#I would be a smug asshole too if I were in his position

[nanasrkives]

navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! the mha EP!

"SKINCARE NIGHT" ─ Bakugo Katsuki, Kirishima Eijiro, Kaminari Denki, Todoroki Shoto

was doing skincare while watching mha and i thought why the hell not :) content : fluff. crackfic. menace known as bakugo. multicharacter. 3.6k words.

BAKUGO KATSUKI

You were in the middle of your skincare routine when the door slams open without warning, the impact rattling the frame as Bakugo Katsuki bursts in your room like he owns the place.

"Oi ! Let's—" he starts, voice rough and demanding, but then he sees you. His words falter as he freezes. For a moment, there is nothing but silence. His red eyes snap open a fraction as he takes in the sight before him. You, cross-legged on your bed, a sheet mask pressed gently to your face, your fingers smoothing the edges of the mask as you settle into the feeling of the cool serum.

"The fuck is that !?" he snarls, his own voice shrill with wariness as he takes a step back as if you've just turned into a faceless demon. You blink slowly, raising an eyebrow. "A face mask ?" He gestures towards you, furrowing deep in suspicion, his voice gruff. "Why the hell do you look like that, woman?" You roll your eyes, while patting your cheeks to allow the product to penetrate. "It's skincare, Katsuki. It's literally just a mask." He doesn't appear to be convinced. His posture is still defensive, arms crossed over his chest tightly, as if coming any closer to you would somehow taint him. His scowl darkens. And then, as if catching himself looking ridiculous, his lips twist into a smug, annoyed smirk. "Tch. You look stupid as fuck."

You snort, struggling not to laugh. There it is. As soon as he gets off track, he reverts back to being an asshole. Classic Bakugo. "And yet…" You tilt your head, eyes glinting with trouble. "My skin's softer than yours." His eyes light up, the gauntlet thrown in his chest. "Bullshit. My skin's perfect." You hum thoughtfully, bending over to your nightstand and grabbing a fresh sheet mask from the pile. You lift it slowly, making a production out of what you're doing, and a grin pulls at your mouth. "Then show me." Bakugo's entire body stiffens, his position becoming rigid in surprise. "What?"

"If your skin is really that perfect," you say lightly, voice sweet and naive, "then you wouldn't be afraid to do a little skincare, right?" His eye darts, that old, competitive fire burning. You can practically see the moment he takes the bait, the moment the challenge gets into his head. "Who the hell said I was afraid, woman? You shrug indifferently, your voice laced with sarcasm. "You literally flinched when you saw me."

"I DIDN'T FUCKING FLINCH," he snaps, his annoyance evident in the rising tone. You fight off the smile, fingers closing hard around the packet in your hand. "So you're doing it, then?" Bakugo doesn't even hesitate. He swipes the packet out of your hand so fast you don't even have a chance to think. "Fine."

You watch with amusement as he rips the packaging apart as if it hurt him personally, then with a snarl, rips out the damp sheet mask from its packaging. He looks at it like it's something from another world or something, confusion crossing his face.

"How the fuck do you even—" You exhale in exasperation, crossing your legs to sit. "Fold it up and put it on already, genius." With a huff, Bakugo slaps the mask over his face, but the problem? It's completely off. One of the holes for his eyes is slightly off-center, his nose is partially obscured, and the edges are all creased up like he's trying to put on a badly fitting helmet.

You look at him, impassive. "Bakugo Katsuki. Fix it."

"The fuck? It's on!" he grumbles with a huff, clearly irritated. "You look like a serial killer," you quip, eyeballing the badly placed mask. He shoots you a glare even nastier but ungraciously shoves it—a tad too hard—into place until it's properly centered. His entire body is dripping with irritation, but the mask is on well, technically. Which is when you notice it. You pick up the pink and fluffy headband you'd eyed all evening. It is soft, stupid, and most importantly has cat ears hanging off the front. Before he can protest, you put the headband on his head, smoothing his messy blond hair back so it's sitting perfectly. The room is quiet for a crackling moment. Bakugo blinks once. Twice. Then, his eyes slowly drift to the mirror at the opposite end of the room. Face mask. Pink cat-ear headband. He stares at himself. You can almost imagine the gears cranking in his head as he processes the picture. It is so utterly, brutally off the mark that you almost feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

Almost. Finally, Bakugo's head swivels back towards you, his growl low and threatening as he utters a single word, "Woman." You struggle to suppress your laughter. You do, really. But the image of him, so angry and outraged, the cat ears sitting atop his head… it's just too much. You clench your lip, holding out for just another moment. "Yes babe?" He doesn't crack a smile. Doesn't even flinch. His voice is still icy, but you can sense the threat underlying. "You better fucking sleep with one eye open." And that's when you lose it. You double over, your laughter erupting in a loud, uncontrollable sound. Your hands are clutched over your stomach as you struggle to breathe, tears building up in your eyes. Bakugo stands before you, regarding you, the death glare still very much intact, but his shoulders are ever so slightly tense with embarrassment. "Aww, come on," you gasp, wiping away a tear from your eye. "You're cute." His eyes twitch. "Shut the hell up." But all the threats of death and the glares, and Bakugo still does not take off the mask. Doesn't even touch the thing. Crosses his arms tightly over his chest, still scowling, but now you see it. The corners of his mouth are just slightly softer. And if he just remains there for all ten minutes, arms crossed and still scowling but silently enjoying the cold against his skin? Well, that's a secret for you, him, and his perfect damn skin.

KIRISHIMA EIJIRO

Kirishima Eijiro was the type of guy who always go headfirst, and tonight was no different. You had just mentioned to him about having a skincare night, and now he was literally bouncing off the walls with excitement. "Alright y/n, tell me the first step! Let's do this!" he babbled on his heels with his trademark grin.

You laughed, handing him the exfoliating scrub and a sheet mask. "Start with this scrub. It will exfoliate your skin before we put on the hydrating mask."

"Ex-fo-liate?" Kirishima stared at the tub in his hands like it was an alien relic. "What the hell is exfoliate?

You smiled, trying to stifle your giggles. "It's just a bougie way of saying 'removing dead skin cells.' It'll make your skin smooth."

His brow furrowed in thought, then he shrugged it off. "Okay, so it's like fighting bad guys, but for my face?"

You nodded, slightly more seriously than you intended. "Yes, exactly."

With that, Kirishima jumped in, scrubbing with intense focus. He wasn't particularly gentle—his face was scrunched up, and he scrubbed a little too hard in places—but you couldn't help but smile at how persistantly he was scrubbing.

You winced a little when he scrubbed a little too hard. "Uh, Eijiro ? You don't need to press so hard babe."

"Huh?" He stopped, gaping up in a confused manner. "But I thought I had to exfoliate and remove the dead skin cells! Gotta break 'em!" You smiled and shook your head. "More like be gentle."

"Be gentle, okay!" Kirishima repeated back, nodding before continuing with lighter fingers. "This makes complete sense now."

Once he washed it off, he turned his attention to the sheet mask you had given him. "Alright, now what are we doing ?"

"Face Mask !" You said as you gave him the sheet mask, and he just looked at it for a second, not really knowing how to go about doing it.

"Uh. I don't know how to—" he said, his tone hesitant, but only briefly.

"Just unfold it delicately," you instructed. "And see how you can make it stay on your face right."

He nodded gravely, although the mask was plainly giving him a bit of difficulty. With two fumbling pulls, he eventually slapped the mask over his face, although the fit was hardly ideal—one side off-center, and the mask creased where it met the jawline.

He stared at his reflection, as if debating some deep philosophical conundrum. "Well, I look pretty good, right?" he said, adjusting the mask once more.

You looked at him and couldn't help but smile. Although the mask was a bit crooked, Kirishima's persistent confidence still shone through. He looked like a warrior—firm and ready to take on anything, even if that was battling a face mask.

"You're glowing," you teased, clearly enjoying his misery so desperately struggling.

He grinned back, clearly pleased. "Hell yeah, I'm glowing. I knew I'd kill this."

You two talked and laughed the next few minutes away, Kirishima never losing his optimism. Despite having no idea what he was doing sometimes, he was truly enjoying himself. He just kept going on about how great the cooling feeling was on his face, and how "manly" skincare was.

"Man, this cooling thing is amazing y/n," he breathed softly, running his finger over his face tenderly, his eyes wide with disbelief that he liked it so much. "I never thought skincare could be this great. This definitely is going into my routine."

You smiled, struck by the level to which he was captivated by it. "Yeah? I'll have to get you more some time."

"Hell yeah! I'm so in!" Kirishima said excitedly. "Next week?"

When the timer beeped, signaling that it was time to remove the mask, Kirishima removed it hastily and washed his face. His face did look a little brighter, and he looked pleasantly surprised at the result.

"Whoa," he said, his eyes wide as he touched his skin. "My face feels so much better. I didn't think it'd work."

You gathered up the used sheet mask and bottles of lotion, chuckling at the amount of satisfaction Kirishima had derived from it despite being such a seemingly ordinary process.

Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Kirishima leaned forward and burried you in a large, bear hug, pulling you into his chest as he began peppering kisses all over your face. You could feel his face still a little sticky from the mask, but he didn't even realize it.

"Thanks for doing this with me," he whispered, his face pressed against your shoulder. "This was incredible. Can we do this every week?"

You laughed, holding him close. "Of course baby, I'd love that."

He pulled back slightly, still grinning from ear to ear. "Next time, I'm bringing my own masks. I'm gonna be a skincare master in no time."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. “You’re already well on your way, Eijiro.”

And despite the fact that his face was still sticky with mask remnants, Kirishima looked completely content. He wasn’t just embracing the fun of skincare, but he was also genuinely proud of how seriously he took it.

KAMINARI DENKI

It had been an exhausting day, but you were looking forward to your skincare night—just you, your face mask, and a little bit of relaxation. That is, until your boyfriend, Kaminari Denki, decided he'd be a part of the fun. He came barging into your room, without knocking as always, with this huge grin on his face.

"Yo babe, what's going on in here?"

You were sitting on the bed, getting ready to put on your mask, and you raised an eyebrow at him. "I was going to do my skincare. Why?"

"Skincare, huh?" Denki's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I've seen this stuff on TikTok. People get all dewy and radiant and talk about hydration and glowy skin. I wanna see what all the hype is about."

You sighed, already aware of where this was going. "You're really gonna ruin my skincare night for this?"

Denki gave you a playful smile and seated himself next to you on the bed. "Hell yeah I'm down ! I'm ready to get glowing too. We're in this together, right?"

You gave him an incredulous look. "It's not some kind of competition, Denki. You have to do the steps."

He waved you off. "I've got this. I've been watching TikTok. How difficult can it be?"

You handed him the cleanser first, eyeing him warily as he took it from your hand. He uncapped it and sniffed. "What is this? You look like you're going to perform a science experiment, not skincare."

"Just wash your face with it," you said, trying not to laugh. "It's not that complicated."

He grinned. "Easy enough!"

He started putting the cleanser on his face, but instead of gently massaging it in, Denki was essentially scrubbing his face raw, rubbing his hands around in aggressive circles. It was like he was trying to scrub off a whole layer of skin.

"Uh, not like that…" you tried to tell him, but he didn't seem to listen.

As he rinsed his face, he faced you with a wide grin. "Alright! Step one, done! I already feel refreshed!"

You stifled your smile. "You're definitely… something. Let's just get to the mask."

You handed him the sheet mask, which he looked at with a mix of suspicion and expectation.

"Okay, okay, I got this," he muttered, looking at the package like it was a treasure map. He tried to open the mask, but it was like attempting to watch a car crash in slow motion—he just couldn't quite manage to do it right.

"I saw this on TikTok, you just—" Denki tried to put it on, but the mask was too big for his face, and it looked like it was going to slip off at any second. His lips were covered, but so were his eyes, and the whole thing was just askew.

You couldn't help it. "Denks, what the hell are you doing?"

Denki’s eyes were wide behind the mask, and he tried to adjust it, making matters worse. “What?! It’s like skincare armor. I’m doing it right.”

He stepped back and admired himself in the mirror, hands on his hips, clearly proud of his “work.” “Look at me babe. This is perfect, right?”

You snickered. “You look like a glazed donut.”

"What? No way! I'm glowing, aren't I?" Denki asked, clearly not seeing the absurdity of it all. He tugged at the mask, trying to get it straight, but it continued to slip, and you couldn't help it anymore, the laughter just escaped.

"Okay, okay, okay, got it!" Denki cried, turning to face you again, clearly amused by himself. "You're only jealous of my glowing skin. I can feel the aura coming off of me already."

You shook your head, trying to stop yourself from laughing. "I don't think it's your skin that's glowing right now, Denki. It's the ridiculousness of your whole experience."

He paused, stared at you for a bit, then broke into a wide grin. "Hey, as long as my skin's moisturized, I'm game."

After about ten minutes of Denki trying not to move—unsuccessfully, of course—he took off the mask and promptly touched his face. "Whoa. This is awesome, y/n! I could totally get used to this. My skin is so soft now. I'm basically a skincare expert."

You couldn't help but grin at him. "It's not a competition, Denki. But, okay, we'll say you're a skincare guru."

Denki was practically glowing now—not only from the mask, but from being so proud of himself.

"You're the best, babe," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pink headband you had to put on him to keep his hair out of his face. "I'm so doing this again next week. You ready?"

You couldn't help giggling. "Yeah, next week, Denki. But maybe no more TikTok tutorials."

TODOROKI SHOTO

Todoroki Shoto didn't have any idea what he was getting himself into when he said he would hang out with you. He had spent the whole day training and just needed a bit of relaxation, so he thought some peace and quiet in your room would be the best way to unwind. But as soon as his eyes landed on the array of skincare products on your shelf, he should have known things were about to take a turn. You were seated cross-legged on the bed with a jar of face scrub and a sheet mask in each of your hands. You noticed that he glanced over at the products and grinned promptly. "Well hello boyfriend," you said with a sinister sparkle in your eye. "Why don't you join me for some skincare?" Shoto raised an eyebrow, looking surprised. "Skincare? Me? You nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I need a model for my routine. You're just the one for it."

He blinked slowly and for a moment, you feared he would say no, but he sighed, clearly too tired to protest. "Fine. Okay, I guess I'll do it. But no weird stuff, okay?" You grinned, already contemplating on how you would pamper him. "No jokes, I promise. Just lay back, chill out, and let me get my hands in." Shoto settled back into the pillows, eyes already beginning to shut as he prepared himself. He did not seem to mind too much when you started with the skincare. And why would he, anyway? How awful could it possibly be?

You worked with your cleanser first, carefully applying it after damping his face with a wet cotton pad. Shoto barely flinched, his face easing under your fingers. It was clear he was trying to relax, probably due to stress from the day, and his calm mood merely made your job easier. "See? Not that bad," you teased while rubbing the cleanser on his skin. Shoto hummed. His eyes were still closed, and you could sense his shoulders relax even further under your touch. It was like he was in his own little world now, relaxing totally under your hands. You moved on to the next step—a clay mask that would purify his skin. You stood there with the jar in front of you, smiling. "Now the good stuff." He barely even glanced at you. It was as if Shoto had given up altogether, allowing you to do what you wanted. With that, you began to apply the rich, creamy mask to his face, smoothing it out over his skin with delicacy. You paused, glancing at his expression. It was blank, a little serious even, as if he was contemplating something deep. “I’m not sure about this one,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. You laughed softly. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. You’ll look great.” There was silence. Shoto's stoic expression hadn't altered one bit. His calm face was as if he were meditating, completely focused on nothing. As you put the mask on his face, you noticed something amusing: he was so relaxed that he wasn't even tensing a muscle. He didn't even blink.

You'd finished donning the mask and, with minimal commotion, you were back to lying next to him. Shoto remained stretched out, completely still, and his face was covered in a thick layer of clay mask. His hair, of course, was beautifully styled, and the headband you'd initially given him to keep his bangs away from his eyes still sat securely there. You remained there for a couple of minutes, just sitting in silence. The timer on your phone counted down, reminding you that it was almost time to remove the mask, but when you looked at Shoto's face once more, you noticed something: he was sleeping. You blinked a few times, caught off guard. Did he just really fall asleep right here in the middle of this? You leaned forward and gently poked his cheek. "Shoto?" you whispered, but he didn't move. His breathing was light and even, his face smooth as it had been since he first lay down. You couldn't help but smile at how cute he was. Here he was, one of the strongest in your class and now he was on your bed, his face covered in a mask, and completely out cold. "Well, I guess that means I did a good job," you told yourself, your lips curving into a fond smile. You didn't want to wake him, but you couldn't resist taking a selfie either. Taking one last look at his peaceful face, you reached over and grabbed your phone from the bedside table and snapped a quick pic.

You staged him with a peace sign and ensured you got the whole ridiculous look—the clay mask, the cute headband, and most of all, his completely clueless face. You smiled softly at the photo. "Perfect," you sighed, putting down your phone and gazing over at your handiwork. Todoroki Shoto, your boyfriend, now your own personal skincare test subject. You slowly took a towel to remove the mask from his face. The time was up, so you gently wiped away the clay from his skin, making sure that his skin was clean before continuing to clean up the products. Once he was all scrubbed up, you replaced everything on the shelf and gave him one last look. He was still asleep, the cutest little smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. As you rose quietly to put your products back in their place, you couldn't help but be a little dazed. Shoto was always so mysterious all the time, but times like these made him a little less so, a little more of yours. Smiling softly, you turned out the lights, leaving him sleeping peacefully in his ridiculous yet adorable skincare mask.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

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[dcxdpdabbles]

Always the bridesmaid never the bride

I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:

Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.

Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.

His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.

Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.

It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.

Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.

Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!

And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!

And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.

It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.

Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?

Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.

Perry had given Danny a raise for it.

Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."

Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.

Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.

Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."

Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.

He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.

Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.

That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.

But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.

It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.

He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.

Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"

He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"

"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."

"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"

Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"

"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.

He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.

Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.

They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.

Rude.

Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?

This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.

"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.

Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."

"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"

Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.

"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.

"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."

There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."

"Stay?"

"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."

Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."

He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.

Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx

XOXO

Bruce Wayne

What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?

[ordinary-barbie]

they say, "keep your friends close," but you're closer.

summary: Saxon should be your enemy—Piper hates him, and he's got all the qualities you can't stand. Still, you're drawn to this man...and it turns out he wants you too.

pairing: Saxon Ratliff x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

tags: language, au where Piper goes to a different college and has a different major, enemies to lovers, reader has curves, slight age gap, unprotected p in v sex, cowgirl position, doggy style, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, usage of pet names (sweetheart, baby, babe), usage of good girl, Saxon being an asshole but also down bad for reader

note: fic title inspired by the song enemy by Charli XCX.

18+ only, minors DNI!

When Piper asked if one of her college friends could come home with her for her senior year spring break, Saxon hadn’t thought much of it at first. His little sister always had a stick up her ass, being an English major and all, and he assumed that the people she surrounded herself with at the University of Georgia would be equally insufferable. One Piper Ratliff was bad enough, so Saxon would steer clear of the Ratliff mansion for the week.

That all changed when Piper came home an hour earlier than expected.

Saxon was in the dining room, going over some business shit for his dad when the door swung open. “I’m home!” Piper announced.

Saxon swiveled his head towards the front door, curious as to who Piper could’ve possibly brought home. You shyly stepped into the house, accepting Piper’s help with your bags, and Saxon took the opportunity to get a better look at you.

Fuck, you were actually…hot. His eyes raked over your figure, examining your curves, your nice rack, and that ass…

Saxon forced himself to think about business expenditures so he wouldn’t pop a boner right then and there.

“Hey Piper, why don’t you introduce me to your hot friend?” Saxon asked, smirking.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

Saxon sauntered over to you, a cocksure grin on his face, and you froze in your tracks. Did Saxon look like the total frat boy douche that Piper described him as? Yes. Was he also so hot that you were internally melting in his presence? Well, duh.

“I’m Saxon,” he introduced himself, his voice dripping with arrogance.

You gave Saxon your name before quipping, “You must be the fuckboy brother I’ve heard so much about.”

To your surprise, Saxon laughed. "You're a feisty one, huh?"

You wrinkled your nose. "Try not to cream your pants, Ratliff," you deadpanned.

"Can't make any promises, sweetheart," Saxon replied, trying to look casual and not like your dry-humored insults were making his dick twitch. Girls never talked to him like that, like they absolutely hated his guts. You seemed like you would be a challenge—and Saxon loved a challenge.

Piper glared at Saxon. "If you could not be a total creep towards my friend, that would be awesome."

Saxon rolled his eyes. "Chill out, lil sis! I didn't know it was a crime to flirt."

Piper sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don't you have work to do or something?"

Saxon chuckled. "Nah, this is way more fun," he said, his tone full of smugness.

"Whatever, let's just go upstairs," Piper said, itching to exit the conversation. You happily obliged, grabbing your bags and following Piper up the stairs without glancing at her older brother.

Saxon let his gaze follow you as you walked upstairs, focused on the curvature of your ass. The way he saw it, he was in the best possible situation. Your hot, mouthy self was going to be here for a week, and the more he hung around, the more opportunities there would be for you to be mean to him. Plus, he would annoy the shit out of Piper in the process. It was a win-fucking-win.

Saxon forced himself to get back to work, but his mind couldn't stop drifting to you. He pulled out his phone and did something he thought he'd never do—look up Piper's Instagram. Once he found it, he immediately went to her following list, grinning when your handle came up after he put your name in the search bar.

Your profile was set to private, which somehow made you even hotter. Saxon sent a follow request, then sat back and waited. Five minutes later, his phone pinged twice.

@/yourusername has accepted your follow request.

@/yourusername is following you!

The corners of Saxon's lips curled up into a smirk. Oh, this week was going to be fun.

-

You honestly didn't know what was wrong with you. It was bad enough that you allowed Saxon to follow you on Instagram, but then you just had to go and follow him back.

His bio was dry—just Saxon, 25, Duke alum—and his grid was exactly what you expected. There was Saxon, posing with a bunch of other douchey frat bro types in board shorts on a yacht. Saxon in a golf cart, flipping the camera off. Saxon in a bar, drinking beers in a Duke basketball jersey.

And yet...his account was weirdly appealing. You hated to admit it, but Saxon had quite the magnetic presence about him. You just couldn't look away. So you hit the "follow" button without a second thought. He was annoying as fuck when he opened his mouth, but you still thought he was hot, and life was too short to forgo the pleasures of following hot guys on social media.

"I'm so sorry about my brother," Piper apologized. "I swear, his sole purpose on this Earth is to antagonize people and drink protein shakes."

You smirked. "It's all good; I can handle him."

Piper snorted. "Oh, I believe you. But hopefully, he won't be bothering us too often."

-

The following day, you were awakened by a roaring buzzsaw's lovely sound. Nope—it was more like a blender. It was still obnoxiously loud, however.

You grunted, hopping out of bed to freshen up for the day and investigate. You ambled down the stairs, casually dressed in a vintage Georgia Bulldogs tee and shorts. As soon as you glanced into the kitchen, you spotted the perpetrator—Saxon.

"Morning, sunshine," he chirped, sounding way too chipper for...7 in the morning.

"Is it really necessary for you to make whatever concoction that is so early in the morning?" you snarked.

"Early bird gets the worm, babe," Saxon replied. "Gonna chug this protein shake down and hit the gym. You in?"

"I would rather eat dirt," you bluntly replied. Saxon chuckled, getting a glass out of one of the kitchen cabinets.

"Do you always have this much of an attitude, or am I special?" Saxon teased, finally shutting off the blender.

You rolled your eyes. "Saxon, you're already entitled and privileged enough. You don't need any special treatment from me."

Saxon still had that damn smirk on his face as he poured his shake into a glass. You wished you could wipe that look off his face. Guys like him were nothing new—rich douches who acted like they owned the world and expected everyone to fall at their feet.

(You ignored how he made your heart beat faster and caused a growing ache between your legs.)

"So what are you and my sister getting up to today? You gonna sit around and talk about how much you hate the patriarchy?" Saxon snickered before chugging his shake.

"You think you're hilarious, don't you?" you drily replied. "We're gonna go chill with Lochlan today, maybe go see a movie or something."

"Saxon gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. "Without me? That hurts, ___."

You shrugged. "Figured you would've fucked off to somewhere else. Don't you have to get day drunk at the country club later?"

"Not today. I already have 'annoy Piper and her hot friend' penciled into my calendar, and that's an appointment I can't miss," Saxon retorted.

"Do you always antagonize your sister's friends like this, or am I special?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Saxon grinned smugly at you, an amused glint in his eye. "You're definitely special, sweetheart."

-

Saxon had become a constant fixture at the Ratliff home this week. If Tim and Victoria had been home to witness this, they'd have been shocked. Saxon was usually content doing his own thing, preferring to hang out with his friends or whatever fling he'd bedded that night. But suddenly, he was very interested in spending quality time with his siblings, and it was all because of you.

You were surprised at Saxon's constant presence, but you'd be lying if you said it was unwelcome. You found that you actually enjoyed bantering with Saxon; it felt good to have a guy give as well as he got. He was definitely insufferable, but you would sorta...kinda...maybe actually miss him when it was time to head back to Georgia. (But only as a sparring partner. Piper may have been the one who wanted to become a lawyer, but you were the one who loved a good back-and-forth.)

It was Tuesday now, and you and Saxon had the place to yourselves. Lochlan was at school, and Piper was visiting a friend in Charlotte. You were lazing on the couch, watching a random game show, when Saxon ambled over, flopping down next to you.

"We should go out on the boat today," Saxon said casually.

You turned away from the screen. "Yeah, I guess we could go when Piper comes back."

Saxon chuckled. "Nah. I was thinking just the two of us."

"Me, alone on a boat with you? Oh goody, I've always wanted to get thrown overboard," you quipped.

"C'mon, I don't bite—unless you're into that kind of stuff," Saxon responded, his eyes drifting to your chest. Of course you had to pick this time to walk around without a bra on, not that he was complaining at all.

"Fine, I guess it wouldn't be terrible to get out of the house for a few hours," you conceded.

Saxon looked like the cat who got the cream. After four days, he would finally have you all to himself. The tension between you two crackled in the air—he knew you had to be feeling it, too. Saxon wasn't used to working for a girl's attention, but he actually enjoyed playing the long game with you. He knew it would be worth the wait in the end.

-

You hated to admit it, but you thought the boat life was pretty fun.

It was a beautiful day for sailing, and the water looked crystal clear. Saxon was a not-terrible boat driver, which helped. You sipped on your peach vodka High Noon, feeling utterly relaxed.

"You're staring," you muttered to Saxon, noticing how he constantly snuck quick glances at you while driving.

"Just making sure you're having a good time. You're quieter than usual. I don't know if I like that," Saxon joked.

You smiled—an honest-to-God grin—and Saxon felt his heart stutter momentarily. Fuck, as if you couldn't get any more beautiful. As fun as it was to rile you up, he needed you to smile like that at him again.

"I'm having a good time, really," you assured him, taking another sip of your hard seltzer. "You're not being a giant ass for once. I think I like that."

Saxon laughed, light and airy, and you felt your chest grow warm. What was happening? Were you actually feeling...affection? For Saxon, of all people?

Oh, you were in trouble.

-

After an afternoon of sailing, drinking, and banter, you felt sleepy but content. You took a nap as Saxon drove home, leaving the older boy alone with his thoughts. He had initially planned to get you out on the boat and maybe charm you enough for you to let him give you some head or at least finger you, but Saxon found himself having fun just talking to you. You'd opened up more throughout the afternoon, telling him your interests and hopes and dreams and shit, and Saxon actually asked probing questions to get to know you better.

Fuck, this was becoming more than just a horny crush for him. He was actually catching feelings. What would he do once the week was over and you returned to school?

Piper was going to kill him, but Saxon didn't care. He needed you.

-

Piper had texted you saying she was going to spend the night at her friend's house, which made Saxon secretly grateful. The last thing he needed was his sister fucking nagging him when he finally decided to make a move on you.

You and Saxon ended up having dinner with Lochlan, ordering in some Thai food from a local place. Lochy was a sweet kid, very soft-spoken but nice. Saxon enjoyed ribbing his brother, but he actually listened to you when you told him to lay off Lochlan a little bit.

After Lochlan went to bed, you busied yourself in the kitchen, putting the takeout containers in the fridge and washing up silverware. To your surprise, Saxon helped you, even volunteering to dry and put away the forks and spoons. You didn't know what had gotten into him today, but you weren't complaining.

Once the kitchen was clean, you and Saxon parked yourselves on the couch. Saxon stretched out like a cat, putting his feet in your lap, but you couldn't bring yourself to push him off. You liked having him so close to you.

"What are you thinkin' about?" you questioned, seeing how Saxon was lost in thought, like he was trying to decide something.

"Honestly? I really want to kiss you right now," Saxon admitted.

Anticipation swirled in your gut. "So do it then," you snarked. "What are you waiting—"

Saxon sat up, pulling you into his lap and kissing you deeply. And shit, his lips felt amazingly on yours. He lightly bit at your lower lip, eliciting a moan from you. His hands roamed over your body, caressing everything he could get his hands on: your tits, your ass, even your thighs, so soft to his touch.

"My room. Now," Saxon grunted, his erection straining against his pants. He led you by the hand up the stairs and into his bedroom, which thankfully wasn't close to Lochlan's—the last thing you needed was your crush's younger brother being able to hear y'all through the wall.

Saxon pinned you against the door, nipping at your neck. You whimpered before taking the chance to grind against his clothed erection. Saxon grunted, his eyes darkening with lust.

"Condom?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm on the pill," you replied, smirking at him.

"Fuck, you're amazing," Saxon moaned, picking you up and tossing you onto the bed.

The two of you quickly shed your clothes, eagerly getting tangled up in each other. Saxon slid two fingers inside your pussy and was absolutely gleeful to see your juices soaking his hand. "Holy shit, baby. You're soaked."

He continued to finger fuck you with one hand while using the other to play with your nipples. He wrapped his around a nipple and sucked, the sensation of his hot mouth on such a sensitive area driving you crazy.

Feelings of pleasure swirled in your mind, and before you could warn Saxon, you were cumming all over his fingers.

"What a good girl," Saxon marveled, licking your essence off his fingers. "You may be a sourpuss, but you taste so sweet."

He laid you on your back, muttering about how he had to taste you from the source. You weren't expecting him to be incredible at eating pussy—it was always a miracle when a guy even managed to find your clit. But Saxon ate you out like he was competing for a fuckin' Olympic medal. You tried to keep your moans as low as possible, but fuck, Saxon was too good with his tongue. He found your clit with ease, licking and sucking at it like he was dying of thirst.

Your legs were shaking. You couldn't believe that Saxon Ratliff was making you feel so good. "I'm gonna cum again," you muttered, clamping your thighs around Saxon's face as you orgasmed.

Saxon looked up at you, his face shiny with your cum, grinning devilishly.

"Sweetheart, this pussy is amazing," he purred. "I already know you're gonna feel incredible. Just get in my lap and ride my cock."

You climbed into Saxon's lap, slowly sliding yourself onto his cock. You groaned at the sensation, relishing the way his cock was stretching your walls.

"Goddamn, you're so tight and warm," Saxon muttered.

You bounced up and down on his dick, riding him like he was a bucking bronco. Saxon's eyes rolled back in his head, and you felt smug about making him feel this good.

"Ugh, yes baby, feel so good on my cock," Saxon praised, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Fuck! Can't wait to fill up your tight pussy with my load."

You felt yourself clench at Saxon's absolutely filthy mouth. "Yeah? You want my warm cum, sweetheart? Need me to stuff you full?"

You whimpered, your brain short-circuiting. Saxon chuckled darkly, pulling out quickly and making you pout at the loss of his dick.

"What's the matter, baby? Missing my cock already?" Saxon teased, patting your cheek condescendingly.

"Saxon. If you don't start fucking me again, I'm going to kill you," you grumbled, not in the mood to play games.

Saxon leered at you. "Get on your stomach. I wanna fuck you doggy." Your favorite position—you guessed some men were good listeners after all.

You turned over on your stomach, ass up in the air for him. Saxon smacked your butt, enjoying the way it jiggled before he pushed himself in, causing both of you to groan again. He grabbed your hips, fucking you roughly and deeply. You felt like you were going to make an indent in Saxon's mattress after this.

Saxon groaned, loving the pornographic moans he was forcing out of him. He truly didn't give a fuck about anyone else in the house or the neighborhood hearing you at this point. You felt absolutely incredible, and his balls were just aching to unload inside you. But first, he needed to make you cum one last time.

He took one hand off your hip and found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, small circles. "You can come for me one more time, right? Be my good girl," he encouraged you. You gasped, coming undone yet again for him.

"Baby, I'm close," Saxon warned, continuing to pound into you. "Gonna fill you up so nice and deep."

With a grunt, Saxon came, his cock twitching inside you. You whined at the feeling of his cum filling you up—so warm, sticky, and thick. You felt like a stuffed-up cannoli.

Saxon slowly pulled out, lazily watching the way his cum leaked out of you. He let out a sigh before collapsing next to you. "Fuck. That was even better than I expected," he said, taking a minute to catch his breath.

You shook yourself out of your daze, feeling fucked out and tired but in the best possible way. "That was good," you admitted. "Really good."

"Hope you know you're not getting rid of me now," Saxon teased, pulling you against his chest. "I think your pussy put a spell on me or some shit."

You agreed—you definitely wanted to do this again—but you worried about Piper's reaction. "What about Piper?" you asked nervously.

Saxon shrugged. "She's an adult. She can get over it."

You couldn't help but giggle. "Okay then. Let's go get cleaned up."

-

When Piper returned from Charlotte, she had to pinch herself. There you were, relaxing on the couch—in Saxon's lap. You were idly scrolling through your phone while Saxon rubbed circles on your upper thigh.

"What happened while I was gone?" Piper puzzled. She'd seen your Instagram stories of you hanging out with him on the family boat, but she didn't expect it to lead to...whatever this was.

"We unexpectedly bonded," you replied, smiling coyly.

Saxon smirked at Piper. "You're not going to have a stroke over this, are ya, sis?"

Piper shook her head. This was an absolutely bizarre situation to wrap her head around, but if Saxon was really the one who made you happy...

"Just be good to her, all right?" Piper threatened her brother.

Saxon stared at you fondly, stroking your cheek. "Obviously. I'd be an idiot to fumble a girl like this."

[irisintheafterglow]

"i'm crashing the fuck out."

"what the hell does that even mean?" when you answer with nothing more than an anguished groan, kiyoomi's head turns to look at you from his place on your bed. "are you okay?"

"i want to throw my computer at the wall and then myself," you reply even though it isn't much of an explanation. his eyebrows raise and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. smug fucker, he was amused by your suffering.

"throw yourself at the wall or throw the computer at yourself?" your boyfriend's dry attempt at making you laugh only makes you frown more and he waits for you to elaborate.

"either or is fine," you lament, digging your fingernails into your scalp deep enough to leave dents. "anything to get me out of this hole i've dug myself into." your voice wavers and he exhales through his mouth, sitting up and extending his arm to you. "what?"

"well? are you gonna take a break or not?" after a moment of contemplation, you nod the tiniest amount, shut your laptop, and sluggishly drag yourself to your bed. "c'mere, you big baby."

"i'm not a baby," you grumble while he pulls you both down, securing you against his chest. "why do i do this to myself?" he hums and you glance up to see his eyes shut, so you lightly poke his ribs. "hello? is my supportive boyfriend in there?"

"less talking, more resting," he mumbles. "if you wanna talk, give it ten minutes. just let your brain shut down for now." too tired to argue, you obey and lay against him in silence.

two minutes pass, then five, then eight.

you don't expect to start crying, but one sniffle turns into three and a few tears turn into a steady stream falling down your cheeks and onto his shirt.

"sorry, omi," you whisper as the spot under your cheek becomes damper. your voice is no louder than the fan humming in the corner of your room.

"it's okay, sweetheart. you're okay."

"were you waiting for this?"

"maybe."

"asshole." he knows your words hold no malice and runs his hand up and down your back, stopping every so often to trace circles on the back of your neck with the pad of his thumb.

"at least it's me and not some jackasses in your class," he decides for you. he lets a few more of your tears fall before shifting your positions so that you're both on your side, facing each other. he brushes the last stray drops from your cheek and patiently waits for your breathing to even out. "better?"

"better," you confirm. you're close enough that you can count every different shade of green in his eyes and notice every curl that falls around the two moles peeking out from the mattress. for someone who hates people staring at him for prolonged amounts of time (ironic considering that he plays a sport where an entire arena is looking at him), he doesn't mind the way your eyes scan his face like you're memorizing every detail. your eyes are different. you are different. "you still love me?"

"why would you ask that? of course i do."

"even when i'm a hot mess?" he huffs through his nose and finally pulls you back closer until your face is tucked between his shoulder and his neck. your body has completely relaxed and sakusa's unsure if you're even awake when he murmurs his reply.

especially when you're a hot mess.

[ellaa-writes]

The Beast Withiń

author note: Part 2. Part 1 here I rewrote this so many times. Some of them didn't end up saving but I like how this turned out. Not sure how long the series will be but going with the flow for now. Reminder this is an Alternative Universe to the cod franchise. Alpha König headcanon found here. masterlist

summary: Omegas are rare, in a world full of Alphas and Betas. Being a Omega was not only dangerous but they were highly sought after. After living your life has a Beta in disguise, you meet a scary Alpha, but not any normal alpha. But a gaint Apex Alpha who won't stop at anything to make you his.

tags: a lot of angst in this one. brief mentions of death. Cocky König. König asking for consent (he's trying). Mention of psychical violence. Mention of rape but not to reader or by König. Slow burn, still no smut yet but I promise it is coming. World building, relationship establishing. König is a crime boss/war criminal. I think that's all, enjoy! :)

Konig squeezed himself on your small livingroom chair. His knees well above his hips, his arms clamped to his sides. If this were any other circumstance you would have laughed at the sight. But right now you were pissed, no not pissed furious. Your fist clenching and unclenching, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood. You stomped your foot and pointed at the giant in the too small of chair.

“How dare you!” you yelled at him.” You son of a bitch!” you continued to yell. König didn’t take well of you calling his Mütter a bitch, rest in piece her soul he thought. All he did was raise his shoulders and roll his neck. This chair wasn’t comfortable at all and he’ll be paying the price for it. You could tell he wasn’t taking you seriously. His dumb smug face and his eyes blinking at you with indifference. You wanted to smack him, no you were going to smack him. You walked right up to him, nearly eye level with the sitting giant. You raised your hand and swung it through the air. Waiting for the stinging impact but it never came, instead König own hand wrapped around your wrist. Squeezing just enough to feel the grind of bone on bone, just enough to leave a slight bruise that’ll be healed with in an hour. His fingers thick around your arm, he brought your hand to his mouth and gave it a small kiss. You yanked it back with disgust, turning away from him as he rose from the chair. His hips clicking a bit from the uncomfortable position. “Have you calmed down?” he asked. Brushing off your temper, your sweet scent had turned sour and he did not like it. But seeing you stomping around trying to act tough, he thought it was cute. It might even had turned him on if you hadn't tried to hit him.“You must be hungry” he proclaimed as he walked past you and into your small dingy kitchen. The light above the stove has burnt out the first week you moved in and you never bothered to replace it. It still buzzed every time you turned the switch on. König poked his head under the hood and yanked the bulb out, tossing it in your over flowing garbage bin. You scoffed at his response, yes what a smug asshole you thought. But you also became self conscious of how you apartment looked right now. Sure you haven’t cleaned up in a few days but you planned on doing a deep clean during your heat. Fuck, you almost forgot about your heat. It should be here in a few days, but now that you’ve been claimed and marked you didn’t know how that was going to play out. Still fumming, the only thing missing was the steam coming out of your ears.

König began rummaging through your cupboards, opening and closing the doors. Trying to find something he could feed you, giving up and moving to your fridge. He was shocked to find leftover take out containers and cheap premade food. Unhappy with his choices he gave up all together, bringing out his phone and typing away his orders. First he wants a car dropped off in front of your house, having ran to your apartment. He also ordered for plenty of food to be stocked at his place. Tons of fruit and vegetables and he couldn't forget protein. He knew your heat was only a day away, having smelt it at the night club. You were staring at him while he did all of this. “Get out.” you told him. He still completely ignoring you until he put his phone away. You still smelled sour, your anger hadn’t resided. “Are you not going to say anything?” you were going mad. “About what?” he finally spoke. Leaning against your counter, his arms crossed over his chest. His biceps and pectoral muscles bulging out from the tight long sleeve dress shirt he had on. This was the first time you actually got a good look at him. He had a scar running from his top lip up to his nostril, a childbirth defect he’s lived with his whole life. His hair was cut short, buzzed to the scalp a mixture of light blonde and grey hair. He was scruffy, sporting a five o’clock shadow the same coloring as his shaved head. His eyes were deep set, dark but bright at the same time. “Done checking me out omega?” he asked, his cocky attitude coming to the surface again. He smirked at you as a flush began rising from your chest and across your face. That’s it your going to slap that smug smirk off his face. Moving fast across the kitchen you reached up high, your hand connecting across König face. The loud crack and sting followed shortly after. Once again König grabbed you wrist in his bruising grip. Shoving you back against the opposite counter. He towered over you, completely trapping you in. “Get the hell out of my house.” you whispered. König's grip on you loosened a bit, but he still held you to his chest. Cradling you like a father would a wounded child. Running his hand through your hair, a low purr coming from his chest. The only time König ever purred was for his mother when she was sad. It’s been years since that moment, and honestly he didn’t believe he’d ever hear it again.

The adrenaline pumping through your body began to chip away, your shoulders sagged and your knees buckled but König held you in place. All the emotions running through your veins, you wanted to cry, scream and beat him bloody. But you couldn’t, you just wanted to be held. The dam holding back your tears finally broke and you began sobbing. Not caring that you are soaking the front of his shirt. Your new reality finally sinking in, the fear of what this Alphas intentions are. Your mother told you horror stories about groups of Alphas taking one female omega at a time. Raping her over and over again until she gave them enough pups to satisfy them. It scared you senseless as a child and still scares you now. You enjoyed the freedom you had, sure it wasn’t luxurious but it was yours none the less. “It’s ok omega, everything will be alright.��� König tried to soothe your worries. Noticing the shift in your scent again, instead of the sourness from your anger it is now bitter, biting and snapping at him. “Stop calling me that.” you sobbed. Sniffling and wiping your nose on the back of your hand. You pulled away from the Alpha, suddenly feeling very vulnerable like you were a sheep waiting to be slaughtered. How could this have happened you thought while walking to your couch and throwing yourself down. Still only in the shirt König managed to put on you and the same panties from last night. Not caring if he sees anything, not like he didn’t before. You curled yourself into a ball, letting your emotions take control while you crawled back into your mind, into the darkest corner you could find. Everything you worked for, the years of masking your scent and blocking your hormones. Poof, gone in a second and the man responsible is now looking at you like a sad puppy.

You stayed in that position for what felt like hours but it was only a couple of minutes. König left you in your spot and went to your bedroom. Finding two small suitcases in your closet. Stuffing them with whatever he thought would be importance. His phone dinged, he went to the window facing the street. The car he ordered was parked neat in front of your apartment. He turned his focus back to your bedroom. He knew he couldn't fit everything in the car, not now anyways. And he wasn't sure if he even wanted most of this stuff at his place. His eyes lingered on your bed spread, you'd need something fimilar to nest with. Yanking them off and into a ball, König began moving stuff from your apartment to the car. You still hadn't moved an inch from your spot, only coming to when your tummy began protesting its hunger. Oh right, you were supposed to go grocery shopping today. To stock up on not only food but other supplies for your upcoming heat. You’ve always done it alone, as a child your mother would lock you in the basement. Lining the windows and doors with fresh lavender and honeysuckle, hoping the sweet scent of the herbs helped mask the scent of a female omega in heat. You heard König call your name, your real name and not omega. You crawled out from the dark corner of your mind, eyes focusing on the alpha that is now squatted in front of you on the couch. “Let me take care of you.” he wasn’t asking he was pleading. He can smell your hurt and see it in your eyes. This place wasn’t safe for you anymore, it never was. He got himself angry earlier thinking about another Alpha or let alone a lowly beta breaking into your apartment and having their way with you. He ignored the fact that he was the one that broke in, but he viewed himself has different. Not letting his cock and lust control him. But he won’t lie, he was very attracted to you. The moment his eyes locked onto your body moving through the crowd. It took him a second to single out your scent among the hundreds of bodies in that club. He was there on business, or he would never be in such a place. He hated crowed and loud spaces, his business partner knowing that chose the location out of spite. That’s why he’s now chopped up and fed to dogs, in his defense it wasn't the only reason. But there was something different about your scent, it was sweet like most females but there was something lingering underneath it. It burned his nostrils and filled his lungs, musky and heady. It was your incoming heat, he couldn’t believe it. An omega.

"I'm scared." you finally admitted. Hugging your arms around yourself, trying to comfort and self soothe. König didn't like any of it, not one bit. "You can trust me omega. I want to only love, cherish and worship you." now it was Königs turn to confess. As a child he dreamed about finding a mate, preferably an omega. To love her and take care of her. Someone to worship and kill for. And right now that someone was you. You took in his words, looking into his eyes. The burning flames swirling around the blue, the rich scent rolling off his body. It's not like you had a choice but you let yourself believe you chose this. You chose him. You nodded your head, which made König smile. It was a genuine smile and not that smug smirk from earlier. Up close he was attractive as hell, finally allowing yourself to feel something other than anger. He had to be at least 200cm tall, weighing as much as a brick house. Thick in all the right places, his shoulders wide and legs strong. "Can I carry you?" he asked. Hesitate to touch you right now, you were so fragile he was scared your crumble in his grip. You nodded your head again, too tired for words and still hungry. A cramp began forming deep in your lower stomach, causing you to gasp a little. It was coming to the surface, spreading out across your lower abdomen and down to your uterus. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Not now, please not now. You begged the holy mother that watched over her children. You felt the slick heat slowly making its way down to your panties. Finally becoming self conscious in what you were wearing in front of the Alpha. König was taken back, the sent of your slick filling the small space. His head began spinning and his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. The beast clamoring to get a taste. But he was in control, shoving the beast down and focusing on the present. Ignoring your sweet and heady scent, König carried you out of your apartment. A few people were up early enough, watching has a giant alpha emerged from the door. Bringing you to the car and setting you down in the back were he shoved your bedding as well. Closing the door behind you has you untwined your fluffy duvet and wrapped it around you body. Burying yourself in the warmth and softness of the materials. König sat in the driver seat, locking the doors and starting the car. Pulling away front he curb and towards his home and now your new home.

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: racer!john b x s/o!reader x racer!jj

cw: dom/sub undertones, spanking, dp in one hole, goes without saying but… unrealistic sex lol, threesome, armpit action (jj with john b), BOYS KISSING 😨, written in the middle of night while watching the powerpuff girls so once again don’t think just vibe, f1 racer john b & jj coded but i didn’t care enough to make it super accurate 💀, fucking on the hood of a car, possibly ooc since this is my 2nd obx piece, implications of plus sized reader

wc: 999

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

don’t repost, translate, or give ai my work

kinktober masterlist

“C’mon dude, be careful, ‘m gonna hit my head on the windshield if you don’t slow down.” JJ moans, lazily sucking your tongue. Every one of John B’s thrusts sends you further up the hood of his race car, which the three of you are recklessly fucking on top of. They just wanted to celebrate their positions on the podium with their biggest fan.

The garage in which the car is being kept is so cold your nipples could fall off, but the body heat being shared between the three of you will probably keep it at bay. Probably.

Both John B and JJ were drenched in sweat and some kind of grease, the smell only makes your pussy clench tighter around JJ, his hips shoot up in surprise.

“Oh F-fuck! Just like that, mama~ So tight….”

John B’s pace in your ass slows so he can smack JJ upside the back of his head, “Told you to be fuckin’ quiet, don’t wanna get your bare ass on the news, maybank.”

Before JJ can retort that he very much would not mind him accidentally mooning whatever poor race track employee stumbles upon them, John B is grabbing his hair in one fist with the hand that’s not clutching at your fat ass and shoving his smug face into his hairy armpit.

The lesson does nothing, like usual, JJ just moans as his boyfriend’s strong musk invades his senses. He can wet smacking sounds that are obviously you and John B making out while John B rams your asshole. Since JJ already came before the two of you earlier, he busies himself with cleaning John B’s armpit and weakly slapping his balls against you when the friction fades away too much.

“Always yapping our baby’s ear off for no reason, when you know what else your mouth should be doing instead.”

The unabashed freakish behavior tests John B’s resolve, and he slaps JJ’s face to signal him to stop so he can drag him into a sticky kiss. Your clit throbs at your favorite sight of your boyfriend’s tongues curling around each other, especially when the string of spit that connects them when they pull away snaps and falls on your face.

You’re suddenly taken hostage into a threeway french kiss, which you pull away from to gasp when out of nowhere John B gropes your jiggling ass before harshly spanking it. You moan and try to stick your hips out as far as possible in your sandwiched position, earning you more rough spanks that leave the flesh stinging like hell. Just what you wanted, with a red handprint to match too.

“Yeah I know you like that, baby. This pretty little ass looks so good in red.” John B coos, smoothing his hand over the raw skin to soothe the welcome pain.

JJ pouts at the display, despite his cock seeming to harden inside of your creamy cunt. You lean down to suck on his nipples to placate him, silently communicating that he always gets spanked after you anyway.

JJ threads his hands into your hair, making sure you keep his chest lookin’ pretty as he mentally prepares himself to start fucking up into you again. You’re just so heavenly and wet and warm and tight, he really does think you were put on this earth to drain the life outta him via his balls.

John B’s warning glare stops him, and when he obeys and keeps his hips still, the former’s gaze softens and JJ’s rewarded with a soft kiss on his forehead.

John B slowly eases out of your throughougly fucked ass, his thick tip catching on the puffy rim. You look over your shoulder to watch as he gives his stupidly big cock a few quick pumps before aiming the head at your stretched pussy. You nod and bite your lip when he shoots you a questioning look, having been together so long at this point that none of the three of you really needed any words to speak to each other.

The look of sheer excitement on JJ’s face when he feels the other man’s cock slide up along his inside of you is almost better than how pleased your greedy hole is.

“Oh shit, are you sure you can take it, mama? You’re already shaking over me, ‘s cute.”

“They’re doing just fine, aren’t you, peach? So good for us, our little cheerleader.” John B answers for you, you moan out a ‘yes, babe i can always take it’ to JJ as you get used to the stretch.

You don’t indulge in this often, and truth be told your boyfriends are usually hesitant to give you both of their dicks. Winning never fails to get them so horny that they’d be willing to listen to the devils on their shoulders that are their cockheads though. It’s why you always run to jump in their arms with an extra pep in your step when they break through the crowd of press and racing personnel.

You wiggle your hips to indicate that they can move, and they start fucking with gentle thrusts. They speed up their pace soon after, both of your boyfriend’s moaning at the feeling of their cocks rubbing together inside of you. Not one of you is thinking coherently, you’re all too preoccupied with panting into each other’s mouths and scratching red lines down whatever parts of your sweaty bodies you can reach.

It’s a miracle you and JJ don’t slip off of his car’s hood, there’s countless kinds of fluids all over you and you depend on John B behind you to hold you up. JJ’s too fucked out to down to earth. You suck bruises into his neck when he throws it back against the car as John B hunches over to bite down your back.

Two sets of hands toy with your fat clit, and your orgasm makes you black out so hard that you miss the questioning shouts outside.

[lotusbxtch]

The Best Ride in the Galaxy (one-shot)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x f!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for Poe's flight suit. He decides to be a cocky asshole about it. Sexy shenanigans ensue. Word count: 2k

Warnings: Explicit 18+, MDNI! Mostly porn with a little plot // Established relationship, thigh riding/dry humping, vaginal fingering, swearing, name calling, use of pet names (English and Spanish), dom!Poe, brief light violence (slap to the face), Poe uses a Spanish pet name (bebita) which is probably not canon but idc it's hot, no physical description of reader besides being AFAB and being taller standing than a sitting Poe, Poe makes a corny joke, Poe being a cocky smug asshole comes with its own warning, no use of y/n

a/n: This picture of Oscar & his thick-ass thighs, and @for-a-longlongtime mentioning how Poe-coded it was, inspired this fic in its entirety. A little over 24 hours later and here it is! This is my very first posted fic, so please show it some love, send it to someone who might enjoy it, and feel free to give (constructive) feedback if you wish! If I missed any warning tags, please let me know and I'll add them in. Big big thanks to @for-a-longlongtime for beta-reading and cheering me on, it means the world to me.

You run outside as soon as you hear the X-wings land, your heart in your throat. 

It’s been 7 days, but when he left, Poe promised you it wouldn’t take more than 4 for his small band of rebel fighters to complete the covert mission. Of course he insisted on going with them; he’d been stir-crazy as of late, the endless strategy meetings and arguments amongst leadership boring him to tears. He jumped at the chance to get back into the pilot’s seat. You paced restlessly those last 3 days, imagining the absolute worst had happened to him, with no way of knowing if he was even alive.

So when you rushed out to the tarmac and spotted him climbing out of his X-wing, immense relief flooded your body, followed quickly by a potent swirl of both anger and anxiety. He spotted you, his eyes lighting up, jogging towards you with that brilliant smile.

“Hey good-lookin’,” he crooned as he approached, “didn’t miss me too much, did you?”

What he didn’t expect was for you to slap him straight across his face.

You surprised the both of you - Poe was staring back at you, open-mouthed and silent, a rare occurrence; you were staring at him, anger flashing in your eyes, your palm stinging slightly from the impact.

“Baby, I know you weren’t keen on me leaving,” Poe stammered, “but this seems a tad bit–”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD, YOU ASSHOLE!” you snapped at him, loudly enough for the people around you to look around for the source of the outburst. “You told me four days, Poe, and it’s now DAY FUCKING SEVEN.” You turned and started storming back to your pod, Poe on your heels.

“Bebita, I told you it was a small team,” Poe tried to explain while keeping up with you. “We hit some hiccups in the plan and had to hide out a bit longer than we thought. If I’d tried to contact you, it would have given away our position. You know how these missions go.”

You angrily punched in the access code to the door of your pod. “Yes, I know, which is exactly why as co-general you’re not supposed to be out in the field putting yourself in harm’s way.” The metal door slid open, and you walked forward, not even looking back at him. “I don’t care if you got bored playing politics, that doesn’t mean you get to go rogue and get back in the cockpit.” Slamming your hand on the button to slide the pod door closed, you finally turned to face Poe since slapping him. You let out a shaky breath as your rage subsided. Your stomach was morphing into a simmering pool of nerves and regret. 

“Look,” Poe said, “I just… getting cooped up on base listening to those talking heads was making me crazy. I miss flying and I saw the opportunity and took it.” You knew what he said was true, but it didn’t make it any easier on you. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you scanned his body for signs of injury, until you realized… he was wearing his flight suit.

Fuck. That damn flight suit always did things to you. Obviously he had to wear it for functionality’s sake, but god, it was almost like he was made to look good in them. His shoulders looked so strong and broad, and the unisex, utilitarian cut of the orange suit somehow did nothing to hide the curve of his ample, round ass, one of your favorite features of his. You felt your mouth water as you drank the sight of him in, arousal slowly kindling in your belly.

That suit was your weakness, and the cocky smile slowly dawning on his face let you know he knew, too.

“I mean,” Poe smirked,  “at least you get to see me in your favorite outfit of mine.” Walking slowly away from you to give you a clear view of his rear, he turned and sunk into the chair in your room. You followed, magnetically drawn to him while simultaneously being flustered that he caught onto your ogling. You crossed your arms and put on your best annoyed face.

“I’m sorry for slapping you, but I’m not sorry for being mad,” you said, pursing your lips and looking away. “And trying to seduce me with your stupid uniform isn’t working.”

It was, in fact, working too well. Your breathing got shallower as you tried to ignore the gentle heat filling your body from your center outwards. Poe’s smirk deepened.

“It’s a good thing you’re not a covert operative because you are the worst at lying,” he said, grabbing your thighs and coaxing you closer to him. You acquiesced, trying and failing to look irritated, the desire plain as day on your face. Poe ran his hands slowly up and down your legs from your hips to your calves. Sliding his palms back and around your ass, he squeezed and your breath hitched. You looked down and those liquid brown eyes were staring up at you, twinkling with mischief. “I know you better than that, sweet thing,” Poe teased. “You absolutely cannot pretend that me wearing this suit doesn’t make you cream your panties.”

You fought to control your traitorous body, breathing slowly through your nose as Poe lifted the hem of your shirt and planted soft kisses on your belly, right above your pants. “Fuck you, you cocky asshole,” you tried to spit viciously, but it came out sounding slightly strangled instead. This Maker-forsaken stupid man and his stupid bubble butt and this stupid suit, you thought, your fingers weaving into the curls on his head. 

Poe’s smile only turned even more predatory, like a cat playing with a mouse. “Oh, I would, baby” he whispered, nipping your torso lightly, “but I haven’t showered in days. How about this instead…”

Suddenly Poe grabbed your hips, pulling you down into his lap and forcing your knees to buckle, your legs on either side of his thick thigh. His right arm wound around your lower back, holding you in place while his left hand snaked up your neck and into your hair. He pulled you in for a slow, soft kiss, which snapped the final tether preventing you from melting for him like he knew you wanted to. You surged forward, kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth and tasting the minty aftertaste of the gum he always chews while piloting. He groans, biting your lower lip, then sliding his tongue along yours. This draws your first moans out from somewhere deep in your chest, and his eyes quickly darken when you begin grinding on his thigh.

“Oh, you like that,” Poe crooned, lips turning up into a smirk. “So fucking eager for me. So desperate to cum.”

“Fuck you, Maker-damn it,” you pant, burying your face into his neck, the smell of sweat, jet fuel, and him invading your senses. “This stupid suit is going to be the death of me.”

Poe smiles wickedly. “Why don’t you take a ride on the best pilot in the galaxy before you die, then, honey?” he purrs into your ear. You roll your eyes at his cheesy line until you feel him flex the thigh you’re straddling, creating the most delicious friction against your clothed core. You let out a breathy moan and clench your own thighs around his, starting to rock your clit against his ridge of muscle through your clothes. Slick starts dripping out of you with each roll of your hips against him. Poe moves your arms to brace on his shoulders, then slides both of his hands onto your hips to help you ride him.

The pleasure in your core starts to ratchet up, and you grind yourself harder into Poe’s thigh, throwing your head back with a moan. Poe leans to your ear, kissing and lightly licking just behind and below your earlobe, that spot he knows drives you wild. “That’s it, baby, ride it out,” he whispers into your ear. “Use all that frustration to make yourself cum on my leg.” You mewl, circling your hips and chasing your high. Your pussy contracts around nothing, and suddenly all you can think about is how much better it would feel if Poe was inside of you.

“Poe,” you whine, “I need more.” Your slick is soaking through your underwear, the smell of your arousal filling Poe’s senses. He groans, his cock painfully hard in his flight suit.

“What do you need, bebita?” he says, kissing your forehead sweetly while gripping your hips like a vice, a contrast that has you moaning wordlessly. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I need you,” you beg, “I need you inside of me, I need you to fuck me, please.” You can feel your clit throbbing, almost painfully. Poe moans into your neck. “Baby, I told you, you do not want me to unzip this suit,” he chuckles. “But I think I can still help. Lean back a little.” You comply, and watch with glazed eyes as Poe stares right back at you, slipping his middle and ring fingers into his mouth to get them wet. A shudder rips through your body when he slips both digits past the waistband of your pants and into your underwear. He groans loudly when he feels your slick folds.

“Fuuuuck me, baby, you’re absolutely drenched,” he breaths out. “Is this all for this dumb orange jumpsuit I’m wearing?” That cocky smirk reappears as he laughs at his own joke.

Letting out an annoyed breath, you huff, “it’s for you, idiot. You fucking drive me crazy. You’re the only one that’s ever gotten me this wet. Now fill me up before I lose my ever-loving mind.” 

Poe lets out another chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” he quips, and then quickly slides the length of his fingers into your cunt, forcing a moan from your lungs involuntarily. He rocks you forward again so that you’re sitting directly on his fingers, with his palm cradling your pussy. “Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he commands. “Take what you need from me.”

You do exactly that, rising and falling on his thigh, swirling your hips over his soaked digits, your clit rubbing against the meat of his palm deliciously. He adds another finger, stretching you out and making you want to scream. Your hips speed up as you desperately chase your high. The wet squelching and slapping sounds of your pussy on Poe’s hand echo in the room. Poe’s panting fills your ears and your wanton moans fill his. You invade his senses in every way possible, and he can feel his dick pulse with every thrust of your hips against his thigh.

Suddenly, you start feeling the knot in your core tighten as you rocket ever-closer to your orgasm. Poe moans as he feels you clench. “Fuck, that’s it, honey, I can feel you getting close,” he whispers. “Give it to me.” His hips start lifting up, grinding, pressing his length into you as much as he can.

“Oh Maker, Poe, oh fuck,” you cry as your walls tighten. “You want me to fucking cum for you?”

“Fuuuuuuck yes baby, that’s all I want,” Poe pants. “Fucking cum all over my fingers, soak my hand, honey.”

The filth pouring out of his mouth finally snaps the knot in your stomach, and you nearly scream in ecstasy as your release shatters and blooms through your body. Poe moans your name as a rush of your slick coats his hand, and you feel him bite your shoulder as his body tenses. Sated, you slump against him, his hand still pinned under your body, both of you sticky with sweat and panting for breath. Poe uses his free hand to softly cup the side of your face, pressing kisses slowly and gently across your cheeks and nose.

You sigh as he carefully extracts his hand. Just as you peer down at him, he closes his eyes and slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking every bit of your essence off. You shudder in pleasure as you watch him. He locks eyes with you, and you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips.

“Feeling better?” Poe asks, the warm molten brown of his eyes having returned. You sigh and giggle a little. “Yes, thank you,” you murmur quietly, “but I wish I could have made you cum too.” 

Suddenly Poe looks sheepish, something that’s a rare expression for him.

“Well, uh…” he starts, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and averting his eyes. You pause, perplexed. He glances back at you, then down at the floor, and then back at you again. Poe clears his throat before he finally speaks.

 “I… actually did…”

You freeze silently, and then erupt into laughter. “Poe Dameron!” you screech. “The ‘best pilot in the galaxy’, commander of the Starfighter Corps, co-general of the entire fucking Resistance, fucking JIZZED in his pants like a teenager???” You start tittering uncontrollably, much to Poe’s embarrassment. “Shut the fuck up, idiot,” he grouses, which only makes you cackle even louder. He sighs, annoyed but begrudgingly satisfied.

“At least this suit needs to be washed anyway,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and you laugh so hard you start crying.

Tag list (it's here y'all!): @for-a-longlongtime @nerdieforpedro @lu62 @purelyoscar @clemdango04 @survivingandenduring @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @beezusvreeland @alltheglitterandtheroar @campingwiththecharmings @qveerthe0ry @agentjackdaniels @dizthemonster @beezusvreeland @queerponcho and anyone else who was interested!

EDIT:

Oh, you were looking for a part 2 to this one-shot? Well it’s your lucky day — Poe was being a total menace, so indeed there is now a part 2!

[cosmicflare]

・﹒・ i hate you

Summary: It's been a while since you joined the digital circus landscape and had made friends with everyone despite the situation of never returning home. However, you could never get along with Jax, he was an asshole. He always annoyed you and pissed you off. Yet, why can't you get him out of your head?

Warnings: None

Pairing: Jax x GN!reader

Notes: Hi I'm back...ish

In the world stored on a computer that you now permanently resided in, it was hard to find a private place to just relax. Sure, it was pretty big, but get bored enough and needing a break from everyone, you're bound searching for a place to find some peace and quiet. That's what you did and you found a neat little alcove far away from the main stage in the tent and as the digital days went by, you found solace in it. It was your little hideaway from it all and for you to just be yourself. Sure, you had your bedroom, but anyone can just bother you, and not to mention- Jax has keys to everyone's rooms.

Jax. You hated that rabbit. He always went out of his way to piss everyone off and annoy them just for his entertainment. Especially you- he picked on you so much it got on your nerves, you needed space. So here you were, sitting and messing around with a bouncy ball, throwing it on the wall and catching it. He especially got on your nerves today as he thought it would be a good prank to scare you by coming up from behind and screaming "Boo!" while you were talking with Pomni.

Sighing, you caught the ball and stared at it, thinking about your new life here again. You often did here, but also made sure to not think about it too much, as you still valued your life. You don't even know how time was passing outside of here, was it a week? Two? Three months? Years? Caine does have a day and night cycle to at least keep some sense of time for you guys, but it wasn't enough to not make some go crazy.

Your mind kept drifting back to Jax though, no matter how hard you try to not think of him, he kept popping up in your mind unwillingly. You hate him, that's that, so why did he continually keep showing up in your mind? The things you kept thinking about him had slowly started to drift from hatred to having this strange...warm feeling in your chest. Your thoughts started to spiral as you realized you actually missed when he wasn't around. Why was that? He had nothing positive or say or do, yet you felt a strange sort of longing for him despite the last you saw of him was him trying to scare you. There was a draw that you had towards him, not understanding why, you dare say you almost...enjoyed his asshole self.

"Day dreaming now?" You didn't realize how much your head was in the clouds when the voice startled you, causing you to jump and swivel your head around to face the rabbit you were just thinking of. Shit. How did he find this place? How did he find you? Jax had a smug smirk on his face as he walked closer, watching you with his black eyes. Trying to act cool, you rolled your eyes and took in a huge breath, turning back around to mindlessly throw the ball. In all reality, your heart was still beating incredibly fast. Why now?

"Oh come on, the silent treatment? Really? This is where you go to hide away from everyone?" His monotone voice made you sigh, he was really insisting on pissing you off extra hard today. Taking a deep breath, you turned your head to see Jax walking and standing right next to you. You really didn't want to deal with him right now. Growling, you throw the ball at him, hitting him in the shoulder, causing him to yell out.

"Hey! That was rude ya know?” You could tell he was genuinely getting annoyed with you, which peaked your interest greatly. He was always an asshole and abrasive, sure, but rarely he actually got annoyed with anyone back.

"Oh THAT was rude? As if you don't tick me off at any given chance and this is the result of it" You scoffed and shuffled yourself so you faced the colorful wall of soft blocks, wishing he would just leave. Why didn't he leave?

"Oh please, don't even start. You talk about me all the time, don't think I don't know" You freeze, his words hitting you like a wave of ice cold water. How does he know? Sure, you rant to Ragatha and Pomni and Gangle but, they wouldn't tell him. Would they? No, they wouldn't. Taking a deep breath in, you stayed silent as you exhaled, thinking of how to respond without making a fool of yourself.

"Well, it's nothing pleasent, but you would know that since you seem to know everything. It's not my fault I can't get you out of my head" Shit. Why did you say that? Your heart started to beat faster as you watch him smile and chuckle, you're doomed.

"You think about me all the time, eh? For some reason I don't think its just about how much you hate me, am I right?" He leaned closer to your face, causing you gulp and shuffle backwards, but he kept the closeness and only followed you.

"N-no! It's just about how much I hate you, of course! Everyone hates you!" You really were trying to save this, but the wall hit your back and he closed in, placing both hands next to your head as he stared at you with his dumbass smug smirk.

"Oh really? Why are you nervous then? If you hate me so much, you would push me away right now. Go on, do it" For some reason, you just couldn't bring yourself to do that, the seconds ticked on as he waited patiently, chuckling when he realized you weren't going to storm off in a rage.

"Oh I freaking knew it. You have a crush on me! Hah! You disguise your stupid little feelings for me as hatred, oh that's hilarious" You began to grew frustrated again, this time you were also extremely flustered and in no way put together. He just had to be an asshole for anything, didn't he?

"Fine, I do have a crush on you, ok? But if you're going to act like that then I will" You did it. You accepted that you liked him. He was totally right, you were disguising your feelings for him with hatred. But his attitude made you push him away, causing him to slightly stumble as you pick up your bouncy ball and start to leave your now comprised space before you felt his large hand wrap around your smaller one. Turning your head, you saw as his face was full of panic.

"Wait! Don't go. I'm-I'm sorry, ok?" He sounded strained as he apologized, obviously not used to it. Looking at him, you felt conflicted because what if he just continues to act like a dick?

"Look, I don't know what your deal is, but-"

"But, my deal is that...I like you too, ok? I act rude because I don't know how to fricking show affection, got it?" You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering if he was being genuine as it was incredibly hard to know with him. Maybe you should give him a chance...maybe. Maybe you should.

"Ok, fine. Got it. So uh- what do we do now?" He lets go of your wrist and you rub it, he wasn't gripping hard but it was still fairly firm, and look at him. I mean, where DO you know now? After all that?

"Well, we could ya know...do a little making-" You slapped him playfully before smiling and chuckling, shaking your head now relieved that the tension was gone. It honestly felt freeing to finally admit that you liked him now that it was all over, you were just in very heavy denial about it.

"Yeah, we aren't there just yet, Rabbit"

[seijorhi]

Wither and Bleed

sorry for the wait y'all <33 Daishou Suguru x female reader, Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader w.c 4.6k tw: dubcon, yandere themes, kidnapping, nsfw, stockholm syndrome, mentions of blood, alcoholism, mild smut

Daishou eyes the bottom of his glass dispassionately, watching the amber dregs of whiskey roll as he slowly tilts it – pointedly ignoring the sound of footsteps approaching, the low, mocking whistle that follows.

“I’d say it’s good to see you, Daishou, but I gotta be honest, this place is a dump and you look like shit.”

There’s a flush high on his cheekbones, his eyes are glazed, bloodshot. Despite the heaviness in his head, the liquor fuelled haze and exhaustion that makes pulling a coherent train of thought… somewhat difficult, he’s not so far gone that he can’t recognise the grating voice and accompanying laugh. 

One more. One more, and maybe then he’ll stumble off home to continue drinking in peace. That, or he’ll pass out the second he hits the couch. At this point, he’s not picky. 

“Another,” he rasps at the bartender, whose only response, aside from the surly look he sends Daishou’s way, is to unscrew the cap of the bottle of cheap whiskey and tilt it back over his glass. Glaring, all the while. 

Once upon a time, Daishou might’ve said something to that. Made some snarky remark, goaded him ‘til he got a rise – or got his ass thrown out.

(You’d chide him for it, too, in that exasperated tone of yours. He’d be tempted to think you were serious, but you’d sigh, call him hopeless and your hand would snake in his on the walk home anyway.)

Disdainful sneers, the staring, the whispers and pointing, baldie behind the bar wouldn’t be the first stranger to recognise him. Daishou can’t even blame the guy, really. A woman goes missing, all eyes turn to the husband. The boyfriend. The ex. He might be a piece of work, depending on who you asked –an asshole, arrogant, a conniving son of a bitch – but hell would freeze over before he’d ever lay a hand on his girl. On any girl. 

So, yeah, he gets why the guy’s staring at him like he’s the scum of the earth. Doesn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow. 

“You planning on ignoring me, then?” 

“Trying to,” he mutters, accepting the drink with a short dip of his chin. The whiskey burns on the way down, warming his chest through. Bottom shelf liquor’s too cheap to enjoy for much else. Daishou closes his eyes, “Leave me alone.”

And that stupid, suit-wearing, smug asshole laughs, and pulls out the seat next to him. 

Fucking terrific.

Kuroo tuts, motioning at the bartender for a drink of his own, “Aw, c’mon. That’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?” He waits a beat for the reaction that doesn’t come, the mirth in his eyes fading somewhat, then sighs. In a more sober voice, he says, “I heard Yotsuya Motors dropped you. I’m sorry, man.”

The muscle in his jaw tightens, his knuckles turning white. Dropped was a good way of putting it. Closer to the truth than the bullshit story they’d peddled online and to the fans, the one wherein Daishou and the Yotsuya Motor Spirits had amicably reached the decision to part ways before the beginning of the new season. 

‘This isn’t a position any of us want to be in, Suguru. You’re a good player, you’ve done well this past season, but you have to consider how this looks for both the team and the V League as a whole. We’re not saying you’ve done anything wrong – of course not – only that the public perception holds weight these days.’

And so it went. He’d sat there, numb, and listened for fifteen minutes while the head coach and upper management explained that him ‘voluntarily’ stepping down was in his best interest. Pretending, all the while, that they were on his side. That they for one second actually believed in his innocence. 

The cowards couldn’t even look him in the eye. 

None of which makes enduring his old rival’s fake fucking sympathy any easier. 

“For what it’s worth,” Kuroo continues, “while you’ve always been a cheating rat bastard, you don’t strike me as the girlfriend murdering kind–”

One minute, his drink is in his hand, the next, he’s hurled it against the wall behind Kuroo’s head, the glass shattering on impact, cheap whiskey sliding down the paint, and Daishou’s on his feet, chest heaving, muscles taut. Hands shaking as they flex and curl around nothing. 

For once, Kuroo’s stunned into absolute silence. 

The whole bar stills, a deathly quiet falling over the room. The other patrons gawk at him, wide eyed and horrified – a violent unravelling they’re eager to glut themselves on – no noise but the forgotten hum of 80’s rock drifting through the speakers. 

No one breathes.

No one moves.

Daishou, shaking, trembling in the cold wake of his own dissipating rage, shudders out a strangled breath. “She’s not–” the words stick in his throat; tight, painful. He forces them out through gritted teeth, “She’s not dead.”

Kuroo, staring back at him with some inscrutable expression, says nothing. Does nothing, aside from slowly lowering his drink – still untouched – down to the bar, as though Daishou hadn’t just pitched a glass tumbler right past his head. At his head, technically. 

“Out,” the bartender snaps after a tense beat, jabbing one thick finger towards the door. “Get the fuck out!”

Daishou can barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. 

“She’s not dead,” he repeats, his voice hoarse. 

Through all of this, it’s the one thought he won’t entertain. No matter how many times he’s hauled back into the police station, or someone recognises him from the news and the dirty looks and whispers start. No matter how much hatred and vitriol and accusations are thrown his way, that thought alone is constant. 

You can’t be dead.

“Out!” 

Daishou doesn’t need to be told a third time. He spares the raven haired bastard one last look on his way out, sneering, and lets the door sweep shut behind him. 

The place was a shithole anyway.

And he can pretend, for a minute or two, that the churning, sick feeling eating away at his insides is the liquor, that the sheen in his eyes is purely due to the icy bite of the wind as he stumbles off in the direction of home.

Too much alcohol flooding his veins, too screwed up to register the prickling on the nape of his neck, or the footsteps that follow after him, down the narrow laneway – a shortcut he’s taken a thousand times.

When the blow comes, striking hard and fast at the back of his head, Daishou drops like a stone.

—

When Daishou was seven years old, he fell out of the tree in his backyard and broke his arm. He also managed to knock himself out – for all of about five seconds.

Long enough to scare the hell out of his parents, anyway. When he woke up, bleary and dazed, his parents hovering over him, Daishou didn’t feel any pain, not immediately. That’d come later, trying not to blubber and wail in the back seat of his dad’s car on the way to the E.R. At first, though, it was just… sort of like being shaken from a deep, deep sleep. Disorientating, more than anything else. 

This isn’t like that at all.

Coming to, all Daishou can focus on is the pain in the back of his skull. His eyes are too heavy to lift, his limbs sluggish and sore. From a dry, cotton mouth, a low groan escapes him.  

At first, he assumes he’s at home – lying sprawled on the bathroom floor, having hurled up his guts through the night. Wouldn’t be the first time, and considering his sorry state, he’d hazard a guess that it wouldn’t be the last, either. 

“Suguru.”

Warmth. A loosening in his chest. Despite the discomfort, the sound of your voice never fails to soothe. In the weeks that you’ve been missing, Daishou’s dreamed of waking up beside you. Of rolling over and cracking an eye open to find you right there, fast asleep and curled up beside him, where you’ve always been. 

Where you’ve always belonged. 

You stir when his fingertips trace along your jaw, smile in that sleepy way of yours, catching his hand, keeping him there. And even in his dream, when there’s no reason for his chest to tighten, a lump to settle in his throat at the sight of you, it does. 

“Suguru, listen to me!” your voice pleads.

There are other dreams, ones where you’re lying on the living room floor surrounded by a pool of blood. There’s a kitchen knife sticking out of your chest, and he’s the one holding it. 

Daishou prefers the ones where you’re alive. Safe. Home with him. 

“You have to wake up.”

Why? He wakes up and you disappear again. Cheek pressed to the cold bathroom tiles, sick to his stomach and head throbbing.

And you still won’t be there.

“Please.” Your voice sounds… different. Not soft and loving, not the sleep tinged murmur he usually hears. “Please, Suguru, you’ve gotta wake up! Open your eyes for me.”

Daishou doesn’t want to. Pounding head or not, he’d stay in the dark with you – your voice, strained as it is – as long as his subconscious would allow. But that’s not a choice he gets to make, leaden lids slowly prying open, squinting under the influx of light.

The first day or two after you disappeared, Daishou convinced himself that despite all the evidence to the contrary, you weren’t gone gone. An accident, a miscommunication, dead phone, fuck, a fight he didn’t remember picking; he clung to any excuse, any explanation that left room for you walking through the door, sheepishly abashed over all the fuss caused. 

He would’ve forgiven you – for anything. 

The days passed, the cops came by, dragged him in for questioning, and Daishou started to realise that you weren’t staying with your parents, or a friend. You weren’t pissed at him for something stupid he did or said. You weren’t coming home on your own. 

Which left the alternative. 

People who disappear like you did; out of the blue, no warning, no trace – they don’t come back unscathed. 

If they come back. 

Daishou’s had weeks now to sit with that – while he drowns himself in bottom shelf whiskey and cheap beer, wallowing in his own fucking misery, you’re going through an unimaginable hell. 

Blinking against the brightness, the room slowly comes into focus, his eyes adjusting, and Daishou’s heart leaps into his throat. He forgets the pain. Forgets that he’s spent weeks – months, now – thinking over every awful eventuality and drinking himself stupid in the process. All he sees is you; sitting up in bed, hair tousled, wearing an old, faded tee two sizes too big, looking the way you do in the dreams he has where you never disappeared. 

“Suguru,” you gasp, the noise choked, halfway to a sob, your wobbling smile mired by the sheen of tears brimming behind your lashes. 

But Daishou doesn’t see that. Doesn’t register it, not as he scrambles forward, his desperation to touch you, feel you, make sure you’re here and you’re real overriding every other sense–

Only for the cold, metal handcuffs hooked from his wrist to the broken radiator to pull taut, jerking him to a stop. 

“… The fuck?” he mutters, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. Experimentally, he tugs on it again. 

It doesn’t budge. 

Daishou swallows, mouth dry, blood running cold, and as this new, unsettling reality takes root, slowly drags his gaze from his cuffed hand back to the bed. To you, watching him with a devastation that has his heart clenching. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong, his subconscious sings, the warning bells tolling, and for the first time since he opened his eyes in this unfamiliar room, Daishou sees you.

The mottled marks of red and purple, fading yellow littered across your exposed collarbone, trailing along your neck. The shadows under bloodshot eyes, the pallor of your skin. 

And Daishou remembers.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him through tears, the words spilling out as though you’re confessing some great, unforgivable sin. “It’s my fault, Suguru. It’s all my fault.”

His mouth opens – all that comes out is a strangled rasp of your name, which only serves to make you cry harder, shoulders shaking and a hand clamped over your lips to stifle them. 

Daishou’s never wanted to wake up from a nightmare so badly. He’s never wanted so desperately to pinch himself and prove he’s not dreaming.

But at the sound of footsteps approaching, a change sweeps over you. You stiffen, freezing for the briefest of moments before you hastily set about wiping away the evidence of tears, shooting him a pleading, desperate look he doesn’t really understand.

Not until the deadbolt clicks and the door swings open, and Daishou’s confronted with the man who took everything from him.

One by one, the pieces fall into place with horrifying clarity. 

The bar, their ‘chance’ meeting, all that goading– ‘For what it’s worth, while you’ve always been a cheating rat bastard, you don’t strike me as the girlfriend murdering kind.’ 

A small, insane part of him wants to laugh hysterically.

He settles for a baser instinct. Strains against the chain at his wrist, face twisted into a feral snarl, and hisses, “You fucking asshole.”

Kuroo’s eyes crinkle with a grin, but his attention doesn’t remain on Daishou for long. On cue, you shuffle to the edge of the bed, shoulders low and eyes glistening. “I-I’m sorry, Tetsurou,” you murmur, meek and demure.  

The fucker laps it right up. Coos as he makes his way over, disregarding his other captive entirely. Two long fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. He holds you there, lets his thumb brush along your lower lip. You shiver, and that too he greedily drinks in. 

He doubts very much that Kuroo’s forgotten about him, yet the way he stares at you – insatiable, a craving that goes too deep, a yearning too consuming – and you back at him, Daishou may as well have been invisible 

A wave of disgust seeps through his bones, tainting his blood, curdling in his stomach – but he doesn’t look away. He can’t bear that, either. 

When Kuroo finally decides to close that gap and kiss you, you don’t offer a shred of hesitation. You surrender to it, breath hitching when he catches your lip between his teeth and nips at it– 

(The way you used to when he’d do the same.)

–and when he breaks away, a strand of his spit still connecting you, and moves to cup your tear stained cheek, you nuzzle into him, peppering soft little kisses to his palm.

“I know, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice a touch deeper, clearly affected by how sweetly you’re trying to pacify him. “But actions gotta have consequences. I warned you what’d happen if you brought him up again,” he pauses, and chuckles a little, “and you know I’m too much of a jealous bastard to let that kinda stuff slide.”

Hooded, hazel eyes flicker back to him, pinning him in place. The amusement in Kuroo’s face fades, leaving behind a blistering cold contempt as he regards his old high school rival. 

Daishou sneers back. 

“You said you loved him.”

“I don’t,” comes the immediate response. Too quick. 

Kuroo scoffs. “You still mumble his damn name in your sleep. He the one you’re imagining when I’m buried inside of you, making you cum, sweetheart?”

You’re fucking right it is, you piece of shit, Daishou thinks viciously. The words themselves sit on the tip of his tongue, prideful and sharp, itching to be inflicted. Damn the consequences, he might’ve said it just to see the look on that bastard’s face – except Kuroo isn’t even looking his way. Isn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention, idly toying with a lock of your hair as if you aren’t clutching at him, eyes betraying your panic like a deer in headlights, and Daishou feels sick all over again. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“N-no, of course not!”

“No?” Kuroo’s brow arches upwards. “You sure ‘bout that?”

There’s no answer you can give that’ll convince him, yet silence proves equally damning. You seem to realise as much, mouth opening and closing as you try and fail to conjure up the right words to diffuse the situation. Kuroo offers you no out, letting you dig your own grave with the shovel he’s given you, taking some kind of sick satisfaction in your distress. 

Unable to summon anything more than a choked squeak, you stretch upwards again, a delicate hand on his jaw, and kiss him. The action is desperate and clumsy, borne from panic over passion or affection. Kuroo accepts it eagerly all the same, one arm snaking around your waist to draw you closer – or rather, to keep you from slipping away ‘til he’s had his fill of your lips. “I love you,” you murmur against him. “Only you.”

Though they’re shaky, the words stand stronger than those that came before. 

His nose nudges against your own, a look of contentment gracing his features. “Not yet, but we’ll get you there. On your knees, pretty girl.”

Your face crumples in dismay, lips parting only to fall shut with an audible click. As Kuroo’s grip on you loosens, you obediently slide off the bed and onto your knees.

“Arms up.”

Trembling like a leaf and looking faintly ill, you obey, letting him tug your shirt – his shirt, from the looks of it – up and over your head, carelessly tossing it aside. And though you flinch, biting down on your bottom lip, eyes glossy, burning with shame and humiliation, you don’t make a move to cover yourself.

You must know better.

His blood roars, heart thundering violently against his ribs. There’s no pretending he doesn’t see the love bites and bruises spanning your chest, nor the smug, triumphant look in that fucker’s eyes when he notices Daishou looking, his body tensed, shaking with barely contained fury. 

Kuroo strokes your cheek, “Keep your eyes on me. Just you ‘n me, yeah?”

You nod. Without prompting you reach for his belt, the clinking of metal and the hiss of Kuroo’s zipper rattling in his skull, the deep, husky groan that slips from his lips when your fingers slide into his pants and curl around his cock, pulling it out.

“Good girl,” he purrs.

Daishou doesn’t want to watch you kiss a trail from Kuroo’s navel down to his cock. He doesn’t want to see the way your thumb swirls along the head of his dick, smearing his pre only for your tongue to follow its path, lapping it right up.

He doesn’t wanna watch you lick your lips, lean in and suck Kuroo’s cock like a well trained slut while he palms at your tits, but between the rage and disgust and the nausea crawling up the back of his throat, Daishou’s frozen in place.

Guided by the not-so-gentle grip he has on the back of your hair, you take more of him into your mouth with every bob of your head, your other hand diligently working away at what doesn’t fit. He allows it for a minute or two, watching you try your best to take all of him with a hiss of pleasure.

Eventually, though, greed wins out. Kuroo’s hips cant forward, bucking past your lips to force his cock deeper, grazing the back of your throat. Eyes widening, you make a surprised noise and try to pull back, allow yourself a little breathing room to set a pace you're comfortable with, but Kuroo’s having none of it. He growls once in warning, grip tightening around your hair, holding you in place, and begins to fuck your face in earnest.

“That’s my good – little – whore,” he grunts, each word punched out with another cruel thrust of his hips. 

The sounds of you gagging on the dick in your mouth, your choked little whines and whimpers burn through Daishou like wildfire, igniting something deep. A faint stirring in his gut he wishes, more than anything, he could smother entirely. 

He doesn’t look away. 

It’s only when the lack of oxygen becomes too much and you claw at Kuroo’s thighs, tears streaming down your face that he finally relents, letting you pop off his dick with a heaving gasp. With nothing else to tether you, you collapse against his legs, boneless and panting, your eyes fluttering shut. 

They crack open, however, looking up when his hand comes to a rest on the crown of your head, “Say it again. I want to hear it.” 

The demand takes a moment to process, but you swallow and tell him what he wants to hear. “I love you, Tetsu. More than anyone.”

He grins, lazily stroking your hair, “I know, sweetheart. Now c’mon, up on the bed. I’ve been been dreaming of your perfect little pussy all day, wanna fuck you properly.”

—

Hours pass. Half a day, a day. Maybe longer. There’s no light down here, no windows to track the path of the sun, the shadows creeping across the floor, but he can feel the endless drag of seconds and minutes ticking like a slow suffocation. 

After fucking you to the edge of exhaustion, Kuroo had carried you out, cradled to his chest like something precious, and left him alone in the dark. 

Left Daishou to scream and rage and cry like a fucking baby. It doesn’t help any. His bones and muscles ache, the skin of his wrist rubbed raw trying to move to a position that doesn’t scream with discomfort, the cold, unforgiving floor beneath him offering no relief. Mere feet away lies the bed Kuroo fucked you on, with its pillows and blankets, soft, plush mattress.

With his eyes adjusting to the complete lack of light, Daishou can only make out a vague shape in the darkness. In some kind of fucked up way, he decides it’s a blessing in disguise.

Being able to see the bed’s another cruelty, the promise of comfort and warmth when he’s shivering and cold and lying in his own filth, placed just out of reach. And while the thought of lying in the sheets he’d fucked you in (raped you in, a voice reminds him) makes his stomach turn, he’s not so sure that given the chance, he wouldn’t shove those thoughts aside for a soft reprieve and a few hours of rest.

Some messed up part of him wonders if the pillows and sheets still smell like you.

So no, it’s a good thing he can’t really see the bed, or the door, or much of anything, really.

Besides, it isn’t the hunger pangs or the lack of sleep or the dull, throbbing pain from his joints that bother him the most, it’s the feeling of inhaling razor blades doused in fire he’s subjected to with every shallow, rattling breath. The last taste of water he’d had… would’ve been before the bar, however long ago that was. Too long. More than a warm bed, more than food or freedom from the cuff around his wrist, Daishou thinks he’d just about kill for a single sip of water to wet his throat. 

More than likely, that’s the whole fucking point. 

Left to rot in the darkness, Daishou has plenty of time on his hands to think, musing over the bed in this little windowless room, and the other door he suspects must lead to a bathroom. That asshole went to some effort in getting him here, he’ll admit, but he doubts all this was solely for his benefit.

You were here when he came to; obviously he’d kept you down here, the question was for how long? Did he keep you chained up and hungry in the dark when you wouldn’t play nice? The way you’d melted for him, the affection, the goddamn look in your eyes when you’d said that bastard’s fucking name–

The fear that’d shone there when you’d said his. 

Daishou knows from the depths of whatever’s left of him, that he could never, ever hate you. If he starves to death alone down here, if you’re the one to plunge a dagger into his heart yourself, if you forget all about him and buy into the delusional fucking nightmare that psychotic prick keeps peddling, he’d love you. That much is immutable.

But hatred’s too soft a word for the thorn riddled vines that sprout and twist inside of him, ripping away at muscle and flesh, choking his organs, his veins, everything that he is – because of Kuroo. 

When he hears those footsteps again, the clicking of the altogether unnecessary locks, Daishou can’t help the wide grin that cracks at his face. “Was wonderin’ when you’d come back down to gloat,” he croaks, manages a laugh too, though it feels like dragging his vocal cords over sandpaper.

Having flicked the light switch on (half blinding Daishou in the process) Kuroo fixes him with a sardonic smirk. “Missing me already?”

“Hate waiting around.”

“Ah well, what can I say? I had better things to do.” His smirk broadens, a cruel glint under too bright fluorescent light as he plops himself down on the bed Daishou’s been doing his utmost to ignore and stretches out, rolling his shoulder and neck. “Prettier things.”

A stab of something dark and ugly wrenches between his ribs. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he spits through cracked, dry lips, and before he can think better of it, adds, “Mommy didn’t love you enough, Kuroo? That what this is?”

Kuroo doesn’t snap the way he expects him to. He doesn’t lash out like he would’ve when they were hot headed teenagers desperate to grind the other into the dirt and lord it over them. The muscle in his jaw jumps and his eyes narrow, sharpen – but his expression is quick to smooth over. Water off a duck’s back. He lets out an amused snort, rising from the bed. 

“Y’know, as entertaining as it was watching you self-destruct, losing your volleyball career, your fans, friends, all those nights you spent searching for her at the bottom of a bottle – and it was entertaining, believe me – I think I like this better.” 

A short, sharp burst of pain. Warm copper spills over his tongue. 

“You’re not gonna survive this. Even you’re smart enough to have realised that much.” He crouches down low, at eye-level, just out of reach, appraising him with a tilted head – as though Daishou’s some whimpering puppy at the pound. 

Daishou’s not a fucking puppy. 

“Most likely it’ll be the dehydration that kills you first,” Kuroo continues. “That only takes a few days, but with water, you could probably make it two, three weeks before your body starves itself to death – plenty of time for your muscles to begin to atrophy, which’ll be painful as hell, not to mention how bad the isolation’s gonna fuck you up. And who knows, maybe I’ll be nice and bring you something to drink every now and then, throw you some scraps from dinner. I might even let you out of those cuffs for an hour or two, so you can walk around down here, stretch those legs of yours before they completely shrivel up… But you won’t see her again, ever.”

Scowling and hateful, Daishou spits at Kuroo and bares bloody teeth. 

Kuroo wants to treat him like a dog, fine – but wolves gnaw through flesh and bone to free themselves from hunting traps, and he ain’t about to just keel over with a whimper and make this easy for him.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Tension crackles through the air like an oncoming storm. 

Daishou falls back against the radiator, breathing heavy and Kuroo wipes at his cheek with the pad of his thumb and huffs out a dry laugh, eyeing the bloody digit. Looking back at Daishou, he stands. “You look thirsty, I’ll go get you some water. Can’t have you croaking on us just yet.”

He’ll bite his fucking throat out if he has to. 

[andypantsx3]

quick interlude from the bakugou barbarian-verse.

for @procrastination-artist bc your last drawing of feral bakugou made me go berserk 🙃

"He's a prince?" you ask incredulously, gaping at Izuku. "Bakugou?"

Izuku nods that head of wild green curls, blinking guilelessly back at you. "The closest thing his people have to it, anyway. Their custom isn't quite like Yuuei's," he answers.

You glance over your shoulder to where Bakugou is wrestling Kirishima into the dirt, apparently trying his level best to gouge the dragon's eyes out while he's at it. It's only your knowledge that Kirishima is basically impenetrable that stops you from rising in concern.

"That? That is a prince?" you repeat, hopelessly lost, as you watch Bakugou shove a literal fistful of dirt into Kiri's face.

"His mother is their leader," Izuku tells you, a smile in his voice. "It's mostly a hereditary position, with some fighting necessary to succeed. Kacchan's next in line."

"And stay down you spiky-haired shit!" Bakugou's crow reaches you as you turn back to Izuku, mystified. Izuku's mouth is twisted up fondly in the firelight.

"Well he certainly won't have any trouble there," you say emphatically, moving to turn your sausage over the fire. Drippings of grease sizzle off the sides of it, hissing where they hit the flames.

"The fuck I won't," Bakugou growls from behind you, pointedly loud so you can hear it.

You feel your ears go hot, embarrassed that he's heard you discussing him. But it's only natural, considering you're now legally married, according to the customs of one deeply batshit village.

Not that either of you have acknowledged it, however, short of Bakugou snarling that you were his as he'd won the village marriage tournament. He'd hauled you into his arms, carrying you out of there, only to drop you the second you'd cleared the village sight lines.

And neither of you have spoken of it since. But you can't help but be more curious than ever, now, about the man who sort-of-is, sort-of-isn't your husband.

"I'll wipe the floor with anyone who tries for the seat," Bakugou says, stalking over, his booted stride heavy and sure. "Like those assholes in Dagoba."

You chance a look up at him as he drops onto the log next to you, running a hand through his ash blonde hair. He glows in the firelight, the hard planes of his chest glinting with sweat, and he swipes at a patch of dust high on his cheekbone with the back of his hand. The shadows pool in the divots of his arm muscles as he does so.

"So you really are some kind of prince," you echo disbelievingly, reaching back for your sausage skewer, just for something to focus on. "Who would have known."

Bakugou's smile is white and knife-sharp in the light of the flames as those scarlet eyes find you, hot and intent. Your cheeks heat despite yourself.

"Yeah," he says, sounding smug. "Guess that makes you a princess."

You startle. Your sausage goes flying into the fire, hissing and crackling, and your face flames even hotter than the campfire.

Bakugou's smile is far too self-satisfied in the dim.

[sunflowersatori]

kiss it better

sukuna x nurse!reader

contents: modern au, f!reader, sukuna is just a guy™️, he keeps getting in fights and coming to the clinic you work at so you can patch him up, some swearing, shoulder relocation (not graphic but it happens)

a/n: i do not know enough about walk-in clinics or joint relocations to be writing this but i hope y'all enjoy (also i have a follow up blurb ready if people want to read that)

//

When you checked the patient walk-in list you tried not to grit your teeth upon seeing the name that was next in line.

You stepped out from behind the desk and into the reception area.

“Ryomen Sukuna?”

It was easy to spot the tattooed man, who smirked slightly when he stood.

“Please follow me.”

He followed as you led him back into the clinic and into a treatment room.

You closed the door and turned around with a frown, “Alright you asshole, what did you do this time?”

He fake gasped, “You need to work on your bedside manner, Miss Nurse. Aren’t you happy to see me sweetheart?”

“No I am not! Don’t you know I have patients to tend to?”

“Yeah, and I’m one of them,” He had a lazy grin as he leaned against the bed. You could see that he had a cut on his forehead with a bruise blooming underneath it. He was cradling his arm as if trying to hold it in place, and his lip was split. To top it off, there was blood on his knuckles too.

He’d obviously been in a fight, just like all the other late nights he’d come into the clinic.

You sighed heavily, “Other than what I can see, what’s wrong?”

“I dislocated my shoulder,” he nodded his head at the arm he was cradling, “but don’t worry, the other guy looks worse.”

You shook your head, “Sit, and I hope that fight was worth it because this is going to hurt.”

He sat and you moved over to his injured side. Even sitting on the table he was taller than you and his broad shoulders made you feel smaller than you were. You took his arm as gently as you could, ignoring his comment about you treating him so well, and manoeuvred it into position. With one push, you popped it up and back into the socket. 

“Fuck!” Sukuna barked out a curse at the pain, and you gave him a pointed look. 

He inhaled through his teeth as you wrapped up his arm in a sling.

After gently securing the sling with a knot at his wrist, you looked up to find him watching you, still grimacing a bit but clearly trying to play it off, “Damn sweetheart, what else can you do with those hands?”

You chose to roll your eyes and not comment. You did feel bad for him for having to go through the pain of relocating a joint, so you let it slide. Instead, you gathered some more minor supplies to tend to the rest of his injuries.

The blood on his knuckles wasn’t his, so it was the easiest to fix with a gentle rub of a disinfecting wipe. The cuts were also relatively simple to deal with, and didn’t even require stitches. You cleaned everything and grabbed a small ice pack for the bruise that was now fully settled on his forehead.

When you were done you took a small step back to survey him, “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

“Yeah right here,” he pointed to his face, “maybe you should kiss it better.”

“Why would I do that?” You scoffed and turned to dispose of the trash from your used supplies.

“A kiss always makes it feel better.”

He was grinning at you when you looked back at him, though it was a much less smug expression than he usually had. You wondered if the late hour or the pain was making him a little softer.

“That’s not a service we provide at this clinic,” you said, voice soft and trying to hold back a blush as you opened the door to the treatment room, “You’re all set to go Sukuna.”

“You mean you don’t want me to stay?”

“Sukuna.”

“Fine, fine, you’re a busy lady, with people to help. I get it,” he stood and walked toward the door, but paused in the doorway.

You felt the fingers of his good hand tilt your chin up so you were looking at him, and he leaned down to get close to your face. You felt your breathing stop.

“Thanks for taking such good care of me sweetheart,” Sukuna murmured, low and soft and right next to your lips. Then he was heading back toward the reception area.

You watched him until he turned the corner and was out of sight, and then you stepped back in the treatment room. You closed the door, even if you only had to quickly sanitize the place he had been sitting before the next patient came in, but you needed a moment to compose yourself.

It felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest. Sure you usually had to get close to him when you treated him, but this had felt different. He’d been a bit sweeter than usual tonight, some of his normal swagger put aside.

You couldn’t deny that you found him attractive, but normally it was easier to brush aside your thoughts and focus on your work. Now, you weren’t so sure.

What you did know was that you were, against your better judgement, looking forward to seeing him the next time he came into the clinic.

[levisjinchuriki]

take it

summary: jiraiya teases you for not being able to pleasure yourself without his help. you’re determined to prove him wrong

warning: nsfw, fem!reader, light humiliation, spanking, dom!jiraiya, sub!reader, light punishment, overstimulation, reader calls jiraiya an asshole

word count: 1.5k

the night started out like any other, you and jiraiya in your shared home enjoying each other’s presence. he laid on his back while you laid on your side facing him, softly stroking his bare chest. the conversation you were engaging in was about sex, of course, and he had mentioned that he feels bad going on long missions because he knows his girl isn’t being pleased thoroughly. you frown at him, claiming you “don’t need him to cum”. this causes jiraiya to coo at you. 

“c’mon honey, you know you can’t without my help”, jiraiya laughs. your brows furrow at his comment and you sit up, pulling the covers over your body. of course you can. you had done it long before jiraiya came, and after… well you haven’t really put it to the test since the man’s hunger for you never ceased. 

“yes i can” you fold your arms and pout at him. who does he think he is?

jiraiya shakes his head and brings his hand to your cheek. “i don’t think so, honey. you like me dominating you too much” he softly strokes your cheek. the action would be sweet if he wasn’t making fun of you. you push his hand off and swing one of your legs over his, straddling him. 

“i’ll show you”, you say under your breath. jiraiya’s ears perk up at the challenge.

“you’ll show me, huh?”. you nod quietly as you take hold of jiraiya's large member. you line yourself up with his tip and slowly start to sink on his member, already stretched out from earlier this afternoon. jiraiya is enjoying how determined you are. that smug smile won’t leave his face. he places his hands behind his head, enjoying the show. “go on”, he encourages you.

you mumble how much of an asshole he’s being under your breath, which he ignores for now. the thought of being on top for tonight excites you, your thighs already lightly coated with your slick. it takes you a moment to get used to the feeling since he always filled you to the brim. your eyes close as you take deep breaths. 

“i’m waiting”. you can hear the smile on his lips as he says it. you frown before slowly moving yourself up and down his length, hands resting against his broad chest for support. the position squeezes your breasts together, making them appear larger than they already are.

jiraiya hums in approval. even when you’re giving him attitude, he can’t hide the fact that you feel so good around him. if he wasn't trying to prove a point he'd lift his head up and suck dark marks into the sensitive skin on your chest.

gradually you pick up speed and start to moan freely above him. the sound of your skin slapping against his thighs spurs you on more. jiraiya doesn’t know if he should focus on your face or chest as you bounce on him. he bites his lip to keep his comments to himself. if this was any other night he would’ve been praising you and helping you by meeting your thrusts. but tonight was different. you told him yourself, you didn’t need his help. so he wasn’t going to give it to you. 

your fingertips dig into jiraiya’s pecks as you use him. your eyes can’t help but shut tightly as you feel the knot start to form in your stomach. you want to gloat and show jiraiya that you can pleasure yourself as well as he can, but your mind is too focused on bringing yourself to the edge. 

your brows furrow as you bounce as fast and hard as you can. your body feels sticky considering all the energy you’re exerting. your legs are shaking, cramping. it’s getting harder to breathe. and still, he feels so good. and you want to cum so bad but something’s missing. 

realization hits you. you groan and hit a fist against his chest in anger, stopping your movements momentarily. jiraiya lets out an amused chuckle. your legs twitch at your sides, already exhausted. it’s clear to you both that you’re having a hard time, but you have a goal in mind. you don’t want to give jiraiya the satisfaction of proving his claim to be true. if you’re gonna prove to him you’re right, you need to cum soon. you can’t continue for much longer. your muscles are sore already from doing all the work in these last few minutes. 

you let out a growl in determination, picking up your pace once more before he can offer a smart remark. jiraiya smirks at you, he’s thoroughly enjoying this. not only are you pleasuring him, you also aren’t able to pleasure yourself. you try your best to ignore the severe burn in your thighs as you continue bouncing in his lap. you wish he would at least speak, talk you through it. his voice alone can put you over the edge.

the knot in your stomach returns, but you don’t have enough energy to chase the feeling. your rhythm becomes sloppy as your legs ache. riding jiraiya alone isn’t bringing you any closer to finishing. you let out a loud groan in frustration as you stop again, your hips jerking violently as your thighs tremble.

jiraiya lets you catch your breath for a moment before moving. “can’t cum?” he asks, full of amusement. he takes one hand from under his head and holds your jaw up so you can look at him. “need my help?” he chuckles. he’s making fun of you again, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now. you need him. your eyes are pleading ‘yes’ and you nod your head. he hums at your confession. 

“what’s wrong, honey? i thought you were a big girl”. a whine escapes your throat as your walls unconsciously squeeze him. you want to cry. all you want- need- is to be dominated right now. instead, jiraiya is teasing you about not being able to make yourself cum. 

“jiraiya, please”, you whisper desperately. he shushes you, opening his arms for a hug, which you immediately accept. your cheek rests on his shoulder and chest press against his large one. he wraps his arms around you, tightly engulfing your body. you can’t free yourself if you try. 

“i’ll take good care of you, don’t you worry”. jiraiya shifts, firmly planting his feet on the mattress before he’s rutting into you. you gasp at the sudden pace, fingers gripping his biceps tightly. he’s being mean, roughly snapping his hips up to meet yours. you love it so much.

“needed me after all, huh?” he asks in a cocky tone. you hum in agreement. this is exactly what you needed, him to overpower you in every way. to take over your senses and just make you feel good. 

“gonna act smart again?”, he asks. the mattress is squeaking under you. the headboard is banging against the wall behind it. you’re sure there’ll be a dent in the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care. it just feels too good. 

jirayia’s right hand leaves a nice red print against your ass cheek as he gives it a harsh spank. that was for calling him out of his name earlier. “answer me”, he tells you.

“n-no!” you choke out. you can barely remember the question, dizzy from how good he was making you feel. he spanks you again.

“gonna keep acting like a brat?”. there's tears in your eyes. he was pounding into you so hard, so fast, so perfect. you shake your head. 

“no!”, you cry. the knot in your stomach returns for a third time. its intensity grows as jiraiya continues to hit your spot just right. you’re moaning, shaking and cumming hard before you realize it. but he doesn’t stop. he needs to teach you a lesson. he needs you to know that no one will ever pleasure you as well as he does, not even you. 

the feeling of your walls tightening around him is almost pathetic. he’s just getting started and you’re already soaking his dick with your release. you whine as he fucks you through your orgasm, your slick making him slip into you easier than before. jiraiya’s pace doesn’t falter. he’s got you right where he wants you.

“only i can make you feel this good. isn’t that right?” he growls proudly.

you can’t move, his grip on you is too strong. he wants you to remember this moment the next time he’s on the road for weeks at a time, or when you’re home alone, trying your best to feel even a fraction of how he’s making you feel right now. he’s drilling it into your brain. it hurts so good and jiraiya doesn’t show any sign of stopping. 

all you can do is take it.

-

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading!! everyone is welcome to leave feedback and requests in my inbox!! also, let me know if you want to be added to my permanent taglist! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[smad-lesbian]

Can you write smth for this trope?

Like, Ronica, who is voicing out her annoyance towards the Heathers but then someone she's with in the room voices their disdain for them loudly and very obnoxiously. And Veronica who suddenly forgot she shouldn't care about them as people glares and with the most condescending voice you would ever hear from her goes "Say that again."

And the Heathers may or may not have overheard.

YES, PROTECTIVE VERONICA MY BELOVED!!!

---

Veronica grumbled as she glared down at the note in her hand.

'Come to the parking lot after school, we need to get you actual clothes bitch

-H.C'

Veronica felt a falte of annoyance as she glanced at the note again, re-reading it as if it would magically change the words.

Well, it's not like she could ditch this time, she was already "on thin ice" since the party, if she missed this Chandler might show up at her house with an ax and murderous intent.

Veronica sighed in resignation. She opened her locker, with slightly more force than was necessary, cursing under her breath as she did.

"-Exactly! She obviously only got the position because of it, it makes sense, right Ronica?"

An obnoxious voice broke Veronica out of her thoughts. Veronica whipped around, facing the source of the voice, a shorter freshman, leaning against the locker beside her own, a far too cocky expression on his face, his friend, or at least Veronica assumed was his friend, standing on his left, wearing a notably more nervous expression.

"Pardon?" Veronica asked, raising an eyebrow at the young boy, not many people came up to her these days, at least not casually, everyone had left her alone since she joined the Heathers,apart from a few football players trying to gain a quick fuck or a country club kid trying to start small talk.

"Heather McNamara, everyone knows that she only made cheer captain because she spread her legs for the coach."

…

The kid was suicidal, it was the only possible explanation of why he would spout such bullshit, surely he wasn't that fucking stupid.

Veronica felt the thin sheet of patience she had left snap as she glared daggers at the kid.

The hallway went silent.

The freshman's friend, apparently the one with the common sense, looked Sorin wildly, seemingly searching for a possible escape route. The freshman himself still had a cocky grin on his face, apparently too stupid to realize he had just written his death in stone.

Veronica put her diary back into her locker turning to face the kid fully, her height now clearly displayed as she towered over the freshman.

"Say that again, even hint at it really, and I will make your life a living hell, you will be wishing for death by the time I'm done with you, I will make sure your can never even breathe normally again," Veronica said, her voice resembling a tone that you would use on a small child, it was loud enough for the freshman, and a couple of students that were nearby, to hear.

The confidence of the kid's face crumbled, his eyes now wide with fear as he stayed in shock at Veronica's word's.

"Do you understand me?" Veronica demanded more than asked, the kid could only nod rapidly.

"Good, now leave before I tear you a new asshole," Veronica said, apparently breaking whatever spell he had been under, making the kid scramble away, his friend close behind.

Veronica glared at them until they were no longer in her line of sight. Veronica turned back to her locker, reaching for her once again for her diary.

"Aww, who knew you were so protective, Sawyer."

Veronica froze momentarily at the familiar voice, she turned around to find Heather Chandler standing just across her, a smug smile spread on her face, just behind her were Duke, who had an unreadable expression, and Mac, who was completely red in the face.

Veronica's gaze lingered on Mac, was she sick? Embarrassed because of what the Gresham had said? That last thought made Veronica want to go in the hunt for the kid and make good on her promise.

"Come on now, we still have to go to the mall after all."

[anxiousbrazilianstuff]

Repost:,)

So, yesterday I was really down and ended up deleting my two AUs, but today I'm feeling better so I'm reposting with more paragraphs, as always, enjoy!

Also, it's fixed!

The text is about a future where Jack and Kath never met, so Jack became an artist (🙏🙏) and Kath a very frustrated journalist, and they end up meeting in an interview that Kath needs to do with him, Jack's a bit of an asshole, but I swear he has reasons 😭

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

Damn this job, damn those men and their smug looks, damn her father.

That's what she wrote quickly in her notepad, in such a scribbled way that it felt like she was in third grade again. She had fought so hard for a high position in that world of journalism, and yet she was seen as weak and was always thrown into the most futile articles, there were people who didn't even know her name, they simply called her "the Pulitzer girl", "the little heiress" it was infuriating, but she bit her tongue, she needed the job. This was one example that she wasn't taken seriously; she was a journalist, but she would have to be an interviewer of an artist, who had a reputation for being the most difficult person to deal with, he was arrogant and it was impossible to get anything out of him, and obviously, the good old punching bag was there, as the reserve of reserves. She walked through the streets of Manhattan in a hurry, she had woken up late, and to make matters worse, because of the heat, everything seemed to be more sensitive, her waist, tightened by a corset that her father insisted for she to wear because she was too "chubby" to be a perfect wife with a perfect body, the thousands of clips and products in her hair to keep her curls perfect, the heavy makeup suddenly felt suffocating, and her mind was racing a million miles an hour as her heels clicked furiously on the streets floor. She reviewed her questions thousands of times and did little patience tests to make sure she wouldn't snap at the man and put her job at risk.

Suddenly she found herself in the man's house, she sighed, and clutched her notepad, her patience was already thin before she even saw him but even so, she knocked on the door, praying that the rumors were just rumors and that he was a decent person to be around, while she waited, listening to the footsteps inside the house, she tapped her fingers impatiently on the notepad, finally the door opened, revealing a tanned man, with a mess of curls where his hair should be, much like hers when she woke up, ink stains all over his clothes, he had a few, very few freckles, almost invisible, and she hadn't even spoke in but those two brown eyes seemed to judge even the way she held the pen, she forced a smile and said; — “ Good morning, Mr. Kelly, I'm-” — He cut her off with a scoff and a roll of his eyes, and she suddenly knew she was screwed, he looked at her with disdain and said: — “ I know who you are, journalist... Come on, don't waste my time any more than you already have. ” — Journalist. He didn't even try to call her by her name, she felt her blood boil, and she clutched her notepad so tightly that she was sure her fingers were already marked on the page, even so, she nodded, humming a "mhm" and entering the house, it wasn't big, but it wasn't a shack either, it seemed decent enough to have what he needed. Inside the house, it was full of paintings, most of them his own, a bit arrogant on his part, she wrote on the paper, but I couldn't deny that they were all beautiful, different colors and styles, they certainly didn't match the man who made them, but some say that fame goes to your head, it was notably the case with this artist, who by the way, was talking and talking about something completely uninteresting to her, so she just nodded and wrote notes of the pictures, suddenly he stops, and she remembered why she hated heels, they were not reliable in case you tripped, she honestly hated her clothes, uncomfortable heels, tons of clothes that made her hot, heavy and usually overdone makeup, it was difficult to try to please people, she almost fell.

He looked at her with a smug look, the one she saw every day at work, she was already used to them at this point, and they still bothered her, he he chuckled and said in a voice as smug as his eyes: — “ No need to pretend you're paying attention, journalist, I know you're impressed by the paintings, a pretty common reaction if you ask me. ” — For a moment she got tired of biting her tongue, she could no longer contain her immense anger towards that man and his behavior, they had only spent a few minutes together but he was already getting on her nerves. — “ Well, Mr. Kelly, at least something in this room is beautiful, because you? You are annoying, arrogant and disrespectful, I don't understand how you make such beautiful art. ” — Suddenly the hallway fell into a heavy silence, any shred of confidence disappeared from Jack's face and he just looked at her in disbelief, perhaps she had hit a sore spot, but anyway, they just kept walking, in silence. He opened the door to one of the rooms where she assumed the paintings were made, she took a moment to look around the room; Paints were scattered everywhere, as were canvases that were probably defective in his vision, and many broken brushes, he was definitely a bit destructive and that was a bit worrying. She sat down on a stool, she needed to start the questions, he also sat down, going back to work on the one he was doing before she arrived, probably. She cleared her throat, it was quite embarrassing if she was being honest, but she couldn't go home empty-handed, so she began; — “ So... When did you start painting? ” She asked softly, trying to ease the awkwardness that had been left after her little outburst, but could you really blame her? It was frustrating, she was trying to do her job and she was just humiliated, over and over and over again, no matter who it was. She was pulled out of her thoughts at the boy's response, she shook her head and began to write as he spoke.

“ When I was younger, my mother was into arts and since I had this "gift", she encouraged me to pursue it. — It wasn't much different from her, to be honest, her nannies, butlers and maids always said that the gift of writing was in her blood because of her father, the problem was, she became extremely strict with her writing, it needed to be perfect, she was already not respected as a working woman, if she didn't try hard, it would be worse. She saw a bit of fear on the artist's part in answering her question, maybe family was an uncomfortable subject, that was important, she noted. The problem with being here was that she had forgotten all the questions she made, and it was making her stressed, she knew how to improvise, so she took a deep breath and asked the first thing that came to mind; — “ Were you simply born knowing or did you attend some school? ” — She watched a little confused as the boy scoffed under his breath, muttering something she didn't understand, she frowned, tightening her grip on the pen and forced a smile, asking; — “ Mr. Kelly, believe me, I’m not the least bit interested in your life, but at least we can help each other to finish this quickly, I'll help you leaving you alone and you help me being decent and making this faster so I can leave, yes?”

What an insufferable man. That was what she thought over and over again, she felt that the next time that man underestimated her, she would end up with a frazzled nerve from pure stress, he sighed, clearly as unhappy as she was about that situation, the only difference was that he didn't hide it, she had to hide it, after all, it wasn't polite for a woman to get annoyed. After a few eternal minutes of silence, he replied; — “I taught myself, do you think I had money for a damn art school? ” — She flinched a little at the sharp tone, her father had the same tone when he talked to her after she messed up, and she realized he saw it, and his expression softened for the first time since he saw her standing in the doorway; — “ Look, girl, I had... Other concerns to worry about hobbies. ” — Again, he didn't call her by name. But she let it go, because that was important information, he apparently didn't have many money as a child, that was important, and so she began to write, she already had quite a bit of information about that man, but it wasn't enough for what her editors wanted. She was surprised when he started talking on his own, a breakthrough? Was she seeing the light?

— “ I started painting more because of the encouragement of my adoptive mother, she owns the local theater and would ask me and pay me to paint sets for the theater.” — Her eyebrows rose, she knew the local theater, she had been there to review one of the shows, the owner if she was not mistaken, was Miss Medda Larkin, now the question was, how could such a sweet and kind woman have educated someone so difficult? That was none of her business, so she just wrote what was passed on to her, apparently his background was humble, so she sympathized with him just a little bit, because his life probably wasn't easy. As she wrote down her own deductions about the boy, she heard Jack utter some less than desirable words in her presence, in a language she knew was Spanish, She had to thank the thousands of language lessons her father made her do, after all, it made her resume more eye-catching, which was necessary if she wanted to be someone , an immigrant? That was a good question, she turned to him waiting for him to finish his mumbled rants and said; — “ You aren't a native here?” — He looked at her in surprise, He probably thought she hadn't noticed, and hesitated for a few minutes, notably this was another subject he didn't like to talk about, but he after a sigh answered.

— “ I was born here, but my parents were Mexican. ” — With the melancholic way he had spoken, apparently his parents were a sore spot, she knew how immigrants were viewed, so it was probably an injustice, it made her furious, and she took the opportunity to write this, after all, it was a good topic, she just hoped that her editor wouldn't block it because it was a frowned upon subject. She noticed the room was getting dark, frustratingly she wouldn't be able to get all the information she wanted, but what she had was probably more than enough. She stood up, if there was one thing she learned from a young age, it was not good to go out alone at night, so she began to speak; — “Well, thank you very much for the answers, Mr. Kelly, I will probably have to go back tomorrow, but you've already given me enough material, so thank you. ” — She forced a smile, although it wasn't as forced as the previous ones, she waved and left the room, with hurried steps she also left the house. She was quickly thinking of ways to start writing the article. She couldn't just talk about her unpleasant experience, but she also couldn't leave something unrealistic, and she remembered how difficult writing was, especially for a newspaper where your word could influence many people, but she had to try, and she would.

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

SO GUYS, That's it for now, if you like it I'll write more, but for now that's it because my hand is sweating from writing/typing

( Guys please see this, this was a LOT of work)

[xbalayage]

Last Night

Silvio/Reader Angst WC: 1,107 A/N: From the perspective that Silvio didn't change from the initial way we were introduced to him as but still fell for the charm he held anyways. It's tame while he's sober but during nights of drinking when things are supposed to be fun, he's drank way too much and it comes out with a force. Inspired by a song I listened too - pretty sure anyone could potentially guess what song it is.

[ - - . - - - . - - - . - - ]

Frivolous parties were what this kingdom was known for; constant music, extravagant sights, the liveliness was unparalleled to any other kingdom in comparison. But when they swam in untold fortunes and had a flourishing economy of frequent trade, why wouldn't they? Last night was no different - they'd spend it together under the glittering lights of a balcony, indulging in the finest wines and liqueur but food went untouched as she stared blankly off into the distance, no longer even listening to the words coming from his mouth. He was feeling it a bit more than her and that was saying something for once.

Incredibly insensitive and rude comments escaped past in his drunken haze all while wrapped around his smug smile, not even realizing the damage he'd be creating. She told him time and time again, yet she kept her rage to herself, focusing on the dazzling glow of lights with her hand cupping to support her chin. Radiant eyes refused to look his way. Now wasn't the time to stem out in that kind of talk, but she couldn't help the underlying resentment that whispered past her lips. "--I wish you were somebody I never met."

He heard it, of course he did. But, surely, she didn't mean that. Just like tonight's affairs, it was just the alcohol talking. She loved him. It was just one mistake he'd apologize for and wouldn't do again.

Right?

Just earlier that night when the mood was right, they both had their cheeks flushed with the passion they shared as she gripped the sea of sheets to their bed, crying out his name that he drank up like the sweetest song he's ever heard. Settled in what felt like miles of robes, she sat in his lap, fingers curved into his hair as they gaze lovingly into each others eyes. No one would know the wiser that they'd ever fight. Splitting a drink shared between kiss bruised lips, promising futures they'd hope to keep and sharing secrets of life that'd been left unspoken.

How did it come to this?

Their regular banter now turned into a verbal sword fight of who's right or wrong, positioning their sharpened words into the most vulnerable spots to hurt. He yells over her, she yells over him - neither of them were listening. The verbal warfare leaves a lasting scar forever etched into her mind, while he simply forgets like it never happened; like the wine wasn't laced with poison and shifted their tongues into pitchforks of hate. She couldn't bare another night like tonight.

Tonight was no different from other nights - she just refused to indulge in a fruitless endeavor after fighting. He's completely hammered and not listening to reason, or paying attention to those nasty comments he keeps spewing. Rio was right, and she should've listened sooner but that damn heart of hers always tried to see it through. 'Just let him go. He'll grow a pair and see how much of an asshole he's been once you finally leave him' his words rang fresh in her mind, trying to blink away the tears by the thought of the truth.

Silence beat in her ears for a few moments before her gaze turned back to him, curious to know why everything all at once seemed to stop. Like time had frozen in the moment to give her a reprieve to run. Her eyes met a passed out figure, snoring as he laid lazily in his chair. The urge to punch him square in the jaw but kiss his stupid face at the same time was too strong - she had to shake her head and stand, heading inside to pack her most treasured things.

Finally, she had enough. This would be the last night she would endure this. But she couldn't leave, not like this. Scrambling to find a pen and paper, her letter stated words intertwined with both love and sorrow; when their love was great, it was great - but when it was bad, it was like inhaling water with a ball and chain strapped around the ankle, pulling her down to the depths of her death. She undone the collar around her neck that she both hated and adored for multiple reasons, looking over once more at his slumped body on the balcony before resting the item with the note on the bed covers.

And almost as if he'd been listening in, Rio was at the door once she opened it, staring deep into her tear stained eyes that ran past her cheeks. His eyes gazed down at her luggage in hand before reaching her face again. No words were spoken, just a simple nob and Rio knew. He knew it was finally time. Her eyes turned once more for the last time at the man she loved the most, her heart ached - but she had to put a mental foot down; she couldn't change a man that didn't want to change. Or didn't know how to, even with her gentle guidance.

With her resolve strong, she slammed the door as she left, her resentment staying to linger in the absent room. He was too out of it, a simple action like that wouldn't have awoken him. She left, to never return.

Morning broke as he woke up, his body sore and mind swirling with no recollection of the previous night. He found himself on the floor, chair sprawled off to the side, empty wine bottle littered the floor. He lifted his head to find the food untouched on the table. His first thought was her, but he couldn't find her anywhere even when calling her name. As he got up slowly, he scratched at his head and groaned. Finally able to stand on his feet, he noticed a note and her collar placed on the bedding.

He read the note with a heavy heart; had he gone too far last night? What had he done? What had he said for her to have to write a note, leave behind the present he got her and vacate all her belongings as well, to leave in the middle of the night? For her to finally leave him. He gritted his teeth and held the note close to his chest, his other hand thumbing the beautiful collar that glittered in the sunlight. His eyebrows furrowed as hurt ridden eyes stare at the rising sun longingly.

Something told him that this wasn't the end of them, he held onto the hope that she'd forgive him. That she would come back to his side. This couldn't be. There's no way... that this was their last night.

taglist; @nightghoul381, @yvelk, @celiciaa, @drachonia, @alvieeru, @aquagirl1978, @here-for-gilbert, @widowbunny, @exhausted-courtroom-mom, @randonauticrap, @maries-gallery, @violettduchess, @strawberry-scum

[disneyanddisneyships]

Happier

Warnings: implications of (g)r^pe, and abuse, Jason being a decent guy, Alastor being an ass, alastor being ooc probably. Not proofread.

Summary: after aponi and alastor get into a small tiff at the studio, Jason takes it upon himself to try and let her express her emotions through dance. Part 2 to "Me Too".

Taglist: @gyubby99

Pairings: Huskerdust if u squint, chaggie, Alaponi angst, and a bit of jasaponi (ik julia. Im sorry.)

"There you go! Yes, wonderful form Vaggie! Good rhythm angel!" Aponi called out as the music played.

The group was practicing their dance. An activity Charlie had forced everyone into to get them to enjoy one another more.

Angel, Vaggie, and Nifty were having the time of their deaths, and they were quite good with the song they were dancing to.

Husk was trying his best, but couldn't focus when he kept bumping into angel and kept getting a face full of the spider's chest fluff.

Charlie was mixing up her steps.

"No, mi Vida, like this," Vaggie stated as she moved to the rhythm in the simple steps aponi had layed out for them.

"Right!" Charlie exclaimed as she tried her best to copy what her girlfriend was doing.

"Good job, Charlie! You're getting it. Try putting your hand here instead-" Aponi stated a she helped Charlie get into a better position.

Alastor however barely even tried.

"This is absolutely preposterous! This dance is horribly choreographed and much too modern!" He sneered, his smile becoming strained.

"Well maybe if you gave it a shot you wouldn't be such an asshole about it, deer boy," Aponi replied.

"Maybe I would try if we had a better instructor!" Alastor replied, his smile becoming triumphant and smug.

"Well maybe if you didn't argue about every single song I picked, everyone would've had a better time!" Aponi practically shouted.

"Aha! Well maybe if you weren't such a bitch, we'd all enjoy the class!" Alastor cursed.

"You are SUCH A-"

Aponi was cut off by a hand on her shoulder. Turning around to see her ex, Jason, standing behind her with a small smile.

Jason was an asshole when the two were together. Abusive. He was even the reason she was down here, but Aponi didn't have it in herself to hold in that grudge, no matter the shitty things he did. And he did some REALLY shitty things.

"What do you want, Jace?" Aponi snapped, still seemingly calming down.

"I know its.. not my place, but.... everyone is pretty tired, and its almost 6pm... Maybe it would be best if everyone went home for the night?" Jason stated.

Aponi sighed. He knew her signs. Of course he did. They've known each other for years....

"Alright..." her eyes softened before she turned to the group. "Today's session is over. You can all go back home," she stated.

Her regular dancers began packing their stuff while Charlie walked up to her.

"I am SO sorry about alastor! I mean if I'd have known before that you two used to uh..... y-you know.. I never would've put either of you in that situation!" Charlie apologized.

"Oh, honey don't worry about it. It's not your fault he's such a self absorbed prick. Why don't you all go back to your hotel, yeah?" Aponi reassured.

"FINALLY! you've said something clever!" Alastor exclaimed as he immediately walked out of the room, forgetting his microphone in his rush.

As the rest of the hotel patrons walked out, Jason stayed.

"....... you wanna talk about it?" He asked as aponi walked to turn off the lights in the studio.

"To you? No. Absolutely not," Aponi stated as she started to pack up her stuff.

Jason chuckled. "Okay okay. Fair..... but I see the way your nose is scrunching up. You need to let off some steam," he replied.

"Maybe I do...... what's it to you?" Aponi asked as she zipped up her bag and walked over to the speakers to make sure they were off.

"Lilly,"

That made her pause.

"....... he just..... hes.... he was my-......" aponi tried before wiping away the tears in her eyes. "And after you did what you did he was the first person to......"

Jason looked down in shame.

"..... you wanna work on the dance that we've been practicing? No one's here. You could scream at the top of your lungs. As much as you want," Jason offered.

"........ yeah.... okay yeah... that's a good idea, Jason," Aponi replied before turning the speakers back on, along with the music.

.......

Alastor froze just outside of the hotel when he went to mess with his microphone, only to realize it wasn't in his hand.

He cursed himself internally. In his haze of storming out he must've forgotten it in the studio....

Usually he would just summon it to him, but the implication of snooping around the studio that he bought and handed the deed over to the love of his death, was too enticing. Especially when he figured she wouldn't be there.

As he made his way back to the building, his smile grew at the sight of it being pitch black inside.

It was only when he walked through the halls, closer to the studio did he hear what sounded to be.... music...

With a raised eyebrow and a relaxed smile, he sunk into the shadows of the room, spotting Aponi and Jason starting a dance.

As the music played, aponi stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly.

From where he stood, Alastir could see that she was.... crying.....

He unwillingly felt a pang in his chest at the sight. He always hated when she'd cry.... and now he hated that he hated it...

As she cried, she took hold of the choker around her neck.... Alastor's eyes widened at the sight.... he had given her that when they had first began dating..... was she wearing it this whole time?

As the music went on, aponi collapsed gently onto the floor, where Alastor finally noticed Jason sitting as well.

Alastor tilted his head as the music picked up.

Alastors eyes widened at the choreography. He had always loved watching her dance... even now....

However, the sight of Jason laying his hands on her in the way he was.... even though it was a dance, it struck something inside of alastor....

Alastor flinched at the scream Aponi let out. It was drowned out by the music.....

As the dance went on, the two ended up on the floor, Jason cradling aponi tightly before she screamed so loud the windows may have broken.

Alastor felt something in him feel a tinge of regret.

His head perked up when he saw Jason get off of her, concern on his face.

"Shit.. did I hurt you?" He asked.

Aponi layed on the floor in tears, the flashbacks of their mortal life running through her head.

"Hey, Aponi, it's okay. I-...." Jason stuttered. He promised himself he'd never hurt her again. "Aponi?"

Still no response, other than the tears falling onto the floor.

Jason gulped. "Lilly?" He asked before sitting down on the floor and gently heaving her onto his lap, rocking back and fourth as she clung onto him, digging her nails into his skin as she cried.

Alastor shook his head as his smile strained, summoning his microphone I to his hand and melding into the shadows so he could get back to the hotel.

.......

Alastor morphed into his room, tears in his eyes.

He was so confused. He felt everything at once. Guilt, anger, jealousy, pity, regret. Every emotion except for happiness.

Why was it whenever SHE was near, alastor could barely breathe.... he hated her... she broke his heart. He had given her a contract. They would give their souls to one another as a marriage certificate, but she refused.

So why was HE the one feeling guilty?!

Alastor's eyes softened, as if he finally realized why she was so mad at him that day....

Her whole life she's been confined to someone.... her abusive mother, Jason, Valentino......

Alastor took in a shaky breath.

Oh..... That's why...