right? Nice to finally meet ya.” Mrs. Bakugou checks in with him via the mirror. Her hand rests on the gear selector. “Where to? We’ll bring you home first. I’m sure your parents are worried.”

And oh fuck, Kirishima hasn’t even thought that far ahead yet. When he snuck out of the house a lifetime ago, all his mind was able to process was getting to Bakugou, saving Bakugou, bringing Bakugou back. As much as both his mothers are angels in their own right, they’re also easily worried and twice as buff as him. There haven’t been many occasions which called for them to throw down for their son but they totally would if given half the chance.

If they catch wind of even a fraction of what Kirishima got up to tonight, someone will have to pay. Kirishima’s willing to bet his most prized, limited-edition Crimson Riot figurine that that someone will end up being all of U.A., nationally famous pro heroes or not.

Before any of that can make it out of his mouth, Kirishima’s hand is squeezed and… Oh. Bakugou’s still holding it. Their skin isn’t touching; Kirishima’s sleeve has been pulled down to prevent that.

(It’s one of those things Bakugou does, tracking who and what gets in direct contact with his sweat and how to neutralize it in time. It makes Kirishima’s chest ache that, despite everything that happened, he is still aware of small things like that.)

“He’s crashing at ours tonight”, Bakugou tells his parents rather gruffly. Still looking out the window like there’s nothing unusual about that at all, and Kirishima gapes at him in complete and utter surprise. Bakugou’s grip only tightens.

“Got a problem with that?”

Just like that, Kirishima finds himself able to process speech. “Nope! Not at all. Uh, that is– Mrs. Bakugou, Mr. Bakugou, can I?”

Bakugou’s parents look similarly caught off-guard. To their credit, they merely blink and look at each other, shrugging. Again, it’s the mother who speaks. “That’s Mitsuki and Masaru to you, kid. Let’s go home, then.”

And that’s that. They set off, the car’s movement a quiet thrum that’s drowned out by complicated drum solos and vocals barely scraping past outright growling. Any other day, Kirishima would’ve been ecstatic to finally get to meet the Bakugous. He’d hoard bits and pieces of knowledge about them – such as the fact that Katsuki’s taste in music runs in the family, what the hell – like a dragon does gold coins. The notion that Bakugou invited him to their first sleep-over ever would be the biggest treasure on that pile, for sure.

Because Bakugou Katsuki is anything if not cautious: with his quirk, with his time, with his trust. Because, after days of pacing his room and worrying himself sick and crying until exhaustion took him out, their plan worked.

They pulled it off, Bakugou is back and alive, and Kirishima’s allowed to stay by his side a little bit longer.

He’s here because Bakugou wants him to be and that… feels better than Kirishima can properly put into words. So, no, he doesn’t boast about it, he doesn’t have the energy to – but Kirishima notes and appreciates it nonetheless, relief forming a ball of warmth and light that radiates within him like a tiny sun got stuck between his lungs and his heart. Bit by bit, it melts the tension off Kirishima’s bones until all he can grasp is the steady presence of Bakugou’s hand in his and how heavy his eyelids feel.

Kirishima could sleep for a week straight and still crave a nap afterwards. Probably.

There’s something he has to do before he crashes, though. With a gentle squeeze, he frees his hand to grab his phone and winces at the dozens of unread messages and missed calls that greet him. Both the group he has with his family as well as the one for 1-A have been running hot most of the night, reducing his battery to a pitiful 12%.

Opening up the chat with his moms, Kirishima scrolls to the bottom of the increasingly worried barrage of texts and hesitates, his fingers hovering over the keypad. Once he starts typing, he’ll have about a minute before shit really hits the fan.

💪🏻Kirishima Power 💪🏻

guys i’m so sorry!!! (sent 21:58)

i know ur worried and stuff and i swear i’ll explain later ok?? (sent 21:58)

just wanna let u know i’m safe!! staying over at baku’s tonight (sent 21:58)

he’s here and safe too (sent 21:58)

🙏🏻🙏🏻 (sent 21:59)

He pauses then, reading that last part over and over again. Safe. Safe, safe, safe. A smile cracks Kirishima’s lips apart and it remains there, steadfast through the flood of new messages rolling in.

Bakugou’s room is both everything Kirishima expected it to be and at the same time… not.

It’s huge, for one, the typical bed-wardrobe-desk setup expanded by a couch and a beanbag, a TV with a variety of game systems hooked up to it, a handful of shelves filled to the brim with books and manga and oh, a whole freaking drum set taking up a corner by itself. The walls are plastered with band posters and signed set lists and – less blatant but still there – the odd All Might merch Kirishima knows Bakugou would strangle him for mentioning, so he doesn’t.

What comes out of his mouth is: “Dude! I didn’t know you played drums. That’s so cool!”

Everything is kept in the triad of black-orange-green Kirishima recognizes from a certain hero costume. A few discarded shirts aside, it’s really tidy. So much so that Kirishima feels ashamed of the state of his own room just by seeing this.

The feeling is compounded by Bakugou picking up those shirts and throwing them in the hamper first thing, a quiet tch indicating he’s annoyed by it. Kirishima isn’t up to outing himself as an unrepentant walking mess in comparison – instead, he makes a beeline for the bookshelf with the manga, eyes drawn to a row of covers he’d recognize in a heartbeat.

“Wha– I’ve been looking for these for ages! They’re sold out every time I try to catch up on ‘em.”

A short glance at Bakugou is answered with a shrug and an eye-roll: It’s Bakugou-speak for do whatever the hell you want. Kirishima pulls out the volume he stopped at and leafs through it.

It’s meant as a distraction for Bakugou, a space for him to drop the put-together façade and breathe without people constantly fussing over him. It’s honestly what Kirishima would rather be doing right now (exploring his best bro’s room be damned) but it’s not what Bakugou needs. Well, what Kirishima thinks he needs.

It’s hard to get a read on him without the constant snark and pointed glares. With some dinner in their bellies and Bakugou’s parents now safely downstairs, the expression that fits nowhere on the Angry Bakugou Face catalogue is back. Kind of uncomfortable and so… absent.

Kirishima is really starting to hate that expression.

It’s entirely accidental that Kirishima actually gets into reading. One chapter turns to three, turns to five, and the troubles and worries whirling ever-tighter in his chest ease for a bit until–

Woosh. A soft, balled-up something knocks against the back of his head. Kirishima startles and almost drops the manga, a vaguely alarmed noise stopped short by the sight of Bakugou in sweats and a well-worn, black shirt. His hair is wet. Wild as ever. At Kirishima’s feet: A similar outfit including a towel.

“Bathroom’s that way. Leave your clothes out by the door, I got special detergent for the nitro. Shampoo and shit’s in the shower, there’s a toothbrush for you by the sink. Use it.”

Kirishima opens his mouth.

Bakugou sighs. “It’s just a fucking toothbrush, Kiri. Wreck it for all I care.”

Kirishima closes his mouth. He nods. His phone is quickly dug out of his pocket and set aside, then he slips out to shower.

A good fifteen minutes later, he opens the door to let out a gust of steam and sees his clothes are gone. The hallway is empty, half-lit by the light coming from downstairs. The Bakugous have been as nonchalant about their spontaneous guest as Bakugou himself; even so, Kirishima tries not to linger or make too much noise as he sneaks back to Bakugou’s room.

“Baku. I’m back.”

Bakugou gives him a grunt of acknowledgement from where he’s fitting some sheets over the couch, folded out to provide a decently sized bed. There’s a pillow and a pile of blankets next to him, wrapped in fresh linen as well. It’s unlikely he’s stopped doing stuff since Kirishima left and if he is about ready to crash in five to ten minutes, he can’t imagine how Bakugou is doing right now.

Y’know, the guy who just survived being kidnapped by Japan’s newest and most notorious villain menace. No amount of pretense can make that simple fact undone.

Kirishima pads over to help, the offer to take over already on his lips but– Too late. The last corner is already being tucked in and laid flat with grim-faced efficiency. Left with nothing else to do, Kirishima sits down on the very edge, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the hem of his borrowed shirt. There’s some sort of band logo on it, an English word written in that typical death-metal-font that looks like someone dumped a bunch of white sticks in a pile and called it a day.

It’s soft. A little loose and frayed around the edges.

“Hey, Baku?”

Taking the blankets, Bakugou dumps them in Kirishima’s lap. “Mh?” He makes to step away and Kirishima doesn’t think, just reaches out and catches the back of his shirt.

“Dude, seriously. Just… sit down for a minute. Please?”

And Bakugou… listens. He stops, he frowns at Kirishima for a moment like he’s trying to figure out what his deal is, he sighs like he’s been presented with the world’s most aggravating puzzle – and then he tells Kirishima to scooch. “What? I’m not gonna sit on the fucking floor”, he says.

Kirishima can’t keep the relief off his face as he gladly makes room on the couch, leaning against its arm and tucking his legs in. Once Bakugou has settled, cross-legged with an elbow propped on the backrest, Kirishima throws the blanket over both of ‘em. Might as well get comfortable while they still can.

“Okay.” He steels himself with a long, slow breath. “I know you hate this kinda thing and we’re both tired and… stuff. Still, though: Are you okay?”

Bakugou gives him a look, which– Okay, fair. It’s a dumb question with an obvious answer. Kirishima doesn’t back down, though, humming to buy himself some time to rephrase.

“Like… It’s fine if you’re not. Okay, I mean. And if you’d rather go the fuck to bed and not think about this for a while that’s fine, too. But that was pretty rough and you’ve been, um, quiet. And stuff. So, I’m kinda worried. Y’know?”

Kirishima pauses. A bit lower, he mumbles: “And I missed you. So yeah.”

At some point, he dropped his gaze to his hands, limp and useless in his lap. Kirishima swore not to be a coward anymore but it’s hard, to speak and ask about things in full awareness he has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

All he wants is for Bakugou to be okay. That’s all that matters, at the end of a day like this.

“I’m not”, Bakugou says, tentatively. Like he’s making up his mind as he goes. “I’m not gonna waste your time with ‘I’m fine’. I’m not. This shit’s fucked up.” And again he sighs, sounding so fucking tired Kirishima’s heart squeezes in sympathy.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days; my shoulders are killing me from using my quirk and sitting chained to that stupid chair and whatever the fuck else. The League scouted me specifically because they thought I’d make a good villain and fuck them for that. Fuck them. But it’s just… It’s whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

Whatever Kirishima expected, it’s not that. He looks up and into Bakugou’s eyes and–

He can’t mean that, can he? Kirishima searches his face for evidence to the contrary, traces the tension around Bakugou’s mouth and the exhaustion smudged under his eyes and the line between his brows, growing deeper under Kirishima’s scrutiny. It all reads defeat. It hurts.

They won, right? A childish voice within Kirishima can’t help but cling to that even as he looks back down. They won, and things are supposed to get better when you win.

“People got hurt. People died, Kiri. Heroes, too.” Bakugou takes a shaky breath, a hand going to his hair and rubbing it roughly. “Fucking… Best Jeanist was there and nobody at the precinct wanted to tell me if he’s alive or dead or what. All of Kamino Ward is fucking gone and All Might–”

Bakugou’s voice cracks right down the middle and it hurts. Like there’s a beast tearing through Kirishima’s chest to rip out his heart and throw it to the floor, stubbornly beating as it bleeds out.

Kirishima wants to say something. Anything. All he can hear is Bakugou’s breathing but it’s all wrong, off-rhythm and thread-bare and upset, and any doubt what that means is erased as Bakugou’s hand clenches on the sheets and he sniffs, wet on the exhale.

“Baku–”

“Don’t. Kiri, don’t–”

He’s always been like that, ordering him around and demanding things when politeness dictates to ask for them instead. His tone is as close to pleading as Kirishima’s ever heard from Bakugou, though, and it twists him up inside to the point he feels distantly nauseous.

“Don’t look.” Bakugou isn’t supposed to sound like that. Not now, not ever. “Okay? Don’t f-fucking– Don’t look at me right now.”

“Okay”, Kirishima says. “I won’t.” His own voice is a mess as well, trembling all over the place. “I won’t, Nitro. I won’t.”

You’re safe, is what he wants to tell him. It’s okay, you’re safe now. That’s not what Bakugou is asking of him. Kirishima can’t stop himself from crying because it’s always been hard not to when the people he loves are doing it, but… He tries. For Bakugou, he’ll always try.

Through eyes heavily clouded by tears, he sees Bakugou’s hand tighten, knuckles going white and bloodless. Painfully tense, and Kirishima can’t stand the sight of that, either.

He shuffles a little closer to place his hand over that fist, careful to only touch the back of Bakugou’s hand. Kirishima whispers, “I’m here”, and Bakugou audibly swallows. He lets him slip his fingers in-between his own.

Holding on, just as he did in the car and when they met in mid-air, that desperate instance that decided whether he would make it out alive or not.

Bakugou holds on even as he breaks for good and his shoulders shake with his sobs. As he continues to breathe in gulps of air that sound strangled and desperate, through tears that leave a pattern of uneven dots on the blanket. By morning they will be gone without a trace: The sun will come up, the world will continue to travel around it, and time will reveal the road they walk on as they walk it, step by step by step.

Just because it’s meant to pass doesn’t make this moment any less real. Any less important. Kirishima sits there and listens to his best friend cry. He remembers days spent without him and the mad dash to save him. He thinks of dumb questions and obvious answers.

It’s hard to tell if this is one of them, so he gathers all his courage and asks: “Katsuki. Can I hug you?”

Just like last time, Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He laughs, a watery, humorless thing – and he pulls at Kirishima’s shirt to crush him to his chest. His arms wind around Kirishima’s neck, Bakugou’s face pressing against his hair where Kirishima won’t be able to see him.

It’s fine. Kirishima’s great at hugs; he can totally work with that. Clenching his eyes shut, he adjusts his grip around Bakugou’s waist so he can rub his back, following the bumps of his spine. Up and down, over and over. Bakugou goes boneless in their embrace, not about to let go anytime soon and neither will Kirishima.

Eventually, Kirishima tucks his head against Bakugou’s shoulder, blinking sleep from his eyes. Safe. He doesn’t fight the sharp-toothed smile on his lips. Bakugou mumbles, “Fucking sap”, nearly drowned out by their collective sniffling.

It sounds a whole lot like thank you. Kirishima’s smile only grows.

>>Chapter 5

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kiribaku #bnha fanfiction #hi kamino still makes me emo: the manifesto #this fic is also on AO3!!#reblogs appreciated c:#my stuff

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shiftytracts · 3 years ago

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a woman in a buttoned cardigan over a loose dress containing a bloated, gurgling belly she’s proud of—not outright flaunting, but not hiding either, as she sort of enjoys the prospect of someone noticing it and finding it as funny-looking as she does. she’s at some kind of social event, for her work or for a hobby or maybe someone’s birthday party. there are whole tables of snacks here—mostly sweets. and she’s got kind of a reputation as a connoisseur (maybe her career or side hustle involves baking or judging food), so everyone wants her opinion on whichever snack they made. she loves getting to flatter people, and loves being flattered in this way too.

so she has had a lot of sweets, in the last half hour, or hour, or two hours, or however long it’s been since she got here; she tends to lose track of time in these situations, especially when she’s also had a drink or two. so many sweets her stomach feels all rumbly and kinda sour. she wishes there were more places to sit down; everywhere’s taken right now. she informs her boyfriend of all this when he arrives and asks her how the party’s going. “good,” she says, and half-heartedly stifles burps all through her report of what her friends here are up to. “also i’ve had many good snacks,” she admits, pressing her boyfriend’s hands to her swollen, noisy belly one by one with her free hand, so as to acknowledge the fetal elephant in the room. (the other hand holds a large cookie, which slowly drips powdered sugar on her cardigan and dress.)

“i can tell,” her boyfriend laughs.

she puts the whole cookie in her mouth to hold onto it with her teeth, briefly (and insufficiently) brushes off her hands, and directs his hands in circles around her stomach, unwittingly smearing powdered sugar into her clothes. “sooo many sweets.” a big burp surprises her. reflexively she bites the cookie, and catches the part of it that lops off in her hand. “too many sweets, probably; my tummy’s getting kinda frazzled i think,” she laughs. “ugh—i still want so many more though. i could eat so many more if i had some real food first,” she muses.

“so you’re saying you’re hungry?” he asks; she smiles confirmation, a little embarrassed. they talk each other into the idea of purchasing lunch across the street, then coming back. brb! me and [boyfriend] are gonna get some chipotle, she texts the host (or the friend she came with, or whoever seems most relevant).

she holds her belly through her sweater pockets all the way over, and in the line, and while she orders, rocking back and forth on her heels. after her burrito and diet lemonade she feels pleasantly full and warm, and comparatively sober. “hmm, that felt good,” she says after a string of stifled burps, leaning back against the bench and setting her hands in her pockets again; “this was—such a good idea.”

“ready to head back?”

“almost. just give me a minute to settle.”

her cardigan’s a bit too tight now, they notice when they stand back up: her dress pokes through the gaps between the buttons. she laughs and unbuttons it, stroking the area self-consciously. and on the walk back she twice exhorts her boyfriend to slow down, when she loses her breath or gets a stitch in her side.

her stomach’s been quiet for a bit, but has just started burbling again (softly, busily, not uncomfortably) when they arrive back at the party. the snacks have depleted visibly in her absence, she notes with dismay. she heads straight for the brownies, to make sure she gets at least one more before they’re gone. while there she runs into a friend, and the two of them end up standing there chatting as she absent-mindedly eats all the brownies left. she only notices when her friend says, “good brownies?” and she exhorts them to try one—only to look down and see only crumbs left.

“oops,” she says, and pats her belly, which whines as if on cue. she discovers that it aches a little, and drags her fingers back and forth across its top.

“you must be thirsty, after all that,” the friend suggests.

she says, “yeah, now you mention it,” and they wander off for more drinks.

once she’s buzzed, of course, she barely notices the fullness, and goes on grazing until everything she likes is gone—then makes herself nibble the snacks she doesn’t like, so as not to seem too biased. when she’s bit off all she can make herself chew of something very crunchy and sticky, and so sweet that it makes her guts swirl and twist with irritation, she gets another drink and resolves to find a seat, no matter in how inconvenient a location. feeling too muddled to enjoy noise and conversation anyway, she ends up wandering outside and falling asleep in a rocking lawn chair. who knows how long later, she wakes up needing the toilet; with that accomplished she heads back to her lawn chair and dips in and out of sleep for a while longer, hands on her belly through the pockets of her now-open cardigan.

finally her boyfriend wakes her up so they can go home. “hey. how you doing?”

“hmmrgh.” she burps. “sleepy.” curls a hand more tightly around her stomach as its quease slowly wakes back to life; the motion frees another burp. this one hurts her throat a little. “mmf. don’t feel good.”

“ate too much?”

“mhm.” she hunches further over her stomach.

“do you need a toilet, or a bucket, or anything?”

she shakes her head: “i’m ok.”

“ready to go home?”

she sighs; she’s ready to be home, but hates the idea of having to get up and walk to the car and say her goodbyes, and then sit in the cold car and get jostled by speed bumps and potholes all the way home. but she nods anyway.

“need me to help you up?”

“mhm.”

once she’s upright he stands before her and cradles her stomach in his hands. waits for her to come to herself as she groans and blinks her eyes used to the light. between the space all this food takes up inside her and the hiccups that interrupt her every other inhale, her breath runs uncomfortably short. her limbs ache as if she’d been running too long. exhausted by this, she leans way forward into her boyfriend’s hands. this calls forth a very long, loud belch that catches them both by surprise.

“feel better?”

“yeah.”

they amble to the car with his arm wrapped around her. the people they pass on the way there he tells goodbye for the both of them, while she blinks at the floor and burps into her closed mouth.

the car ride isn’t so bad; she ends up falling asleep, even though it’s only like fifteen minutes. she wakes up to him opening the car door for her, offering a hand to help her up. “so sleepy,” she laments, clearly angling for something. he carries her to their bed, having expected this response. brings her water, antacids, a bucket, and a hot water bottle while she falls asleep in her clothes on top of their still-made bed. not much later, when he comes to bed, that wakes her up, and she stays awake longer this time as she ponders whether she needs the toilet. decides in the affirmative, and spends so long in there, between actual business and how lazy all this food makes her feel, that eventually a knock on the door startles her awake.

“are you ok? can i come in?”

“yeah,” she says, to both questions.

he finds her bent double over herself, arms trapped between her thighs and belly. “oof. you look like you don’t feel good.”

“my tummy hurts,” she admits. “i’m ok, though. just bein slow.”

he helps her up, and massages her still-rumbling stomach from behind while she washes her hands and brushes her teeth. “still so big,” he observes.

she says “mhm,” through a mouthful of toothpaste, with a smile that the white foam dribble makes look pretty stupid. her nostrils flare in a slight laugh at the sight of her face in the mirror. she burps, and spits the toothpaste out real quick to keep from swallowing it. he mistakes her haste for alarm, for a sign of imminent puke:

“hey, shh, it’s ok, let it out.”

she shakes her head: “i’m ok. just almost swallowed my toothpaste.”

they head back to bed; he refills the hot-water bottle for her, but by the time he gets back she’s asleep again.

in the morning she sleeps in til almost noon. wakes up still bloated, still burping, belly still gurgling, but feeling pretty ok: lazy, delicate, but not sick or in pain, aside from the occasional boomerangs that signal an impending dump. she lies on her back for a while, blinking and rubbing her stomach; takes a long shower, where she soaps that area rather more than necessary, and burps without restraint, one long belch after another; enters the living room in a big sweatshirt and underwear and socks, burping carelessly as she greets him and stretching her arms above her head so that a sliver of bloated gut is briefly visible. as she returns to her original position she yawns, blinks, and slips her hands under the sweatshirt to rub the cramps out of her belly that the stretch created. they discuss their respective plans for the day as she stands there, rubbing and burping.

“how’s your tummy?”

“pretty good.”

“think you can handle a little breakfast?”

she pats her stomach, burps again, and smiles. “i can do a normal-size breakfast.”

and indeed she can: she eats precisely the usual amount of cereal and toast, at the same pace and with the same affect as always. only afterward she does lean back in her chair with an “ooh,” and place her hands on her bloated stomach.

“too much?”

she shrugs, not sure yet. “can you hear it rumbling?”

“yeah,” he laughs. he asks, “need help getting to the bathroom?”—but she’s already leisurely pushing in her chair.

she pats her belly with first one hand, then the other. “nah, i’m good.”

it takes her a while in there—he surmises she might have a nap on the bed afterwards. the next time he encounters her, she walks up behind him while he sits at his desk, presses her belly against his upper back, puts her hands on his shoulders, kisses the top of his head. feels like she’s still a little bloated, to the extent he can judge; also he hears her burp a little from the contact. but she sounds like she feels well again. “thank you for taking such good care of me.”

#stuffing #this is not a real enough story to merit capital letters #not even A or B lmao #a shifty tract

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aliciameade · 5 years ago

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High-Speed Connection

Title: High-Speed Connection Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Every Lady Gets an Orgasm Pairing: Beca/Chloe...oops and Aubrey Summary: AND THEY WERE QUARANTINED. And Beca’s an exhibitionist. While Chloe’s Skyping Aubrey. Oops. (It was a prompt that I ran with.)

Also on AO3

“Beca is now obsessed with collegiate cheerleading.”

“She is not!”

At the sound of her name, Beca stops in the hall outside their office and then wanders in to find Chloe sitting at their desk using Beca’s massive iMac. “What about me?”

“She said you’re obsessed with collegiate cheerleading. But there’s no way!”

Beca smiles at the sound of Aubrey’s voice and crosses the room to put herself in-frame of the video chat a couple of feet behind Chloe. “It’s true, I am,” Beca says with a shrug. “It’s not my fault that Jerry deserves to be on mat.”

“He really does, though!” Aubrey says, eyes big and sad as she clutches at her heart. “I love him so much.”

“Obviously we’ve been binging Cheer,” Chloe says after agreeing with the sentiments. “What are you doing to pass the time?”

“BRB,” Beca says and then wrinkles her nose at actually saying ‘b-r-b’ as she leaves the video chat for a few seconds to grab another chair and swing it around to sit next to Chloe.

She listens to the two best friends talk and though they’re actively trying to not talk about the health crisis affecting the world, the conversation keeps drifting back to it and how Los Angeles is handling it compared to Mykonos. Beca lets her hand rest at the back of Chloe’s neck, a small bit of comfort in what are proving to be increasingly unpredictable times.

“What happened to that guy you were seeing?” Beca asks, hoping to find a topic that won’t be tainted by a stupid virus.

Admittedly, she isn’t super interested in Aubrey’s romantic life but it’s something to talk about and they have nothing better to do do with their time anyway.

She does kind of tune out, though. She’s been a little distracted all day. Her day had begun by waking up to Chloe’s fingers between her legs and despite the swift orgasm she’d been gifted, her body has been humming all day. Maybe it’s because Chloe had declined her offer to return the favor, citing that it was ‘just for [Beca]’ but she’s never quite satisfied if Chloe isn’t satisfied.

Maybe it’s because their sex life, which Beca would have already described as “more than sufficient” has gone off the charts in the last week. She never would have guessed that being forced to stay home with her girlfriend for days at a time would turn them into sex fiends, but in hindsight, she doesn’t know why she was so unassuming.

There’s something freeing about having no responsibilities but each other. Chloe isn’t exhausted from a long day at the clinic. Beca isn’t tired from flying back from New York or Paris or London. They aren’t stressed out about tomorrow’s schedule or bickering because they both want to spend more time with each other but their individual lives are making it difficult.

The most important task on their daily to-do list now is each other.

And man...they have really been completing those tasks.

Chloe shivering beneath her fingers gets her attention, pulling her out of her daydream of the way a strap-wearing Chloe had bent her over the dining table last night before dinner. She hadn’t realized her fingers had started wandering with her thoughts and her fingernails are drawing goosebumps to the surface of Chloe’s skin where she’s absently stroking her neck and shoulder.

Chloe glances over and kind of smiles but falls right into the conversation.

It’s the trip down memory lane that spurs it. She’s always been easily convinced to try risque scenarios when she’s turned on, and she’s maybe not proud of how willing she is to get caught by a stranger when Chloe has her within an inch of her sanity, but she’s accepted it’s just who she is.

She scoots her chair closer to Chloe’s under the guise of wanting to simply be close and lets her fingers travel up into her hair to scratch at her scalp, something she knows Chloe loves. She watches her eyelashes flutter and feels her lean back into it. Beca doesn’t know what the conversation is about anymore; she’s not listening. Her focus is on Chloe but she’s still acutely aware that they are on camera and their very good friend Aubrey is on the other end of the line.

Maybe that’s why she’s already so turned on. They have an audience. A known audience. Aubrey is no stranger. They’ve all seen each other naked, more than once. Hell, she even made out with Aubrey once at a college party on a dare. She also knows Chloe hooked up with her a few times in college, too. Nothing more than drunken fun, but enough fun that it happened more than once.

It’s a distracting thought and Beca lets her hand backtrack until she’s rubbing the back of Chloe’s neck in a gentle massage.

Aubrey’s words finally register in her brain. “You guys are so gross and adorable.”

“What can I say?” Beca says with a shrug and a smile at the camera. “I’m whipped.”

It makes everyone laugh and she uses the break in conversation to guide Chloe’s face to hers with a touch to her chin for a kiss that is better meant for the bedroom and not in the middle of a video chat.

“Get a room, you two,” breaks through after a few seconds of Beca trying her best to steal Chloe’s breath.

It works because Chloe’s breathing quickly when she pulls back, eyes wide in surprise at the unexpected enthusiasm.

“Sorry, Aubs,” Beca says with another smile at Chloe before turning to offer the same smile to Aubrey. “What were you just saying?”

It’s a legitimate question; Aubrey had been talking when she interrupted herself to comment on Beca’s physical affection and she has no idea what the conversation was about.

She doesn’t care, though. She just wants them talking again so Chloe remains distracted, but she can tell Chloe is already distracted, but not by Aubrey. It’s clear Chloe’s on edge with the way her jaw is firmly set, the muscle in it twitching now and then as Beca excuses her hand from where it’s been caressing Chloe’s neck and shoulders to move it decidedly lower.

She does check the screen to see how she and Chloe are framed first. The camera angle them cuts off around their chests which works for her intentions.

Her relocation is quick and masked by a routine shifting of the way she’s sitting. If Aubrey’s aware that her hand just moved between Chloe’s legs, she’s doing a good job of pretending she’s not.

There’s a quick, sharp inhale from Chloe followed by a cough, another action meant to conceal something. Which tells Beca that Chloe is okay with this.

If the cough didn’t, the way her knees tip further apart would have.

Chloe’s wearing thin cotton shorts and at the first touch of her fingers, Beca knows there’s nothing under them.

She can feel Chloe’s body through them distinctly, though she keeps her touch light. Nothing more than a slow graze up and down, not enough motion to be noticeable. It’s just her middle finger stroking back and forth and she smiles when Chloe’s hand moves to her knee. They always have a need to be touching, mutually. It’s not enough for Beca to touch Chloe; Chloe needs to be touching Beca, too.

Beca’s heart is racing and she hopes she’s not flushed. A glance at their small inset video preview tells her she’s not, but Chloe does look a bit feverish.

It only emboldens Beca to stop being so gentle and press two fingers against her firmly. She just holds them there for a few seconds because Chloe’s entire body twitched with it. Plus, she’s savoring the way she can feel wetness slowly soaking through the material.

Chloe’s blunt fingernails dig into Beca’s thigh, but Beca really doesn’t care. She’s too busy beginning to massage her fingertips into Chloe’s clit through her now-soaked shorts and watching her attempt to keep up a conversation.

It’s not as though they’ve never done something like this before, but it’s never been like this. They’ve definitely touched each other below tablecloths at restaurants with others present at the table. In movie theaters with people sitting in the same row. And the number of orgasms Beca has had on commercial airliners is quite literally illegal.

This feels much more intimate. There’s not the hustle and bustle of waiters and other patrons around them. There’s not a loud action movie muffling the sound of a chair squeaking as Beca’s hips push themselves up into Chloe’s fingers again and again or a dark plane, a blanket, and the drone of jet engines.

It’s startlingly quiet save for the conversation that, she can tell, is becoming more and more difficult for Chloe to maintain without stuttering or losing her train of thought.

“Chloe? Are you okay?”

Beca bites her lip to not laugh because Chloe’s flat-out failed to speak. She waits for her to notice and slows her fingers to give her a chance to catch up.

“I’m fine!” Chloe says with too much enthusiasm than is necessary.

“It’s not like you space out in the middle of a conversation,” Beca says brightly, fingers moving in slow, slow circles. She can feel Chloe trying to move against them. “I’ll go grab you something to drink. It’s important to stay hydrated,” she adds, directed at Aubrey.

She doesn’t know what’s gotten into her.

But it’s some evil sex monster, apparently.

She stands up and starts to walk away, earning a not-subtle whimper from Chloe at the loss of her touch.

But instead of leaving, as Chloe clearly thinks she is, Beca turns around and puts a finger to her lips to shush her. It happens to be one of the fingers she was just stroking Chloe with so she slips it into her mouth while she has Chloe’s attention, her taste faint but evident.

She kneels as she does it and Chloe has to fight to rip her eyes away from Beca who is definitely no longer in the room and return to her conversation while Beca crawls back over, out of frame, until Chloe’s lifting her left leg a bit so Beca can crawl under it and tuck herself into the space beneath the desk.

She gets herself comfortable, regretting a lack of kneepads on this hardwood floor (which they do own for possible needs like this) and smirks up at Chloe who keeps glancing down at her with nervous excitement.

Beca waits, though. She needs to know Chloe is okay with this, and if she’s not, she’ll sneak out and return with a glass of water as promised and wait patiently until the call is over for Chloe to give her what she’s asking for.

A minute or two passes and then with a particularly boisterous laugh, Chloe’s lifting her ass off her chair just enough for her to slip her own shorts off.

The way she spreads her legs and looks down at Beca is obscene in its own right.

Beca puts her hands around Chloe’s knees and pushes her open wider, more for the show of it than out of necessity. She wants to see Chloe up-close, see how aroused she’s become thanks to Beca’s little game. Wetness is already streaked high along her inner thighs and her clit is swollen and peeking out, but Beca already knew that. She could feel it. But it’s something else entirely to see it.

She’s not sure how much time they have, really. Aubrey might have something better to do and hang up, which in all honesty would be totally fine. Beca will see this through regardless. But the fun, the game, the challenge, the kink is to do this while Chloe is on a live video call.

She doesn’t wait or go through her usual teasing build-up of working her way closer and closer until Chloe’s begging.

She leans close and runs her tongue through Chloe, entrance to clit, and hears Chloe stop talking mid-word for a solid two seconds before she can continue.

Beca has to struggle not to moan herself. She’s outrageously turned on and tries to channel it into her attention to Chloe.

And she lavishes that attention.

Making love to Chloe is always an experience, but some are more heightened than others. Beca has no shame in the knowledge that she would happily sit and lick Chloe for hours and then ask for permission to do it for several more. She loves it. She loves it more than she loves most things in life. If she had to rank the things she loved, Chloe would be first and eating Chloe’s pussy would be second.

Everything else is after that.

It’s almost startling how wet Chloe’s getting. Beca feels it on her chin and cheeks and laps at Chloe like she can’t get enough (she can’t). Her tongue slips higher to stop avoiding the type of focused attention she knows Chloe needs and flicks it against her clit, now fully swollen and on display for Beca to worship. Which she does. Chloe keeps inching away from her as she struggles to stay still but Beca just follows, not letting her mouth leave Chloe for even a second.

Her tongue flicks and swirls and when she knows Chloe’s not expecting it, she lifts her hand and sinks two fingers into her to give her something to squeeze.

A moan gets her attention and she glances up to see Chloe’s head thrown back just as fingers slide into Beca’s hair to start guiding her.

The sight makes Beca moan, too, and whatever semblance of discretion they’d been exercising gets thrown out the window. She didn’t remember Chloe telling Aubrey goodbye or hearing the sound of the call disconnecting, but it’s hard to hear with Chloe’s thighs pressing against her ears every few seconds as she writhes in her seat.

She’s just starting to set a pace with her fingers when she hears another moan. Except, it’s definitely not her own, and it’s definitely not Chloe’s.

Her whole body freezes on reflex and Chloe’s head snaps up.

“Baby, don’t stop.”

“Yeah, keep going.”

Beca’s head whips around, hair pulling uncomfortably where it’s still tangled in Chloe’s fingers, to look up at the computer screen.

She was so focused she had no idea they’d migrated so far away from the desk or that what they were doing was in full-frame, right down to where it cut off just below Beca’s ass.

If that wasn’t enough of a surprise, the fact that Aubrey’s chair has rolled back enough for it to be obvious that she’s touching herself, hand down the front of her leggings, was definitely a shock.

But the screaming arousal shoves away the shock and the sight makes Beca groan. She hadn’t expected this; she’d expected to get Chloe off quickly while their friend was none the wiser. That was the game.

This was...a threesome?

“Holy fuck,” Beca says, watching Aubrey (who didn’t stop touching herself with Beca’s discovery) for a few seconds before turning back to Chloe following a sharp tug on her hair. “Holy fuck,” she says again before leaning back in to take Chloe’s clit between her lips and start sucking as her fingers start thrusting.

Her mind is reeling. Every time she glances up, Chloe’s eyes are either locked on her, locked on the screen, or her head is thrown back. She rearranges a little, no longer having to be discreet, and uses her free hand to lift Chloe’s leg over her shoulder. The other stays planted on the floor for leverage, Beca realizes, so Chloe can rock her hips up into Beca’s face.

She’s never heard Aubrey like this before. Her moans are loud and breathy and Beca can tell by the way they’re stilted that she’s touching herself hard and fast.

She does the same for Chloe, fingers starting to pound into her in fast, short strokes as she sucks harder and harder on her clit.

Chloe’s moan of, “Shit, I’m so close,” sends Beca’s hand down the front of her own shorts to thrust three fingers into herself and start riding her own hand.

It’s a move she didn’t think would have any effect on but herself but she hears Aubrey react, a moan of Beca’s name that almost sends Beca flying over the edge.

“I wanna watch you come together.” Aubrey’s breathing hard. “Make her come, Beca.”

“Oh, my God,” she groans into Chloe before she pulls hard on her clit with her lips and curls her fingers to grind into the spot inside Chloe that will make her see stars. Her own hips and other hand move fast; she’s so desperately horny that she doesn’t actually want to come. She just wants to maintain this level of arousal forever.

But Chloe’s moaning her name and swearing and she feels her cunt tightening around her fingers so she fucks herself— and Chloe— harder and harder until Chloe’s moans are so loud they’re creating feedback on the call.

She feels Chloe explode from within and lets go, too, both of them moaning and bucking, wetness dripping down both of Beca’s hands.

And then she hears it.

She hears Aubrey coming and she takes her mouth away from Chloe, still fucking with her fingers, so they can watch it happen together.

It’s really a sight to behold to see Aubrey in a state of pure ecstasy. No hang-ups or stress or worries, just pure and utter release.

“Shit,” Chloe whispers but it’s more than loud enough to reach Beca’s ears.

She doesn’t look away from the screen but she does slip her fingers out to move them to her clit to start rubbing because she knows Chloe always comes twice in a row. And she kind of really wants to watch Aubrey, still breathing hard and still clearly touching herself, watch her make Chloe come since she missed it last time.

It doesn’t take long.

And she gets way more bang for her buck than she expected; apparently Aubrey’s into being watched, too, and as soon as she notices Beca watching her and touching Chloe she’d fallen right back into the same rhythm she’s kept on herself, one that’s hard and fast and tells Beca that Aubrey’s as impossibly turned on as she knows Chloe is.

She doesn’t have to turn around to see that, though. She has ears and as much as she’s watching Aubrey, she’s watching herself and Chloe in the picture-in-picture display.

It doesn’t take long—it never does—for Chloe to be on the edge again. She falls quickly, no prolonged plateau with how overstimulated she is, and Beca watches Aubrey watch Chloe fall apart on screen until Aubrey’s falling apart again, too.

Beca turns back to Chloe once Aubrey’s moans have subsided to bury her face between her thighs. Not to make her come again, though she knows she could. Instead, she licks at her slowly, trying to clean her up (a futile effort) and prolong their intimacy.

Eventually, the bubble of sexual tension surrounding them pops and she feels Chloe stroking her hair and saying her name.

It pulls her out of her reverie and she hears Aubrey’s voice say something, but she doesn’t catch what it was. The reality of what just happened slams down on her and she leaps backward, slamming the back of her head on the desk before groaning it and ducking beneath it to hide.

“Oh, my God, baby, are you okay?” Chloe says, rolling herself forward to check on her.

Beca feels like she’s on fire, and not in a good way. Everything had been so hot in the moment but now she’s mortified. That was Aubrey. Aubrey whom they’ve known for so many years. Who they’ve lived with and cried with and would probably be Chloe’s doula whenever they finally got around to the whole having kids thing.

“What happened? Was that your head? Beca, are you okay?!”

Beca just groans again and lets her face fall into Chloe’s naked lap, though there’s no licking this time. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

She hears Chloe laugh and feels hands on her head feeling the throbbing spot on the back of it. “It’s not a big deal,” Chloe says soothingly.

“We literally just fucked in front of Aubrey.” Her voice is muffled and it must be amusing for Chloe because she giggles again.

“I don’t think she minded, babe.”

“I really didn’t. Will you come out from under there so I can see you?”

Beca sighs and lifts her head so Chloe, still nude from the waist down, can roll backward to let her out. She ends up sitting in Chloe’s lap even though her own empty chair is right there, but she has a desperate need to feel protected right now.

She glances at the screen and tries to ignore how flushed Aubrey’s face still is. How flushed all three of them are if she’s honest. “What?” she says flatly.

“Look, Beca. I can pretend this never happened if you need me to. Chalk it up to cabin fever.”

“I’m okay with everything that happened,” Chloe says with a squeeze of her arms around Beca’s waist.

“Of course, you are,” Beca sighs. “Well, I really only have myself to blame here, right?”

Chloe and Aubrey both make sounds of agreement.

“But just so you know,” she continues to Aubrey, “I really didn’t intend for things to...for things to go that far. You weren’t supposed to know.”

“It was pretty obvious the second you ‘left’”—she uses air quotes—“to get Chloe something to drink and she could barely string a sentence together ten seconds later. I’m not an idiot.”

“Well, it’s not my fault this one can’t keep her shit together for five minutes,” she jokes with a playful pinch to Chloe’s cheek that earns her a slap on her hip that would have been on her ass if the angle was different. “What?! It’s true!”

“Yeah, well,” is all Chloe argues, “what are ya gonna do?”

“Well, I’m going to say good night. This has been sufficiently...sufficient,” Aubrey says with a bit of a laugh.

“Sleep well, Bree,” Chloe says with a wave before the call ends and Aubrey disappears.

“Oh, my God!” Beca crows, covering her face while Chloe bursts into hysterics. “How long did you know she was watching?!”

“Oh, a long time,” Chloe says through her laugh. “Wait, are you mad?” she asks, suddenly sobering.

“No, I’m not mad,” Beca sighs. “I just cannot believe we fucked in front of Aubrey. On camera!”

“Would you have preferred it to not be on camera?”

The suggestion makes Beca’s brain short-circuit and her hesitation must be obvious because Chloe gasps and bounces her in her lap like she’s a damn child.

“Oh, my God, Beca do you want to have a threeway with Bree?”

“Stop it,” Beca says, shoving her finger in Chloe’s face only for it to be captured in a fist and pushed away.

“You do!”

“I—no! Look—this was—” she struggles for words. “This was an accident! It was just hot and everyone was turned on and it was...it was an accident,” she finishes weakly.

“Which is why you watched her get off the second time instead of me?”

“I was watching both of you!” she yells in defense and then immediately regrets it. Instead of claiming her easy victory, Chloe just grins at Beca until she crumbles with a groan. “Shut up.”

“It’s okay, baby; it’s hot,” Chloe says and Beca has no choice but to give in when Chloe guides her down and into a kiss that reminds Beca’s body she didn’t get to come a second time like Aubrey and Chloe did.

She whines into it, feeling every bit the pathetic person she is when she’s in this state and feels Chloe smile against her lips.

“Okay, okay, let’s relocate and I’ll take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Beca says before stealing another kiss and climbing off Chloe’s lap. “And we tell no one of this.”

“Scout’s honor,” Chloe says as she holds up three fingers that Beca knows are going to be buried in her in the next few minutes.

“But maybe we find out if Aubrey has plans tomorrow night,” she says. “Probably not, right? Who has plans anymore?” “We do,” Chloe says as she snags Beca around the waist to lead them to their bedroom.

The End

#triple treble #bechloe #beca mitchell #bechloe fic rec #aubrey posten #SIN #THIS IS SIN #and it was a prompt #fanfiction #pitch perfect

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yutaya · 4 years ago

Text

Iron Fist Rewatch: 1x03: Rolling Thunder Cannon Punch

That's so terrifying. You look an entitled asshole in the eyes and say "no" when he tries to pressure you into doing something morally corrupt that would actively hurt another person - one who has specifically asked you for help - and then armed home invaders break in in the middle of the night. Ward is basically the mafia boss that Colleen has just pissed off, from her POV. No wonder she hates him.

Wow, now I want the fanfic where Colleen keeps calling Ward a mafia boss to his face. "Just because I'm under your mafia family's protection NOW doesn't make that time you put out a hit on me any better, mobster." "'Mob-' I never put out any 'hit'. I'm not the mafia." "You don't need to bother with pretence here, mob guy." (Danny helpfully does not point out that Ward definitely put out a hit on him, but the entire room is still painfully aware.)

Danny: Sorry the people trying to kill me broke your lock.

Colleen doesn't for one second find it out of the question that the cops might be in on the whole "corrupt rich white man is doing shady illegal things and trying to have a 'problem' 'fixed'" thing. Danny does, ("I haven't broken any law?") because Danny spent ten years as a rich white boy and then the next 15 in a culture completely separated from the rest of the world's reality. Or: Danny, a rich white boy, trusts the police. Colleen, who tries to make her dojo a safe space for a bunch of underprivileged majority bipoc kids living in the "bad part of town", does not.

Possibly the reason they speedrun us through Ward going up to the penthouse again is to remind the viewers how obnoxious it is to get up there before we see Danny climb the building later?

I forgot about this freaky tube thing. What is that? High tech coffin? lol. There's an implied "you should be unsettled by this" vibe to Harold's whole "it's so peaceful in here, I can't help but doze off" but when I don't know what the tube is the context is kind of lost on me.

Again with Ward calmly asking for an explanation about such a seemingly insane business choice, especially one that he's going to have to explain to people, and Harold brushing him off. Infuriating. And let's just toss in a sprinkling of "Joy has always been and always will be better than you, who can't do anything."

Harold: "Doesn't it occur to you that I'm doing this all for you?" Me: "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP I HATE YOU." He doesn't even just say "I'm doing this for you." No, he has to say "Doesn't it occur to you that I'm doing this for you?" Rather than simply lying, he just has to back Ward into that corner. Ugh. UGH.

Ward: closes his eyes, long huff of breath. I should start a count of how many times he does this.

MY SKIN IS CRAWLING. Freaking Harold. Ugh ugh ugh he's the worst.

Danny you realize you're both disrespecting Colleen AND talking about pretty sensitive subject matter right in front of her student?

Joy: "We need to do the right thing." Me: "You keep telling yourself you're a person who cares about that, Joy."

Joy used to do Ward's homework for him????

Like, what?

Seriously, what?

Was this supposed to be a cute exchange? Because my Asian American upbringing says it's NOT.

Joy: "In another life, this would have been romantic." Danny: "Gross, you're my sister."

"You and Ward, you're the only link to a life that I had. It kept me going under very difficult circumstances." ;___;

Joy talking about clinging to her dreams of Harold meeting her after school and holding her hand and smiling at her in her grief after he died is making me so miserable. To Joy, Harold means comfort.

Danny: *Starts talking about ghosts* Joy: Oh right, he's crazy.

Colleen: "You dishonor yourself when you fight for money."

Jeri, who has literally been mind-controlled, almost got murdered slowly and painfully, and brought a killer to her wife,

Young intern Jeri Hogarth calling the boss's secretary a "hatchet faced bitch" and then bribing said boss's 10yrs or younger kid not to tell is. Well. It sure is a thing.

I still want Danny inviting Jeri to Defenders friend group hangouts and Foggy and Marci both blanching. Jessica and Jeri can snark at each other and Danny can be like "You're friends too! I didn't know!! :D"

Honestly, I would have watched a whole show on the intricacies of classism issues, with the Elite like Jeri and the Meachums teaching Danny how to live and maneuver in that world and Colleen and the dojo and Big Al teaching Danny about the reality of life for the lower class, and our golden-hearted Danny in the center of it, consistently determined to do what's Right,

Joy: lol, isn't this such a fun, teasing, sibling-banter thing we do, me joking about how I'm going to close this deal and you would only endanger it?

Harold: punches trainer full in the face, then casually suggests weapons next time while the guy is still groaning on the ground

Is Gao terrorizing Harold and making him kneel on glass supposed to make me feel for Harold? No one deserves this but that doesn't make Harold magically not a monster.

Danny.... just taking over lecturing the class is not respectful to Darryl or Colleen either.

Danny: "What kind of soldier training is this? They're acting like kids!" Colleen: "That's the POINT! I am not training them to be soldiers, I am creating a safe space for them to be kids when they usually can't be in the rest of their lives." Danny's warped K'un Lun upbringing really shows here. It's heartbreaking to remember that Colleen isn't just some good samaritan either - that she was raised in a cult too and has her own warped upbringing viewpoints.

A line I need to appear in a Ward/Misty/Claire pov fic: "Colleen tends to seem normal because most of the time she's next to Danny. It's easy to forget that actually, she's completely batshit."

Colleen keeps throwing Danny out for bringing trouble to her doorstep and then not really fighting it when he sticks around anyway (Which: Danny. Danny, this is problematic behavior, Danny.) - it's when he becomes a danger to her students that she gets serious about it. Even if Danny wouldn't physically harm them again, he is now a drain on their mental health: he represents a potential danger, a reason to be constantly on guard, and a removal of their safe space.

Ward clearly has no idea what the heck Joy is doing. It's all very troubling and this family is so messed up.

The way Ward ever so slightly shakes his head at Joy as she bribes Patel with his nephew's actual life.

The blanket into snow is a great transition shot

Joy feels like Ward refuses to tell her things the same way Harold refuses to tell Ward things! But Ward doesn't actually have the ability to tell Joy anything because he doesn't know anything! Ugh!!

On Joy's desk: a photo of her and Ward toasting at some party. She also has a copy on her shelf at home.

Joy poured her blood sweat and tears into Rand. She's proud of it. To Ward, it's a prison.

Wait so their plan is that there's no record that Danny Rand ever existed? Like, besides. The city's collective memory? People know about Danny Rand, guys. You need to delete the ability to connect this adult man to Danny Rand, not young Danny's entire paper trail. I mean, anything linking them would be included in literally everything about Danny but still. Seems unnecessary and suspicious?? I know nothing about crime.

Jeri casually constantly reminding Danny that the Meachums are the corrupt villains of this story must be really messing with Danny's head. Not that she's wrong. Poor boy.

"Isn't it obvious!? I'm not your sister. He's not your brother. We don't want you here." brb crying forever

I have to appreciate that this fight moderator is actually trying to run a semi-safe tight ship behind the showmanship

"Cut the Floyd Mayweather shit." Floyd Mayweather: a former professional boxer, competed from 1996-2015. Often referred to as the best defensive boxer in history, as well as the most accurate puncher. Nicknamed "Pretty Boy" by his amateur teammates because his defensive technique left him with relatively few scars.

That whole Randy biting Colleen (breaking the rules about going too far laid out at the start of the fight) and then her climbing on top of him to keep on punching after he's down was really framed like one of those troubling "the hero loses control and it's bad" type scenes.

I am very curious about Jeri and the Meachums' history. Jeri and Ward snark at each other so much in this meeting. And they definitely seem amused while doing so. Also Joy was like "Hogarth" at Ward earlier, and Jeri described their relationship as "complicated" to Danny.

Ward slumps down in his seat so he's lower than anyone else in the room, despite probably being the tallest. This is probably meant as a show of dismissiveness: Danny's case is so insignificant that he doesn't need to respect them by sitting up straight - but it IS interesting, from a power dynamics in staging perspective.

Ward, who has a constant escape plan of stealing from his employees and running away with Joy, plus was literally talking about leaving and starting over with nothing earlier in this same episode: "It could have been easy. You could have taken the money and had a great life."

The elevator level can be controlled by the lobby man???

Another picture of presumably child Joy on Harold's desk, as a toddler this time. How many does he have?? This is cruel set dressing.

Harold playing on Ward's loyalty again. "I need you to help me. I don't have anyone else."

#iron fist #iron fist rewatch #the immortal iron fist #my stuff #rolling thunder cannon punch

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sorrymomandcat · 4 years ago

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Tues. October 13 2020

3:24AM I wish I was writing this on a laptop brb

5:26AM No laptop but I did install about 10 new app, check them out and delete about 8. There’s a cool one called ‘Thyself’ which I like and ‘Punkt’ a funny name. One is where you can essentially message yourself lmao which I guess I could always do on messenger anyways but regardless there’s a certain novelty to it being an independent app. The other is like a mood checker with a spot to barf feelings. Basically a whole bunch of other apps to do esentially this but not here.. technically they could be more inconvenient than helpful. I write a lot in my IRL journals too. When will I run out of shit to say? Perhaps once I get a laptop to comfortably type on to say anything anyways. Get it all out at desk. Properly. Give ya a timeline other than backwards spotted vague brain jargon. Yes - I relapsed again. I pray to God I don’t start thinking I’m being cheated on while stalked and mind read causing me to keep an uncomfortable forced smile on my face for 6 hours hahah High Priestess has a serial cheek biting addiction. Sugarleaf is the only other person I’ve met with an addiction to the same intensity. I had been doing it a lot less the last few months as I seemed to have redirected the biting to suckling my bottom lip. ADHD. #undiagnosed - imagine I got an EEG. Imagine I spoke to a psychiatrist? I feel fine right now. A bit about me, I’ve gone to counselling never. Once I went to talk to a shrink at 2 Homeless Adults when I was 16.. she chatted about an hour before prescribing me Prozac. Great band, not necessarily a medication I’d wanna take from a stranger. I barely tried any meds. That was the first, only and last time I was close to getting any type of mental health recognition. Actually not that great of a band, it was just one good cover of Running Up That Hill. Which I think we all heard first from The OC. I haven’t been working my job as the Vutton agent, I’ve been stuck sick at home self-loathing. Self isolating, I mean. I don’t think I hate myself. Maybe just being myself. You know? Get Thyself and text the cell.

6:07AM I just Googled it and 51 months. Almond Eyes has been gone for 51 months. That means 51 for Pear as well. Cow. It feels 2x as long ago but yesterday. what have I been up to? It’d be nice to look good everyday.

10:44PM I just typed in Justin on Spotify and Beiber came up before Timberlake. That’s how old I am. That’s how many talented Justin’s we have now.

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fleetingfigures · 5 years ago

Note

Superhero/villain :3

(This is mostly a spin off of a near future Yakuza AU I was imagining with a few friends, and as such I’ll use the picrew I used for that for this as well!)

“PENTAKILL!”

“Ace!”

The incessant sound of a mechanical keyboard fills the small studio apartment, as the flashing displays from a multi-monitor setup illuminate a singular hunched figure in front of it all. A Miqo’te, no older than his mid twenties sits, or rather perches upon an elaborate office chair, typing away at inhuman speeds as his eyes dart to and fro, focused on the game at hand. He reaches over, grabbing hold of a now room temperature crêpe and takes furtive bite out of it, his eyes still glued on the monitors before him. And this is how most nights proceeded for this Miqo’te - wherein he sits for hours, stuffing his face with all manner of snacks, plays a few games, then heads to bed. Though, tonight is not his usual night as, before the match he’s in can reach its natural end, his whole desk vibrates as his phone lights up. The man is tempted to just shut off the phone, and go back to his game, but, seeing the caller ID, he supposes he has to pick up. Typing a “brb” in chat, the Miqo’te grabs the phone, and flips it around in his hand before pressing the accept call button.

“Yello?” The Miqo’te answers lazily, going to wedge the phone between his shoulder and ear to free up his hands.

Loud breathing is the only thing that greets his question, accompanied soon after by the keen sound of gunshots and the dull thud of distant, yet hurried footsteps. Things seem to die down for just a bit as a gruff voice breaks the silence. “Sae. You have some Fucking explaining to do. You told me no one was going to be at the Garlean Warehouse by Pier 5, and yet what do I found except an armed squadron of their best guards!”

The Keeper rolls his eyes, moving the phone away from his mouth as he abandons his game mid-match. After closing its tab, he pulls up a non-descript program, displaying its two main windows upon the monitors before him. There he can see the man on call with him currently, a Midlander who, besides the wild mop of hair upon his head, which is probably due to the mad sprint he had to perform to not get shot, seems rather pedestrian. On the other window, he can spy the Garlean guards he had mentioned, armed to the teeth in their finest magitek assault rifles as they fanned out to scan the area. He takes another bite of his crêpe before he finally addresses his caller. “Well, seems someone didn’t ask for enough details.”

“Gods… Is now really the time to reprimand me on such a thing, Sae?!”

“Well, yes, considering we’re only bound by the cash you paid me, and the limited info I gave you was well worth the pitiful sum you provided.”

“Just, ok look… I’ll double your payment, alright? Just divert their attention somehow, you’re the fanciful hacker here.”

“Finneeeee, just give me a minute, alright? I’ve gotta get around a few of their security systems, kay?”

“Make it quick.”

Sae begins to type quickly again, as he pulls up a third tab, and types into the minimalist chat box that greets him.

Sae: “> Hey, saw a strange thing on watch. Seems someone’s lurking around your warehouse. Told ya that hiring a squad tonight was gonna be a good idea.”

Soon after hitting send, the Miqo’te gets a response back.

R.V.H “> Seems you aren’t insane after all, Sae. I assume the squad is handling the intruder as we speak, yes?”

Sae: “> Not quite. Seems the dude’s pretty good at evading them, and he’s got your canister in his hands. I could try my hand at stopping him directly, but that’d require me to gain full access into your systems, and maybe a little extra cash too.”

R.V.H “> Damnit. Are you sure they can’t restrain him without your aid?”

Sae: “> Yup. Pretty certain. The dude’s holed up in a room and is gonna slink away into the night if I don’t lock that grate above his head.”

R.V.H: “Fine. I’ll send the system’s master code, as well as an extra sum of cash.”

Sae: “> Thnx. And how much is that extra sum?”

R.V.H “500k gil, in addition to the 2 mil I’ve already given to you.”

Saerno begins to type even faster as he brings the phone back to his ear.

“Hey bud, still there? You didn’t get shot yet, right? I’ve just gotten through the secruity’s, well, security. Seems you’re at a dead end, but that grate right above you might prove useful.”

The Hyur on the other end breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank fuck. Seems you’re not as useless as I thought you were, Sae.”

“Hey, I’m the reason why you even knew about this whole place anyways. No need to be so aggro, jeez…”

The Keeper reclines back in his chair, placing his phone down upon his desk as he finishes the last of his crêpe. Of course tonight of all night’s he had to deal with the stuff he’s been preparing for weeks. Couldn’t they have at least waited till after his match was done? God... He’s gonna have to grind again to get back into his ranked promos. But, he supposes, in some way, that this is a tad better than that cesspool of a ‘fun time’. It’s always so fun setting up two sides and letting things pan out from there; that is, of course, with a little of his tinkering sprinkled here and there. It’s one of the last things that brings him true enjoyment in this shitshow of a world anyways. With everything so orderly under the thumb of Garlean reign, and the Resistance trying to swoop in like knights in shining armor, it’s as if Saerno’s living in one of those stupid fantasy novels he used to like as a kid. It’s all so trite, so predictable, and he’s not going to let the world continue to lose what little flavor it has left. However, Saerno is soon broken out of his reverie as two notifications ping to life upon his phone, both banners indicating payments he’s just received. Smiling to himself, he stretches, and reaches for his phone once again and begins to lazily imitate static noises.

“Hey -kshh- I think I’m -stssss- Breaking up on you.”

“W-wait what?! What do you mean, Augh goddamnit, it must be th-”

“Call Ended.”

With that, Sae tosses his phone on his bed, and leans forward to inspect his screens once again. Inputting the master code he had just received, the Keeper begins to toy with whatever catches his fancy at the moment.

“Hmmm, Water boiler? Why not? Gas pipes? Let’s loosen em’ up just a tad, and- Oh! There it is, the canister’s main control panel. How about we just disable all safety protocols and…”

Saerno stands up for a brief moment, wheeling his chair over to the large window of his apartment and sits squarely on it. Reaching downwards, he grabs a bag of chips, honey barbecue of course, and begins to slightly part the curtains. Just then, a brilliant cerulean flame erupts on the horizon, as the shockwave produced by it shakes the very foundation of Saerno’s building. In the darkness of his abode, Saerno claps silently to himself, stopping to much on a few chips every once in awhile.

In this world, there’ll be heroes in capes, and villains in suits, but none of that really strikes too well, you feel? No matter what side they’re on, the life these super-whatevers lead is oh so boring and drab. And that’s why I’m here, to spread a little chaos, and to remind everyone that life isn’t like a picture book, or some trashy romance novel. This life we lead is called reality because it can never be predicted, never be truly under control. Though, I guess you could say that these words I’m spouting are absolute horseshit and I just want to see the world bounce between extremes for my own sick pleasure which, well, isn’t wrong, but can’t a guy enjoy some of the finer things in life? After all, sitting here and eating these chips would be way less interesting if there wasn’t a fireworks display going on in the background.

#Supervillain Sae?#More like shitposter who took things way too far #This is so OOC for him even in the other AU I mentioned #but hey #I love giving characters questionable morals and motivations #Reading over this #I basically just made Sae into a less insane version of Junko Enoshima #Just shoot me now #entry-1258

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taztaas · 7 years ago

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Thank you, come again

for @taakitzweek day 2 Notes: Modern/Café/Library AU, Kravitz is a tiefling, Taako is thirsty. Magic Brian is getting married. ao3 link

“Thank you, come again.” Taako droned on autopilot as the customer left with a take-out cup of coffee in hand.

Working at the library’s cafe was pretty much the worst thing ever. Most customers were either snot-nosed kids after a cupcake or old ladies who kept squinting at the menu silently for like 20 minutes and when asked what they want they just say a coffee with two sugars. It was a public library, so there weren’t many students coming in and most people were at work during the hours Taako was manning the counter so it was pretty quiet. And boring.

Taako sighed. At least Brian was there to keep him company, even if he couldn’t talk about anything else but his wedding plans. He glanced at the drow in question, sitting in an armchair near the counter so that the two of them could keep up a conversation. Brian was going through a pile of wedding magazines and Taako was pretty sure that he had hoarded every single issue of Fantasy Brides magazine in the library’s collection.

Taako watched as Brian flipped to another page, pushing his sunglasses higher on his nose as he did. Taako snorted; Brian was one of the few people (besides Lup and himself) that could pull off wearing sunglasses indoors. The shades were round and purple-tinted with silver frames. Taako had the same pair in shell-pink and gold.

Taako sighed again, bored. He leaned on the counter, propping his chin on his palm. He stared into the middle distance until he heard Brian’s phone chime with an incoming text message.

“Brad?” Taako asked, even though the answer was obvious when Brian’s lips, painted with black matte lipstick, curved into a soft smile.

“Ja.”

“Fucking, Brad,” Taako muttered, looking away, “I’m still wondering how you managed to score a hunk like that.” Brad wasn’t exactly Taako’s type, he had nice arms but he wore polo shirts and cargo pants which were a definite hard pass in Taako’s not very humble opinion.

“Vell, you know, a magician never reveals zeir secrets.”

Taako rolled his eyes, “Fuck off.”

Brian tittered but was soon absorbed in an article about color schemes. Taako watched him read for a lack of anything better to do. He stayed quiet until he saw Brian frown at the page thoughtfully.

“Listen, I’m telling you, black. Black and purple. With silver accents.” Taako said, for the hundredth time.

“Oh, I guess you’re right darling,” Brian said, turning the page and skipping the rest of the article.

“Of course I’m right,” Taako said and maybe he puffed his chest out a little, proud and confident. “Cha’boy knows colors.” He was an elf of many talents and one of them was color scheme design, while cooking was his forté.

Taako had been elated when Brian had asked him if he wanted to do the catering for the wedding. He had played it cool of course, unwilling to let on how flattered he was by the request. Though he had a feeling Brian had known anyway but mercifully enough he hadn’t made a big deal out of it.

Brian went back to leafing through his magazine. Taako sighed again.

He pulled out his phone from his back pocket, just to check the time. He had gotten too many warnings from his employer about fiddling with his phone while working so he didn’t dare to keep it out otherwise. It was almost noon, and Taako visibly perked up.

Kravitz’s shift was going to start in a few minutes.

Kravitz was the only reason why Taako hadn’t quit his shitty job yet. Kravitz was a librarian, and every day he had a two-hour shift at the reference desk, giving Taako a reason to get up and trudge his way to work every morning.

Taako maybe liked to stare at Kravitz a bit.

Taako had maybe memorized Kravitz’s schedule to ensure he was working at the same times and got the maximum amount of eye-candy available.

Kravitz was a tiefling, and dreadfully handsome. He had horns, decorated with gold bands and other jewelry, which curved down to frame his face. He also had some gold around his wrists and fingers, but it was all tasteful. Taako could appreciate a man who knows how to accessorize. Taako has also maybe thought about holding on to said horns during certain activities.

When Kravitz smiled, and he smiled a lot because he was a decent person and good at customer service, Taako saw a hint of fangs and sometimes Taako had thought about how it would feel to have those sharp teeth biting gently at his sensitive elven ears.

So yeah, maybe Taako was a bit thirsty, but who could blame him. Kravitz looked really hot, even in a cardigan and he was ticking all of Taako’s boxes.

Taako only knew Kravitz’s name because he had sent Brian out on a stealth mission to find out the hot librarian’s name. Taako didn’t even own a library card but Brian did and checking out a load of wedding magazines had been the perfect excuse to steal a glance at the man’s name tag.

“You should go talk to him,” Brian said, startling Taako out of his thoughts. He looked at Brian who had his phone in his hands again, probably texting his fiancé.

Taako huffed. Maybe he should, finally. It wasn’t like either of them was getting any younger. He dug out the ON BREAK, BRB -sign out from the cabinet behind him and slammed it on the counter with conviction. He rounded the counter, fussing with his clothes and hair and cursing the fact that he didn’t have a mirror at hand. He could go and check his face in the library’s bathroom but he was afraid of losing his nerve if he didn’t do this now.

“How do I look?” Taako asked Brian, not at all nervous. Though he really wished he was wearing something nicer. He was feeling a bit frumpy in an oversized sweater and jeggings, but after a lecture for appropriate workplace attire - which apparently was not flirty miniskirts, he had decided to play it safe. Jenkins was kind of a prick and Taako had already pushed too many of his buttons, he wasn’t going to risk it.

His makeup was also uncharacteristically simple. But at least his hair looked cute. And librarians like the bun hairstyle, right?

Brian squinted at him and beckoned him over. Taako stepped closer, wondering what was up. Brian reached up for Taako’s face and brushed something off of Taako’s cheek, mindful of his ridiculous acrylics, sharp enough to poke an eye out. Taako blinked.

“Zere. You had somezing on your face.”

“Yeah? Thanks, dude.” Taako grinned and started walking away but he didn’t get far before Brian called his name.

“What?” Taako said, turning around halfway, hands on his hips, eager to get going. Brian grinned at him, showing a hint of fangs.

“Do you vant my advice, Taako dear?”

Taako shrugged, because why not. “Lay it on me, kemosabe.”

“Ask him about zat book he’s reading,” Brian said, a devious look on his face. Taako raised a brow at him, suspicious.

“...Why?”

“Just do eet. Trust me.” Brian returned to his magazine.

“...Alright, I’ll bite. But if you’re fucking with me I’m telling Brad about that one time when we played spin the bottle.” Taako said, but Brian just waved him off, not looking up from his reading. “Ja, ja, go get him.”

Taako turned around again and saw that Kravitz had taken up his seat at the service desk. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and started walking. Kravitz had his nose already buried in a book, as per usual, but he looked up when he saw movement and for a split second their eyes met. Taako gave him his best smile and Kravitz was suspiciously quick to avert his eyes and return to his reading.

Pleased by the reaction, Taako’s smile turned into a confident smirk and he made sure to put some extra swing to his hips for the rest of his walk over. Kravitz was determinedly not looking at him, right up until Taako reached his station and leaned on his desk, efficiently blocking Kravitz from seeing anything else but the elf in front of him.

“Hey,” Taako said casually. Kravitz’s eyes flicked up from his book, but only briefly. He cleared his throat.

“Um, hi.”

“So uh, you come here often?” Taako blurted out and wanted to knock himself unconscious right after. Jesus fucking Christ Taako, the guy works here. Kravitz was also caught off guard, staring at Taako dumbly, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. Taako coughed awkwardly. “Pretend I didn’t just say that.” Kravitz nodded silently in agreement, equally eager to pretend that what had just happened, never happened.

“Anyway! How you doing Kravitz? ” Taako said, taking great pleasure in mouthing the name.

“Good, uh?” Kravitz trailed off, apparently just now realizing that he didn’t know who he was talking to.

“Taako.” The elf provided with a smile and leaned closer to Kravitz, setting his elbows on the tabletop.

“So. Whatcha reading, handsome?” Taako purred out, trying to steal a glance at the book’s cover, not that he was expecting to recognize the title. To Taako’s surprise and delight Kravitz blushed and fidgeted in his seat before closing the book and setting it down on the desk to hide the cover. He covered the back of it with his arms even, and Taako was suddenly very much interested in this book. His ears perked up and he turned up the flirt factor of his smile up a couple of notches, leaning even closer to Kravitz. “Hmm?”

Kravitz was biting his cheek and averting his eyes until he fell prey to Taako’s beautiful face and couldn’t resist.

“It’s uh... it’s vampire erotica.” He muttered quietly and Taako just about managed to not slam his hands on the desk in surprise.

“You’re reading PORN?!”

“Shh!” Kravitz shushed him and grabbed Taako’s arm, looking around, clearly panicked. Taako didn’t pull away but covered his mouth with his other had to keep in his startled giggles. Kravitz was staring up at him, eyes lined with gold eyeliner, a pleading expression on his face and hachi machi, that… that sure was something.

At that moment, Taako realized that he was in way over his head, Kravitz was just too cute. He could feel himself blushing.

“So, would you uhh… recommend it?” Taako said and gestured to the book, startling Kravitz who had been staring distractedly at Taako’s face.

“The uh, the book?”

“Uhh, yes, the-- the erotica,” said Taako, and he couldn’t believe he had just said the word erotica out loud.

“Well,” Kravitz said, took a deep breath, and went off on a tangent about how the characters are stereotypical, and while the plot is really quite redundant, the author has a way of describing the characters’ feelings and making them relatable that has him hooked. Kravitz kept talking and Taako sort of tuned him out, thinking how listening to a guy monologue about shitty porn literature shouldn’t be hot but it somehow really was.

Maybe it’s just Kravitz, he thought, and immediately decided that yeah, it’s just Kravitz. Taako would have been happy to listen to anything as long as it came out of Kravitz’s mouth and that was… Hmm…

“Sorry,” Kravitz cut off suddenly, looking sheepish. “I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“Nah man sounded good to me,” Taako said and the flustered look on Kravitz’s face told him that he really should’ve listened what the man was saying. “I-- I mean uhh--” he fumbled, feeling his face heat up.

Kravitz grinned hesitantly at him, showing off those fangs and Taako’s mind immediately dove deeper into the figurative gutter. It really should be illegal to be that handsome.

“So uh, how is it, working at the cafe? I’ve noticed you look kind of bored a lot?” Kravitz said, trying to save their disastrous conversation and make some small talk like a normal person. Too bad normal and ordinary weren’t exactly Taako’s wheelhouse.

“Hmmm… You’ve been lookin’, handsome?” Taako purred, a smug smile on his face. He leaned back onto Kravitz’s desk and tucked a loose piece of hair behind his ear in a calculated, flirty move.

But before Kravitz had time to say anything, Taako felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He dug it out and to his surprise, saw that it was Brian calling. He looked over his shoulder to see what was going on and was met with Jenkins’ piercing stare, the man pointing meaningfully at Taako’s on break -sign, now that he had his attention.

“Shit.” Taako hissed under his breath and turned back towards Kravitz with an apologetic smile, fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater. “I gotta run, come over for a cuppa sometime, yeah?”

“Uh, sure.”

“The muffins are shit because they’re store bought but uhh-- if you stop by tomorrow, I can have something homemade for you?”

“You bake?” Kravitz asked with a smile that made Taako feel nice and warm inside.

“Ch’yeah! And I’m fuckin’ stellar at it.” Taako replied and managed just in time to stop himself from going for a hair flip since his hair was done up. He shot a finger gun at Kravitz instead.

“Oh, uh, I guess I stop by tomorrow then, on my break?”

“Yeah, cool!”

“Cool,” Kravitz said a bit hesitant, as if unfamiliar with the word but he was smiling still and that was… good. Very good.

“Bring your book, yeah? I’d love to know more about it.” Taako said with a grin and winked. He wiggled his fingers at Kravitz, as he started to back away, and got a small wave in response. He turned fully around and flashed a discreet thumbs up at Brian, who responded in kind.

Taako walked towards his workstation with a lot more spring to his step than before. Jenkins was tapping his foot and giving him the evil eye but Taako didn’t really give a fuck. He was gonna ask for Kravitz’s phone number tomorrow and after that, he might as well quit and get a better job.

#taakitzweek #taakitz #taaswrites

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textsfromwatchpointgibraltar · 8 years ago

Text

Noodle-ish, Part 2

You asked and here u go-- the Soba bit! It’s got feelings and I made myself sad while writing it sO HAVE FUN

AO3 / Buy me a Snack / Part 1

“So, question.”

When Hanzo had woken, it hadn’t taken long for him to realize that Umi and Kawa were already up and out of the room. And it didn’t take long, once he sat at one of the tables outside the kitchen, for 76 and Hana to bring them over to him.

“Yes?” Hanzo looked up at Hana, holding tight to Umi so she didn’t try to go following after 76. “We’re still doing that video, correct?”

“Well, of course! But…that’s not what I wanted to ask.” Hana sat as well, biting her lip in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “Lúcio mentioned something, so I wanted to ask about it, but now I’m not so sure…”

“Ah. Perhaps, once breakfast is finished?” What did Santos say? No doubt it was regarding Genji, or perhaps his past. But why would that interest Hana, when she repeatedly claimed to have no interest in any ‘old drama’?

While Hana hurried to finish eating, shouting out to the others that she was ‘kidnapping Hanzo for some vids!’, Hanzo took his time, trying to pretend that he wasn’t dreading the questions she would eventually ask.

The walk from the eating area to Hana's room wasn't a long one, but Hana made sure to fill it with chatter. If she was doing so to keep him at ease, or just because, Hanzo didn't know, but he appreciated it none the less.

Ever since Umi and Kawa had destroyed one of Hana’s streams, Hanzo had found himself to be a regular in her room. Most of the time it was to preform crowd control as the pair only seemed to want into Hana's space when she was streaming—she'd shown him the compilation someone had made of him in all her videos, usually reading, sometimes wrangling the “children,” as she called them. But he also did vlogs with her sometimes, ones about life on the watchpoint and ones about the dragons.

There were always a few comments about how he was a wanted killer, he had a bounty, but Hana made sure to nix those in the bud before they grew out of proportion.

“So—“ Hana took a seat on her desk chair as Hanzo made himself comfortable on her bed, as per usual. Umi and Kawa started to explore, the high shelf on the wall one of their favourite places to sit. The box on the desk was what Hanzo assumed would be the topic of the inevitable video, but thankfully this wasn’t a conversation she planned on recording. “—Lúcio said that he talked to you.”

Hanzo nodded. Talked to was one way to put it—Lúcio had poked and Hanzo had avoided. “Yes. Those two were in his bathtub, so I went to retrieve them.”

“Right. Well, he said that you said that Soba was like Umi and Kawa once, and I was just curious about what happened.” She put her hands up in front of her and waved them frantically once she said her bit. “No-no pressure though! I totes get it if you don't wanna talk about it.”

No, Hanzo didn't want to talk about it. To talk about what happened to Soba—what he did to Soba—was equal in measure to what he'd done to Genji. The thought of talking about it made him feel sick.

“I…will tell you some. Not a lot, though. I don't think—I can't—asking Genji might be a better plan, for the details,” he said, stumbling over his words, before sighing. “I can tell you about Soba, though.” But not—not Maru. He couldn't talk about Maru.

If Hana noticed that Umi and Kawa stopped nosing at the box on the desk to scuttled over and crawl on Hanzo, she didn't say anything. She just pulled her legs up onto her chair, holding her knees as Hanzo started to talk.

“I'd…at one point, people joked that Soba and—that Soba learned all her bad habits from Umi and Kawa. I couldn't blame their habits on her, after all—Umi and Kawa were already swimming in the toilets when Genji got Soba. The fo—the three of them were terrors, really. They’d get into everything if it wasn’t closed or locked, and even if it was, Soba was rather talented at getting past them.

“At one point, th—she’d gone missing for a good…I’d say six hours? Genji worked himself into a frenzy looking for her after two hours, and dragged me and the staff into it as well after three. We, heh, we found her finally, asleep in one of the garden’s water features. It was the air bubbles that gave her away, in the end.

“And she was always stealing things—Kawa and Umi like metal and textiles, but Soba loved…loves wood. Cooking spoons, chopsticks, little carvings…at one point she even pried one of the floor slats up and ran off with it. And it was harder to stop her when we—the family kept a lot of wood in the compound. They—Father wanted to keep the traditional look, and hid all the hard light and technology he could behind a wood veneer, so Soba was always picking at something.

“At one point the—she’d climbed onto the roof. The tiles were bad--slippery, but as a dragon, she slid wherever she wanted up there. Refused to come down too, just sat there and watched everyone fret. I think it was because someone had given them—her red onions instead of green. We had to change our eating habits as well, because she would eat out of our bowls when we were trying to. Genji and I had to develop a sudden taste for spicy things to keep her away.

“After a while, they just gave up trying to keep the fou—three out of things, and just adapted to their whims. It was easier to keep access to garden open for them than risk bathing and ending up with the dragons in there with you.”

Hana snorted as Hanzo talked, and if she noticed how often he slipped up or stumbled over his words, she didn’t say anything. She did notice, though, when he shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

“You know, you don’t have to keep telling me about Soba. We could do that unboxing video if you wanted instead? Or—or we could go get something to eat? I don’t usually keep many snacks in my room unless I’m streaming.” Hana said, moving to stand, but Hanzo shook his head.

“I’m…fine. There’s not much else to tell, really, so I may as while finish. Soba…changed after I—After Genji—Genji said that once he joined Overwatch, Soba trusted only him. She bit just about everyone once or twice, including every commanding officer he came in contact with, and apparently took a chunk out of McCree’s hand, the one he lost. The only person she tolerates is Zenyatta...and Umi and Kawa. Genji seemed…he seemed surprised once we dug out their hoard, to see that Soba was hiding things as well, so she must have stopped that too…”

Hanzo took a deep breath, more like he was trying to fight back a sob, and let himself fall back so he was laying on Hana’s bed. “When I k—After I dest—When I atta—“ God, it was easy for him to say it to himself—I tried to kill my brother, killed Maru, hurt Soba—but to say it out loud made his chest hurt. The idea of saying it made him feel sick. “I hurt Soba, when I hurt Genji. And she hasn’t forgiven me, or anyone else for it. And I don’t blame her.”

Umi moved so she was curled up on his chest, where it hurt the most, and Kawa positioned himself so he was close to Hanzo’s head, the pair of them making soft noises of concern. What did he do to deserve such wonderful dragons? Santos was right, they would suit his brother more, but he appreciated them for all they did to help him calm down.

“Hey…do you want some water?” He felt Hana’s hand touch his knee, and she took the wobble of his head to mean yes. “Kay, I’ll brb.”

With her gone, Hanzo maneuvered one hand free and placed it over his eyes, just as the tears started to slip out. He’d nearly killed his brother, nearly destroyed his dragons as well. Sure, he’d lost most of his legs, but what price was that for the life of a dragon? Any further thoughts on the matter were destroyed when Kawa nosed his way under Hanzo’s hand, chirping at him and when Hana returned.

She very pointedly was looking elsewhere when he sat up, dislodging Umi from his chest, and he appreciated it as he wiped his face with his sleeve, and took the bottle of water that was sitting on the bed with him.

“So, I figure we can get this unboxing done in a few—I kinda wanna grab a snack, and I bet they do too.” Hana motioned to Umi, who was sitting in Hanzo’s lap now, poking at the water bottle with her nose. “I think Angela got radishes the other day, so that’ll make Kawa happy, right?”

“No cheese,” he reminded her, a hiccup still in his voice, but he felt better, almost. “Umi will beg for it, but—“

Hana rolled her eyes. “Dude, I remember. Umi isn’t allowed cheese. Come on—maybe they’ll have some lunch left over too.”

Hanzo let himself be pulled to his feet, and almost smiled as he followed Hana out of her room, Kawa and Umi racing ahead to the kitchen. It was nice to have someone to talk to, and who didn’t push.

“Hana!” he called as she turned the corner. “I told you about Soba—you should tell me about MEKA next.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he imagined she was rolling her eyes at him. “Uhg, fiiiiine. Later though!”

Later was good with him.

#Overwatch #Hanzo Shimada #Hana Song #D.va #Fanfiction #Leech Writes #Not Texts #LeechPosts #Hanzo #noodle Dragons

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crowley-fe11 · 5 years ago

Text

Songwriter

(My wifi goofed, please reach out if you’re out there!!)

You both like ineffable husbands.

Stranger: [Human AU. Crowley is a famous musician, though Aziraphale is completely unaware of it. The two of them met when Crowley went into his bookshop, while he was wandering around Soho, looking for inspiration. Crowley briefly mentioned being a musician while Aziraphale mentioned writing poetry in his spare time. The two of them exchanged numbers before Crowley suddenly left in a rush after someone recognized him. Crowley's been pestering Anathema, his agent, about getting Aziraphale onboard for the next project] Crowley, you really want him to write your next album? You barely know him, have you even read anything that he's written? AD

You: I've got a good feeling about him. AC

Stranger: No offense, Crowley, but when has your good feeling ever worked out for you? AD Didn't you say he didn't even know who you are? AD

You: That would make it more genuine, wouldn't it? C I wanna take a chance. C

Stranger: Is it really about the lyrics for the album or do you just have a crush on the guy? AD

You: I'd be lying if I said he isn't cute. C I want to at least meet with him to talk it over. C

Stranger: So it absolutely is a crush, then. No wonder you've got such a good feeling about him. AD Well, I'm not going to stop you, but at least get a sample of his work. I've been trying to look him up, but it seems like he's never published anything. AD And be careful. I'd hate for you to break your heart because of all this. AD

You: Well, even if I do, you'd say that could be inspiration, right? C I'll reach out. Wish me luck. C

Stranger: I know you and I know you'd just mope around for weeks rather than use it as fuel. But yeah, alright, whatever you say, Casanova. Good luck with your poet. AD

You: Thanks, Anathema. C [To Aziraphale] Hey angel, how've you been? C

Stranger: Oh, hello, dear, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. I've been quite alright, though, thank you for askng. AF

You: That's great. Sorry I rushed out earlier. C Would you be free to grab coffee, or maybe dinner? C

Stranger: I was wondering about that, you were in such a rush, did something happen? AF Oh. Well, I suppose I would be, if you'd like to do that. AF

You: Oh, I just realised I was running late somewhere. C When are you free? C

Stranger: Pretty much anytime, that's one of the perks of running my own business, I'm in charge of the opening times. AF

You: That's definitely a perk. C So, if we do coffee, I could always bring some to the shop, but I'd have an odd request for that. C Otherwise, if you wanna grab dinner, I could pick you up at 7:00? C

Stranger: An odd request? AF

You: Oh, just to close up shop for a little while? Just, fewer interruptions. C But I get it if you prefer to stay open still. C

Stranger: Oh, no, I wouldn't mind that at all, I do like to take a break from having to watch the customers. Most of them don't even know how to properly handle a book, would you believe that? I always have to make sure they're not being too rough with them. AF

You: They are some lovely copies you have there. C I can be there at around 2:00? C Oh, and I didn't get a chance to ask you more about your poetry. Any chance I could see some of it? C

You: (brb)

Stranger: Two is certainly alright, I'll close up a little before that. AF My poetry? Well, I do have some manuscripts in the back, but it's really nothing special, dear. AF

You: Perfect. What can I bring for you? C I'm sure they're lovely. C

Stranger: If you could get some pastries, that'd be wonderful. You don't have to worry about drinks, I could make us some tea here, if you'd like. AF Oh, I appreciate the confidence, but really, you'd probably be disappointed. AF

You: Of course, angel. I'd be more than happy to. C But I'm sure it is. Even just in conversation, you have a way with words. C

Stranger: Oh, dear, you're really a flatterer. I suppose I could show you some of it, but try not to get your hopes up. AF

You: I'd be happy to show you some samples of what I've been working on, if it helps. C I feel like sometimes, you can surprise yourself with what you create, y'know? C

Stranger: You did mention music, didn't you? I'd love to hear it, certainly. You do give off a certain rock star vibe, very stylish, making music just suits you. AF Oh, absolutely, that is very much true. There are some poems that I've written that I like quite a bit, but they don't exactly match up to the quality of actual published authors. AF

You: Well thank you, angel. C It could also mean that it's revolutionary, what you're working on. You never know. C

Stranger: You're very sweet, dear, but I highly doubt it's revolutionary. I suppose you'll be able to tell me what you think of it once you read it. AF

You: I'm looking forward to it. C Are there any pastries in particular you like? C

Stranger: Oh, I'm very fond of anything that's sweet, pretty much. So just pick whatever you like, dear. AF

You: Alright, I'll see you in just a little while. C

Stranger: Yes, see you soon. AF ((paragraphs?))

You: (Sure, would you like to start, or would you like me to?)

Stranger: ((I'd prefer that you did, if you don't mind!))

You: (Sure thing)

You: Crowley couldn't help the smile on his face as he carried the pastry box with him as he returned to the bookshop he'd wandered into before, his guitar case slung over his shoulder as he strolled over to the shop. He let himself in despite the sign on the door, glad that he and Aziraphale would get some privacy. The last thing he needed was a gaggle of fans asking for photos and autographs. "Hey, angel," he greeted with a charming smile as he sauntered over to the other man. "Afternoon been alright for you so far?"

Stranger: Aziraphale had to admit, it was quite strange the way Crowley just stumbled into his life and seemed to fit right in, with his charming smile and the way he called him angel even though the two of them barely knew each other. Sometime before two Aziraphale closed up the shop so that no one would bother them as Crowley showed up for their meeting. He looked up as he heard the door open, smiling at the sight of the other man. "Hello, dear," he greeted him warmly, his eyes immediately wandering over to the guitar case before returning to Crowley's face. "Oh, yes, rather quiet, fortunately," he told him, "Follow me, we can sit down in the back, I'll make us some tea," he said, already leading the way to the back of the shop.

You: Crowley happily followed Aziraphale to the back of his shop, taking in the organised chaos of the bookshop, and the antique books with their elegant covers, which the shop owner cared so deeply for. It seemed to suit the other man perfectly, to be surrounded by all the literature, the stories. Once they reached a sitting area, he set his guitar case down and placed the pastries on the coffee table before he took a seat on the plush sofa. He watched Aziraphale as he got their tea ready, taking off his shades and pocketing them, figuring if the other hadn't recognised him by now, he might just be safe.

Stranger: Aziraphale led Crowley to the back, then gestured for him to take a sit. Aziraphale himself went about preparing some tea for the both of them, humming softly to himself as he did, finding himself surprisingly comfortable with Crowley's presence. It didn't happen often that Aziraphale had such an easy time talking to someone. Soon enough he brought the cups of tea over to the table, along with sugar and some milk. He took a seat in the armchair, smiling as he got a look at Crowley and noticed that his glasses were off and he could get a good look at his eyes. "Well, there we go, dear," he hummed, already reaching to pick up one of the pastries, making a small pleased hum as he saw what it was. "I see you've brought your guitar with you- I didn't realize that when you mentioned samples of your work you meant you'd be playing it for me live, though I'm certainly looking forward to hearing it."

You: Crowley gratefully accepted the cup the other brought him with a nod in thanks. "Well, it is the best way I can think of," Crowley told him with a small chuckle. "There's more energy when you hear music played in person, I find," he explained, smiling fondly at Aziraphale as he enjoyed the pastry. Granted, he could easily pull up his best hits on his mobile, but he enjoyed staying somewhat anonymous, in a way. It was nice to be able to be humble and get to interact with Aziraphale without his fame getting in the way. It seemed to make the other man's presence all the more calming.

Stranger: Aziraphale bit into the pastry eagerly, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the taste. He was still listening to Crowley and nodded in agreement, blinking his eyes open as he swallowed down the bite down. "Oh, yes, of course- no recording device could ever capture music in quite the right way, I do agree with you on that," he hummed, smiling at the other man. He took a sip of his tea, then seemed to hesitate briefly before suddenly standing up. He continued to talk while he walked over to a desk. "What is it that you play, anyway? Personally, I'm quite partial to classical music myself, but you don't strike me as the type of person to play it, though I'm sure as a musician you must be familiar with all the classics, Bach, Beethoven and such." He pulled a shelf open and dug around in it until he found a leather bound notebook, his expression softening at the sight of it. He did tell Crowley he'd show him his poetry, after all. With the notebook in hand, he returned to his seat.

You: Aziraphale at least understood his reasoning, and that made Crowley smile all the more. At least he'd appreciate some of his music live. "Oh, I am familiar. It's not the genre I work in, but I still appreciate their work nonetheless. You pretty much got me pegged, being in more of the rock 'n roll scene, though I have been thinking of branching out a little bit. All depending what inspiration comes to me," he answered as he looked to the other, taking a sip from his mug. "And what about you, and your poetry? How would you describe your writing style?" He asked curiously, relaxing into the cushions as he smiled, eager to hear more from Aziraphale. Even aside from the perhaps romantic idea of creating music from the words of a man he'd just started to fancy, he knew that spoke about who the other man was as a person as well.

Stranger: Aziraphale hummed as he listened to Crowley's response, wiggling a little in his chair to get more comfortable, notebook now in his lap and his hands covering it tenderly. "Can't say I'm much for rock music, but that's just a matter of taste, I suppose," he hummed, smiling at the man. It didn't surprise him to hear that was the genre the other worked in. At the question directed back at it, he was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping down to the notebook. "Oh, I- I don't think I would know how to describe it," he admitted quietly, looking like he was a little embarrassed to be talking about his own work. "It's a bit of everything, I suppose, I don't tend to stick to one particular style... though, well, I am a rather big fan of Oscar Wilde's work, especially his poetry, so I do take quite a lot of inspiration from that- perhaps you should just read it for yourself, dear," he suddenly decided, sitting up and offering the notebook to the other man.

You: Crowley listened intently as Aziraphale tried his best to describe his poetry, and his inspirations, and when the other handed him his notebook, he opened it up, taking in the words on the pages before him. There was a rather lyrical structure, and music seemed nag at him with some of the lines. "Hang on a moment," he told the other man as he placed the notebook on the table carefully, pulling his guitar case closer so he could pull out the instrument. He got it settled on his lap and quickly plucked the strings to make sure it was tuned properly. "I hope you don't mind if I try something out with this piece," Crowley told him, making absolutely certain that Aziraphale was fine with this.

Stranger: Once Crowley took the notebook from him, Aziraphale busied himself with the rest of the pastry, trying not to fret too much as the other read his poems. It wasn't often that Aziraphale shared his work with anyone, there were few people that had ever read it and, well, nerves certainly were nagging at him as he watched Crowley read it. He tilted his head as the other spoke up, watching him with a mix of anxiety and fascination on his face as Crowley suddenly reached for his guitar case. He was slowly beginning to realize what Crowley was about to do and his eyes widened in surprise, though at the question he couldn't find it in himself to say no. "Oh- please, do go on, dear," he just murmured, waiting to hear what Crowley was about to do.

You: As soon as he had Aziraphale's permission, Crowley began to play, settling into the rhythm of the prose and finding a melody that suited the words on the page. He then began to softly sing the words, glancing up at Aziraphale from time to time. When he finished, he looked to the other man with a small smile, his heart racing. "How was that?" He asked, trying to read his expression, hoping it was something he enjoyed. What he played was softer, perhaps a bit sweeter than what he usually did, but Aziraphale certainly brought that out of him.

Stranger: Aziraphale was completely taken aback by the music and perhaps even more taken aback by the sound of his own words coming out of Crowley's mouth as he sang them softly to him. Crowley was not just good - it seemed like he had a natural feel for the music, the way he came up with the melody right there and then. Somehow, Aziraphale had found himself actually enjoying the way his own poem sounded, far more than when he just saw it on paper. He brought a hand up to his mouth, his expression soft and amazed at once. "Oh- oh my goodness," he muttered softly once Crowley finished, "That was- dear, that was wonderful, I didn't... well, of course I didn't expect that, oh, that was very lovely- you're very good at what you do, clearly, but- I have to admit, I think I've enjoyed hearing this poem far more when you were singing it than when I was just reading it to myself."

You: Crowley grinned at Aziraphale's reaction, finding his reaction better than any crowd he played for. It was his words, after all, and he couldn't be more grateful for them, and the other man for allowing him to use them. "Y'know, that's the thing I struggle with the most, is finding the words, but the music can come to me fairly easily," he told him with a soft chuckle. "Say, if you'd ever be willing, I'd love to bring music to more of your poetry," Crowley told him. "You could be a songwriter." He wondered what Aziraphale would think of that idea. He could understand him wanting his poetry to just be that, but he could see so much potential in his words, and in them working together in the very least.

Stranger: Crowley certainly kept on surprising Aziraphale, even more so when he mentioned what basically sounded like a partnership. Aziraphale flustered a little, wringing his hands in his lap. "Oh- Oh, I don't know about that," he mumbled out, looking away from him. "What you just did was very lovely, dear, but I'm not sure if I- if I could... well, I'm not really a songwriter, you see, I've never done anything of the sort and, well, clearly you're so good at making music that you've managed to turn what I've written into a song, but I don't know if I could really do that-" he rambled a little then let out a breath, deflating into the chair. "-and I'd still very much like to hear your own songs," he added after a moment, hoping to take the focus off himself for at least a moment

You: "Oh, they're really not as impressive as that. But I do mean it, I'm terrible at lyrics, but this really speaks to me, and I'm just saying it could be something we do together. If you wanted to," Crowley told him sincerely. He really did think Aziraphale's words deserve more than just being read on the page. They were still lovely that way, but they seemed to have more life in them, which made Crowley all the more eager to convince the other man. "But I suppose you might be able to see what I mean with stuff I've tried on my own." He knew he had more of a harder rock feel, but perhaps he could provide a softer version for Aziraphale to enjoy, so he started with one of his better known songs.

#this was so sweet #please let me know if you're out there #lost rp #omegle rp #Ineffable Husbands #ineffable husbands rp #ineffable boyfriends rp #ineffable boyfriends #ineffable partners #rockstar!crowley #writer!aziraphale #human au #this was so cute #i need more of this

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mysdrymmumbles · 8 years ago

Text

An Unusual Plight

This is a reworked version of an old piece I wrote while I was in college, detailing one of my more horrifying adventures. Today’s adventures fighting cockroaches and centipedes reminded me of this, and I remembered that I like writing creative nonfiction, lol.

The raiding mentioned is for world of warcraft. It’s not a big part of it.

Word Count: 1809

Warning: Really gross insects and their demises.

It was a lovely Autumn evening in late October. The leaves were in their full glory, flaunting their colors, and the air was just getting that crisp edge that makes one want to bundle up and cuddle with a loved one. A magical time of year, to be sure.

However, none of that mattered to me.

I was in a raid.

Karazhan, to be precise.

We were preparing to take down the second boss—well, attempting to for the nth time—when suddenly, I noticed something moving from the corner of my eye.

It was too close to be those gorgeous leaves outside, shifting in a passing breeze, and my dorm room was a single, so it’s not like I had a roommate who might be doing something.

Puzzled, I turned my head and came face to face with a dime-sized spider dangling its flaily little legs just above my shoulder.

I do believe that the confrontation left the spider with the same, 'Oh, shit' feeling that overwhelmed me, because it immediately made a break for the ceiling.

Hastily typing a ‘brb’, I lunged for my can of Pledge—it gets rid of way more than just dust—and sprayed the little bastard. Ignoring the twinge of guilt as it dropped to the floor, little lungs filling in toxic fumes or whatever, I stomped the life from it and went back to my raid.

A few hours later, I again found myself in front of my computer, aimlessly surfing the internet until I was tired enough to sleep.

And then... it happened.

Again.

A movement caught in the corner of my vision. A large unidentifiable spot blocking out part of the pale wall. Turning my head, I again was confronted by a spider hovering just above my shoulder with its creepy little legs all flaily and awful. Again, the feeling of horror was mutual and again the spindly creature made a run for the ceiling.

This time, though, it was different.

The spider was too big.

I panicked.

In a second, it had returned to the light fixture from whence it came, and I couldn't find it. Frantically, I grabbed my Pledge and began scanning the ceiling. Surely it hadn't gotten far. I'd only taken my eyes off it for a second.

Was it running across the ceiling? How fast could it move? Was it descending on my bed as I searched above my desk? Was it descending on my head? Was it already on me? Why the hell were there two gigantic spiders in my room? Were there more? Were they already taking over my room? Hiding in my shirts and drawers? Crawling through my sheets? Was that spidery death I'd always feared finally coming to be?

Just as I was beginning to run through the names of friends that might not mind being called at one in the morning to come and help me find the instrument of my demise, I saw a flitting movement on the light fixture.

So.

It hadn't left it at all, but rather, had just hid there, hoping I would forget its presence.

There would be no such luck.

There was no way I'd ever sleep again knowing such a large, creepy thing could descend upon me on a whim and... do something creepy. Like crawl on me. Or bite me.

Ration crept into my mind for an instant, reminding me that supposedly there were no poisonous spiders in Vermont.

So?

Who says this was a native spider? Maybe it traveled here from somewhere else? Maybe the spiders were out to get me for killing that one the other day.

No, this creature and I could not coexist. Brandishing my Pledge, I sprayed it and it fell from the ceiling, this time, onto my books. As it writhed, half on the book, half off, I realized that with a simple push, the book would finish the job.

Did I want spider guts on my text book?

I didn't have time to waste on such thoughts. Any second it could recover, and I might lose it again. I'd learned before how easily these creatures took advantage of such hesitation.

Jabbing the book forward, it slammed against the wall, and the spider stopped its flailing.

It was over.

Or so I thought.

Two days passed, during which I found my left ankle had become swollen.

How strange.

I hadn't over exerted myself. I was doing nothing different. My ankle didn't hurt or itch. What if...

What if one of those spiders had gotten to me... before I'd known they were there? What if this swelling was a result of a spider bite? Would it get worse? It wasn't getting better.

During this time, I tried desperately not to think of my friend's aunt, who had a spider lay an egg sac in her ear lobe and how she had to get her ear lobe removed. I couldn't lose an ankle.

Not to spiders.

A bus, maybe.

But not spiders.

That would be letting them win.

After a trip to the ER, in which the doctors dismissed my fear of being bitten—much to my relief—I returned to my room and attempted to resume my usual patterns....

Though in the back of my mind I still feared opening my door to see hundreds of spiders dangling from the ceiling at different heights and I still scanned my ceiling before going to bed, my life began to return to normal.

In fact, I had almost completely gotten over—or as far over as I'll ever get—the whole incident when suddenly, as I was heading toward the door of my room to get ready for bed, I saw something move in the corner of my eye.

No!

They were back!

How?

Why?

What had I done to displease the Spider Gods so?

Whirling toward the movement, ready to face the third abomination trespassing in my room, I realized it was not a spider.

It was... it was...

What the hell was that?

A large black... thing.

The questionable creature moving across my wall was like 3 1/2 inches long and maybe an inch wide.

What sort of hellish creation could be such a size and still climb on a wall?

Edging forward, I soon realized that the majority of what I had first assumed to be one large mass... was legs.

So many legs.

The centipede continued on its way, and I whirled around, looking for my ever faithful can of Pledge. Turning back, my heart nearly fell from my chest.

It was gone.

Christ, that wall was right next to my bed. Was it moving toward my sheets? Did it get there already? How fast do centipedes move? How the hell did it get that big? What the hell is wrong with bugs in Vermont?!

Much to my relief, it didn't take me long to find the critter crawling aimlessly along the baseboard of my room.

I eyed it.

And put the Pledge down.

Pledge worked on spiders. But I didn't know what would happen here. Would it be able to run behind something before I could kill it? That would be problematic. Turning again, I scanned my sparse shoe collection. Why did everything have to have tread? If I used the wrong shoe, the demon-spawn could just maneuver into a crevice and then I'd be holding it up.

Picking a shoe I felt had worn enough tread, I lashed out at the trespasser. I missed, crushing some of its legs off, and it turned, running at a hindered speed for cover.

However, for an instant I was frozen in horror. The disembodied legs kept twitching on my floor, a life I had never seen before rushing through them.

My ration stepped in, slapping me to awareness, and assuring me that because the little creature moved so quickly the momentum must still be in the legs and that it was not, in fact, an actual demon spawn.

That was all the explanation I needed to gather my wits and again locate my adversary. Another quick thud with the shoe, and it was over.

The disembodied legs continued to twitch for few seconds before growing still, the legs attached to the body following suit.

My mind reeled.

Were there more centipedes? There had been two spiders.... Where had this one come from? How did it get so big? Really, what the hell was up with that? I was on the second floor... how does that work? Had that thing run over my ankle and bitten it, making it swell before? Was this creature the culprit? Centipedes are poisonous, aren't they? Fuck. I couldn’t deal with poisonous stuff.

I decided to leave the centipede’s body where it lay as a testament to any other trespassers that might attempt to take over my room… and partially because it was just really, really creepy, and I was scared the legs would move again.

If these creatures were planning an invasion of my room, I would not fall so easily.

I would put up a fight.

After completely clearing off my bed and thoroughly examining each sheet and pillow before replacing it, and scouring the walls, ceiling, and carpet for any signs of movement, I finally determined that my room was safe again and allowed myself to attempt sleep.

It was no easy task, and I was paranoid every time a hair brushed my shoulder or a toe itched, but I managed.

I was again getting over the buggy encounter when my friends again asked me to raid with them. Not thinking much of it, I settled down at my desk, and we started off.

And then... I saw it.

That all too familiar twitch of movement in my peripheral vision. That dark splotch blocking out part of the wall. That stark realization that the war was far from over.

Turning my head in a mixture of disbelief, horror, and dismay, I stared at a small centipede as it scuttled along my wall.

Had it not seen the other’s corpse? Was it rising in some sort of challenge?

Was it a forerunner for the forces to come?

Thinking quickly, I took my cell phone and smashed it against the creature. After wiping away its corpse, I stared at the tiny stain it had left on my wall, and my gaze slowly drifted over to one of the larger stains that I had noticed on my first day moving into my room....

My god.

I had dismissed those stains as college mishaps. It had never occurred to me that they could be remnants of battles past.

Staring at those dark splotches, so much larger than the one the little centipede had made, I couldn’t help the growing horror building up inside me.

Was it over?

…Or was it just beginning?

#not da #mysdrym mumbles #bugs #spiders #college life #mysdrym writes

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