#If you push along the ring on either side you can usually pop the lid

[choco-cherry-chunk]

Will you write link stuff for your characters? Maybe that would help with asks

I assume you mean kink stuff? If so, absolutely! I’ve posted my own “tier list” thing about what I’m into in relation to this kind of kink and I’ll happily hit whatever within that list for any of my OCs and even create characters with other users if desired.

And if you’re interested too, I’ll try to write some here for one of them? You can look them up by name on my blog if interested.

Consider Cricket being kind of distracted while perfecting their next magic performance. Theyre bumbling some of their tricks; pulling crystals out of their hat when they meant to get doves, making more things appear when one thing is meant to disappear, their magic rings shrinking around their wrists instead of growing into hula hoops. They’re getting frustrated by the time Maurice offers to join in and help. He’s used to Cricket taking the lead with these things, but he doesn’t mind being a little bossy. He tells his partner that maybe the next trick should be the Aztec Lady or the Radium Girl, some kind of escapism trick. He figures that if it works, Cricket will feel more confident and they’ll be able to continue with the rest of the show’s plan. Cricket elects for one of the trick boxes, make Maurice disappear from the enormous box and reappear in the rafters of their stage, dangling on bars and strings.

Maurice gets into the box, waving tantalizingly before Cricket clicks the lid shut. Maurice can hear Cricket go through the usual spiel regarding the trick and he prepares for them to say the magic words that would indicate his movement to slip out of the box. Except when he hears them, he can’t get the back of the box open. He keeps trying to quietly tap at it with his foot, open the latch, and then slip through the floor. And while he’s fussing with it, he becomes vaguely aware of a different, familiar sensation.

A tingling in his middle. He’d described it at soda carbonation, just poured into a glass. Fizzling and popping somewhere deep inside, growing with time. The sensation, more intense, moving throughout his torso. Maurice drops a hand to his side and immediately can feel his flesh expanding under the rainbow fabric of his usual attire. Merde, Fancy Feet must have mixed up the trick again. He kept kicking at the trick door, trying to get it open as subtly as possible. He knew the trick Cricket was actually enacting well. His stomach swelled out further, becoming a proper belly in seconds. The usually billowed fabric of his top and pants didn’t hide the change for long, quick to hold onto his bloat. Soon, he could feel his hips widen, either side eventually brushing against either side of the box.

Cursing under his breath, Maurice starts to call out to Cricket for help, only to remember the next step in their act. Their little song-and-dance their so with the audience, their attempt to improv with those watching. Even with those big ass ears, there was no way they were paying attention. By the time he stopped shouting, Maurice looked down to see his tummy had swollen out to at least a full-term pregnancy. He could feel the subtlest of movements beneath his skin, familiar flutters that only drew his attention long enough for him to miss the moment his top and trousers separated. His watermelon-sized belly peeled out between the bright rainbow stripes, a bright white cloud of amidst the colors. It was just the slightly tinge of pink as he swelled, warm in the enclosed space.

Maurice continued his efforts to click open the back of the box with his heel, but it seemed to do little and even grew harder as the seconds ticked by. His back side pressed but against the handle for the box’s exit route, his ass slowly growing along with him. He tried to lean against the door, figuring the added weight would at least help to push it open, but the action just served to rub the sides of his corpulent growth against the walls. He watched as his stomach continued to grow, his innie popping into a perfectly poked out navel just before it swelled up enough to poke into the front of the box. The marionette gasped, not entirely out of concern; the sensation of his bloated body squashing against yet another wall sent shivers through him. He dropped his arms from the walls and that they had nowhere to go except to sit awkwardly on the crest of his stomach. He pulled at his top to give his middle more room to breathe. The box around him creaked, the sound barely audible over the gurgling of his belly, it’s size now close to that of being overdue with triplets. He rubbed his gloved hands over the paper white skin, the soft fabric tickling the sensitive bump. He found himself moaning, his fingers brushing over places where movements bubbled up, bumping and brushing more significantly the more the space of his stomach was encroached on. Maurice wasn’t sure what would give in first - his expanding tum or the box.

His arms looking to be rising, his stomach squished against the walls and swelling into what spaces it could. His back side and hips pushed up into what remained. Just as he felt the bottom of his abdomen brush the floor of the box, the door of the box popped open. Maurice gasped, his belly practically bursting through the open space, briefly jiggling from the force of the drop. Just over the top of his ballooned gut he could see Cricket’s wide eyes and perked up ears. A brief effort was made to get out of the box, but there was no give. The walls of the box pressed into his bloated side, jostling his bulge enough to send the babies within into a new fit of movement.

“I think that was the wrong spell, Fancy Feet.”

[planetsano]

xbox or playstation? 🎮

SYNOPSIS ✰ eren finds more interest in gaming than you, his horny girlfriend.

WARNINGS ✰ nsfw/18+, gamer au, streamer/gamer eren, very needy and horny reader, humping, sex in a gaming chair, blowjob, dirty talk, eren is kinda mean but he lets you use him to get off.

PAIRING ✰ eren yeager x female reader.

The uncomfortable throbbing and heat coming from between your legs were enough to pull you from your sleep. The dream you experienced before waking up was the cause— your boyfriend fucking you into the mattress while his large hand your face hard-pressed into the sheets as he pounded into you from behind. It was expected, Eren’s been streaming and gaming for most of the day, leaving you to fend for yourself to find your own entertainment. Usually, you didn’t mind. It was his job and how he paid rent but on this particular day you were feeling very needy and your advances were met with a dismissive ‘I’m working.’ or ‘I’m busy right now. Can’t you wait later?’

A tiny whine escaped your lips as you sat up, wiping the sleep from your hazy eyes to an empty bed. The orange light from the sunset was bleeding through the window, entering the room and coloring the walls a warm apricot color.

5:15 pm is what the digital clock sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed read. He should be finished streaming.

The soft pitter-patter of your soft feet sounded again the cold hardwood flooring throughout the hallway as you made your way to what you like to call ‘the homewrecking room’, it’s just his workroom but maybe you’re a little bit of a drama queen. The door was halfway open, so you stuck your head in. It was rather dark, his LEDs turned off and the blinds from the window closed. His face was illuminated by the computer monitors in front of his face. He wasn’t on stream right now that was a fact but you still knocked on the twice before stepping in.

“Eren,” You called for him.

Your soft voice grabs Eren’s attention, making him do a double-take. He takes his hand to push one side of his headset behind his ear, eyes locked on you for a moment. He’s not sure if you want to tell him something but he couldn’t lie, you looked cute right now— dressed in nothing but his hoodie and your cute panties. You were wearing the cotton ones that had the teeny ribbon bow at the waistband. You had a sleepy look on your face, rubbing your eyes with one of your sweater paws.

“Took a nap?” He asks— his eyes darting back to the main computer monitor out of the three in front of him.

“Mhm.” You hum in response, walking over to him and standing at the armrest of his chair.

Eren looks pretty right now. He always does but you especially love when he wears his hair down. He’s so invested in the game— brows furrowed in concentration while his fingers skillfully mashed the controller’s buttons. The game controller looks so small in his hands compared to when you’re holding it.

“Can we cuddle?” You ask softly, wiggling your sweater paw on his forearm.

Eren leans back further in his gaming chair, lifting his arms as an invitation for you to come climb into his lap. So you did— settling yourself onto his thighs with both your legs on either side of his waist. Your body melts into his with your face buried in his neck, taking in his scent. He smelled faintly of his favorite cologne, a sultry mixture of amber and cedarwood. Eren’s arms wrap around your frame, his slender hands still pressing the buttons on his controller rapidly. You can hear his friends’ yelling, profanities, and jokes spill through his headset. To be frank, you were getting a little jealous because you wanted his attention. You’ve been asking for it the entire day nearly.

“Miss you, Eren..” You whine quietly into his skin.

“Flank to your right, Jean-” Eren mutes his mic. “I’m right here, pumpkin.” He rubs yours back a couple of times before his hand is back on the controller. Eren isn’t really there and definitely not paying attention either, you can tell. There's a clear difference in tone— disinterest, and dismissiveness when speaking to you and the lighthearted words and chuckles his friends get.

“Pay attention to me.” You mumble.

“I am.” He deadpans.

“You’re not, you jerk.” Your shirt balls up into your fist.

You just want him— and you’re not exactly picky with how either.

One of your hands finds its way to your clothed pussy, lodging itself in between his crotch and yours before you begin to hump it, adding pressure on your clit from your middle and ring finger.

“What are you doing?” Eren asks quietly enough for his headset not to pick up his words.

“Nothing.” You whimper, continuing to rut yourself against your hand and taking in your boyfriend’s scent.

It’s not enough though, you know it’s not enough. In a way, you almost hate how Eren conditioned you to want his cock and his only. It’s so fucking big and pretty, he knows it too. The way you can feel that thick vein that protrudes angrily along his length rub against your g spot with every thrust. God, and how he splits you open is almost scary but you can’t get enough of it. Fingers, pillows, toys just don’t do it for you anymore— and your hand right now certainly wasn’t.

“C’n I put you inside?” You lift yourself lazily from his shoulder to look at him, pouting and flushed in the face. Eren sighs, before muting his mic once again.

“Will you behave? I’m serious, (Name). I’m not fucking you right now. Jean is recording for his channel.” He says.

“s’okay!” You perk up a bit. “Just wanna feel you.” You say.

“You say that then we end up fucking..” He sighs when he sees the sad puppy eyes you were putting on for him.

“Go on then, Get me hard.”

It’s been thirty minutes— thirty aching minutes of being stuffed full of Eren’s fat cock. Your panties have long since been discarded somewhere on the floor while his shorts and boxers are pulled halfway down his thighs. You know he can feel your walls fluttering around him every time one of you shifts even the slightest bit, and the most frustrating thing about it is: he doesn’t seem to be affected by any of this. Still ignoring you with his dick buried balls deep into your cunt. Every time you attempted to grind your hips down onto his, he would pinch your thigh hard enough to sting.

“Rennie,” You had tears pricking at your eyes at this point, all you wanted to do was cum but your boyfriend was being a jerk.

“Are you this insatiable? My god.” Eren asks.

“Please, Eren. I miss you.” You rolled your hips onto his.

“Fine. Use it, get yourself off. But I’m not helping you.”

Eren doesn’t have to tell you twice before you’re fucking yourself on his cock— quite literally using him as your own personal dildo. Your arms are wrapped snug around his neck, muffling your moans in his neck as you bounce yourself up and down on his shaft. The head of his cock hitting your cervix every time your hips slammed down onto his. The chair creaking underneath you both with your rapid movements was paired with soft sounds of skin slapping, your labored breathing, and whines. You’re almost certain his teammates can hear you, but it doesn’t matter to you. The only thing on your mind right now was using your boyfriend to get yourself off.

You feel your high form in the pit of your tummy, erupting like a volcano when you reach its peak. Your walls clamp around your boyfriend’s big cock— walls fluttering and clenching in erratic rhythms around his shaft. Your thighs are burning and shaking as you tried your best to silence your moans by biting down on his shoulder. Eren feels it all, he knows you just came but he’s still unbothered, his eyes locked on the screen. His body only moves slightly when you tug on his neck a little too hard. You’re limp in his lap, catching your breath when you hear Eren’s team call for a 10-minute break before resuming another session.

“Satisfied?” He asks, pulling back his headphones so they lay around his neck.

“You didn’t cum.” You say, your cheek slightly squished from his shoulder. Eren only shrugs and ushers you to get up by tapping on your thighs and you followed suit— lifting yourself off his cock. It falls heavy out of you, slapping softly onto his shirt glistening from your juices.

“Clean it.” He says.

You drop to your knees taking his shaft into your palm, dragging your tongue along his length making sure to flatten your muscle to cover more area. You look up through your lashes at Eren to see he’s on his phone— body relaxed with his arm rested behind his head, scrolling through Twitter. Ignoring you, again.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock as you swirl your tongue around the flushed red tip— then taking as much as you possibly could into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to create a sucking sensation. The rest that couldn’t fit was being fisted by your hand.

“I said clean up your mess, not get me off,” Eren says, looking down at you instead of at his phone. You released him from your mouth with an explicit ‘pop.’

“Will you feed me, Eren?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. “‘m hungry.” Your hand continues to pump him lazily.

“Fuck- Yeah, I got something for you. Hold still.” Eren’s phone is long forgotten, his hand grabbing a fist full of your hair pulling your head back.

“Use both hands, yeah- stroke my cock, baby.” Eren’s moans sound breathless and pretty. You’re moving your hands up and down his dick at a rapid pace.

“Open your mouth. Said you were hungry, right?” Eren shoots his load onto your tongue unannounced— his thick ropes painting your pretty pink tongue white, some of it dripping down your chin. He’s looking down at you with lidded eyes and his bottom lip nursed between his teeth as he rides out his high with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Your hands come to an eventual stop and you roll your tongue back into your mouth, swallowing your snack. Eren takes a finger, swiping it along your chin to gather the excess that didn’t make it into your tummy. You gladly taking his finger into your mouth sucking it clean.

“Now get out. I’m working.”

© all content belongs to rekiri 2021. do not modify or repost.

[introloves]

Just thinking about being super Domestic with Aone! He starts thinking about what a great little wife you’d be and how sweet you are. One day you casually mention what a great father he’d be if you guys had children and it does something to him! 💓

papa! aone + housewife! reader + HEAVY BREEDING KINK + talk of pregnancy (no kids) + princess complex + pillow princess! reader + overly protective! aone + praise + mating press + squirting + size kink + overstimulation + dacryphilia + creampie + f! reader

— word count; approx 2k

you treat him so gentle- a big man like him coming home to you after a long day of work always brings out a near overwhelming need to take care of him, to be there at every beck and call, waiting for him so pretty, looking towards the door with every second coming closer to him coming how to you.

everything you do for him doesn’t go unnoticed, aone doesn’t say much, but he returns your sweet kisses with an equal amount of love and adoration for his sweet little wife.

you’re near ravenous when he finally comes home, shrugging off his coat, boots taken off at the door, handkerchief in hand to wipe any lingering dust and dirt from his hands- not wanting to dirty any surface you’d spent all day cleaning. he’s even apprehensive in giving you his coat- looking at you with pinched lips, grunting while gently placing it in your waiting hands.

he doesn’t touch you until he’s all showered, even when you insist that it’s okay, the dirt beneath his nails from working, from being outside all day makes him feel dirty, you’re his princess, his pretty baby- how could he ever think to lay a soiled finger onto your soft and well taken care of skin...

he usually relents to your whines, begrudgingly bending down to place a quick kiss to your pretty lips- puckered and waiting for his own to press onto yours. he makes a straight line to the bathroom, showering, rolling his shoulders back once he steps out- towel secured ‘round his hips, and once again walking in a practiced route to your shared room.

he doesn’t change, he can’t because as soon as he’s out, you’re sat on the bed. pillows, blankets- comforter fluffed daily in anticipation for him to fuck you.

eyes eagerly drinking in his every step, water running down rounded out muscle, not so defined- not anymore. the home cooked meals that you make for him has treated him well, form fluffed out with muscle that’s more fitted for his job, it’s dense and packed in, thick. it makes your pussy throb.

“how was work papa?” you question sweetly, legs spreading wide to receive his body, slick folds wetly (and loudly) parting for him while you pin your knees on either side of you, giggling at the way he sucks a breath in every time, eyes looking at the pussy he so adores, mouth salivating.

he loves coming home to you.

he loves how soft you are, warm- thinks there’s nothing better smelling and more comforting than sinking deep- so very deep into the tight and wet heat that is your pretty pussy.

letting the towel fall at the foot of the bed, his cock hangs in a thick curve over his heavy balls, pretty white pubes decorating his crotch, tummy clenching in anticipation, it’s a sight seeing him get hard, thick length bending with how big he is- even fully hard there’s a delicious curve, gravity not too kind to him.

“good... i missed you.” aone mumbles. huffing as his now cleaned, calloused- thick... such thick hands reach to finally touch, soothing up the expanse of your legs, wondering how someone so pretty- so beautiful is laid out beneath him, pussy drooling for a cock like his.

you purr, smiling, body twisting- pushing up as his hands press you down.

“missed you more... was thinking about you- ‘bout something in particular.” you mumble, lidded eyes wandering up to his neck. watching the pretty blooming blush roll down all the way to his chest- wanting to reach up and remark and fading hickies, fingertips ghosting along faded lines of your nails dug in the moment of overwhelming passion.

“hm.” he hums, giving you his whole attention as you speak- looking at your lips as you form every word, planting heavy hands to the apex of your legs, digging the pads of every finger into the giving flesh, encouraging you to continue with a nod, all while kneading and squishing your body.

“was just thinking what a good papa you are- was thinking if you’d give me a baby... to keep me company while you leave.” you breathe, pulse quickening at the thought- head spinning the second the last word tumbles free, all because you’re suddenly pulled down.

it’s near audible, a lowly groan spreading forth from the deepest parts of his chest while he huffs- pale chest rising and falling rapidly, cock visibly throbbing- balls clenching, there’s even a moment where he thinks he may cum.

“f-fuck- a baby?” he exhales, tipping his head back, the stutter making you look at him with a hint of curiosity.

blinking away the base need to shove his cock inside, blinking away the need to push your head into the bed and dump load after load of his cum inside you, all with the intent to make you round with his kid he pulls your legs up he comes down towards you.

all to make you fat and pretty and waddle around while he takes you hand in hand everywhere you need to go.

he doesn’t realizes his hips have instinctively rutted down into you- too caught up in the thought of holding you while fat with a baby the two of you made.

hands dimpling your soft skin- muscle memory carrying every action, already folding you down, knees nearly pressing against your chest, heavy cock slotted onto your cunt, squished between your bent legs.

“i’ll give you a baby. my princess wants a baby.” he grunts, gone dizzy. all of this taking place in mere seconds of you spilling the thought. he says it like it’s a command from you, tunnel vision suckering him in, barely able to see you in the absolute need to give his princess everything her pretty heart desires.

you don’t know where he’s gone, obviously lost in a heavy headspace- popping the head of his still throbbing cock into you, crying in suspense. this is all so exciting, he’s always so eager to bring you what you want, always willing to move the stars and moon for you and now he’s answering to the fantasy you built up all day.

“p-papa!” you squeal, sucking in a breath when he barrels into you with a near punishing thrust.

this is different, he’s different. he’s always cautious with every thrust, but there’s no regret or remorse while the second slam of his hips knock into you. kicking legs just barely able to squirm at all with the way they’re perched on his broad shoulders, you watch as they dangle, watch while he stares you down, his own body moving with intent- drilling into your sopping pussy.

“papa!” you yell this time, soft hands holding onto his arms, his large palms resting on either side of your face while he folds himself down, the creak, sway of the bed dangerously loud- sucking every breath from inside your lungs.

he’s never been this rough, never- and your lips curl with every open mouth yell.

he fucks into you like you’re not there, thick cock splitting you open- filling your cunt, bringing you so very early into a blinding orgasm.

it’s so wet- eyes wet, pussy wet while you squirt and gush, crying out tiny little whimpers of his name as every wave of orgasm takes you. it splatters all over his thighs, painting his tummy, dripping back down onto you hotly.

this is all he needs, needs you wet and messy, needs your pussy swollen and slicked with need and cum so you can take such a big cock easier- if you take it easier he can use every inch of strength he has to dig the swollen and still throbbing cockhead right up to your cervix. he can almost see the swollen ring so ready to take his cum, displacing your own weepy orgasm, making room to receive all of his own thick, milky orgasm.

“good girl- my good girl.” aone nearly chokes, unfocused eyes zoning down onto your bent form, pussy lips and folds sucked in and out in with each drag.

you’re melted, reduced to a babbling little baby under his large mass- doing so well, taking someone so strong and so big like him with nothing more than a few overstimulated tears. drool forming at the corner of your mouth, the only thing you can do is wait for his cum like the pretty princess you are.

“papa- ‘ts too much- too much.” you gasp, wandering eyes roaming up his neck, landing on hardened eyes.

“no- no it’s not. you want a baby. i’m giving you a baby.” he speaks- knowing this is hard on someone treated like a doll, soft hands digging into the veined arms of his, same hands that never work too hard for anything at all, all because he insists on treating you with any and everything.

and just like everything else, he knows he needs to cut this short- knows you’re tired and wanting to drift off onto a nap, so aone fucks you deeply.

he needs to bend further and kiss away the tears spilling down your soft and plush cheeks- heated with the exertion he’s putting your body under, gently apologizing. the high and heated coiled need to breed you slowly waning, now just needing to paint your pussy with his cum.

“it’s okay- it’s okay, papa loves you- you’re okay.”

the gentleness, lowly and grunted words truly bring you peace, trembling under him- hiccuping at the thrusts he gives you, exhaling heavy when he tips forward to an orgasm finally.

sealing hips down to your own, rutting with securely placed knees down onto the bed.

he pushes you up a good amount, crinkling the bedding around your limp body, pistoning shallow thrusts, each one stickier- messier, harder to deliver as he cums. thick cock pulsating in need, sinking into such silky gummy walls all shaped to the form of his large cock.

he huffs equally shallow breaths, tired- so tired from an intense fucking, balls squeezing up tight to his body, every contraction followed by a deep squish of him to you.

“fuck- fuck.” aone groans, his shaking form transferred down to you, slowly bringing your aching legs off the perch of his shoulders. he gathers the last bit of strength residing in his body to take care of you, once more- with a gentleness only found in someone who’s been cautious of their own strength their whole life, he places your legs onto the bed.

you’re still dizzy as he does so, unable to keep the seizing of your muscles down- body heated and sweaty with how he folded your form into his desired state, slowly blinking your eyes more and more open.

blurry gaze landing on him, watching with a slowly growing smile as he looks at you with a reserved guilt.

“it’s okay.” you whisper, only able to whisper for the time being- “i’m okay.”

but even with what you say, he brings a large palm to your tummy, holding it there- reminding himself that it was to give you what you wanted. you just look so broken now, limbs unmoving, all dead weight while he positions your body much more comfortably.

with a nod, he pushes down any worry to hold you tight- swollen muscle wrapping your precious body up. your giggles bringing forth a near exasperated smile from him- wondering how his sweet baby still can be so... sweet after being fucked like that.

sleepy face burying into the crook of his neck while he fights to keep his softened cock inside you, pulling his princess onto him, slotting the plushness of you against his body.

“pretty.” he mumbles once the two of you are relaxed, basking in the tiredness throbbing throughout two fucked out forms.

“pretty baby.” aone whispers, bringing down a large hand to your tummy.

you can’t lift your head off his chest to give him a sweet smile, instead giggling with how well your papa takes care of you, how well he loves and gives you everything your pretty pink heart wants.

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii​​ (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts. 

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises. 

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair. 

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout. 

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive. 

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place. 

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower. 

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin. 

You both panic. 

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear. 

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged. 

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world. 

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands. 

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits. 

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage. 

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills. 

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart. 

You work through it, slowly. 

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too. 

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath. 

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off. 

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either. 

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.) 

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices. 

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer. 

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied. 

 Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap. 

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay. 

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted. 

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head. 

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you. 

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender. 

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his. 

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage. 

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

[wulfies-kpop-fanfics]

Popsicle → Nakamoto Yuta

↳  Pairing: Yuta/reader | smut

↳  Warnings: pure PWP, dirty talk, oral, face fucking

↳  Word count: 2,915

⁙ Summary: On a hot day during a vacation in Japan, Yuta becomes enamoured when he remembers that you’re one of the people that doesn’t bite their popsicles. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Want one?"

Yuta looks away from the television, noticing that you are standing above him, skin glistening with sweat and holding out an unwrapped popsicle toward him. He nods appreciatively, taking it from you and realizing it's already started to melt. 

The hot Japanese summer permeated the little Airbnb you and Yuta were staying in, the air conditioning had gone out in the night. June bugs sang through the screen in the living room, the patio door having been opened to let in what little fresh breeze there was.

"Thank you," he says, immediately biting the red tip of the popsicle off. He sighed in relief, "if only the ac didn't go out on the hottest day of the year so far," Yuta complains, watching tentatively as you plop down on the couch next to him, hoping to catch some of the cooler drafts from one of the many fans strewn about the floor. 

"I agree, but at least we have the fans." 

Yuta hummed in agreement, nearly turning his attention back to a rerun of Dragon Ball Z, but decided not to as soon as you also began to eat your icy treat. If only your vacation had gone like Yuta had planned- then he would be with his family, showing you off to them and meeting with his mother in private to get her engagement ring resized to fit your finger. However, the two of you were stuck here, basking in a heatwave where nobody was advised to go outside at all.

You were dressed in the skimpiest outfit you could muster without looking too indecent- a light neon green tank top and blue cloth mini shorts. Even if you were sweating and panting in the heat, your appearance made Yuta's stomach flip.

Yuta was happy that there were a few popsicles left in the freezer, whatever was able to stay any sort of heat was welcome, popsicles being even more so. They were sweet, cold, and cheap. It kept his mind off of you- at least that's what he told himself.

There has always been a debate on the best way to eat a popsicle- especially your favourites: rockets. You either bit down and endured each flavour until you got to your favourite or you licked and sucked on it, dying your tongue and lips fully in red before you even reached the white section.

Yuta always preferred to bite his, while your method was the exact opposite. It was almost like you were trying to torture him; utterly consumed by the television while you practically shoved the entire thing down your throat and then brought it back up with an audible pop of your lips like it was nothing. Red dripped past your lips, but you managed to swipe the juice away with your tongue before it trickled down your chin. 

The more he watched, the more his imagination warped what really was in your mouth. 

"Yuta-kun, you're staring," you still have the popsicle resting on your lips, tilting your head in curiosity at your red-haired boyfriend. His popsicle was almost half-melted now, sticky sugar and flavouring running down his hands. His eyes widen and his face goes red, quickly looking away from you. You knew how it made him weak when you used that suffix.

"Sorry," he says quickly, running his tongue along his fingers and up to the melting treat when he bites down on it again. 

"It's okay," you waive it off quickly, smiling. "I was wondering how your teeth can handle chewing on a popsicle," you say, utterly oblivious to what was going on in your boyfriend's mind - taking the entire popsicle into your mouth again, humming in contentment.

A shrug is his only response, taking in a deep breath through his nose as he bit down again, harder this time, and he wouldn't have cared if the stick snapped. He hopes with all of his might that you don't look down at his tight jean shorts- he was embarrassingly fully aware that he was already getting hard.

The room goes silent again save for the television and the white noise of the fans. Once he knows you're absorbed in the show again, Yuta goes right back to staring at you. He pulls the last piece of his popsicle off the stick and chews on it, while you're just starting the blue section of yours. You're still sucking on it lovingly, your lips dyed a deep red; as if you had just applied a fresh coat of lipstick. 

Your tongue paid attention to the underside of the popsicle first, then brought the whole thing into your mouth, cheeks sucked in for but a few seconds before you brought it back out, swallowing audibly and licking your lips with a satisfied hum.

The longer he watched, the tighter his pants felt and the tighter his pants felt, the more uncomfortable he got. It wasn't until he was practically squirming in his spot that you looked over again, concerned. 

"Is the heat getting to you, Yuta?" You ask sweetly, finishing off the last of your own popsicle, leaving the stick in your mouth for a moment before gingerly pulling it out. 

"You could say that," he said stiffly, unsure if he should just bite the bullet and tell you what he wanted.

You hummed sympathetically, standing. "Maybe you should go into the bedroom and keep the lights off. I'll bring the biggest fan in. I don't want you to get heatstroke," you don't even wait for him to nod before gently taking his popsicle stick and turning to pad into the kitchen. Yuta had to hold back a groan when he noticed the creases where your thighs met your ass were visible beneath the hem of your shorts. 

Yuta quickly stands and makes it into your shared bedroom, flicking off the lights and closing the curtains, blocking the rays of warm sunshine as best he could. He gets some relief from the heat when he lies down face first on the floor, the wood beneath him thankfully hadn't absorbed much heat. 

His situation felt much worse as he lay, his pelvis pressed right up against the floor. He would have moved to lie on his back if the floor weren't so cool. He then closed his eyes to wonder how long you were going to leave him alone before bringing in a fan from the living room. He licked his lips and thought; maybe a little relief wouldn't hurt. 

He stuttered out a sigh as he moved his hips against the floor. Even if it was the smallest amount of friction, it was better than nothing. He choked back a moan as he moved back and repeated- licking his lips. He eventually settled into a rhythm of humping the floor, the image of your popsicle disappearing into your throat replaying in his mind. Oh, how he wanted that to be him. 

He doesn't know how much time had passed, but he freezes and holds his breath when he hears the bedroom door slide open. He sits up and turns to look at you, hands in his lap to avoid the stream of light coming in that could reveal his erection.

"Feel any better?" you ask sweetly as you haul in the largest square fan, plugging it in and aiming it at Yuta. 

"A little," he says. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," you say, closing the door and turning on the fan, plopping down to sit on the floor next to him. "Ahh, that's the stuff." 

"Sure is," he says slowly, biting his lip. It's dark again, and he feels himself subconsciously palming at his pants. It's starting to hurt, and he's tempted to just blurt it out-

"Do you want to watch me eat another popsicle?" 

Your question makes Yuta's breath hitch, looking at you with wide eyes. "Wh-what?" 

You're completely serious as you look him up and down through what little light was in the room. "Do you want to watch me eat another popsicle?"

Yuta began to sputter for a moment, not sure how to react or to respond to your question. "I, uh, what am I supposed to say?" Of course, he knew what he wanted; and if he had to somehow get off through his pants while watching you, he would.

Your smile returned. "You're supposed to say yes, silly." 

Yuta took in a deep breath and pushed his bangs back, feeling the sweat on his forehead. "Then yes," 

You grinned, but you didn't stand up. "Okay. Good." You lick your lips and only got up long enough to approach Yuta, pushing back his bangs gently and leaning forward to trap him in a kiss, your hands sliding to cup his cheeks. He instantly reciprocates, catching the message to scramble backwards so that he's leaning against the side of the mattress. 

When you separate from him, he watches you with wide eyes. "(Y/N)?" He nearly squeaks out your name, breathing heavily and wincing when your hands trail down from his face to his shoulders. You first unbutton his shirt, pushing it to the side to slide your hands down his tanned flesh. You smiled innocently as your index finger gave extra time to the thin happy trail that beckoned your eyes to the hem of his boxers that peeked from his jeans.

"Yuta-kun," you reply sweetly. "You're terrible at hiding things." 

Yuta sucked in a sharp breath when you began to unlatch his belt. "Y-you knew?" 

"Of course," you're slowly pulling down his zipper now, sticking your tongue out in concentration. "You watched me eat my popsicle and only looked away when I caught you. You know," you continue with a mischievous smile, "I don't think I've seen you this hard in a while."

"No, it hurts… please hurry," he's surprised at how desperate he really is; he's usually not this wanton- or you this bold. 

"Since you asked so nicely," you smile up at him, gently tugging down his pants and boxers, enough that you could shimmy them both off his legs. As soon as his cock sprang free, Yuta sighed with relief. 

You observed him with a loving gaze; his eyes half-lidded, absently flicking away his flowing bangs, panting and whimpering ever so slightly as you brought your mouth to the tip of his cock. It was one of your favourite sights.

Yuta gripped your hair gently as your cherry red lips kissed his tip. "Like… like you did with your popsicle…"

Humming, you comply. Your lips parted to consume him entirely, and you could barely contain a smile when Yuta let out an all-out moan as he hit the back of your throat. You worked on his cock in the same way you ate your popsicle, and it made Yuta shiver. 

You brought your mouth back up, leaving him coated in saliva. He didn't have any time to recover - you went right back down, your tongue swirling around him as you went. Then you were quickly licking stripes up and down his shaft. 

"(Y/N)," his breathing was heavy and hot, more sweat permeated his forehead. His hand gripped your hair tighter, taking in the sight of you growing more dishevelled, saliva and precum rolling past your lips and down your chin.

Once you lifted your head away, you slowly slipped your tongue out of your mouth to collect the dollop of precum collecting on your face. You're still working him gently with your hand as you catch your breath.

"Don't stop," Yuta commanded darkly, and your eyes lit up. 

"There he is," you say excitedly, licking your lips and swallowing thickly. "My Yuta," you giggled as Yuta grunted and gripped your hair tighter to push you back down on him. You started once again by bringing one of his balls into your mouth, smiling in triumph as you hear his moans echoing through the room. You work your way as slowly as you can, licking a wide stripe up his shaft, stopping periodically to sloppily kiss him. When you return to deepthroating him, you don't even gag, and Yuta's cock twitches in your throat from the sight alone. 

"Fuck," he gasps, "please let me fuck your mouth," 

You look up at him as best you can from your position, taking your mouth off of him with an obscene slurp and pop. You lick your lips, tilting your head to the side. "I thought you wanted this to be like my popsicle," you said innocently, and Yuta nearly scowled at you. 

"Please," his voice was dark and raspy, but you could tell he was desperate enough to start begging. His hand let go of your hair for but a moment, running his thumb along your bottom lip. "Please let me fuck your face." 

"Hmm, I don't think I will ever be able to say no to you," you say, kissing his abdomen, watching it twitch beneath your lips. "Okay." That was when you stood, peeling off your shirt. Yuta noticed you hadn't put on a bra today, basking in your half-nakedness as you haul yourself onto the mattress, lying face-up by the edge and opening your mouth to Yuta, flicking your tongue teasingly. 

He didn't waste time pushing his garments down and stepping out of them, leaning down to kiss you before standing up straight. He grabbed his cock tightly and stroked it as he hovered it over your face. 

"Don't make me wait, Yuta-kun," you whine, pouting at him. This was his turn to grin devilishly, deciding to comply with your request. 

As soon as he re-entered your mouth, he felt like he would immediately lose control. His cock was hitting the back of your throat perfectly, and you kept your tongue moving along his shaft and just under the edge of the swollen tip of his cock. 

"Fuck, this is so good, I'm gonna cum soon," Yuta could hardly contain himself, crewing his eyes shut tightly as he felt his world fall away into a blind search for his climax. His thrusting grew more erratic, causing you to finally start gagging on him. "Oooh," he groaned, feeling your throat constrict against him. "Oh fuck," 

You breathed through your nose as best you could, trying to endure Yuta's wanton fucking. You still enjoyed the feeling of his wet cock sliding against your tongue regardless. You would really need to catch your breath after he was finished, and you would definitely need to change your underwear. 

Yuta leant forward as far as he could, careful not to bend your neck too far against the edge of the mattress. He panted, grunted and moaned, moving his hands to knead your breasts and pinch your nipples. That was when you began to emit muffled cries as you lovingly choked on his cock, the vibrations of your throat sending him flying further into a frenzy.

"Gonna cum down your throat," he groaned, pinching your nipple tightly, reaching the peak of his speed, thrusting into your throat with all of his energy. "Fuck, feels so good, take it all," 

You felt as if precum and saliva were about to start spilling from your nose, but you were still close to cumming yourself. Yuta's touch on your chest, his words and the feeling of him wantonly fucking your face more than enough to leave you writhing. 

"Ooh, I'm gonna- take it, cumming, take it all… drink it, ah, fuck!" Yuta stills and you feel his length harden even further before he begins to twitch, hot salty liquid exploding into your mouth. Yuta stayed inside your mouth for what felt like an eternity, swallowing thickly and panting sharply. Once he finally pulled out, you could barely swallow everything before you started coughing. He took a moment to slide his boxers back on, turning the square fan to blow in the direction of the mattress.

Yuta took a seat on the edge of the bed beside you, gingerly placing a hand behind your head to help guide it into his lap. You move your body to lay comfortably, panting and regaining your own breath.

"Are you okay, baby?" If you had the energy, you would giggle at how concerned he looked. He pets your hair softly, threading through the tangles. 

"Yeah," you rasp, licking your lips of anything that may have escaped. "I just didn't know you had that in you."

"Me neither," he smiled sheepishly, looking you over. His eyes widen when his hand trails down to your shorts, clearly noticing the wet spot in between your legs even if his fingers barely touched it. "Did you-" 

"I, uhm… guess I really liked it?" You blush and look away, but it doesn't take Yuta long to start laughing sweetly, bending over to shower you with quick kisses. 

"Me too," he agreed quietly, "but I should probably get you all cleaned up. Bath or shower?" He tapped your chin with his index finger so you would look back up at him. He's looking at you curiously, waiting for your answer. 

"Bath, please." 

"Bath it is." Carefully, Yuta took you into his arms and slid the door open with his foot. Immediately you both were blasted with a wave of heat and intense sunshine, groaning at the vast difference in temperature.

"Cold bath," you whine, screwing your eyes shut to try and keep the sun out. "Ahh, it's so bright!" 

Yuta chuckled, kissing your forehead. "Yes, a cold bath."

[mossygardenstone]

Run Away With Us

Sal and Larry x reader hurt/comfort one shot

TW: Abusive parents, panic attack, angst, crappy writing

Relationships: Platonic with hints at a crush on Larry

Wanted to do a little fanfic for my feels after being inspired by this playlist! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FGOuYP0x88  _____________________________________________________________ You tapped your pencil anxiously on your desk, watching the clock. You could never understand how you were so ready to leave, but not to go home. School was awful, but home.. Was even worse. You don't know what you even wanted anymore, and it tears you apart inside. But there was someone noticed the taps, two someones actually. Two classmates on either side of the room, ever since the teacher separated them. Both of them were your friends, and both were very much trouble, well mostly the tall one. The shorter blue haired boy was still trouble, but the kinda of trouble that you just know he didn't bring on himself. But they were your friends, and they you loved them, even with all the weird stories they told you about their "ghost hunting". Ghosts you believed, but cults? Demons? It all seemed too far fetched to truly believe, but you supported them. You listened to their stories all night over the phone, and wished more than anything, that you could go with them. To call your parents protective, would be a offensive at this point. They smothered you, painfully so, and your relationship with them, was rocky, on the good days. The thoughts of home and the tense there, swirled dangerously in your mind, as you watch the clock. It wasn't even lunch, but you were worried about going home already, and your pencil showed this, when it wasn't tapping, thanks to the dirty looks you got, it was between your teeth, taking the brunt of your emotions.

Sal was the first to notice this, as Larry was too busy doodling. Once the teacher turned to the board scratching the assignment loudly, Sal lobbed a paper ball across the room at the taller teen, nailing him in the head and making it nestle into his long and greasy hair. The teen looked up with a start, remembering the world outside of his little doodle page. He picked the paper ball from his head, and read it, knowing Sal's hand writing right away, and peaked at the other, before he read: "Are they alright today?" Larry looked from the paper, to Sal, who nodded toward you. You had already laid your head down to keep from snapping the pencil in your teeth, taking to staring at the desk in the darkness your arms created around your head. Larry looked at you, furrowing his brow, then looked to Sal again, who gave a soft head tilt as Larry turned back to his paper, flipping a page, and quietly ripping it out, scribbling, and yeeting it to Sal at the earliest possibility. By now, you could hear them, you know the sound of paper balls smashing the two boys in the face from a mile away, but you didn't lift your head, simply looked at through the little crack in your arm where you could see Sal's desk and hands moving to read a new note. But you were too anxious to really think of anything else, other than they were plotting a hunt or a smoke sesh after school, so you shut your eye's again.

Sal folded out the note, smoothing it with his large hands, wondering why Larry always had to crumble it to death like that, the pencil was smudged and the wrinkles were over the top, but he still could read it, he had learned to read Lar's awful hand writing ages ago, a skill you had yet to pick up. Once he straightened the paper out, and read the very simple, and unnecessarily small text of "ditch x3?" Sal lifted his head and looked at Lar, you, the clock, and then back to Lar, tapping his wrist like it had a watch and gave a shrug, to ask him “when”. Larry smirked and leaned back into his chair some, looking up to the teacher, she had long fell asleep at her desk after writing the pages to read on the board, she pretended she was simply reading her own book, but the faint snore wasn't missed. The other kids had either gone to sleep too, or was fucking off more than them. Lar gave a glance back to Sal and his smirk turned into a shit eating grin, as he mouthed "Now." to the other teen, and nodded toward the window next to Sal. Sal's eyes widened behind his mask, they usually would ditch between classes, not DURING them. But he worried for you, he knew you wouldn't tell them about your home anymore, last time, Larry and you argued. It was like you didn't know what they did to you was abuse, or if you did, you didn't want to hear it. So you started to clam up about it, despite Larry prying till you both fought again. You two were often compared to a married couple, you bickered over things, but everyone figured it was cause you both we're just as stubborn as the other. Sal came back from his thoughts, glancing from Larry to the window. Larry still smiling, leaning forward again, motioning his hand to open the window, trying to encourage the bad deeds.

Sal was a bit panicked at the idea, but caved, turning to the window next to him, and leaned over his desk to very softly push on it, begging it to be silent. It slid up with a little pop of air coming through, which caught the attention of a few people, including you, but thankfully, not the teacher, who just snored louder. Sal put a finger to his mask as the class looked at him. Some rolled their eyes, others snickered softly, but they all went back to their lives, but not you, you popped your head up and looked at him, with questioning eyes, before turning to Larry and raising a brow. Larry was practically out of his chair already, his stuff gathered to his side as Sal very anxiously slipped the window up enough to fit a person. You turned you attention to the window again, seeing Sal's things kicked toward the window as well, and gave a chuckle, along with a couple other students that were gawking, but you had to stop yourself from making a noise as a paper ball smacked the back of your head. You rolled your eyes before grabbing it and laying it out flat, squinting at the shitty hand writing on the mangled paper. "come with?" read the small text with a little ghost drawn other it.

Your eyes searched it frantically, looking for the joke, but when you whipped your head up to look to Larry, he was standing above you, bag over his shoulder, waiting for your answer right next to you. You wanted to speak but you didn't even know what to say if you were going to. Larry simply gave a breathy chuckle and mouthed "scared?" at you. Your eyes narrowed at him, a challenge? Fuck it then. You stuffed your stuff in your bag as fast as you could while being quiet, and slung it over your shoulder and joined Sal next to the window, with Larry not far behind you. But you could feel eyes on you, eyes filled with anger, and not "what are these chuckle fucks doing now?" like the others, you looked up to see Travis, the local homophobic homo. Once your eyes met, he glared daggers at you, and whipped his head around, looking toward the teacher. Larry's half lidded eyes widened, and his head went back a little in shock. Sal had gathered his bag and swung a leg out the window, and before he could fully hop out, he heard the boys voice ring out loudly. "They're skipping class again!" he screamed, his voice cracking, causing students to snicker, as the teacher woke with a start.

"Aw, shit, fucking Travis." Larry grumbled out, and turned to the window, where Sal had already hopped out and waited, but you were stuck stunned as the teacher rose from their desk and looked at you both. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, GET IN YOUR SEATS!" Larry snagged your arm, giving a soft shake and leaned down to you. "Come on, we gotta go now, or not at all." He said in your ear, before ducking his lanky limbs out the window and rolling out next to Sal with a laugh. Both looked up at you, the teacher closing in on you. "Back in your seat!" She screamed as she moved closer, reaching for you. Sal took a couple steps back, trying to put distance between the window, and get a head start, but Larry didn't budge, he watched you, with half lidded eyes. You glanced from the teacher to the window again, before sucking in air, and just straight up jumped out, like you were about to take a nice slide down a slip n slide, but instead of a nice slide, you just belly flopped out with a pathetic little slide, earing a laugh from Larry who helped scoop you up, and the three of you started to run from the grounds, hearing the teachers screams fade till all that was left was the sounds of your shoes padding away quickly.

Once you reached the fence at the end of the school's property, the two teens, easily hopped it, tossing their things over to the first over, which was Sal, who caught them and tossed them to the ground. You could tell they did this, like a lot. Once Larry was over, he turned to look at you, as you were sizing the fence up. "Heh, come on, you can't hop a window, OR a fence?" you narrowed your eyes again, this man could really push your buttons. "Not all of us can just step over it, you long legged ass." You grumbled scaling it, biting back your nerves. Once at the top, you swung your legs over, and sat at the top railing for a moment, looking at the ground. You were hardly higher than Larry, but something about being higher than the tall bastard was sending you for a loop. "Come onnnn, I'll catch you!" Larry finally said with a smirk, holding out his arms. Oh that was it, he's gonna catch you alright, with his fucking face. You hefted yourself off the rail and straight at the other teen, expecting his little lanky ass to crumble like his paper balls under your weight from that height. But instead the wind was knocked from you for a second time, as you were easily caught by the boy. His arms pressed hard around you with the catch, and he stumbled a tiny bit, but you were still safe, feet but a foot or two off the ground, dangling in his arms, like a rag doll as you tried to figure out what even happened.

You looked up, the boy's nose painfully close to your face, that was now heating up at the closeness. "I told you I would catch you." He said with a chuckle, not helping your embarrassment. You gave a weak wiggle in the boys arms, trying to signal to just drop you already from the bear hug. "Jesus...Fuck. How did you even catch me, noodle arms?" Larry was about to release you, before that comment, but instead his grin widened and he squeezed you tightly to his chest, showing off just how much more strength he had. You let out a breathy squeak, caught off guard by the pressure, before you heard a loud pop, and your eyes widened a little. He had popped your back in the most amazing way, and you both looked at each other, questioning if that just happened, before all three of you bust into laughter, Larry finally putting you down. "If the married couple is ready, we're not too far from school, and uhhh." Sal said, pointing up to the security guards, huffing as they ran to the fence, starting to yell for them to stop. "Oh shit, let's go." Larry said, grabbing his bag, and then yours, hefting both over his shoulders and taking off first. You and Sal quickly joined them, the sound of feet and backpacks shuffling away as you all left behind the guards.

"When you gonna carry my bag, dude?" Sal huffed and puffed behind his mask, adjusting the bag filled with most of their ghost hunting things, he turned to look at the tall teen, hefting the two bags. "When you belly flop out a window then get your spine cracked in a bear hug, I guess." He snickered and looked back to you, who tried your best to keep up, but again, they seem to do this, a lot, and had you beat in the running department... and the jumping.. actually let's stop thinking about that. Sal snickered and as the three of you ran till your were far enough to not worry anymore, so you all slowed down to a nice walk, which you welcomed. As you three walked Sal pulled out his phone and started to send a text, you trotted to walk beside him and smiled. "Texting Todd?" You questioned, which gained a smile from the boy that you could see in his eyes, even behind the mask. "Yeah, he's probably not going to ditch, but I like to let him know at least." Larry sighed, his usual slouch ruined by the two bags, forcing him to actually stand straight. "He never ditches, but it's cool, we just do small snooping without him." Sal gave a nod and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. "Yeah, he's got grades to keep up, so he doesn't like ditching."

Larry laughed, shifting the backpacks on his back, with a shake of his head. "Yeah, I'm glad I don't have to worry about that." You rolled your eyes, giving a tug to your bag to take it from him. "Ever think, maybe you should?" You teased, looking him up and down. He simply rolled his eyes and let the bag drop into your hands with the tug and shruged. "I make Cs, that's good enough for mom, it's good enough for me." Sal chuckled and looked over his shoulder at him "What about the F in chem Lisa was just yelling at you about this morning?" Larry frowned and groaned, "I forgot about that honestly." he said, his smirk coming back, earning a laugh from you both. A silence washed over you three as you walked, once the teasing and questions were aside, but you enjoyed the nice silence as they lead you into the woods. "Sooo," you finally interrupted the silence, wiping sweat from your brow. "Where are we even going?" You looked from one teen to the other, before Sal spoke. "There's this weird little house out here." Larry nodded and raised his hands, wiggling his fingers in a "spooky" fashion. "Yeah it's fucking creepy as hell. No one remembers it ever being there, no address for it or anything." he dropped his arms, and rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "And it's completely empty." Sal added, pulling his phone back out as it vibrated. "Other than some like, really, really old, dusty furniture." Larry continued, watching the other tapping away on the flip phone, before pocketing it again.

"Todd said the whole school is freaking out about us." Sal looked at the two of you, a smile behind his mask. Larry threw back his head with a laugh, "Oh man, were so boned." Sal hummed in agreement, but you stopped in your tracks. You couldn't take another step, as panic took over you. Gripping the straps of your bag, you looked at the ground, completely zoned, thinking about what would happen when you went home. You'd never be allowed to do basically anything, ever again. You'd be surprised if they didn't padlock you out of your room...again. Larry and Sally came to a stop as well, looking at you. "Y/N?" Sal asked, worry in his tone, but you didn't respond, your brain was going a mile a minute and didn't even hear him. Larry started snapping his fingers to bring you back, "Y/N? Come on dude, I can't have you both starting this zoning out thing." You looked at Larry with a start. "Hu-huh? Oh.. sorry I just uh..." You trailed off, eyes falling back to the ground, the thoughts trying to close back in. You wondered if you'd have a room left when you came back, would it be all thrown outside? All your things, your sketch books, your clothes, your bed, your cat? You shook your head and shut your eyes tight, wincing at the thought.

Sal put an oversized hand on your shoulder, while Larry slipped his fingers around yours and held your hand so tenderly, you could feel it through your freak out. You looked at them both, trying to pretend you didn't have tears in your eyes, knowing it was a lie. Sal finally spoke again, rubbing the hand on your shoulder for a moment. "You're worried about your folks, huh?" his voice was comforting, like the one you'd hear from someone that loved you dearly, it was almost strange for you to hear that from someone, did you really never get to hear that tone from anymore else? "Yeah, don't worry about it tho-" Larry squeezed your hand, you could see he was upset, you knew the look he had when he was upset, his brows would knit together, and he couldn't stop from frowning, almost looking like a pouting child. But you saw restraint in his eyes, like he was, for once, biting his tongue. "Y/N just-" He started but sighed and looked away, his hand never leaving yours though. You felt bad, you knew what he wanted to say, and you didn't know if you could fight this time.

You came from this train of thoughts as well, when Sal slid his hand down your arm, to catch your free hand in his, like Larry. The both of them, on either side of you, holding you hands gently, their love pouring through their palms. It reminded you of those cute pictures you've seen, where parents hold the hands of their kids as they walk. It was then, that you were absolutely certain, no one had shown you love like this. Love that you didn't question, that you didn't fear. Love that you can actually feel. It felt really nice, you couldn't help it anymore, your eyes dropped to the ground, as tears ran down your cheeks, a small sob escaping your lips. Sal's hand seemed to hold yours even more gently, where Larry's tightened, you could truly feel their emotions, and how they handled yours differently. It was beautiful, and grounding, but still the tears fell.

Larry was steaming mad, but he wouldn't let you know, he hated your parents, he was so pissed about how they treated you. If they weren't abusing you emotionally and mentally, they were neglecting you to go do whatever they wanted and left you alone. And when they weren't doing either of those, they had the nerve to gaslight you, till you wouldn't listen to your friends, even though they loved you. He wanted to speak, say what he wanted to for weeks now, but he knew there would be venom in his voice that he couldn't stop, so it was Sal that broke the silence. "Y/N... Me and Lar have been talking." He glanced to the taller teen, before looking back to you, as you stared a hole into the grass. "And we've been talking to our parents..." He continued, but this time Larry spoke up, more aggressively than he meant to, "Yeah and-" he lowered his tone when he noticed you flinch, sadness creeped into his heart when he saw that, and he vowed, he'd never make you do that again. But he continued his sentence, with the softest and most loving tone his anger allowed. "An-And we want you to move in with us." He finally got it out, but why did he feel his cheeks heating up? Why was he suddenly so nervous? It was his idea, he brought it up to Sal weeks ago, and after talking, and getting the evidence he needed to show both their parents, they agreed without a hesitation. Their parents had already started to make their relationship more serious, talking about marriage, but even then, they couldn't stand what they heard about your parents. Sal's dad and Larry's mom had reactions, similar to their sons. Soft pitty, and bitter anger. Lisa even talked about fighting their parents, but they decided that instead, taking them in was the best option.

You looked up quickly when he told you, looking between the two of them. They we're joking right? They had to be. But it wasn't a bad idea, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't think about it. Late at night, when your parents fought, you put your headphones on, to drown them out, thinking about what it'd be like to live in the apartments with Sal, Larry, and Todd. You never really said it, but you wanted to move into them when you were able to, and well, you just kind of forgot, you would be able to do that soon. You were only months from your 18th birthday, Larry was even closer, where Sal had already hit his. It made sense for them to even think about this, and you you realized, you could just, never go back. But you couldn't stop staring at them, you just knew it was a lie. Why would they want to live with you? Who even were you living with? They lived in two different apartments.

Larry finally broke the silence again, "Well? Aren't you even going to answer?" He sounded hurt, was it from your pause? Was it because you seemed like you didn't want to? But you finally spoke, "Why?" was all you managed out of the many questions in your head. They both stared at you blinking, they didn't really expect that question you guessed, but you felt Larry's hand grip tighter, and he tugged it, just enough to fully obtain your attention. "What the hell do you mean 'why'? Your parents suck, Y/N. You're fucking scared to even go home." He spoke bluntly but with a calm tone, worried of freaking you out again, and knew this topic never had gone well before. But you softly sighed, you gave both boys a soft squeeze to their hands, catching them both off guard, from the limp fish they felt they were holding earlier. Now, you held their hands back, even stroking a finger over each boys hand, but never looking up. "I know..." your words were flat, and you barely realized you said them. They were true, weren't they? You knew they were, you didn't want them to be, but they were. You didn't want to go home, ever fucking again. You didn't want to hear them yell at you, to belittle you, to use you for a therapist or maid. You wanted to be free.

The boys looked at you for a long time, both caught off guard by the response, but before they could even collect a sentence, you spoke again. "Which of you would I live with?" You finally looked up, Sal smiled behind his mask, his eyes showing it plainly again, but Larry thought his heart was melting still from the way you held his hand back. He never understood how someone who went through something so hard, had such a soft grip. But he had to shake his thoughts from his head, a smile creeping on his face. "Me, of course." He chirped happily, earning a brow raise from you. Sal rolled his eyes, "Neil got a house, it's right down the road from the apartments, and Todd's going to live with him of course, and he invited me to come along." Larry pipped up to finish for his bro, "And I'm hanging back for a bit, I'm not gonna move out just yet, I still haven't figured out if I'm going to college, like these nerds have." he said smirking at Sally, earning an eyeroll. You looked from Sal to Larry for a minute, before looking back to Sal again. "So how shit of a roomie is he?" you question, making Sal chuckle loudly, and earning a scowl from Larry. "The worst." Sally teased, raising a hand to his face and waving it in front of his nose. "His room smells like pot and paint all the time, and he loses everything he touches." Larry narrowed his eyes at the other, "And your mask stinks." He retorted with a smirk. Sal raised a finger and waved it at him, "It's a prosthetic thank you, very much." Larry rolled his eyes and mumbled "A stinky one."

You all laughed and your smile could warm these entire cold, dark woods. You felt so safe and happy with them, and you never even noticed. "Alright." You said with a shrug, dragging both their hands up with it. Larry looked almost shocked, like he never thought you'd agree, but Sal just smiled at you both. "Wait, really?" Larry questioned, still stunned. But you simply looked at him, and gave him the biggest smile you've ever had in your life, tracing a finger over the ring on the boy's finger. "Yeah Larry, I'd love to live with you guys. I really would." It was their turn to join in on the tears, and they finally let go of your hand, before closing in around you, the two of them wrapping their arms around you and each other. You beamed and let out an embarrassed giggle as you hugged their arms to your chest, enjoying the group hug, more than you ever thought you would. You all held each other for a moment, enjoying the comfort of the group hug, you all had a place, and it was together.

But all things come to an end, including the cuddle puddle. Which was rudely interrupted by the loud blaring of your ringer, Sanity Falls, poorly recorded off Larry's stereo on your flip phone. You pulled the phone out, as the boys finally released you, but they didn't move far from your side, peaking at the caller ID on the front. It was your mother. Your stomach bounced from your feet to your throat, and back again, eyes scanning the phone, your hands starting to shake. Sal's eye's grew sad, seeing you so upset. Larry was trying to control his anger, his want to just- Before he could finish his thought, you opened the flip phone up, accepting the call, stunning both boys, not only did they think you'd ignore it, but you always skittered off to answer it when you did. But instead, you just flipped it open, your fingers trembling against it. Your mother's voice blared through the phone, as if it was on speaker, the loud bitch always did have some lungs on her. "Y/N? Where the fuck are you? Why did you leave school? You are in so-" you turned the phone, taking each side of the flip phone in your hands, and snapping it in half, the voice spotting short as you broke it. Larry was stunned, and upset, that's just what he wanted to do. You looked at the halves of the phone, and threw them to the dirt, stomping them in a little, feeling a wave of euphoria wash over you. You looked back up to the boys, almost looking for approval. But before your face could even turn to Larry's, he had scooped you up in another bear hug. "That was fucking metal, Y/N!" He spun you, nearly side swiping Sal with you dangling legs, but he jumped back and pumped a fist in the air. "Hell yeah it was!" He cheered, as the lanky boy finally finished spinning you, put your feet on the ground. You head was spinning, but you couldn't tell if it was the twirl or joy anymore, laughter spilling past your lips, even though tears still formed in your eyes. But for once, the tears weren't painful. But you looked up to Larry, as he put his hands on both sides for you shoulders, looking in your eyes. "I'm proud of you, Y/N." your lip quivered, but you jumped a little when you felt Sal hand on your back. "I am too." his voice was calm and gentle, just like the hug Larry pulled you into, as Sal rested his mask against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You laid your face against Larry's chest, the two of them felt warm and comforting against you, and you smiled as you sobbed softly. "Thank you." You finally choked out. You were finally home.

[shoutogepi]

Needy

Todoroki Shouto

word count : 5.4k

[ ✘ (nsfw!) ]  

themes : sub!shouto, dom!reader (femdom), choking, kinda sex pollen??, toys, ass play, pegging 💀

bio : Shouto gets hit with a quirk on the job, and you’ve never believed in God more than right now.  

author’s note : listen folks i know i’ve sinned before but if writing this didn’t get me a one way ticket to satan’s subterranean sauna... idk what will 🤪 PSPSPSPSPS— if you’re hesitant to read femdom/pegging fics… you should give it a try… u never know 👀👀

tagging: @gallickingun​ in hopes to convince her pegging is hot, and @shoutodoki​ who constantly freaks out over sub!shou with me <3

alos available on AO3 here

  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅃he front door slams, a loud echo ringing through the hallway and stirring you from a mindless daydream. Your phone lies limply in your hand, screen brightly displaying the next level of your phone game, but it remains untouched. With a shake of your head, you’re on your feet and wandering over to the commotion of your boyfriend at the door.

When you actually see him, you suppress a chuckle, eyes raking over his figure huddled on the tiled floor. His back is to you, and he’s hunched over, thick fingers impatiently ripping off his hero boots.

“Babe?” You greet hesitantly, a brow raised and arms crossed over your chest in confusion. “I know today is my day off, aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

A visible shiver zips down Shouto’s spine, and though you can’t see it from your point of view, his face twists in distress. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he holds back a groan, your voice sounding damn ethereal to his ears. “Yeah,” he answers gruffly, finally freeing his second foot from the confines of his snug choice of footwear. He roughly places the discarded boots on the shoe rack before he stands. “Got sent home for the day.”

His short response only furthers your concern, and when he turns, you let out a gasp as you take in his massive erection.

There’s a brief moment of silence before you’re laughing, and Shouto is glaring at you, red tinging his cheeks and the tops of his ears.  “What— Did one of your fangirls slip a Viagra in your water or something?” You snicker, approaching his brooding form.

Shouto closes his eyes and looks the other way, a sigh leaving his chest. You can see the way the breath leaves his body thanks to his tight hero suit, the muscles on his torso jostling the material and reminding you of just how ripped he really is. Meanwhile Shouto is trying his best to remain upright and collected, even though every inch of his body is screaming at him to fall into your arms.

“Jeez, baby, you want me to get a flag for that pole?”

You’re sent an icy scowl before he closes his two-toned eyes again. “Got hit with a quirk,” he growls through clenched teeth.

It’s then that you notice how stiff his entire body is, how his breath is labored and choppy. You’re jumping at him immediately, the need to touch him and make sure every part of him is alright taking over every cell in your body. “Shouto! Oh my god, Shou, are you okay?”

Your touch on him is too much, and his knees nearly buckle, his hands coming to grip your biceps. His lips are parted and his pupils are huge, a sinfully lewd expression on his face. “Fine,” he tries to say, but it comes out as a moan. Your thighs clench together, eyes widening as heat pools in the pit of your stomach. “Just really… hard,” he pants, his hold on your arms tightening.

You let out a reluctant breath of relief. He’s not hurt. Just… incapacitated. With lust. Tingles shoot through your body from your core at the thought of him so needy. “You’re sure you’re alright?” You ask again, and when he nods, a meek smile shapes your mouth. “Let’s get you to the bed, then.”

Shouto makes a strangled noise at the thought of you in bed with him, but he allows you to sling his arm over your shoulder anyways. You lead him into your shared bedroom after a few stumbles… and maybe a handful of bumps against the wall, too.

When you finally allow his weight to fall from your body, he collapses on the edge of the mattress, stifling a new moan as his ass hits the duvet. He reclines backwards, his hands covering his face and concealing his pink cheeks. “Y/N… fuck. You smell so good,” he gasps, reaching for you and catching your stare from between his slender fingers.

You let him pull you to him, knees pushing into the plush comforter on either side of his hips.

“I need you— shit, I need you,” Shouto whines, shoving his nose into your neck and wrapping his long arms around your back. He inhales your perfume, hard cock twitching between his legs. “Please, angel— touch me.”

And how could you refuse? Your hands move on their own accord, one sliding up to unzip his shirt and the other landing on the bulge straining through his pants. His hips buck at your touch, a long whimper escaping him as your fingers rub either side of his long length through his clothes. “You need me?” You ask quietly, the switch inside flipping instantly.

His chest heaves with each inhale, fingers pressing against the back of your neck to guide your lips to his. His kiss is timid, soft even— nothing like his usual affections. You can’t help the smirk that slides onto your mouth, excitement fluttering like butterflies in your stomach. You know what he wants. But you’re gonna pretend you have no clue.

“Yes,” Shouto croons against your mouth, tongue tracing the line between your lips lightly. “N-Need you so bad, please.”

You kiss the corners of his mouth teasingly, watching how he attempts to follow your lips with his own. “And what is it you need from me, Shou?”

His heterochromatic eyes are half lidded as he gazes up at you, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows harshly. A puff of frosty breath wafts over your face, cooling the heat that wanders there in accordance with his lustful stare. “Your cock,” he clarifies without hesitation.

He’s always been like that. An obedient sub; not one to beat around the bush.

His lips flicker into a smile as you chuckle, fingers stroking his smooth cheek. “Wow, you’re quite blunt, aren’t you?” You jest, pinching his flushed skin between your forefinger and thumb.

“And quite painfully hard.” His hips thrust up against yours, and his erection pokes into your stomach. He’s breathless, with barely enough energy to shrug off his top. But somehow he manages, wriggling out of the material and exposing his flexing torso to your starving eyes.

Before you know it, the pair of you are naked save for your panties, and you’re pressing your body against his on top of the sheets. Shouto’s head tosses back when your fingers touch his thigh, wandering up the length of corded muscle and tracing the base of his cock. His length twitches, reaching out and brushing against your palm as if his body is begging you to move your attention there. But you ignore it; you want to hear him beg.

You don’t have to wait long.

Shouto’s hips wiggle against the duvet, his hands sliding down and squeezing at your sides weakly. His jaw drops when your fingernail traces along the underside of his cock, the meaty thing slapping against your hand again. “Please,” he cries, muscles straining to keep himself from bucking into your grasp. His hair falls back onto the sheets, revealing a sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead.

Leaning down slowly, you take the pale flesh on his neck between your teeth and nibble, warm tongue lathering over the fresh marks. Your hand wraps around his cock and he whimpers in your ear. There’s a generous amount of pre leaking from his tip, and you glide your fist over it a few times before sliding back down onto his aching shaft.

Shouto’s lip is between his teeth, bright eyes slitted but unable to look away from where you’re gripping. Slowly, you jerk your hand up and down, and he nearly wheezes as your body slinks backwards, settling between his legs. “Y/N, oh— please Y/N, fuck,” he begs, craning his neck to look at you.

You hum and nod, lips pressing to his bright pink tip with a sultry smile. It’s not long before your lips part and his cock pushes into your mouth, tongue washing against his inflamed tip. He squirms on the sheets beneath you, fingers deftly curling into the fabric as he tries his hardest not to move. Opening your throat, you take him in further, coating his skin with your spit and closing your lips around his girth to form some suction.

His hips jerk upwards slightly before he catches himself, a choked whine tumbling from his ajar mouth. “S-Sorry,” he pants, the muscles that line his torso contracting, forming deep grooves that beckon your tongue to trace them.

You keep your mouth where it is, sliding along his hot length as it trembles between your lips. Tongue tickling along the underside of his cock, you spread his legs with one hand, pushing a thick thigh up to reveal his puckered hole. His toes curl in apprehension as your mouth pops off his length, and you’re sure to make a show of shoving two fingers down your throat, eyes demanding his own stay glued to you.

Licking his lips and audibly gulping, Shouto writhes underneath you, desperate to be touched again. “P-Please, angel. I’ll do whatever you want, just— please don’t tease me,” he pleads, almost shaking as your fingertip traces over his ass.

With a small smirk, you drop to your elbows, pressing your sealed lips on the very tip of his cock. In one smooth motion, you take his length into your mouth, your finger prodding into him and spreading his tight walls. His cock jumps violently in your throat as he cries out in pleasure, a hand slapping over his mouth and shoving a knuckle between his teeth. The noises that escape him are absolutely sinful, your finger and throat sliding deeper, deeper— until neither can go any further.

Shouto groans as you curl the digit, the pad rubbing against his gummy insides. You gag on his cock when his hips jolt again, saliva pooling against your tongue and dripping down his length. An elongated expletive slithers out of him, his fingers pushing his two-toned locks away from his face. “Feels so... good,” he whispers, voice heavy and carrying the weight of his lust.

He whimpers as a second digit pushes inside, your lips trailing behind your mouth as you frantically stuff him into your throat. It’s rare to see this side of your boyfriend, and though you want to savor every second of it, you also take pity on his desperate, quivering body. Whatever quirk was the cause of this, it seemed to be very potent— and you aren’t sure if he really meant that he’s so horny that it actually hurts, but you aren’t taking any chances.

Your fingers curl into his ass, wet with the slick spit from the back of your throat and gliding into his tight walls with surprising ease. “Please,” he sighs, legs parting even wider. You sit up, wiping your chin with the back of your free hand before you remove your fingers from him. He whines at the loss, hole twitching as if begging you to fill it again. “R-Ready for you,” Shouto pants, his hands looping behind his thighs to spread himself, giving you a better view of his most intimate parts. “Ready for your cock, please.”

You scramble off the edge of the mattress to grab the box underneath the bed— hands flailing in a blind search as you crouch, hard nipples dragging against the carpet. A look of glee crosses your face when your fingertips graze the sharp corner of the container, snagging the shoebox and dragging it out into the sunlight that streams through the half-closed blinds. Excitedly you open the lid, your heartbeat racing as your eyes land on the harness and thick, plastic cock. Clambering back onto the comforter, you shove your legs through the loops of the contraption, pulling the buckles to lay flat against your flesh.

Shouto’s wriggling into the middle of the bed, long fingers closing around his swollen cock as he watches you, hungry eyes dipping to watch your strap bob with each movement. The spit from your blowjob trickles down to coat his ass with a fresh layer of slick, but you still take a second to squirt a bit of lube onto the plastic cock, fist dispersing and warming it at the same time.

“You ready, baby?” You taunt, crawling over to sit in between his legs. You can feel your cunt drooling at the sight of him so submissive for you; laid-out and breathless, cheeks kissed with pink, and sweat beginning to form on his pale skin.

He nods vehemently, hand reluctantly leaving his cock in favor of spreading his ass for you again. His entire body shivers as you press the heavy head against his hole, the lube making it easy to circle his twitching entrance.

“Then tell me what you want.”

You lick your lips as his fingertips dig into the swell of his ass, a pained expression gracing his handsome face at your teasing. When he speaks, his voice is low and breathy, heavy with desire and dripping with sin. “Need you, angel… I— I need your cock... inside of me. Please, just—” he stutters, eyes locking with yours before he continues, tongue tracing over the bottom of his front teeth,

“Fuck me.”

Hearing him ask for something so naughty sends fresh, crushing waves of desire directly to your pussy, and it leaks onto your panties beneath the straps of your harness. Gently, you guide the head of your cock to press against his hole, watching as he stretches to welcome the thickness of your plastic cock, the tip disappearing inside of him. His jaw drops as he lets out a moan that bounces off the bedroom walls, loud and shameless. With docile thrusts, your strap slides deeper and deeper inside of him, the constrictive walls of his ass swallowing every centimeter of plastic eagerly. He can’t stop moaning, cock red and oozing onto his snow-like skin.

Once you begin to really thrust is when Shouto starts to get vocal. It’s not that he’s not vocal when he’s pounding his cock into your sopping cunt, holding down your limbs and commanding you to call him Daddy— but this, oh— this is something different. His breath is ragged, eyes rolling back under stupidly long lashes, legs shaking, toes curled as they dangle in the air. Your hands slide up the backs of his thighs, gripping the underside of his knees for leverage as your hips begin to pick up the pace.

Cock sliding deeper into him, he shouts abruptly, hands gripping your hips as he lifts his legs. His fingers wind tight on your hips, pulling you forward and shoving your strap further into him, the hilt slapping against him. “Fuck!” He sobs, head tossing back onto the pillows, exposing his throat for your eyes to take in the quick bob of his adam’s apple. Clicking your tongue at his impatience, you draw your hips back, only to surge forward again, ramming into him as deep as you can. “Fu— there! Fuck, right there,” he gasps, eyes opening wide to gaze up at you, glassy and imploring.

Your arm slips around his leg, hugging it flush against your chest, his calf bending around your shoulder while your pace begins to increase. Careful to swing your hips in the same arch as before, you’re rewarded as another whining groan is ripped out of him. “You’re such a good boy for me,” you purr, nails digging into the muscle of his thigh, watching the bead of pre at the tip of his cock become too heavy, rivulets dribbling down his shaft. Your other hand leaves his leg to wander up the straining muscles on his torso, fingertips especially curious as they examine the cute, pink nipples standing upright at the curve of his pecs. But you’re impatient too, and though his spine arches at your attention on the sensitive buds, your hand moves up further by its own volition, fingers itching to lace around his neck. You can feel him swallow against your palm, a choked whine vibrating through his throat.

“Just... for you, a-angel,” Shouto croaks, finally overwhelmed with so much pleasure that tears drip down the sides of his face, brow furrowed in bliss as his watery orbs shine up at you like glittering gems. He’s so sexy like this— falling apart underneath you, completely submissive, completely yours.

You fuck him like this for awhile— pace just fast enough so that he can’t complain, but nothing near your limit. You want to sear this image into your brain— him crying, whimpering, lost in the throes of the pleasure you’re providing. A dirty, nasty little secret to keep, only yours and his, forever. Pro hero Shouto, strong and masculine, a symbol of hope and justice— reduced to a subby, desperate slut who begs for your plastic cock to stuff his little hole.

Shouto’s symphony of moans pulls you out of your reverie, your eyes widening as you take in his red, flushed cheeks littered with tears. “Please,” he huffs, lungs barely filled with enough oxygen to force the word out. Your hold on his neck loosens, and he shakily sucks a breath of air in before continuing. “Please touch my cock— so close, feels so good, gonna— nngghh—” He’s resorted to groveling, meaning he’s really starting to get desperate now.

“You wanna cum?” You ask, biting your lip as his cock twitches against his toned stomach at just the premise of finishing. The tops of your thighs slap against the backs of his, increasing your tempo.

Shouto’s eyelids nearly flutter shut as his pupils cross in bliss, the intensity of your assault on his prostate proving almost enough to make him burst. “Pleasepleaseplease, fuck please, need you to— fUCK!”

Your cock rails him into the mattress, your lip bit in determination and his body trembling underneath your touch. Your hand finally wraps around his engorged length, immediately slick with the copious amount of pre that had leaked out of him as you begin to sloppily jerk him off. It’s hard to multitask; your attention bouncing like pinball between his pulsing cock, his hole clamping around your strap, and the downright pornographic expression twisting his features.

Without any warning, Shouto’s mouth parts in a noiseless scream, and thick, sticky ribbons of white spurt out of his cock. His entire body is quivering, knuckles white on the crest of your hips, his legs tightening around you and pulling you closer to him. His dick still throbbing in your moving hand, liquid evidence of his euphoria continues to gush out of his aching tip with so much force that a line of white lands on his flushed cheek.

Thrusts slowing to an easy stop, you smile at the wrecked man beneath you. He’s still trying to get his bearings, chest heaving as he attempts to even his breath. Setting down his leg beside your knee, you remove your hand from his hot, still-erect length, moving to slurp his cum off your fingers. “Aww, Shou. I barely got to play with your cock,” you whine, jutting your bottom lip out.

He blearily opens his eyes, gray and blue irises examining the bead of white smeared across your puffed-out pout. Letting out a labored laugh that really seems like more of a wheeze, his fingers finally loosen and slip from your waist, petting over your skin as a silent apology for holding on so hard. “S-Shit, m’sorry baby… I didn’t think I’d go that quick. This quirk is— god, it makes me feel so… needy,” he explains breathlessly, taking extra time between his syllables as if his brain is still hazed with lust.

Dipping down to trace your tongue over the cooled release on his cheek, you hum. “That’s okay,” you whisper, teeth grazing over his earlobe as you pull away. “Were you really so turned on it hurt?”

“It’s not like I was dying,” he tries to play it off as if you weren’t there to see him stumbling through the front door twenty minutes ago. He reaches up to cup your cheek with his large palm, the low heat from his quirk welcome against your skin. Leaning into him, you smirk, hips shuffling backwards. He winces as you pull your strap from him, sitting back on your heels to undo the harness once you’re all the way out.

Slipping your legs out of the strappy contraption, you bite your lip as cool air washes over your soaked panties. “Do you think… you could go for another round?” You propose meekly, hopeful eyes taking their time to meet his.

A white brow quirks upright at your inquiry, and he props his head up as his arms cross behind his head. “I honestly dunno if I can handle it, angel,” he says gently, letting a quiet groan loose as your tongue laves over the streaks of white on his torso.

“But look what you’ve done to me,” you whimper, sitting up to spread your legs over his hips, fingers snatching your panties to the side. Your slick forms syrupy spindles that connect your cunt to the soiled material, and your thighs glisten all the same, your arousal sticky and plentiful. “Don’t you think you should take responsibility for this mess?”

Shouto moans at the sight of you so ready for him, and it’s now that he remembers just how turned on you get from dominating him. He can’t exactly say he doesn’t feel the same— for he feels the blood rush to his cock again— and he examines the way your entire core shines with your honeyed essence, calling to him like a beacon of light in the midst of a dark and suffocating storm. “Fucking hell, Y/N, you’re soaked,” he sighs, reaching out to trace your slit with a fingertip. He groans loudly when he pulls away, watching as the slick forms a long strand before it finally snaps, the slimy substance gathering on his digit.

His hips jerk upwards when your cunt glides along his length, the heat emanating from your core a welcome feeling on his aching cock. It’s easy to slide yourself back and forth, slickening the prominent ridge on the underside of his cock. “Just for you,” you smirk as you use his words against him, grinding your core harder onto him. He moans at your playfulness, hands slipping across your skin as if he can’t decide where to put them. You move on top of him just long enough for him to get accustomed to it before you scoot backwards, hand reaching for that box again.

“Baby, w—” You cut him off as you place the tip of the new toy to his lips, grin broadening as his eyes widen and he takes in what it is against his mouth.

“Open up,” you instruct, a hand finding purchase on his jaw and your thumb rubbing the side of his mouth.

It takes a moment for him to decide to succumb to your instruction, and he slowly opens his mouth as you push the tip of the plug between his lips. It’s a rather long toy, the base of it cinched in order to keep it inserted at just the right depth. The length of it curls abruptly at the end, angling to press against the sweet, sweet spot inside of him.

Pressing the toy further into his mouth, you can feel his moan vibrate on the silicone, and you purr as he begins to gag on the curve of it. After a few moments you draw the toy back, satisfied by the way his saliva stretches in follow.

Shouto shuffles, lifting his ass off the duvet slightly as you slip between his legs again. Taking your time, you trace the tip of the toy down the inside of his thighs, taking note of how his muscles twitch in apprehension. After what seems like forever to him, you finally push the toy inside. This time it slides in easily, his ass having been stretched out already from your earlier ministrations. But that doesn’t stop him from whimpering as it slips into place, the base of the toy laying flat between his cheeks as you maneuver him to sit upright against the headboard.

Once he’s situated, you move your attention to his cock, which lays upright against the curve of his abs, forgotten and half-hard. Shouto only watches you slink toward him, an ominous grin on your lips. He groans when you swing one leg— then the other— over the junction of his hips, your palms landing flat on his hard chest for support.

Again, your lips meet. His kiss is gentle and weary, and you reciprocate with a softness he does not expect. It surprises him, in a good kind of way, and it also distracts him as you begin to grind onto his cock. Just as you had only minutes ago, your hips wave back and forth, dragging your saturated slit along his weeping length. It’s not long before he’s standing tall and thick between your legs, and you waste no time lining yourself up above him. Cunt swallowing him eagerly, the viscid muscles flutter as they spread to accommodate his tender length. Even without preparing yourself with your fingers, your ample arousal ensures that he slides into you without a single hitch, your ass meeting the tops of his thighs with satisfaction.

Shouto stifles a groan, solid biceps rubbing your skin as his arms wrap around your waist. He holds you tight against his chest, head bent over your shoulder as he breathes in your intoxicating scent. Pleasure courses through his veins, his cock sheathed inside of you, your skin on his, your smell invading his senses. Not to mention the plug in his ass, which at the flick of your fingers on the remote, begins to vibrate.

“Fuccckkk!”

The moan slips out of him before he can think to repress it, wanton and erotic. The vibrations send tingles through his entire lower half, causing his arms to tense and smoosh you even harder into his chest. While he’s trying to get accustomed to the intense euphoria rushing through his limbs, you’re eager to lift your hips and slam back down onto him. Shouto’s fingers clench on your waist as you begin to bounce on his cock, impatient to stimulate yourself after ignoring your own needs for so long.

His cock feels heavenly inside of you, stretching and filling you deliciously with every thrust. The constant string of moans in your ear doesn’t hurt either— any restraint he had previously harbored abandoned as his lips capture yours again. Tongue inviting your own to dance, you fulfill his wish as the kiss deepens— hot, wet muscles tangling together in his mouth.

The pace you find is perfect; each time your hips meet creating an explosion of pleasure. His length drives into you completely, balls doused with the slick that floods out of you. With every thrust, the plug brushes against that sensitive spot inside of him, and he mewls against your lips at the mind-numbing sensation. Stimulated and entirely overwhelmed, his hands knead at the flesh of your hips, head flying back to smack against the headboard, though he doesn’t seem to care.

“Ahha—haahhh, fucckkk,” Shouto mumbles, voice breaking as his mouth hangs ajar, tears forming at the corner of his lashes. You clench on his cock at his fragmented whines, morphing your thrusts into more of a roll, letting the tip of him grind into that spongy spot hidden far inside of you. “Y’feel so fucking good, oh god.” His chest is heaving, barely able to keep his eyes open to watch you above him.

You lean down and kiss his lips again, a smirk curling the corners of your mouth as you grind against him. Your slick clit grazes against his firm pelvis, and you begin to whimper just the same as him. “You took my cock so well, baby,” you pant, the coil in your stomach already beginning to compress at the memory.

He looks so good beneath you, tripping on his words as he tries to just breathe, but even doing just that is difficult with the sheer euphoria shooting through him. And you can’t help yourself; he’s so handsome, so submissive, and so completely yours. It makes your mind hazy with lust, entire being drenched in sinful desire as you watch him begin to unravel before your very eyes.

Your fingers find his throat again, caressing the sides of his windpipe and squeezing gently. “Y/N—” Shouto gasps, half an expletive choking out of him before he bites his lip, nails digging into your skin, “gonna… I’m gonna— I can’t—”

Switching back to your tempo from before, your hips crash onto his as you start to slam yourself onto his cock. He rasps, hands darting to cup your ass and lift you up, only so you can drop down onto him even harder. “Not yet,” you command, panting as you feel yourself getting closer, closer— so, so close!

Shouto looks physically pained to hold himself back, tears spilling over his cheeks to gather at the point of his chin, dripping to run down the valley of his abs. But he does, nonetheless, and somehow he manages to fend off his orgasm as your measured pace deteriorates. Sweat trickles down both your chests, and a large, shaky hand reaches for your breast and tugs at your nipple in desperation.

Finally the pressure snaps in your stomach, your vision turning white, and bright, little stars bursting at the edges of your peripheral. His name slithers out of your gaping mouth as your orgasm hits you like a train, and you have to remind yourself not to choke him too hard as your grip instantly tightens on his throat. Your cunt goes snug around his length, wringing the life out of his poor body as his eyes roll back into his skull.

Every muscle in his body tenses as he comes undone, the most obscene and lustful moan bellowing out of him. His load spills into your pussy, torrid ropes splashing against your twitching walls. His arms are around you again, pressing you flush against him tighter than ever as his mouth finds the skin on your neck, teeth sinking into your flesh with a long growl.

You stay in each other’s arms for a while, coming down from your blissful highs with dustings of slow, lasting kisses and touches across cheeks and collar bones. Flicking off the toy still buzzing in Shouto’s ass, you let out a shaky sigh as you lean back, his cock slipping out of you. His release begins to trickle down your ass, and you laugh as you hobble over to the en-suite, your hand cupping between your trembling, fawn-like legs.

Turning the knob on the shower, you hover over the toilet as you wait for the water to warm, the sound of the pressurized spray soothing to your sticky body and aching limbs. You jump when a forearm circles around your waist, a hand cupping your breast as your spine straightens against a broad chest.

“Shower, huh?” Shouto says, his warm breath tickling the shell of your ear. His calloused fingers travel along your front, strategically circling your areola and ignoring your pebbled nipple. “Good choice, bath sex is too messy.”

You snort at his remark, turning to raise a brow at him. But your eyes quickly fall south, widening comedically before your shocked gaze meets. “You cannot be serious, Shou.”

“I feel a lot better after two rounds,” he shrugs, opening the shower curtain and gesturing for you to get in first. “Not feeling as light-headed and weak anymore. Got enough energy to make you feel like that instead, angel.” 

You end up tapping out halfway through the sixth round, and in desperate need of another shower.

  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

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ngl writing this turned me the FUCK on so i hope it did the same for you! anyways can’t believe i finally wrote a pegging fic. send some holy water to my inbox or something omfg. 

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[katsukikitten]

Thirsty

A/N Please enjoy what I’ve been self indulging all week.  It was a cliche but fun concept to write! @bakugotrashpanda​ this is the fiction I was dming you about bb. Yall readers leave your thoughts pls bb enjoy~

Warnings: Aged Up/18+ AU, Vampire AU, blood, intense sex, mentions of marking.

He hasn't fed in days, no make that fucking weeks.

Months even although he has tried.

Hoping some stupid fool would venture out during this pandemic and now mandatory quarantine.

Not that the threat of the disease mattered to him, his body would correct whatever ailment in a matter of seconds.

And he needed to eat.

But as usual he has some shit luck. Not a single soul left on the once packed streets.

And there you sit all the temptation in the world, your sweet scent was already hard enough to endure during the few hours you were normally home. Causing the ash blonde to avoid any of the "community" spaces of the dingy shared apartment.

Only agreeing to have you move in since you has claimed you would hardly be home as you were too busy with work.

So busy in fact you could never come by to see the place in person. Further encouraging the angry recluse's decision.

But had you ever come in person he would have denied you, turned you away no matter the price you were willing to pay.

And especially so if you begged.

Because you fucking reeked.

So repulsively pungent that after just meeting you his throat closed up, eyes narrowing to slits as he felt a deep ache within him.

Going out that very night draining three people drops from dry.

Fuck, who was he fucking fooling?

He never liked liars and he was never good at lying either.

You were far from repulsive really.

You were fucking delectable, irresistible.

Sweet scent lingering in the apartment for hours, clinging to the fabric of the couch, the peeling wallpaper like the smoke of a cheap cigarette, clinging to his skin.

If he was that fucked up over your scent how heavenly would you be on his tongue?

He could imagine from what little he felt he could taste in the air during your full moon. Causing his vision to narrow on that steady strong pulse lying just beneath glowing skin.

He has to force himself to leave even if he's just fed, one whiff had him thirsty all over again. He'd turned full glutton from just the smell of you, draining a dozen at a time and yet no amount could please him.

His fangs poke his lower lip now, aching with the urge to sink into tender flesh from just the thought. His salvia already secreting that deadly addictive oxytocin that would bring euphoria to both parties.

He swallows hard but it does nothing to satiate his thirst.

His ever drying throat.

Scarlet eyes cut to the door as he hears the soft pad of your feet stop before the fragile wood that separates the beast from beauty. You rise your capable fist tapping the door gently.

"B..Bakugou..."Your voice is soft as you call through the thick oak. He smells salt in the air causing his stomach to twist.

Were you crying? His throat tightens, muscles screaming for him to move. That this moment, this vulnerability was a golden opportunity to wet those aching fangs. Blunt nails dig into heated palms as he hopes to wait you out but here you go again becoming wholly undeniable.

"Sorry to bother you." You say so softly he almost didn't catch it over the shuffling of your feet.

His heart breaks in two as he lunges for the door, biting back more than just his words.

"What, Y/LN?"

His eyes seem to glow blood red in the low light of the hall, causing you to step back.

There was an intensity to his gaze you could never quite place.

It was as if he hated you and wanted to consume you whole all at once.

Desire burns through your veins especially so when a soft caramel scent is wafted from his room.

You swallow thickly, red eyes dart down and fixate on your throat, a blush creeps over your skin from the obvious blooming bruises.

Why did you have to have your throat EXPOSED?!

Where were your normal oversized hoodies that hid away your sins that you now display openly?

Fading black bruises and pink teeth indents that drove him fucking wild.

Someone dared to mark you and a fucking weak mortal at that.

Bakugou didn't think you had a boyfriend or girlfriend for that matter but you had been smelling like the same male the past few times you ventured out only to return in the late hours of the night.

And long before this house arrest bullshit happened too.

He stares down, body rigid as he is almost fearful to move. One twitch of his finger could set him off, pouncing onto you to leave the markings of a true male.

Instead he grinds his teeth, canines scrapping the inside of his lip. All the while you begin to feel dumb for seeking comfort from a roommate who barely looked your way.

And when he did it set your skin ablaze. A cold sweat runs down your spine as you take a step back.

There wasn't a lot you were scared of in the world, what with being a hero and all.

But there was just something about your roommate that unsettled you.

Whatever it was it sat on the tip of your tongue and when the word was to tumble from your mouth you'd look into that heated gaze and the thought would combust into hot flames.

That licked over every inch of your body.

"I uh...." You stammer, dumbstruck for the first time in your life. Swallowing your pride almost choking on it as you half shout.

"I want to play a game or watch a fucking movie with someone. You can pick but..." He watches one arm cross beneath your breasts, pushing them up a tad, while the other hand covered your throat, making its way up to block your plush lips as you look away. He's noticed this about you in the past year of living with you.

Normally you hold your head high, voice boisterous ringing with confidence but you seemed to curl in on yourself when you spoke to him.

"But I just need someone right now." It comes out soft, borderline desperate as he watches your fingers punch harshly into the skin of your ribs.

He stares you down, fully taking in the bags beneath your eyes. The way your normally glowing skin is slightly lackluster and the red rims of your bottom eye lids.

He hasn't smelt you cook anything in the past few days and there weren't any snack for you to munch on in the house.

You can't stand how his red eyes slice through you like a scalpel. Blade so sharp you notice you're exposed much too late.

With an explosion of your limbs your hands are on your hips, teeth bared before you turn on your heel, yelling.

Fighting back angry, hurt tears.

"You know what, this was fucking stupid. Forget I ever..." A strong hand wraps around your bare bicep, warm to the touch.

"Quit being fucking dramatic and give a man a damn second to answer." He snarls, pulling back his hand as if he touched a burning stove, "I'll make something to eat."

"I'm not being dramatic!" You screech, wholly proving his point. His eyes narrow on the nape of your neck before watching your jaw clench and the quickening tick of that juicy artery.

Still you stomp to the living room, picking up voicing to the hologram to pull up the movie archive. Clearly picking for him.

There was no point in him making enough for two as eating never silenced the ever present growl in his belly or the ache in his teeth. For ever robbed the joy of eating, of cooking.

Everything tasted either tasted like soggy cardboard, salted sawdust, or like ashes of the ghost that food once was.

That's what Bakugou had hated the most about this curse that was placed on him almost a century ago was how much it stole from him.

His sense of taste.

His family.

His friends.

Some days even his desire to live.

He rounds the peninsula of the kitchen with what he's deemed your favorite, placing it into surprised hands.

He must have been right as blush creeps on your cheeks. You take a few bites still scrolling while your thoughts slowly take over.

When was the last time you'd seen him eat? He always cooks but then leaves the containers in the fridge for you with a sticky note scrawled with his roughly neat scrawl.

"Y/N, Eat this before it goes bad dumbass."

You tap the fork to your lips pondering over the mystery that is Bakugo Katsuki.

"Why don't you ever eat what you cook?" Your curiosity slips out in the form of a question.  He side eyes you before nodding at your food silently demanding you finish eating.

"It’s never what I'm hungry for."

His voice sends goose flesh over your skin, hairs on your neck standing straight up before you swallow.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

Acting like this and in front of a guy you barely knew.

Well, that's partially a lie, you knew a little about him from observing him from time to time.

He'd stay up way too late and would come to the love seat only after he thought you were in deep sleep.

When he is really agitated his skin pops like little fireworks dancing along his forearms which usually only happened when someone named Deku called.

He'd do what he's doing now, despite the harsh look in his ever angry scarlet eyes he cooks for you.

Changes your laundry over when you forget with a scoff but most oddly he indulges you.

Like he is now, sitting squished on the love seat with you, legs spread just enough to avoid touching you.

You give him a glance and finish eating, finally selecting a movie as you're done.

His eyes widen for a moment as you select a movie that would have been considered old even in his time.  It stirs odd feelings in his stomach.

"Really, there's 3D movies and shit. And you wanna watch a movie that's not even in color?" He snorts, you would pick this one wouldn't you?

"We must always remember the classics." Is all you say, settling in. Fluffing the blanket over you both and even having the audacity to lean closer to him.  You notice his rigid muscles beneath you but you're so desperate for touch that leaning against this stiff board was far better than spending another night alone with your ever twisting mind.

Slowly he melts into your touch, gulping mouthfuls of your scent but enjoying you none the less.

Realizing that he too had been touch starved.

When was the last time he held someone in his arms?

Hell when was the last time he was this close to someone without feeding?

Ten, twenty years?

It didn't matter, he outlived them anyway so why bother getting attached.

Soon a comfortable quiet settles over the old apartment as it is painted in the soft tones of blacks and grays.

Voices mingling in the air as Bakugo silently agrees with some of the lines.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

He feels that way about you, of all the cheap apartments you could have looked at online you chose his. 

You with the smell like no other.

Sweet enough to somehow get him to watch this shitty movie again, he puts his head in his palm watching the old film play out.

How many times had he been forced to watch this in the common room of the dorms all those fucking years ago?

And then again in shared apartments when nothing else was on or when Bakugo would lose rock paper scissors.

"Remember, this gun is pointed right at your heart.”

"That’s my least vulnerable spot.” Bakugou grumbles in unison with the long gone actor.

Your ears perk, having never pegged him to like such a heart wrenching movie.  You giggle, earning a glare and a bark.

"What?"

"Its just I never would have dreamed you'd ever sit down and watch this movie willingly."

"You're right. I wouldnt. Shitty hair..." He clears his throat, "Kirishima, for whatever fucking reason, used to love this movie. Said it was manly and honorable or some shit like that."

"Used to?" Silence stretches between the two of you for a moment until he sees you fully engaged on him.

His heart twists as he looks down on you and he begins to wonder if your quirk is to pull out unsolicited emotions. His fangs don't ache nearly as much as his chest as he pushes through the feeling.

A feeling he hardly allows himself to have. Thinking of his best friend who so hurt by this curse he refused to feed on humans.

But animals couldn't suffice, their bodies needing something in human blood in order to maintain their peak form.

It took him twenty years before he stopped eating all together.

And when he neared the end, neared the point of starvation where instincts would take over he amplified his quirk until he turned to stone.

Oddly enough he's a shrine relic now.

"He passed recently." Five decades was recent to Bakugou.

Your heart stills in your chest as you see real emotion bloom on his face. Cheeks slightly flushed, eyes almost watery as the bitter nostalgia washes over you in waves.

Without thought you lunge for him, wrapping sturdy arms around his neck to pull him into the comfort of your body as your fingers rake through his hair. Pushing his face against your warm skin.

His nose is pressing into your throat as your sickeningly sweet smell floods his mouth but that isn't even the worst part. 

No the worst part is that he can feel your pulse against his lips.

It was like putting a starving dog in front of a steak and telling him not to eat.

Fuck.

His teeth grew on their own and he cannot stop himself as his strong arms wrap around you, pushing you ever closer before he sinks his aching canines into your tender flesh with a groan.

Oxytocin floods your system produced by both his body and your own.

He opens his mouth further, ready to suck in a mouthful of what he's been dying to taste. His pupils dilate and his pants grow tighter at the sound of your soft moan.

He is suffocating, drowning in the dizzying sweet smell that melds beautifully with that metallic tang he cannot get enough of.  He wants to savor this sinful high before he has a taste.

Meanwhile you body sears and freezes all at once as a tingling sensation spreads through your body starting at the nape of your neck.

As if a ghost traces its finger along your spine causing you to turn into putty.

"Fuuuuck, Katsuki." You groan. The sound of his name leaving your lips feels as if he's been plunged in a pool of cold water.

He jumps away from you, nails biting into his palms hard enough that half blood moons will surely litter his hands.

Panting as he tries to keep his tongue away from his canines that drip deliciously maddening red.

Fearful if he gets even just a drop on his tongue he'll kill you.

He'll drain you dry and leave you to rot in the already decaying apartment.

It takes your head a moment to fall down from the stratosphere before the small holes in your throat close seamlessly with a sharp bite.

You press your hand to the wound, only small specks of blood not yet dried paint your palm.

Shocked eyes rove over the muscular body as things start to slowly piece themselves together.

The explosive temper, ash blonde hair, piercing red eyes, an intensity unmatched and that popping quirk he used when extremely agitated.

Instantly the picture in the old text book pops into mind as you imagine the man before you with a black cowl.

The whole section about his story, about how he and  two other heroes had been attacked, bitten, by some immortal being. They shortly fell off the face of the Earth after that.

Mind going into overdrive as your memory floods with the text of files you've been assigned and the voice of the woman you just recently interviewed.

She was the same age as you. Later twenties, petite, long fire red hair with glossy eyes who was mysteriously left in front of the hospital. Suffering from severe blood loss but not a wound in sight.

Not even a fucking scratch.

And worst yet she wasn't the first one. There was one daily and dozens when it neared the ended of the month. Worst yet there was never any video of the perp, just a glitch in the frame before the victim is lying helplessly by the entrance.

Still her slurred words haunt you as you think of her response to your question.

"He was hot. Strong muscles, smelled sweet, like candy and nostalgia. He looked so familiar, like an old movie star or something...."

Or maybe she was thinking of an old hero.

"Ground Zero." The hero name sounds foreign to the panting blonde.

Shit when was the last time he heard that name?

The sound of his old alias brings up surging memories that fist fight with the smell of the blood on his fangs.

Of an overly arrogant boy who was so scared to fail he hardened his heart.

A heart that begin to break while he watched his idol fade away before his very eyes.

Slowly it was mended again from old misunderstood rivalries turned friendships and acquaintances turned family.

Only for them to age and crumple into dust as he stands witness with Father time.

All save one with emerald gems for eyes.

"When was the last time you ate?" It comes out harsh as you rack your brain for the name of that villain, the one that is said to still hide out in the outskirts of a run down city in the states.

You knew Bakugou wasn't that asshole who mutilated bodies after he fed. That much was apparent by his sheer will power to leave you be for the three months the two of you have been confined to these four walls.

But if it's been months like you think surely he cannot live that long with out eating right?

The slightest dark circles hang beneath those scarlet red eyes, cheeks a little paler than normal and his fangs.

Canines elongated, swelling up his gums a bit indicating his hunger, his thirst.

When he does not speak it confirms your theory and it lines up perfectly with the timeline of that woman.

His last meal much too long ago.

"Come, eat." You tap your throat with almost shaky fingers. Heart halfway breaking over the torture it must have been.

He snarls, unmoving ready to bolt for the door but worried he will give in to the ache in his teeth and throat.

Of gulping down every last drop your godly body had to fucking offer.

When he makes no move you grow impatient, allowing your quirk to shape shift your nails into claws.

"You fed me, I feed you. Now I'm telling you to eat." Your voice is commanding as you scratch deep grooves into your forearm followed by beads of dazzling red.

His eyes dilate unnaturally before he swallows thickly.

Getting just a small taste of your blood from his fangs before he is pressing you into the couch, forcing your arms behind your head as he licks a swipe up the wounds. A shudder runs through you both before you feel the skin pull taunt and close fully. 

Only for pain to settle in your wrists as one strong hand holds them there before his free hand tilts your head away. Exposing that damn neck you had to press him to. He bites into that blessed artery before pulling harshly at the skin, deeming your flow not fast enough.

You taste far better than you smell and he has to be careful with you for fear he won’t be able to stop. Especially so with each encouraging mewl that leaves those lips and reverberates in his mouth.

His grip turns tighter as you look over him, eyes savoring his sculpted body beneath his tight tee and that bulge that rests in his tight black joggers.

You knee it teasingly causing him to snap away from your neck.

"Careful." A guttural growl, causing you to clench around nothing, "Don't start what you can’t finish."

"Oh I always finish what I start." You free your hands quickly, tugging at his joggers more than needing the treat that lies beneath. He catches your wrist, eyes darkening.

"This isn't how I normally feed."

"Then it's time to try something new." Silence stretches between the two of you, he tries so hard to resist. To tell himself he's had enough at least for now but he finds himself gravitating towards you.

Being pulled back into the heat of your kiss as if the two of you were tragically magnetic.

You positive and him negative.

He rips your camisole from your body exposing your breasts to him. Your skin is marred with more dying bites than he'd like. He smirks to himself as he thinks of you, this strong, brash being and it is hard for him to imagine you to be so submissive 

To bend to the will of someone else.

He thinks he'd rather it just be for him.

You notice his smirk as he licks some blood from his lips, your stomach twists in anticipation. Not realizing how much you like those lips curved upward, even if it means he may devour you whole.

"What?" The smallest of blushes creeps along your skin as he leaves you exposed.

"Tch. You own yourself until you're in the bedroom and that's when you want to be marked." He presses kisses along your breasts and collar bone, biting over the fading hickies, "By the looks of these you went out not too long ago.  Naughty girl."

He bites causing you to moan as he laps at the blood before removing his mouth. This time allowing all of the little bite wounds to stay open for a few minutes. Little bruises dance beneath the puncture holes. His eyes rake over your body, drinking in every detail as a slight shudder runs through you.

His thumb swipes over a small pink bite mark on your hip. He isn't sure why he feels so jealous over the thought of you lying beneath another man.

Of you gazing up at them in anticipation as their hands sully your skin.

Of their mouth littering your perfect skin with their half assed love bites.

He knows he shouldn't feel this way, you were a grown ass woman who wasn’t his.

Yet he was tempted to call you his own.

"These are pathetic." He murmurs as you watch him lean forward to replace the bite with his own.

His breath is warm on the hip bone before he slides those damn teeth in, giving you another hit of that intoxicating drug.

"Then show me how it should be done. Mark me as yours." He looks up at you, mouth still attached to your gorgeous skin. You fight the urge for your eyes to flutter as you stare him down. He removes himself, blood dripping from his lip.

You swallow fear and choke on desire as he rises above you, hovering over you as he corners you into the couch.

"You wouldn't be able to handle a true marking." His voice is dark, threatening as he leans in to nibble at your lip. Tips of his fangs indenting your plush bottom lip but never piercing the skin. You pull back a bit to better hold his gaze.

"I can handle it." Your voice cuts hard but your eyes scream fuck me harder as you gaze up at him under long lashes.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" His hand slip between your thighs, that you happily spread, to find you soaking, his nimble fingers swirl over a needy clit as you fight from turning into putty in his hands.

You need to be in control for just a moment longer, for just long enough to convince him you won't break so he could go all out.

"I know I can." Your eyes flash serious before returning to that bedroom look causing him to sheath himself in a harsh thrust.

Your head rears back into the couch, biting back the moan hard enough you taste blood.

Only for Katsuki to lean in, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth. You watch his face contort before he shudders over top of you. You feel him twitch within you causing you to whimper, trying hard to get some sort of friction.

You never knew Bakugou Katsuki would like to play with his food.

"You're such a naughty slut aren't you, Princess?" He gives another harsh thrust, "Body begging to be fucked out."

How the fuck did he know you loved dirty talk?

"Can, can you read minds?" You pant and he laughs darkly. It's an oddly pleasant sound as it echoes back to you.

"No..." He leans in kissing you until you feel desperate for breath before he presses his forehead to yours, "When I feed I feel their strongest emotions temporarily. If I mark you, make you mine for all the world to fucking see I'll feel your most intense emotions and vice versa. Always or until the bond is broken."

He squeezes your ribs until they groan beneath his touch as he reads your expression.

Where you turned off, were you no longer wanting to be marked? You lean up to bite at his lower lip. Pulling as you ease back down.

"Then make me yours, Katsuki."

"Maybe." He kisses your throat, testing the waters with each thrust until he's set a brutal pace.

Causing a coil to quickly tighten in your stomach.

He plunges into you, wholly, figuratively, lapping at your throat before nipping in your ear as you moan loudly.

"You're taking my cock so well Princess." He praises causing you to clench around his length.  His own eyes threaten to roll in the back of his head and he wonders when the last time he has ever felt so in tune with some.

If he ever really has.

The couch hits into the half wall with sharp percussion as Bakugou pulls all but a scream from your lips, nails turning to claws ripping his shirt to threads before they scrape down his back.

He takes bites of you here and there as he thrusts into your throbbing cunt, hitting your clit with his pelvic bone as he bottoms out in you with each harsh snap of his hips.

"Fuuuuck. Katsuki." Is all you can say over and over as he brings you to your first high of the night.

A sweat prickles over your sensitive skin as the coil in your stomach snaps convulsing beneath him as your legs lift from his back.

Eyes fluttering, head thrown back and throat exposed to him as your pussy attempts to milk him dry, coaxing him ever closer to his own climax.

Shuddering as he feels yours in his own blood.

Red eyes drinking in the sight of you, messy sex hair, cheeks and lips red from the rush of blood, body spasming due to his thrusts.

He takes a hand and swirls across your puffy bud, tongue licking at your perked nipple send you into an over stimulated series of body rocking orgasms paired with the high you feel that drips from his fangs with each bite.

You pant heavily, body going limp after your sixth Earth shattering release, vision blurring and all you can see is red.

You can barely hold into his biceps, one hand trying so hard to pull at the ash blonde that sits at the nape of his neck.

He enjoys the sight of you fucked out, border line having your tongue stuck out as if you were making an aehego face.

And all of it just for him.

"What's wrong kitten? Can't finish what you started?" He asks cruelly teasing you ever close to yet another high. You smirk up at him weakly, trying so hard to respond without sounded totally exhausted.

"I can." You use the last of your energy to buck back into him a few more times before he presses his hands to your hips, leaning to growl in your ear.

"Save your energy Princess. I plan to make a round two. Can you last just a bit longer?" His voice softens near the end, fully sending you what you were fighting tooth and nail to avoid.

That ever dangerous subspace as you've fully opened your heart to someone whose true identity you just learned.

Hell, you guess that was better than doing it for someone whose name you didn’t even know as you've done before.

"Yes, Katsuki-sama." You gasp out causing an unexpected chill to run along his spine. He looks down at you in your radiant glory and decides right then.

He decides that he cannot stand the thought of anyone else causing you to look like this. For anyone else to cause your walls to crumple as you expose yourselves wholly.

Or the idea of anyone being able to taste you.

And with his mark not only will other vampires avoid you but anyone who is sexually attracted to you will feel his gaze even if he is not there.

His thrusts turn sloppy as he chooses to give you what they call a mate's mark.

This one will be even more intense than what he originally debating on doing.

He sinks his teeth into you, a groan echoes back to you competing with the sound of your drenched core being pounded into as blood fills his mouth.

He struggles to deposit the right amount of venom because if he puts too much you will be close to losing your free will.

Just as he pushes in the right amount you shatter beneath him, cunt becoming so tight he cannot stand it and he fills you to the brim with seed thrusts harsh to make sure you receive every last drop.

Your body vibrates and stills all at once as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Voice going so high it becomes raw before you quiet beneath him.

He removes his teeth from your throat, lapping at the spilling blood hopeful that he has neither drank too much nor given you far too much venom.

He holds his breath with each passing heart beat fear seeps into his bones. Stilling him to his core, your eyes should be opening any second.

He repeats the mantra over and over fearing your pulse is getting weaker, eyes hardly fluttering.

He swallows, the bittersweet after taste of you settles on the back of his tongue, whispering what he always seems to forget.

That not everyone he's marked has woken up.

[apprenticevida]

Nuestra Alcoba Azul 🍋🔞

Word Count: 2,575 sorry I got carried away with this one

Pairings: Jinana/Vida

Synopsis: tear the bitch apart With renewed confidence Vida gets a taste of what the masquerade is all about

Notes: Day 3 of @midsummer-masquerade Day 3: Denial, Impact Play, some Worship and Collars

Thank you @the-iron-orchid for letting me work with Jinana! I hope I did hir justice.

Alcoba Azul by Lila Downs

Warnings: SPICY LEMON. Impact play, voyeurism, Praise and Punishment, BDSM, biting, masturbation, cunnilingus, orgasm denial/control, squirting, humiliation, subspace, nipple play, manual sex/no insertion

After bidding their lovers farewell and good luck, Vida saunters out of the room. With a renewed confidence in their sense of self and sensuality, they’re ready to experience everything the Masquerade has to offer.

As the witch wanders through the halls they hear cries of ecstasy from various rooms. Some are behind closed doors, others open to allow guests to join. Every once in a while they pass by a room with a shimmering barrier in the doorway; it’s meant to allow voyeurs to enjoy the show while allowing the performers the security of knowing they won’t be interrupted, a friendly guest informs them as Vida sips from a glass of vodka.

When they eventually find the grand ballroom, Vida discovers it’s been transformed into a large aftercare playroom. Plush beds with comforting blankets are spread out on the floor; massage oils, balms, and decanters of water are readily available on numerous low tables throughout the room.

They make a mental note to stop by before the end of the night.

Continuing their exploration brings them to a hallway full of “vendor” tables. No coins are being exchanged: the invitation explicitly stated that any toys or accessories procured were The Countess’s gifts to attendees.

A leatherworker’s wares catch their eye. Harnesses, leashes, and collars all colors of the rainbow are on display. With the help of the proprietor, they find a collar that fits snug against their throat. The band is black with intricate swirls and spirals carved into the leather with a gold O-ring at the center. Committing the name of the woman’s shop to memory (Rhett’s Wares), Vida promises to visit on their next trip to the market.

With the collar they announce their submissive inclinations to potential playmates. It’s thrilling to feel eyes roving over their figure and for now Vida is content with only being seen.

When a peacock-haired figure catches their eye Vida decides they’re ready for more.

Despite hir petite figure the mage radiates power and confidence. There’s something about hir that has ensorcelled Vida. They down the rest of their drink before walking over.

S/he’s lounging on a chaise opposite Nadia, who, as luck would have it, has excused herself to visit other revelers.

While they’re generally thrilled to please multiple dominants, seems a little too much too soon.

“Hello, I’m Vida.” The witch waves shyly when they’ve approached the unfamiliar mage.

The figure elegantly extends a delicate henna-laced hand

“Jinana,” s/he responds in a warm, husky tone. “A pleasure.” S/he eyes Vida top and down, evaluating them.

Vida takes hir hand and brushes their lips against hir knuckles.

“You’re… really beautiful.” Vida breathes against the lilac-scented skin. “Would you like to play with me?”

“Hmmm, that depends, Vida.” S/he rolls their name on hir tongue like a piece of candy. “What do you want to play?”

—————

It doesn’t take long to negotiate the scene and its boundaries. Surprisingly, there’s little they disagree on and their hard limits are the same.

Jinana leads Vida to a cobalt room decked with sapphire blue drapery and pristine white furniture.

“There’s a bath in the back, go freshen up and I’ll sort things out here.” S/he orders, gesturing to a folding screen that separates the spare room and alcove hiding the bath.

Vida’s thankful for the simplicity of their costume: once the clincher is unlaced they easily slide out of the crimson robe.

Their bath is diligent, if rushed. They don’t want to keep Jinana waiting, but s/he made hir preference for a bathed partner clear. They find a vial of vanilla oils to massage in when they’re dry and dress in a flowing white bathrobe before they return to their playmate.

There is a sawhorse in front of the door and two white chairs in the center of the midnight blue carpet. Jinana is seated in one with an end table with toys and vials next to hir. S/he gestures with an elegant hand for Vida to sit across from hir.

“Before we get started, priya, are you sure about the door?”

Vida sits in the chair, glancing at the closed door behind Jinana.

“Yes, ser. I’m sure.”

A smile plays on Jinana’s lips.

“As you wish.”

A flick of hir wrist and the door swings open, a shimmering barrier forming to separate the room and the hall.

…to allow voyeurs to enjoy the show while allowing the performers the security of knowing they won’t be interrupted…

“Now Vida” Jinana crosses one toned leg over the other. “How do you like to play?”

“Well, usually—”

“Ah-ah!” S/he chides, wagging one manicured finger towards hir companion. “Show, don’t tell.”

Vida feels their face flush as a shiver runs up their back. This was going to be a fun experience.

Vida catches their lower lip between their teeth as they nod in understanding. They spread their legs slowly, knowing the angle of the chair means Jinana’s view will be shared with any onlookers.

First they trail a few fingers down the side of their face and neck. When their hand meets the robe’s neckline they gently glide the silk away from their chest. A sensitive nipple pebbles under the fabric and hardens when it meets the cool air. With one hand they tweak and pull the nub while the other hand repeats the dance on the opposite side. When their breathing gets harder to control the shrug of the robe entirely.

With heavy lidded eyes they meet Jinana’s gaze, hir chin resting on one hand. The other holds a riding crop in an almost listless manner. There’s maybe a meter between the magic users; Vida can clearly see the fire burning in Jinana’s eyes behind hir silver filigree mask

Upping the ante, Vida let’s one hand stroke down their belly and to their already dripping cunt. It’s impossible for them to hold back a moan when one cold finger slides against their hard and swollen clit.

“Remember priya, no coming without permission.” Jinana’s voice is low and hir eyes dark.

“Yesser,” Vida slurs. Something about hir energy makes Vida want to bend to hir every command.

For a while the only noise in the room is the slick sound of the witch’s ministrations, punctuated by moans and gasps as they try to keep a steady rhythm.

By now a few guests have gathered by the door. Vida can hear the susurrus of conversation, but either the partygoers are too far away or Vida is too far gone to make it out.

The chair beneath then begins to creak as their hips buck against their hand. Their breathing comes quicker now. They’re close so close and they begin to lose their sense of control and

“Stop.”

Vida freezes with a gasp. Their cunt clenches in anticipation, as if to hold on to the edge of their release. Jinana stands from hir chair and taps the riding crop against hir free hand. The leather makes a satisfying thwack against the henna flower on hir palm.

“On your knees, priya.”

In the foggy subspace it takes a moment too long for hir words to register. Vida feels a hand push them from the chair to kneel in front of Jinana. Their head jerks around in an attempt to find an intruder but the room is empty behind them. Jinana taps their cheek with the crop and uses the leather implement to make them face hir.

S/he makes a tutting noise with her tongue in disapproval. “I thought you were going to behave. Although,” s/he lets the crop graze against their neck. “It seems someone else has had to call on your attention before.” They press the tag of the crop against the bruises on their neck and their eyes flutter shut at the pleasure-pain.

“Still, you did give a riveting performance. Would you like a reward, sweetling?”

Vida is dazed and their eyes won’t focus, but they innately know hir question needs an answer.

“Oh, yes please, ser. I’ll take whatever you think I deserve.”

For a moment Jinana is reminded of hir Ilya. They’re both very pretty when they’re on their knees begging in adoration. S/he files the thought away for later as s/he removes Vida’s mask.

Now, however, s/he lifts one foot into the chair behind Vida and pulls the front off hir dress aside.

“Well then?” S/he quirks a brow at hir submissive.

Vida’s eyes jump between the sights before and above them. They’re trying desperately to form the question in their mind.

“May I please touch you? With my hands I mean?”

Jinana smirks as s/he responds. “For now. Until I decide otherwise.”

Vida adjusts their position so Jinana’s thigh rests on their shoulder. They rest one hand on top of hir leg and the other on hir opposite hip. At first Vida wets their lips and leans their head forward before they stop. An idea pops into their hazy mind. They turn towards the leg on their shoulder and begin to trail soft kisses up Jinana’s thigh, squeezing hir leg every so often.

Their partner hums approval and threads hir fingers through Vida’s hair. Hir nails card through their silky curls; a low moan rumbles in Vida’s throat and into Jinana’s soft flesh.

The soft kisses on Jinana’s leg turn to kitten licks and then open-mouthed kisses until they slowly reach the apex of hir thigh. They take one more adoring glance at the mage before dragging the flat of their tongue along hir slit.

The smell of lilac mingled with Jinana’s musk makes a heady combination. Vida almost feels drunk off of their lust. As they lap at hir sex they moan into hir, fingers pressing into Jinana to anchor themself. They swirl the tip of their tongue against hir clit before gently sucking.

Jinana lets out a groan of pleasure and tightens hir grip to guide Vida to the right spot. S/he gives gentle praise when Vida begins to work their mouth against her. The hand Vida placed on Jinana’s hip slowly moves higher. They caress hir side, hir stomach, hir sternum before brushing their fingertips against a nipple.

With a gasp Jinana tugs Vida’s head away with one hand and snatches their wrist with the other.

“That,” s/he sighs. “Is cheating.”

Vida’s eyes go wide. Gripped as they are, they're at hir mercy. “Are you going to punish me, ser?” Their voice is thick with arousal and hope.

“Cheating does get punished.” S/he jerks hir head at the sawhorse and releases Vida. “Go.”

Still on their knees, Vida glances at the wooden structure. They swallow. “Which way would you have me face, ser?”

“Away from the door.”

Vida didn’t realize they could get any wetter than they were. Their legs are slick with their own lubricant as they stand and walk to the carpentry table. The table is at a height where they have to keep their feet spread wide when they bend over. Their face is red with embarrassment and it’s only made worse when they can’t keep their cunt from twitching from need and excitement.

“Five for cheaters. Count aloud,” is the only warning Jinana gives before the crop makes contact across the swell of their ass.

“One!” They shout at the floor.

The next strike is focused on one cheek.

“Two!” Their brow furrows.

The third lands on the other side.

“Th-three!” Vida can feel tears well up in their eyes. They have to rest their head against their forearms.

There’s a pause. A small warm hand strokes up their back and Vida’s head jolts upward.

“Do you need a break?” Jinana’s voice is as soothing as hir caress.

After a breath Vida shakes their head.

“I-I can take two more, ser.” They swallow and reposition themselves, pushing their ass out farther and widening their stance.

Jinana grins in amusement before getting back to work.

The fourth strike is at the top of their thighs, just enough to make a satisfying sound without stinging.

“Four!” Vida cries out loud and clear.

The final blow lands on their sex, the wet sound echoes in their mind.

“Five!” Vida’s voice is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Their punishment is over, but neither of them have come yet.

“Very good, priya. You’ve done so well!” There’s genuine joy in Jinana’s voice and Vida’s heart swells. The shorter magician helps straighten the pliant Vida up and turns them to face the door.

Without their mask Vida somehow feels more vulnerable than they did when fully displaying their sex.

“You haven’t come yet, have you?” Jinana’s voice is almost taunting as Vida shakes their head in response.

“I’ll need to fix that. Sit down.” S/he summons a cushion onto the sawhorse and with one hand pressing on their shoulder guides them to sit. S/he walks behind Vida and begins to stroke one warm hand along their neck.

They already feel their eyes lid in pleasure as Jinana demonstrates how attentive s/he’s been. Hir hands accurately mimic Vida’s earlier actions. Jinana begins to add to the bite marks on their neck, hir small teeth indenting into their soft skin.

By the time hir hand reaches their small bundle of nerves Vida is a mess. They buck into hir fingers, push back into hir bites, pull away from hir fingers pinching their nipples. Their cries and moans of ecstasy are the only sounds they know how to make.

They’re coiled tighter than a spring, but Jinana hasn’t given permission yet. Cruel, lovely Jinana won’t talk with hir mouth full.

Not yet can’t yet so close so close please please please ser

“Come for me, Vida.”

Their orgasm crashes over them, toes curling as they scream. Legs splayed and thighs tighten as their hips chase the sensation. They feel the familiar sensation of their ejaculate release and have to hide their face in their hands in humiliation.

By the time they finish they’re trembling and Jinana holds them through their aftershocks. They don’t uncover their face until they hear the door close. Vida’s still beet red and their body feels overwhelmed and tender.

“How are you feeling?” Jinana asks as s/he strokes their hair.

“W-“ Vida takes a shaky breath. “Was I okay?”

“Oh you sweet thing!” Jinana holds them to hir chest. “You were lovely. But how are you feeling now?”

It takes time for Vida to self-process.

“Like I’ve been,” they make a clawing motion at their chest. “It’s like you tore everything out, but in the most perfect way. Everything feels… lighter? I guess? I feel… amazing.” They sigh.

“Do you need anything?”

Vida winces when they adjust their position. “A salve, I think.”

“I’m sure there’s something here. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

—————

After another bath and talking through the scene again with Jinana they put their costume and mask back on and leave the room. Any of their onlookers have gone to watch or join other scenes. Vida breathes a sigh of relief and says goodbye to Jinana.

Even with the salve Jinana applied, Vida needs a break. When they arrive at the ballroom they take an empty futon and sip water. Julian, sporting more marks than before, finds them here. Taking a seat next to them he strokes their leg and his face dons his incorrigible smirk.

“So… I didn’t know you knew Jinana.”

[tokyoghoose]

doing laundry w daewi idk this feels like a really chill thing-

× unedited

Although he never really expressed it, domesticity was somewhat of a big thing to Daewi. Throughout his life, he picked and choosed his relationships like fruit on vines; picky. You were no exception. His rather quiet, sometimes stand-offish behavior built a barrier that—overtime, you were able to tear down with a couple of laughs and smiles. Now during the tournament, your support meant more than ever.

It's getting late into the afternoon, the sky painting a gradient of lilac purple into a royal blue and the clouds overhead start to fade in violet waves, uncovering the stars when he finally comes over. It's not unusual for him to pop up after a tough round of matches, his fuel and fire all burnt out by the end of his own plus his two friends. The spare key under a pottery mushroom in the garden turns in the lock, clicking open before shoes shuffle inside, the door closing just as softly.

You peak around the corner hallway wall into the foyer, watching him take off his shoes when he looks at you. He looks tired—of course, but the smallest of smiles graces his expression at the sight of you. He looks around for a moment, "Your parents aren't home?"

Shaking your head, watching him strip his jacket and eyeing the dirt and red on his shirt from the match, "Business trip."

Daewi nods in acknowledgment, going about the same routine the two of you have done multiple times within the past couple of weeks. He discards his shirt, and you take it from him with a peck on his lips. For two highschoolers you acted more like a married couple as of late. The thought makes your face heat up and butterflies briefly stir in your chest.

The washer beneath your whirs and shakes underneath you, making a loud hum like a car revving up its engine. After way too many years of use the lid became unstable so you always have to put weight on top; this time it's you since Daewi's clothes took up the rest of the detergent. You sit on the top, legs crossed and your hands resting on your cheeks, knees digging into your knees and waiting for the shower water to come to a stop.

It's quiet for a moment except for the slight drip from the faucet in the bathroom before the door opens and the smell of mint and lavender whafts out. A towel is wrapped around Daewi's waist, tucked at the corner as he makes his way over to you, ruffling his hair slightly with another towel. He looks good; not that he never didn't look good but the work that he's put in has definitely defined him more. You take the time to appreciate it when he walks over, handing you the towel with a gentle gesture to help dry his hair.

He leans over you, head down while you towel at his hair, and his hands placed on either side of you when he lets out a hum of appreciation; shoulders finally relaxing.

"Long day?" It comes out softer than you thought it would and for a moment you don't think he hears you over the washer but he nods in reply, liftinf his head. The piece of rough fabric falls over his slick, roughed up hair and over his shoulders, your arm wrapping around his neck loosely to cup his face with the other. Subconsciously, Daewi nuzzles his cheek into your palm and kisses the heel of it before mumbling something along the lines of you making it better to get you to blush and giggle.

"I bet that's what you say to all your friends."

A soft laugh escapes him, breaking the nonchalant facade he usually carries before nudging his nose with yours, "Just my favorite one."

Pushing him back by the shoulder, you let out a laugh that's soon quieted down by his lips on yours. He leans you back against the storage shelf behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist to lean against the humming washers top. His other hand slowly crawls underneath your shirt, thumbing at your hip before dipping the tip on his thumb barely underneath the elastic waistband of your shorts.

You move to reach for the hem of your shirt when the washer bumps, jolting you two apart with a hot breath of air and a groan from the rock before there's a click signaling It's done.

He leans his foreheas against yours, kissing you one more time, "I should go get dressed."

The brunette stalks into your bedroom to find some of the clothes you had shoved in a dresser drawer while you started to unload the washer and start the dryer.

It's not long before the dryer stops rumbling, but it seemed like forever what with the night sky being a dark blue abyss and the movie you two were watching slowly rolling to a close. For a moment you debate if you really needed to get up, snuggling into Daewi's side a little bit more like that would stop him from unwrapping his arm from around you.

Luckily for you two the load wasn't excessively large, just his clothes and few other articles laying around. You set the basket on the bed, Daewi leaning iver you to pluck out a shirt to fold.

There's a comfortable silence that hums between the two of you, sorting the clothes into piles when he fails to sniffle a yawn and his nose scrunches up, eyes crinkling close. The clock reads 11:10.

Looking over to the empty side of the bed, you gesture towards it softly, "I can finish up if you wanna lay down, I know you're working harder than usual-"

"I'll be fine-" he yawns again, "-There's not much left anyways."

One moment he's up, trying to fold a pair of shorts and the next he's dragging you down with him, swiftly dodging the clothes to your right in favor of laying down on the left side of the bed. It hadn't even been a minute after the last item was folded and put into a pile before you're wrapped up in a cocoon of muscle.

Almost immediately his breathing as slowed and his eyes are shut, but a smile peaks out when you laugh.

"I thought we were going to finish.."

He lets out an obnoxious snore in reply, "Sorry, I can't hear your. I'm sleeping." The tired lightness in his tone picks up from the mumbles, his arm pulling you closer to lay on his chest.

It would only be a few more hours before he had to go back into the ring, luckily being patched up by technology. The thought makes you huff a sigh, his thumb beginning smooth down the length of your arm.

"We'll finish tomorrow."

[thefirebreathingqueen]

Tis the damn season

a folk of the air fic based on tis the damn season by taylor swift. 

Summary: after years away from her quiet hometown, Jude returns for the weekend. Someone is still there, waiting for her (Jude x Cardan) All human AU

Snow drifted lazily through the sky as her legs took her on an all too familiar path, collecting in her hair. This path was one well-traveled, Jude remembered it from ditching class with Larkin and Liliver and early morning study seshes before exams. The path had hardly changed in the years she had been gone, the quiet little town she called home hardly changing either. Small, old houses still lined every street, decorated with bright, twinkling lights. Children chased each other through the snowbanks, throwing loose powder at each other with gloved hands. Memories of her and her sisters doing the same pushed to the front of her mind, memories of a life long abandoned.

Taryn would be home, she knew, Vivi might be. Jude hadn’t been back since graduation, not for holidays or birthdays or anything. If her family needed her, they would pop over to her apartment hundreds of miles away.

And yet, she was here. After nearly five years of absence.

With a chime of the bells on the back of the door, the door swung open, Jude hastily slipping inside.  Stopping the snow of her boots, she entered the room. Coffee assaulted her nose, freshly ground and made. Inhaling deeply, a small smile pricked at her lips, shoulders dropping she fell into the comforting warmth of the small café.

Plush armchairs sat scattered around, varying shades of reds, oranges, and greens, the colours rich and inviting. Tables and chairs were mingled with them too. The glow of the lights cast everything in a bright and warm hue. Making her way to the counter, she smiled at the barista. Fand, she remembered, only a year or so younger than herself. Footsteps sounded behind her as she ordered, light as a cat and barely audible. Moving to the side to wait for her coffee, Jude turned, catching a pair of dark eyes already fixed on hers. A familiar smirk danced across the mans even more familiar mouth.

“Cardan,” She said, keeping her voice stiff and polite. He nodded at Fand as she asked something about a usual, dark hairs stirring on his head. It was longer now, styled in a way that simultaneously looked like it took seconds and hours.

“Jude,” her name rolled of his tongue smoothly. Jude’s stomach fluttered at it, at the way his lips curved around her name. Like it fit perfectly in his mouth.

Cursing herself quietly, he moved to stand next to her waiting on his own cup.

“How’s the city?” he asks, leaning closer. It was small talk, but somehow it didn’t feel like small talk.

Small talk was boring, and absolutely nothing about Cardan was boring.

Black eyes bore into mine as he waited intently on her answer. Refusing to look away, she shrugged, “It’s okay.”

After a moment, “How’s the town.”

Cardan shrugs, “It’s okay.” He mirrors her, “Empty now.”

“Empty?” she can’t stop herself from asking. Curiosity fell on her, forcing the words out far quicker than she wished.

Noticing he smiled a bit, but his eyes were still melancholy, “We seem to be missing a fiery brunette with a tendency to threaten people. Have you seen her?”

Jude’s throat tightened, “I don’t think you’d want her back.”

Looking around he muttered, “I think we would.”

The Greenbriar’s had known Jude and her family for a long time, Cardan was in her and Taryn’s grade, Rhia used to babysit us, Dain had given Jude her very first job. The Greenbriar’s had been a part of this town for as long as it’s stood.

A cup landed on the counter, nearly black steaming liquid inside. Grasping the cup, careful not to burn her fingers, she moved to an olive green armchair in the corner. Barely two minutes had passed before an extravagantly dressed man sat across form me, his own mug full of some sugary smelling, light coloured, drink.

Looking at him expectantly, as she took a sip, she waited for him to begin.

He was off, acting so much like and unlike himself at the same moments. Who he had grown to be was a mystery Jude, their last interaction at eighteen as he begged her to stay and she refused, chasing her dreams outside of the bubble they had lived in.

Seeing him now a small bubble of regret bubbled in her stomach. Jude didn’t regret leaving, didn’t regret going to university and finding her job. But for just a moment, she looked at him and imagined what it would have been if she didn’t.

“How long are you staying?” Cardan asks, eyes barely meeting hers.

“Just for three days,”

He nods, “I can work with that.”

 Cardan had walked her home, standing beside her, arms gently brushing. Warmth pooled in her chest at it, at the feeling of him next to her again. They had stayed and talked about everything and nothing for nearly an hour before she looked at the watch on her wrist. Everyone should be at home by now, and the sun would no doubt begin to fall on the horizon soon.

At the gate out front her parents place, Jude turned, pulling the lapels of her coat tighter around her body. A larger hand slipped into hers, squeezing it gently.

“I’ve missed you, Jude.” His voice was quiet.

Without room for another word, he turned and continued his way down the road.

 Knuckles hitting the door, she waited for just a moment. Nerves spiked, choking her out slowly. Dark wood pulled open in front of her, light and warmth escaping quickly. In the doorway was a tall, slender woman. Features of her face sharp and angular. Before Jude could even open her mouth arms wrapped around her.

“What are you doing here?” Viviane asked, excitement lighting her face.

“Thought I’d come for a visit, if you’d all be okay with that?” Jude tapped her boots together nervously.

With a small shake of her head, she pulled Jude inside.

“Who’s at the door?” A dark head poked out of the doorway to the kitchen, long hair in perfect curls. Taryn’s face dropped in surprise; mouth agape as she stared.

“Jude’s here.” Vivi said plainly, pulling the coat from Jude’s shoulders and hanging it by the door.

Rushing over, her body collided with her twins, hair of the same exact hue mingling in their embrace.

“Come on, Dad, Mom, and Oak are going to be so happy to see you.”

 The next time Cardan appeared was in a sleek looking black car pulling up next to her as she walked off the large breakfast she had been stuffed with. The window closest to her rolled down. Hesitantly she leaned into the open space, her nose just reaching the interior of the car.

“My darling Jude,” a broad smile fell across his mouth, “Get in.”

After a moment of debate with herself and against her best judgement. She got in.

The town had hardly changed since she left, still trapped in its own bubble. Just like the café, they talked easily, slipping back into who they were in high school. Jude’s shoulders felt lighter than they had for a long time. They drove up and down every street, and then back again, filling their time like they did when they were teenagers.

Eventually they came to a stop, climbing out into the busy streets. A small store selling handmade novelties sat quietly. It was always the best place for buying presents, and despite the fact she had purchased a gift for everyone before she came, one name had been missing on her list.

Holding the door open for her, Cardan followed her inside, moving silently through the rows of shelves. Items crowded the space, each marked with a little twine and tape price tag. Scanning the shelves, Jude searched.

“Look at this,” Cardan muttered behind her, grabbing her hand to keep her from walking any farther forward. They still fit together perfectly, calluses and soft skin in the same places, slotting like the final pieces of a puzzle. He held a small charcoal grey box. Inside was a necklace, a simple chain with only one pendant. A silver dagger, highly detailed for its size.

“It’s beautiful,” escapes her lips. After a moment, he sets it down, pulling her along the isles, not dropping her hand.

After a moment she managed to snag something while he was off looking for last minute gifts for his brothers. A small bag slung off her wrist as he met with her at the front of the store, his own bag in his hand. Silently, he slipped his hand into hers ago. And surprising herself, Jude did not let go.

The third time Jude found Cardan was at night, right after Christmas dinner. Her family has already unwrapped their gifts, muttering apologies that Jude didn’t have any to unwrap. They had already sent them in the mail.

One final gift stayed heavy in her pocket.

The Greenbriar estate was the largest in town, built and added on over two centuries, maybe even more. It was light up, brilliant lights lining the doorways and rooftops.  For a moment she paused, debating on whether approaching was a good idea. Her chest tightened, unease settling in her bones.

“Looking for someone?” a playful voice reached her ears.

Turning quickly, and very nearly slipping on the ice, she found the source of her conflict standing right behind her, leaning against a tree lining the street.

“Indeed I am.”

“May I be of any service then, my darling?”

Jude’s heart sped at the nickname. Cardan looked unphased by their teenage term of endearment however.

Pulling the small box from her pocket, she held into him.

“For me?” his dark rows raised, looking more unsettled than he had any other time this weekend.

“For you.”

Gently, he pulls the small box from my hands, popping open the lid.

“Are you proposing darling? I must admit that is one hell of a gift.”

Jude’s cheeks burned as blood rushed to them, “No I just know how you never go anywhere without them.”

Nestled on the black satin was a silver ring, one thick band. Scales were etched all around it, the head of the snake swallowing the tail.

Pulling it out, he slipped it on, fitting it perfectly on his middle finger. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear he whispered, “Thank you, I love it.”

Throwing all her judgement and reservations aside, Jude’s palms brushed against his cheeks, pulling his face to hers.

Cardan responded quickly, entangling his fingers in her hair, grasping right at the base of her neck.

“What are we doing?” he asks between kisses, lips sliding over each other’s.

“This,” she answers, “Just for the weekend.”

The last time she saw Cardan was when her car was loaded with her suitcase and she was idling outside the driver’s door. Waiting for something she didn’t want to admit to.

She had already said her goodbyes to her family inside, hugs and tears shed from all of them with promises of visiting more often.

As he always does, Cardan rounds the corner, already walking toward her.

Jude’s heart thumps in her chest, she had done this once, she could do it again.

Standing close, voice small and steady, he asks, “There’s nothing I could say to get you to stay is there?”

Shaking her head slightly, voice thick she whispers back, “No.”

Cardan nods, looking much like the eighteen year old she had left the last time.

Soft lips meet hers, slowly. A finale.

A goodbye.

Without wasting anymore words, he steps back, giving her room to slip into the driver’s seat. Moving forward she refuses to look in the rearview mirror and the man she is leaving behind.

As she drives along the busy highway and the town shrinks behind her, Jude pretends she doesn’t feel her heart shattering in her chest.

Back home, she had unpacked her bags, throwing a load of laundry in and beginning to dust every available surface in her house. Anything to keep her busy, her mind away from the images of dark eyes, long ring covered fingers, soft pink lips.

Finally, she collapses against the couch, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body.

A knock sounds against her door. Moving quickly, she pulls it open. Her whole body stutters as she takes in the image on the other side.

Leaning against her doorframe casually, Cardan smiles, “Hey.”

A/N: so its been awhile. I’m not sure the last time i even wrote and i think this SUCKS but im trying to get back into it. The characters both seem pretty ooc to me so sorry bout that but im trying to get back into the grove of things. 

[ktheist]

an empire of lies | kth

muses. ability type!taehyung x heir!reader

synopsis. taehyung usually comes knocking on your window - yes, window - at something a.m. every once in awhile. it’s the closest you get to being that girl whose crush throws pebbles on her bedroom window and serenades her with a song played on his guitar.

except taehyung comes around to rummage your fridge and free load for a couple days before disappearing like the thin air that always seem to blow when he’s around.

oh, and your apartment is on the 19th floor.

words. 2k

note. this is a spinoff drabble from my partially written draft. can be read as a standalone!

x

“why are you covered in blood?” you ask, curiosity no longer being a distant concept after knowing the man for almost a decade now. the gust of wind that always seem to be around the corner whenever he pops up in front of you, now greets you in a burst. forcing your eyes to flutter shut from its force.

the saint laurent article that you would usually see on him, is missing. instead he tears the tubes prodded deep inside his veins, the once pristine white hospital gown now marred with crimson blood, joining them on your recently mopped floor a second later.

“it’s not mine.” he says simply. if you were younger and didn’t know any better, you would have freaked out. scenarios would have filled your brain and made you consider calling the police on this inhumanly attractive man that’s walking around in your kitchen, half-naked with his pants hung low around his hips.

a sigh escapes you as you pick up his discarded items, tossing them in the trashcan next to the counter before bumping him with your hip as you tell him to move away from inspecting the content of the fridge, “this is the last time i’m cooking for your free loading ass.”

you don’t miss the way taehyung nods and walks away instead of shooting you one of his boyish grins and showering you with empty compliments for being such a good host.

“it’s more like feeding a stray dog that comes around every once in awhile.” you would remark whenever praised you for your kindness. just to set a line and ground yourself to the fact that this tall and handsome as hell man is only here because your late grandmothers happened to be best friends.

“you got any beer?” he asks some time after a passing of silence and the first sizzle of the pan.

to say you’re surprised is an understatement - you spend a good one minute staring at taehyung’s tanned back, marred with scars he’d never talk about, as he pries your cupboard open one after another.

if there’s anything kim taehyung is, it’s wine, high designer fashion and everything along the refined way of living. and the beverage he’s asking for couldn’t have been so far shoved on the other end of the spectrum.

but you know not to mention that - not right now when he looks like he just came from a hunt. who and what, you’re fine not knowing.

“i can make a quick trip to the grocery store and see if they have some.” you offer, but quickly add, “i’m running low on strawberry milk anyway.”

just so you wouldn’t come off as going the extra mile for him. which is something you never usually do. but taehyung’s lack of smile is neither an unusual sight.

the aforementioned man lets out a noise, something like a chuckle that gets blocked by a tired sigh, “you and your strawberry milk - you do know they didn’t add real strawberries, right?”

you shoot him an accusatory look, “do you also go around telling kids that santa doesn’t exist?”

his shoulder line shakes as he chuckles - a real, actual one this time. hands held up in surrender, “don’t shoot the messenger.”

“well, the messenger better sit the fuck down or i’m turning off the stove and you’re left with half boiled pasta and half cooked salsa.” you huff, going back to adding a half cup of cilantro.

his “yes, ma’am” is a tad dull, obscured by the dark clouds hovering over his eyes yet not so much in need of a cut.

with that, you see him shuffle out of your periphery. seconds later, the squeaky sound of the chair hits the air, sticking out like a sore thumb against the fine sizzle of the salsa.

“you really need to get this chair fixed,” he comments, but you bet your memories of your grandmother that if you’d turned around, you’d see him sitting on the same chair he criticized while there are possible two more good ones on either side, “better yet, buy a new one.”

“if i buy a new one, i’ll have to buy the whole set otherwise it’ll look awkward as hell and ruins the aesthetic.” you shrug, as in to say, oh well, it’s a squeaky chair but it’s my squeaky chair. and apparently, taehyung likes that chair too.

silence lapsed between you while you cook - you don’t know what taehyung is doing to fill in those fifteen minutes until you finally plated a pasta for a serving of two, when you turn around, however, you don’t expect the sight before you.

the man has his arms folded over the counter, head propped over. his eyelashes flutter just the slightest bit from the movements of his eyes behind their lids. probably dreaming.

you set the plate a few inches away from him just so he wouldn’t end up dipping his hand into it out of surprise when you go around the counter to tap his shoulder, “taehyung?”

but your palm never touched his skin. instead, you find yourself staring at a pair of mesmerizing brown eyes. never mind the much larger hand wrapped around your wrist midair - you can barely feel it as you fall down down the rabbit hole and into his never seemingly ending gaze.

it’s in that moment that your phone rings, bringing you back to the reality of it all - that though taehyung makes himself approachable and puts on a friendly facade, at the end of the day, he comes and goes like the winds blowing through cities.

“so you weren’t sleeping.” you find yourself asserting, pulling your hand back as though his touch is molten lava, “eat up. i’ll get you some fresh clothes - well, they’re yours from the occasions you actually remember to bring a spare.”

but just before you get to take any step forward after turning your back on him, a pair of muscled arms wrap around you, holding you tight yet tenderly. like a glass case around a plucked rose.

his breath is hot against your neck, his head leaning on your shoulder. even when he’s sitting, he still manages to make you feel like a child. short. tiny. defenseless.

he’s everything your mother, a strong woman who raised you until the age of ten before her untimely death - your grandmother never said it, but you knew your mother didn’t die in her sleep, had told you to run away at first sight.

“never, never meddle with classes, ___ - promise me you’ll live a normal life, like a human.” at the time, you thought she meant the people adorned with golds and diamonds with a whole lot of money to spend and a lack of cause to spend it on. you thought those people had lost their humanity along the line as they chased for fame and wealth.

it isn’t until you met taehyung - the boy whose eyes were always drawn to the clouds and on one fine day, got lifted off the air, up to the tree to save your cat and bring it down to you with a silly grin - that you realized she meant those people. the ability types.

taehyung doesn’t say it, but you suspect he’s at least a second class.

“i really missed you.”

you couldn’t believe your ears. not after the still silence that follows suit. as though he didn’t say anything. as though your mind was playing tricks on you.

“what happened out there?” the question finally hits the air, not sharp enough to cut poke or even hurt the elephant in the room, but loud enough to be heard, “what happened to you?”

you tumble a step back as taehyung pulls you closer until his thighs encase your hips and arms wrap around you too perfectly, “i can’t tell you - i promised granny cheong i won’t rope you into this - not when you have a real chance to live a normal life.”

your shoulder line stiffens at the mention of your grandmother - the image of a fifteen year old taehyung by her deathbed and the subtle sound of her telling him something, floods your mind. it was then, you were so sure - she made him promise to leave you alone just like she knew she was about to that night.

on nights you stayed back at the office, you still wonder why she’d deliberately made sure the only other closest person you had to a family, left you too.

now, you don’t know what you and taehyung are.

your hand covers his arm that’s banded around your tummy, noticing the slight tremble in his bones. heart racing, mind making up a million scenarios for what you’re about to say.

he could recoil - he could leave you like he did right after you graduated high school. and this time you might not see him again but something inside you writhes with a desire that you’ve pushed to the very pit of your stomach all these years but if you don’t say it now, if you let taehyung leave this place and disappear for another six month-

“what if i don’t want a normal life? what if i want to be with you? classes or not.”

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t pull away like you’re a made of fire either. yet your heart seem to palpitate faster than before.

“should we run away? just the two of us?” his voice is oddly calming - that’s how you know he’s only entertaining you for the sake of not offending you.

“stop that.” you force out despite the lump in your throat.

“stop what?” and he still chooses to pretend like everything’s fine.

“don’t tell me you’ll run away with me and let me wake up to an empty bed in the morning-” your breath falls short, “-that’s too cruel, taehyung.”

he doesn’t say anything for the longest moment. and within that moment, your thoughts run rampant. and you actually thought, for one sweet second, that he would tell you he means it. that he’ll leave everything - whatever shit he’s in - and hop on the plane with you to wherever land.

“i have to settle something first.”

the first scoff hits the air like vapor against heat, “there’s always something - just... just let me go, taehyung.”

you push his hands off you, not caring if he wanted to take refuge here or if he’ll leave. all you know if your car keys are in the bowl next to the door and you own a whole building in case push comes to shove and you end up without a home. well, your home will still be here but taehyung won’t by the time you return.

or so you’d planned.

but nothing ever seem to go your way. not since your mother brought you to tokyo and raised you there only to leave you and have an elderly woman show up at the orphanage that you spent a week at and claimed that she was your grandmother.

not since that grandmother raised you with the boy who had the brightest smile and left you with a scar so deep, you’re never really the same again.

as soon as taehyung’s warm arms releases you, the sudden chill of the something a.m. breeze engulfs you. but it is short lived as you find yourself staring at the man who spun you around with one hand and a another on your back, pulling you flush against his body.

you hate yourself for melting into him like an ice cream on a bright summer day.

all of a sudden, you’re both 11 and trekking down your grandmother’s backyard that makes up a whole private forest reserve.

“it’s always been you.” his voice trembles. as though he’s a push away from falling into pieces, “everything i did - it was to make sure they won’t touch you.”

“t-the organization?” it’s purely reflex - you know who they are. the causes of the deaths in your lives. timely or not. “why would they want to have anything to do with me? don’t they hate me? because i’m ordinary?”

the chin resting on your head shifts as he shakes his head, arms encompassing you so tightly, it’s almost hard to inhale and yet breathing isn’t a priority at the moment, “it’s in your blood - you may be ordinary but you were born from a long line of first classes. they can’t rule out the possibility of your kids being ability types - maybe even zero’s.”

“taehyung,” your hand clenches into a fist over the area of his chest where his heart palpitates underneath. his gaze pierces into your soul when you crane your neck to look at him - he always felt like a fresh air and open meadows.

until now.

now, it feels like you’re trapped in the heart of the hurricane. whirling and writhing in a vortex of emotions you’ve never allowed yourself to be acquainted to before.

“what exactly did you promise grandma?”

it’s the way his eyes shake and brows twitch even though his face remains neutral - unmarred by the creases of tension that no doubt graces your own features.

the only indication that he’s reluctant to respond is the pressing of his lips together before he breathes out the softest sigh. as though bracing himself. but his voice has never been so sure.

“i promise i’d kill you myself if they ever approached you.”

[jcolden]

WHILE YOUR PRAYING HANDS ARE UP

     The apartment felt emptier than it had in a long time. All the lights were off, and he was too high up for the ones on the street to really make a difference, but he didn’t switch any on as he went, first to the kitchen for a half-empty bottle of bourbon, then to his bedroom for a new shirt. He drank and paced, back out to the living room, emptying the little flask-shaped thing faster than what was probably wise. Always more shit, and maybe this distance that was growing between him and Queenie was natural. Maybe he should just stop pushing. Maybe it was God or the fucking universe trying to tell him that you’re meant to be alone — as if he didn’t get the fucking message the first time. With a furious growl, Julian whipped around and hurled the empty bottle at the brick wall to his left, where it burst into a thousand pieces, raining across his floor in a hail of shattered glass.

     Out. He needed to get out. His phone was already in his pocket. He shoved a fold of silver into another, patting himself down for weapons. Nothing big enough, nothing… his fingers curled around a grip sticking out of the waistband of his black jeans, warm where it had pressed against his lower back. Arin’s gun. He pulled it out, his hold tightening for a moment as he stared at it in the gloom that shrouded his apartment, then he smacked it down onto the kitchen counter and left it there, off in search of what he’d decided he really needed: a twin pair of karambits, ivory like tusks and even more lethal.

                                                                     * * * * *

     At first, he thought he’d gotten the wrong house. The whole neighborhood was dark, rundown, the buildings crowded closely together and largely unnumbered, so it wouldn’t have surprised him. Trash leaking from the ripped bags piled up next to cans and dumpsters had been trod flat, plastered to the sidewalk by people passing by, cigarette butts and roaches and beer caps laying out in the open. This close to the slums, it didn’t matter.      Julian knocked again, and finally the door opened, a large, bald man who filled almost the entire frame coming into view, scowling at him.      “Who are you? What do you want?”    “X marks the spot,” Julian said, indicating a red letter spray-painted on the peeling plaster on the side of the building.      “Seven-fifty for newcomers, boy. Cough it up.”    “I’m not here to watch.”      A deep rumble that somewhat resembled a laugh rose from the man’s chest, but he stepped aside, letting Julian pass into the hallway. The stranger lifted a hand, bringing him to a stop, and as he was patted down, he looked around, glancing over his shoulder and seeing that what he’d thought was a peephole in the door was, in fact, a camera. The lamp on the ceiling cast a sickly green hue over the unfurnished hallway, and the whole rest of the house was silent as the grave — not a sound from anywhere.    “Alright,” the bouncer said, handing his daggers back as he straightened. “Follow me.”

     Led through the hallway and out into a narrow, fenced-in back alley, Julian rounded a corner and descended a staircase in the bouncer’s wake, then emerged into a crowded basement. The air was soupy with sweat, smoke, and alcohol, voices filling up the space in stark contrast to the silence outside. There was no music.      “Briar!” the bouncer called out, locking eyes with someone in the crowd, near what seemed to be a bar. “Got a live one for you.”      As Briar sauntered closer, he wandered off, leaving Julian to fend for himself in a room of sharks and hyenas, none of which meant a lick to him. They were there, paying to see what he’d come to draw: blood.      “Hello, stranger,” Briar greeted, a deep alto timbre from a heart-shaped face, hair cropped close, dressed in a plain white tank and jeans, tattoos up and down their arms, piercings all over both ears. “What is your name?”    “Julian.” He was over the theatrics already, but would endure for the sake of not causing a fucking scene.      “Julian,” they repeated, popping the lid off a small compact and rubbing their thumb into the red powder there before ceremoniously dragging it down his face – from his forehead, over his eye, across his cheek and all the way to his jaw in a line. “Marked for death. A little young, aren’t we? Had enough of life? Or are we at the end of our rope in a different way? Desperate?”      He shrugged. Briar looked five years his senior at most, but he refrained from comment. After all, they weren’t the one participating.      “Either way… Drinks and favors are on the house.” They started retreating, gliding a hand over his shoulder. “Enjoy your last hour.”

     He didn’t. He had another drink — two — but fury and need were still crackling through him, forging impatience and restlessness in his bones, setting him on edge. He didn’t speak to anyone, and was approached only once, by one of the favors the host had mentioned, clad only in a sparkly thong and dangerously high heels.      “Hey, boo,” she’d said, trailing a finger up his arm. “You up for some fun?”    “Not with you.” He’d glanced at her, but she’d seemed undeterred.      “You sure? How about my friend?” She’d indicated over her shoulder at some other skinny thing with dark makeup smeared around his eyes, sporting three silver rings in each ear, one in his nose, and one on his lower lip.    “Maybe after.” His response had amused her, a trill of laughter left in her wake as she’d slipped back into the crowd, and he’d returned to his drink. Agitated, buzzing, the oppressive claustrophobia of a wall of bodies closing in around him.

     Now, Briar was coming for him, two words in passing and a faint caress across his cheek before they disappeared in the crowd again, no doubt in search of the other fighters: “Time’s up.”

     Julian could feel eyes on him as he approached the lowered pit in the center of the room, and no wonder, with the red slash of color marking him for what he was. No announcer called attention to the start of the event, no lights were flashing, no one was cheering or making a racket, and still there was no music — in fact, a hush fell over the basement, the din of voices muted to faint muttering and whispers as everyone directed their attention towards the pit.      It wasn’t deep; the rest of the floor was at about knee-height when he’d descended into it, and it was as if someone had cut the foundation away, hard-packed dirt underneath his boots instead of concrete.      Another man entered, tall and stocky, with the same red line, clutching a spiked baseball bat, and he looked about as on edge as Julian felt, but the brunet could tell it wasn’t anger, like with him. It was fear. Desperation, like Briar had said, and it made sense. For most people who signed up for shit like this, it was a last resort. Usually, they were in debt, owing people who would take their limbs off if they weren’t paid, and death was as good a way out as the payday that came with winning. A third appeared, middle-aged, tired-looking, holding what appeared to be an ordinary kitchen cleaver, and Julian almost felt bad for him. Almost. He removed the karambits from their sheaths at his lower back, hooking his index fingers into the rings. Sweat was beading on the middle-aged man’s forehead. Briar had materialized at the edge of the pit, looking down at them. There was a glint in her eyes, but she didn’t smile.      “Begin.”

     There was a split second in which the three of them looked at each other — the other two frozen, maybe, but Julian was deciding which one to dispatch first: the biggest threat, or the easiest kill. Without devoting much thought to it, he went for the latter, lunging forward and hooking both daggers into the man’s abdomen before he even had a chance to move, his eyes widening in shock as Julian wrested the curved blades upward and they ripped through flesh and skin, the force of it lifting the man off the ground. A snarl tore its way up Julian’s throat, rage and exertion, blood gushing onto the front of his shirt as he wrenched the two of them around, just in time for the spiked bat to crash into his victim’s skull instead of his own.      The nails stuck, lodged into bone. Julian yanked his karambits free, soaked in red, and the gurgling remains of the owner of the cleaver plummeted to the ground, pulling the bat along with him as he landed with a thud. The stocky man stepped onto the corpse’s chest and pulled; Julian took half a second to admire his work — parallel rifts up the torso, the flimsy fabric of the pale blue, sweat-stained button-up that covered it drenched in blood, a loop of slimy intestine, pulled out along with his blades…      Freed, the bat came sweeping at him, a single motion as it was yanked out, then brandished in a rising arch at Julian’s jaw. He dropped to his knees, dodging underneath the stocky man’s arm while simultaneously slicing his armpit with the dagger in his left hand, and, as he landed, a backhanded stab behind him that plunged the blade into the back of his opponent’s knee. It buckled under him with no resistance, a shout ringing out through the room as he knelt, followed by another grunt of pain when he landed. Julian was on his feet again, on his way back around to face the man he was about to kill when something slammed into his upper arm. Pain raced all the way to his fingertips, his grip on the karambit loosening, and he would’ve lost it if it wasn’t for the fact that it was hooked onto his finger; not that it mattered much, because his entire arm was limp with agony. Infuriated, he planted a boot in the center of the man’s chest and pushed, his right hand crossing his body to cut the underside of his arm, the bat slipping from his grip and landing somewhere behind the brunet. Another flash decision, and he’d rather kill this stranger with his own weapon, so he whirled around, not even making it a step before he felt a grip around his ankle.

     Flattened dirt flew up to meet him, and though he managed to catch himself, the impact still knocked the air from his lungs. Julian tried to crawl, but it was no use, because the piece of shit wasn’t letting go. Twisting, he kicked him in the face, then wriggled forward, ditching his knives before his fingers curled around the leather-wrapped handle of the bat. Pulling it towards himself, he used it to stand, then raised it from the ground and swung, turning around as he did.      The stranger was further away than he’d expected, in the middle of an attempt to get to his feet, and the bat collided with his jaw and mouth instead of his temple, blood and teeth flying. Julian struck again, this time where he’d intended, sending his opponent to the floor. Again. A sickeningly satisfying fucking crunch. Again, what had once been a head now a collapsed, crimson ruin of bone fragment, blood, and brain matter. He let go. The bat clattered at his feet. His chest rose and fell heavily as he regained his breath, fury burning through him like a wildfire. Slowly, he paced over to where he’d dropped his daggers and picked them up, wiping them off on his thigh before sliding them back into their sheaths. His arm was throbbing, and when he looked at it, he saw the trails of blood that had trickled from the cluster of holes in his skin, all the way down to his wrist, interspersed with the spatter from the second man to die and the gushing spray from the first. He was covered. His arms and chest got the worst, but he felt the droplets on his face, too, tasting metal when his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Over in a heartbeat. Over in two heartbeats, and yet it’d been exactly what he fucking needed.

     Now… booze? Numb the rest of his fucking discomfort. Drown it. He climbed out of the pit, and Briar was there, slipping a small memory device into his palm.      “Welcome back, and congratulations. Quite a show.”      Julian almost handed it back to them, about to say he didn’t give a shit about the money, but decided against it, dropping it into his pocket instead. “You got a bandage?”      “I can arrange that.”      He nodded, turning away and heading over to the bar, where he demanded a bottle of their strongest liquor, smacking the fold of bills he’d brought down onto the counter. The bartender presented him with sixty percent whiskey that Julian snatched by the neck and dragged off the counter. Some other goon appeared with a roll of gauze secured with a safety pin, and he took that, too, before making for the exit. Emptiness stretched out inside him, vast and dark and cold, his gaze focused ahead without meeting that of a single person he passed on his way. Out the door, up the stairs, around the corner — fresh air — back inside and down the crudely lit hallway, where the bouncer looked up from his phone to watch him approach.      “Fuck me,” he said, laughing again. Julian ignored him and pushed through the door, thinking dully as he peeled the foil wrapping off the mouth of the bottle he was holding that some homeless junkie had probably either stolen or looted his car. He drank as he walked until he reached it – surprisingly intact — and unlocked it with a touch to the handle on the driver’s side door, dropping sideways into the seat. Wedging the bottle between his legs, he rolled his sleeve up, then leaned forward a little as he lifted the whiskey, taking a breath in. Another sip for courage. Fuck. Tipping the bottle, he poured a splash over his punctures, watching the blood thin as it ran down his arm and dripped onto the sidewalk between his legs. Searing fucking agony, his teeth clamped together, but he kept pouring, just a little more, before lowering the bottle, gasping in a breath. Carefully, he set it down beside the mess he’d made, grimacing as he bandaged his arm tightly, fastening it with the same pin that had held the roll together. The burn remained. He picked the bottle up and drank, wanting it in his throat instead. In his lungs. A cigarette. His pack was in the console; he felt around for it, mostly blindly, but found it and got one lit, wondering as he sat there whether he should go back. Tell that fucking hooker with the lip ring to show him a good time after all. But he didn’t want the questions. The looks. There were sure to be more shows lined up in that basement, as unsavory or worse than the one he’d just put on, and he wasn’t interested. If he could, he would’ve sat there, half in and half out of his car until the sun rose, drinking and smoking, staring into nothing, but even in his peripheral, in the reflection in the window on his door, he could see that he looked like hell, and it was beginning to dry. His arm throbbed and stung. Julian pulled his legs into the car, closed the door, and drove.

[scarletenvy]

eastbound, homebound. — chapter 3

this is for the nony who the other day asked me to post any previously unpublished parts of the airline au i might have. here’s 5k of unfinished, unbeta’d and not edited ch3. includes smut.

Chapter 3: concrete jungle.

*

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Violet squeaks, startled and surprised, and tries to get up, but Pearl just lets out a guttural grunt and tightens her grip on the junction of Violet’s hip and thigh under her skirt, thus effectively trapping Violet where she’s straddling Pearl’s lap. Violet produces a disagreeing noise that turns into a shameless moan as soon as Pearl sinks her teeth into her flesh just above her collarbone, and involuntarily grinds her hips down.

“Come on, guys, again? Really? In my fucking cockpit, too?” Kameron whines.

Violet’s lids flutter open and she looks up. Kameron is standing in the doorway, shielding her eyes with her palm theatrically. Pearl detaches her mouth from Violet’s body, settling against the backrest of her pilot’s seat, but her index and middle fingers curl under the waistband of Violet’s panties.

“Oh knock it off, Michaels, you can’t possibly expect us to believe you haven’t done this with your purser wife even once,” Pearl says while her other hand slides up Violet’s back under her unbuttoned blouse and sneakily unhooks her bra.

“Pearl!” Violet protests half-heartedly and slaps Pearl’s arm. Pearl just smirks and pushes her hand under the undergarment to cup Violet’s breast.

“I’ll be happy to inform you that my wife and I can actually keep our hands off each other for longer than five minutes, because we’re not a pair of libido-driven bitches, thank you very much,” Kameron says sternly.

Pearl hums in a noncommittal manner and leans back in to drag her lips against Violet’s collarbone. Violet’s lids fall closed again and a pleased purr forms somewhere deep in her chest and escapes her.

“I should really fuck you in first class next, doll,” Pearl states. “You’d look so fucking good, getting yourself and the seat all wet and messy while I finger your pretty little pussy. Would you like that, babe?”

“Oh, God, I can’t hear you, I can’t, I’m not listening!” Kameron shrieks before Violet can react.

Violet blinks, trying to bring her surroundings back into focus, the rampant arousal that pools in her gut making it difficult. Kameron is squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears with her palms, looking equal parts flustered and amused.

“Pearl,” Violet repeats hoarsely.

“Mmm,” Pearl says, slipping her hand to squeeze Violet’s ass under Violet’s skirt while her other one is still playing with her breast. “Okay, go on, then, doll, the sooner I land this thing the sooner I’ll get to actually fuck you.”

She manoeuvres her hands to rest on Violet’s waist and swiftly pushes her to her feet, proceeding to straighten her tie and crack her neck like she wasn’t just walked in on by her captain. Violet reaches to wipe her lipstick off Pearls mouth, and then secures the hooks of her bra behind her back and buttons her blouse up.

“C’mere, princess,” Pearl beckons her closer as soon as Violet’s done straightening her uniform.

Violet bends over, planting her hands on the armrests of the seat Pearl’s occupying, and Pearl presses a gentle kiss on her mouth, her plum lips so soft and good against Violet’s own. Before it can escalate, Pearl slaps Violet’s ass lightly and repeats her command to go on. Violet pecks Pearl once more and grabs her blazer from Kameron’s seat where she shedded it not too long ago before circling Pearl and heading out of the cockpit.

Kameron is still standing in the doorway, her arms crossed on her chest. She’s shaking her head slightly, her expression scolding, and it would almost make Violet bashful if it weren’t for the way Kameron’s so obviously fighting off an entertained grin.

“Nice bra, Chachki,” she shoots as she moves aside to let Violet through, and that’s when Violet is assured she’s not nearly as irritated as she tries to act.

“Why, thank you, captain,” Violet says, making sure it comes out pointed and clear, audible.

Behind her, she can hear Pearl snap around in her seat and let out an actual growl, low and dangerous, and she runs off quickly, feeling oddly pleased with herself for provoking a reaction.

There’s always a small part of her, shy and quiet, that keeps nagging that she should be ashamed of such vulgar, flamboyant behaviour she’s engaging in. Lately Violet’s grown very talented at ignoring it, progressively more so around Pearl, but today it’s louder, more persistent somehow. Maybe it’s because of where they are right now. Violet doesn’t let that thought linger, doesn’t let any of it linger, just works harder to not think of it at all.

She arrived in Atlanta early in the afternoon yesterday to overnight there before their flight to Johannesburg. She hadn’t told anyone she’s back, hadn’t left her hotel room, either. It was unlikely she would run into someone familiar in the busy streets, but she didn’t particularly feel like risking it. It’s been a while since she’s been back, and it was a peculiar feeling, being here as a visitor, a passer-by on her way to another, faraway destination.

Now they’re at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International, getting ready for their flight. The airport is, at core, the same it was eleven, thirteen, fifteen years ago, but at the same time it’s not. The difference is, she’s never seen it like this before. She’s never seen the staff security checks and airline meeting rooms and unnoticeable doors that only open with a swipe of one’s I-D. badge. It’s both unnerving and comforting, the way a place can change so much, but not because it hasn’t, essentially, remained the same; rather, because she has not.

It seems no one’s really missed her in the main cabin. Farrah is standing in the middle of one of the two aisles, her palms placed on the backrests of the seats either side of her, and one of her knees is bent, her foot lifted coquettishly and the heel of her shoe brushing against her ass. Michelle is standing in one of the rows, her back to Violet, and she’s snapping photos of Farrah as she poses. Her expression is simultaneously oozing both seduction and saint-like innocence in the way only one Farrah Moan is capable of perfectly mastering.

“NorthWest should really use you in their next advertisement campaign, Farrah,” Violet chuckles.

Farrah strikes another pose, standing back on both feet and popping her hip, her hand moved to rest there now.

“I’m Farrah. Fly me to Milwaukee,” she breathes out, her tone eery and empty like she’s a bimbo from some 60’s movie.

“Amazing,” Violet laughs. “Do they even have an airport there?”

“Does it matter? It’s Milwaukee,” Farrah shrugs and reaches for her phone Michelle’s handing her.

“You ever been to Atlanta before, Violet?” Michelle asks.

“This is the first time this is my base,” Violet replies vaguely.

“So you’ve never been to Johannesburg before?” Farrah says wistfully. “Me neither. Gonna be fun!”

Violet hums her acknowledgement, then looks around the cabin. “Where’s Brianna?”

“We’re missing two life vests, she’s sorting that. We should be able to start the boarding soon,” Michelle says.

“I’m sure someone stole those vests during the previous flight,” Farrah chimes in expertly.

“Why would anyone steal a life vest?” Violet questions.

“Girl, people tend to steal the most random unnecessary shit, you’d be surprised,” Farrah says like it’s obvious.

“She would know,” Michelle notes.

Farrah whines, that drawn, high-pitched sound that has become her signature in Violet’s mind by now. Michelle doesn’t seem too bothered by this reaction, just laughs and suggests they get back to work.

They monitor the cabin together swiftly, making sure everything is taken care of before Brianna returns with the missing vests. Violet is unsettled, craves to get going already, but luckily Farrah is rushing them in her palpable excitement, so Violet clings to that excuse as she moves through the familiar steps with more urgency than is usual to her.

They’re one-third into the 15-hour flight when Brianna asks Violet to check if the cockpit needs anything for her while she deals with something in first class. Violet uses the intercom in the back galley, holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she leans against the counter, her legs crossed at the ankles, and examines the fresh coat of nail varnish she applied that morning while she waits for Kameron and Pearl to accept the call.

“Liaison,” she hears Pearl’s absentminded drag after two rings, her voice thick with amusement as if Kameron and her were just laughing at something when Violet phoned.

“Captain,” she purrs seductively. “Main cabin here, Violet speaking.”

“Blatant erasure,” Kameron chimes in before Pearl can reply.

“Shh, Michaels, you’re ruining the fantasy,” Pearl snorts.

The playfulness in Pearl’s tone makes Violet smile involuntarily, and she glances down at the tips of her black pumps and bites her lower lip like she’s trying to hide her reaction despite being alone, convince herself her heart doesn’t beat faster and her cheeks don’t get a little bit warmer whenever she hears Pearl sounding happy or imagines her grinning.

“So, what’s up, main cabin?” Pearl prompts.

Violet straightens her posture, crossing one arm over her chest and grabbing the receiver, and quietly clears her throat, seductively narrowing her eyes and dropping her pitch before she speaks. “Just calling to see if the cockpit needs anything, captain. Maybe I could get you something to eat?”

“That depends,” Pearl drawls cheekily, clearly playing along with Violet’s flirting, her voice husk. “What’s on the menu?”

“Why don’t I come and personally show you?” Violet chirps immediately.

“Jesus, Chachki, you’re on fucking speaker, come on,” Kameron groans.

Pearl laughs roughly, and Violet lets out a pouty sound, not really caught off guard by the interruption — it’s a wonder Kameron let it fly as long as she did, actually — but still a little dismayed. It’s been six days since their last flight together, six days since Pearl rushed her into a toilet stall at Seattle-Tacoma and took her against the wall, hot and desperate and messy, six days of radio silence and waiting and waiting and waiting, and Violet is itching for contact now, restless to get her hands on Pearl, hardly satisfied by their quick make out session from earlier.

“Goddamnit, Michaels, you’re such a bitch,” Pearl complains through laughter. “Why can’t you ever let me have any fun?”

“Because your idea of fun is having phone sex at work while you’re flying a craft and I’m sitting a foot away, you absolute genius,” Kameron shoots back.

“It’s better than your idea to play I spy with my little eyes for three hours straight, Michaels. There’s only fucking sky and clouds to spot!” Pearl says and Violet giggles, knowing full well the line was punctuated by a huge eye roll.

She moves her arm from her chest and tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear, then fits her hand between herself and the counter and slips one of her heels out of the shoe, absently dangling it on her toes in the air. Pearl is in a good mood today, had been already when she had come out of the conference room to meet Violet in the hallway before their briefing and, despite Violet’s protests, taken her suitcase from her and carried it herself. It’s not exceptional, Pearl is in a good mood more often than not, but it’s a contrast to how she had been in Seattle last week, curt and rough and on edge, almost as if inflammable if approached wrong. It had been a three-hour layover, a flight that wasn’t even scheduled for Violet but that Aja had magically made happen anyway, and they had spent the majority of it with their hands and mouths on each other. After Pearl had made Violet come, Violet had backed her up against the opposite wall and gently rubbed her through her panties, the damp cotton catching on her swollen clit so perfectly, a light teasing touch insistently right where Pearl needed it until it had slowly gotten too much and she had let go and released.

Violet hadn’t asked if something was wrong, and Pearl hadn’t said anything, either, had just hidden her face in the crook of Violet’s shoulder and held her close while she came down, and then abruptly pushed past her out of the stall and the restroom without another word, and Violet hadn’t seen her again until the briefing.

“Seriously, though, is there anything you two need?” she interrupts Kameron and Pearl’s friendly bickering, her tone more professional now.

“No, babe, not really, I don’t think. At least I’m good, how about you, Michaels?” Pearl replies.

“Nah, I’m good, too. Maybe like a bathroom break in a half hour? But send someone else, I don’t want this plane crashing while I’m peeing because Liaison got distracted getting her fingers wet.”

“Ha-ha, you’re so fucking funny, Michaels, fuck all the way off,” Pearl snorts. “But what a glorious way to go, huh?”

“I’ll send Brianna or Michelle up there in like twenty,” Violet promises, stepping back into her heel and pushing herself off the counter.

“Thanks, Chachki,” Kameron calls. “Tell my wife I miss her and I love her and I can’t wait to get back to her.”

“Ew, you two are gross,” Pearl says before Violet manages to get her reply in.

“You just tried to have public phone sex and I’m the one getting called gross?” Kameron gasps in mock offence.

“You wish, Michaels, I know you’d like to hear how pretty she moans,” Pearl deadpans.

“Oh, trust me, I have heard her moan. Our room has been next to yours more often than I’d care to remember.”

“Okay,”Violet cuts in before Pearl can continue. “Nice talking to you, cap, main cabin will check in again later, have a good one. For the love of God, stop torturing her, Pearl.”

“Okay, baby, if you say so,” Pearl agrees solemnly. “I’ll see you soon.”

The line clicks in indication that the call is over, and Violet stays staring at the mute receiver for a while, the word Soon heavy on her tongue but never having had the chance to leave her lips.

*

They arrive in the early morning, and despite it having had been a fairly easy flight, Violet is physically drained and a little disoriented. It’s immediately clear Pearl likes Johannesburg, and while she puts her chin on Violet’s shoulder and keeps pointing out places and landmarks, painted in the soft glow of the quickly rising sun, through the tinted car window on their cab ride from the airport to the hotel, Violet thinks she could see herself falling in love.

Their accommodation is located in the northern part of the city, and Pearl tells her the neighbourhood, as well as those surrounding it, is considered one of the most prestigious in Johannesburg. The establishment is scattered across an undulating hill, a bunch of separate villas rather than one big building with rooms, and Michelle says it’s lovely, one of her favourite overnight locations she’s ever been to. Farrah snatches a little booklet from the front desk upon their arrival and check-in, and buries her nose in it, reading away and informing Violet that the name of the business — Zandfontein — comes from one of the early farms in the area.

Inside, their villa turns out to be a cosy, open space with a number of bedrooms and a shared kitchen and lounge. Everyone just kind of silently agrees that Pearl and Violet will take one of the two doubles, with the Michaels’ occupying the other, without any discussion or explicit acknowledgement of it. Violet thinks she should feel flustered about the way they’re treated by everyone as an extension of each other, a package deal, almost, should resist the implications, but there’s a craving crawling under her skin and she can’t think far past it, needs Pearl close and can’t deny herself.

“How do you feel about thunderstorms?” Pearl asks her when they’re settling in and the air between them is mostly filled with weary contentment and slowness of thought and motion, no energy to jump each other until they’ve slept the flight and jet lag off.

She’s changing into something comfortable to nap in, her uniform shedded and carelessly draped in a messy heap over the first somewhat suitable surface, the back of a chair today. She always does that, and then curses on the day of departure, stressing over how wrinkled the fabric is and resulting in Violet trying to straighten her up to the best of her ability. Violet is only slightly better than Pearl at this. Her uniform usually ends up strewn across the floor of whatever hotel room they’re entering as soon as they’re through the door, but at least she picks it up later on and makes an attempt at actually hanging it.

“Um,” Violet says, a little taken aback by the randomness of the question. “I feel fine? Or, like, I’m not, like, afraid of them or anything. It’s kinda nice when it’s thundering outside and you can just curl up with a blanket and a cup of tea and a book, yeah, you know, the cliché. I don’t know, why?”

She glances at Pearl over her shoulder, a hanger with her blouse and blazer temporarily looped over her wrist. Pearl is pulling on a white tank top, her bra already off, and Violet succeeds to catch a glimpse of the perfectly round underside of her breasts right before Pearl tugs on the hem and covers the rest of her upper body. Violet lets out a pouty noise and blindly tries to hook the hanger on the closet door handle, eyes concentrated on the visibly darker spots on the material of Pearl’s top where her nipples are stiffened and poking against it.

“Just figured I’d ask for, you know, later,” Pearl shrugs, running her hands through her hair to get it out of her face and then readjusting the waistband of the loose black cotton shorts she often sleeps in. “Baby, my eyes are up here,” she adds with a low chuckle after noticing Violet’s spaced out staring.

“I know, but I’m talking to your tits,! Violet muses, finally managing to place the hanger where she wants it and reaching for her skirt to hang it. “Whats happening later?”

“The thunder?” Pearl says like it’s clear while she moves to pull the comforter aside on the bed and adjust the pillows and covers like they’ve grown accustomed to having them. “It’s gonna be raining and thundering in like five hours or so.”

“Oh, come on now,” Violet snorts and brushes her off, finally turning to fold the skirt over the little bar on the hanger and grab the oversized t-shirt she packed as her pyjama. “There’s not a single cloud in the sky and it’s getting progressively warmer by minute. Thank God you’re a pilot and not a meteorologist ,”

“Babe…” Pearl says softly, and there’s a pause in the rustling of the sheets.

“Hm?” Violet hums and spins to face the rest of the room, pulling her locks out of the collar of her shirt where they got stuck upon her putting it on,

Pearl now has one knee perched on the bed, stretched out to place the pillow she’s gripping wherever it is she sees appropriate and frozen mid-movement, gaze turned up to scan Violet. Violet fixes her a quizzical look and spreads her arms in the air with a little shrug, almost challenging Pearl to disagree with her observations and deduction, and suddenly Pearl’s expression lights up, one corner of her mouth twitching up into a lopsided, extremely pleased smirk, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?” Violet demands.

“Nothing, babe,” Pearl says and shakes her head, going back to her pillow arranging. “It is an awfully clear day, isn’t it? Almost like calm before the storm, huh?”

“You’re such a cryptic fucking bitch, Pearl,” Violet complains, slipping her hands under her shirt to unclasp her bra and toss it aside. “The fuck is that even supposed to mean?”

Pearl laughs uproariously and throws a pillow at Violet. It hits her in the thigh and lands at her feet, and Violet sighs in exasperation as she bends over to lift it. When she straightens up, Pearl is already sprawled on the bed, limbs splayed out in disarray like a human-sized starfish. Violet crosses the room and shoves the pillow in Pearl’s face as soon as she’s close enough to aim.

“Bitch,” Pearl mumbles into the soft material, giggles spilling out of her in sporadic gales.

“Idiot,” Violet shoots back,

“Yeah, but you like that,” Pearl retorts, still making no attempt to free her face.

“Do I really, though?” Violet mutters absently and flops onto her back on the bed next to Pearl.

“Uh-huh,” Pearl says assuredly, like there’s no care in the world, no doubt whatsoever, and maybe there isn’t, maybe she’s right, maybe she knows something Violet has no clue of, and Violet allows it soothe her until there’s something heavy in her belly and throat.

They lie there for a while, both completely quiet, and Violet enjoys the weight of the body next to her, just the way it makes the mattress dip different than it does when she sleeps alone, the warmth of it, the familiar scent, cherry blossom of Pearl’s perfume twining with the smell of cigarettes, lacing lacing lacing until it’s so unmistakably her Violet thinks there’s no replicating it,, not even coming close to. She verges on searching for Pearl’s hand, but then changes her mind and interlocks her own fingers beneath her chest, wonders how and when the silence between them got more comfortable than mindless chatter with most people is.

“What’s the meaning behind your thigh tattoo?” she asks finally, when the atmosphere gets too light, too easy, close to compressing in how natural it feels.

“Huh?” Pearl finally raises the pillow off her face and drops it somewhere in general direction of the head of the bed. “Oh, this one?”

She throws her legs up and props her ass off the mattress, trying to keep her lower body up with her abs and failing spectacularly, almost tipping over and nearly ending up with her feet over her head and eventually just falling back down on the sheets with a frustrated huff. Violet resists the urge to laugh for approximately a split second and then cracks up, drawing her hand up to facepalm. Pearl mumbles something under her breath and elbows Violet in the ribs lightly, pretending to be dismayed by her temporary loss of cool, even though she’s never been hiding her dorky side around Violet and they both know it.

“Each flower represents a woman in my life,” Pearl says when Violet succeeds to stop cackling and outstretches her arm to brush her knuckles against the ink. “There’s one for my mom, then my sisters, and my grandma, oh, yeah, and this smaller one is for my nephew.”

“that’s so sweet,” Violet smiles. Pearl must be close with her family, she seems the type, seems like somebody who keeps in touch a lot and insists on spending at least one set of holidays a year together, makes it work despite everyone having their own busy lives. Violet doesn’t ask, though, wants to avoid the series of corresponding questions touching the subject will surely breed painfully harder than she wants to learn these things about Pearl, feels claustrophobic more than she does intrigued. “You designed it yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yah, doll, all of my ink,” Pearl confirms. “Nap time?”

With that, she pushes herself up on the bed to lie down on the pillows, Violet follows her, pressing close to her side and twisting her gently until Pearl’s back is to her chest and she can loop her arm around her middle and bury her face in her hair. Pearl sighs happily, her hand immediately covering Violet’s where it’s resting on her tummy, and relaxes, and Violet falls asleep to the deepening pattern of her breathing.

*

Sure enough, Violet wakes up to the sounds of thundering and raindrops against the window some hours later.

It takes her a moment to register she’s in Pearl’s arms now, despite them having had been in the reversed position when she dozed off, but it doesn’t particularly alarm her — she’s used to Pearl’s tendency to flip them around in her sleep, as if she can’t possibly get enough of holding Violet and will utilise any chance she gets. Next, Violet registers Pearl’s open mouth dragging against the skin of her neck and her fingers aimlessly stroking her stomach through the fabric of her shirt, the light trailing of her blunt nails sending chills up Violet’s spine.

“Pearl…” she croaks, her voice cracking a little.

“Shh, baby,”Pearl breathes out.

Violet gasps almost soundlessly, shifting a bit, and Pearl presses a kiss right where her whisper is still burning Violet’s skin. Her palm flattening on Violet’s middle, she starts unhurriedly sliding it higher, pulling Violet’s shirt up with it. She reaches Violet’s tits, gropes the flesh forcefully, but before Violet can push her chest out into the contact, Pearl drops her hand lower, hooking her fingers under the rolled up hem of the shirt. She tugs it over Violet’s breasts, and Violet barely bites down a filthy moan as the cool air on her bare body gives her goosebumps.

“Pearl,”she repeats, a pleading tilt to her tone.

Pearl’s mouth moves to Violet’s ear, and she closes her teeth around the lobe lightly, then laps her tongue over the spot, and Violet’s toes curl, the action causing her to lose a bit of her breath. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

Pearl presses two of her fingers right between Violet’s exposed breasts and starts slowly tracing them down her chest and abdomen, her leisurely pace nearly torturous and making Violet’s gut twist and her whole body tense and shiver in anticipation and excitement. She’s still hazy from sleep, soft and a little powerless, ardent and almost shapeable under Pearl’s touch, needing her to set the tempo and do whatever she pleases, and Pearl seems to be in the matching mood, wanting to take control and have Violet her way, dominant in such a tender, disarming fashion. She reaches Violet’s panties, twiddles with the waistband, slipping her index finger under it and swiping across the skin there, and Violet involuntarily bucks her hips into the impact, a whimper escaping her as Pearl retaliates and puts her palm on Violet’s pelvis instead, swiftly drawing her back closer.

“Baby…” she mutters, scolding, teasing, perhaps a tiny bit breathless.

“Please,” Violet utters instantly, not caring about how desperate the thickness of her voice sounds.

Pearl’s lips are back on Violet’s skin immediately, kisses being peppered in a neat string from behind her ear all the way to the crook of her neck. She simultaneously forces her foot between Violet’s ankles, and gradually pries Violet’s legs open with her own, fitting her full thigh high enough to be lightly brushing against Violet’s pussy. She starts sucking a mark on top of Violet’s shoulder, and moves her hand and places it on the back of Violet’s own, fingers feathering over the knuckles before interlacing with hers.

As Pearl begins to drag their joined hands lower, Violet squeezes her eyes shut and exhales in shattering pants, wanting to squirm, to rock her hips to try and get some friction against Pearl’s thigh, but also immobilised, unable to recall how to use her muscles, her lust rendering her boneless and completely pliant. Pearl detaches her mouth from Violet’s skin, leaving the spot hot and throbbing in her wake, and lifts her face to nose Violet’s curls, her deep and heavy breath tickling the nape of Violet’s neck. She guides their hands all the way down and stops right above Violet’s panties again, her fingers still securely clasped over Violet’s, and Violet senses how prominently her muscles tense under her palm as Pearl stalls deliberately.

There’s a moment of stillness, the only sounds disturbing the almost perfect silence — the rhythmic drumming of the rain and the occasional thundering that feels like it rolls over the area in huge waves, as well as their noticeably laboured breathing. Violet’s wound up, thinks she might snap any second now, loves how charged all of this is, utterly enjoys the way Pearl is torturing her and the ache in her core from too much tension without any relief.

After the longest while, Pearl nuzzles her faze closer and presses her lips behind Violet’s ear, and that’s what finally sends Violet right over the edge.

“Daddy,” she whines, so fucking needy and desperate that there’s no mistaking it.

Pearl must lose some of her composure with that, because she curses lowly and screws her knee, thus working Violet’s legs farther apart. With determination, she pushes their hands into Violet’s panties, and Violet produces a surprised Oh, her eyes flying open, not having had realised Pearl was planning something like this, but promptly relaxing her wrist to allow Pearl full control of the situation and her body, relishing in the way surrendering to Pearl turns her on so much.

Without delay, Pearl presses their fingers between Violet’s lips, and Violet hisses as she senses her own wet heat, nearly burning against her skin. She’s slightly mortified by the ease with which Pearl reduces her to this state, by the fact Pearl can feel it just as well, by the way the humiliation only stirs her on.

“God, Vi, dripping already,” Pearl rasps, her fingers twitching like she can’t contain it. “Slutty little thing.”

Violet whimpers and squirms, too overwhelmed and consumed by all the sensations, all the softness and intensity of their position to produce anything intelligible, limbs too heavy to try and speed the things up, to do anything except give up and let go. Pearl aligns their fingers so that hers are lying primly along Violet’s, and. with another kiss pressed to the side of Violet’s neck, thrusts her wrist to rub the digits against Violet’s aching clit.

[shutupandshipit]

Magic in the Blood - Ch.5

Summary: “You used magic on me,” Neil said, mildly accusing. He opened his eyes, staring into the glowing honey gold of Andrew’s eyes.

“Don’t I always?”

Instead of answering, Neil asked, “Yes or no?” because his hands were aching to run along Andrew’s skin, up his toned thighs, to tug him down over him. …..

Or where everything is the same, but magic exists. The school year is over, there’s no more practices until mid-summer and for the first time, Neil can spend his time the way he wants. Without suppressants muddling his system and Andrew sober, they’ve got magical and logistical issues to work through.

And then there’s the new Foxes when they show which is a whole other magical nightmare of itself.

Pairing: Andreil

Rating: T

Previous <- Chapter 4

Chapter 6 -> Next

Chapter 5: New York City, New York Part 1

Andrew:

“Neil!” Matt called, engulfing Neil in a crushing hug as he flung the massive front door to his mother's house open.

They were standing in front of a brick-faced townhouse, the street lined with maples and family friendly cars. Andrew, Neil and the Maserati were the most out of place things on the street. He preferred not to fit in in a place like that, where perfect little families hid all of their bruises and blood behind closed doors. Nobody was perfect, and he hated the facade neighborhoods like that put on. That wasn't his kind of neighborhood, and they weren't his kind of people either.

Standing back and away from the bear of a man, Andrew listened as Neil's spine popped in protest.

Matt and Dan also stood out glaringly on the steps, decked out in Palmetto orange t-shirts that made him want to gag just a little. “Neil, Andrew, hi.” Dan stepped around Matt, smiling widely at Andrew. Once Matt had released Neil, she took her turn wrapping him in her arms, though more restrained than her boyfriend.

They didn't even look at Andrew as if they were going to greet him in the same way, keeping their distance as usual which was fine by him. “Hey, Andrew,” Matt said, nodding at him.

He didn't reply, standing on the last step, far enough away that the magic leaking out of Matt and Dan's pores didn't aggravate his own. After coming off his drugs at the beginning of the year and becoming intimate with Neil, his magic's immediate reaction to others' magic had calmed, only prickling instead of outright repelling them.

They'd been away from the team for nearly a week now, and he wasn't keen on finding out if his magic had reverted back to its original ways.

Dan and Matt's magics were leaking from all of their crevices, too much magic in too little space. That was a clear sign that they'd just had sex, and Andrew wished he'd never realized the he could figure out a person's sex life from their magic alone.

He didn't know if it had to do with his healing magic or protection magic or some random recessive family gene for love magic, but he could tell everything about a person's sex life from their magic, let along too much about the actual person themselves. He could tell everything from how often they had sex to whether they enjoyed it to who they were having sex with. Nobody really ever thought about it, but a person's magic told everything about them if it was paid attention to.

Which was information Andrew neither needed nor wanted. He didn't care about anyone, but the people that were important to him.

Dan grinned. “As talkative as ever, I see,” she commented over Neil's shoulder. Not unhappily and not at all surprised. “I know it's only been a week, but it's good to see you guys. You look relaxed. Matt said you went camping?”

Neil nodded, extracting himself from Dan's arms. “Taconic State Park.”

“You cut your stay a little short,” Matt said, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing between them, “Weren't you planning on staying out there for like a week? Longer?”

Neil glanced at Andrew. “We just got bored.”

Andrew cut his eyes sharply at Neil. “We were never planning on staying out there for a week.”

Conceding, Neil shrugged. “Like I said, until we got bored. That was long enough, and we both need a shower.”

Dan wrinkled her nose around a smile. “You smell like it.”

“And you two smell like sex. We all need a shower,” Andrew snapped.

Neil dropped his hands on his hips. “You're being a lot for someone who just barreled down the highway at a hundred miles an hour and avoided several police cars. I'm still baffled by how.”

Andrew cut his eyes to Neil. “That's a big word for you.”

“I'll show you a big word.”

“How about-”

Matt cut in, cheeks burning red as he cleared his throat. “I'll show you to your room. Then we can get dinner and chat. Unless you two are tired and would rather sleep.”

“Dinner's good,” Neil decided for them, narrowing his eyes at Andrew before he could open his mouth, “Is your mom going to eat with us?”

Matt shook his head. “She's prelims for a tournament for her protege today, but she already set aside time for dinner tomorrow.”

“Okay. Cool.”

'Not cool,' Andrew though, but he wasn't going to say that. Matt's mother's magic was minor, just a tad of strength magic that made her a terror in the ring. Strength magic was an overbearing, pushy kind of magic that made him nauseous to be around. Manipulation, a creeping, sickly magic, was worse. Whether he was born that way or had learned to be that way, he didn't know, but he couldn't stand the feel of them against his skin. He was lucky that Matt's magic didn't do the same.

Matt and Dan led the way inside and immediately up a set of stairs. The house was all white walls and dark wood furniture and soaring ceilings.

“The guest room had a connected bathroom. Mom said she left towels and some other stuff in there,” Matt said as they stopped in front of a black wood door with 'Guest' written in red across the paint. “We'll be downstairs when you're done.”

Andrew pushed into the room before they were done talking, dropping his supplies bag on the left side of the bed before disappearing into the bathroom. He wanted to wash off the accumulated days of sweat and dirt off him, but stopped in the middle of the bathroom. He kept himself from laughing as Neil closed the door. When he heard the clock of the lock though, he let out several hysterical huffs of breath.

Neil frowned as he walked in. “What are you-” Red climbed up his neck and face, his magic going spiky with embarrassment. “What does Matt's mom think we're doing while we're here?” he asked, staring at the wicker basket with a box of unopened condoms, lube, massage oils and several other items. The basket boasted a giant orange and white bow, and a note that they both ignored.

“Each other, evidently,” Andrew said, trying to compose himself, but failing as he lifted the lube, “At least she sprung for the good shit.” Despite his mirth, his magic was beginning to huddle close in his chest, tightening and shrinking as it used to when confronted with a bad situation he couldn't escapse. His body was growing cold.

That... that type of intimacy... The thought of it made him sick to his stomach. He trembled, throat constricting. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to be that intimate with Neil, even if he were topping.

Neil's presence wasn't calming in that moment.

Nausea curled in his stomach, bile rising up his throat.

Neil pulled the bottle from his hand without comment, setting it back in the basket and sliding it into the cabinet and out of sight. “Well, that seems a little presumptuous,” he said, but his tone asked, 'Are you okay?'

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, but his tone said, 'No.'

Neil nodded, taking a step back from him, giving him more space. “Shower alone or together?”

“Alone.”

“I'll be napping.” Turning, Neil left. He didn't ask. He didn't make a comment. He simply understood, and took his leave.

Andrew would never stop being grateful for everything Neil did for him, but one day he might just find a way to thank him.

…..

Neil:

Neil was lying in bed when Andrew opened the bathroom door, but despite being completely awake, he listened to Andrew move around the room without opening his eyes. There was the zipping of a backpack, shuffling feet, and then the bed dipping with his weight.

Andrew's warm clean scent enveloped Neil as he dropped down beside him, as close to Neil as possible without actually touching him.

Neil had to wonder if Andrew was forcing himself to be close or if he'd actually calmed down.

Neil turned his head to the side and opened his eyes to look at Andrew's half lidded eyes and half hidden mouth. Andrew's hand was curled in a fist close to his chest, and Neil held out his hand, palm up.

Andrew dropped a heavy chunk of tumbled rose quartz and a small one of snowflake obsidian into his hand. Natural moon magic radiated from the stones, tickling his palm.

Neil glanced at his hand, and back up to Andrew. “I don't know what this means,” he told Andrew truthfully. He'd never needed an apparatus to channel or mediate his magic. He'd been taught to only need his deities, and even then, that he shouldn't rely on them. Unfortunately, that left a gap in his understanding when it came to Andrew's craft. He could recognize some of the stones Andrew used, but didn't know what they were for.

Andrew covered Neil's hand with his, trailing his fingers over Neil's wrist. “Snowflake obsidian for balancing, to break certain thinking and stress patterns. Rose quartz for clearing out negative emotions and...” He trailed off, closing his eyes.

“Self-love,” Neil provided because he at least knew that, “You look tired.”

Andrew didn't respond.

“Do you need to talk to Bee?”

“No. I just need you. Just... don't move. Don't touch me.”

Neil smiled gently, warmth burning in his chest. “You're already touching me.”

“I know.”

Neil closed his eyes again. He could feel Andrew's eyes on him, but he could only feel the vague outline of his magic hidden away in his chest. He was already drifting off again, exhausted from the drive and letting his magic go so freely over the past few days and sheer amount of contentment at just existing with Andrew. “They're going to wonder where we are,” he mumbled on the very edge of sleep.

“Let them wonder. They can wait.”

Neil would have liked to protest, but he was too comfortable to want to ruin the moment. “Okay.”

…..

Andrew:

Andrew watched Neil sleep for nearly two hours. His hair was drying and he knew it'd be sticking up all over his head, but he didn't want to move and wake Neil. At the slightest movement, Neil would wake up again, but he looked peaceful when he slept. It was the only time he looked peaceful, truly relaxed.

In the end, he wasn't the one to wake Neil. On the bedside table, his phone vibrated several times in a row.

Neil opened his eyes immediately, his fingers twitching beneath Andrew's. He yawned, sitting up and pushing a hand through his hair. “What time is it?” he mumbled even as he reached for his phone. He was silent as his eyes flicked across the screen.

“Who is it?”

“Matt and Dan wondering where we are or if they should just get dinner on their own.” Neil ran a hand down his face, but even as he considered, their stomachs growled simultaneously. Laughing, he said, “I'll let them know we're coming down, but you should brush your hair first.” Neil held his hand up, fingers spread, at the side of his head. “You look like a rooster.

Sitting up beside him, still palm to still palm, Andrew carded his fingers through his hair. “It's because I'm a cock.”

“Jesus- Let's go downstairs.”

Dan and Matt were waiting for them in the huge living room, a game of War abandoned between them. “Finally,” Dan groaned, standing and stretching, “I thought you two were fucking or something, but it was so quiet. What the hell were you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Neil said, following them out the door. He kept his distance from Andrew, letting him gravitate as he saw fit, magic reaching out tentatively, but never touching him. “Hey, do you know any good gelato places in the city?”

…..

Neil:

Dinner went by quickly as they stuffed as many slices of pizza in their mouths as possible before the restaurant closed.

“I bet you can't eat more slices than Dan,” Andrew said offhandedly when their questions started getting a little too personal. He knew Andrew was stirring the pot only to shut them up, but he hadn't really wanted to answer questions either.

It worked better than Neil that it should have. Dan and Matt took up Andrew's challenge readily, and Neil spent the rest of dinner keeping track of their battle. Dan won by a two slice margin, and Matt spent the rest of the walk back groaning and burping.

The upside?

They didn't have any leftovers to bring back out of two large pizzas.

“Thanks for the food,” Neil said, stopping outside the door to the guest room, “And for the room.”

“No problem,” Matt grinned widely.

Dan stepped into his space, hugging Neil close and pressing a kiss to his cheek. That was the first time she had ever done that, and Neil was shocked into silence. “It's great to have you here. Tomorrow, Matt and I are going to help his mom with the tournament set-up so you'll have all day to yourselves. Don't spend the entire time in bed.” Ignoring how stock still he was, she winked and stepped back.

Shaking himself, Neil smiled. He did that a lot now, he'd noticed. Smiled. Smiled genuinely, not just to gain someone's trust. He felt like he hadn't had to fake a smile in years, but knew it had only been a few months. It always caught him off guard. “Don't worry about that. We're going gelato hunting tomorrow.”

Dan laughed.

Matt joined her, saying, “You don't like sweets.”

“And he knows it. Goodnight.”

They waved, turning towards their own door. “Night, Neil.”

Neil slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. Andrew was already tucked in beneath the covers. He flipped idly through his grimoire, ignoring Neil. “What are you looking up?” he asked despite that as he detoured into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a quick shower.

When he climbed in next to Andrew, he stared at him. “Stones,” Andrew answered.

Neil glanced at the open page, seeing his name above Nicky's, Aaron's, Kevin's and the rest of the team followed by different crystals. He turned his eyes back to Andrew before he could really internalize anything. “We should go to bed.”

Andrew clicked his pen in answer, closing it in his grimoire and setting it aside. They shut off the lights and tucked in.

…..

“We're going to get diabetes,” Neil said, staring at the table in mild disgust, “Or more, you are.”

Andrew looked at him, and said straight-faced, “I'll die happy then.”

“You have like six scoops in front of you.”

“Seven. And I repeat, I'll die happy.”

“Christ- you're the absolute most sometimes. A drama queen.” Neil nursed a cup of coffee as he watched, staring at the utter riot of sugar in front of Andrew. To be fair, the cups were small children sizes, but that didn't help the fact that there was seven. “Are you even going to be able to try any other flavors at the next stop? Why didn't you just try the tasters they offered?”

“This is better.”

Neil grimaced. “I don't think it is. And my question still stands.”

“Yes, I'll be able to try more.”

“I don't believe you.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Are you betting against me?”

Neil stared at him for a second, and shrugged. “Yeah, I am. I honestly don't think you're going to make it to the fifth spot.”

“You clearly don't know me that well.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “I know you well enough.” He took a sip from his cup before asking, “What do I get if I win?”

“Not getting a knife to the face?”

“That's not a a fair prize. It's not fun.”

Andrew's jaw worked before he answered. “What do you want?”

“Teach me how to use magic like you do.”

Andrew snorted. “You could never learn that.”

Neil grinned. “That's what I want as my prize.”

“Fine.” Andrew dipped into the first cup, and his face immediately twisted at the flavor. Shoving the spoon back in the cup, he pushed it towards Neil before grabbing for another. “Eat that. It's disgusting.”

Neil sighed, pulling the up closer. “What is it?”

“Black licorice.”

He frowned up at Andrew. “You hate black licorice. Why did you get it? Didn't the card list it as the flavor?”

“It just said anise.”

Neil couldn't stop himself from laughing, hand pressed over his mouth as his shoulder shook silently. He pressed his lips into a thin line, trying not to grin. “Andrew, anise tastes like black licorice.”

Andrew's eyes jumped up from cup. “What?”

“That's it. Anise tastes like black licorice.”

“Fuck you.”

Every head in the parlor turned towards them, but Neil couldn't help his laughter. “I didn't so it!”

…..

They moved from gelato parlor to gelato parlor, walking for blocks and enjoying the sights. It's only two when they reach the fifth spot, Neil sighing out his defeat, and three when they reach the seventh.

The street are full of people, congested in a way Neil had never realized a place could be. Portland had been bad, but nothing compared to the streets of New York, and Neil found himself wordlessly slipping beneath stoops of apartment building and into empty alleys and little novelty shops along their routes to catch his breath. Andrew always followed him without question.

Still, he enjoyed the architecture, people watching, eavesdropping and petting the dogs that jumped in him. It was the only time he wished he had a phone with a camera, or a camera in general. To document the memories that he was making.

“I don't even know how you're still walking,” Neil said though he was smiling. They were standing close, backs of their hands brushing as Andrew considered the selection. “This was the last one on the list, right?”

“Sheer force of will,” Andrew told him without answering his actual question, and trailed a finger over the outside of the case above the cards with pretty cursive. He stopped at 'Cioccolato All' Azteca', a spiced hot chocolate flavor that they hadn't seen in the other shops.

He ordered before turning to Neil. “Yes, this is the last one,” he said and held out a hand.

After a night and morning of restraining himself from touching Andrew in any way, Neil immediately slotted their fingers together. They weren't much for holding his hands, but he was happy for any contact at all. He waited until Andrew had his cone in hand and they were out on the street again before continuing their conversation. “We've been out all day. You think Matt and Dan are back yet and wondering where we are?”

“Maybe. Probably not.”

After a moment, Neil opened his mouth and started to turn to ask a question when a burst of laughter fell from his mouth.

The end of Andrew's cone was sticking out of his mouth, the scoop and top of the cone completely encased in his mouth. He flicked his eyes towards Neil, raising an eyebrow and trying to mumbled around the cone.

Neil could see the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing?” he gasped through his laughter, hand covering his mouth as tears built along his lashes. “What are you doing?”

Andrew's response was a muffled, garbled mess, and the tip of the cone bobbed up and down as he attempted to talk around the intrusion.

“Stop!”

Andrew only continued, using Neil's hand to pull him closer, the cone tip just inches away from his face.

For a moment, Neil forgot that Andrew liked everyone else in the world could be funny at times, and he was caught off guard. He was nearly sent into hysterics from laughing so hard. He couldn't stop laughing.

Eyesight blurry with tears, he didn't notice Dan and Matt standing at a bus stop watching the entire debacle go down.

“Gods, stop! Eat like a normal person.”

Andrew shook his head before biting through the waffle shell and sucked the tip into his mouth. The sound Neil made was inhuman, and only made Andrew smirk.

“You're the devil.”

Still chewing, Andrew began to open his mouth and Neil covered his mouth with his hand. “You're disgusting.”

When Andrew finally swallowed, he pulled Neil's hand away only to pull him down into a kiss. They kissed for several long moments, fierce and then soft and then fierce again, ignoring the whistling and catcalling from passersby.

Andrew's mouth tasted like chocolate instead of cigarettes this time, and Neil never realized how much he enjoyed the taste of chocolate until that moment.

They pulled apart after a moment, and Dan and Matt took their chance to make their presence known. Walking towards them, Matt called too loudly, “Hey, Dan, isn't that Neil and Andrew? Hey, guys!” and Neil's face went hot with embarrassment.

[forlornmelody]

Kord Center Mall: Rose Takes Bart to a Rave

Rating: Explicit (there’s smut, and drug use, and lots of swearing)

Fandom(s): Mass Effect, DC Comics

Ship: JayRose (Jason Todd/Rose Wilson)

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: Even the best-made plans go sideways, sometimes.In which Rose plans to have a good time with her NOT boyfriend, but ends up watching over the most annoying and most adorable kid working at Kord Center Mall.

Note: This is a cross over, mall-verse AU concocted by @scifi-ginger and myself. You’ve been warned.

-*-*-

Rose Wilson has three stops she makes on her hour-long lunch break. How she managed to get an hour instead of 30 minutes like most part-timers, no one seems to know. Her desk partner, Cassandra Sandsmark--regular employee of the month and all-around wonder girl, has definitely noticed, and she protests every time Rose leaves. Their manager likes Rose, so he never says anything. Or maybe he’s terrified of her dad like everyone else. Getting into his scheduling software is easy enough, especially since he has the password on a sticky note behind his monitor. It’s not Rose’s fault if he doesn’t bother to memorize it.

First she goes to Joey’s counter at MAC. For someone who’d rather sign than talk, Joey sure sells a lot of beauty products. It’s probably the way he smiles at his customers, giving them bedroom eyes regardless of their gender. When Rose spots him, he’s chatting up some twink who has trouble standing still. Joey lays a steadying hand on his shoulder, applying the liquid eye liner like he’s still in art school. He waves at Rose when he’s done with the makeover, walking the guy over to the counter to what’s surely going to be a big sale. When the customer signs his receipt, he also jots down his number. Taking the receipt, Joey nods at the guy, then at Rose.

“Oh! Sorry. Didn’t realize you’d been waiting.” The twink stumbles out of the store, leaving Joey and Rose alone at the counter.

Joey punches the guy’s number into his phone and Rose rolls her eyes. Her brother sets his phone down, and his hands flurry into signs. “What? Was it something I said?”

Rose leans across the counter, so his co-worker can’t hear her talk. “Really? Are you going to seduce every single person who comes in here?”

Waving his hand dismissively, Joey snorts. “He was cute.”

“You say that about everyone, Joey. And I won’t let you tarnish my reputation as the skankiest Wilson.”

Leaning back towards her with a wicked gleam in his eye, Joey slaps his hand on the counter. “I’m pretty sure Pop has us both beat there.”

“Gross.” Rose starts to walk out, but her phone pings. 

I still want Vega’s number.

Rose turns back to face him, grinning widely as she moonwalks out the store. “Fucking a personal trainer won’t get you a free membership!” She calls out.

Joey’s hands move so big Rose is convinced the department store across the hall can see. “But it will get me some exercise!”

 Shaking her head, Rose moves on to the crystal shop three doors down. Rachel, or Raven, as most call her, is busy ringing someone up, so Rose peruses the tea selection. She isn’t really sure what to make of the supernatural or the paranormal, to be honest, but she humors her friend--getting palm and tarot readings from her so Raven can practice. Every so often she’ll even join her meditation sessions, though Rose has the worst time sitting still. Her latest mantra is “I’d rather be punching a bag” over and over until Raven shoves her away.

Ignoring the names of the teas, Rose takes her time sniffing each jar for the one’s that’ll taste best. She picks one up that smells like almost nothing. What’s the fucking poi--

“I don’t think you need anything for erectile dysfunction.” Raven drawls from behind her. “If you do, we really need to talk.”

“Jesus.” Rose jumps a little, slamming the lid back down. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Are you actually going to buy something, or are you just here to fuck off?” Raven folds her arms, eyeing Rose with a smirk. 

“What’s a good compliment to some dank weed?” Rose leans back against the shelves, jostling several jars in her wake.

Raven scoffs, but digs out a couple jars, pushing Rose out of the way. “What does Joey think about you partying with the mall’s resident bad boys?”

“And girl.” Rose holds up a finger like a kindergarten teacher. “Don’t forget the girl.” As if anyone could forget Jack Nought. With her mohawk and tats, she looks like she walked off the set of Mad Max. Maybe she did. Jack can do whatever the fuck she wants. “And Joey trusts me to take care of myself.” She pokes Raven in the nose. “Unlike some people.”

“Har har.” Raven waves her off like a fly. “And your dad?” Her voice lightens, and her eyebrows knit together, all airs of indifference falling away. She moves behind the counter, measuring and weighing the ounces of tea, only to toss the generous amounts in the bags anyway. Samara lets Raven do what she wants, too. They should start a club.

“He can go fuck himself.” 

“You know, I have an extra room available if you--”

“Don’t.” Rose eyes the register to see what total Raven rang up, and slams extra down on the counter.

“Fine.” Raven starts to count out her change. Rose leaves before she can put it in her hands. Good thing she was already on her way to the punk store.

Jack is chewing and blowing bubblegum when Rose walks in. “Hey fucker,” she calls out affectionately.

“Fuck you too, Jack.” Rose circles the counter, squeezing Jack’s butt in her usual greeting--her eyes searching the merchandise.

“Looking for Jason?” Jack slaps her ass in reply. He’s running inventory in the back.”

“No, your other boy toy.” Rose quips as she heads towards the backdoor. She’s not allowed back there, but she’s on good terms with the management team.

Jason is waist deep in open boxes when she finds him. “Hey asshole,” she says to his back as he studies his clipboard. 

“Jesus.” Jason slips and falls back against one stack of merchandise. His clipboard goes flying. Peanuts rain down on their heads. “Hey bastard.”

Rose picks the peanuts from her hair, squishing one between her fingers. “Excuse me? You’re the one who’s adopted.”

Jason pulls her down with him. “You’re the one who disowned her dad.” 

Plastic bags squeak underneath their feet as she settles down next to him. “He deserved it.” Next to Jason isn’t close enough. Rose crawls into his lap.

“Rose, I’m a little--”

“Busy?” Her breath ghosts across his lips. “Not busy enough.” His body always feels so warm beneath her hands.

Jason’s lips part, and his hand wanders back and forth across the top of her shoulder, like he can’t decide between pushing her away and pulling her closer. “Jack will kill us if she finds us goofing off.”

“Since when do you care about the rules?” She kisses him once, long and slow, one hand scratching the back of his neck. “And she won’t kill me. I’m on break.” 

Jason swears. “I’m already behind today.”

“Does that mean yes?”

“You asked?” He kisses her this time, pulling her tight against him. They fit together like puzzle pieces. 

Rose trails her other hand down his side, sliding it between them. She drinks in his groan, sliding her tongue into his mouth, and her hand into his hoodie pocket. 

Jason seizes her wrist, pulling away from her mouth. His breath comes out ragged. “Really?”

Sitting back, she pouts. “Empty? Nothing? Nada? Zilch?”

“I’m working.”

“Not even one joint? You disappoint me, Todd.”

“I’m not going to get arrested at work, Wilson.”

“At least tell me there’s a party this weekend.” Rose traces the lines of Jason’s jaw. She could do it all day. It’s not her fault he’s so easy on the eyes. 

Jason leans back against the boxes, pulling Rose with him. “Mm. I think there’s a rave.”

Grinning slowly, Rose braces her hands on either side of his head, letting her hair drape around their faces. “Please tell me we’re going.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get a group together.” He slides her hoodie’s zipper down. “Get a couple cars going.” His eyebrows scrunch together as he grins up at her. “Shouldn’t you be thinking about right now?”

“Depends.” Her hand slides underneath his hoodie and his shirt, shivering at the way his skin jumps. It should be illegal for someone to be this perfect. “Is it going to be more fun than this weekend?”

Jason rolls them over, pushing her shirt up. “Depends.” He lavishes her middle with kisses. “On.” A breath. “Where your head's at.”

If anything, Rose doesn’t like where her thoughts are headed. It’s all too easy to imagine dinner dates and long walks on the beach, or whatever it is couples do. So, she plays with the hair on the back of Jason’s head as he makes his way lower and lower. No matter what happens, no one can take this moment from them--from her. Maybe Jason’s right. 

“Rose?” Jason’s hands let go of her jeans, and he’s watching her. Shit.  

Shaking it off, Rose pulls him back to her. “C’mere.” Her lips crash into his, biting his bottom lip until he hisses into her mouth. “You’re short on time, right?” She slides her hand down, unbuttoning his jeans.

It’s a bold face lie and they both know it. “Yeah.” Jason gulps, sliding his hand inside her jeans. He pauses at what he finds or doesn’t find there. “Rose?”

“Shhh.” She shoves her jeans down, guiding his fingers. “It won’t take long, I promise.”  Rose grins against his lips. “Especially with you.” 

Jason’s kiss is a little too tender, his touch a little too reassuring, so Rose goes in hard. Her lips crash into his and she bites his bottom lip. As he moans into her mouth, she yanks his jeans out of her way, feeling along his length. 

“Mm.” Rose tugs his ear lobe between her teeth, shivering at his sharp breath in her hair. “You are all I need right now. Just you.” 

“Fuck, Rose.” Jason rocks into her hand, gripping her shoulders hard. “I need you, too.” He just manages to get beneath her underwear again, snickering between moans. “That’s more like it.” 

“Nng.” Rose leans her head against Jason’s shoulder as his knuckle digs against her clit. It slips a little against her soaked skin. This is what she needs. “Just like that.” Panting, she bites his neck where it meets his shoulder. 

Jason shakes, shakes under her touch. “Rose--” Her name isn’t a question this time. It’s a plea. 

Rose snickers. “You want me?” Fuck, the way he whimpers as she shoves his underwear down. “You need me?”

“Rose, please.” Jason kisses her hungrily, fumbling as he pulls her underwear past her hips. 

Swallowing hard, Rose digs through his pockets until she finds what she’s looking for. There. She grins, holding up the condom where Jason can see. He nods, and she slides it on him. Together they slide him inside her, and together they are a mess of limbs and teeth. 

“Oh, fuck.” Rose whimpers, falling back against one of the stacks. It’s a little soon and a little rough, but it’s exactly what she needs right now. “Fuck, yes.”

“Y-yeah.” Jason drives into her, gripping her hips so tight she’ll have bruises later. He bites her neck, marking her in kind. Oh fuck, the boxes are going to fall over. 

Moaning into his ear, she slides her fingers beneath his shirt, skimming her nails down his back.

“Rose,” he gasps. Now it’s a statement. A warning.  

“Jason, I need--” Rose whimpers. She’s so close. 

“Shh.” He catches her lips, taking her hand and putting it between them. 

Rose circles her clit quickly, closing her eyes as Jason pulses inside her. His fingers slide over hers, and he pants into her neck as her world tilts on tilts on its axis. 

Seconds, minutes, hours? Later she turns her head and finds him lying next to her, and they snicker together. Rose pushes a sweaty lock of hair out of his eyes. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to work after that?” Jason traces her bottom lip with his finger. 

“There’s a Starbucks across the hall.” Ah fuck. There’s that feeling again. Rose kisses his finger once, then sits up, grabbing her clothes and throwing them on. “What time on Saturday?”

Jason blinks up at her, pushing himself off the floor. “....Eight, I guess? It’s out of town.”

Rose snatches one last kiss from his lips. “See you then, asshole.”

“Catch you later, bastard.”

_____________________

 Fuck him. Fuck Jason Todd. Fuck his entire fucking family. Rose stares down at her phone, the bass of the warehouse thumping even from across the field-turned parking lot. 

“What’s wrong?” Bart leans over her shoulder, reading Jason’s text message. 

Stuck at Bruce’s party. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise. 

Rose swats him away. “He fucking bailed.” 

Jack and Roy had already gone inside. They wouldn’t be able to find them til sunrise. And Jason wasn’t coming. That just left her and Bart “I can’t shut up” Allen. Two hours in the backseat doing her best to ignore him. Oo! What music are you listening to? Can I share? Lemme make you a playlist. Do you like Kesha? I LOVE KESHA. Rose didn’t even need to respond. He’d just keep talking. 

“Jason bailed? What happened? Was it one of those Wayne Manor parties? Maybe we should go there.”

“It’s two hours away and we’re not invited, dumbass.” Rose made her way to the door. “You got your ID?”

“Well. Oh! You mean that ID.” Bart waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah. Tim made me one.” He pulled it out, waving it in front of her face.

“Gimme that.” Rose eyed it. “No way you’re passing for thirty.” She shoved it in her pocket. 

“But how am I going to get inside?” He trailed after her.

“Lemme worry about that.” Rose spun around, and Bart ran into her. “But you need to let me do the talking. Kay?”

“Kay.”

“How’d you get invited, anyway?” Rose stomped toward the doors, doing her best to put on a winning smile. She needed something good, stat. 

“Oh! Tim invited me. But he had to go to Bruce’s party too.”

“So I get to babysit you instead. Fucking fantastic.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Jason flaked.”

Rose stopped, glaring at him. “I was supposed to get high and laid tonight. But no. I get stuck with you.”

Bart flushed as red as his hair. “I mean. You still c-can. I won’t stop y-you.” 

“Wally would turn me into a statue and put me in a museum, so no. That’s not happening.” The Wayne boys owed her big time. 

“ID’s?” The bouncer shined a flash night near their faces, eyeing them. 

Rose pressed her ID into the guys hand, biting her grin. “Hey there.” 

The bouncer smirked. “Who’s the kid?”

“Oh, him? He’d just here to drive us home. Just got his license, right Bart?” Rose giggled. “Hey, you busy later, or--?” She swiped the sharpie from his pocket, scribbling a phone number on his arm. 

“Have fun. But keep him out of trouble.”

Rose threw him a mock salute, shoving Bart inside before the bouncer could change his mind. “Whew. Okay. Just promise me you won’t do anything--”

“Oo. What’s this?”

Turning around, Rose caught Bart popping a brightly colored pill into his mouth. “Bart, no!” Shit shit shit. She grabbed his wrist.

Bart’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Too late.”

“You don’t know what’s in that!” Fuck. Wally was going to kill her. 

“I’ll be fiiine. You worry too much. Let’s dance!” Bart tugs her to the middle of the room, oblivious to the strangers he’s running into. Yup. If Wally doesn’t kill her first, Bart is first on her shit list.

At least the music’s nice--loud and thrumming through her entire body. She would almost enjoy it, if it weren’t for the looming feeling of shit about to hit the fan. It’s one thing if Rose gets high and gets sick and wakes up in the ER--Bart’s just a kid.

 After a few songs, Rose starts to think maybe Bart just found some candy and is just messing around to piss her off. 

Then he steps inside her bubble. She can’t hear what he’s saying, so Bart yells in her ear. “You’re really pretty.”

Fucking fantastic. “And you’re high. Fuck off.”

Bart moves back, only to dive in closer, tripping over Rose’s feet. “This stuff is great. I can see why you wanted it. I can fly.” He scrunches his nose. “No. I could run. Run right across the ocean something.”

That’s a mental image that will haunt her later. “You’re not even close, kid.” It’s then Bart decides to grind up against some dude twice his age. It’s then Rose decides to steer him outside.

“Ro-ose.” 

“Shove it, Bart. We can still hear it out here.” 

“Oo. It’s so nice and cold out here. You’re right.” Rose has to peel herself out of his hug. He only hugs her again, spinning them around. “You’re the best.”

“And you’re still high.” How long does that shit last, anyway? Time drags on so much longer when she’s sober. 

“Noooo. I mean it.” Bart pokes her nose. “You’re watching out for me. You’re like my big sister.”

“Your big sister that will kill you if Wally doesn’t get to you first.”

Bart stares at her jacket, running his finger along stitching on her sleeve. 

“You okay?” Rose has no idea how it’s possible, but quiet Bart is worse than talkative Bart. 

“You got any gum?” Bart doesn’t wait for her answer, digging through her pockets until he finds some. He then unwraps the rest of her back before shoving it in his mouth.

“Yeah, sure. Have some gum.” It’s going to be a long night--Rose can tell.

“Got any water?” Bart fiddles with the zipper on her pocket. “I’m so thirsty. Do you get thirsty on this stuff?”

Rose groans, dragging him back inside. “Let’s find you some gatorade.”

------

Hours, maybe centuries later, Bart sits with Rose outside, snuggled up to her as close as he can get. Her tiny leather jacket doesn’t really work as a blanket for them both, but it’ll have to do. “Still cold?” She asks. 

Bart’s voice is muffled against her collarbone. “Yeah. But it’s better.” 

Rose rests her chin on top of his head, rubbing her head down his back. She’ll probably never know what having a little brother feels like, but this will do. Damnit. Bart might be the stupidest little fuck, but he’s her stupid little fuck and she will fucking murder anyone who hurts him. Her knuckles will have bruises by morning, but she’ll feel better than the creep with the freshy broken nose.

“Rose?” Bart sighs, and Rose feels him tremble.

“Yeah?”

“You ever like someone who didn’t like you back?”

Rose chews her lip, remembering Dick and his impossibly blue eyes, and his stupid grin. How she’d move the world for him and he’d still just pat her on the head like she was his kid sister. Bart didn’t need to know about that. “Yeah.” The whole world didn’t need to know it either.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Bart breathes in like there’s ice in his lungs. 

“Fuck, Bart. What did you take?” Rose tilts his chin up, studying his face, as if that will give her a good answer. It won’t.

“No. I mean. When you lo--like someone, and they think you’re best friends. Why does it have to hurt like this?” Bart sniffs. “How do you people deal with this all the time?”

Rose stares at him. Not once has she ever seen Bart cry. Bart isn’t the kind of kid who knows how to cry--not because he’s some bro-ner clutching his man card. Sadness and Bart just don’t go together. He has one mode, only one, and that is pure joy and smiles and energy that usually makes Rose want to hurl. What the hell happened to the kid who came with her to the rave? Only when her mouth feels dry does Rose realize that her jaw fell open. She snaps it back shut. “Do you need me to kill someone?”

“What? No. No. He’s perfect. He just doesn’t like me back.” Bart shakes, vibrating through his entire body. “Of all people I could finally fall for--why’d it have to be him?”

“Him, huh?” Rose smirks, handing him yet another tissue. “Do I know this him?”

A sniff. “Yeah. I think he parties with Roy and Jason sometimes.”

“That really narrows it down.” Rose rolls her eyes.

“He’s got this great tan, and he always smells like taco seasoning.”

“So romantic.”

“And when he speaks Spanish it’s like--” Bart laughs “my brain finally stops, you know?” He stares up at the sky as if the object of his affection can be found among the constellations. “I used to think he looked kind of funny, I mean, who spends that much time on their hair? But now? I can’t stop thinking about how I want to mess up that hair. Run my fingers through it, I mean.”

“Wait. Jaime? The kid who works at Taco Bell?”

“You’re the same age as him.”

“Yeah, but the way he kisses R--never mind.” Rose coughs. “Have you told him yet?”

“Told him what?”

“Told him how you feel?”

“Jaime? No. No. I can’t.” Bart jumps out of her arms, pacing back and forth so fast he almost seemed like a blur in the low light. 

Rose smirked. “You both speak English, you both work at the same mall. There is no reason you can’t tell him you want to jump his bones.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me back? He’s my best friend Rose! What if it gets weird??”

“Then find someone else to bang?”

“I can’t.” Bart stops, biting his lip so hard it turns white. “...This isn’t so easy for me.” He scratches his scalp, his skin turning as red as his hair. “The last time I dated a friend...he didn’t feel the same way. And now it’s weird.” Bart sniffs.

Oh no. Not again. “Bart--”

“I can’t lose Jaime like that.” And there he goes. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh Bart.” Rose hugs him, patting the back of his head. He’s probably going to outgrow her in a year. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I hardly ever feel this way about anybody. I just--”

She pulls away enough to stare him in the face. “Bart. You work at Kord Square. Everyone there is queer. You have lots of friends.”

“But--”

“Bartholomew Henry Allen II, you will be fine. I promise. Let’s go hang out in the car, yeah?” Bart mutters an okay, rubbing his eyes, and Rose guides him back, a plan already forming in her mind. She can practically see the outcome. Those two love birds won’t know what hit them.