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dr-futbol-blog · 4 months ago

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The Brotherhood, Pt. 2

So, yes. We find Acastus Kolya, let's say, having finished training. Taking his frustration out on two young half-naked men. We never learn that much about him or his personal life but I am wondering whether there was in fact a reason for why he was able to recognize that there was something special between Sheppard and McKay so quickly, how he was able to use them to get to the other so expertly. And now, he's fully consumed by his need for vengeance. He wants Sheppard, and he wants McKay as a way of getting to Sheppard. And since they're not here, he can't get to them at present, he's taking it out on these two. They are stand-ins for Sheppard and McKay.

They are that symbolically, as well, helping each other to stand when the other has been knocked down. There are several scenes in this episode where we get some meta commentary on the show:

Pranos: Does it still pain you? Kolya: Leave us.

What Sheppard did to him still causes him pain. What he did to Sheppard similarly still causes him pain, only Sheppard's pain is not physical. This is very much personal to both of them by now.

Pranos: They must be getting close to it. Kolya: Do we have any idea what "it" is yet? Pranos: We know a little more.

Make a note of the relative heights of the half-naked men.

They keep referring to closeness a lot. This is a motif in the episode. Pranos even tells him that "This is the first planet we've managed to get this close to them" which is the 6th time the word is mentioned in this episode, and it's only just starting. In the previous episode, we were shown that Sheppard and McKay are comfortable being extremely close. In this episode, the concept of closeness is textualized.

While this unnecessarily erotic scene is taking place on the Genii home world, on Atlantis Zelenka is doing some repairs. Make a note of the fact that this is something that McKay should be doing. His skill-set would be much better suited for this than playing Indiana Jones but what they are doing, trying to find the ZPM, is important enough to warrant him being on the case. In addition to closeness, the concept of touching is brought up:

Chuck: I don't know what happened. It just stopped working. I got some of the functionality back. It still isn't doing everything it used to. Zelenka: Yes, well, maybe if people stop insisting on having food and liquid in such close proximity to the ten-thousand-year-old equipment… Chuck: Hey, we're very careful. We're not the problem here. Zelenka: Yes -- What did you touch?! Chuck: Nothing! I didn't touch anything!

Not only did Chuck touch the computer, he brushes his lip before touching it, basically giving it a kiss by proxy. What is that?

All of this is setting up the finale of the A-plot for the season but, at the same time, it seems to be commenting on the subtext. They are very careful, they tell us. They (the writers) are not the reason "it" isn't doing everything it used to do (inserting a male character and a female character into situations to create UST?). They mention "deep space sensors" that have been running in the background and have suddenly been foregrounded. The reason for this is the unexpected popularity of the "'ship".

With episodic television, the scripts for the first part of the season are pretty much written by the time they start filming but while there may an overall arc for the season roughly plotted, the scripts for the latter half are only finalized when the season is already underway and there is possibility for course correction e.g., following the November Sweeps that assesses viewer (and hence, advertiser) satisfaction. Often this leads to tweaks, the very least. Sometimes to jarring changes in the middle of the season when they feel that a greater course correction is needed. Anyway, professional writers like to occasionally poke fun at their own craft:

Zelenka: From what I can tell, they've been running silently in the background along with our other primary systems. Weir: In the background? Zelenka: Yes. Weir: So why the sudden leap to the foreground? Zelenka: Excellent question. Weir: We don't have an answer for that yet, do we? Zelenka: Not as of yet, no. Weir: Okay, well. Keep me in the loop. Zelenka: You are the loop. Weir: Isn't that a nice thing to say!

Weir appreciates that someone wants to keep her in the loop as Sheppard doesn't want her prying into his loops and McKay's loops are too complicated for her to follow most of the time.

Now, while it wasn't the focus of the show when it started, the dynamic between the characters of Sheppard and McKay had resulted in the kind of magic you can't really plan for, so why not lean into it? Obviously they could never go full hog because, for one, there were actual USAF consultants involved with making the show (lampshaded in the SG-1 episode Wormhole X-Treme), and they actually won several awards for a realistic depiction of the Air Force. And yet. There is this undercurrent, this definite subtext, that very much runs along the main story that a lot of people seem to have been making happen. So why the sudden leap to the foreground, why foreground these two characters on an ensemble show? Because the interaction between Sheppard and McKay is what audiences wanted to see, how ever they interpreted the nature of their relationship. Whether they watch it for the buddy comedy, the odd couple schtick, the homoerotic subtext, for what ever reason, it was worth foregrounding. If you find something that works, you make use of it. So they do.

From here on out, there are at least two alternative ways of interpreting the subtext. The storytelling is purposefully polysemic, allowing for multiple readings. We can read the subtext as implying that Sheppard wants McKay but that this desire remains unrequited because due to regulations he is never going to act on it, and you can take this reading all the way to the final episode. Given how they constructed the relationships between O'Neill and Carter, and Jackson and Vala, this is a perfectly valid way of interpreting their interaction.

The other option is that they are, and have been for a while by this time, very much fucking (or playing "the game") and due to regulations, they are required to keep this a secret. McKay has been doing civilian contracting for the military long enough to know how this works. We saw in the alternative timeline of Moebius that he understands the need to protect servicemen of alternative sexual orientations even when he has no personal stake in it, which is very Canadian of him. And because Sheppard is military, it falls on McKay to put up a performance that is not easy for him, and that does not come to him naturally. Sheppard is the one whose character and reputation has to be protected, and it falls on McKay to make sure that it gets done. But make note of the fact that they take care to keep both options for interpreting the story open. They leave just enough ambiguity to allow the audience to insert their interpretation to events.

Here, and from hereon out, I am choosing to go with the latter interpretation because at least one of the actors actually seems to have played it that way (and has explicitly said that reading the character as gay is a valid interpretation), and because unlike most network television shows of this era, this show had an actual reason for playing it out like they did. They managed to do an awful lot with what they had, and it just makes for an overall better, more interesting story. So, anyway.

Back on Dagan, we find the whole team being briefed by Allina. Sheppard is seated at the table, and McKay is standing behind him; had apparently been reading some ancient document just standing up there like Sheppard's personal body guard or guardian like that's a normal thing to do. Also, his body isn't angled toward her or where she had been like he was just expecting her to return, it's angled toward Sheppard. Here, in the beginning, Sheppard is between McKay and this woman with the whole table between them.

The dialogue is interesting. She gives some more exposition, to which McKay and Sheppard respond as follows:

McKay: Hm. It's fascinating. Sheppard: Yes. Fascinating. McKay: Please, go on.

They exchange a look, seeming to share their level of fascination. Note the huge, thick candle placed strategically in front of McKay. She goes on, and we get this:

Allina: We think it's a map. McKay: Mm. Amazing. Sheppard: It is, actually. This looks like an Ancient numbering system. Allina: That's what we thought. From what we can tell, they're numbers three, six, and seven. McKay: Excellent work. I mean, seriously, I'm very impressed here.

Surface level reading is that McKay finds this woman attractive and thus, is being very complimentary. But that's not at all who he is. His idea of actually flirting with a woman was to call her a dumb blonde to her face. The kindest thing we've ever heard him say to a woman was to call someone who worked for him "lovely and talented" when he was in a particularly good mood and barely paying her any attention. McKay does not particularly like women and does not find it easy to respect them. He's not captivated by her.

This is McKay on his "best behaviour," as he was instructed by Sheppard on Proculus the last time they had something really important they wanted to get from the natives. These scenarios are paralleled, only the roles of McKay and Sheppard are flipped here. It wasn't entirely McKay's fault that he was unable to actually behave and display his best behaviour in a way that would have helped them get what they were looking for there, because the planet's Ancient guardian was never going to let that happen, but it does not mean that he doesn't know how to make the effort when it's required. And he seems to be making the effort here. From the briefing they had with Weir we know that he considers them severely underdeveloped and their beliefs primitive, his tone here is like he's indulging a child.

This reading is supported by Sheppard's comments. He's trying to help McKay. Clearly this woman seems to respond best to McKay, so their best bet is to use him as a liaison (or, given what happened previously and how badly he was burned, it's possible that Sheppard is all charmed out at this time and simply can't bring himself to do it). Only, McKay s not really that good at this kind of thing, it doesn't come to him as naturally as it does to Sheppard. He doesn't sound genuine in his compliments, earnest in his encouraging comments.

He says "It's fascinating" like he's commenting on a child's finger painting which is why Sheppard reinforces with "Yes, fascinating," with an apologetic smile, trying to make it sound more genuine but only managing to make it more awkward. When he says "Amazing," it sounds dismissive, like his mind is already working on some other thing. Sheppard follows this with "It is, actually," acknowledging that they might be on to something even if all of this is wrapped in the kind of hokey religion McKay normally has no patience for. So, McKay is on his best behaviour and is trying to be personable, and Sheppard is very much trying to help him be the best that he can be.

There seems to be a puzzle involving nine mystery plates, and this interests McKay. There's a problem to be solved, there's something to figure out, to occupy his mind with. Sheppard is half-listening to the exposition and idly (even dreamily) looking over some parchment while his mind is clearly half-way somewhere else, so he doesn't even notice that McKay has moved at first.

McKay walks from behind Sheppard to look at the tablets, and although his mind seems to be entirely on solving the problem and not on her, we see Sheppard's mood change. First, he's smiling to himself. And then, all of a sudden, he looks at them and seems upset.

Someone described Sheppard in this episode as being "a huge eye-rolling bitch" and to be sure, he is. But I don't necessarily think jealousy is the crux of the issue here. At least, not in the sense one would usually think (liking someone who is giving someone else attention). He is jealous, but not of her being interested in McKay, or McKay being interested in her (and certainly not because he wants her to himself, let's not even entertain this reading).

Now, let's just start with the fact that McKay is not interested in this woman. There's nothing interesting about her, she's a Renaissance historian, as in actually from a Renaissance society, meaning that he barely thinks she's evolved enough to be considered the same species as he is. There's no reason to think that Sheppard thinks that McKay is interested, either, since he knows what McKay's interest looks like (both the feigned and the genuine kind), and the man is so obviously clueless here.* Like, he barely manages to feign interest in things she says that might be relevant for finding the ZPM here. Sheppard also cannot blame someone for finding the man and his intelligence attractive, especially when he's in his element. He thinks falling for Rodney McKay is as easy as breathing.

But he doesn't have to like it. He especially doesn't have to like the fact that this woman is free to express her attraction openly and that he would be unable to make any sort of reclamation of territory even if he wanted to. If he was a civilian and woman and someone was moving in on his man, he would be free to express how he feels about that. They would be free to be around each other in a way that would prevent that from happening in the first place because everyone could just see that they are something to each other. But as it is, he will never be able to do that. It's just something he has to live with. He especially doesn't have to like the fact that McKay can just walk up and stand this close to her like it's no big deal when he has to always make sure there are inches between them that he would rather were not there. So yes, he jealous after a fashion. But most of all, he is feeling bitter.

When you're newly in love, your step is supposed to be lighter, your smile brighter. The world is supposed to be rose-coloured, you're supposed to be on the top of it, walking in the air. You've found someone important, someone who seems to like you as much as you like them, and even though there are so many, many, many reasons why you know it's a bad idea to try to forge any kind of a relationship under the conditions they are in, he has found himself a helpless moth circling the flame anyway.

John Sheppard is not young anymore, he's been through things. He's in a whole other galaxy where he was supposed to get away from the pettiness of some of their particular social conventions. And yet he's still not free to love, not like other people are. He's not free to let it show to the world, the thing that you're supposed to want to scream from the mountain tops. The feeling that is supposed to be pure and beautiful is ever tainted by the need for secrecy, the requirement to keep it hidden. It's not right. But that's the way it has to be.

But, make no mistake that McKay's act is a performance. You can tell his genuine reaction from the feigned ones when Sheppard mentions his observation about the tablets. First, this this is foreshadowing to the resolution of the episode where we see even more clearly how much McKay admires and respects Sheppard. And McKay actually pays attention to what Sheppard says.

While he has pretty much been humouring the Renaissance woman so far, as soon as Sheppard mentions that he actually finds something interesting, McKay looks up. That has meaning to him, it is of value to him. It gets his attention easily.

Allina confirms that Sheppard is on the right track, that they had figured out the same thing, only they've had much more time to come to the conclusion that Sheppard arrived at pretty much instantly. This is foreshadowing him impressing McKay with his math skills once more, later. It's interesting that it is only now that we get the first comment from McKay to Allina that seems genuine. He smiles at her and says "Excellent work. I mean, seriously, I'm very impressed here." He seems pleased. He is impressed that their Renaissance minds could arrive at a solution, and the fact that he has to underline it just confirms to us that he meant nothing he had been saying to her previously. It tells us that up until that moment he was making a performance of it.

It might be that he's able to make the compliment sound so much more genuine than the previous ones because he really, truly feels it. Just, not about her (and also, when he's seriously very impressed with Sheppard later, he doesn't have to say it, we can see it in his eyes). And even here, he seems slightly awkward about having to say it to her because McKay is more about showing than he is about telling. Note also that it's when she smiles and says "It's very kind of you, Doctor" that Sheppard rolls his eyes. McKay is many things, some them good and some of them awful, but kind is not one of them. Sheppard knows McKay; by this time he has seen the other man in many different situations, has seen him pushed to all kinds of extremes. Knows that in his heart of hearts, he's a good man. But kind he is not. Kindness is the most alien of all dispositions to McKay.

This just tells him that she doesn't even see McKay. Doesn't know who he is. Could never appreciate him the way he does. He's annoyed by the freedom she has for showing her appreciation and affection for McKay, but he's not worried for one second that she has a chance with him.

Since all the characters are looking at McKay as the smart one that's going to figure everything out it's easy to miss the fact that McKay and Sheppard actually solve the whole thing together. Sheppard makes small comments that prompt McKay to figure out the system the Brotherhood had used in hiding the stone tablets that are meant to lead them to the ZPM. But we are again reminded of the fact that Sheppard has absolute trust in McKay's abilities. As soon as he's done explaining, Sheppard is ready to execute his plan. Like, immediately.

This also tells us that he understood McKay's explanation very quickly. In fact, there's an argument to be made that he figured it out even before McKay when she first mentioned the numbers of the stones they had discovered. He's clearly mentally piecing something together there and, as a pilot, probably has much better spatial awareness than McKay and wouldn't need the map to visualize it; but letting McKay shine and impress her here serves their purpose. And so Sheppard splits them up into two teams, and they start looking for buried treasure.

Continued in Pt. 3

-* I'm also convinced that up until the moment he tells them "Woolsey wasn't the weirdest thing about that timeline" in The Seed (S05E02) that he believed McKay was a Kinsey 6. Sheppard doesn't understand that it only happened because McKay and Keller were grieving together and she was literally the only thing left in his world that reminded him of Atlantis and of Sheppard. And because he did not understand this he, through his own actions, ironically, pushes them on a trajectory in our reality where McKay ends up exploring something that seems to make him very unhappy at the end of the day.

#stargate atlantis #sga #sga meta #john sheppard #sheppard is bi #rodney mckay #rodney is gay #ep. the brotherhood #ep. the storm #ep. the seed

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randombush3 · 2 years ago

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The Best Part

summary: here’s a fic based on her song ‘the best part’.

words: 863

warnings: this is about death so do with that what you will.

notes: i don’t know why i haven’t posted, and i don’t really have any excuse to give you. i’m working on things, just slowly. really fucking slowly. but flo released music and i couldn’t help myself. lots of love!

There is no specific memory of you linked to today. No story in particular that she can recall, that she can tell someone about so they can vividly experience it with her, make her feel less alone. In fact, this is the case with most days — times she cannot shake you off for it is simply your existence that she misses; the comforting thought that you are alive. It makes what she knows, what she seems to constantly be reminded of, worse.

She has tried. For the past three years, the past one-thousand one-hundred and twelve days, she has tried to forget slightly. You don’t seem to leave her alone — typical. You sit beside her on trains, whispering in her ear. You mock her when she rehearses her scenes in the living room alone, running her lines for her, telling her how you would have said it. There are times when she can feel your lips against her neck, your fingers brushing hers.

No, she can’t shake you off at all. Neither can she tell whether it hurts or it helps. Your presence is her imagination, but if she convinces herself, she kids that nothing ever happened. You are alive, you are just away. Somewhere unreachable; a desert island with no mobile phone, off on one of your silly expeditions that you claim deepen your understanding of the world around you.

Tonight, she dares to sprawl out on the bed. It feels juvenile, like how she would have slept before meeting you. Before she had to put up with your insistence of sharing a bed equally (‘this me:you ratio will not fly, Mrs Pugh’). Is this what acceptance is? Allowing herself to break one of your rules because you are not there to enforce them?

It doesn’t seem to make a difference, anyway. All the things you said sleep in her head with her. You wake up at the same time now — of course that only happens when you are dead.

Maybe this is the curse she has. Yours was obviously the fact that you died. Her misfortune is to be the one still standing, only this time with no one beside her. Her life is the one that is resigned to waiting until she can see you again, the one that forces her to believe in an afterlife just in case it gives her one more chance to… Who is she kidding? Her therapist says if she thinks her life is just about prolonging her death, then she should reevaluate. Flo did think to make the point that that is exactly what she is there for, but the woman charges by the hour and she would rather spend the money on an additional series of another random TV show you may have liked to watch.

Everything just hurts.

She is fucked. She would not recommend falling in love, because the person you build a life with can just fuck right off the face of the Earth at any given moment. She regrets ever feeling a love like the two of you had shared.

Your pillow smells nothing like you. She is three years too late to have her face buried in it. Tonight, you are not beside her, not keeping her company, not even in her imagination. The bed is full, but with only one person. She fears she has gotten rid of your memory by stretching out, and, horrified, retracts her limbs. Rolling over onto her side, she feels your arm around her waist. Your nose presses against her head, you breathe her in.

She would give anything to have you do that one last time. To know that it was the final goodbye, to be able to rehearse it, would surely make her feel better. Something like closure.

As she drifts off, she parts her lips, tongue running along them, wetting them. A force of habit, three words prod at her to be spoken. But she won’t say it if you don’t say it. If you were beside her one last time, she would beg you not to say it. If you were here now, a ghostly apparition, she would cover your mouth with her hand because if you said ‘I love you still’, she would fall to pieces and never get up again.

Seven days later. You have now been dead one-thousand one-hundred and nineteen days. She has revisited this idea of seeing you one last time. She wonders what she would say. Thank you for the best parts? Maybe she would apologise for her weak heart. You would find this hilarious, how miserable she has become. You would provoke her, taunt her, and she would get defensive, say something like ‘my love just hurts when loving’. You would relish in the scowl she would give when you laughed in her face. You are — were — the worst.

You are — were — her life.

You were the best part.

She opens her mouth as she closes her eyes. She is determined to get used to filling the bed. She is going to compromise.

“Fuck you for dying, Y/n,” she whispers into the darkness. “You know I love you still.”

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @karsonromanoff

#florence pugh fanfiction #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh x you #florence pugh #florence pugh one shot #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh angst #a good person #the best part #songfic

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craycray-wolf · 8 months ago

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So.

Here's notes I have on MCSM New Order's (as of S1 anyway pretty much everyone in S2 is part of it lol) families. And when I say "notes" I mean it lol, like this is just what I randomly typed out in between classes back in November (with a couple recent additions). Grammar and spelling isn't 100% and nothing is serious. You're welcome.

Why am I posting this? For FUNNSIES. Also to hopefully share my obsession with block people worldbuilding and stories of my future MCSM fanfic with others! To encourage discussion and questions, because I like that. It's fun and I often find it helps me out greatly with writing! I hope anyone reading this enjoys! 😁

______

Olivia has a single dad (mom MIA) who moved in with his sister and nows helps at her farm. While maybe both dad and aunt are super busy and thus don't have the most time with her, they greatly love their Olivia and Olivia them. Her aunt thought for a while that her want to pursue Redstone was silly ("you have everything you need right here, and all that gallbittyglok is ridiculous!") but soon came to support her dream when seeing how passionate she was. Dad supported her Redstone interest from the start, proud that she was so smart and could understand things far beyond him. They also care for Jesse and Axel, happy Olivia has friends. She was super shy timid bahbee so extra impactful

Axel is adopted, with parents (haven't come up w occupations for them) and a couple siblings (one is older, other is younger) who care for him but don't see eye to eye at all. Axe very much black sheep. They were always disappointed with his trouble making and disagreed with his idolization of Magnus/want to pursue the griefer lifestyle. The fam greatly appreciated Jesse and Olivia as they could see the positive influence they had on Axel (also worried at Axel's lack of friends and chasing away of everyone else). Axel even became cuddlier with the family after Jess and Liv helped him open up and learn how to better express his feelings. While they still don't quite understand the griefer-ness they see he is doing so respectfully and are proud of his heroics.

Petra was a spawned baby (humans are kinda like pink sheep and have a rare chance to spawn every so often, babies having an ability to so but EXTRAORDINARY rarely. They are usually around 6 mos. old in comparison to newborns), and her cries attracted a pack of wolves who adopted her and loved her as if she were a wolf herself. Petra thought she WAS a wolf for a long time, even learning wolf body language and behaviors. Her speech sounds were mimics of nature sounds for the first few years of her life, only learning human speech/stuffs when someone came and tamed a couple of wolves from her pack. The humans in the nearby town insisted she start going to school and learning the ways of people (not that they helped her at all). Dealing with people made her even more survival oriented and hesitant to spend too much time with people. She always considered it beyond her to have and trust human friends until she met Lukas in middle school. She was struggling and Lukas offered to tutor her, Petra insisting that she pay him back with one of her famous trades, beginning their relationship. Lived with Villagers in their... villages, a couple times in the past, maybe why she's into the trade biz?

Jesse's parents care very deeply for him and have always done their best to support him. Always called him their "young warrior" upon learning about Jesse's love of the OG Order, particularly Gabriel. They're the ones who gifted him his armor stand seen in S1 Ep1. His mother is a miner and his father a gardener (that one day took a job helping with Olivia's aunt's gardens, which is how Olivia and Jesse met). They're simple but happy people. Mom is a bit more serious than the dad but still willing to have fun. Dad is a bit of a doofus, mom loves him anyway. Jesse gets his tenacity from Mom and goofball-ness from Dad. They also greatly care for Olivia and Axel, coming to see them as an unofficial son and daughter. I have a lot more about these two but that's the gist. Need to develop other guardians lol

Lukas' parents are complicated. They're snooty rich-ish creeps who have a terrible relationship (on-off? Similar to divorced? Idk there's drama), and had Lukas more as an accessory. Due to weirdness his sweet little (paternal?) Grandma became his primary caretaker from a young age and helped him become the wonderful Lukas we know today. Nurtured his love for writing?

________

P.S.

I'm figuring out the appearances of the other families but for now Jesse's mom has the same colored hair and eyes as him, which are brown and green respectively as I like to play with Red Suspenders!Jesse. His dad has tan hair and blue eyes, and the way the hair grows out from the head is similar in both parents so all 3 family members share this trait. The mom, while only an average height, is taller than her husband and Jesse is smack dab between them. I think it's cute and also unusual in a cool way to not only have a woman be taller than her male partner, but also her son. Plus the dad is just short AF considering how short Jesse is lmao

I think it's a very similar situation with Red Hairclip!Jesse (who I also like to play as), except her mom instead has features like hers as opposed to the brown hair and green eyes in the previous passage. The dad doesn't change lol

THX FOR READING 📚 You're real

#minecraft story mode #mcsm #mcsm headcanons #block people #i love them #mcsm jesse #mcsm m!jesse #mcsm olivia #mcsm axel #mcsm petra #mcsm lukas #im obsessed #im sick #the brainrot is real #lol #mcsm oc

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alfamangle · 2 years ago

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listen normally this question (5. name an album you feel is perfect) would lead to me talking about Get Olde/Second Wind, razzmatazz, counterfeit arcade, litterally most crane wives albums or if were stretching the definition to include albums with only one or two songs i skip every time but are otherwise pretty nice we'd have alot. but you know what. yeah. the last life album is pretty cool.

so you know what. im going to go in order. what do i like about every song.

Light the Fire. ive never played castlevania but this is what id imagine itd sound like really short but a good intro. very nice and lovely gives the same impression of fucking around and finding out and coming across a shrine for the first time and going. oo whatll happen if i do THIS. similar feeling to coming across the first connie board. discovery of something very useful but is probably going to be more than you bargained for. only complaint is that its short and id love to hear a longer version but it works for what it is.

The Crown. i like the piano :] feels like a weird mix between a bossfight and a grand area where nothing spans and its just you alone with the scenery and somethings off. also noting abt the yt ver i like how the sky slowly changes colors and the sun sets. excellent touch. i almost didnt notice the change of song between this and the next one and thought it was one giant song and thought the switch was cool. the effect still stands if ur watching it back to back. overall its just a song w rlly good atmosphere

Divine intervention. repeat point about how it transitions from the previous song into this rlly well. like the weird rumbling noise in the back that kinda pitches up and down and dips in and out. like it alot. again another song that just has excellent vibes. also love the drums the drums were a nice touch. also i keep thinking theres SOME form of strings (again cant quite place it down. likely because its another synth but. the effects nice) overall rlly cool a nice lead into the next song. love the fadeout at the end (also i am not going to go over all the art but trust me i am noticing the cool transitions and changes in the artwork and i am going WWOOOOO THE FIRE WENT OUT YAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

Console. like the weird little dips it does the dweeeoooooop. that. very cool. also the whiny high pitches noise is a very good addition for like a really weird comparison alot of the songs, and this especially, reminds me of the one factory level background music in jsab. you know the one. also like the instrument. not sure what it is but i like its addition halfway through. very cool. very awesome.also im not sure if this was my device or not but i like the occasional stutter it does where. (looked up the effects name and its simply called an audio stutter) like that. i think it only happened once??? but it fits the song and it fits the character the song is for very nicely. console is :] one of my favorite songs off of this album which. unsuprisingly it is VERY hard to choose. you put your all into these songs and it is VERY apparent.

Call of the Void. This song feels... very short???? for some reason when its not. its not anything detracting from it its just a weird effect. kinda like on other decent sized songs (call of the voids about 3ish minutes from my count) that still feel too short.. i think it just comes down to the songs just really cool. I like the . it sounds like a reversed flute?? towards the middle but im not 100% sure. like everything here it could just be another synth. insert a fallout 4 refrence here. either way this song is REALLY cool i like it alot also the garbled speech noises. cool addition. im not sure if its meant to be saying anything or is just garbled speech noises but either way. VERY cool. also obligatory !!! woaw people !! live on the tv. amazing

.execute() I LIKE THE WEIRD CRUNCHY BIT AT THE START. it sounds like weird messed up footsteps i like it. the cymbols are really nice. like the weird im not even sure how to describe it it sounds like a pitched down pipe being repeatedly slammed against a wall for a melody. very nice very cool. also like the weird garbled ??? scream?? audio distortion?? something 1/3rd of the way through. gives it a nice touch. also again love the string soundalikes. maybe one day we can have actual strings but until then the synth string soundalikes are super cool sounding. like the funky crunching symbol like noises. remind me of clapping. love the melody. love the song. fights w console for favorite song.

Fell out of the world. love the piano and softer sound it has to it. also shoutout to the 'pacing' of this album. i noticed alot of the more actiony songs are samwhiched between softer songs and vice versa with a few exceptions (which i do think those exceptions serve to enhance album pacing. it is. important to me that songs in order on an album sound nice when played back to back. its about how you spread out your songs. if that makes any sense). its a nice touch i dont know how else to describe it. its very nice. now onto the song. this once again feels like. some abandoned area you just. wander through to take in the scenery. again like the string sound alikes. if i wasnt aquainted with the nnk soundtrack and someone came up to me and showed me this song and told me it was the song to some secret area in the game, i might believe them. it has that sort of grand feeling to it.

Godshard. somehow more calmer than the last one. but it just feels sad. this feels like the song you get if you end up accidentily getting the bad ending in a game. a tragedy of errors that got you to this point. now im not a tip top expert on what happened after i got you know. murdered in a hole. which gg cant wait to avenge myself s2. but this seems to fit the story as best i know it. it just. feels sad. a building left to rot and decay. thats the best way i can describe that song. melancholy. thats the word im lookign for. godshard is melancholy.

Terminal Velocity. in contrast to the last this one feels sinister. something is wrong here. the piano feels slightly out of tune and i think that works nicely. love the lower chords :] it just sounds really neat. actually. you know what the piano here reminds me of. those like. really REALLY old pianos that are out of tune due to age and their keys only go down when you press oon them with some force, and their keys are rounded off from use. the keys are starting to yellow and it has a weird echoy hum to it. if youve ever played a piano like that you know what i mean. really adds to the eerie atmosphere the song has going on. a lovely closing song to a really really cool album. you worked so hard on this and you can tell. and it PAYS OFF.

but uh yeah. the last life album was pretty good

Everyone go listen to @bintied 's newest album !!!

#alfasks #(technically)#alfposts #music game ask #EVERYONE GO LISTEN TO NINTYS MUSIC RIGHT NOW. thank you

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scythemaster1 · 5 years ago

Text

p4 stands, pros and cons

note, i am mostly just doing plot important stands/stands of the main characters

crazy diamond:

pros:

good color scheme and aesthetics

humanoid/armour type

ability is pretty good

cons:

implications of his abilities are confusing

non-sentient

makes people really wanna be ableist

star platinum

pros:

semi-sentient

good aesthetics

friend

can hault time

cons:

hes a stand why does he have so much ass

does this imply that while jotaro is not thick, he has a thick personality

doesn't get enough screentime in p4

the hand

pros:

i like his ability, it's pretty creative

he can teleport

cons:

non-sentient

not enough screentime

frowning

echoes

pros:

creative

fully sentient

looks like a lizard, non-humanoid

cons:

confusing implications

lowkey annoying

has multiple abilities, which is a little strange

this isn't a pro or a con but that scene where he manifests for the first time and everyone's like "did you just fucking lay an egg??"

heaven's door

pros:

creative

he looks cool

cons:

rohan

it's kinda creepy ngl

non-sentient

killer queen

pros:

semi-sentient

good design

she is kindof badass

bites the dust was kinda cool

cat stand solidarity

cons:

she was unfortunately kiras stand. nerfed her

red hot chili pepper

pros:

he's a fucking bird lizard

electric

mostly sentient

cons:

he laughs bad

killed okuyasus brother..

has a p*nis

love deluxe

pros:

animated hair

white hair is fucking sick as hell and it's a shame araki cannot recognize this

cons:

not enough screentime

cinderella

pros:

pretty cool

good design

upgraded kiras look

cons:

araki, women dont need to me conventionally pretty to be loved..

highway star

pros:

semi-sentient iirc

he's very fast and has a very good smell *and* is humanoid

cons:

also dummy thick

stray cat

pros:

fully sentient

pretty

is a fucking cat *and* a plant

cat stand solidarity

cons:

kira :^/

cheap trick

pros:

bullies rohan

makes rohan make a complete embarrassment of himself, publicly

bastard

cause for an incredible fucking scene when he's defeated

cons:

i don't like his voice

earth wind and fire

pros:

shape shifting

mikitaka..

caused rohans fucking house to catch fire

cons:

not enough screentime

not a stand

technically doesn't belong on this list

but im putting him here anyway

#jojo #if you want me to do others lmk #additional note: how i feel about the stands has nothing to do w how i feel about their user

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astoryisaloveaffair · 3 years ago

Text

Fix You - Chapter 8: Hopeless Wanderer

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

Club Scene Playlist

»»———————►

Chapter Summary: Lex’s impact becomes clear. You come clean to Frankie. Frankie deals with his security in the relationship.

Word Count: 13K...dear....god...

Rating: E, 18+

Chapter Warnings: Legal age gap (10+ years), cussing, alcohol, discussions of substance abuse, discussions of PTSD, smut, fingering, oral (f rec), P in V, rough sex, one or two light smacks on the ass, exhibitionist kink, BIG BISEXUAL ENERGY, angst, jealousy, Frankie talking more than he has ever done in his LIFE, Santiago being a menace

A/N: Hi guys I’m BACCKKKK! Thank you all for being patient, I took a mini-hiatus and then agonized over this chapter for like 2 weeks. It’s an emotional one and I’m a perfectionist *shrug emoji*. I truly hope you all enjoy this chapter, it’s a long time coming and it was one of the elements of this story that I’ve thought about the most and wanted to get absolutely perfect. I’m still not sure it is, I’ve been doubting myself this entire chapter, but I can’t sit on it anymore. Music choice is a huge thing at the end of this chapter because I’m so dramatic, I made a completely additional playlist for this scene, but feel free to ignore it. I’m also working on more inclusive moodboards so if this one is a mess I am so sorry.

Thank you to my love @sharkbait77 for beta, military spouse knowledge, and the constant support, as well as @whiskeyyourwaytomyheart & @disgruntledspacedad! Love you guys!

Suggested Songs: “Gold Dust Woman” by Fleetwood Mac, “Lover’s Eyes” by Mumford and Sons, “Hopeless Wanderer” by Mumford and Sons, “Hercules” by Guster, “Blinding Lights” by The Weeknd & Rosalia, “Heart to Break” by Kim Petras, “Del Mar” by Ozuna, SIA, & Doja Cat, “Hillside Boys” by Kim Petras

»»———————►

“You’re the babysitter right? I’m Lex. Frankie’s ex-wife.”

Before you can even utter a word, Gabi is struggling in your arms, reaching out for the woman in enthusiasm. “Mama!”

You clear your throat and set Gabi down and she runs to her mom’s legs, folding herself around them. Lex kneels down to hug her and give her a kiss before standing back up. Gabi remains by her legs. Your heart is pounding so loud you can feel it vibrating your ears and you have no idea why.

“Hi, yes, um - I’m the….babysitter.” You reach your hand out to shake hers and she takes it. She has a limp handshake, you note to yourself. That’s always been a pet peeve of yours. You force a smile and tell her your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs…”

“Lex.”

“Lex.” You repeat. “I’m...so sorry, I didn’t know you were coming over today. Fra-Mr. Morales didn’t mention anything.”

She squints at you under her sharp arched eyebrows, like she’s figured out some sort of secret about you. “Mmhmm.”

Fuck. I said his first name. You turn and gesture to the door to keep yourself from unintentionally revealing yourself any further. “Do you - do you want to come in? I think there’s some iced tea or something in the fridge.”

She smirks again, a repetitive shit-eating grin that’s already getting on your nerves. “No. Thank you for the sweet offer. I just stopped by really quickly to drop off Gabriela’s diaper bag. Frankie forgot it when he picked her up on Sunday.”

“Oh, okay.” You say, furrowing your brow. “But...Frankie already has his own diaper bag for her. It’s in the hallway.”

She lifts an eyebrow and tilts her head and you’re so mad at yourself you almost slap yourself in the forehead. You should have just said nothing. You drop your head and stare at Gabi, who has situated herself on the deck to watch the interaction with rapt attention.

“You’re very smart. I guess I should be happy about that at least.” Lex continues, gesturing for you to sit in one of the adirondacks as she moves to sit in an adjacent one. Moving around like she fucking owns the place. You take the seat anyways. “I’m sure you can imagine how it must feel as a mother to not be able to meet the girl who is watching your daughter, especially when her daughter mentions you as often as Gabriela does. I simply wanted to meet you.”

“That makes sense.” You agree, doing your best not to bristle at her calling you “girl”. You desperately want to get out of this conversation, be as polite as possible and gently send her on her fucking way, so you say what you need to in order to placate her.

She leans back in the chair, scooping up Gabi and placing her on her lap. “So, why is my ex-husband keeping you from me?”

You meet her eyes, doing your utmost to remove any agitation or hostility from your gaze. “I don’t really know, ma’am, I honestly just come here and watch Gabi a few nights a week. I don’t really get into anything else with Mr. Morales. He’s rarely here when I’m here. When he hired me he just said it wasn’t necessary to meet you. I didn’t think anything of it. I figured you had your own babysitter for her.”

She seems mollified, heaving a sigh and softening her features, no longer looking like a vulture circling a piece of roadkill. “Well, then I’m sorry to have put you in the middle of this. I’m afraid Frankie has painted me as some kind of villain. I only want the best for my daughter.”

You nod. “I completely understand and agree. I’m sorry if you feel slighted that I didn’t find a way to reach out. I’m happy to supply you any of my certifications if you need or -”

She cuts you off again. “No, that won’t be necessary. I can see you’re a smart young woman. I apologize if I caused a disruption.” She places Gabi back down on the porch and acts like she’s getting up to leave, but instead leans forward towards you and looks you straight in the eyes. It makes you nervous. “Listen, I’m not sure how much Frankie has told you, but he has a long and serious history of making unsafe decisions for our family. I truly hope he mentioned to you that he is a cocaine addict. So, you can see why it makes me extremely uneasy whenever he has Gabriela with him.”

You inhale deeply, your eyes widening at her blatant disregard for Frankie’s privacy, reaching out to grip one of the armrests of the chair for support. What. The. Fuck. Anger, blinding hot anger sears through you so strongly that you can barely even make a response.

She takes your hand, misinterpreting your reaction as she continues speaking. “So, I was hoping you could do me a favor.” You meet her eyes again, but you can feel the rage and protectiveness boiling over inside you. This is fucked. This is completely fucked up and so out of line. Not that Frankie didn’t share with you his problems, no, but that this woman had the nerve to tell someone she just met something so incredibly private, so unbelievably personal.

She capitalizes on your verbal paralysis and pushes forward. “I would like you to take my number, and please call me and give me updates on how he’s doing. Should he do anything strange, or if he puts Gabriela at risk in any way, I want you to call me and I will come immediately. Okay?” She releases your hand and pulls a receipt from her purse, scribbling her number on it.

You are still in such shock at her audacity that you can only dumbly nod and take the paper, only snapping back to yourself when she stands to leave.

“Lex.” You say, and she turns around, hovering on the porch step. You're standing now too. “I want you to know that if Gabriela is ever in danger or at risk of getting hurt, I will call you. And the police. But that will never happen. Frankie is an amazing father, from what I’ve seen. And to be quite honest, you did not hire me. Frankie did. And I will not spy on him for you, because that is what you are asking me to do. I don’t know you. I’m not doing that. I’m sorry.”

Her expression doesn’t shift one iota, she only hums again. “Frankie. Yes. Frankie hired you. Yet I thought you said you were rarely around him? Still, forgive me for not realizing you had an allegiance.” She turns her head, unwilling to regard you any further as she reaches down and kisses Gabi on the head. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

She turns and leaves without even saying goodbye to you. Gabi starts crying at the abrupt loss of her mother, and Lex leaves you to deal with it, getting in her car and driving away without a glance.

“Bitch.” You say, then slap your hand over your mouth. Gabi hasn’t even noticed. You sigh and pick her up, she’s wailing in your arms and you turn to the front door, the atmosphere of the afternoon ruined. You almost trip over the giant obnoxious diaper bag she left, like it was on purpose and she knew you’d fall over it. You huff angrily. Why the fuck did she leave this shit here?

You know why as soon as Frankie returns home. You hear the truck door slam, perking up as he enters the house.

“Hey baby! Bonita!” He’s grinning widely as he sees you, eyes sparkling as he shifts his attention from you to Gabi, who is quickly waddling towards him. You get up from the couch to meet them in the entranceway, smiling softly as he bends down to reach for Gabi. The way he interacts with her always does something for you, you’re not sure what to call it.

As he kneels, his eyes adjust to the shift in height and he quickly notices two gigantic diaper bags lying side by side where there normally is just one. He halts, Gabi held up in his outstretched hands, only remembering to absently pick up and hold her to his chest when she begins squirming in his grasp at the lapse in attention.

“What’s -” He looks back at you with a grimace before he looks down again, as if trying to make sure he’s not having a recurrence of shell-shock double vision. But it’s there, and his eyes slowly trail back up to yours in a hauntingly vacant expression you haven’t seen from him before. His eyes look empty. No warmth. No light. “She was here.”

It’s fear. You think. He’s afraid. You meet his eyes, trying to pour as much sympathy into your expression to him as possible. “Yea. She was.”

Before you can say anything more, he blinks several times and slowly puts Gabi back down, his lips pressed into a grim line. You can see his irises melt out into his pupils to form giant black pools of rage, and you suddenly realize why she left that diaper bag. Why he was afraid. She wanted to upset him. She wanted him to spiral. And that realization only makes you hate her more.

“Frankie…” You whisper, reaching for him. He closes his eyes and puts one large palm up.

“Did she say why?”

You lean back against the back of the couch, giving him some space. “She came claiming you forgot this diaper bag. I told her we already had one. She wasn’t too pleased. She really just wanted to meet me.”

He opens his eyes and glares at the wall, his jaw ticking as the anger works its way out. “Anything else?”

You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should tell him. You don’t want to upset him more. But you pride yourself on your honesty and you never would want to lie or keep something from him. “She...told me about...the cocaine. And she asked me to spy on you. I told-”

You don’t get to finish, because he finally snaps in a jerk of motion. “God FUCKING. DAMMIT!’ He yells, ripping his hat off and flinging it against the wall. You reel back at the sudden release, even though you somewhat anticipated it. Gabi whimpers and moves back behind the couch.

He breathes deeply and puts his face in his hands. “Fuck, I - I gotta go. I’ll be back later, I’m about to lose it and I don’t want to scare her. You gotta stay.” He turns around abruptly and rips the door open, turning first towards the end table outside on the porch that held his emergency cigarettes. He sloppily starts rolling one before he moves to leave.

“Shit.” You mutter. You don’t want him to leave, you want to help him. Leaving in a huff to be by himself won’t help anything. You stand in the doorway, turning back to Gabi. “Gabi baby, I need you to go to your toy box and play with something, don’t move from there, you’re okay. You’re safe. Daddy is just sad. Okay?” She nods slowly, the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes slightly dissolving at your words and you step through the doorway to stop Frankie from leaving, but he’s still there, blessedly still struggling to roll his cigarette in his shaking, anger-filled hands.

He finally gets it, thrusting it between his lips as he lights it, huffing the first drag out harshly and makes to leave down the porch steps, but you step into his way.

“Frankie, please don’t leave. Please talk to me.”

He glares at you for impeding him, but pauses long enough that you can grasp him by the waist and push him towards one of the chairs. “Sit down for a minute.”

He stubbornly plants his heels right in front of the chair and you stop with him, the weight of him keeping you from propelling further. Frankie grips both of your wrists in his hands, taking them off him with a gentleness you’re surprised he can muster in his current state.

“No, I -“

“Sit down Frankie.” You order, and he blinks incredulously at you before…sitting down.

You pull the rocking chair across from him closer to the open door so you can look in on Gabi before finally taking a seat, the angle allowing you to see her between the gap of the couches.

Frankie takes another drag, exhaling forcefully and it seems like he might be calming down until he suddenly stands up again and grabs the lantern off the end table, flinging it at one of the columns at the far end of the porch with a haggard shout.

“FUCK.”

You say nothing, doing your best not to wince as the lantern frame crumples on impact, the plexiglass dislodging from the frame as it falls from the floor. He leans back against the railing of the porch in front of you, the smoke of the cigarette curling around his ears and hair, and covers his face with his hands again.

You crane your neck and check in on Gabi, who is doing exactly as you asked and trying to distract herself with some toys. You call to her and reassure her before turning back around towards Frankie. His outburst seems to have settled him somewhat. You give him a few minutes before speaking, watching as his breaths slow down, his hands stop shaking.

“Did that help?”

“Yea. It did actually.” He looks up, face pinched in a mix of different emotions you’re determined to find out. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just...I fucking hate her.”

You nod. “I get it. She’s...definitely something.”

He hangs his head.

“But Frankie...I told her no! She can go fuck right off with that. I’m not going to spy on you for her. She was completely out of line to ask me to do that, and I told her so.”

“But now you know.” He looks away.

“Now I know what? That she’s a bitch?”

“No. That...I have a cocaine problem.”

“You do not have a cocaine problem. You are a recovering cocaine addict. There’s a huge difference, and it doesn’t change anything about who you are, the work you’ve done to change that, and how I feel about you.”

He looks up at you questioningly. “How?”

“Cause you are so much more than that Frankie, and it’s been a year and a half, hasn’t it? You told me that.” He nods, and you lift yourself out of the chair to stand in front of him, taking his cigarette and placing it on the end table before cupping his scruffy face. He’s clenching his jaw so hard you’re certain he’ll give himself a tension headache if he doesn’t fucking relax.

“You said you went to Narcotics Anonymous, those are hard drugs. I’ve known that. And I knew you would tell me in time. The time is just now, apparently.”

He moves his head to kiss your palm before grabbing your hands and holding them in his, meeting your eyes. “I don’t deserve you.” He husks.

“What?!” You scoff. “Please, no. If every person that’s made mistakes never got to have someone ever care about them again this would be an even shittier world than it is already.”

He huffs out a deep breath and pulls you into his arms, his head dropping heavily into your neck as you wrap your arms around him. You gently scrape your fingertips into the nape of his neck, twirling his soft curls around your fingers as he sags boneless in your arms.

After a few moments he lifts his head and presses it against yours, and you angle your face into that little missing patch of hair in his stubble to place a quick kiss there.

“Feeling better?” You whisper.

“Yea, thank you.”

“Good.”

“Oh.” He utters, and you turn your head to find Gabi hovering by the doorframe looking at the two of you, fingering the propeller of her favorite helicopter toy, the back and forth movements of the spokes comforting her. You quickly break apart from him.

“Daddy? Yoo sad?”

You might die. You might actually pass away. The way his brows draw in and his eyes melt, it’s so fucking adorable, your heart and your organs and every single ridge of your brain has definitely turned to goo. You just know it.

“No, baby girl, daddy’s not sad anymore. I’m okay. Are you okay? Did I scare you?” He asks, kneeling down next to her.

She sniffles and shakes her head, ever the strong little girl that you were growing to love so well. “Okay, daddy.” She reaches for him and he lets out a shuddering breath, taking her into his embrace and stands, swaying her back and forth. He ticks his head towards the door at you, and the two of you re-enter the house. He sits on the couch with Gabi and presses small kisses into her hair, gently rubbing her back to comfort her. After settling her back down in his lap, she turns to you where you’re hovering near the couch. “Fower okay?”

You look at Frankie confused as he shoots a wink at you. “Yea baby. Wildflower’s okay too. We’re all okay.”

Well, if you weren’t a puddle before, you sure the fuck are now at hearing Gabi try to say your nickname, and you can barely process what’s even going on as she reaches for you and you’re pulled onto the couch and into a three-way hug by Frankie, because every single cell in your body is composed of millions of butterflies and your brain has completely stopped working.

You close your eyes and just feel. Frankie’s arm wrapped around your back and pulling you into his chest, Gabi’s arm across your waist, the crisp scent of Frankie’s cologne mixed with his sweat, the sharp tang of freshly smoked cigarette, the gentle puffing of his chest rising and falling. It’s heaven.

All too soon, Frankie’s arm drops from you and Gabi follows suit, and the three of you awkwardly untangle yourselves. You decide finally just to watch a movie hoping for some distraction, settling on Beauty and the Beast, and nestle tightly all together under a large throw blanket, only pausing to eat Frankie’s famous grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. The excitement of the day clearly tuckered Gabi out and she falls asleep leaning on you much earlier than her normal bedtime. You give her a kiss as Frankie picks her up and takes her to bed, turning off the movie and stretching your stiff muscles from sitting in one position for so long. Frankie has a great couch, just the perfect amount of softness to sink in as you lay down completely across it and sigh heavily. What a fucking day.

You feel the trail of a rough and calloused fingertip gliding up your forearm, swirling around and grazing your skin with the nail softly as it meanders up your bicep, before Frankie’s whole hand cups around your arm.

“Mmmm that feels nice.”

It’s dark enough you can’t see him smiling, but you know he is. “Bed?”

You nod and allow him to take your hand and gently tug you up, pulling you behind him to the bedroom where you both collapse on the bed fully clothed. You roll to face him, the two of you angling towards each other in half-moons.

He speaks first. “Crazy day.”

“Yea.”

“Thanks again…for…everything I guess.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“You did...keeping me here, calming Gabi, calming me...dealing with her.”

“You’re welcome, but it was no big deal.”

“But...ugh.” He grunts. He’s never been great at explaining himself and his feelings, and he struggles to make you understand how much today meant to him. “It was to me. I just...I appreciate it.”

You reach out and squeeze his hand and he squeezes yours back, rolling to his back and bringing you with him to settle in his nook like you love. You nestle in, rubbing your nose into the soft cotton covering his pectoral muscle as you wrap your arm across his softer waist. The arm cradling your head bends and he wraps his forearm around you, large palm caressing small circles on your side.

“I want to….dammit.”

You lean your head up to look at him, though you’re more looking at his beautiful jawline from this angle, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“I want to talk to you about it but I’m not good at this shit.”

You hold him tighter. “That’s okay. Just...say whatever you want. I’ll listen.”

He nods, his lips twitching and you can see him swallow nervously, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he compiles his thoughts.

“She wasn’t always like that. It just...slowly started being that way.”

“Lex, you mean?”

“Yea. We met in between two of my deployments. Everything was so great at first, she was supportive of me and she got on with my friends, she stayed with me while I was away and would always write and send care packages. I’ve never been perfect but it never bothered her. She just...liked me.”

“It?”

“I would get sad sometimes, for no reason. And I can be kind of a dick occasionally.” He chuckles softly. “But she made it better. She always made me feel better. But then...we got married, I climbed the ranks, and the tours I was doing started...affecting me more I guess. She didn’t make it better anymore. She tried though, but I just. I dunno. I guess you can only kill so many people before it starts fucking you up.”

You bite your lip to stop from making a sound. You knew he killed people, he’d mentioned it once before. But this was the first time he’d ever acknowledged to you how bad it might have been, how it could have made him feel, and you don’t utter a sound that would interrupt his thoughts.

He takes a deep breath, all the thoughts in his head making it difficult for him to hone in on what he’s trying to say, so he just rambles, letting himself push out the words organically, hoping it will make sense to you.

“When I finished, I came home and I didn't even know what was going on in her life anymore. I’d gotten so used to a specific way of living in the military, everything was structured and I got anything I needed. I didn’t know where to go or what to do when I got home. So I did what I knew, flying helicopters contractually. And then just interacting normally with people who weren’t actively trying to kill me, making small talk with people who had no idea what the fuck I’d been through...I didn’t know how to do it. And I was fucking miserable, all the time, and the things that worked before weren’t working. So I...I started using.”

He quiets, and you offer the information he already told you. “And you didn’t find much help at the VA?”

He audibly scoffs. “I didn’t even try, not at first. I wanted to do it on my own, I thought I could. It’s hard to explain...like it made me feel weak to need help. To ask for it. So I didn’t. And Lex begged and pleaded for me to do something, go to therapy or a doctor or whatever. I didn’t want to. I just...I got my first hit from another pilot on the job I was doing. And all of a sudden I just felt so good. Like how I used to feel. Just...happy. So I kept doing it, cause I didn’t want that to go away. It got pretty bad. But no matter how much she begged and cried, I couldn’t stop. And then I got caught. That’s...that’s why I can’t fly anymore.”

“How’d you get caught?”

“They did a random drug test on me and of course I fucking failed. I could barely even function for my shifts anymore. They suspended my license and I was fired.”

“Fuck. Is the suspension permanent?”

“No, it isn’t, but I didn’t know that at first. Once I knew, that kicked me in the ass enough to realize I had to stop that shit. Lex was right, and I didn’t wanna lose her, and not even being able to fly...I can’t not fly. I can’t. I threw all my shit out and quit cold turkey. Looking for help through the VA was kinda like talking to a wall, so I just ended up just doing it on my own. I struggled a bit at first, but things got better, Lex calmed down and I did some handyman side jobs to scrape by. I felt like maybe we could be happy again when she got pregnant. And then when we had Gabi…it was like, damn, this is what it’s about. This right here. Her. She was so perfect and beautiful, and I’d helped create that. I didn’t want to ruin her life. I wanted to give her everything but we didn’t have a lot of money. Then...Pope came home. He was working in Colombia to hunt down drug dealers or something. Asked us to do this little mission and I thought it would be a quick and easy way to get some good money for my family. She didn’t want me to go. Begged me not to. I should have listened…”

“What happened?”

“Mission went South. Series of bad decisions and everything went to shit. And Redfly...Tom, that’s when he died. On that mission. Shouldn’t have even fucking gone. But...well, you know Pope. He’s persuasive. I just wanted to support my team. But maybe if I’d said no, maybe if I hadn’t...well. I feel responsible.”

“I’m so sorry Frankie, I’m sure you aren’t responsible, there was no way to know what would have happened. But I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to feel that guilt on top of everything else. Did you talk to Santiago about it ever?” He shakes his head solemnly, and you kiss him softly on his pec before letting him continue.

“No. It’s...hard to talk about. For us. We didn’t even get all the money we were supposed to. Barely any of it. What we did get we gave to Tom’s wife and kids cause we felt so bad. And...other things happened on the mission that weren’t supposed to happen. So I went home and was right back in the place I was before. Except even worse. Miserable and lost. And...fuck, I used again.”

“Oh, Frankie…” You murmur as he pulls you into his side harder. You slip your fingers under the hem of his shirt and rub your fingers around his hip.

“Yea...I just felt the worst fucking piece of shit. And I couldn’t get out of it this time. Stopped working, laid around and did nothing. Lex, she was just so disappointed, and when she was done being disappointed, she was mad, and she just stayed that way. She’d nag, yell, baby me, she tried everything but it only made it worse. She threatened to leave so many times, but I guess it never really seemed...real. Until she did. She took Gabi from me and left. Gabi was only six months old. Filed for sole custody and told the courts all about my drug use and how I didn’t have a job. I was barely allowed to see her and I just got even worse. Up for days, sleep for days, not eating or drinking. It was bad.”

“Fuck...Frankie, how did you get sober?”

“Will. He came over and read me the riot act, got me up and made me go to rehab. I knew it was my last shot. I was in too deep this time and couldn’t do it myself. And I wanted it done for good, for Gabi. I didn’t fuck around. Went in there for three months and then I got out and started going to NA every day. Haven’t touched it again, told myself it wasn’t an option anymore. I needed to get Gabi back. I needed to be good, for her, and I guess for me too. Will knew a guy who worked at the airport so I got a good job there, I got a fucking amazing lawyer too and when I’d been sober for a year, I started getting visitation without supervision. But I wanted more, so we pushed and got joint custody. That’s when I hired you.”

You hum and sit up a little, moving to lay your head on his soft tummy so you can look at him easier. He looks down at you and smiles softly, exhaling a slow sigh as he trails his fingers along your hair. “Sorry. That was long.”

You shake your head. “No, thank you for telling me. It makes me feel good that you trust me with all of this. So...why is Lex still so angry with you? You’d think she’d be happy you were sober again.”

He sighs. “I don’t know. She just...whenever I’m around her she is just so bitter, so resentful and it always makes me feel bad. She always assumes I’m gonna fuck up, never trusts me with anything anymore. It feels like she purposely wants to trip me up. I don’t...I don’t need that. That doesn’t help me. At first I thought I could win her back, but that was fucked. She’d found someone else and now they’re happily married I guess.”

“That sounds like it was really hurtful.”

“It was for a while, not so much anymore. Mostly now I just can’t stand the attitude. And she makes me feel guilty because she hates me for ruining her life.”

The two of you fall quiet for a few moments. A thought keeps prickling in the back of your head, something familiar. You struggle to grasp it, searching through your thoughts and memories like when you’re trying to find a small passage in a massive textbook. His fingers are absently trailing along your hairline, something your ex used to do when he wanted to calm you down. And then, suddenly, you have it.

You sit up abruptly and cross your legs, looking down at him. “Yea, she is mad. She’s mad and sad, and resentful, but mostly, she feels like shit about herself.”

He furrows his brow. “What?”

“Yea, see, she thought she was able to fix you before, and that changed. She suddenly wasn’t enough anymore. I'm sure there’s a lot of feelings tied up in that. Anger, resentment, hurt, jealousy that you’re doing it now on your own. It makes sense.”

He sits up straighter too. “Holy shit.”

“Yea and she became so desperate that she became controlling and that made it worse for you, and pushed her until she couldn’t take it anymore and now she’s stuck in that mode because that’s where she was last with you. It all makes sense!”

He grimaces, face pinching as if the pull of his muscles could draw his thoughts together as well. “But...but I did get better...eventually. If she’d just stayed a little longer…” He trails off.

“It sounds like the situation was just affecting her too much. And that’s the thing, she wasn’t going to be able to fix you. It was you. You were. And maybe you needed her to be away to do that.”

“Yea, Will always tells me she’s not able to support me anymore.”

“No. And if she’d stayed maybe you never would have gotten better. There’s no way to tell. So you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.”

His nod is so subtle you might have missed it, just barely bobbing his head. You’re struck by how at ease and open he looks, his eyes hooded but still so wide, and you revel in the thought that this man has let down his walls so much with you. It makes you want to do the same in return. You feel your heart rate picking up at the thought of what you’re about to say.

“I get it...because....it’s happened to me.”

He raises his eyebrows, leaning forward and crossing his legs, propping himself up on his hands with his elbows on his knees.

“I’m a fixer too. I see someone upset, see a problem and I want to fix it. It’s gotten me in a lot of trouble romantically. I find someone who’s sad and broken and get overly invested in them, try to fix them, and then when it eventually isn’t enough it absolutely devastates me.”

Frankie swallows, panic rising in his chest at the immediate implications of your confession. Shit. Am I the same? Is she just into me because she wants to fix me? His heart starts racing again, completely unbidden, and he struggles to keep himself calm as you finish.

You can feel yourself shaking, the fear and anxiety at finally sharing this part of you that’s been buried for so long with someone you were falling for and didn’t want to scare away. But you force yourself to continue. He shared with you. You felt you owe him some transparency back.

“My last boyfriend, I was so fucking in love with him. And I helped for a while, but then...I couldn’t. He was just unable to overcome his issues and it ended up getting really toxic for me. I got too emotionally invested in his mental status. But I couldn’t leave, I wouldn’t. I was convinced I could still save him, if I just loved him hard enough, even if it broke me in the process. But I couldn’t, we drifted further and further away from each other, arguing more and more and he ended up breaking up with me anyways. But...I honestly thought he was the love of my life. I was fucking devastated. It took me a long time to recover. And it wasn’t the first person that this happened with.”

You pause, noticing he’s staring at you with wide, panicked eyes, so you hurry to finish. “I told myself that I needed to be alone for a while, and I was. I said before to you that I probably could use some therapy, and I spoke from experience. I did therapy and some personal reflection and took care of myself. And now I realize what I was doing and I’m not doing it again. But I can say from my own history, you can’t fix someone. Not with love. Not with threats. A person can only fix themselves, for themselves.”

Frankie doesn’t know what to think, too many thoughts are swirling around in his head, jumbling everything you’ve said and only focusing and emphasizing the bad parts. The parts that might affect him. The parts that he already questions about himself already. He slows his breathing, trying to regain control of himself.

“What about me? I’m broken.” He mutters.

You roll your eyes. “Frankie, you’re not broken.”

He scoffs. “I’m a little broken.”

You grab his face and make him look at you. “Frankie. The point I’m trying to make is that you have to fix yourself. No one can do it for you. And you have, you’ve been doing that. I met you after you already did that work. I’m just...reaping the benefits.” You chuckle, and he smiles, relief at the small break in tension.

“You don’t need me,” You continue. “You don’t rely on me, and I am not doing anything to do it for you. I like you for you, and I liked you before I knew anything. Please believe that. I don’t do that anymore. I just...wanted you to know because it’s my past, cause you shared yours with me.”

He nods, focusing on the words coming from your mouth and not the negative thoughts in his head. You trusted him. You shared something deep about yourself with him. It’s been so long since he’s been trusted so implicitly, and suddenly the meaning of it overwhelms him with affection and he surges forward to kiss your lips with a force that almost winds you, practically sucking your lips into his mouth with its veracity. When you finally part with heavy breaths, he pulls you back down with him with a sigh. You reach up and cup his face with your hand, sliding your thumb along the muscles of his jaw.

“Jesus Frankie, your jaw muscles are hard as a rock! Does it hurt?”

He grunts and shrugs, and you move off him and push at his shoulder. “Turn around.”

He rolls so he’s on his side facing away from you, and you lay behind him with enough distance to start rubbing your fingers around the muscles of the back of his neck, slowly working out the tension and crunchy knots as you move towards his jaw.

“Mmph...that feels good.”

You kiss the center of his strong back right between the shoulderblades, trailing your nose up and down his spine. He hums and you can feel his muscles melt down, the stiffness of his frame settling and releasing into the mattress.

After a long while you stop, he turns around to face you. You wrap your arms around his waist and curl your body into his as much as you can. He puts his chin on top of your head and threads his fingers into your scalp, curling his palm around the curve of your head.

“Thank you. I owe you one.” He slurs sleepily without thinking about it.

“Hmmm.” You smirk, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll think of a way to collect.”

Frankie groans softly. “It’s not going to be a massage, is it?”

“Nope.”

“I’m not going.”

You just laugh, nuzzling into his chest as the two of you fall asleep.

Frankie wakes before you, eyes jolting open for no discernable reason until he feels the tingling flutters in his chest. The room is dark except for the lamp on the nightstand he’d forgotten to turn off, the windows still dark enough he knew it was not yet morning.

He rolls onto his back and rubs his eyes, stretching his tight muscles as he realizes he’s still fully dressed in his jeans and t-shirt. The two of you had dislodged at some point, you were a couple feet away, facing him with your arms slightly stretched out in front of you. You looked peaceful.

He’s envious of it, but now that he’s awake, he can’t help but think about what the two of you had talked about, unable to settle down and go back to sleep.

I find someone who’s sad and broken and get overly invested in them.

I try to fix them.

When it eventually isn’t enough it absolutely devastates me.

And fuck, he can’t help but wonder if you are doing it again, despite your protestations. He is a mess, a broken mess who can’t help but ruin everything despite how hard he tries, he knows that, and he wonders if you sensed that and were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His heart clenches in his chest at the thought that he was just satisfying a fixation for you, that your involvement and attraction to him might be based on something deeply rooted and potentially harmful. It fucking hurts. And it scares the shit out of him.

He winces and runs his fingers through his hair, rubbing his forehead as his hand returns to his side, exhaling a heavy sigh.

Stop. Just...stop.

He can’t think this way. He knows he can’t. He’s been taught and taught not to allow thoughts like these to overwhelm his logic. He takes another deep centering breath and turns on his side to look at you, look at your face, at the way you almost could be reaching for him, and reminds himself what else you said.

I realize what I was doing and I’m not doing it again.

You have to fix yourself. And you have, you’ve been doing that. I met you after...

You don’t need me. You don’t rely on me.

“But I do need you…” He chuckles softly, reaching out to tuck a stray chunk of hair behind your ear. Your brows pinch together slightly and your head shifts slightly towards his hand, as if you can feel him through your haze of sleep. He marvels at how you’re always so responsive to him, always in tune with him even if you aren’t aware of it.

No. There is a connection here. And it’s more than just some sort of complex. You haven’t helped him do anything. You’ve just been there...supporting him. Never pushing, never controlling. Just a caring ray of light at his side that just exists there. That wants to exist with him.

But maybe both are true. And if they are, and he ruins it, then what?

He will devastate you.

And suddenly, he needs. He just needs, possessively and desperately, to know that you're irrefutably his, at least for now. He needs to know and feel that he’s yours. He needs you to wake up, he needs to distract himself, he needs you to push these thoughts away because if he thinks about it, if he just sits here and thinks about how deeply he’s falling for you and the fact that everything, everything in his life he manages to screw up, he will fucking lose it.

“Baby…” He whispers, caressing his thumb against your temple. “Hey...wake up.” He moves his hand to your shoulder, nudging you gently, your eyes cracking open to his hazy silhouette in the dim light.

“Frankie…” You mumble, smiling sleepily. He pulls his hand away and you turn and stretch. “Shit. Did we fall asleep?”

“Yea.”

He reaches out again, cupping the back of your neck as he shuffles his body to yours. You meet him at the mouth, slanting your lips against his briefly when he’s close enough. Before you can pull away completely, he’s kissing you again, soft little pecks intermittently interrupted by lip sucking kisses as if he hoped to inhale you, eventually rolling you so you’re on your back, his weight firmly pressed between your thighs. He’s breathing slow but heavy, his eyes darting between yours with such a blatant intensity you struggle not to look away at the rawness of it.

He kisses you again, nibbles your lower lip and wets his tongue against it before letting it go, and you tilt your head to meet his kiss more, reciprocating by sliding your tongue into his mouth. He whimpers, a sound so filled with desperation and longing you can’t help but cant you hips into his despite your grogginess. He’s already wanting, pressing insistently against your jean covered groin.

“Need you.” He pants in between kisses. And how can you resist when he sounds like that? His hips move rhythmically against yours, a slow rocking back and forth and you respond to his plea by pushing his soft cotton shirt over his waist, trailing your fingers along his ribs as and up around his nipples as he pulls it off. He shivers under your touch, fumbling with the button of your jeans, struggling to open them in his shaking fingers. You push him off, settling him on his back as you stand and remove your jeans, shirt, and bra, crawling up to him and straddling his hips to do the same for his own jeans. His eyes are large, round, eyebrows tilting up, almost looking like a begging puppy. Begging for a pet, begging for praise, begging for your love. He closes his eyes and sighs as you pull his pants and boxers off, his need for you standing proudly for your attention.

You clamber back over him, cupping his face with your hands and kiss him deeply. He whimpers again, fucking raw and slightly unhinged as you feel his cock brush against the fabric of your panties. You can feel his pre-cum wetting a patch against the cotton. He raises his hands and plays with the seam of them at your waist but pauses there, as if waiting for your permission. He’s quiet, so very quiet, more than he usually is when the two of you fuck each other.

“Cat,” You whisper, stroking your thumbs under his eyes and across his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“I just need to feel you.” He pulls your hips down on him, moaning softly. “Fuck me, please.”

You stand and shuck off your underwear before swinging your leg and settling back over him, your folds sliding against the rigid line of his cock. You gyrate against him, watching his expressions shift and morph as he chases the feeling, letting you have complete control over his pleasure. It’s...intoxicating. You finally lift up enough to grab his length and tease it through your wetness, smearing it around even more before slipping him into you and sheathing him completely inside you, the perfect stretch of him making you gasp as you sink down flush with his hips. You both moan together and he reaches for your hips with his hands, but you grab them and push them back down at his sides. Something about his neediness stirs you, and you just want to give, Want him to just take.

“You want me to fuck you?” You murmur. “Then let me fuck you..”

“Fucccckkk.” He groans, tossing his neck back, the chords of muscles and tendons heaving out as he swallows roughly. You start moving and he wriggles under your hands but you push them down harder.

“You need me?” You husk as you begin moving slowly, rolling your hips against his. “Let me give you me, how I want. You just take. Let me take care of you. You always take care of me, let me take care of you.” He keens under your words, it’s so fucking beautiful hearing him at your mercy. It makes you feel powerful, like his fucking goddess. He strains against you again on impulse, lifting his hips to try and grind into you, his tummy puffing out with heavy, lust filled breaths.

“Be good Frankie.” You take his hands and pull them over his head, pressing down into him as your chest brushes his. You can feel his forearms flexing under you as he resists straining against you to try and reach up to cup your breasts as your chests touch. He growls as you roll your hips, languidly building up to move faster and faster, periodically grinding down onto him and sending him so deep inside you your eyes roll back in your head. The hair above his cock creates the perfect friction for you to graze and slide against, and you feel yourself climbing, climbing so close to where you need to be, the sound of him muttering sporadically under his breath and his balls slapping the lips of your pussy each time you roll back spurring you on.

“Jesus Christ...you’re so fucking beautiful...feel so fucking good around me...” He cuts himself off with a loud groan as impale yourself with a particularly sharp thrust, your thighs trembling because you’re still just waking up and you’re already so close.. So fucking close at how he’s wriggling under you, the way he’s baring his teeth, the ways his eyes are shut so tight they are only small little half moons, the way your nipples are rubbing against his chest, the way every muscle in his body is taut as a drum to keep from touching you and letting you ride him to oblivion, the way he’s whimpering under you and FUCK you’re there, you push up and slam your pussy down onto him as you cum, swiveling your hips enough for his groin to press into your clit while the pleasure shockwaves through you. You slam your eyes shut as colors pop behind your eyelids, crying out as you gush around him.

You almost collapse onto him from the effort, but force yourself not to because you want to give him what he needs, give him yourself without having to work for it, so he can just feel you and release. You sit back up and bounce on him, sliding him almost entirely out of you then falling back down, your palms spread open on his chest as you ride him. His heartbeat is racing and you can feel a sheen of sweat gathering under your palms that you’re not sure is his or yours. You can feel yourself tiring and you push not to slow down, leaning forward slightly on your hands to help with your momentum.

And he's being so good, his hands clenched into fists at his sides like you asked him to and his begs and pleas give you the strength you need to slide him into you just right, clenching around the drag of his cock.

“Shit - don’t stop baby, just like that…”

And you don’t. You lift and fall harder, faster, panting with effort at how good he feels as he looks into your eyes. Your mouth is gaping open in pleasure and your brows screwing upwards and he stiffens, throwing his head back into the pillow, practically shouting out your name as you feel him spurt inside you, his hips gaining their own autonomy and pushing up into you as he cums and cums inside your heat.

You coo and praise him as he comes back to himself, pulling you to him to rest your forehead on his, your noses touching, your lips a hair’s breadth away as you breathe into each other.

“Fuck...that was…” He can’t even finish the sentence he’s so fucked out, and he huffs a laugh as you slip off him and collapse to his side. He wraps his arms around you, cradling you into him as if could absorb you into him, like he can’t bear to separate an inch from your warmth and your love. Because that’s what you tried to give him, your love, so he can feel it and know even if you can’t say it yet.

I’m in love with you.

Frankie chugs his drink. The music around him is thrumming to a level that is annoying, the bluish hue of the club seems to be vibrating and pulsating off the walls as it ebbs and flows with the lights. He hates it.

He’d walked right into it and he’d almost laugh if he wasn’t so irritated. Santiago, Benny, Dali, and you had been trying to talk him and Will to go out dancing for weeks, and after Will had finally given in, Frankie was the last stronghold. Which crumbled the other night when he’d stupidly told you “I owe you one.” God dammit. You sure knew how to capitalize. He wouldn’t forget it again.

But maybe he needs to fucking loosen up. He’s surrounded by his friends, and everyone else is laughing and having a good time. The club is a new find of Santiago’s, finally taking the time to explore the neighborhood of his new place. He supposes it’s nice, an ocean inspired fusion club that he would never step into himself.

You’ve been gone for some time, so he sweeps his eyes across the long line of the bar to find you. After Santiago and Benny had supplied the first two rounds, you’d demanded the next round was on you. He finally finds you, the shimmer of your champagne colored top reflecting the blue lights to make you look almost bioluminescent as you assert your place in line at the bar, immediately tensing when he sees what’s going on. Two men are talking to you as the bartender prepares the tray with everyone’s orders, and you’re waving your hands around frantically, your mouth opening widely to yell at them over the music. You look uncomfortable.

Motherfuckers. You’re getting hit on, he can see it in the way one of the men moves close to you and has the gall to place his hand on your hip and whisper in your ear. Frankie’s almost halfway across the table when he sees you pushing the stranger back, motioning over to the table and sweeping your arm in a circular motion while shaking your head. He wonders if he should just go over there anyway, but before he can move, the two men back off. The bartender finishes and he moves around the bar to escort you back to your table to serve everyone their drinks.

You scoot into the booth next to Frankie and kiss him on the cheek. “Hey baby.”

He grunts and tips his head back towards the bar. “What was all that?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, just some assholes who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Need us to go beat the shit out of them?” Benny says enthusiastically. Frankie chuckles, pulling you in by the waist tighter to him.

“Nah, I took care of it. They only spoke Spanish but I think I was pretty clear. Might have insinuated to them all of you loved me and were my boyfriends though, to get them to back off.”

Santiago perks up. “All of us? That’s hot. You know I’d be your extra boyfriend any time, Gorgeous.” He wiggles his eyebrows. You laugh and roll your eyes.

Frankie sighs and rubs his face with his palm. “Now you’ve started it.”

“Started what?”

“Frankie never likes to share.” Santiago whines teasingly.

“Shut the fuck up, I share everything with you guys, just not my girlfriend.”

You make eye contact with Dali, who is struggling not to laugh.

“Well she just said we were all her boyfriends!” Benny chimes in.

“To random men whose attention I don’t want, yea. I only have eyes for my Frankie. But you can all be my platonic boyfriends.” You bat your eyelashes then look over at Dali, making sure she’s okay you are including Will in this.

Will laughs and slaps Benny in the chest. “We know darlin’, we’re just messin’ with ya.”

“I wasn’t.” Pope grumbles.

“Shutup Pope. Now who’s dancing?!” You look over at Frankie pointedly and he puts his hands up.

“No. Absolutely not. You’re gonna have to ask one of your ‘other boyfriends’.”

You glare at him. “You dance at home with me and Gabi all the time.”

“Yea...but that’s in private.”

Santiago almost trips over himself to get up. “I got you.”

He grabs your hand and moves to the dance floor, Benny following closely behind yelling, “Fine, but I get next song.”

“Babe, you coming?” Dali turns to Will.

“Not much of a dancer either Sunshine, you go and have fun with Benny.” She leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek before following the rest of the group.

{Blinding Lights by The Weeknd & Rosalia}

The song shifts to one you’re well familiar with as you weave into the crowd behind Santiago.

“Ooooo, I love this one!” You’re thrown for a loop for a second when the lyrics come in with a female voice. “Oh nevermind, I haven’t heard this version!” You freeze momentarily until Santiago grabs your wrists, slowly starting to move his hips in a step you’re not familiar with.

“I don’t know how to do this dance!” You yell to him over the blaring music. From the corner of your eye, you can see Dali and Benny are dancing together. Benny is...a terrible dancer, but it loosens you up as you focus on Santiago.

“It’s called bachata!” Santiago yells over the thrum of the bass. “Here I’ll show you.” You patiently watch, swaying with the music as you memorize the footwork, eventually joining him in swirling your hips. He takes your hands, moving faster as you become more comfortable, and quickly you’re dancing in earnest, twirling around and laughing with him.

Frankie can’t help but smile. It stings a little that he isn’t the one dancing with you, Santiago is an incredibly touchy and flirty person even when he’s not dancing. And when he is...well. But Frankie knows he’s not the best, and he can’t begrudge you having fun with his friends. Dancing with a two and a half year old around his living room alone is completely different than doing it in front of tons of people he doesn’t know, all who dance better than him. Even Benny. But despite all their joking and teasing, he trusts you with his friends.

You’re a quick learner, he knew you would be, and within a minute you are keeping up with Santiago almost effortlessly, pressed hip to hip as you clear a wide berth around you. Frankie laughs as you shriek out happily when Santiago abruptly twirls you too hard and you almost fall over, flinging your arms around his neck and collapsing forward into his chest in laughter. He pulls you closer, hands just skimming your waist as you move together, your hips swirling dramatically in a way that has Frankie adjusting himself in his jeans.

{Heart to Break by Kim Petras}

The song ends and melts into the next and you release Santiago, panting with the exhilaration of dancing with him. You nudge Dali and trade partners, she slips into Santiago’s form much easier than you and you can’t help but become transfixed with the way she moves her body so effortlessly.

Dancing with Benny is, like anything else with him, filled with boundless energy, confidence, and without a care in the world. He dances like a chicken who thinks he’s a swan, not caring how anyone is looking at him or how he looks, and you can’t help but be swept up in it as he pulls you against him, gripping you around your ribs as you move with him.

You’re singing the lyrics, breathing heavily as you bounce to the chorus, spinning around enough that you see Frankie watching you out of the corner of your eye with a wide grin. You bite your lip as he watches, dancing in front of Benny with his arms hovering over your waist, feeling the music and the lyrics as you sing them.

This song is fucking terrible, Frankie thinks as he watches you, but his music lover’s heart can’t help but hone in on the lyrics you’re lipsyncing from your panting mouth, and he feels his heart twinge in his chest, a tight coil of irrational fear unraveling into a mass much bigger.

Even if it means that I'll never put myself back together

Gonna give you my heart to break

Even if I'll end up in shatters, baby it doesn't matter

Gonna give you my heart to break

I tried to fight, but I can't help it

Don't care if this is my worst mistake

'Cause no one else could do it better

That's why I give you my heart to break

He swallows hard and looks away. Stop. It’s just a song. Just a fucking song, you idiot.

He turns to Will for distraction. “So things are going good with you and Dali?”

Will nods. “Yea man, I mean, I don’t want to get ahead of myself but...she’s...she’s perfect. Didn’t think there’d be anyone who could deal with my shit.”

“Me either.”

“You ever scared? That you’ll fuck it up?”

Frankie heaves a sigh. “Constantly. Lately...it’s all I think about.”

Will hums and wipes his fingertips down his goatee, the pounding of the music all but silencing the sound. “The only advice I can offer is what I keep saying to myself. Try not to focus on it, because then you’ll psych yourself out.”

“Yea. Sometimes it seems too good to be true with how well she gets along with everyone, Dali too. Hard to believe I just...am allowed to be this happy.”

{Del Mar by Ozuna, Sia, & Doja Cat}

Will nods, taking a sip of his drink and the two of them look back up to where the rest of the group is. The song had changed without him even noticing. Santiago seems to have taken the opportunity to go to the bar to get more drinks for everyone and you’re chatting in Dali’s ear. As the tempo picks up, she reaches to your hip and draws you up against her, rolling her hips against yours.

You close your eyes and wrap your arms around her neck, sliding your thigh between hers as you gyrate together like ocean waves. You lick your lips and she winks, moving her hips with yours as she suddenly turns around and lightly grinds her ass against you, the scent of her hair blooming deliciously in your nose as you dance together. Your lips are so close to her neck.

“Oh...shit.” Frankie looks back at Will with wide eyes before following his gaze to you and Dali dancing against each other. Benny is staring at you two with an open mouth, eyes sparkling with absolute glee as he points dramatically trying to get his friends’ attention.. Frankie can’t help the way his cock twitches at the way you're dancing with her. Fuck. It’s hot.

“I better go in there and steal my girl back, or Flower’s gonna take her from me.” Will laughs as he stands, pushing into the crowd and meeting you and Dali. He slides his arm around her waist and Frankie sees you all smiling and laughing as he whirls Dali away. You look over at Frankie, motioning him over. He shakes his head, looking away to avoid your sharp gaze but you roll your eyes and exit the floor, swaying your hips as you approach the table.

“You’re dancing with me. Come on.” You order, grabbing Frankie’s hand and pulling him as you move to the beat, dragging him behind you into the crowd. You swing him by your arm so he’s in front of you, wrapping your arms around his neck as you begin moving your hips to the music again.

He clears his throat, affected by the way you’re moving against him. “I’m - not a good dancer.”

You giggle. “I don’t care. You’re my man and I want to dance with you.” You grab his hips and move him in time with you. Despite his protestations, he does catch the rhythm quickly and he pulls you closer, his hands resting on the small of your back right above your ass.

He hums, comforted by your words. “What was that with you and Dali.”

You shrug. “Just dancing.”

‘I hope you don’t dance with anyone else like that.”

You push back on his chest a little, an incredulous look on your face. “Cat...are you jealous?”

“No!” He shoots back, a little too forcefully to be believed. He grimaces at the Freudian slip.

“Awwwww Cat...” You coo. “Is that what’s been going on with you lately? Why you’re all needy lately?”

“I’m not needy.” He huffs. “I just...well, alright fine. You just looked into her.” He pulls you closer, allowing you to feel his possessiveness in both his arms and between his legs.

“Frankie.” You soothe, wrapping your arms back around his neck and looking in his eyes. “She’s hot, but she’s my friend, nothing more. We were just dancing.”

“Do you...like women?” He asks.

“I do. But I only want you. I don’t want you doubting it any more. Please.” You can feel his heavy shudder of breath, hopefully a release of relief as he tilts your chin up for a kiss.

“All the people in the world to choose from then, and you pick me.”

“Yea. I pick you. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You kiss him again and deepen it, sliding your tongue into his mouth to tangle with his own. You feel him moan and you swallow it down, only breaking the kiss and turning in his arms, rubbing back against him as the song swells in it’s climax. You can feel him against your ass, hard and insistent, as well as the warmth gathering in your belly as you continue to grind against him, the jut of his stupid belt buckle against the small of your back somehow only making your lust build more.

I love the way that you smile

I love the way that you smell

I love the faces you make when you storytell

I love the way that you are

I love the things that you do

The things that you do when you think I ain't watchin' you

“I have to admit watching you and Dali was fucking sexy.” He rumbles in your ear with a groan as you press against him more.

“MMmmmm yea? I knew you were watching. Will came running.” You giggle.

He places his hands on your hips and pulls you right up against him, you’re curved over and practically humping each other on the floor instead of dancing at this point. “Trying to make me jealous? You better stop.”

“Or what.” You tease, bending forward a bit to really give it to him, following the course as the song melds into a new one with higher tempo.

{Physical by Dua Lipa}

“Fuck.” He growls. “Or this.” He grabs your wrist and tugs you off the dance floor quickly, shifting through the crowd until he reaches the bathroom hallway where he pushes you up against it and crashes into your mouth. He wedges his thigh in between yours and you wriggle against him, moaning at the friction against where you’re already wet for him. “Or I will fuck you right here in this club.”

He pulls away and stares at you, his forearms caging you against the wall. You stare right back, quirking your lips as you slowly, deliberately, start grinding yourself against his thigh, moaning lewdly and loudly in full view of anyone who were to walk down the hallway.

“Jesus….yea? You want me to fuck you here?” You whine at his tone, biting your lip and nodding, and he wastes no time in taking you to one of the one-person bathroom doors, tugging on it and cursing when he finds it locked and in use. You can only laugh at his growing frustration as he tries the second one, also locked, before he curses in Spanish and pulls you out the backdoor, through the club patio to the parking lot.

“Frankie!” You gasp breathlessly, “Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer, looking around and spotting a rectangular curling staircase jutting out of the back of the building next to the club, and he tugs you to it and pulls you into the shelter of the structure, gently pushing you back against the brick wall and kissing you ravenously. It’s drizzling very lightly, but you don’t care as you thrust your tongue into his mouth and resume rubbing against his front in desperation.

“What is it with you and doing it in public?” You laugh, inhaling sharply as he roughly flips you around so you're facing the wall and pulling your mini skirt up over your hips. You brace your palms against the side of the building, looking to see if you could be visible from behind the staircase to anyone that were to come out onto the club patio. You weren’t.

“I dunno.” He gruffs as he pulls your thong to the side and trails his finger through your pussy. “I think - fuck baby, you’re so wet - I think you just drive me crazy.” He crowds you up against the wall more as he pushes two fingers deep inside you, curling them against the spot that he knows drives you wild, slipping two fingers of his other hand into your mouth to keep you quiet. You whimper against his fingers, twirling your tongue around the digits as he continues pumping his other fingers inside of your heat.

“Gotta be quiet for me baby. Can you do that? Be a good girl and keep quiet? Don’t want anyone to catch us.” You feel like you might faint, your knees buckling as he pulls his fingers out of you, but he steadies you with his hands on your hips as he kneels, he fucking kneels on the wet pavement, pulls your panties to the side and absolutely buries his face in your pussy.

“Oh fuck!” You cry, yelping once more as he gently swats you on your ass as he nuzzles his face into your folds. “Sorry….” You whimper.

He pulls away. “If you aren’t good, I’ll stop.”

“No! I’ll be quiet! Please don’t stop!” You whisper, wiggling your hips back as you lean forward against the wall, desperately seeking his mouth. He chuckles darkly and pats you on the ass a few more times, each stinging a bit more before pulling you back to his mouth, lathing his tongue back and forth and around your entire slit, his hooked nose practically entering you as he pushes harder into you. He’s moaning against you, the sound is vibrating and joining the pounding rhythm that can still be heard outside the club. He takes one hand off your hips and wraps his arm around you as he all but pinches your clit over and over until you're quivering right on the edge, whimpering his name softly and he pulls away. That asshole pulls away from you completely and you almost sob at the loss, pressing your face on your hands against the wet brick wall.

“No….please…” You mewl.

You can hear him fiddling with his buckle and you perk up, pushing your ass at him as you feel him drop his pants, the fabric of them ghosting across your thighs as they fall to the ground. He pulls back and pushes on your back so you’re angled more for him and starts rubbing his cock along your sopping wet pussy. You try to push against him but he holds you tight.

“I wanna hear you say it again.”

“Wha?” You’re barely present, your mind is barely functioning beyond the ability to form any speech, all you know is you need him, and you need him now. Nothing else matters. Not the rain, not if you get caught, not even if he’d wanted to fuck you right in the club.

“Tell me again...that you’re mine.” He snarls, pushing forward just enough for the head of his cock to enter you.

“Oh fuckkkk. I’m yours. Cat - I’m yours please I’m yours please just fuck me.”

He pulls you up against his chest, tilting your head to the side as he kisses you sloppily, your tongues molding together as much as they can at this angle. It’s messy and the kiss barely lands, but you hardly care because that is when he enters you, and you cry out against his mouth before falling back forward to the wall for support as he starts a brutal pace.

He’s practically pummeling into you and you’re doing everything you can not to collapse or make too much noise, but the sound of his cock entering you sounds like it’s bouncing off all the buildings, and you can’t help but moan at the vulgarity of it.

“Fuck baby...shit.” He grunts as he reaches up and pulls the top of your dress down to expose your tits, your nipples hardening in the wet air as he reaches to pinch and pull at them with one hand. You’re about to cum, you’re literally about to cum when suddenly you hear the click of the door lever from somewhere outside of your consciousness and Frankie slams to a halt.

“Fish?” It’s Santiago. Fuck it’s always Santiago isn’t it, but instead of stopping and waiting, Frankie starts moving again, quietly sliding you up and down his cock as you press your mouth over the crook of your elbow. You know he’s smirking, you just fucking know it, almost daring you to blow your cover.

You hear the door click again. “They out here?” Will.

“No. I don’t think so. Maybe they went out front.” You hear the door click a final time, not daring to uncover your mouth until the silence permeates the back of the buildings again and Frankie starts picking up his pace once more, his belt buckle rattling and his harsh pants tickling the back of your neck.

“Almost got caught there,” He whispers, “But you were a good girl, huh? So quiet. So good for me. Don’t want them to see you right? See me fucking you like this?” He’s rambling at this point and you’re too far gone to care what he’s saying, it just feels good and hot and so fucking dirty, the way he can pull things out of you that you didn’t even know where there. “You like this? Me fucking you in the fucking street honey?”

You keen and tense, your thighs trembling as his own thumps against them, the pressure he pulled you from building and building again until you’re back on that edge, your quiet whimpers reduced to sharp, quick, haggard pants. He feels you’re close and returns his hand to your clit, pinching and circling it a few more times as you slap your hand on the brick wall.

“One more time baby. Come on. Tell me again.”

You keen sharply, gasping out in delirium whatever he needs to hear. “I’m - I’m yours.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Fuck - FUCK! It’s yours!” You cry, jolting up a little as you cum, your juices swelling around him as you shudder in his arms.

“That’s it baby, that’s it, cum on me. Cum around my cock in the street you filthy fucking girl. Jesus, fuck you’re so fucking tight.” He groans as you sag back into him a bit, your arms sliding down the wet wall. He wraps his arms around you, one at your sternum and one around your hips as he supports you through the afterwaves of your orgasm, mouthing and nibbling at your shoulder in what you know will make a mark.

You can feel he’s losing his rhythm, his breaths coming out now in whimpers of his own, and you turn your head as much as you can with the way he’s holding you. “Cat...cum for me. Cum for me baby.” He gasps, pounding into you faster and faster, irregular and disjointed, and right as he tenses, right as you know he’s about to cum, you reach back and grab the hairs on the nape of his neck, pulling gently. “Cum in me and I’ll leave it there and walk around with you dripping from me.”

He cries out, shooting his frame up and thrusting into you three, four more times as you feel him bursting inside you, rope after rope of his cum inside your walls. You moan at the sensation, he shudders and drops his head back on your shoulder, gripping your hip hard as you both regain your breath together.

Everything filters back to your senses slowly. The feeling of Frankie’s tummy inhaling and exhaling against your back, the sound of the soft rain drizzling around you, the faint rhythm of whatever is playing in the club, cars rolling over the pavement in the street beyond, and Frankie murmuring sweet gibberish against you as you shift.

He pulls out of you, you can feel your mingled cum sliding down your inner thighs. You know he’s looking and he hums in pleasure at the sight. You pull your top back up to cover your chest, leaning back against him as he fixes your underwear and shifts your skirt back over your hips.

“Babe.” He giggles. He actually giggles and you can’t help but laugh too at the absurdness of your commingled lust. “I gotta pull my pants up but I can’t with you falling over on me.”

You’re cackling hysterically now, turning around and leaning against the cold brick as Frankie pulls up his boxer and jeans, reassembling his belt in between gasping laughter.

“We’re fucking ridiculous, this is ridiculous!” He smothers your laugh with a kiss, the curves of your lips still in a smile as you separate and continue to giggle against each other's parted mouths.

“Yea we fucking are...but we better get inside before they come out here and it gets even more ridiculous.” You nod and peck him a few more short kisses before checking each other one more time and slinking to the back door of the club.

{Hillside Boys by Kim Petras}

“Where the fuck have you been?” Santiago snaps as you rejoin the group at the table. “We were worried you all got mugged or something!”

“Uhhh bathroom.”

“Truck. Went to get something from my truck.” You both say at the same time, not slick at all.

“Why are you both all wet?” Dali interjects, smirking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Uhhhhhh.”

“Alright, we were fucking, okay? Let's just go dance.” Frankie grabs your hand and pulls you back out to the dance floor, and the rest follow, laughing and catcalling as you go. You stick your tongue out at them as Frankie pulls you to him again, moving much more comfortably then before. The song switches again and you back up, getting the okay from Dali before grabbing Will’s hands and dancing with him. You can barely hear each other chattering to one another as the music continues to blare, but you don’t care. You’re happy, you’re surrounded by your best friends and your man. You turn away from Will and wrap your arms around Frankie’s waist, smiling up at him.

“You’re mine too.” You mouth.

He wants to say more. He wants to say, I’m fucking falling in love with you, you perfect, perfect girl, but something stops him, it’s not the right time, not the right place. But he feels secure enough to know now, soon. So for now, instead, he says: “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

Chapter 9

Taglist: @absurdthirst @hnt-escape @silverstarsandsuns @heythere-mel @missjessie21 @magikfanatic @theinnerrebelnerd @nexuswhisperer @sarahjkl82-blog @hb8301 @thou-creature-of-the-deep @thisshipwillsail316 @pascalpanic @freeshavocadoooo @hope-for-the-best-98 @phoenix-of-loki @empress-palpat1ne @dobbyjen @disgruntledspacedad @annathewitch @pedrosmustache @linnie0119 @talesfromtheguild @janebby @spideysimpossiblegirl @emesispo @ew-erin @a-skov @hocus-chlocus @casssiopeia @pedritoispunk @wardenparker @keithseabrook27 @kissingvalentino @winter-fox-queen @darnitdraco @sara-alonso @booksarekindaneat @floraandfrost @tanyaherondale @pintsizemama @studyofawearymind @antisocialthat70sshow @ninturse @peterhollandkait @nakhudanyx @brandyllyn @donnaa @nikkialex @jerricrojane @giggly-otter @darksber @greeneyedblondie44 @lovecatsnotpeople @klara-luise18 @skulliebythesea @tanzthompson @taylorxargentina @lightning-fast54 @salome-c @paintballkid711 @andruxx @ezzieu2 @artsymaddie @adriiibell @sherala007 @mswarriorbabe80 @mrsparknuts @gracie7209 @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @frenchyjuju @ezrasbirdie @ahsokathearcher @leannawithacapitala @the-fever-of-mankind @fangirl-316 @pedrostories @theanothersherlockian

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todoscript · 4 years ago

Text

monopolize

SUMMARY: Having realized Bakugou and Midoriya’s infatuation with you, Shouto decides to make a firm point at showing that you’re his and his alone.

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader (feat. bakugou katsuki & midoriya izuku)

genre: smut. slight angst. pro hero au.

word count: 8.0k+

warnings: 18+. characters are aged up. dominant!shouto. possessive!shouto. (!!!)coercion. exhibitionism. bondage (kinda). slight degradation. praising. squirting. humiliation (bakugou & midoriya receiving).

author’s note: so the idea for this fic came to me one day while i was studying chemistry and it kinda got out of hand the moment i started writing it...haha, oops... but anyway, shoutout to rosie ( @shoutogepi ) for listening to me ramble about this and encouraging me to write this shit, love you lots babe! <333 also a reminder to please look over the warnings before proceeding, thank you!!!

If your open jaw is not enough to emphasize your shock, then the bag that hits the floor after escaping your grasp does that job for you. It also alerts the three existing presences in the room of your arrival, to which all eyes maneuver to the door of your shared bedroom, witnessing your appalled state at what is lying in wake.

Lounging on the futon, Shouto breaks your awed silence. “Welcome home, love,” he greets, warmly as per usual whenever he arrives home from work before you do.

You’re utterly surprised by how indifferent he sounds despite the two additional faces in the room. After all, it’s not every day you’d ever expect the Pro Number One and Two heroes to be here in your very bedroom, bound by what you have to assume is your boyfriend’s ice.

Unsure how to go about your reply, you instead opt to slowly walk into the room, assessing the situation. Your wary gaze darts between the angry red eyes of Bakugou Katsuki and the strained green ones of Midoriya Izuku. “I... U-Um… Shouto? What is all of this? What are Midoriya and Bakugou doing here?” You finally manage to address the elephant in the room, yet Shouto does not tackle your questions with as much haste as you are hoping.

He gets up from the bed to meet you in the middle, gathering you in his arms before his lips find your temple—the kiss he presses soft and tender, but the fact that there are two other pairs of eyes glancing over at you from such a compromising position warms your cheeks buried in his chest.

You don’t catch how Bakugou practically wrenches at the sight while Midoriya turns away, abashed. There’s hurt discerned in their expressions that can only be akin to pure jealousy. But you don’t know that. Well, not yet anyway.

“Let me explain, love,” Shouto starts, his voice a meager space away from your ear that he tucks a hair behind, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed or not, but are you aware that these two both—”

“That’s it! I don’t have to stay here and listen to this crap!” Bakugou’s loud voice bursts out, cutting the rest of Shouto’s words short just before they fall to your ear. Watching as a fever of energy begins emitting from Bakugou’s palms trapped in the ice, the dual-haired hero quickly acts by erecting another glacier to impede the blonde’s abilities, effectively keeping him trapped there. Bakugou can only grit his teeth as he remains bound. Meanwhile, you gape at the lengths Shouto goes to prevent these two renowned heroes from leaving this space.

The chill that diffuses throughout the atmosphere of the room pairs fittingly with the frigid stare Shouto points at your guests. Ensuring the cold doesn’t affect you, he regulates your temperatures with his fire side while your body is still pressed against him before continuing. “As I was saying, these two men in front of you both harbor the same feelings for you as I do,” Shouto says. You slightly turn to meet his heterochromatic gaze with confusion written on your face, unsure what his words exactly imply.

Reading this, Shouto’s hand at your waist travels to your nape. “I’m sure you must have realized it by now, love... The way their touches linger on you for far longer than necessary whenever you meet them...” His calloused hand rubs at the back of your neck, the other traveling up your chest that yields a strained noise from your mouth.

“Or how they flirt with you whenever you visit my agency while they’re there, thinking I don’t notice. Telling you how good you look or how pretty you are.” His words meld into your skin as his lips meet below your jawline, the sensation of his nibbles manifesting your noises into frail moans that lights blushes in your spectators’ cheeks. All attempts at disregarding those cases as friendly compliments are hindered when your attention is captured by Shouto’s wandering hands and hypnotizing voice.

“Though I wholeheartedly agree with every statement, I think it’s only right of me—your boyfriend—to be a little concerned when they’re always giving you those looks.”

You bite your lip in hopes of suppressing the next noise that threatens to spill from your mouth before curiosity overtakes you. “What looks?” you pry yet not entirely ready for the answer. Shouto breaths in closely next to your ear, voice guttural and full of weight.

“Like they want to fuck you.”

His claims have your eyes blown out wide, timbre compelling goosebumps across your skin at something so vulgar departing his mouth. You try to muster out a comprehensible thought for the sake of the two heroes, but the words are drawn back in your throat. Shouto catches your guarded look.

“Now, don’t go saying they’re just being friendly with you, baby. I mean look at them. Are those the faces of two men who just want to be friends with you?”

The air has suddenly grown tense, the tension so taut it could be cut with a butter knife. Hesitantly, you shift to meet Bakugou and Midoriya’s eyes to gauge a response from them. To your surprise, all you can perceive are the sheer expressions of shame painted on their faces—red smearing their cheeks with humiliation as they can’t help but glance at anywhere else but you.

“Well?” Shouto chimes in after you’ve fully grasped the reality of the situation.

Peering into his icy heterochromatic eyes, you gulp. You know you have no right to be lying to his face, no matter how much you insist it isn’t so.

“N-No,” you admit.

A grin curves on his lips before he kisses your cheek.

“Mm, smart girl.”

Despite you waving your white flag, Shouto doesn’t stop his touches from wandering your body. He palms at sensitive areas that leave you burning. Those whimpers you’ve desperately tried to conceal unfetter from your lips when his hands inch upon skin hidden beneath your clothing. His touches are firm with a mixture of warmth and coolness that has you holding your breath. The sensations cloud your thoughts, making you forget where you are as the other presences in the room now in the back of your mind.

Midoriya and Bakugou can’t bring themselves to look anymore—can’t bear to gaze at such intimacy they can never hope to attain. Especially when your cute noises leave a twitch in their pants, a feeling they fail to cast off in shame.

“Todoroki... you made your point, now please let us out of this ice,” Midoriya says through his dry lips. Though the verdant-haired hero knows he could free himself on his own with his strength, if Shouto has anything to say about it, he’d just conjure another pillar of ice as quickly as a snap of a finger to replace the shattered ones. Considering that’s what he’s done to keep the two of them from leaving thus far.

“You can’t be fucking serious about leaving us here, Icy-Hot,” Bakugou adds with far more hostility in his tone as he shoots a glare at the red and white-haired man.

The reminder that the top two Pro Heroes are still present in the same room as you while Shouto trails his large hands at every expanse of bare flesh he can find delivers a jolt of embarrassment throughout your body. Embarrassment that somehow kindles a lick of heat in your abdomen.

“On the contrary, this is only part one of what I have in store for you two tonight,” Shouto says, lips playing on the fine line of a smirk. “In fact, I plan on ingraining in your very minds that my love belongs to me and only me by making you two watch her come undone on my cock.”

There’s disbelief throughout the room, trying to comprehend the lengths behind his words.

“W-Wait, are we really doing this in front of them?” you sputter.

“If you’re that uncomfortable about this love, then I’ll simply leave them in this room and fuck you in the next one so they can at least hear every little thing I’m doing to you,” he offers, tone descending multiple steps that rack shivers down your skin as he circles your body, standing chest to your back.

“But having an audience entices you, doesn’t it? After all, look at how wet you are.” He hooks an arm below your leg, lifting it slightly so his free hand can slip into your panties beneath your skirt, no longer blocked by your thighs clenching together. You find yourself winding an arm behind his neck to keep balance. Your eyes shut tight from both mortification and pleasure at how he strokes your slit in front of the two heroes. Sure enough, there’s an abundant amount of slick gathered at your center, the shameful squelching at your throbbing cunt not eluding anyone’s ears in the room.

“Mmm, already such a drenched fucking mess. It’s like the fact that all three of us lust for you makes you even wetter,” he whispers into your ear like a red-winged devil professing your sins to you—sins you should feel disgraceful for, yet you can’t help the exhilaration simmering in your chest. After all, having three powerful, attractive men vying for your attention is nothing short of every girl’s dream. To deny the effects this has on your body would only add dishonesty to your list of sins. Shouto takes your silence as confirmation.

Parting from your panties, he reveals his fingers coated in your shiny essence to everyone in the room. Bakugou and Midoriya water at the sight, groans stifled under their breaths as the many nights of dreaming about how sweet you taste come back to hit them all at once. The saccharine dripping between your thighs is so close, and yet so far as Shouto remains firm on his word about keeping them bound throughout his show of dominance.

Though driven in such compromising circumstances, the two Pro Heroes can’t find it within themselves to tear their eyes away from you. Perhaps in actuality, a deep, dark longing inside them secretly confesses to wanting to watch you unravel amidst the throes of pleasure, even if your undoing is due to someone that isn’t them.

“What a naughty slut you are, admitting you get off at the thought of more than one man wanting to ravage this body of yours.” His lips brush against the shell of your ear, heightening your mortification and the ever-growing wetness at your center.

“However, I’m all you need, isn’t that right, sweetheart? I’m the only man that can reduce you to this soaked, quivering mess from just my voice alone, and the only one whose cock makes your body shake with pleasure that leaves you sore for days.”

“Yes, Sh-Shouto…” you airily whimper in reply.

Shouto’s index finger presses against your trembling bottom lip, slightly smearing your slick on its plushness before he cups your face to stare directly at Bakugou and Midoriya.

“Go on then. Tell the Number One and Number Two Pro Heroes who you belong to,” he commands lowly in your ear. Before you can speak, heat ignites in your cheeks. You glance down and take note of the prominent bulges within the two’s tight clothing, their cocks positively aching to break free from the confines. The fact that the two seem to be getting off on the sight of you manhandled by Shouto is something to acknowledge.

“I… I belong to you…” Your voice wanes.

“Who? Be more specific, baby.”

“I belong to the Number Three hero, Todoroki Shouto,” you say, more clearly this time. The response is sufficient enough to satisfy the man behind you, who turns your head so your lips can connect in a passion of teeth and tongue dancing together that leaves your lungs gasping for air, detaching with ragged breaths. While you’re recovering, Shouto tugs you closer by your chin, pressing your foreheads against each other, where you gander into the depths of his gray and turquoise eyes swimming with lust.

“That’s right, and no one else is going to fuck you like I am tonight.” He sneaks a side-glance at his fellow heroes. “They can only watch as I drive my cock into your pussy over and over again, wishing they were me.”

Midoriya remains silent, letting his troubled expression speak for him, blush persisting on his face. Bakugou, on the other hand, decides to spit a few words out.

“Fuck. You.”

Make that only two words. Still, the venom dripping off each one gets his point across, in that he’s absolutely livid. But sadly for him, it has no effect on the calm and collected Todoroki Shouto.

Taking you by the hand, he leads you to the futon, sprawled out flat for your small audience to behold the entirety of your fucking tonight. Shouto kisses the back of your hand before leaving you to continue standing. He settles himself on the sheets with his arms propped behind him to view up at you as you obediently wait for his orders.

“Well, love, you know what to do. Take off some clothes for me,” he says gruffly. You oblige, slowly peeling off layers. Your skirt piles into a heap on the floor at undoing the zipper holding it in place, quickly followed by the blouse tossed over your head which leaves the remaining clothing on your body your mismatched lingerie. The dainty, silk intimates are the only thing separating you from being fully exposed to everyone.

Even given a sparing view of you from behind, Midoriya and Bakugou readily eat you up. If they somehow haven’t been undressing you with their eyes before this, then they certainly are now. Bakugou zeroes in on your pert ass, emphasized by your panties, and itches to grasp its softness in his own palms, desiring to squeeze, rub, and spank till his heart’s content.

Contrarily, Midoriya has his sights set on the clasp of your bra. What he wouldn’t give to unfasten it from your body and have the article of clothing slip off your skin, putting your beautiful breasts on display, nipples likely stiff and begging for the attention of his fingers and mouth.

It’s unfortunate for them that no such fantasies will come true tonight. After all, you don’t belong to them. You belong to Shouto.

Feeling incredibly vulnerable, you rub your thighs together to create some friction between your lower lips, trying to subside the throb growing in your belly. But you can only endure for so long when Shouto is staring at you with such scalding intensity. You’re struggling to hold onto the remnants of your dignity before it’s stripped away from you at the next command.

“Baby, you’re gorgeous, but,” Shouto hums, admiring the view for a second longer before cutting to the chase, “I want it all off.”

Not wasting any time, your thumbs hook under the waistband of the silk, quickly casting the panties to join the pile below your feet. The way your web-like slick connects your folds to the material before breaking off as your panties reach the ground does not go unnoticed. Your bra, of course, is the next to be discarded—unhooked and tossed, unveiling your tits to the chilly air.

Defenses torn down, you stand bare and exposed to all eyes in the room. You don’t miss the glint flitting in the mismatch of Shouto’s eyes, staring at you like he’s uncovered a beautiful pearl beneath the ocean. Though this is far from your first time engaging in your sexual desires with him, you always fall prey to that carnal look of his, which seemed even more lecherous tonight. He runs a finger on his lips pulled into a seductive smile, eyes piqued at your naked form.

Prickles of arousal travel down your spine. You can’t discern whether it’s the very thought of your vulnerability or the fiery looks you swear are piercing into you at every angle that has you tingling with anticipation.

Either way, such spark coursing through your veins drives you into Shouto’s waiting arms as he beckons you to him. He welcomes you onto his lap, allowing your thighs purchase next to his own while his large hands grope at your soft skin. It isn’t long until your lips meet again, Shouto coaxing—no—prying them open with his tongue as it finds yours, brushing the underside and chasing with zeal. His roughness has you at a loss for words, quite literally as all you can respond with are the airy moans leaking out between each fervent lip-lock. When Shouto grabs at one of your mounds, index finger circling your perky nipple, you let out a surprised squeak.

Your two bystanders’ dicks stutter in response at the noises, having absolutely nothing to do but watch and listen in envy. Every time they hear such a sweet succession of sounds from you, they fidget in their positions, attempting to pathetically generate some pressure against their clothes to alleviate the pain in their cocks.

Shouto does not miss the way they struggle within his periphery, smirking at their pitiful attempts to find any form of relief. At this, a sly thought flickers in his head.

With his hands on your hips, he guides your body further against his own. You find your knees supporting you up while your upper body leans over Shouto, hands gripping his shoulders to keep you steady. The position he’s led you in doesn’t grant you many options, besides obliging to be pliant in his hands.

Peeking over your shoulder, you flush with heat when you realize your ass is perked in the direction toward Midoriya and Bakugou. The troubling thoughts of whether you should feel flustered or flattered by their mesmerized state at how spread you are, hovering above Shouto’s lap, is ripped away when the Pro Hero begins cascading his hands across your skin. His palms waver back and forth within the boundaries of your ass and thighs, every now and then squeezing your warm flesh during his crossings between the two.

“Mmm, Sho…” you whine, the palpable neediness in your voice begging for him to touch your throbbing center already. Bakugou and Midoriya wish for the same, tormented by how slow he decides to take his caressing. If it were up to them, they’d already be tongue deep in your pussy already, perhaps even bottoming their cocks inside your walls, considering how soaked you must be. But no, Shouto wants this night to last. And he’s going to set the pace however he sees fit.

One of Shouto’s hands creeps beneath your leg to maneuver them further apart before his palms find their place at the underside of your poised ass. A short sigh floats amid your parted lips at how he spreads your cheeks, exposing your cunt freely to the two. You hear a groan, followed by an obscene “fuck…” that has you wondering what the view must be like from their perspective to render them so awestruck.

And man, if only you could see your pretty little cunt—wet, glistening, and fluttering on nothing, pleading for stimulation. Stimulation that Shouto grants sparingly as his middle and ring finger suddenly prod your slit, tearing a surprised gasp from your mouth while you toss your head backward.

Your slippery pussy coats his fingers in an opalescent sheen. He hums at the debauched image of your body yearning his touch. “Such a slutty, needy pussy… So messy, even though I haven’t even taken my clothes off yet.” Shouto takes the sullied fingers into his mouth, swiping his tongue at your delectable taste abiding his digits. It’s obscene how he makes a show of drinking up the honey from your thighs to taunt Midoriya and Bakugou, groaning between licks like it’s the one thing keeping him sustained. Well, then again, Shouto could probably survive on your essence for days if he tried, considering his favorite places to be is between your thighs anyway.

Head tilting in the direction behind you, you could’ve sworn you saw one of the two licking their lips while the other swallowed a large, heavy gulp. Before you can question it further, Shouto’s words resume ringing in your ear.

“It’s all for me right, love?” he asks as though he doesn’t already know the answer.

Your body quivers as he dives down to continue prodding your cunt before you can even respond properly. “Y-Yes, it’s just for you, Sho— Ah..!” You try your best to muster the words out. But his fingers give you no moment to spare. A jolt of pleasure spikes through your body as he reaches your clit, leaving your voice hanging in the air.

“Unnf... f-fuck...”

Shouto is relentless this time, attending to your bundled nerves at an excruciating rhythm that has you swaying your hips into his hands. Then all coherent thoughts are whisked away when you feel two fingers penetrating your sloppy pussy, thrusting into places you could never reach on your own, and prepping your walls for what’s to come.

“Baby, you take my fingers so well, you’re practically sucking them in,” he praises, reveling in the way you writhe in pleasure at him playing with your cunt. Whining, your legs move further apart involuntarily, allowing him deeper access.

You shake amid his ministrations, teeth pulling at your bottom lip at every sultry sensation rushing through your body. Wrinkling the fabric of his white shirt, your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails sinking deeper into clothed skin when you feel that familiar ache boiling in your abdomen.

“Your thighs are trembling just trying to hold you up. Going to cum soon, love?” Shouto asks. He chuckles at how vigorously you nod your head next to him, knowing your voice would fail you by the moans threatening to unravel precariously from your lips.

“Good, I want you to fucking scream. Show them how well you can cum from my fingers alone, yeah?” he murmurs beside your ear, not giving you much warning than that before suddenly increasing his movements on your cunt.

“Ah, Sho..! Sho!”

There’s nothing for you to do other than to chant his name over and over again like a mantra. You squeeze your fingers into his skin to make sure you don’t end up dissolving in his hands from the fire flaring inside you, threatening to melt you entirely.

And he loves every bit of the needy noises you make. Knowing it’s his name that echoes in the room around them, resounding in the very minds of his rivals who witness firsthand the way you scream out amidst the throes of pleasure—the scene better than any imagination of theirs they’ve conjured in their delusional fantasies—feeds Shouto’s ego deliciously.

The strained gasp you choke out when his lips make contact on your jawline has him smiling against you, the kisses he plants there blooming loving blemishes on your skin. You struggle to keep yourself together from all the sensations storming you at once. There’s something euphoric yet… foreign coursing through your body that you can’t discern, and you’re half-worried of what’s to happen when you reach your imminent release.

“Sh-Sho, wait..! Oh god, I’m gonna—!” you warn, but that only compels Shouto to speed up his pace in a last push for you to cum. From his bruising bites to his fingers methodically working you with skilled ease, it isn’t long until your escalating high peaks into intangible relief.

And god, the throb feels almost uncomfortable but so blissful at the same time.

The pressure builds up to an intense climax that has your walls clamping around his fingers, and your thighs shaking beside him while you yell out Shouto’s name. Holding you through every step of the way, his fingers steady inside you as you convulse around them. The ones at your clit continue rubbing your sensitive, swollen bud throughout your release to widen the intensity.

As your whole body trembles at the haze-induced orgasm, you lean against the hero for support.

“Ohhh baby...” His purrs rumble deep within his chest, an extra lick of delight in his tone. Your eyes are shut while you stumble down from your rapturous high, whimpering when Sho removes his fingers from your pulsating pussy.

“D-Did she just..?!” Midoriya questions incredulously, to your surprise.

“Fuck! I can’t believe she fucking squirted!” Bakugou follows.

At that, your eyes shoot open. You muster the energy to lift your body off Shouto’s lap and reveal to yourself the evident damp spot left on his pants from what you very much have to assume is a result of you gushing your release on him.

Trepidation creeps underneath your skin, swallowing you in mortification.

You really did that.

Squirted in front of the top three Pro Heroes in the country, making a mess on Sho’s pants with your flowing, translucent cum. The very reminder of it spouts your head with your overthinking.

“Wait, I didn’t mean to— I-I mean... I didn’t think I was ever a squirter. It’s just—”

“Love.”

A single word is enough to dispel your ramblings. You look up at Shouto like a deer caught in headlights, expression harrowed by apprehension. At that, he holds your shoulders, pulling you forward so he can press a reassuring kiss against your forehead. The tender gesture numbs the uneasy static racking through you, moving away to glimpse at the endearment hidden within the smoldering fog swirling in Shouto’s eyes.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures through hushed words he embeds unto your skin, hands warmly running down your sides. “Besides, you squirting on my fingers was so so sexy.” His seductive allure returns almost as quickly as it disappeared amidst his soothing tone. His touches and the extra flair in his voice makes you hot all over again despite just cumming.

“I must have made you feel incredibly good, getting you to cum so hard like that. Even giving those two over there a show. Just look at them...” Shouto whispers closely, nudging you in the direction of your onlookers whose reddening faces visibly recoil when your eyes cross. It’s as if they’ve gandered into the abyss—anxious at what’s to come yet can’t seem to look away. You flutter between their expressions, gauging their blushes and furrowed brows, before lowering your gaze at the prominent stain on the crotch of their pants, pre-cum seeping at the surface due to the arousal built watching you ruined on Shouto’s very fingers.

A part of you wonders how pent up they must be. Your curiosity dances upon lewd thoughts about how stiff their cocks are and how their lengths would look freed from the constricting clothing. Veiny, hard, and painfully red all because of you. All because of what Shouto is doing to you.

It evokes you with a newfound surge of confidence, finding solace in your sea of uncertainty. And coupled with Shouto’s loving demeanor, you don’t seem to remember what you were ever so self-conscious about to begin with.

“Look at how depraved these sad men are.” Shouto clicks his tongue, a voice in his head confirming of what he already long knew. Deep down, he at least assures himself that his former classmates are aware of their place. In which they’re only allowed to look—not touch—and if they so much as plunge into forbidden territory, he’d rise above the waters to bite their heads off. He recognizes this from just a simple inspection of their faces.

Deterring after hearing Shouto’s words, Midoriya’s eyes cast downward to the floor, brows softened with hurt. His expression is burdened upon not only stigma but guilt, lusting after a woman that isn’t even his while allowing the absurd thought he could steal you away from the fire-and-ice hero to ever cross his mind.

Meanwhile, the blonde mulls over in defeat more so than shame. Although never one to yield from a fight, Bakugou had long realized this battle was over before it even began. You were deftly out of his reach. All he can settle for now is the afterimage of your undoing played back in his head, the recording surrounded by a thick cloud of envy.

Shouto reads their compliance clearly—a wordless surrender witnessing your aftermath of pleasure. As a result, a grin surfaces his lips. Unfortunately for them, the sly devil latent inside him is far satiated. Perhaps it’s time to move onto the next course.

His fingers brush along the underside of your chin, leading your half-lidded eyes to him.

“Baby,” he says, and the way he calls to you in that low baritone makes you receptive to his every word, “why don’t you go over there and help our guests get their cocks out of their pants, hm?” You nod slowly, half-wondering if he read your mind during your indecent contemplation. Shouto kisses the corner of your lip before you stand from the futon and saunter toward the two pillars of ice resting in the room.

Your steps are slow and languid, the consistent sway of your hips hypnotizing to both sides. Reaching the two, you lower to your knees, bending forward and offering Shouto a view of your exposed cunt that still drips of your essence. He bites his lip, palming his bulge through his pants until he begins freeing himself of the unnecessary clothing that would have been discarded by now if he wasn’t so absorbed in your climax.

In the meantime, you kneel in front of the top two Pro Heroes, mooning over who to approach first until your red and white-haired boyfriend answers for you.

“Midoriya first. And then Bakugou.”

You can practically feel the fire lighting inside Bakugou at the command, knowing Icy-Hot gives the order in favor of Midoriya just to get under his skin. You do well to ignore his malice by crawling over to the green-haired hero, hovering above his bound form, and meeting his emerald eyes that are wide and fixated on your every move.

The proximity between you two has the air trapped in his lungs. He holds his breath out of fear that if he lets go, you’d vanish into a mirage. But his throat hitches the very moment your fingers trace up the fabric of his pants, disembarking across his thighs and toward his painful erection that twinges at your touch. It’s fortunate enough for him that you don’t disappear and that the sultry look you give him as you drag the zipper of his pants down isn’t a figment of his imagination. You catch a glimpse of his briefs, along with the head of his dick peeking above the waistband, still strained by a single layer of fabric.

Midoriya swears he can cum right then and there when you lightly palm his hardness—the first relieving sensation he’s felt all night before it’s surmounted by you tugging down the waistband. Cock released from its confines, it jumps forward out of excitement before slapping back against his navel. Midoriya hisses at being open to the air, his feverish skin stinging surrounded by the coldness throughout the room.

As you predicted, the Number One’s cock stands stout and protruding red at being neglected for so long. It begs to be touched.

“P-Please…” The whisper is almost inaudible, but you discern the desperation in his tone.

Midoriya’s pleading expression staring down at you nearly sways you to grant pity on him, but you know you’re given no position to do that. So sadly, you move on. The hero laments you leaving so soon, a whine quietly squeaking from him, left with nothing but his length stiff on his abs as you make your way to Kacchan.

Unlike the former, the blonde actually makes an effort to free himself one last time, a struggle you pick up on when you near him. He’s gritting his teeth together, heat slowly radiating off his body stoked by his anger. Yet that somehow all dissipates at a simple glance of your face. There’s a glassiness in your eyes that renders him silent.

His narrowed stare wanders toward your plush lips, looking so damn soft and kissable. If only he could muster the willpower to break free and move forward to capture them in his own, seal them tight so he wouldn’t have to hear Icy-Hot’s name spilling out of them anymore. But your steady gaze on him freezes him into the ice, halting his motions as if you were medusa. He hears nothing but his racing heart palpitating in his chest as he waits for you to make a move.

“Hm, Bakugou’s been a bit of a brat tonight, wouldn’t you say, love? How about you tease him a bit?” Shouto suggests mischievously.

Turning in his direction, you see him sitting on the bedding, naked and stroking his cock listlessly as he waits for you. The sight encourages you back to Bakugou’s erection to finish the task you started, thighs shuffling against each other at a glimpse of your prize between the Number Three hero’s legs.

As if you couldn’t get anymore seductive, you adjust yourself right between the blonde’s spread form, carelessly brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you bend forward, back arching. Bakugou has no idea what he’s in for, fearing for the worst knowing you plan to tease him. He starts muttering a question that never reaches your ear, the words splintering off when he deftly realizes you’re pulling his pant’s zipper between your fucking teeth. Making sure never to break eye contact with him, you drag the metal down at an excruciating pace, each tooth of the zipper undone so slowly it’s practically torture to him.

“Shit... Y/n…” he groans wantonly as you reach the end of your destination. After being contained all this time, it seems his cock wants to come out with a vengeance. You gasp when it suddenly springs past his briefs, nearly making contact against your cheek.

Bakugou sputters an filthy amount of curses, finding the image of you wincing in shock and glancing up at his thick cock towering next to your face with the tip oozing of his pre-cum to be utterly pornographic. Well if this is truly reminiscent of a porn scene, you’d be wrapping your hands around the base of his cock by now, fisting it before delightfully enveloping the tip in your hot mouth. But the call of your name behind you cracks that fantasy into pieces.

To his dismay, your attention swerves from the embossed vein lining Bakugou’s dick to Shouto’s muscular body, idle on the futon, where he gestures a finger at you. You return to your usual place atop his lap, except this time there’s no longer any barrier of fabric to prevent you two from feeling each other’s heat.

Shouto grazes his hands on your back, humming into your neck. “Well, baby, you saw how hard their cocks were. How does it feel to have the top three pros all craving you at once?”

You pause amidst your reply, the little kisses he brushes on your jugular serving to distract you for a moment. You have to ask yourself if your boyfriend is throwing a trick question at you. Giving it some thought, you decide to tackle it honestly.

“It feels... pretty good,” you murmur, a tad squeamish while he maps the expanse of your neck with his lips. It’s an answer he anticipates according to the next question he follows up.

“But of all the cocks in this room, whose do you want the most?”

“Yours, Sho.” Compared to before, your answer is given promptly. Shouto grins at how eager you are for him. “Only yours.” You affirm one last time, effectively hammering a nail into Midoriya and Bakugou’s chests. Shouto’s hands traverse your waist, then to your thighs, giving your flesh a solid squeeze.

“That’s right, you’re my fucking cock slut and no one else’s.” You almost choke when he lurches forward to grind his erection against your wet core, emphasizing your innate effect on him. Whimpering at the slippery friction of his hardness on your swollen clit, you find yourself moving in tandem with his motions.

“My my, still that needy even after you already squirted all over my fingers? Your pussy is just so so greedy for me, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes... F-Fuck, Sho, please let me put your cock inside me. I want to cum on your cock so much!” you plead, voice rising at every insufficient jerk of your hips. It isn’t enough to just rub your sensitive little pearl against it. You need the thing inside you since yesterday, and you’re more than willing to throw your last fragment of modesty out the window to get it.

Luckily for you, your neediness seems to work in your favor as Shouto has no objections at granting you your pleasure.

“Don’t worry, baby. I told you I’d be driving my cock in and out of you in front of them, didn’t I?” He runs his fingers on the edge of your cheek, admiring the cute desperation readable over your features—eyes glazed, skin hot, and cunt positively dripping. “Of course, I intend to keep that promise. But first…” He lays you two into his favored position, maneuvering your body until you’re straddling his thighs. He peers up at you while nestled back on the sheets.

“I suppose since I forced them here, the least we can do is continue giving them something to remember. It is going to be the first and last night they’ll see you like this anyway,” he reasons. The two mentioned pique hearing the statement. You yourself grow considerably hotter, realizing he’s angled you in a way that grants your audience another enticing view of your body above him.

“Well, princess, why don’t you start riding your stallion then?” Shouto incites his request as more of a command than anything else, and you begin earnestly catering to him by lifting your hips. You align his length toward your entrance. His calloused hands spread on your thighs at the anticipation of watching the head of his cock enter your wet heat.

“Ooooh yeah, keep going baby, take it all in,” he encourages through purrs reverberating in his throat. With each inch you swallow between your folds, his expression knits into pure bliss, brows narrowed at how well your tight pussy hugs his cock. He looks up and catches you slowly unraveling before his eyes. You strain to keep yourself together, eyes shut in pleasure at the delicious burn swelling in your stomach.

There’s a stifled noise parting your mouth that hangs open as you gradually envelop him to the shaft. Shouto’s thick cock slowly bottoms inside your walls and makes you feel so complete. While he lets you adjust to his sizable girth, his palms grope your skin, soothing the tense burn churning inside you.

“Mmph…” you whine, hands trying to find some leverage, laying flat on his abs. You give yourself a second, followed by another until the short pain you feel morphs into a delectable buzz.

“I… I’m going to move now, Sho,” you tell him before flitting up and down his long length, progressing tentatively. His heterochromatic eyes are dark and murky, watching his cock glisten in more of your sheen while you glide it into your pussy at a steady tempo. You make sure to take everything offered to you to the fullest, from the tip to base where his balls brush the underside of your ass. Shouto is more than endowed and you don’t ever plan on taking any part of his gift for granted.

“Mm, even after I prepped you, you’re still so tight for me,” Shouto groans, your cunt rippling waves in his body. Despite being consumed in your ministrations, you have to note how sinful he looks below you, sweat shining on his skin and tufts of red and white hair sticking to his forehead. It’s hard to believe a man as handsome as him could be so possessive with you, going through such lengths to prove to his rivals that you only belong to him. But man, do you find it to be hot. The notion once again has your cunt clenching considerably.

“It’s because—ah—you’re so th-thick,” you tell him, and in turn, he gives you a devilish smirk that adds fuel to the fire lighting in your abdomen. Before you can conjure another thought, he suddenly thrusts his hips up to meet yours, reaching a particular spongy spot that causes you to cry out.

“Why don’t we increase the pace then? Ride me faster, love. I want you to cum hard on my cock in front of them.”

Oh boy, he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You swiftly nod, gathering some ardor in your thighs that helps you bounce more fervently on top of him. What was once subtle claps chiming in the room escalates into a concert of skins slapping against each other. Gripping your hips, Shouto meets every heavy drop with a firm thrust upward, continuing to reach the same place that induces heaven across your entire body.

Your moans are uncontained now, flittering out at how good Shouto’s cock is making you feel. The sounds are beyond intoxicating to him, like a midnight song he could get drunk on and gladly switch to repeat.

Every slam into your spread pussy steals your words away while reducing him to hissing between his teeth, your folds enshrouding him with unimaginable euphoria that has his onlookers glaring in envy.

The sight is one that Midoriya and Bakugou will surely replay throughout their wistful days after tonight. Your breasts swaying in time with your sloppy movements is a marvel to gawk at as the two implant your glazed body bouncing atop Shouto into their memories, their deluded imaginations going to work at inserting themselves into the fray.

Your hips plunging in sync at each surge of Sho’s cock has stars twinkling across your bleary vision, eyes rolling in the back of your skull. His cock penetrates you in ways no one else could, brimming your body with sublime rapture that you relay honestly in your wails.

“Fuck, you feel so good—” Shouto mutters his praises. He effortlessly keeps up his drilling and angles himself perfectly so the tip reaches your erogenous zone throughout. His hands are digging so deep into your skin, you have no doubt your hips will be daubed purple by the end of the night.

Sweat thoroughly coating his body, his aggressive rutting into your velvet walls has his cock twitching inside you. He recognizes you’re nearing your climax as well when you slowly grip him like a vise. “Gonna milk me, love? Squeeze all the cum out of me and into that slutty pussy of yours?” He asks the question through grunts he spits between his teeth, the sounds coming out on the cusp of feral growls. He’s amused by how your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you try to form any kind of response. The rampant motions make it hard for you to grasp any sense of reality other than the sensations that collide your nerves.

“Y-yes, yes! I’m so close, Sho— Please—!” The moment you have a hand on your wheel of cognition, you start begging like it’s second nature, uncaring of the other two in the room as tears dot the edges of your lashes for relief. And how is Shouto to deny you when you’re playing such a lewd act?

“Need it so bad, n-need to cum— Ah—!”

In the very next second, your body dives to where your back forcibly lands snug on the futon, choking your words to a startling puff. Shouto shadows over you, leering down like he’s sizing his prey one last time before going in for the kill.

“Hm, since you’re begging so nicely for me, I’ll gladly help you reach your bliss, baby,” he says, tongue running along his bottom lip before he resumes driving into your pussy.

He hooks his hands beneath your knees to spread you apart further, giving his cock no repercussions on pistoning forward at unbridled speeds. Your fingers delve into the sheets, gripping the cloth like it’s your lifeline. You feel your lower body slightly lifting off the bedding due to Shouto wanting you two impossibly closer, cock thundering against you.

What you’ve yet to realize—trapped within your tornado of ecstasy—is your spectators freeing themselves from the ice, glaciers reduced to pieces at their powers. The whole exhibition had been too much for them to handle, quite literally snapping their restraints. Their clothes are gone within a flash, articles of them thrown half-hazardly on the floor. It leaves nothing to stop them from finally granting some form of bliss on their neglected cocks, fisting their lengths in conjunction with your symphony of moans.

That aside, they don’t matter to you at this moment. All you have eyes for is the man above you, whose heterochromatic gaze returns your shared adoration with equal fervor, if not more so.

“Well, love, you wanna cum, right? Then you know what to do,” Shouto grunts, lowering his torso so he can close a bit of the distance between your faces, “Tell me, who’s making you feel this fucking good right now?”

Brain a scrambled mess, you’re thankful the answer you scrounge for is a simple one.

“You, Shouto! Unnf, it’s your cock that’s making me feel good!” you exclaim, your back bowing off the bed when you perceive the coil tight in your abdomen nearly about to break. Your wanton reply has him sending his satisfaction back tenfold into you through the expert rocking of his hips.

“Yesyesyes, oh fuck— Y/n, cum all over my cock! Let go, baby!”

You scream the moment the order is given, Shouto slamming into your g-spot the impetus you need to come undone in violent spasms. Firecrackers spark beneath your skin at the ecstasy hitting your every nerve. Seeing you reach the apex of your high—eyes lidded and limbs trembling as you throw your entire body into the sheets—encourages Shouto toward his release, pumping himself in and out of your fluttering walls.

“Fuck! Y/n!” he pants raggedly before snapping his hips in place, dick twitching inside you. A gasp rips your throat as you feel his thick ribbons of white cum fill you to the brim. Shouto remains inside you for a good minute longer, hovering over your sluggish, sweaty body to seize your lips in his while you two slowly descend from heaven. You move sweetly and slowly against him, savoring the moment in the presence of his tender loving.

Meanwhile, Midoriya and Bakugou have already blown their loads all over themselves, creamy spurts painting their skin. They lean back to find their groundings, unable to even speak after what was surely an excruciating event for them both.

You’re still unsure how to go about confronting the aftermath of it all, deciding to only imbed your eyes onto Shouto due to the embarrassment that starts simmering in your mind now that you’ve come down from your highs. Your fingers rise to swipe a few stray strains of damp red-and-white hair off your boyfriend’s forehead, murmuring something kept between the two of you.

“Going through all of this just because you were jealous? You sure are insatiable, Sho.”

He chuckles at the jest behind your words, giving the other Pro Heroes a once over before he comes back to you with a satisfied grin plastered on his face, making you question whether his devilish tendencies have truly left him after tonight.

“What can I say? I guess I just want to monopolize you, baby.”

#bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha smut #todoroki smut #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha imagine #bnha fic #todoroki fic #todoroki imagine #tw coercion

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bemylord · 4 years ago

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truth or dare

peirings: kuroo x fem!reader x kenma.

warnings: smut, aged up, oral, gagging, threesome, nipples play, overstimulating, hint of poly relationship.

w/c: 1.9k

kuroo and kenma are your closest friends - both of them would help you out anytime or talk to your whenever you want it. both of them are happy to spend their evenings with you: they're needed for your relaxing body massage you once give them or you both prefer to watch anime. sometimes, you do the homework - the time where's kuroo yelling at you and kenma for being bad at the subject. although, if you're getting good grades at school, he still mad - you aren't good at his point. after studying, both of you would play a video game. now, kenma is the best player among you.

'how is that possible you don't know how to play? gosh, i'll show only once, i won't teach you forever, nerds'

quiet notes from kenma to you on how to win kuroo.

generally, they both are funny and good friends. one call to kuroo or kenma and he'll be around you, comforting his friend.

'till the moment kuroo propose to play a game, named truth or dare.

'it'd be fun, what do you think, y/n-chan?'

'i'm in!'

the thought it'd cheerfully and you'll have merrily game didn't last long. it was fun to a certain point in the game.

'truth or dare, kenma-kun?' asked vivaciously kuroo. he has been joining since he came up with

'truth'

'are you in love with someone?'

kenma is speechless, his eyes widened as he heard the question. he gulped, closing his eyes.

'seriously, in love?' kenma responded with a question, crossing arms on the chest, staring at his friend like he told a lewd thing.

'i mean that, give us an answer!'

'yes, i am' you covered your mouth with a hand, gazing at the blond one. the game started and you found out an interesting thing about kozume.

'who are they? do we know them?' you inquired, putting your hand on kenma's shoulder, rubbing it a cheerful way. kinda, you glad that your friend settled down by found a girl with whom he wants to be. although, why is he keeping it aside from you? aren't you friends with him?

'it's the second question, now i'm running. y/n-chan, truth or dare?'

'how rude you're, truth'

'the same question. do you love someone?'

you exhaled, musing about the question. the warm feeling born in your chest when you're with boys. you've never caught yourself at the thought you're in love with them. you love them as friends, maybe something more, but you aren't in love. it must be a wrong feeling.

'i don't know. it's just complicated, i've got feelings for.. for someone, but don't think i'm in love'

'are you hiding some information apart from me?' kuroo indignantly screamed, pointing at you. he moaned lingering, twisted his tongue, not looking at you. 'being in love it's awesome, why you both didn't tell me early, i-i' he interrupted himself, reflecting on the phrase he said.

'kuroo-san, truth or dare?'

'dare'

you're smiling sinisterly, rubbing your hands, guessing over the dare. it would humorously tell him to do something easy, so you're kept thinking about it whilst found acceptable dare.

'do a striptease for us'

it's entertaining to watch as his emotions changing from calm to frowning, in the eyes new emotion - mingled astonishment and stupefaction. knockout dare took him off guard - he didn't expect you would dare an obscene action like a strip.

'you will regret about it, y/n'

those eyes that expressed stupefaction transformed to the lustful and lascivious. there is no fear of unknowing what you'll dare next, there's lust and dissolute.

kuroo took his shirt off, exposing a pumped-up body - he has those fucking six-pack, not like a bodybuilder, but damn, his upper body literally saying: fuck me. he's coming closer to you with small steps, playing with his chest and abs using hands. you didn't notice how fast kuroo he put his knees between your legs, running his fingers on your shoulders to the neck, squeezing your narrow neck, pulling his face in your ear.

'you liked it, y/n, like my strip-' he did a little pause, licking your ear. the goosebumps are running over your body, as long as you're trying to avoid the familiar feeling. you closed your eyes, attempting his body. 'tease'

he moved away from you, back at his previous position, staring at kenma. his mand is hazy of the action kuroo did: was it real or he was guided by the dare. crafty type.

'kenma, truth or dare?' he's acting like it was nothing, like he didn't tease by half-muttering in your ear, which gave you goosebumps, and your breath was taken away. for credibility, he licked your earlobe, isn't it enough?

'since the game is getting hotter, dare, kuroo'

'show us the person you're in love with'

isn't the game hotter than a sun? on that point, is getting closer to that temperature. kenma stood up, staring at his teammate - some line is connecting them, binding them as some rivals for your attention. kenma sat behind you, put hands on your shoulders, breathed out on the back of your neck, make your knees go weak. 'she's sitting in front of you'

goosebumps are running over your body, breath stuck in your throat as kenma touched your shoulder with his warm palm, rubbing your skin gently. you exhaled, as kenma lingering on your neck, raises the chin up, blowing in your left ear, kissing it concurrently.

'and i'm kissing her'

you opened your mouth, not trying to resist, moisten chapped lips erstwhile were humidified due to the lip gloss. not trying to resist, when kuroo put your small hand on his six-pack; your hands are running over lumpy muscles whilst the blond one licking your collarbone. suddenly, you felt his hands under the shirt, denuding your breast to kuroo. you were up to close your legs, but the hand of the guy in front of you didn't allow it.

'you're so concupiscent, y/n. let us do the thing, baby girl. we'll treat you as your queen, your little girl' uttered kuroo, approaching his face on your nipple. 'can i?'

there must an answer, although everything you could do muttering indistinctly, feeling the unknowing sense down there. so marvelous, voluptuous, and vulnerable it is. kuroo barely touched your nipple with the tip as kenma slipped a hand into your shorts. you lay the back on kenma's chest, unconsciously spreading legs apart. outlining yet hard areola, kuroo lick it, biting just lightly the nipple. he has been enjoying it even more than you, receiving from two boys delight.

kenma pull aside your shorts, discovered you aren't wearing the panties. he snorted, rubbing an index finger on your folds. what could be more pleasant than this moment? the captain of a nekoma team is licking your nipples whilst the setter is playing with your pussy. you're lost in his caress: it seems there's no more air, no more feelings besides lust and desire.

kuroo pulls away from you, unzip his pants: a thick dick dropped in front of your face, covered in veins, the head is red from the pressure of your tiny body. the precum appears on the glans as you touched the hot cock, stroking with a hand from the tip 'till your little finger touches the pubis. you smear the drop of his semen with a tongue, lick the head, pull inside the wet mouth.

'you haven't seen something big as my cock, sweetie?' he giggled, thrust more in your warm, little mouth. you're sandwiched between two hot bodies, receiving and giving oral sex. abruptly, kenma make a fist of your hair, nudging your head deeper on kuroo's cock 'till your nose meets with the skin. you chocked, not having time for rest, in addition, kenma's abrupt push makes you gag even more. kenma entering his finger inside your tight pussy, still nudging you.

'get on the bed, baby' kuroo hoisted you up. somehow, you managed to stand on your fours, letting kuroo eating you out, giving kenma your face to fuck. maybe it's their smells, such as aphrodisiac; not paying attention to the pain in your throat due to their fat cocks, you're sucking blond's member whilst kuroo greedily licking out you, preparing for the cock. it seems it has been an eternity since you've been doing it, whereas it doesn't take longer than a quarter of the time.

'don't worry, sweetie, i'll be gentle, just relax'

you're practically been dripping under his face, yet when you felt the gland at the entrance you knew it won't be easy: kuroo won't stop till he goes into you entirely. you're getting lost as many times you came on the captain's tongue, perhaps two or three, nevertheless it hurts when he's attempting to pull his cock in. with a certain slosh kuroo went in your cunt deep, but slow, stopping his movements, giving you a couple of second to get used to the new feeling. new orgasm is building up as soon as kuroo asked you with a husky voice about your well-being.

'are you okay? i could pull it out if you're-'

'move, kuroo. you can'

tremendously soft and big concurrently, but his smug grin appears as he heard your order: it's maddening him to be inside you. gradually, the captain starts to increase the pace, as his balls slapping against your cunt.

kenma is blissful as never: he could only think about the godlike blowjob like this one. your tongue is running from the tip to the balls, gagging by it. tears start to fall down on your cheeks, leaving the wet trace, though you aren't stopping: you're a masochist if you're relishing something like that. you would answer: yes, i am, but your mouth is full by kenma's dick.

'i will cum in your mouth, can i, kitten?'

kenma is breathing heavily, scarcely would last longer, as you feel as his cock is twitching and getting hotter. you switched your mouth on his glans, sucking and stroking the base, helping to reach the high.

'me too, y/n, get ready for mine semen in your mouth too'

so fucking full of sperm you'll be in a few seconds. kuroo pulls his dick out, get out of bed, coming to the edge. using your hands, you're stroking theirs cocks waiting for the cum in your mouth to taste it. both of them came simultaneously, giving you their hot semen. feeling as your cunt twitching from the big dick, swallowing their semen.

how did it turn on? what happened? you didn't know exactly, you're happy that now you're cuddling and smooching your boys, exhausted from your first time. kuroo tenderly kissing the back of your neck, burying his face into your hair, pulling closer by your waist. kenma covers your face with quick but affectional kisses, interlacing your fingers.

you're happy and lucky cuddling with boys with the guys you love. but they love you even more.

'sleep kitten, we will be here when you open your eyes'

'stop talking she's sleeping!'

'don't scream she may wake up'

'and stop being so sweet i love her more than you do'

'no, i-'

you giggled, falling asleep to their quiet muttering of 'who loves you more'

//~~//

:3 i don't know, but i was listening to this playlist it gives some vibes lol. and sorry abt last words, i had a fit of tenderness :)

#kuroo x reader x kenma #kuroo x reader #kenma x reader #haikyuu poly au #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo smut #kenma kozume x reader #kenma kozume smut #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu scenarios #kuroo tetsurou #kenma kozume #kenma kozume scenarios #kuroo oneshot #kenma oneshot

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eroselless · 4 years ago

Text

hopelessly devoted [1]

Pairing : Sebastian Stan x reader│regency au

Summary : When Y/N Brighton finds herself suddenly married to a strange older man, she thinks her life is completely derailed. Wha happens when she starts to get close to him?

Warnings : slow burn, age gap, fluff, a tad bit of angst, a little injury but not much Word Count : 3.6k

Notes : I'm sorry it took so long for me to get this out! I hope y'all like it! I rewrote it twice just so I could get it as perfect as I could. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated! I didn't expect to be writing a Part 2 BUT it should be up very soon :)

Also let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

here's what I listened to while I wrote :)

find part 2 here!

As a young child, Y/N Brighton had imagined that she would have the most lavish of weddings. She had imagined walking down the aisle in the arms of her father, smiling at relatives as they watched her join her husband to be. She had hoped for a grand exchange of vows with him, ones that would leave the crowd in tears. She had even hoped for a choir to sing her in and hoped for petals to be showered on her and her beau as they left the chapel for their extravagant and much needed honeymoon. What she hadn’t imagined was this.

Y/N slowly walked down the aisle, with no one by her side. The chapel she was in was dark and the seats, instead of being filled with family, stood empty. There were no flowers in sight and the mood in the room was of sadness and melancholy. Her hands were clasped around nothing, a bouquet she had desired being absent. She quietly stood still in front of the man she was to marry, seeing but a stranger and not someone she had grown to love.

Viscount Brighton was a man of many flaws, just as any other human being. He loved to drink, he loved to smoke but most of all he loved to gamble. Many times he had won money, bringing it home to spend on his daughter and wife but many more times, he had lost and come home significantly more empty handed than he had been when he left. Viscountess Brighton had found herself one night, sitting in the seat of her husband’s desk. It felt as if smoke was steaming out of her ears as frustration built up inside of her. In front of her, there were piles of paper and in her hands she clutched the newest additions of the pile. There were bills upon bills upon bills, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she added up the amount of money that her husband owed. What they had left in their accounts was almost nothing. Even the dowry belonging to their only daughter was gone.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, as if to stop the tears from flowing out.

“What have you done?” She seethed at her husband, who stood guilt ridden at the door of his own office.

“No w-worries dearest,” he began. “We can always sell a few things and we’ll be fine!” If looks could kill, the poor man would have been 6 feet deep in the ground.

“With the amount of money we have due, we’ll have to sell the house and everything in it!” The viscountess cried. Shaking her head, she dropped the pieces of paper on the desk and stormed out.

“How could you?” She asked once they were laying in bed. The lights were blown out as they both lay with their backs to the other. He could not answer her question. How could he? That’s the thing, he didn’t. He clutched onto the sheets of the bed as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, the guilt was beginning to feel heavy on his chest. He prayed for a miracle, he prayed for someone to come pull them out of the hole he had pushed his family into.

Y/N didn’t really know why there had been visits from a stranger to her house. She had been introduced to him briefly. His eyes were electric blue and he had a beard that was full but not too big or fluffy. His hair was a beautiful shade of brown and was always brushed to perfection. He always gave her tight lipped smiles and there was an eery feeling of pity behind each one. She couldn't help but feel attracted to him, despite him being almost the same age as her father. It was a little innocent crush. It didn’t really mean anything.

Lord Sebastian Stan was in search of a wife. He was the most eligible bachelor on the market, though he was quite older than most of the girls in age of marriage. He had never really planned to marry. He had gotten close many times but had never found the right woman to fill the seemingly gaping hole in his heart. If it hadn’t been for a trip to his native Romania, he wouldn’t have bothered to begin a search. He had gone to visit his grandmother, she was very much expecting he would finally have a maiden at his side. She had explained that if he didn’t marry, there was a possibility that his title and home would be stripped from him. He remembered how he panicked, not so much for the loss of his title but where would he go without his home? Where would he live then? It was as if fate was on his side when he had run into the hysterical Viscount Brighton. The poor man was desperate, searching for anything that would help him with the sinking boat he found himself on. Sebastian didn’t jump at the deal immediately. He couldn’t help but feel for the young girl who was essentially being sold away. But after much thought, he spoke to the older man and agreed to marry his daughter.

“Lord Stan has agreed on marrying you.” The viscount said to Y/N. It had been days after the agreement was finally settled.

“He needs a bride in order to keep his estate and seeing as how you are in the age of marriage, he has agreed to marry you even though you are without a dowry.” Her mother said, trying to be gentle with the words she said to her daughter.

Y/N simply looked at them with tears in her eyes. They had sat her down in the office where her mother had been sitting only a few nights ago.

“He said he will help the family with whatever we need in exchange for your hand in marriage.”

And that was that. Now Y/N found herself standing face to face to Sebastian as he whispered the words of I do. She watched as he stood there expressionless, staring down at the floor. His eyebrows were furrowed, as the priest recited the marital words to her. She was so caught up in his features that she almost missed her cue to agree to the marriage and echo him with the words of I do. Each slipped on a simple wedding band on their ring finger. There was a sigh of relief ringing out behind her as her family officially joined with him. Now they would not have to live out on the street, they were saved.

The ride to Sebastian’s estate was quiet. The only sound that was heard was the crunch of carriage’s wheel on the ground and the subtle sound of the pairs breathing. As she had expected, there was no celebration of the marriage after the ceremony, no shower of wedding rice or petals on them. There was only the silent signing of papers and the quiet goodbyes from her family. Here Y/N took the time to really look at him. He had a slight crease etched between his eyebrows. He had a mole on the left side of his forehead and his lashes didn’t quite curl up but still had a slight wisp to them. His eyes looked darker, they were like the deep colour of the ocean. They were a pool that, in a different circumstance, she would be more than willing to swim in.

“We don’t have to lay together,” Sebastian began, breaking the silence along with her long stare. “We each have our own rooms, so you don’t have to worry about anything. The maids will have everything ready by the time we get home.” Y/N nodded, taking in the information. Part of her knew he wouldn’t force her to consummate the wedding, he didn’t seem like that type of person but part of her still wanted the chance to sleep next to him, to get to know the person she was to spend the rest of her life with.

They soon arrived. The night was warm and the stars shone brightly above them. If they had wanted, a stroll through his vast gardens wouldn't have been a very romantic way to start the night. The mansion was lit up from the inside and Y/N couldn't help but find herself in awe of it. They had come through a gate and down a long road in order to reach the house. It had three towers with the rest of the building having been built around them. There was a grand balcony right above the main entrance. It was all very green, trees and bushes surrounding the mansion.

“Welcome Home, Lord and Lady Stan” The head housekeeper said, ushering them in from the night. Many of the staff stood on the stairs leading up to the front doors of the home. They kindly nodded at them as they slowly walked in. Y/N was shown to her room, just across the hall from Sebastian’s.

“If you need anything, don’t be scared to give us a shout.” The housekeeper told Y/N. Sebastian had followed behind, making his way to his room. He nodded politely in her direction before he slipped through his door, closing it behind him.

Y/N stood there for a second before letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. She made her way into her room. It was big. Bigger than the one at her family home. The walls were a pale blue and the room had golden accents, with more variations of blue scattered around. There was a small table on one side of the room with a single armchair. On the table was the most elegant and beautiful tea set she had ever seen. When she went to grab it, it was warm. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down. She blew on it as steam came up from the cup. She stared at the wall just above her large bed, reflecting once again on how fast the days changed.

It took her a while to acclimate. Sebastian had mostly left her to her own devices, leaving her to roam around the mansion alone. She would get lost every once in a while, asking maids to help her find her way back to her room. She wasn’t prohibited from going anywhere, Sebastian had made that clear to her. This was her home now and he wasn’t going to keep anything from her. She ate breakfast with him every morning, sitting across from him at a long dinner table. He would always mumble a quiet good morning, taking her hand and gently pressing a kiss to it. He couldn't bring himself to ever look into her eyes.

One afternoon, she stumbled upon the library. As a little girl, she would spend her time reading the day away. She never tired of the smell of old books. Her eyes widened when she pushed open the double doors of the library. She hadn't ever seen such a grand collection. There were many many rows of shelves and a flight of stairs that led to a landing where she could sit, surrounded by a few more shelves and a grand window. She spent the next hours exploring the rows, climbing high onto the ladders to reach the books on the highest shelves. She took her time, taking deep breaths and inhaling the comforting smell of the pages. She didn’t recognize many of the books, a lot of them being in Romanian or French. She delicately dragged her fingers on the spines of the books, careful when pulling them out to examine them.

She was searching the shelves for something familiar, when a book caught her eye. The title on the spine was one that she had heard of before but couldn’t quite remember what the story was about. It was high up, too high for her to reach on her own. She looked around the library, seeing if there was anyone that could help her reach the book. She sighed as she realized she was completely alone and would have to climb the ladder that was placed on a set of railings on the front of the shelves. She huffed as she hiked her dress up as much as she could, sticking her feet out to climb onto the first rung of the ladder. She grabbed on tight as she ascended higher and higher. She heaved slightly as she reached the right shelf, only to realize that the book was just barely within her reach. She frowned, trying to pull the book out with the tips of her fingers. Feeling her fingers slip slightly, she moved to the edge of the rung she stood on. A loud creek sounded through the library as she started to feel the ladder tip to the side. Finally grabbing the book, she tried to push herself back onto the ladder, only to jerk farther away from the wall. She felt her feet slip from under her, a panicked squeal coming from her lips. Her eyes squeezed shut as she waited for her body to fall and hit the ground with a painful thud.

Sebastian sat at his desk, looking through his small collection of books, in search for one in particular. His head was full of thoughts, not a single instance of silence. He had also needed time to acclimate to his new housemate. He tried his best to interact with her and to be civil but part of him felt like he was doing it all wrong. He remembered when he had first seen her, roaming her old home. He remembered the cream coloured dress she wore when her father first introduced them, before she was told of her fate. She seemed happier. He tried to make her happy but no matter what he instructed her handmaiden to give her, she still didn’t seem as joyful as she used to be.

In a way, he understood her. She was now living in a house with a strange man that she had only known for a very short time. She had left behind her family and her friends and with no official duties, she spent most of her time by herself. She was alone. He had tried to be husbandly, eating meals with her and bringing her along for strolls in the garden but still even then, she would not come out of her shell.

Over the weeks, he had grown used to hearing her steps through the halls. He had learned to enjoy the little songs she hummed when she accompanied him on walks in the garden. He had started to pick up on her small habits. She would always put her pinky finger under her glass before placing it on the table. She would tug at her left earlobe when she was in deep thought or when she was reading. He usually found himself scolding himself when he watched her walk about the mansion. He couldn’t help but feel like a villain who took any plans for her future away.

He resigned his search, deciding to make his way down to the library. He was in for a long hunt. He walked the empty halls, the only sounds being the clicks of his shoes against the stone floors. He came upon the doors of the library to find them open and saw his wife begin to climb on the many ladders in the library.

He watched as she began to shuffle to the edge of the ladder. Knowing fully well how this would end, he made his way up to her. His heart began to race as the ladder began to creak and tip. With a few long strides, he was at her side. He heard as she held her breath, waiting for the floor to come at her. He grunted as he slid under her, managing to catch her before she collided with the wooden floors.

Before this, he had never touched her before. He hadn’t really taken the time to look at her face. The skin of her bare arms felt smooth against his, the fullness of it feeling soothing. Her chest was heaving, just as his. The adrenaline was coursing fast through their veins. His eyes wandered her face, taking in each freckle and scar. He even noted the lone eyelash that lay on her cheek.

“Sebastian,” She cried, completely surprised. She pulled herself to her feet and out of his arms. She still held tightly to the book in her hand. Sebastian’s hand lingered on her shoulder, a small sign of affection. He looked over her, checking for any afflictions.

“Are you alright?” he asked her. She nodded, catching her breath. She had placed one hand on the shelf, wincing slightly. Her knuckle had bruised, hitting it on the ladder as she fell. Sebastian pulled it from the shelf, cradling it gently.

“You must be more careful,” he warned. She felt her stomach flutter as he stretched her fingers out in his hand. It almost felt like what she was doing was wrong, forbidden.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She mumbled.

“Let’s get you some ice for your hand.” He said and led her to the kitchens. It was only when he sat her down that she realized how dark it had turned outside. It was nearly nightfall. How long had she been in the library? She pulled a face when she felt the coolness of the ice hit her skin. Sebastian was kneeling in front of her, tending at her hand. She watched as he masterfully soothed her wound, even though her pain was almost gone.

“Thank you,” She told him when he looked up at her. “For everything.”

She said everything and she really meant it. Even though she didn’t have the life she expected, her family was being taken care of and that’s really what mattered. He nodded, smiling briefly before standing up. He held his hand out towards her, helping her up to her feet. They then walked up the stairs to their rooms. Stopping, Y/N turned around before opening her door.

“Sebastian” She called out to him, hand on her doorknob. He turned back to her. “Goodnight.” He smiled, his teeth coming into view.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

They were to attend their first party together. The most elite were going to be in attendance, most of which Sebastian knew. They rode in the carriage in almost complete silence and then proceeded to walk in together. When she let go of his arm, he hadn’t exactly expected her to go to the big group of ladies that stood ion the far side of the room. It had seemed like she recognized some of the ladies waiting there. He stood at the entrance of the ballroom, watching as she interacted with them. She was laughing and smiling. Something he didn’t see often. He admired how the dress she wore clung to her frame. It was a gown he had tailored just for her, and now he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. Ever since the incident in the library, he couldn't get her out of his head. Something was blooming in the back of his mind. As music started to play, couples started to make their way to the dance floor.

Y/N watched as the girls from her old friend group excused themselves to dance with their husbands and fiancées. For s second, she had felt like she was still living her old life. She had caught up with her friends for a couple of minutes, the feeling of happiness returning and the sound of laughter escaping her. She wasn’t ungrateful for the grand favour Sebastian was doing in helping her family in return for her hand. She really wasn’t but she felt lonely and as her friends took their leave into the arms of their lovers, she felt the loneliness settle back into her bones. From across the room, her eyes met Sebastian’s. His eyes were more blue than ever. They sent chills down her spine. With a nod, he signalled to her. They met at the edge of the dance floor, joining the rest of the dancers. The tempo of the music was slower and the people around them were moving slowly to the same beat.

Y/N felt her breath hitch in the back of her throat as she locked eyes once again with Sebastian as they danced around each other. She couldn’t put her finger on whatever was growing in the air around them. The movements in the dance had them inches away from each other, never touching but always close. They twirled around the dance floor for what seemed like hours, narrowly missing each other. As songs came and went, Y/N found herself smiling and making jests at her distant husband. It felt like progress from where they had been just nights before.

For a single moment, time felt like it had slowed. Sebastian felt his heart race as he gave Y/N a last twirl and brought her to his chest. She looked up at him with sparkles in her eyes, a smile adorning her face. Many times he had stopped to admire her face but here under the chandelier, surrounded by music he felt like the luckiest man in the world. He felt himself lean down, just barely brushing his lips over hers. But then as quick as their moment had begun, it ended. He felt a bubble pop inside his head as he pulled away from her. Guilt had filled his mind once again as he grumbled and motioned her that it was time to leave. Y/N watched in disbelief as he stormed out of the room and out to the carriages. He had been so close and now he felt miles away.

tags: @lharrietg @carleywhittaker @tonystankschild@headheartbellarke @baebee35 @lady-loki-ren

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine

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hockeywhy · 4 years ago

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caught in the middle (2); m. barzal

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 WARNINGS: language; there’s a suggestive scene in one of the flashbacks, but nothing more than that. WORD COUNT: 8.1k A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read the first part! Your feedback got me so excited to continue working on this, and I hope you’ll enjoy this part also. I’ve been thinking about the story so far and its development, and I don’t see it ending at three parts like originally intended, so let’s see how it goes. Again, sections in italics represent flashbacks.

You swipe a palm across the mirror, brushing some of the condensation away and heave a sigh at your reflection. From beyond the door, you can just barely make out the sound of footsteps across the parquet of the living room accompanied by what was undoubtedly the slide of suitcase wheels. The room is otherwise quiet, no television on or music to provide a distraction or perhaps a little more noise and now more than ever, you know what it means when they say silence can be deafening. It makes you feel more exposed, anxiety heightened as if you should do anything in your power to try and lighten the mood but you’ve had countless of experiences in which trying too hard rarely paid off - if ever, really. Mat hadn’t said much either aside from letting you know you could have the bed as the couch could be converted into one and there were spare pillows and covers stored neatly in one of the cupboards, so you simply thanked him then called dibs on being the first to shower.

It isn’t running away, you remind yourself, head bowed. It’s buying some extra time.

Not only is this the first time in months you are to be in Mat’s presence for longer than a few minutes, but this is also the first time you and Mat would spend the night separated by a wall when previously, you couldn’t seem to be able to get close enough to one another. Before this, enough wasn’t quite enough. Before this, you’d count the minutes to when you could get home and be with Mat. It’s strange to be so close to him, to need to be so close to him, and yet neither of you can find comfort in that any longer.

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly until you see stars behind them, then open them a few seconds later and blink away the brief daze. Like a presenter about to walk on a stage in front of thousands, you take a deep breath and exhale it quickly before proceeding to replace the towel around your body with one of the hotel issued robes.

You crack the door open just a little, briefly taking a peek of Mat right as he begins wrestling with opening the couch. There’s more grunting and turning one way or the other to peek at the inner mechanisms than there is actually succeeding in stretching it out and you can’t help the feelings of guilt that course through you. But it’s not like you can imagine being in the same bed as him again and trying to check for any additional spare rooms with reception is entirely out of question. There’s no way you’d be able to do that without anyone catching on to that and questioning it. This isn’t the weekend for it, after all. The last thing you need is to take or share the limelight.

Mat must’ve felt your presence because he turns to look at you over his shoulder, and he takes that as a cue to give himself a break from wrestling with the couch. He huffs tiredly, standing up and brushing his palms against his jeans.

“All yours,” you say, stepping away from the bathroom door, the clothes you wore on the drive over held closely against your chest. “No luck with that yet?”

“I’ll have a look at it later,” Mat responds, frowning down at the couch.

He stands rooted to the spot looking down at it as if it offended him, hands on hips and all, while you look at him glued to your own space halfway between the bathroom and the door to the bedroom of the suite. In a manner you can’t quite explain, it feels almost as if time stops in place because of course, your luck is that bad apparently: heaven forbid it would’ve done that at a better time in your life. He appears to be lost in thought, so despite yourself, you make the most of this moment.

You look at his profile and recall how many times you cradled his head in your hands, pulling him in to kiss him: his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth, lips trailing along the line of his jaw. You think of the countless times in which his lips pressed against yours and every inch on your body and recall how his voice emanated warmth and love, and during those moments, you thought nothing and no one would be able to tear you apart from each other. You look at his hair and if you truly take the time to focus, you can easily recall the texture of those strands, just the perfect length for your fingers to twirl and play with, and how you would often detect notes of vanilla, coconut and something flowery - you shampoo, because he loved it so much. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his torso and remember the countless times his body was pressed against your own and how each and every time you thought this is where I’m safest. You look at his hands and still feel the softness of them upon your own and even know, you can still picture the way your fingers interlocked with his own and they fit perfectly.

A shortness of breath makes you cough quietly, eyes blinking rapidly at the sudden blurriness and before Mat can look your way, you quickly cover the distance to the room and the door latches closed behind you with a soft click.

Palms pressed against your mouth to muffle any sounds, you squeeze your eyes as tightly as you can and slide down against the wood until you’re down on the floor and pray to whoever or whatever may be listening that Mat can’t hear the sobs you’re trying so hard to hold back despite this battle having been lost before you even had a chance to stand against it.

You know now as well as you knew it back then: you miss Mat and you love him, and you’re terrified that a time when all of these feelings will be nothing but dull memories will never come.

“Holy shit, that was cool.”

Mat shifts his body, turning so that he can prop himself up on his forearms, one on each side of your body. You look down at him, fingers falling out from his hair and he arches an eyebrow.

“I can do that with my eyes closed,” he declares.

You blink, a little confused, and then it dawns on you. “Pff.” A short laugh leaves your mouth and that seems to prompt Mat to narrow his eyes at you. Two can play the game, and you’re a pro at keeping up with him. “I mean, you say you can but you didn’t score a goal like that yet, so what makes you so sure?”

On TV, the commentators pour praise on the unique between-the-legs goal scored and you make an entire show out of admiring the replay, whistling quietly. Mat gently tips your head away from the TV and he continues holding on to your chin to prevent you from looking away a second time.

“Mark my words, baby. I’ll do it at our next game and then you’ll see. It’ll be ten times cooler,” he promises, determination backing his every word and it makes you grin because you know Mat is a man of his word and you can already imagine him trying his damnest to make that happen.

Still, you hum contemplatively, not quite wanting to give in to him so quickly. You know Mat’s playful display of ‘jealousy’ was nothing but a front. It was one of his many ways of saying look at me or give me attention, any variant of an indirect way of asking you to reiterate your love towards him simply because he loved hearing the reassurance. Not that you could imagine feeling any other way towards him; not that you’d want to have it any other way. That, and, well, Mat could be a bit of a baby sometimes.

“Do that,” you begin, and this time, it’s your hand under his chin, encouraging him to come closer, closer, closer until his warm breath collides with your own, “and I’ll make your congratulations, you’re so cool award the most unforgettable one so far.”

You know your words would put a gleam in his eyes, that unmistakable hitch of his breath and the curve of a smirk on his lips. He crawls a bit further up until he’s almost nose to nose with you and instinctively, you raise a leg and wrap it over his waist, squeezing a little. He’s close enough, practically glued to you, but it’s the first evening you get to have him all to yourself after weeks of away games and you want all of him. As does he. Mat leans down to peck your lips once, twice, three times and he whispers an ‘oh yeah?’ that makes goosebumps form across your skin.

“Mhm,” you hum and this time, you crane your neck to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers gently grazing along the back of his neck. He trembles ever so lightly in your hold and you know that has nothing to do with the temperature in the apartment because it’s warm, just right. “Do it for me, Mat. Show off.”

He laughs quietly against your lips and he begins trailing kisses from your jaw to the side of your neck and you tip your head back for him, eyes fluttering closed as a content sigh leaves your parted lips. There’s a shift of material and moments later, Mat’s slightly calloused palms crawl underneath the t-shirt that was once him but you claimed as your own months ago. It’s big around you, sleeves coming up to your elbows and you know that his last name is written in big bold white letters on the back although it’s pretty washed out now. His lips are now on your exposed stomach, butterfly kisses peppering your warm skin and you bite your lip while watching him do this. Strands of unstyled jet black hair tickle as he moves and you giggle quietly. It’s the sound of it that makes Mat look up and there’s a wicked smile on his lips. Moving swiftly, he sits back on the couch and pulls you to straddle his lap, body yielding to him before he gives you the control. Do what you want, however you want it.

It’s your turn to slide your hands under his shirt and he doesn’t hesitate to stretch his arms up so that you can remove it for him, discarding it wherever it may fall. You slide your thumb against his lower lip and Mat barely just manages a chaste kiss to it before you lower your head down to kiss him and his lips part, the movement automatic. It’s the sort of kiss that’s sloppy and hot and you know you’ll remember it for days; hell, he’ll remember it for days, asking you to do that thing you did in the early hours of the morning or long after the sun has gone down or bringing it up over the phone when it’s just him and no one else in a hotel room hundreds of miles away from home, missing everything that has to do with you.

“Fuck,” he exhales, breathless and flushed once you both part from the kiss. You can’t help but grin proudly at how his eyes flutter closed and he stills in your arms though you know adrenaline pumps through his body the same way it does through yours. “I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom,” he admits and you burst into laughter.

“Yeah, no shit,” you agree and just to make a point out of it, you relax your body so that you’re sitting back on his lap and there’s no mistaking whatsoever that he’s hard. “Well, there’s no rush anyway. We have all the time in the world, and an entire place to ourselves so…” you trail off, lifting a shoulder in a shrug.

Mat opens his eyes and moves his hands from your hips to cradle your face, holding you in place to peck your lips. “So, I’m gonna love you so hard, it might just give that award of yours a run for its money.”

You arch an eyebrow, pulling back enough so that you can tug the t-shirt over your head, dropping it to join his. “Walk the talk, Barzy,” you say.

He didn’t need any more encouragement than you already gave, but your words kick him into action almost instantly.

A sharp thwack sound catches your attention and you look over in the distance to where Mat looks off in the distance while Tito prepares for his turn. It’s too far for you to see where the ball went but judging by Mat’s reaction, it’s obvious he didn’t quite nail whatever he intended to do. Tito probably chirps him for it because Mat throws a punch at his arm that you know is so light that probably neither of them felt it. Still, they laugh and the sound barely just carries over to where you’re sat.

“He’s like that now, but if you’d seen him before the two of you got here…” Elise trails off and you just about manage to see her shake her head as if words wouldn’t even be sufficient in describing how Tito was. Still, there’s just so much fondness in her expression as she looks towards him out on the golf course that it makes you warmer than the light fleece blanket you wrapped around your shoulders.

“You’d think it’d be the other way around,” you say.

“You’d think!” Elise repeats. “The past two mornings, he got up at who fucking knows when and went for a run. Not even a casual jog or whatever, but you’d think he’s been training for the Olympics.”

You burst into laughter at the image that forms in your head of Tito being so full of nervous energy that he becomes the metaphorical lion in a cage. Still, it doesn’t surprise you as much as you thought it would. While away, you and Tito have been in contact occasionally either through texts or through the phone and often, he’d begin by saying “what do you think she’d say to XYZ”. He never failed to amuse you because many of his concerns were so small, but you could only imagine what it’d be like to be in his shoes: they were about to tie the knot and this isn’t exactly a day to day type of event. Elise was at that point also, back when preparations for it were just kicking off and most of their days consisted of appointment after appointment with wedding planners that occasionally made her feel as if she’d never be able to pick from all the choices laid out to her. With the day just around the corner, she seems more content, more relaxed. Of course, her nerves are still there but Elise has the sort of air around her that puts you under the impression it wouldn’t be impossible for her to conquer the world in the next hour if she suddenly decides to.

You reach for your drink, twirling the straw around the glass before taking a sip from it. The tang of citrus is refreshing but you do need a quick sip of water to mellow the sharpness of alcohol mixed in.

“Want to bet he’ll be the one crying when he sees you walk the aisle?” you ask her, wiggling your eyebrows at her suggestively.

Elise smiles, a small almost shy smile as she diverts her gaze towards her own drink. She takes a sip from it but she still smiles around the straw. “Let’s hope I don’t start first and end up tripping on my way there.” She physically cringes at the thought of it, eyes squeezing shut and shoulders trembling before she quickly waves her hands as if trying to dismiss the idea. “Oh god, no, I can’t think of it otherwise it’ll happen.”

“You’ll be fine,” you assure her, reaching to grasp her hand and Elise welcomes the gesture, squeezing your own in return but still holds on to it as if for dear life. “I promise. It’ll go by so smoothly and everything will be perfect.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You’re usually right.”

“Not always,” you correct her, lightheartedly while trying to prevent your mind from beginning a count of the amount of times you’ve been wrong. You don’t need that spoiling your mood or worse, the evening overall.

Elise ponders on that. “Actually, you’re right. Remember before you left and said Mat would be fine, he’s a big boy, after I said it’ll be hard for him to get used to it?” You swallow uncomfortably. Yes, you remember that. Clear as if it only happened yesterday. “Well, you were wrong about that for sure.”

Your mouth feels dry and it’s as if all energy has been sucked out of you suddenly, and all in one go. You don’t want to have this conversation and you certainly don’t want to look into this much more than you should. After all, you and Mat agreed you’ll put up a front so for all you know, he may just be a better actor than you imagined he’d be. Mat was only putting on an attitude everyone expected him to have and that’s all there is to it. You did it too, after all. When Elise would call or come down to Baltimore and Mat would come up in conversation, you told her how much you missed him; how even if you called and FaceTimed, it wasn’t enough.

“So then come back,” she’d tell you. “It’s not like they wouldn’t want you back in New York, if it’s work related.”

“Mat understands,” you’d push back each time. “Besides, he’s coming over this weekend,” you’d add and make a note to text him so that he doesn’t end up in some New York bar with Tito, Elise and other people when he should be in Baltimore instead.

It was selfish and restricting, and you’d apologise for it but each time, Mat would brush it off without fail.

It’s fine, he’d assure through text. I wanted an excuse to spend the weekend in, anyway.

“I’m sure he was exaggerating most of the time,” you tell Elise dismissively, carefully sliding your hand from hers as you lean back in the plush seat and pull the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders.

You try not to look at Elise because you know the expression she wears: it’s serious; the type of look that she puts on whenever you try to make light of a serious situation, practically reading don’t lie to yourself and mostly importantly, don’t try and bamboozle me. It never works. Not with her.

“Y/N.” Your name falls from her mouth sharply and you can’t help but direct your gaze back to her. “I don’t know Mat like you do, maybe not even as well as Tito does, but you’d think he was going through heartbreak when you left. Moping, I can put up with and distract from so believe me when I say that wasn’t what he was doing. You’ve seen his games, right? You saw how it even affected him on ice.”

You bite on your back teeth, jaw squaring. As much as you wanted to keep yourself away from anything to do with Mat, you couldn’t help but switch back to his games whenever they were on, doing some childish back and forth between channels. Mat did play differently. Still giving it his best, but aggressively; sometimes, he even fell for whatever bait the opposing team would throw at him in the form of chirps and you didn’t need to be a lip-reading expert to know he’d always respond. Once or twice, he landed himself in the penalty box for minor misconducts that seemed so out of character for him.

“It’s fine now,” you say, in hopes of leading out of this subject. “I’m back in New York for a while, so it’s fine now.”

“Is it?” She asks, and you know this isn’t just because of what she saw of Mat without you. She questions it because she’s also seen you without Mat. “Was there… Uh. Was there more to it?” She cringes a little, and quickly tries to dismiss herself with a wave of her hand. “Don’t feel obliged to tell me if you don’t want to. It does seem like you guys are fine, but… You know I’m here for you, right?”

You force a smile and nod quickly.

The first few weeks in Baltimore gave you a good taste of what your own personal little hell was like. You didn’t have Elise, you didn’t have Rachel, you had none of your closest friends and it felt like a lot of the after-work drinks you’d go on with your new colleagues were mostly out of your own desperation to stretch the day longer, essentially avoiding returning to an empty place. Generally, you adapt well to situations and people, but you were effectively trying to build afresh from the ground up and on bad days, the really awful ones when loneliness and heartache reared their ugliest faces towards you, there was no one for you to pour your most honest feelings out to. Several times, you wanted to reach out to Elise and come clean but it wouldn’t be fair. She was in the full swing of preparing for her wedding and the last thing you wanted to do is go crying to her.

Of course, there was no Mat either. There was no Mat because there was no such thing as breaks in a relationship so you gave him the thing you were certain he tried to avoid voicing, but definitely referred to: a break-up.

“No, nothing else to it than that,” you assure her, breaking your own train of thought while simultaneously giving yourself a mental pat on the back for the ease with which you weaved your story. “I mean, it’s been a bit weird to be apart over the period, especially since we didn’t know what’s to come, work-wise, but we’re fine now.”

“You two know best what’s good for the both of you and your relationship,” Elise says, “but take it from me: get away together if you can. It’s not easy, you know. Doing your own thing while he does his, progressing in what you’re both best at but sometimes, it gets to you. The distance, the days gone by with them on the road, the worry that maybe, just maybe, they’ll come back and they won’t be the same. I had that worry also once too, you know.”

The admission takes you by surprise. Elise laughs quietly at the sight of your slightly widened eyes because you haven’t heard this before. Sure, she told you of missing Tito while the Islanders were off to away games but she never truly admitted the thoughts coursing through her mind.

“He never once gave me reasons to doubt him, but at the back of my mind, I’d be so worried. You know how the stereotype surrounding athletes goes.” She rolls her eyes, and you know exactly what she’s referring to. “Tito’s handsome and young and his face is on TV, but the fact that a man is taken hasn’t exactly stopped people before. I can’t tell you how many times I waited—no. Expected him to come back and be different, then tell me it’s over. Seriously, I lost track. One day, he called me out on it though.” She takes a break to sip from her drink and look out towards the golf course and you do too. It’s probably not long now before their game will be over. “He’d just gotten back the night before and to me, he seemed a little weird. Looking back on it, he was just exhausted. They didn’t have their best performance, but I didn’t even think of that. In my head, I already had this entire scenario planned that that was it.

“In the morning, I snapped at him. I wish I could just forget it now because it’s so embarrassing but I did it, and there’s no brushing that under the carpet. I was like, you were different last night and you were different through text. I told him he was acting different and when he asked what I meant, I said, you’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?” She physically cringes at the memory and in your chest, your heart races. It’s almost identical to your own anxieties during those final moments of your relationship with Mat, and it seems as if you’re merely listening to someone recite your story back to you rather than their own. “Didn’t think of the games, didn’t think he might be down and distant because he blamed himself for some of the missed shots. Instead, I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I overlooked all we’ve done together so far, overlooked the simple fact that I had nothing to back up my accusation and instead, I took it out on him.”

“Elise… what the— you never mentioned this. When did all of this happen?”

“Two years ago now, probably. We joke about it every now and then, but I couldn’t imagine telling anyone what happened. I felt so stupid after we dealt with it.” She sighs, shaking her head incredulously at the situation. “What we really needed was some time away. We left as soon as the season ended, renting out a little place outside of Montreal and we talked, Y/N. Not casual, day-to-day things, but he asked me where I see us going. I told him honestly, I don’t know and he said it’s not good enough and not fair for our relationship and us, individually. He’s the one who brought up marrying, after the dust settled.”

The brief silence that falls between the two of you leaves your head buzzing with questions, with possibilities, with recollections of you-and-Mat but also of you and Mat during what would be your last moments together. There is a continuous string of what ifs rolling through your mind at such rapid speed that they blend in together until you can’t tell one statement apart from the next. You free a hand from the confines of the blanket, bringing it up to rub lightly at the side of your head while Elise stares off in the distance, a pensive look on her face. There are things she’ll tell you and others, and then there are things she will keep private for herself and Tito only, and you respect that. Still, you find the need of actually biting down onto your tongue to ask How?

How did you make it work? How did you talk with each other? How did you prevent a train wreck? How did you accept what happened, and got to this point?

You blink and that’s when you realise tears built up in your eyes and when Elise focuses back to the present, you realise she is in a similar position. You both begin laughing, dabbing at your eyes.

“How did you manage to make each other cry?”

The incredulity in Tito’s voice makes you and Elise burst into laughter again, louder and less tearful now.

While Elise assure Tito there’s nothing to worry about and dismisses the tears as being wedding related, Mat takes the seat next to yours on the small two-seater, throwing you a what happened look. You shake your head, rubbing lightly at your cheeks to brush away any remaining stray tears.

“Wedding tears,” you confirm to him also because he doesn’t cease staring at you, and though it’s clear he’s not entirely convinced by that, it’s easy to let it slide. “Did you win?”

Mat shakes his head and reaches for the water glass nearest to him. You don’t bother telling him it’s yours and figure it might come across as weird to the couple across from you anyway. “I let him win to give him a boost of confidence,” Mat tells you and snickers when Tito complains that it isn’t true.

Dismissing Tito’s effort at trying to shut that down, you hum quietly. “That sounds fair to me,” you tell Mat and then, to Tito, “did he let you win properly?”

Tito rolls his eyes while Elise lets out an ‘aww’ in consolation, and leans over to peck his cheek. “He put up a decent fight, I suppose. It’s been a while since he had this much energy, but he’s never been the best at golf.”

“He’s not the worst either,” you defend because you’ve always done that and it comes to you reflexively. You feel Mat’s eyes on you, but you keep yours carefully trained on the couple ahead.

“You say that because you’re supposed to,” Elise argues and she leans comfortably against Tito’s side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her closer to kiss the top of her head and when he looks back towards you, he grins proudly.

You huff, then shift in your seat to look at Mat properly. “If I was bad at something, would you say I didn’t because you’re supposed to?” You ask, in an attempt to prove your point, and pitch your voice just a little to imitate Elise’s.

“Are you bad at something?” He pitches his question like a rhetorical one and across from you, Tito and Elise coo over the response that sends a wave of heat through your body.

You narrow your eyes at him, bumping your knee against his own. “I absolutely cannot stop properly on skates.”

“Oh.” Mat sighs, takes a sip of water and his shoulders slump. “Yeah, I forgot about that. Don’t tell me you still—“ You quickly knock your knee against his again, a silent warning which you doubt is the most subtle of ones, but Mat changes course smoothly. “After all those hours we spent on ice…” He shakes his head slowly in disappointment, but it’s not like you blame him or take it personally.

You lost track of how often Mat would carefully instruct you through making proper stops on ice, only for you to still end up relying on crashing against the barriers. Although you’d laugh at it time and time again, Mat would always freak out over it, flooding you with endless are you okay questions out of sheer fear you’d end up hurt.

“Sorry we can’t all be pros,” you mumble, eyes rolling but there’s no heat behind this: it’s lighthearted bickering, a conversation that flows easily and you let it go by like this, without overthinking it out of sheer fear you’ll end up spoiling it.

You all fall into discussions revolving around the wedding, mostly focusing on the events leading up to it. It takes you back to months ago when evenings like these were almost regular. You, Mat, Elise and Tito would hang out either at each other’s places or somewhere out in town and you’d talk until one of you would realise it was the early hours of the morning.

It’s easy to get swept back into the comforting feeling that brings you. So much so, that you don’t really think much of it when you open up your blanket and hold a half of it out to Mat, who accepts it wordlessly and settles in closer to you. Arm pressed again arm, leg pressed against leg, you can’t find it in you to pour energy into making a conscious effort of shifting in such way that you place some distance between the two of you without it being odd. You’re convinced neither Elise nor Tito are acutely aware of every minor shift in your body language or tone, but a part of you remains worried about it. So, you stay in your place and enjoy the extra bit of warmth Mat’s body next to yours provides and pretend what the two of you are doing is perfectly okay.

“I can’t do it,” you sigh, unable to keep the frustration out of your voice as you glare down at your skates.

“I couldn’t do it in one day either, baby, we just need to keep practicing,” Mat encourages you gently and he takes hold of your hands as he begins skating backwards, dragging you forwards.

You throw your head back in frustration, occasionally giving yourself a bit of a push to keep up with him. “It’s not so bad though, using the barriers to stop.”

Mat fixes you with a pointed stare. “Remember that time when you just zoomed across the entire rink and ended up—“

“No, no—“

“—with the worst bruise—“

“— we don’t talk—“

“— across your ribs—“

“— about it!”

“— because you crashed into the barriers?” Mat continues, letting go of your hands to skate backwards a little further. “Because I do, and I promised myself and you that it won’t happen again. It’s for your safety above anything else.”

You groan quietly, pushing forward to catch up to him. Mat stretches out his arms, letting you bump against his body once you reach him and you bury your head against his chest while you both come to a stop in the middle of the rink. You’re pretty certain that had you been on public ice, you would’ve had plenty of stares and disgruntled skaters passing by but to your luck, the ice at Nassau had an off-day from training so you and Mat were permitted to make the most of it.

You and Mat often took to the ice and of course the level in skill was entirely different between the two of you, but you were grateful you knew enough to get by without making a fool of yourself in public. Then again, it’s not like you really had to worry about it much: Mat was always there by your side, even if you’d sometimes send him off to just enjoy it however he wanted to and you’d catch up to him eventually.

“I’m enjoying it,” he’d assure you without fail. “I’m with you, so I’m not missing out on anything.”

“You can be so unbelievably cheesy sometimes,” you’d tell him without heat because you loved it, and you were pretty sure he was well aware of it and considered it encouragement.

You pull away from him and he lets you go ahead while he trails behind you slowly. The silence between you is filled by the slashing of blades against the ice, the sound occasionally louder and echoing further whenever Mat pushes ahead with more force. You smile to yourself whenever you feel you can afford to draw some of your concentration away from your own skating to catch sight of Mat. Much to your displeasure though, a feeling of tightness forms in your chest and without thinking of it, you press a hand to your chest, rubbing against it lightly as if that might ease it but to no avail.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” Mat asks once he slows down and twirls on his skates so he skates backwards in order to face you.

“What? Oh, nothing. I was only trying to picture how well you’d pull of figure skating.”

Mat scrunches up his face a little. “Mh, not very well, I think, but nice try.” He reaches out for your hand and you let him take it so he leads you around the rink. “What’s on your mind really?” He insists.

Bite the bullet, you think. Try it.

“Couple of work stuff, nothing that important,” you begin carefully and when Mat doesn’t respond, you press on. “Turns out our branch in Baltimore is looking to expand a little more. There’s been a consultation completed there and recommendations all point towards the potential for growth. There’s been a few talks in a few departments, including my own, about the possibility of uh, some people heading out there.”

Mat nods slowly, a contemplative look on his face. “Sounds pretty good for them, then. Do they have any idea who might be involved in that from your office?”

“Not yet, and anyway, they’ll consult first with anyone who might consider relocating,” you inform him lightly, shrugging.

There’s no beating around the bush with Mat though. He reads you like an open book. “There’s no hockey teams there, huh?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“And would you want to go there?”

“Temporarily? I wouldn’t say no, honestly. I have a few ideas and I think they’d fit in great with a smaller but growing branch.”

Mat slows down carefully to not trip you or catch you by surprise and once you also come to a halt, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Give them just a taste of what you can do and they’ll want to keep you there.”

“It’s rich of you to assume they wouldn’t go for someone in a more senior position than my own.”

“It’s rich of you to assume they’d skip out on you,” Mat parrots and you laugh softly. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you say so and it’s a temporary thing.”

You ponder his words for a moment, humming quietly. You didn’t expect anything less from Mat: he’s always been supportive, ready to vouch for you and be the first to jump in your corner, but you can’t help but wonder if he’d stand by his words if you were to tell him there was more to it than that. Because a relocation wouldn’t mean a month or two. Maybe not even a half year. A relocation could very well be anywhere upwards of one year, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that just yet. Not when anything isn’t concrete, not when you’re hardly even sure this is a step you’d even want to consider.

You’ll cross that bridge if you get there. When you get there.

You roll on your back and huff quietly, throwing an arm over your forehead. The room is dark and you can barely just make out the metal shape of the spotlights dotting the ceiling, so you try focusing on one that gleams just a little more in the hopes that your eyes will start to feel heavy and finally, finally you can fall asleep. In your mind, you count to ten and when that doesn’t work, you count to twenty then try to thirty but stop at fourteen and sit up. You want to cry and the feeling of needing to do that overwhelms you, though that’s quickly replaced by frustration when even a single tear won’t blur your vision. It seemed like that came to you so easily throughout the day, but when you need it most in hopes of it exhausting you, it doesn’t happen. Naturally.

Your gaze drifts towards the door which is just ever so slightly parted and in the silence of the night, you can make out the unmistakable creak of mattress springs shifting. It’s not a gentle movement though. It happens again just moments later and it’s as if your body responds to it without your mind consenting. Slowly, you tip-toe your way across the room and towards the door, thankful you don’t need to press down on the handle but rather, pull it ever so slightly so you can just see through the crack.

The living room basks in darkness and the only clear light source comes from a digital clock on a mantle. The blue numbers indicate it’s just a little past one in the morning. The thicker curtains haven’t been pulled over the windows properly, so very low light from outside filters in, but barely just. Again, the mattress creaks and you shuffle sideways behind the door as if you’d be seen. There’s no chance of that happening whatsoever. Again, the creaking. Harsher now, more frustrated and you recognise your own routine over the past hour or so since you climbed in bed and called it a day. You lick your lips, eyes falling shut briefly and you barely just press your forehead to the cold door. Count backwards from five and on one, you pull open the door properly and step into the living room.

“Get in the bed, Mat.”

Silence. You rub at your forehead, a little irritated.

“I know you’re not sleeping, so don’t try to pretend,” you tell him but your voice doesn’t quite pack the punch it should have. “That thing keeps squeaking and it’s keeping me up. Get in the bed, Mat.”

“Just close the door if you can’t sleep,” he says.

Huffing quietly, you step further in the living room and it takes a while for your eyes to get used to the darkness but soon enough, you can just make out Mat’s shape in the pull-out bed. He faces the windows, back towards you and you’ve no doubt the pull-out couch is sturdy and decently comfortable but you hate it. You hate the sight of it, you hate the idea of him in it, you hate everything about this.

“Please, Mat. I…” you trail off, running both hands across your face before they drop to your sides with a noticeable smack sound. “I swear I’d still hearing the creaking through the walls. I can’t fall asleep with it, it’s driving me insane so please,” you plea, exhausted yet weirdly tuned into your emotions - and they’re all overwhelming. If you were wondering why you couldn’t cry just moments ago, it sure feels as if you’re standing right at the very edge of a breakdown right now. The timing couldn’t be worse. “Get in the bed, Mat,” you repeat once again, voice low and tired.

There’s a moment of stillness during which you stand there, feeling defeated and ashamed while Mat lies just ahead of you and you wonder what goes on through his mind. Not for the first time, you wish you had the power to hear it all regardless of how much worse it’d make you feel. And then, he moves. He sits up and there’s some shuffling of bedsheets, and moments later, he’s moving past you into the room with a pillow under his arm even if there’s plenty on the bed already. You allow yourself a brief second to draw in a silent breath of air then release it before following after him. This time, you circle around the bed frame because Mat settled on the right side. He always took the right side because that’s what you agreed on years ago.

You pull the bedsheets up to your nose and open your mouth ready to say something. But what more is there to say?

“Do you ever think where it went wrong?”

Mat’s question takes you by surprise and you swallow the lump in your throat uncomfortably. The it is more of a we, but it makes it feel just a little more impersonal though it doesn’t quite soften the blow it delivers. You wish you could curl into a ball, grasp the covers tightly around your body like a cocoon but you’re rooted to your place and the most you can do is grab at the sheets with your fingers tightly. If it wasn’t for the material, you’re convinced your nails would dig into your palms and leave half moons there that would hurt like a bitch.

“I did,” you tell him, at last.

“I do,” Mat admits without hesitating, without needing you to prompt him and you don’t miss the way he phrases it as if this is a thing he continues to do in the present. But his tone is calculated, detached and you can’t help but wonder whether that’s true or you’re about to let yourself get roped into a blame game you’ve already played before.

You lost it, of course. But you try not to think about how bitter it felt. You think there might be something lodged in your throat, something that resembles an apology you owe him, but every time it feels as if you’ll let it slip past your mouth, invisible walls are built up and nothing gets past those.

“I think I lost you somewhere along the way,” he continues because this is a thing that Mat does: he doesn’t let something slip past him so easily. Not always, anyway. “And I don’t think I did enough to meet you halfway.” A pause and you barely just shift under the blankets. Your arm brushes against soft cotton and belatedly, you realise that’s his spare pillow between the two of you. You really do hate everything about this. “I don’t think you did either,” he admits.

You have to give it to him: he has guts. And you really hate that you can’t bring yourself to let your own show, even in the dark. Especially in the dark, where your faces are hidden and your bodies are separated by a flimsy pillow and there’s a chance that you might both forget this in the morning or pass it off as a lucid dream. It’s a small chance, but existent nevertheless.

“What good will it do us if we keep thinking about it?” You ask, but it’s directed more at yourself than it is to him.

Your mind betrays you by giving you the answer: it won’t change the past, but it may very well change the future. And your heart throbs rapidly at the thought and there’s heat in your belly and adrenaline in your veins, and there’s an explosion of what ifs coursing through your mind even if you know it’s too late. Because it must be, right?

“Let it go, Mat,” you tell him and shift under the covers, turning your back to him and curling up underneath the covers. “Go to sleep.”

He scoffs ever so quietly, but you pick up on the sound because there’s nothing else to distract you from it. “Right, sorry. I forgot you give up just like that now.”

You frown, glaring at the darkness ahead. “It’s not me giving up, Mat. It’s called me being rational about it.” You sigh, eyes closing and you press your fingers against them until you see stars behind them. “What are you hoping to get out of this?”

“Don’t know.” Mat sighs and the bed shifts. His voice sounds quieter and you wonder if he turned his back to you in return. “Maybe some proper closure, I guess. I wouldn’t call what happened then and what’s happening now a… what did you call it? A clean break?”

“And you want it now at like, what, one in the morning? Will that make you go to sleep?”

“Dunno,” Mat murmurs and it’s obvious his voice is heavy with exhaustion. “Maybe.”

You push down the memories threatening to squeeze their way at the forefront of your mind because you’d be at it all night without doubt. The silence lingers between you, undisrupted, and you manage to count to twenty five in your mind slowly before you carefully turn your head to look over your shoulder. Your heart jumps in your throat. Mat is on his side facing you and his eyes are closed. You can’t be certain that he managed to fall asleep but his breathing seems steady enough. Ever so carefully, you turn until you’re on your back again and cast your gaze upwards towards the ceiling.

“I’d sleep, but probably not a great deal.”

Mat’s voice, silent as it is, catches you by surprise and you jolt ever so slightly. The movement doesn’t seem to disturb him though. He remains still as a statue and despite the darkness, you can’t find it in you to look towards him. It doesn’t mean your skin doesn’t tingle in that very odd way it does whenever someone looks at you. You close your eyes and throw an arm over them for extra measure.

“Just go to sleep, Mat,” you whisper.

You blame not finding it in you to give him what he wants on the sudden exhaustion coursing through you, but there’s always tomorrow. If he insists on it, you can assure him there’s always tomorrow.

But Mat doesn’t force the subject and soon enough, you feel your shoulder relaxing, your body settling against the mattress and a familiar lull pulls you away from consciousness.

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #*

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mistaeq · 4 years ago

Note

Hello could i request bruno bucciqrati w a tall male s/o! Thank u.

bruno bucciarati: with a tall male s/o

tw // none

contains: bruno bucciarati with a tall male!reader

dora's note: i usually take more detailed requests, but i did my best on this one. i hope it's still enjoyable, even if i struggled a little. thank you for sending in !!

↳ hoo, boy. when he first saw you, he knew you would have been a great addition to the gang. well, bruno had noticed you were pretty handsome as well, but he would have kept his secondary thoughts on the down low for the sake of keeping the gang calm and united.

↳ he led you to polpo, convinced him to give you a chance and after the quick test of the lighter, there you were, with a stand.

↳ you were new to this stand thing, and bruno got a little startled, when you summoned it and it was even taller than you were. but you liked it a lot, it felt like a magical yourself. and bucciarati couldn't help but think it was one of the most beautiful stands he had ever seen.

↳ ...and a really powerful one, at it. you just had to understand how to use it properly.

↳ bruno is gonna make sure everyone in the gang respects you and doesn't make jokes about your height. he's gonna ask them to pay you the same respect they pay to abbacchio, another tall male himself.

↳ when bucciarati has to tell you a secret or whisper in your ear, he doesn't stand on tippy toes, he opens a zipper under you with sticky fingers to make you sink in the ground. and reach the perfect height to your ear.

↳ he never had the chance to come out to the gang properly, or better, he never thought of it as necessary. but when he starts to wonder whether he could have fallen in love with you, he starts worrying about it.

↳ how is he gonna explain to abbacchio that your height basically makes him swoon for you, and how is he gonna justify himself about the fact that it didn't happen with leone's height?

↳ bucciarati soon understands that his massive crush on you has nothing to do with your height, or maybe just a little. the majority of the "fault" goes to your beautiful personality and your charisma.

↳ bruno won't deny your height makes him feel safe. he can be baby.

↳ "i'm sorry if this sounds sudden to you, mio caro. but would you be weirded out if your capo asked you out for dinner at libeccio's tonight?"

↳ it takes him a lot of time to convince you, and he's a little demoralized, thinking you don't like him back. but after bucciarati senses your discomfort, he soon finds out the problem wasn't him, but libeccio's. someone mocked you heavily for your height there, and the memory of it stopped you from hanging out with bruno in that place. what if your presence made him feel ashamed?

↳ "i had no clue this had happened to you, mio fiore [my flower]. if you'll still accept my invite, we'll choose another place to eat dinner together. i know many romantic restaurants that will definitely please you."

↳ after not even a couple dates, the two of you started calling each other amore.

↳ he will never admit it, but without you, he'd never be able to know whatever the fuck is on the top shelf, and his pride always stopped him from asking abbacchio before.

↳ bruno secretly likes it when you randomly pick him up. he's probably a very light man.

↳ the capo started wearing more high heels and platforms, since you got in the squad, and it makes you genuinely laugh, to see him try so hard to be taller than you. it's still pretty difficult. it's one of the few times when both you and abbacchio agree on the fact that bruno can be adorable, if he tries enough.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part five #vento aureo #bruno bucciarati #jjba headcanons #bucciarati x reader #male reader

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s8ncake · 4 years ago

Text

Originally I wasn’t planning on posting this here, but a friend of mine convinced me. You can also check it out on ao3!

🔞The following fic is nsfw. Minors dni.🔞

Sacrilege

Summary: Simeon has fallen, but he doesn’t view himself as such. No, given the feelings he has towards you, this could only be an ascension; one beyond anything he had in the Celestial Realm, and anything the Devildom could offer. Now he serves no one, only you. His one and only god.

word count: ~5700

⚠️c/w: gore and blood (but Simeon and the reader are fine), yandere!Simeon, sacrilegious themes, blasphemy

Additional note: the reader is gender neutral, and the reader’s genitalia isn’t specified

In ao3, I tagged this with Dead Dove: Do not eat. That still applies here. Make sure you’ve read over the content warnings before proceeding / interacting.

🔞And once again, minors dni.🔞

Falling’s a strange thing, a concept that Simeon never quite understood. It happened to angels who were wicked, those who sought to undo his father’s plan. So they were cut off. From the heavenly host. From their powers. Their wings turned black, and their light faded. Until the only thing left was a darkness, one that sought to consume everything that they once were. They either died or transformed, becoming monsters. Beasts. Demons.

Simeon is none of those things. He didn’t fall to oppose his father, nor did he seek to undo any sort of plan. He’s an author after all, and authors create.

And what could his muse be, other than you?

Your soul is brilliant, a beacon of light amongst everything else in this miserable realm. It took him far too long to see that. But thankfully, his eyes have been opened. And never again shall they shut. In the long span of his existence, he’s seen everything that the universe could offer. Stars. Galaxies. The rise and fall of human civilization itself. Existence itself is always in a state of flux, constantly shifting and warping as things are created and then destroyed.

But you… You exist beyond that.

Your soul never tarnishes, nor does it fade when things get rough. Instead, it fights. Nails. Fists. Some would say that it’s barbaric, but Simeon had always found it to be beautiful. It’s a philosophy that he’s tried to emulate. Words are meaningless, unless they are used to praise you. So now he resorts to action. And well, the saying is true. So perhaps it’s only natural that he uses it to replace his books, that the tales he creates are no longer works of fiction. No, fantasy has lost all meaning now.

There’s only you.

You have always inspired him. Even now, Simeon can’t help but write poetry about you as he moves. The world that he’s in is dark. Depressing. Very little of it is worthy of being compared to someone as brilliant as you. But that doesn’t prevent him from trying.

Today, he starts with a crumbling city. It’s silence echoes throughout the land, and you are the slight breeze that rushes past his ear. The moon, although unlike its cratered surface, you have no imperfections. No, the dips and grooves along your skin are beautiful. Like the glinting of a knife, the way the metal slices through the air. You have pierced his heart just as easily. But that’s okay, it’s yours after all.

It’s a shame that he can’t carve out his own and give it to you. That despite everything, he is still limited by this corporeal form. But if he were to be anything else, then you wouldn’t be able to look at him. And that would get in the way of his worship. A god must be able to view their subjects after all.

Besides, this new form is perfect for him. It’s yet another form of his art, a piece that was made specifically for you. His horns. His tail. His cock… He considered it all. Like a good follower should.

No one else would be able to do that. They are limited by their pathetic mortal frame. Rats. Parasites. They’re unfit to even look upon you. But with another flicker of his knife, they are handled. And he will morph them until something better. Something more suited for you.

The process of creation is a never ending one, especially given the thousands of pieces that he’s working on. Some of them are grand, and others are small. But all of them are for you. How else would he pay tribute?

There’s a gust of wind. Your arrival is soon. He can sense it. It comes with everything that is right. The sun peaking over the clouds. Starlight reflecting off of a lake. The rippling of water as it reveals the creatures that lurk within its depths. The sound of laughter, followed by the blessed silence that he’s come to adore. That is who you are. An omen of things to come. The others say you are bad, but Simeon knows better. It is impossible for you to be anything other than good.

For you are greater than the heavens, and the earth itself. His father was nothing, but you—

There’s a scream as Simeon feels blunt nails dig into his arm. It’s followed by a shove, and footsteps frantically scrambling away from him. ...How annoying.

His latest sacrifice had just ruined his internal monologue. And it was going to be such a good one too. What a shame. If only he had a pen and paper nearby…

They don’t travel far. There’s another sound, although this one is a plea. Simeon silences it with a crunch, and tsks when he looks at his hands. That was messier than he had intended, but it looks like no longer needs any ink. An amused chuckle falls from his lips. Would you like that? Poetry written in the blood of your enemies, the very nonbelievers who seek to destroy the world that the two of you are trying to create?

...Perhaps that’s something to try next time. Right now, he has something more important to focus on. He’s still in the process of creation after all, and he’s not finished decorating. Thankfully this… creature (it can’t be a human, for nothing could compare to you) should provide him with the rest of the materials that he needs. So Simeon gets to work.

This too is a form of art, and one he would never have considered before. But he has expanded beyond quills and parchment. Now he builds sculptures out of the very people who would defy you. Those who are unworthy of being graced with your presence. They are broken down, and fashioned into a suitable idol.

Another splash of crimson. The breaking of bones. Wire. Nails. And then it’s done. Your new altar is complete. Simeon takes a step back, appraises his work, and grins. It’s perfect.

Fresh blood drips off of it, reminding him of rain, the way it softly drizzles and brings life to those around it. This is a form of life as well, one that does nothing but speak of your greatness. The various limbs that have been tacked and strung above it make a rainbow, an icon of the color you have given this dull and drab world. Maybe one day you’ll be able to color it all. But the best part about it is when you stand away, when you view his masterpiece from a distance. It takes the shape of a heart, one that resembles his own. And it exists entirely for you.

The wind picks up, howling in his ears, and he knows that you are here. Once you enter the room, Simeon falls to his knees. He doesn’t have to stay there for long; it’s simply a gesture of formality, one that reminds you of how important you truly are.

“You may rise.”

He follows the command without hesitation. Your voice is a melody. A soothing tone that seeps into his bones and leaves him feeling lighter. It truly is an act of kindness that you’ve allowed him to stand as your equal, if only for a brief moment. But he will be on his knees again soon enough.

He can’t wait.

A sigh falls from your lips once you notice the various remains that litter the floor. “Those were supposed to be the new recruits. I guess none of them were willing?”

Simeon nods. “They were all unworthy of you.”

“A shame.” Your eyes then roam over his altar. He awaits your response with trepidation. ...Do you like it?

But as always, there’s no need for him to voice his question. Like the god you are, you already answer it with a grin. Your power, your majesty, truly knows no bounds. “You’ve found a better use for them though. I’m pleased.”

A shiver runs down Simeon’s spine. Your approval means everything. It is the air that fills up his lungs and allows him to breath. He feels incredibly lucky, to be blessed with such a thing.

It only inspires him to work even harder for what comes next. There is no church here, nor is there a temple. But those measly little things are unneeded. Your body outshines it all. And that is what he shall worship.

A strike of a bell, and then Simeon kneels before you once as you sit upon your handmade throne. It begins now. Sacrament. He licks his lips in anticipation.

You are an image, perched atop yet another one of his creations. Although this one is his favorite. There’s no flesh or bone, only gold. Treasure that he had stolen from the Celestial Realm and the Devildom alike. Melting it was difficult, but the result was definitely worth it. For now you have a throne, one that suits your majesty.

It makes him feel small, as it should. Your presence is grand, a shining iridescent star amongst the blank canvas that he’s created. And it’s reflected in his eyes once you beckon him forward.

He delicately peels each and every garment off of you, savoring the sight of your body as it’s slowly revealed to him. He’s seen it before, yet you never fail to take his breath away. Every hair, every scar, all of the dips and grooves that make up who you are; Simeon loves it all. How could he not?

Beauty takes the form of your legs, the way they spread open before him. Magnificent is the sight that greets him, your most intimate parts bare now before his gaze. Adoration is what he feels when you whisper his name and guide his head forward. And divinity, well... that is what you taste like.

He dives in with enthusiasm. You immediately grab onto his horns, and pull him in closer. Simeon groans. They’re handles after all, ones that he made specifically for you. To tug. To control. He is but a follower, and you are a god. One that will never fail to help him find the right path.

And everything about this, the taste of your essence on his tongue, is right.

Every noise that you make spurs him on. This is what you deserve. The pleasure that courses through your veins. The moans that fall from your lips. It’s a shame that he can’t give you more, not yet at least. One day the world will be yours, but until then… an orgasm will have to do.

You cum with a cry, one that could shake the very heavens itself. A part of him hopes that they've heard you, but the other knows that they are unworthy of such a thing. He laps up each and every drop. It would be a sin to allow any of it to spill. Nothing you create should ever go to waste. Especially when it’s this good.

Once your orgasm ends, he pulls away, giving you a moment to collect yourself. It’s a shame that he cannot taste you forever; that like all good things, it must come to an end. But his worship of you is far from over. No, the two of you have only just begun.

Your eyes meet, and Simeon’s tongue lolls out, wiping away the spare traces of your cum. A chuckle, then you gently pat his head. “Such a good boy Simeon. You’ve improved.”

Pleasure shoots down his spine the moment you praise him. This is what he’s after. This is the reason he exists. To serve you. To please you. Your fingers begin to run through his hair, and a moan falls from his lips as he leans into your touch.

“You remember what comes next, don’t you?”

Of course. His worship of you is a form of art, one that he has practiced over and over again. Simeon nods, and then finally removes the last of his clothing.

His cock springs free. It’s hard. Leaking. He wants you, as always. But how could he not? Your visage is the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen. Your voice rolls through his mind like honey. He loves you.

It’s normal of course, for a follower to love their god. Yet even the word itself feels unsatisfactory. One day he’ll have to create a new one. But until then, love will have to suffice. Besides, he has better ways to show his devotion. Actions speak louder than words after all. So despite the desire that courses through him, he doesn’t even make an attempt to touch himself. His own pleasure is unimportant. The only thing that matters is you.

So instead he stays on his knees. Where he belongs. He starts with your ankle, placing feather light kisses along each one as his mouth slowly works his way up to your calf. You gasp once he reaches your thighs, and then the next part of sacrament begins: creation.

In the past he created galaxies. Stars. Nebulas. Simeon had the luxury of forming several of them before that task was given to someone else. But thanks to you, he can perform it once more. Only this time the materials are different. Instead of creating constellations in the sky, he makes them on your body.

Today he starts with the Big Dipper. He lightly suckles on your thighs, mapping out each and every star, and once that constellation is done, he moves onto another. Caenis Major. Orion. Cygnus. Your body looks even more breathtaking like this, so he adds a few more. These ones are new, ones that he just made up. They have yet to have a name, but for now… Consecratio will have to do. Perhaps he’ll be able to come up with a more official title for them later.

Your name falls from his lips, along with a moan, and something inside of him slips. He falls even further into your depths. Beautiful. You’re so beautiful. His name never sounded so pretty; but everytime you say it, he can feel his cock begin to swell. He is the one you want. The only being that makes you feel like this, and the only one that ever will.

You are his god.

Blood rushes through him, staining his cheeks, hardening his cock even further. In the haze of his own mind, his mouth parts from your skin, and his fingers enter you instead.

You mewl at the intrusion. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. This step comes later on, yet Simeon can’t wait. He wants to see you cum once more. To hear your praise as he pleasures you beyond your own comprehension.

Perfect. Stunning. Simeon adds another finger, his gaze fixed on your expression and nothing else. Finding that spot within you is easy. He had memorized its location long ago as proof of his devotion. Each and every part of your body has been mapped out, a never ending piece of parchment that he keeps in his head. In truth, Simeon has never been much of a navigator. But your body is the only thing that he needs to know.

You moan once again. You’re close, Simeon can feel it. Although he’s neglected to take his own pleasure into account. He’s close as well.

Simeon hasn’t even laid a hand on himself, yet his own noises grow louder. Every gasp. Every groan. Knowing that he’s able to do this to you spurs him on, his cock aching from how much it desires you. Yet your image drowns all of that out.

His peak arrives, but he never gets to fully reach it. Instead, your hand clenches around the base of his cock, preventing him from cumming.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Recite your scripture as punishment.”

His labored breathing echoes across the room, and Simeon’s eyes widen once he realizes his mistake. He was being selfish, allowing his own pleasure to get in the way of yours. Lust is a vise that he should have had better control of. He was a fool to let it get in the way of his love, so he accepts your punishment with grace.

Magic soon replaces your hand, creating a cockring that now leaves your fingers free to move up and down along his shaft. His breathing stutters, but he’s thankful for the intervention. More of your magic curls around his body, brushing up against his skin. It’s a sign of what’s to come, yet he shoves that excitement aside, or tries to at least.

Simeon frowns. The cockring was sorely needed. It makes sure that he doesn’t forget about what’s truly important. No matter what, he isn’t allowed to cum before you. The only sin that exists is putting his pleasure before your own. Yes, he deserves to be punished for this. His devotion towards you never should have wavered.

So he opens his mouth, and speaks; his voice not faltering despite the way your hand moves across his shaft. “The steadfast love of you, my god, never ceases. Your mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning.”

You press one of your fingers against his slit, smearing some of his precum along the head of his cock. A shudder runs down Simeon’s spine. Your touch is a blessing, one that he can never get enough of. But he cannot focus on it. No. The pleasure is unimportant. You must be worshipped.

“There’s no greater love other than this: to lay down my life for you.”

He focuses on the words instead, and on everything that they entail. He would gladly die for you. In both this timeline, and any of the other ones that follow. The universe is full of constants: gravity, matter, humanity itself, and the devotion that he feels towards you. Those are all things that shall exist in every universe.

No matter what, Simeon loves you. And he will die and fall as many times as he needs in order to prove it. Although he’s never met any of his alternate selves, he already knows that it’s true. His love cannot be contained in any vessel. It flows throughout time and space, and every spec of it is dedicated towards you and you alone.

Your hand leaves his cock. Simeon feels it twitch under the absence of your touch. A part of him wants to whine, but he holds that in. He refuses to sin once more, to tarnish his reputation as your most devout follower. So he simply continues reciting the words that he’s come to know by heart.

Indeed, you’re no longer stroking him. But that’s only because your hands have wondered elsewhere. A finger traces the rim of his ass, and it doesn’t take Simeon long to put two and two together. Ah. He had never—

You enter him. Slowly but surely, although there’s no resistance. Another one quickly joins it. Your fingers are slick from his precum and some of your own spit, not to mention your magic… It widens him, making lube unnecessary. Not that he would ask for any. No, he’s being punished right now. This is simply another example of your benevolence.

The feeling is strange, but he continues. “I give thanks to you, for everything about you is good. Our love endures forever.”

Your fingers haven’t stopped moving. They’re searching around for something, although Simeon doesn’t know what you're looking for. There’s nothing left of him to find. You have seen it all.

“And I know that in all things, you do good for those who love you, who have been called according to your purpose.”

And then you brush up against a spot inside of him, one that has him seeing stars. He’s unable to stop the surprised “Oh!” that falls from his mouth, or the way he tries to fuck himself on your hand. Thankfully that was the last verse, so there’s no harm in letting another mewl spill from his throat.

You laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, one that Simeon is blessed to hear. “What a good little follower. If you beg for me, I’ll let you cum.”

He wants to. To immediately get on his knees and beg for you to fuck him, as you take away the last shred of innocence that he has. Ah, but take isn’t the right word. Give. He would give it all to you. That purity is nothing more than a cocoon, one he’s been working on shedding himself of. It only gets in the way of loving you. Besides, how could he perform his tasks if he was worried about heaven’s definition of sin? No, there’s too much work to be done. And what he’s doing is okay. You’ve told him so.

Submitting to the desire that's coursing through him would be easy, but this is a test. One that he refuses to fail. Worshiping you takes precedence. It always does. “No. I wish to pick up where we left off. My only desire is to pleasure you.”

You flash him a smile, one more brilliant than the sun. “Your devotion truly is admirable. We’ll begin our worship again shortly. But first, I’m going to fuck you like this, okay? Remember the feeling of my fingers Simeon. Because next time, you’re going to cum around them and nothing else. Do you understand?”

Next time. He’ll be ready then. And you will finally own all of him. He can’t wait. “Yes, my beloved. I’ll do as you ask.”

You hum in approval, and then your fingers start moving once more. Pleasure courses through him, and he bites his lip as he smothers his gasp. You are everything. This is everything.

“I don’t want you to hold back Simeon. Let me hear you.”

Of course. This is a form of devotion too. How could he have forgotten that? A high pitched moan immediately falls from his lips. Words are hard, but Simeon still manages to speak. You wanted to hear his voice after all.

“G—Good. So good.”

Another finger gets added. Somehow the pleasure increases. His cock aches. It’s hard and weeping, yet he doesn’t care. The pleasure that you have shown him outshines it all. And he never wants this moment to end.

His mind is slowly becoming blank, the fog of lust threatening to consume his every thought. But Simeon shoves it all aside. Vocal. He has to focus on being vocal.

You briefly pull out. A fourth finger teases at his entrance, and your voice coos into his ear, “Can you handle more?”

More. The possibility excites him. He had no idea that it was an option. But he will do it. Of course he will. As your follower, it’s his duty to handle every inch of you. That’s why he created this vessel in the first place. And Simeon leaps at each and every opportunity to put it to the test.

He has to think, to piece the fragile bits of his mind together in order to form a response. But as soon as he comes close to making one, the magical ring around his cock vibrates. It’s slow, a low thrum that’s incredibly unsatisfying, yet it leaves him shivering all the same.

It’s a warning. He still can’t cum after all, and unless he performs well… he may never be able to. A response. You need one now. “Fuck. Y-Yes I can handle more.”

And like the benevolent god you are, you give him exactly that. Yes, you’re so wide inside of him. He didn’t even know that it was possible to feel this full. That his body could accommodate this much. And the fact that one of your limbs is inside of him... Simeon keens.

Truly, he’s unworthy of such a thing. Your fingers, your hand, should be elsewhere. That you would even consider touching him there is already enough to make him cum. Thankfully the cockring is still in place, so the pleasure never has to end.

He focuses on the shape of your hand, the dip and groove of each finger; the way it scrapes against his walls as you slam into him. Your pace is rough. Brutal. Heavenly. His mind goes hazy underneath it all. No. He can’t let this consume him. This is only a preview of what’s to come, and you are gracious enough to give it to him.

It’s another test. But this one… Oh, this one is his favorite.

Another wave of pleasure. He’s a shivering mess, one that can do nothing more than scream for you. Time itself has no meaning. There’s only this; the fullness that you provide, and the love behind each and every gesture that you make. He mewls out your name once more, and then it’s over.

He’s repented for his mistakes.

Your fingers… no it was your fist, pulls out of him. Simeon briefly whines at the loss. He falls to the floor, and then you place that very same hand in front of his lips. He lavishes it with kisses, and groans. More. He needs more.

And he knows that there will be more to come. It’s all a part of his worship after all. The taste of your inevitable union will be even stronger, richer. This is but a treat, a kind dessert that you have gifted him. The real meal comes later on. But Simeon is willing to wait. Once he’s finished lapping at your hands, he moves to your altar and lays himself upon it.

This is his final offering. His body is yours to use as you see fit.

You get up. Although Simeon cannot see it, he hears your bare feet walking across the abandoned chapel’s floor. There is no choir, but the ex-angel wants to sing when you impale yourself upon him.

A purr leaves your throat. “You feel perfect.”

He’s glad. Like his horns, his cock is made for you. Every ridge, every bump, was created to maximize your pleasure. No toy will ever compare. Simeon made sure of that.

You begin to move. He allows you to set the pace as his nails dig into your thigh. Perfect. You fit perfectly around him. He feels an incredible amount of pride as you gasp and moan with the rise and fall of your hips. Out of all of the offerings that he’s made, his mortal form is definitely the best. The flush of your cheeks proves it.

The magic around his cock finally loosens, and you clench around him. Simeon’s climax quickly follows your own. The tangling of tongues. The squirting of cum. He finished inside of you, but you don’t remain on his softening cock for long. No, you pull yourself off of him, and Simeon watches as his cum flows out of you.

He licks his lips. This is it. The moment that he’s been waiting for. His favorite part of worship.

Your voice is a command, one that never fails to send a shiver down his spine. “Clean up.”

He immediately begins lapping at your dripping hole. The taste of your cum has melded into his own. Your union has created this, the most delicious thing that Simeon has ever consumed. The essence of a god flows into his mouth, along with the proof that he was the one who had pleasured you. And now it is inside of him. A bond that cannot be broken. He hungers for more.

Simeon lewdly moans as his tongue reaches deeper and deeper into you, searching for every bit of his cum that he can find. Noises fall from your mouth, but like always, he drowns them out with his own. This is a feast, one that the Celestial Realm could never recreate. Their food pales in comparison. Simeon doesn’t understand how he was able to stomach it before.

Another orgasm ripples through you, and he keens as he consumes each and every drop. Were he in a more poetic mood, he would compare it to ambrosia, but he can write verses about you another time. Instead, he focuses on completing this final act. It doesn’t take long. Once he’s thoroughly licked every trace of cum off your body, he pulls away with a grin. You pat his head, and Simeon hums as he leans into your touch.

“I love you.”

The words sound beautiful coming from your mouth. It’s something that you’ve said before. A sentence that led to this exact moment, and many others like it. Yet he’ll never tire of hearing it, of knowing that he has earned those very words time and time again.

“I love you as well. My god. My beloved. And one day, the world will love you too.”

The two of you embrace. And in your arms, Simeon comes up with ideas for his next altar. It’s sure to take everyone’s breath away. It’ll be bigger than the last one. More limbs. More blood. Wires. Nails— Ah, he’s already getting excited.

It’s amazing; how quickly you inspire him, and all it takes is a hug. You truly are an excellent muse, one that he hopes to be completely worthy of someday. But until then, he is simply an author. An artist. One that exists to worship you.

Eventually you take your leave. There’s work to be done after all, especially for a god such as yourself. And although Simeon longs for your embrace… that just makes it more precious when it actually occurs. Besides, he wants his creations to be a surprise, and it’s impossible for that to happen if you’re looking over his shoulder. So the two of you part. And like the quiet whisper of the wind, you’re gone.

The silence doesn’t last long. It’s interrupted by the ringing of his phone. A number shows up on his screen, one that he hadn’t seen in an incredibly long time. He had tried to block it ages ago, but eventually gave up. Technology still confuses him. ...Some things never quite change.

He accepts the call, and Lucifer’s voice greets him. “Simeon.”

He hadn’t heard it in awhile. The man’s tone sounds deeper than he remembered, and it’s entirely different from your own. The contrast throws him for a loop, if only briefly. Simeon clears his throat. For some reason he doesn’t hang up.

“Yes?”

“This has to stop. The two of you are upsetting the balance. If this continues, then Lord Diavolo will intervene.”

A threat. Of course that would be why he called. But Simeon doesn’t care. No one can stop either of you, including the most powerful demons in the Devildom. Your love transcends beyond that. ...It’s a shame that Lucifer still is unable to comprehend what the two of you are trying to achieve.

A part of Simeon can’t help but feel disappointed at the reminder. “Perhaps he’ll join us. You’re welcome to as well, of course.”

“No. What your doing is wrong. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m simply serving my god.”

“They are just a human, Simeon. And can easily be replaced. There are billions—“

Anger rushes through him; the intensity of it causing him to crack his phone’s screen. His grip loosens, but the rage still festers within him. How dare he.

“Watch your tongue, lest I rip it out of you next time we meet.”

A pause. The silence seems awkward, sad almost. Lucifer eventually breaks it. “...I see I am too late. The others are right. You have fallen. And unlike me, you’ve had no family to help put you back together again.”

“I don’t need one. I have my god, and they have been by my side through thick and thin. What have you done for me, Lucifer?”

Silence. No other answer is needed.

After a minute or two Lucifer sighs. “I must report my failure to Lord Diavolo. You have exactly 48 hours before he arrives. Use them wisely.”

There’s a click, and then the number vanishes from his screen. Lucifer must have hung up. Yet his words echo around in Simeon’s head.

You have fallen. It makes him want to laugh. There is nothing wrong about this. The love that he feels towards you cannot be tainted, nor will it ever waver. For you have given him something that he’s never had before: Freedom. From the Celestial Realm, from his boring day to day life. Simeon had not truly lived until he abandoned it all in favor of following you. No, this was an ascension. One that everyone is too foolish to understand. And Diavolo seeks to destroy everything that you’ve built. But that’s okay, Simeon has a plan.

A few magic circles… some stolen holy relics… and even the future Demon King can be captured. So when he comes, Simeon will be ready, and the foolish prince will walk right into a trap.

A manic giggle bursts from his mouth. This is perfect.

Diavolo will be made to see, like so many others before him. It’s impossible not to after all, given how grand you are. Ah, but Simeon will deny him the privilege of serving you. No matter what, you will only ever have one follower. Diavolo can beg and plead as much as he likes, but he will never get to feel your touch. He hasn’t earned the right, and he never will. Once he has served his purpose, he will be disposed of, just like the rest.

Simeon grins. In truth, The world doesn’t even need to have people in it. A god does not require subjects in order to be considered such. So why bother expanding your little cult, when no one else will ever be able to serve you like him?

You are his. His human. His god. His everything. And no one is going to get in the way of that. This realm will be made into something that is worthy of you, even if he has empty it himself. But once every single creature is gone, and he is the only being left... Then the world truly will love you, won’t it?

#obey me #omnsfw #minors dni #obey me simeon #fallen!Simeon #simeon x mc #simeon x reader #the reader is gender neutral #my writing!#sacrilege

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paellaplease · 4 years ago

Note

revali x reader 16 (i think?) verklempt please ❤️

16. verklempt - completely and utterly overcome with emotion

19. temerate - to break a bond or promise

pairing: revali x reader summary: falling in love is difficult when neither of you know the end is near.

Night had fallen by the time you mustered the courage to walk up to him. He watched the shining caps of your barely worn boots approach the other side of the campfire, sensing your nervousness as you awkwardly stood for a few beats, weaving and unweaving your fingers.

Either his reputation as the strongest Champion preceded him, or he was completely unapproachable. Throughout the day you would chance a look at him from across the camp, quickly averting your eyes the moment he noticed. You were part of the Princess’ research effort and therefore had some questions— that much he was certain of. Yet you’ve been dancing around him for hours, gathering the will to speak only to have it snuffed out the moment he acknowledged your presence.

Embers lifted from the flames and flickered into the night sky as you finally faced him. Revali held his tongue and gathered his patience, trying to hide the glitter in his eyes at the chance of ‘wowing’ another admirer (nevermind that you were the first).

“Champion, uh sir,” you fumbled with the titles. The question fell from your lips so quickly that his disappointment didn’t register until a second later. “What kind of flower do you favour the most?”

“...”

If the following silence wasn’t damning enough, the Rito was honestly at a loss for how to respond to such an inane question. Seriously? He was better than this. Others have made more important inquiries and had to wait weeks, if not months, for him to clear time in his busy schedule and reply.

Something like this didn’t deserve attention, let alone an answer.

“Swift violets.” He said, before rising from his seat by the fire, dead leaves crunching under the weight of him as he made a beeline straight for his tent.

Parting the canvas, he pretends to miss the earnest wave of goodbye you send his way, ignoring the static in his chest the moment his head hits the pillow. Sleep comes quickly.

A month later you meet again.

The universe seemed to adore playing tricks on him. Crossing the threshold of his home, he catches you investigating the decorative shells hanging by his kitchen window. Amusingly, you were balancing on the tips of your toes, its placement just a tad too high.

There’s something different this time around. You seemed more at ease with your surroundings, no longer jumping at every sound like a stranger in their own skin. The tips of your boots were scuffed with use, and the minute cuts and imperfections in your clothes spoke of days spent in hard work and travel.

Though some things still remain the same. He holds back his smirk when you stumble forward in surprise at the sound of your name, getting straight to business once you were safe from the risk of falling over. “I believe you’re the researcher sent to assess my progress with Vah Medoh?”

“Yes, I am.” You’re quick to snap back into stiff professionalism, he’ll give you that. The bow is low and formal, your back so still that someone could confidently rest a cup and saucer on it. An introduction spills out, followed by an apology when you realise he already knows who you are from the briefing he was given days earlier in Hyrule Castle.

The task was simple really. King Rhoam Bosphoramus wanted a full report on the breadth of Hyrule’s offensive capabilities against Calamity Ganon. From Guardians to Divine Beasts, much had been done in the past year in preparation for their greatest adversary. Now as the whirlwind began to settle, all must be accounted for, down to the last soldier.

Your report was just a drop in what will be an immense ocean of information currently being collated. But it was nevertheless quite vital. He wonders how someone like you was selected for such a task.

“Let’s do our best.” You blurt. Revali could see the millions of thoughts racing behind your eyes when you decide to break away from your military-stiff posture, raising a hand in the traditional Hyrulean greeting between strangers.

The lines of your palm stretch before him like deeply-woven thread. He glances at the wrinkles and grooves in your flesh, remembering that some mystics believe such lines could predict something as unknown as the future. He can’t help but wonder what yours might foretell.

Pressing his wing to your outstretched hand, he declared his agreement. “Of course. You’ll soon see that my ability to pilot Medoh is nothing short of perfect.”

He can’t help it. “And no questions of the botanical sort, understood?”

The sudden playful grin you give him makes all his witty quips screech to a halt, his focus trained solely on the way your face instantly lights up when it isn't held down by strict politeness or pure nervous energy. “I’ll be sure to steer clear from them this time, Champion. You have my word.”

Both of you eventually fall into a comfortable routine. Meals are made together and the chores are done quickly through combined effort. You catch on well, cottoning on to the needs of the day based on the tasks you both decide on the night before.

After breakfast he finds his gear and yours already neatly arranged by the doorway, allowing him additional time with Vah Medoh and you the chance to closely observe. The idea of training with an audience never bothered him, but knowing you followed close behind, notebook at the ready, gave him the extra push to perform just a level better than his previous.

One more arrow, one more extravagant somersault in the air. He even maneuvers Medoh to do a complete 180, reveling in the way your mouth pops open in awe as you walk across what was once the ceiling.

“... .... --- .-- / --- ..-. ..-.” The ancient machine complains, unhappy to be on their back. The Rito pilot pats the metal wall apologetically, watching as you excitedly flit from one end to the other, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Revali dreams of a cliff’s edge.

The precipice looms before him, nothing but fog and the unknown past the point where the ground stops and plummets. Revali looks at you and feels the smooth rock of the sea stone underneath his talons; hears the sound of crashing waves in the distance. Tantalising was the mystery of the void beyond.

The meaning escapes him the moment he wakes up. His pillow was warmed by the glow of the sun, making him realise that he had slept in. Morning was just beginning, and both of you had a full schedule of tasks to get through.

Diverting all his mental energy to the work ahead, he scrubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes away the odd thrill in his feathers. I’m better than this, he thinks.

His tea is still warm when he arrives at the table.

Word of the researcher shadowing him gets around quickly, it’s a small village after all. Some of the Elders glance at you in suspicion, old wounds from disagreements fought with the capital in the past lingering like dye in the water. You don’t seem to mind it, too caught up in the new sights and smells of this vibrant community built in the clouds.

The Rito children are much more enthusiastic about your presence, sharing in your curiosity by matching your questions with their own. Getting comfortable on the wooden slats of the departure deck, you happily play encyclopedia for them.

“Were you this cute back then?” You ask, watching a fledgling hop from one talon to another in imitation of a lizalfos, chasing after their friends who were the heroes in the story, at least for this round of the game.

“I was a model citizen.”

“Not true!” One of them pipes, poking him in the side with the tiniest of wings. “Mama said you were a hennish scallion.”

“You mean a hellish rapscallion,” the eldest of the bunch laughs, screaming when the ‘lizalfos’ tackles them into the ground.

Crossing your arms, you fix him with your best look of authority, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “I apologise but the council has spoken.” He raises a brow at your antics, feeling a little light headed at the adorable way your eyes water whenever you hold back your laughter. “Do you plead guilty for perjury, Mr Champion?”

Champion. The word echoes and reverberates, wrapping tightly around his brain like the blue scarf fitted snugly on his neck. He likes the way you say it, making him wonder about something else.

The words leave his mouth before he can think it through. “Revali will do just fine.”

Mirth drains from your face, replaced instead by surprise. “W-what?”

“I have a name.” He ignores the feeling of his feathers standing at the back of his neck, unclenching his jaw. Relax, he tells himself. “Better for you to call me that than to continuously mess up the titles.”

“Still working on it,” you shrug. Then, you’re gesturing for him to step into your space, leaning forward just the same like you’re about to tell him a secret. You’re close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath against his beak. He freezes, becoming hyper aware of his heart thundering against his ribcage, not daring to move even a muscle in fear of giving his thoughts away.

“Revali then,” you murmur, almost too soft for him to hear.

It was only when one of the children tugged at your sleeve, dragging you away to explain the appearance of another monster you’ve encountered in your travels, that he allows himself to breathe.

His presence had been requested at the Chief’s office, the old, war-weary Rito regretfully informing him that an urgent message had arrived. Multiple reports had noted an increase in the signs of Calamity Ganon’s resurgence. It came as no surprise, with every Blood Moon summoning more monsters from the void, an omen that something big was coming.

Letters from the Princess implied the worst: that she had exhausted nearly all avenues in awakening her sealing power. The Spring of Wisdom would be her last chance, and after that, who knows? The Champions were to meet again in three weeks at the foot of the mountain, to celebrate or to re-strategise depending on the outcome.

He was never the religious sort but by the Grace of Hylia, please let it be the former.

A headache was beginning to form as he made his way home, the idea of knocking out on his hammock for an hour or so sounding extremely appealing. The day was coming to a close, a cold breeze chilling his back as the orange heat of the evening crept its way to night.

You’re the first one to the hut this time, brown scuffed boots positioned neatly at the doorway. Revali stares at them for a second too long, wondering if you knew your time in the village was coming to an end earlier than expected. The information you had diligently collected was finally required, a little last minute if he had to comment but such were the nature of these things.

The mental image of you puffing out your cheeks in frustration, complaining that you would have to organise the data on the way back, was enough to make his mood perk up— just a tiny bit. Picturing you disgruntled and annoyed, just like when the markets ran out of your favourite produce, was easier to stomach than the thought of saying goodbye.

Leaning against the hardwood of the kitchen counter, you don’t notice him enter the room, too engrossed in the list you’re making.

It's a sight he'd seen before. If he forgot about the sobering news he'd just received, then the day would feel like any other.

The open window frames your form, making you appear like a painting come to life. Rays of light streamed from the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the slope of your nose and curve of your mouth.

Instinctively, you tilted your head to the source of warmth, instantly reminding him of the swift violets that would bloom by the Hebra cliffsides, forever seeking the sun.

Oh.

The ground had finally run out, earth and sky crashing together. There was no denying it now. Inwardly, he cursed himself, following the thought past the precipice, plunging himself deeper into the truth he'd avoided acknowledging for months. The universe truly was cruel.

It wasn’t like he didn’t see it coming. The answer was clear as day, right from the beginning of its inception.

It's the golden hour before sunset when Revali realises he’s in love with you.

Wind plays with the jade clasps of his braids as he appraises Medoh’s central control unit. He’d done this maneuver many times before, enough that he could perform it with his eyes closed.

It was your final day on assignment so shouldn’t he attempt an action that was more daring? He tried to ask. But you had rejected the proposal outright, reasoning that it suggested this would be the last time you both would meet at the top of the Divine Beast. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you smile. “I’ll visit once the fight is over.”

“Guess there’s no harm in going back to the basics,” he mused, inputting the commands before taking a step back.

Leaning against one of the columns, you watch with rapt attention as he points the Divine Beast south. The view abruptly shifts from the towering mountains of Hebra, to the grassy Tabantha Frontier, greenery spanning for miles and disappearing into the white, snowy wall of Mystathi’s Shelf.

You tilt your head up, eyes trained on the heavens. There’s a solemn intensity in the way you look at the sky, as if trying to ascertain a greater meaning to your existence in this world between the cover of clouds and the endless sea of blue. It never gives you the acknowledgement that you desperately want, no matter how long you spend asking it, but that doesn’t stop you from searching anyway.

He understands because he’s tried asking well, too many times to count. Eventually the young Rito stopped looking, opting to make an answer for himself instead.

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

Revali’s silent for a moment, mulling over his answer, before he pushes away from the control unit and starts walking towards you. “There’s no spectacle grander, and I can’t recall a time I’ve been without it. As a Rito, it was your first companion, and so long as you looked above, you were never alone.” He shook his head. “Though I guess to love something so vast and beyond our comprehension would be rather imbecilic.”

He’s running his mouth at this point, the hum of Vah Medoh loud in his ears. “... .. .-.. .-.. -.-- / -.-. .... .. .-.. -..” the beast warns, but he continues anyway.

“It’s far too foolish to pine for something that will never be in your grasp. So it would be best for me to realise that there’s no point in fighting it anymore. I mean, I should feel relieved by the concession that at least I’ll be remembered by someone other than myself.”

Your attentions were no longer directed at the sky, the intensity of your eyes piercing into him, seeing right through his poorly hidden deflections. “Are we still talking about the same thing?”

The urge to plunge himself over the edge and fly away by the sheer fuel of his embarrassment was beginning to feel very enticing. Trust his description of the sky to sound like a confession. “No,” he admits.

“Then…”

Revali thinks about telling you— considers allowing himself to become vulnerable just this once.

You’re still here, feet planted firmly on the ground, within his reach at this very moment. There was nothing he wanted more than to take that last step forward, to close the gap that perpetually rests in between you both. He imagines what it would feel like to wrap his wings around you, and believes that it would be nothing less than holding infinity.

Yet, despite this— despite everything, he sighs. “Another time.”

Almost like reading his mind, you simply nod in response, smiling as you reach out to him. He lets you take one of his wings in both your hands, the firm surety of your touch grounding him into the present. There’s no hesitation in your next words, only a promise of a thousand tomorrows lingering on the corner of your lips.

“Tell me when we meet again?”

“I swear it on my life.”

As usual, what was supposed to be a short and sweet answer became a creature of its own, demanding my full attention until it was finished. Writing in Revali’s POV is so fun, but there’s always that small bit of doubt that I can never do his character justice. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy this one.

By the way! Hello to all the new visitors to my blog. Welcome yall. This is the prompt list. I may not answer straight away, but I shall do my best :)

#revali #botw #revali x reader #breath of the wild #writing prompt #paella writes

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songsformonkeys · 4 years ago

Text

Bullet wounds & Bandages (dave york x reader)

Pairing: Dave York x reader

Summary: Dave shows up outside your door one evening, hurt and bleeding. You help patch him up.

Rating: Pretty safe. Some mentions of injuries but nothing worse.

Warnings: None

Notes: Written for @yespolkadotkitty who made the request below. She offered to beta too but it seems I have zero patience tonight so I’m posting anyway (sorry, bby, I love you <3). So the inevitable mistakes are all my own. You have been warned.

Bullet wounds and Bandages

It's just after eleven on a Sunday night when there's a knock on your door. You're already in your pajamas, curled up in front of the TV with a mug of tea and you eye the door suspiciously, wondering who would be coming for a visit at this hour.

Setting the mug down on the coffee table, you pad over to the door on bare feet. The floor feels cold in comparison to where they had just been wrapped up in a soft blanket.

When you look through the peep-hole in the door, your first instinct is to scream. Outside of your door, in the half-dark of the corridor, stands a man whose face is mostly covered in blood. Your heart feels like it's stopped mid-beat and your mind flashes back to The Shining, that you had stupidly watched on TV last night. Was this man gonna break in? And where was your phone?!

You're pulled from your thoughts when the man outside speaks. He says your name, closely followed by ”Please” and you know that voice. He shifts and as the light from the overhead lightbulb hits his face in a different way, you recognize his face too. It's Molly's dad. You've been Molly's tutor for little over a year now and while you've talked to her dad quite a lot and have even been asked to stay for dinner a few times, there's nothing in your relationship that warrants showing up at the others doorstep, looking like you'd been run over by a car. Yet here he is.

It takes you a moment to get your body working to pull the door open.

”Mr. York!” you exclaim as he almost topples over the threshold. You catch him and as your hand lands on his upper arm, it's wet with something warm and sticky. You don't need to be a genius to figure out what. The coppery smell in the air is strong enough that you can almost taste it.

You kick the door shut and lock it before hurriedly guiding Dave into the kitchen. He drags his feet and looks like he's one nudge away from falling over. You manage to get him seated on one of your kitchen chairs and in the brighter light of your kitchen, you can more clearly assess the damage. Dave has a split eyebrow, which seems to be the cause of the red mask on his face, and blood is dripping down his left arm and onto your floor. His shirt is horizontally split open and there's a long, slightly curved wound across his chest, like a fleshy grin.

”Mr. York, stay here! I'm gonna call an ambulance!” you tell him but before you have a chance to move, his right hand captures yours, pulling your attention back to his face.

”No ambulance,” he croaks and you give him a disbelieving look. Is he currently aware of the horrific picture he's currently making? ”I just need you.”

For the briefest of moments, your body has a wildly inappropriate reaction to those words and something flutters to life low in your gut, but then you have to laugh.

”Dave,” you say, switching to the more informal way of addressing him in hopes of establishing some sort of authority here. ”You're hurt. You need medical attention.”

”And you're a nurse,” Dave reasons.

”I'm a nursing student!” you protest, the pitch of your voice rising just a little.

”You graduate in three months. You'll do fine. Just follow my instructions and I'll tell you what to do. I promise I'm not dying. I just need you to be my hands.”

”I...” You glance back towards the living room, where you're pretty sure your phone is somewhere on the couch. Dave sees you looking.

”No ambulance,” he grounds out and there's a clear tone of annoyance in his voice now. It leaves no room for further argument and there's something about the way he says the words that makes you think he would physically stop you if you attempted to get to the phone now. You sigh and Dave's shoulders relax as he recognizes your defeat.

”I have a medkit in my jacket,” he tells you and jerks his head towards his left side pocket. You fish it out and inspect its contents. It's quite an impressive kit and you wonder what a man like Dave needs a kit like this for? You thought he had an office job - something with the police but an office job nonetheless. Or maybe it was just the tailored suits he always wore that had tricked you.

Dave guides you through what needs to be done. You help him out of his jacket but are forced to cut him out of his t-shirt. It's already torn and he assures you that it's no greater loss. His torso is smeared red with blood and you grab a clean kitchen towel, wetting it under the kitchen tap, before carefully cleaning away the worst of the blood to be able to better assess the damage. The slash across his chest isn't very deep and you think you'll be able to get away with taping it shut. The arm worries you more. There's a small, circular wound that's still bleeding sluggishly. Your eyes widen with realization and you look up at Dave's face.

”You have been shot,” you tell him. It's not a question. Dave nods and places his big hand over yours, where it's resting on his left forearm. It's only then that you realize that your own hand is shaking.

”I have. But don't worry about that now.” Don't worry about that now?! You have half a mind to slap some sense into him with the bloody towel. Gunshots were definitely something to worry about, in your professional opinion.

”What happened?” you can't help but ask, because curiosity gets the better of you and you can't imagine a scenario where Dave York would get shot.

”Work stuff,” he tells you, ”I'm sorry, Sweetheart, but I can't go into more details than that, right now.”

The affectionate nickname is just enough to distract you from further inquiries and Dave takes that opportunity to continue.

”I'm gonna need you to fish the bullet out and sew the wound shut. There's a pair of surgical pliers in the kit as well as needle and thread.” He speaks way more calmly than anyone with a bullet inside them has any right to. Like you're the patient that needs soothing here. It feels a little embarrassing and so you steel yourself and try to distract yourself from the circumstances of this medical exercise and just focus on getting the bullet out. It works.

Dave sits patiently through your ministrations but the strained breathing gives away that he's not as unaffected as he looks. You apologize for the pain, even though it's not your fault. There's nothing you have at home that could lessen it right now. Not unless he drinks himself unconscious and if he did, that might come with additional problematic side effects.

”Are the girls at home?” you ask, trying to distract him, as you sew the bullet wound shut, ”Because if they are, we need to call someone. Even if you don't want anyone else involved, you have to do that. I'll sew you to the chair if I have too! But you can't leave them alone, Dave.”

Dave looks up, something curious in his eyes. Then he shakes his head.

”They're at Carol's place this week.”

”Good.” You place the last stitch on his arm and move to tape the wounds on his chest and eyebrow shut. Dave closes his eyes as you gently wipe a clean corner of the towel over his face, cleaning the blood from the crow's feet around his eyes, the beautiful curve of his nose, his smooth cheek and the corner of his lips. He opens his eyes when your thumb lingers just a little too long on his soft bottom lip – the fabric of the towel, the only thing preventing a kiss. You pull away and turn to rinse the towel off in the sink before he can see more in your gaze than you would like. Have you had a crush on Dave for the better part of the year that you had been working there? Yes, but that is besides the point and more importantly, hardly the reason Dave has come over tonight.

”You can use the bathroom to clean off the rest of the blood, if you like. I'm gonna clean up here.”

You don't turn but you hear Dave get up from the chair with a pained groan before slowly shuffling off towards the bathroom.

You clean up the kitchen and hallway as best you can but the smell of blood still lingers and you know you'll have to go over it again and do it even more properly tomorrow. But right now, you're a little too jittery for mopping the floors.

Looking down, you realize that you've got some of Dave's blood on your pajamas and also that you've stepped in it and are leaving footprints where you walk. You clean off your feet and quickly disappear into your bedroom to change into a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before Dave is done in the bathroom.

When he emerges from the bathroom, still half-dressed and shirtless but a lot cleaner than before, the two of you stand awkwardly on opposite sides of the living room for a few seconds before Dave breaks the silence.

”Do you think...maybe I could stay for the night?”

”Oh thank heavens! I was worried I was gonna have to argue with you about that too,” you say with a relieved sigh. That makes Dave smile faintly.

”Thank you.”

Dave does argue a bit, however, when you tell him to sleep in the bed while you take the couch. But you make a convincing case explaining to him how the wound on his chest is going to have a much harder time to seal up properly if he sleeps cramped up on the couch, and Dave eventually gives in. He wishes you a good night, casual in a way that you might be with someone you'd just had a drink with, not someone who'd just been inside your arm with pliers, fishing out a bullet. Then he disappears into the bedroom.

You go to your hallway closet to fetch an extra set of bed sheets. You're not sure if Dave minds sleeping in your sheets but you at least want to be a good host and offer an alternative.

When you get back to your bedroom, you hear Dave cursing under his breath and find him struggling to open the buttons of his pants with one hand. The other hand hangs limp and bandaged at his side.

”Oh, you need help?” The words are out before you have fully processed just what it is you're offering and Dave replies before you have time to take the offer back.

”Please,” he says and hangs his head in defeat. Too late to take anything back now.

You set the sheets down on the edge of the bed before walking over to him, feeling your chest restricting your breathing as you get closer.

You stand in front of him and Dave meets your gaze before you look down.

”Buttons,” you say stupidly, ”Trickier.”

Dave huffs out a laugh and you feel the soft gush of air against your face. His breath smells faintly of mint, like he's been chewing gum earlier. Before you can completely chicken out, you reach for the hem of his pants, picking at the fabric to help him unbutton his pants. You go slow, trying to touch as little as possible of him, but the fabric of his jeans is stiff, making it more difficult to get the buttons free. You can see why he couldn't manage on his own. On the second button, your fingers slip and your knuckles accidentally brush over the bulge of Dave's cock. He jumps slightly and his breath stutters. You apologize instinctively, as if you've hurt him. Dave doesn't respond and as you quickly move onto the next button, you no longer feel the huffs of warm air on your face so you're not sure Dave's even breathing anymore.

When the last of the button has been popped free, you take a step back. Dave's working hand twitches as if he's about to reach for you but then stops himself.

”There. You think you can manage the rest on your own?” There's a pleading note to your voice. If Dave asks for any further help undressing, you don't think you'll be able to survive with your dignity intact. Dave hears the plea too and he nods.

”Yes. Thank you. Again.”

You smile and give him an awkward little wave before fleeing out of the bedroom.

As you stretch out on the couch a few minutes later, you try very hard not to think about Dave's reaction to the brush of knuckles and the fact that he's currently almost naked in your bed.

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

The next morning, you wake up before Dave does. Your couch is comfortable enough but it's not ideal for lie-ins. So you get up and start the coffee-maker. Then you wait for Dave to emerge from the den. But he doesn't.

In his defense, you hadn't told him to set an alarm but, for you, the daylight had also come with the realization that you have a lecture today that you can't miss. A lecture that would start in about an hour. If you wanted to make it on time, you would have to leave soon.

You walk over to the bedroom and knock softly on the doorframe. There's no response and suddenly you worry that Dave might have gotten worse during the night. Maybe there had been an injury that you had missed?

Carefully, you push the door open and look inside. Dave is stretched out on his back on your bed, his injured left arm laying along his side while the right one is resting on the pillow above his head. You follow the line of his right arm, along his bicep and the dark patch of hair in his armpit, down to his chest. Most of it is covered by the sheets and you can only just see the white bandage peeking out. There's a foot sticking out at the bottom of the blankets and you don't know why the sight looks so endearing to you.

Dave looks relaxed but he doesn't stir as you move into the room and you want to make sure he's really okay and that he hasn't bled through his bandages.

The one on his arm looks okay when you lean in to inspect it. The one on his chest, you can't properly see, so you reach out to lift the blanket just a fraction, without disturbing him. However, when you do, Dave's right hand shoots out like a cobra and grips your hand like a vice. It hurts and you gasp out an ”I'm sorry!”

Dave immediately loosens his grip when he realizes it's you, but he doesn't quite let go.

”Is everything okay?” he asks, voice a little rough with sleep.

”Yes. I'm sorry. I was just gonna check you hadn't bled through. I didn't want to wake you,” you explain. Dave only nods and pulls the blanket down for you to check.

”Help yourself,” he says with a soft smile and you wonder, is he even hearing himself?!

The wound on the chest seems to be in okay order as well. You tell Dave as much and also inform him about your lecture. You tell him that he can stay until you get back, if he still doesn't want to go to the doctor. Dave accepts the offer of staying and you're part annoyed and part hopeful by that response.

When you move to back away, he captures your hand again, and holds it flat against his diaphragm. You can feel him breathing under your palm and your fingers twitch with the urge to touch more of him.

”Thank you,” he says solemnly, holding your gaze with his.

”You're welcome,” you say, forcing yourself to pull your hand free from his loose hold. ”I'll see you when I get back.”

”I'll be here.” It feels both like a promise and a threat.

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

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