#all my entries are like “i was hit with the sudden urge to use the bathroom” bc that was arguably the most interesting thing of the day LOL

[tea-tuesday]

currently doing peachtober for the first time in my hobonichi 5-year🍑 !! i've never been much of an artist but this is my best attempt.. i haven't done today's entry yet but yesterday, i went into the city to trim my bangs and explore union market 📚☕️

[pin-k-ink]

lazy day // suna rintarou

tw ⇢ friends to lovers, making out, biting, cunnilingus, fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex, begging, multiple orgasms

wc ⇢ 5.7k

The buzzer sounded just after noon, and you grinned as you hit the button to allow Suna entry into your apartment complex's lobby. It was just like any other lazy weekend day when your old friend would swing by to hang out, watch bad movies, and inevitably find some way to engage in your long-running campaigns of relentless shit-talking between fits of laughter.

You had known Suna Rintarou for years now, long enough for any initial awkwardness or uncertainty in his company to have faded away into the well-worn comfort of real friendship. He was one of the few people with whom you could spend hours upon hours just existing in each other's space without it ever feeling stilted or forced.

By the time his trademark dual-toned drawl of "oi, I'm coming in" echoed down the hall toward your door, you were already kicking off your slippers and assuming the usual sprawl across the sofa - ready for an afternoon of pure, familiar vibes. The telltale rap of knuckles against your entry had you calling out for him to enter without bothering to get up and answer it yourself.

When Suna appeared around the corner, he was already looking perfectly at home in your space as usual - stylishly rumpled t-shirt untucked to hang loose over slim athletic shorts that separated to reveal a teasing glimpse of toned thighs and calves with each lazy stride. His hair was artfully mussed as if he'd rolled straight out of bed and onto your doorstep, radiating the type of effortless charisma and striking features that might have made you self-conscious in the presence of someone you knew less intimately.

As it was, you simply quirked an eyebrow at him and reached for the game controller resting on the coffee table. "Looking hopelessly hungover as always, Rintarou," you quipped without missing a beat. "You'd think making the national team would mean they teach you better hydration habits."

"Not all of us slob around in stained sweats every time we have a lazy day," Suna fired back smoothly, dropping down onto the opposite end of the sofa from you with careless grace. His dark, hooded gaze somehow conveyed pointed judgment even as one corner of those perpetually smirking lips quirked higher. "Some of us like to maintain at least a bare minimum of personal standards."

You scoffed loudly, purposefully stretching your legs out to drape obnoxiously across his lap - wiggling your barefeet in his face with a wicked grin. The tip of Suna's nose crinkled with distaste as he tried and failed to shove your ankles away, making no secret of his displeasure.

"Personal standards, my ass," you crowed, taking petty delight in his discomfort. "You're just prioritizing sleazy looks over comfort in a desperate plea for attention, as usual."

When Suna's large hands succeeded in shoving your legs off his lap, it was your turn to grouse in annoyance at having your prime lounging real estate revoked. But you maintained the teasing smirk as you sat up properly and bumped his shoulder with your own.

"Besides, you really think a slob like me even registers on anyone's attractiveness radar? Unlike some posers I could mention."

There was a weighted pause then as your playful ribbing lapsed into something thicker, more weighted. Suna slowly turned to face you more fully, analytical gaze flickering over your features with unmistakable intent. You resisted the urge to squirm under the sudden scrutiny.

"You might be surprised," he said at last, quiet words slicing through the tension with their ambiguous double meaning.

Your breath hitched minutely as you registered the undercurrent of suggestion baked into that simple statement, gaze momentarily dropping to trace the obscene curves of Suna's mouth before flicking hurriedly back to his lidded, piercing stare.

Did he just...? Or was that simply Suna being his usual quietly provocative self, skating the line between casual commentary and subtle flirtation in that masterful way of his? You swallowed hard against the strange spiral of heat that single heavy look had sent unfurling low in your abdomen.

Before you could think better of it, you leaned in closer until the space separating you from Suna's striking features had narrowed into something unmistakably charged. "Is that so?" You heard yourself murmur, holding his gaze boldly despite the sudden thundering of your pulse. "Do tell..."

For a protracted moment, the atmosphere thickened further, both of you suspended in fraught consideration of the intimate boundary you were toying with blurring. Suna's lips parted slightly on an indrawn breath, dark eyes dipping briefly down to your own parted mouth before reconnecting in smoldering lock.

Then the spell was abruptly broken by two things:

First, Suna reaching over to snake the gaming controller from your lax grip, nimble fingers ghosting against yours in a feather-light brush of contact that sent tingles rushing straight down your spine. The second was the low, sandpaper-rough rasp of his tone undercutting the heavy tension with a teasing edge.

"You wish you knew," he murmured, lips curving into one of those signature smirks that could make your insides clench with how arresting it looked painted across those striking features. "I'd shatter that simple mind of yours into a million pieces."

He accompanied the provocative statement with a slow, pointed once-over of your dumbstruck form that had heat prickling across your skin anew.

"Now quit hogging the controls, or I'll wipe the floor with your score like always."

Just like that, the heavy atmosphere seemed to evaporate - replaced by the comfortable cadences of well-worn camaraderie and low-stakes competition. Except this time there was an undercurrent of heightened awareness that refused to dissipate completely no matter how much you tried to will it away.

You found yourself hyper-focused on little things like the brush of Suna's bare arm against your own each time he shifted position, or the deep timbre of his voice sending subtle vibrations across your hypersensitive nerve endings whenever your bodies drifted too close on the couch. Even something as innocuous as the shifting of muscles in his shoulders and biceps as he maneuvered the game controller was enough to set your pulse fluttering with a strange, avid sort of attention.

Suna, damn him, seemed to barely register the newfound tension singing through your form as he remained focused on trying to narrate over the gameplay with that usual brand of cutting snark and obscenely bitten-off curses. His posture was deceptively relaxed as he slouched back into the cushions in that effortlessly sensual way of his, clearly still operating under the assumption that this was just another routine hang session.

But for you...nothing felt quite so pedestrian any longer. Not after you'd both tiptoed up to the precipice of that scorching new intimacy and gotten a tantalizing glimpse of the unfamiliar vistas lying in wait on the other side. You were profoundly, viscerally aware of Suna's nearness in a way that neutered all compulsions to keep viewing him in that safe, established light of long-time platonic companionship.

Instead, you kept finding yourself helplessly drinking in details and dynamics you'd allowed yourself to overlook or take for granted until now. The long, sinewy lines of his neck tapering into sharp, defined collarbones that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the scooped collar of his shirt. The hypnotic flex and release of biceps tensing beneath bronzed skin during particularly intense bouts of trash-talking over the game.

Oftentimes your straying gaze would stray further, taking the opportunity to indulge in dragging your heavy-lidded stare across the lean, powerful expanse of Suna's exposed abdomen - admiring the cuts of muscle etched there beneath a thin sheen of perspiration and imagining how those ridges would feel branding against your palms, your inner thighs...

Inevitably, you would tear your hooded eyes away with shuddering inhalation, a pulse of molten heat lancing straight to your core and leaving a dull, liquid ache throbbing between your legs. This was your oldest friend you were ogling like a piece of meat here - someone whose physical form you should have long since adjusted to seeing in every context without a scintilla of indecent thoughts intruding.

Yet damned if the newfound promise of intimacy sparked between you earlier hadn't set your subconscious reproductive drive into painfully heightened sensitivity - tuned to appreciate the eroticism and aesthetic of Suna's gloriously honed body down to its most minute, tantalizing details. Of course, he seemed utterly oblivious to the roiling conflict of compulsions making itself known in your ungoverned lapses from nonchalant coolness into burning longing.

That is...right up until one of those heated lapses in your focus resulted in you reflexively licking your lips while drinking in the sensual view of Suna's arms - lean but corded with flexing sinew - as he delivered a particularly searing verbal takedown of your lamentable gaming session.

To your bright shock and dismay, those richly hooded eyes you found so aesthetically arresting captured the motion instantly. You watched with frozen tension as Suna's trash-talking trailed off mid-sentence, lips parting with the unmistakable glimmer of realization flickering through his turbulent stare as it tracked your own molten regard.

Pinned speechless under the escalating weight of that unmasked look, you could do nothing as the heavy seconds stretched out and your respective roles - that of long-time best friends just hanging and fucking around, grew increasingly tenuous. There was no mistaking the shift of energy between you as Suna reached up to run a hand through his tousled hair, casually showcasing the flex and drag of his long, strong fingers through dark strands in a strangely intimate pantomime.

"Having trouble concentrating?" he husked out at last, sotto voce inflection bearing enough blatant suggestion to stoke the rapidly kindling blaze of lust now roaring in your lower belly to an outright conflagration. You watched, dry-mouthed and transfixed, as his tongue darted out to trace the plush curves of his lower lip - mirroring your own subconscious gesture of yearning just moments earlier.

When you managed a fractional shake of your head, voice failing you utterly, you saw clear flashes of intent and scorching arousal blaze to vivid life in the glittering depths of Suna's heavy-lidded gaze. The game controller tumbled abandoned to the floor as he prowled forward until his long, muscular frame was hovering bare inches from your own tingling, heated skin. You could feel the erratic puffs of his breath fanning across your slackened features as he drank in the sight of you utterly enthralled.

"Then let me help you focus..." Suna rasped against your searing skin, mouth a hair's breadth from yours. Any further protests, any attempts at maintaining propriety or equilibrium, fled before the promise of rapture blazing in that final, weighted moment between you.

His lips ghosted your own in a barely-there touch, igniting every hyper-sensitive stretch of nerve endings until all that existed was the liquid, throbbing maelstrom of your mutual wanting. When you unconsciously lurched forward to seal the contact between you with a desperate whine...

Suna didn't give you a chance to fully close the infinitesimal distance between your parted, yearning lips. With a low, guttural sound of impatient arousal, he surged forward - broad palms cradling your face with surprising gentleness even as his mouth came crashing down over yours in a searing, demanding kiss.

The contact was electric, whiteout pleasure jolting down your hyper-sensitized nerves at the initial slick glide of Suna's tongue licking insistently against the seam of your lips. You parted for him on a breathless keen, finally surrendering fully and allowing him to plunder the molten recesses of your mouth in a dizzying spiral of dominance and desperation.

His kiss was every bit as intense and consuming as you'd allowed your treacherous fantasies to envision during all those stolen heated glances from the corners of your eyes - an unhurried, sensual cyclone of lips, teeth, and questing tongue that rapidly had your fingers fisting into the soft fabric of his shirt simply to keep yourself grounded. When the first rumbling groan of appreciation vibrated from Suna's chest into the trembling hollows of your own, you thought you might shatter apart from the intoxicating onslaught.

It was a struggle to maintain even a modicum of coordinated thought with the blazing distraction of Suna's mouth doing such punishing, profane things to your senses. But you were somewhat aware of one broad palm sliding down from where it had been cradling the nape of your neck to splay hotly across the span of your lower back. Then deeper still until thick fingers found the generous swell of your ass and kneaded the yielding flesh there with insolent possession and need.

That proprietary caress sent a giddy spiral of heat lancing straight to your core. You whimpered in a haze against the velvet glide of Suna's tongue undulating so wickedly against your own and arched instinctively, pressing your chest harder against the hard ridges of his own as you unconsciously sought more unbearable friction.

Suna made a low, hungry sound deep in his throat at the wanton motion and the sensation of your lithe form writhing so feverishly in counterpoint to his dominance. His hand momentarily abandoned its thorough exploration of every lush curve to instead fist convulsively against your throat, barring your arching retreat and binding you in the scalding, breathless cavern of his devouring kiss.

You moaned outright at the borderline-aggressive display of appetite and possession, shuddering as your body responded with another involuntary wave of liquid heat gushing between your clenching thighs. Every raw instinct was howling for you to twine yourself around the hot, unyielding lines of Suna's powerful physique until you were effectively immobilized in his embrace, slave to whatever raptures he deemed to inflict upon your senses.

But before you could even muster the coordination to attempt wrapping your legs around his narrow hips and haul him bodily on top of you, Suna tore his mouth away in a ragged gasp. His eyes blazed with an incandescent storm of lust and something darker, more primal - an infinite well of compulsions barely leashed behind adamant ridges of self-control.

In that searing, suspended moment where you both gulped down one ragged breath after another, Suna's gaze was like a physical caress - scorching a lascivious path across every one of your features rendered feverish and dewy from the intensity of his kisses. His fingers continued kneading insistently against your nape, every teasing scrape of calloused fingertips sending sparking waves of blissful torment arcing down your sensitized nerves.

"Don't even think about stopping now," Suna growled against the swollen crest of your bottom lip before sucking the tender flesh between his teeth in a sharp nip that wrenched an inarticulate sound of desperation from you. "We're just getting started."

True to his word, the next searing collision of your mouths dissolved whatever remaining shreds of propriety or restraint had still persisted between you. Any concept of stopping things before they spiraled into outright debauchery simply evaporated under the unholy lashings of Suna's relentless, all-consuming passion.

He seized you by the hips and simply hauled you forward until your heated bodies were flush together, legs hopelessly tangled as he proceeded to lay an scorching path of biting kisses down your jawline and throat. Your head lolled back in blind rapture, both hands burying convulsively into Suna's thick, sweat-dampened locks as he nibbled and sucked at the vulnerable juncture where your pulse rabbited beneath silken flesh.

Every nerve in your body was strumming with fiery need, skin prickling and hypersensitive as if lying exposed against the blazing desert sands at high noon. Each scrape of Suna's teeth and calloused caresses felt like molten brands in their wake, driving both of you towards a fever pitch of outright delirium that was rapidly proving insurmountable.

All the while, the cavalcade of filthy compliments and growled encouragements continued to pour from Suna's lips between each punishing new worship against your skin - each one more scandalizing than the last in their absolutely shameless appreciation of your rapidly-overheating senses. You could only keen and writhe shamelessly in return, far too intoxicated by the storm of sensations to offer any coherent responses beyond breathless mewls of blissed-out acquiescence.

"So fucking gorgeous like this...hot and desperate and ready for me to take you apart," Suna husked against the swollen peaks of your nipples – which had hardened into insistent buds clearly visible through the thin cotton of your shirt at some point during the proceedings.

He raked his sharpened canines over the taut fabric in deliberate torment, drinking in the way your back arched convulsively at the electric sensation with that same burning stare from beneath hooded lids. When his broad palms shoved the thin barrier of material aside to finally bare your sensitized breasts to his scorching mouth, you cried out in wordless bliss...only to find your raptures muffled against the searing, eager crush of Suna's lips an instant later.

He swallowed down every cry and whimper with a ravenous hunger, his dexterous tongue twining sinuously with your own even as his broad palms continued to knead and toy with the heaving mounds of your chest with wanton greed. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been so utterly lost to the throes of pleasure - your entire being consumed by the scalding slide of lips, tongues, and questing fingers against the heated contours of your quivering body.

When Suna's teeth caught and pinched sharply against one erect nipple, you nearly shattered apart from the overwhelming sensation. Your inner walls clenched reflexively, a fresh flood of molten heat pulsing through your core as your hips rocked helplessly in a desperate search for more stimulation.

Suna swore raggedly at the way you moaned and shivered in his arms, the low, graveled rasp of his voice resonating straight down your spine and making the aching void between your thighs spasm. In one fluid motion, he released his possessive hold on your abused, spit-slick nipples to instead grip the waistband of your sweats.

The thin cotton and cotton panties beneath were summarily dragged down your thighs, leaving you utterly exposed and panting with wanton anticipation. You felt rather than saw Suna's heated gaze sweeping across the naked planes of your body, taking in the full glory of your quivering thighs spread wide and the glistening slick of desire staining the plump folds of your cunt.

When he reached up and traced a long, calloused finger down the glistening seam of your weeping slit, you nearly sobbed at the exquisite feeling of relief - arching wantonly against his questing hand and grinding your sensitive clit against his knuckles in a bid for more friction. Suna's nostrils flared as he watched you writhe wantonly against his palm, dark eyes blazing with unrestrained need as they roved hungrily across every inch of flushed skin laid bare for him to see.

"Fucking look at you...all hot and needy, just begging for it," he rasped, his voice gone husky and thick with lust. You watched, breath hitching as he slowly raised his hand to his face and dragged the wet fingers that had been stroking and teasing your soaked folds across his full, swollen lips.

Then, holding your rapt, stunned stare, he dipped his head forward and slowly licked the slick coating off his digits in one deliberate swipe. Your stomach clenched with arousal at the erotic sight, the sound of his appreciative hum at your taste sending a fresh gush of wetness to slick the sensitive folds between your legs.

"And you taste like a fucking dream..." Suna murmured, the corner of his lips quirking as he registered the fresh rush of moisture that had spilled out at his salacious gesture. He gave you one last slow, deliberate drag of his fingers along your pulsing seam, savoring the way you squirmed and trembled against the delicious friction.

Then his dark, predatory gaze snapped up to lock with your own as his broad hands came up to grip the backs of your knees and shove them wide. You couldn't hold back a shuddering gasp at the sudden motion, your entire body flushing with renewed heat as you realized how shamelessly exposed and vulnerable you were to Suna's piercing regard.

"Gonna eat you out until you can't even remember your name," he vowed, the rough edge of lust saturating his low drawl sending a fresh, giddy rush of desire spiking through your overheated senses. You could only moan in reply, eyes fluttering closed as his palms slid up the inside of your trembling thighs, thumbs teasing the sensitive creases where leg met pelvis before trailing across your swollen folds.

Then his long fingers were spreading you obscenely open for him, and you were suddenly drowning in the most exquisite, mind-melting pleasure as his hot, insistent tongue swept along your soaked slit. Every nerve ending seemed to spark to vivid life under the dizzying onslaught, your whole world shrinking to the scorching, sinful drag of Suna's mouth against the swollen petals of your cunt.

He licked and sucked at your drenched core with wanton greed, lapping up the fresh surge of wetness that had spilled forth from the erotic sight and sound of his own lewd devotions. When his agile tongue finally found its way up to circle around the taut bud of your clit, you keened and bucked wantonly against his mouth, all sense of modesty and dignity erased in the all-consuming firestorm of your shared arousal.

Suna moaned in appreciation at the shameless display, the vibrations reverberating straight down your hypersensitized flesh and sending another pulse of molten heat throbbing through your molten core. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and hauled you closer, locking your writhing body against the unyielding, scalding heat of his own and burying his face ever deeper against your dripping cunt.

There was no room left for coherent thought as Suna proceeded to lap and suck at your swollen, sensitive folds, the wet sounds of his tongue gliding through your slick folds and the wanton, broken moans escaping from your lips combining into a symphony of lust. The rhythmic drag of his talented tongue was relentless, the wicked suction of his mouth almost painful in its perfection.

Each new surge of pleasure had you writhing harder against Suna's merciless ministrations, the tension building at the base of your spine threatening to snap any moment. Just when the pleasure was reaching its zenith, the tip of his tongue suddenly plunged inside your aching entrance, thrusting in deep and hard to lap at the silken inner walls of your weeping core.

The feeling of his velvety tongue probing so deeply into the tight, grasping depths of your cunt was all it took to send you tumbling over the edge, the orgasm exploding through your senses with an intensity that left you seeing stars. Your head fell back against the cushions as you thrashed and cried out, fingers burying themselves once more into the thick tangle of Suna's hair as you rode his tongue through the searing aftershocks.

Only once the last shudders of ecstasy had faded did he release his punishing grip on your thighs, allowing your body to sag against the cushions as you fought to regain equilibrium. When you finally managed to crack open a bleary eye, it was to find him hovering over you, the sharp angles and planes of his features softened into a rare, genuine smile.

You could feel the warm puff of his breath caressing the skin of your cheek as he leaned closer, the subtle scent of his musk and sweat mingling with the more potent aroma of your combined arousal. Then his lips were ghosting feather-light against yours, the soft brush sending little jolts of residual electricity through your already sensitized nerve endings.

"I'll be honest," Suna murmured, the raspy edge to his voice somehow making the simple words sound indecent and erotic. "I never imagined that would happen, but fuck, it was even hotter than I could've hoped for. How about you?"

When you didn't respond immediately, his hooded eyes searched your features and a slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Still speechless? I must have really done a number on you then."

The teasing quip was accompanied by the sudden brush of a calloused palm trailing a scorching path up your thigh, coming to a stop right at the junction where hip met pelvis. You shuddered and tried to summon up the brainpower to fire off a suitably witty retort, only to end up moaning instead when two long, dexterous fingers suddenly slid against your drenched core.

Suna chuckled, clearly pleased by the reaction, and leaned closer to murmur against the shell of your ear. "But I'm not done with you yet," he husked, punctuating the statement by thrusting those questing digits up into your slick channel, causing a fresh wave of molten heat to flood your aching walls.

You gasped at the sudden invasion, inner muscles clenching and fluttering around the thick intrusion as the rest of Suna's weight settled over your trembling form. He hooked his fingers deep, dragging his knuckles along your tender inner walls in a sinfully decadent motion that made your toes curl.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his voice dropping to a rough growl that sent an answering throb straight down to the apex of your thighs. You felt his teeth catch against the sensitive skin below your ear, biting down gently and eliciting a fresh shiver of arousal. "And you're going to feel even tighter around my cock..."

His fingers twisted and curled again, setting off another cascade of sparks behind your eyelids. A wanton moan spilled from your lips, only to be stifled as Suna's tongue plunged into the cavern of your mouth. He kissed you deep and wet and filthy, letting you taste the heady musk of your own arousal on his lips.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both gasping for air, the air thick with the scent of sex and pheromones. Suna's dark eyes were blown wide with lust, his cock throbbing and heavy against the soft curve of your belly. You could feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest, his skin slick with sweat as he pressed against you, trapping you against the couch cushions.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he rasped, the raw desire in his tone sending another bolt of liquid heat pooling in your core. His fingers were still buried deep, stretching you open with slow, deliberate thrusts that had your back arching and toes curling with each delicious slide.

"God, please..." you moaned, unable to help yourself. It was all too much and not enough, the sensation of being filled and stretched so thoroughly sending shivers of pleasure racing up and down your spine. You could feel another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach, your whole body tightening with anticipation.

Suna's gaze was burning, his lips curled in a smug smirk as he watched your reactions. His fingers worked in and out of you, twisting and curling in a torturous rhythm that had you keening and squirming beneath him.

"Please what?" he purred, voice dripping with smugness and lust. You couldn't believe how utterly wrecked you sounded, your words a garbled mess of pleading and desire.

"Please, Suna, I need you...need to feel you inside me..."

A low, feral sound rumbled in his chest, the vibration resonating throughout his powerful frame and sending a fresh shiver down your spine. His free hand slid up to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing over your parted, swollen lips.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He withdrew his fingers slowly, savoring the way you shuddered and whimpered at the loss. Then he reached down, gripping his throbbing length and sliding it along your dripping folds.

"Let me hear you scream my name when I fuck you senseless."

And with that, he plunged into you in a single, fluid stroke. Your head fell back against the pillows, a cry of bliss ripping from your throat as his thick cock filled you, stretching you open with his girth. You could feel him throbbing inside you, his heartbeat matching yours as he buried himself to the hilt.

Suna's breathing was ragged, his pupils blown wide with desire as he looked down at you. His hips rolled, grinding his cock against your aching walls, drawing out a strangled moan. He set a slow, deep rhythm, the slide of his shaft dragging along every inch of sensitive tissue in your core.

Your hands came up to clutch at his broad shoulders, nails digging into the taut muscle and sinew there as you struggled to hold on. Suna's eyes were locked on yours, his expression intense as he fucked you with steady, measured thrusts. His teeth caught your bottom lip, the sudden pain sending a jolt of pleasure racing down your spine.

You could feel the pressure building again, your entire body tightening like a coiled spring. The heat in the pit of your stomach was growing more intense, a liquid heat coursing through your veins. Every thrust of Suna's cock was driving you closer and closer to the edge, the delicious friction setting your nerves on fire.

You could feel the pressure mounting, the tension in your lower belly drawing taut until it was almost unbearable. Suna's hips rolled, grinding his cock against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

"Fuck!" you cried, the sound muffled against the hot press of his mouth.

"That's right, sweetheart," he groaned, his pace picking up as he drove into you. "Come for me. Come for me, and I'll fill you up nice and deep."

The filthy promise was enough to tip you over the edge. You shattered around him, pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your muscles clenched around him, your inner walls rippling around his cock.

Suna grunted, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. He fucked you through your orgasm, his hips pistoning furiously as he sought his own. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted as he neared the edge.

Suddenly, his entire body stiffened, a shudder running through him as his cock twitched and jerked inside you. Warmth flooded your core as he came, his seed filling you. The feeling of his hot spend inside you, marking you, was enough to trigger a second orgasm, your body writhing beneath him as you rode the wave of pleasure.

Suna's arms wrapped around you, his breathing ragged as he buried his face in your neck. You clung to him, fingers digging into his skin as you both fought to catch your breath. After what felt like an eternity, the haze of ecstasy began to recede, the reality of the situation settling in.

As the euphoric afterglow gradually ebbed away, a wave of disorientation crashed over you - leaving you struggling to reconcile the sudden shift in dynamics between you and your best friend. It didn't help that Suna still had you pinned beneath his lean, muscular frame, his cock softening inside you as his labored breaths continued to fan across your cheek.

Your mind was still reeling from the unexpected turn the evening had taken, and you could feel the telltale prickle of anxiety beginning to creep along the fringes of your consciousness. Before you could fully descend into the familiar spiral of self-doubt and regret, Suna lifted his head, pinning you in place with that same piercing gaze.

"Don't start getting weird on me now," he drawled, the lazy rasp to his voice doing little to mask the thread of steel underlying the warning. You blinked owlishly, trying and failing to gather enough wits about you to formulate a coherent response.

"Wha–"

"I said," he interjected, voice dropping into that low, authoritative purr that somehow managed to send a fresh jolt of desire shooting straight to your core despite the lingering fatigue weighing down your limbs. "Don't start getting weird on me, or I'll fuck that anxious little look right off your face."

When you gaped up at him in slack-jawed disbelief, Suna smirked.

"Just giving you a taste of what's coming if you start to doubt me. And this." His hand swept down the length of your body in a possessive caress, eliciting a sharp hiss of pleasure-pain as the rough calluses on his palm scraped over your abused nipples. "What we've just done here is just the start, and I can guarantee it'll only get more intense from here on out. So keep that in mind before you go and ruin a perfectly good post-orgasmic cuddle with that self-deprecating shit."

"But..." you protested weakly, struggling to find some kind of anchor in the midst of the chaos. "How do you even know I was about to...?"

Suna snorted, the derisive sound managing to convey exactly how stupid he found the question. "You've been my best friend for how long now? You think I don't know your anxious ticks and tells by now?"

He leaned in closer, the dark glimmer in his eyes sending a fresh shiver of apprehension and anticipation down your spine. "But that's all the more reason to trust me when I say it's going to be fine. You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this – how long I've wanted you, and this is only the beginning."

The confession stunned you, your eyes widening as a new surge of emotion rose up in your chest. Your heart fluttered, a giddy warmth flooding through your veins and making your toes curl with delight. Suna's expression softened at the sight, the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Before you could formulate a response, his mouth slanted over yours, the slow, sinuous glide of his tongue against yours banishing any remaining doubts and fears in a wash of pure bliss. Your eyelids fluttered closed, your body melting bonelessly against his as you surrendered to the exquisite sensation.

When the kiss finally broke, Suna was wearing that infuriating, smug grin you'd come to associate with the most devastating, game-changing wins. You glared at him half-heartedly, unable to maintain the act for more than a few seconds under the force of his knowing stare.

"I hate you," you muttered, even as you wound your arms around his neck and buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. Suna chuckled, his fingers carding soothingly through the tangled strands of your hair.

"I love you too, sweetheart. Now, how about we get cleaned up and then we can continue this in your bedroom?"

[jojojoanie]

well, if jo looked in any way as awful as she felt, she was sure that by tomorrow that little bastard keith would’ve gone to work publishing a picture and a candid blog entry, linking her to some sort of substance abuse, she was sure. some few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have been caught dead looking like this on the streets of new york. but some few weeks ago, she’d still had a steady, secure job. and some few weeks ago, jo had still been living her dream life in the big apple instead of haunting the aisles of her childhood hometown’s grocery store like a ghost. in a town that had so little to offer its inhabitants and visitors, the assortment of products presented at bradley’s big guy supermarket felt like a disorienting slap to the face. supersized bag of chips, available in all sorts of flavors and bright fucking colours, an entire shelf dedicated to nothing but different variants of coca cola. surely, by the beginning of the twenty-first century, mankind would’ve figured out enough flavors for coke, but alas.

jo wasn’t used to this, being in hawkins set aside, she hadn’t done her own grocery shopping in, what, two years? three? apart from a quick nip to the bodega by her apartment. that, too, carried only one version of a product most of the time. how were you expected to cope with such sheer volume of possiblity, so many of the same product? jo felt like she was going mad. she pressed a button on the old walkman she’d digged out of the depth of her childhood bedroom, forcing the tape to fast forwarda couple of seconds. the ‘what a terrible mess i’ve made of my life’ lyrics on the smith’s hit single ‘you’ve got everything now’ hit a little too close to home, seemed almost too fitting, preposterous for her current situation. grotesque.

bringing the walkman had seemed like a good idea at the time. she’d left her mp3 player in new york which, in hindsight, had been insane, as it had forced her to drive all the way to hawkins with nothing but her thoughts (the radio was broken). right about now, her thoughts weren’t exactly the most comforting company. besides, listening to her old tapes, maybe they’d bring back some fond teenage memories. visions of a life lead by, jo felt, a completely different person in a whole nother universe. it all seemed so far away now. the days of combat boots and wild hair; the smiths and the post. 

aimlessly wandering further, she’d barely registered she had moved, but now found herself in front of the pasta aisle. there was a spark of something akin to ... warmth as she spotted the kraft mac and cheese boxes, remembering how her aunt had let her and her siblings have them, secretly, her parents wouldn’t approve. she found herself reaching for it, though it slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor as someone adressed her. 

“huh?”

woken from her slumber, jo blinked confused a few times, managing a hint of an awkward smile which soon faded into just ... plain awkwardness, but without the smile. “oh, i don’t - i don’t work here.” an observation both of them had cleverly made. great. jo felt the sudden urge to run, flee, as far and fast as possible. human interaction. this was agony.

as he mentioned the lack of white cheddar, joanie remembered her own box and quickly bent down to pick it up. and, maybe it was the smiths lyrics that rang through her head, maybe it had just taken her that long to realise, but as she got up again, the awkward expression was replaced with a sort of wondrous shock. shit.

‘i’ve seen you smile, but i never really heard you laugh.’

“jonathan?” shit. had it really been that long? so long that jo hadn’t even recognized the person she’d, at one point in time, been closest to? man, life really passed you by in a blur. she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, cleared her throat. “i - uh, jo. jo foreman, i’m - i’m sure you don’t remember me.” a beat passed. “oh! uh, i’m, god, i’m so sorry for your loss.”

Who: Jonnie + Anyone

Where: Bradley's Big Guy Supermarket (before funeral)

Why: Idk the man's grieving!!!

Jonathan looked like shit. There wasn’t a nicer way to put it. If it weren’t for the fact that he physically couldn’t tolerate another meal of eggs & toast, he’d be heading off to bed right now instead of Bradley’s Big Guy Supermarket. His stuffy suit jacket had been abandoned before exiting the car, leaving him in a wrinkled dress shirt - rolled at the sleeves – with an oversized tie looped around his collar. A scraggly beard and mop of tousled hair weren’t doing him any favours either. The last few days had been hell - sorting through boxes of family relics while periodically darting from his house, the bank, and back to his mom's place to appraise the family home. Cooking comprehensive meals obviously hadn’t been a priority.

The pasta aisle was his last stop before check-out and reading labels on the shelf felt like work. He spent a solid minute considering his choices, picking up a box to get a better look at the label. Dwelling over instant pasta brands was a pretty pointless conundrum in the grand scheme of his life right now, but the shelves were stripped of his current lifeline: Kraft White Cheddar. Fucking fantastic. With his eyes still narrowed on the box of pasta in hand, he caught a glimpse of someone in his periphery. Jonathan figured that it was a store clerk. “Hey -” it was an automatic greeting to get their attention, something lodged deep in his brain. Once he finally glanced over and realized the person didn't work here, the box immediately dropped from his hand into his basket. He turned his body away from the shelf to face them. "Oh, uh - sorry, I thought you were ..." He paused, averting his gaze down to the contents of his own basket. The frozen pizzas and 6-pack of Pepsi looked like something a college student would pick up in preparation for a hangover. "I guess I thought you worked here." Jonathan's next comment left him faster than he could register it. “They're out of white cheddar." He ran a hand upwards to scratch the back of his neck, basket now nestled in the crook of his other elbow. Fuck, that was weird.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Just Put Your Sweet Lips on My Lips

Pairing: fisherman!Frank Adler x Siren!Reader

Words: ~1.3k

Summary: This storm was dangerous for a much different reason.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, kinda anonymous sex), definitely at least dub con due to use of siren powers, some angsty vibes if you really think about it, alcohol consumption, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: My official entry for my sweet friend, @slothspaghettiwrites’ Marvelous Monster Mayhem challenge!! I really do love breaking angsty men with some general creepy vibes, so I really enjoyed this one. Love you sloth!!

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!!

Frank shook the rain from his shoulders as he walked into the bar, frowning slightly at the haze of smoke and smell of stale beer as he moved to find a table.

He’d been hoping to make it back to the mainland, but the storm had caught him off guard, forcing him to dock in the tiny island community he typically avoided when was bringing in a haul. Not that he had one now, it seemed like all the fish had fled ahead of the monstrous waves that were rolling out in the bay, the peals of thunder and occasional flash of lightning making an already dangerous journey even more treacherous.

The waitress who came to take his order was giving him a shy smile that he willfully ignored, acknowledging her with nothing but a noncommittal grunt when she came back with his flat beer. Hopefully there was a landline somewhere on this godforsaken spit of land, the storm had knocked out the spotty cell service, and he wanted to make sure he called Roberta to let her know what was happening in case he couldn’t make it back tonight to take Mary off her hands.

He was still thinking about getting home to his niece when he heard the buzz of a microphone coming to life and rolled his eyes. Dealing with some sad wannabe singer do crappy acoustic covers was not how he wanted to spend his evening stuck in this dive, even if the performer was as pretty as you.

“Hi there, folks.” The sound of your voice sent a sudden wave of warmth washing over him, the urge to stop brooding and devote all his attention to you hitting him suddenly and making him shift uncomfortably in his seat as he fought against it. “Hope you don’t mind a little something to keep your minds off the storm. Always love seeing your pretty faces.”

Frank swallowed his beer thickly when you shot him a wink, a disturbing feeling of unbalance taking over him as you worked at tuning your guitar. He couldn’t figure out what was so unnerving about you, trying not to dwell on it too much and just focus on his beer. Maybe he’d flag down the waitress and find out about the phone situation so he could at least say goodnight to the kiddo.

Then you let out a soft, hummed note and suddenly he couldn’t even remember Mary’s name, his head snapping to where you were seated on a stool. His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the table painfully when you started singing, your eyes meeting his and drawing him in until all he could think about was crawling to the stage and kneeling at your feet.

He could have listened to you sing for hours, maybe he did, words flowing over your lips like the sweetest honey that he wanted to drink until he was drowning in it. You were the only thing in his world right now, his body feeling like it was floating in warmth as you sang right to him with a small smile on your face. The storm died down while he gazed at you with unbridled need, the bar slowly emptying until it was just you and him sitting there staring at each other, Frank’s breath sawing in his chest when you finally set your guitar aside and stood to prowl towards him.

“Hi there, honey.” You purred when you reached him, trailing your fingers over his arm as he let out a deep sigh. “You’re new. Did you get caught in the storm?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, low and husky with desire as he leaned into your touch when you cupped his cheek.

“Mmm, if I’d known I’d draw in something as pretty as you, might’ve brought one up sooner.” You let your fingers trace the curve of his mouth as he let out a pathetic whine. “Stand up, honey.”

He did as you asked immediately, groaning when you stepped close and ran your nose over his throat. The scent of you was only adding to his feeling of intoxication, his fingers reaching out to clutch at your waist as you stepped even closer to him.

“God, look at those sweet lips of yours.” You tilted your head back and gave him a wicked smile, cooing as you watched him fight the urge to duck closer and kiss you. “You wanna put them on mine, honey?”

You purred when he pressed his lips to yours with a sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair and drinking in his needy sounds as you slid your tongue into his mouth. Every single thought and memory flowed out of his head as he drank you in, the only thing in his mind being how he would do anything to please you from now on.

“What do you want?” He gulped down air when you finally let him breathe, resting his head against yours and gazing into your eyes while he pressed his body into you. “I’ll do anything.”

“I know, honey.” You drew him after you as you started walking out of the bar, smiling softly at him over your shoulder as the slowly falling rain washed over the two of you. “Gonna take you home with me.”

Frank was in a haze as he followed after you, not taking in the surroundings at all while he ducked to bury his face in your hair and did his best not to trip over his own feet. He had no idea how long you’d been walking for by the time you reached the small, isolated cottage on the beach, winding his arms around you as you unlocked the door and pulled him inside.

You had him naked and sprawled across your bed in no time at all, your soft thighs pressing against his hips as you rode him slowly while he tossed his head back and whined. His hips drove up into you suddenly when you clenched hard around him, his fingers skirting up your sides with desperation as you cooed soft words of encouragement at him.

“That’s so good honey, c’mere.” You murmured softly as you gripped his hair and dragged his face up to yours, running your tongue over the seam of his lips as he blinked at you stupidly and dug his fingers into your waist. “Give me all of it.”

“Yes.” He moaned when you dug your nails into his shoulders, his pelvis snapping up into yours as you rolled your body against him. “Whatever you want.”

“Good boy.” You shoved your tongue down his throat when he started vibrating beneath you, his hips losing their rhythm as his cock twitched inside you.

Just a few more rocks of his hips and he was lost, crying softly into your neck as your warm cunt milked him for everything he could give you. He felt tears staining his cheeks as he collapsed back against the bed, severe exhaustion like he’d never felt seeping deep into his bones as you curled your body around his and put your lips on his again.

“Just sleep, honey.” You pressed kisses all over his face as he whined softly, fighting the pull of sleep and the suffocating warmth of your presence as his eyes drifted closed. “Gonna need your energy, lover.”

Frank hummed softly when your smooth honeyed voice flowed over him as you started singing softly, drowning out the sound of his phone vibrating in his discarded jeans. You’d make sure to this it into the sea once he was asleep, not like he was going to need it anymore.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Teddy

Notes: This is my entry for @pagesoflauren Prompts:

So, this is love” from “So This is Love” by Ilene Woods and Mike Douglas from Cinderella

“Um, you...you fight good.” from Mulan

“This reminded me of you.”

Warnings: 18 +Only, dark themes, Dubious consent due to alcohol consumption, drunken sex, fingering, out door sex

Summary: a corporate event turns into hazy regret

Dark(maybe more grey) CEO Steve x Reader

🐻

Why they decided to hold a corporate event in the middle of the work week was beyond you. But you could only blame yourself for the alcohol consumption you partook in. Your head and body ached. You had taken a few aspirin before getting to work, but it didn't sooth the pains rippling through your body. Last night was a fog that you could barely piece together, but you weren't worried. You had made it home safe and your office mates had not blown up your phone with anything salacious.

You frowned at the continuous slowed traffic at your cubical when you approached. When you spotted the source you were surprised. A sweet little box with an oversized bow sat on top of your keyboard with a tiny little note. Your coworkers all past your station giggling amongst themselves as they spied it. You felt the heat of all the attention permeate your face as you rushed to stash it away.

Taking your seat before your monitor you hid the parcel. You waited patiently until you felt no one was paying you any mind. Had someone miss placed this? Curious you read the note. “This reminded me of you.” Flipping it over no name.

You untie the bow and opened it carefully.

"Did you like it?" Steve's sudden voice made you bristle.

You fumble with the box, dropping it, spilling the contents as he leaned on your cubical wall.

"Um sorry?" you looked at him confused.

"I was thinking of getting rid of this thing, but now"

he scratched at his beard as you wrinkled your brow at him. His name was called before he could clarify his point. The distraction pulled him away, but not before he shot you a sly wink.

That was strange.

With him away you reached down to pick up the fallen gift. You rose slowly lifting a new coffee mug, turning it you see a yellow cartoon teddy bear smiling at you.

Your eyes grew round as a flood of memories drowned you. Flashes of the night before filled in gaps you had brushed off until now.

🐻

The night before

You were an expert at avoiding company events, but when the email read mandatory you groaned. The biannual event was a must for all employees foreign and domestic.

You didn't hate your company, you actually loved it. Everyone was friendly, it was a stark contrast to the cut throat companies you were used to. It was just that social events made you feel painfully awkward.

The venue was massive. Every odd person asked which office you worked in and what department you belonged to. You smiled and made short talk as you searched for a place to hide until the event was over. It was very draining, being an introvert you could only handle so much social interaction.

The corporate sponsored libations helped get you through the most part. Snatching a drink from every waiter that passed with a tray. It was an easy, trick gulp down the glass then motion to the empty cup before departing the group signaling you are going to find more. An easy out that had you buzzed, but you felt as though you were holding together well. When you found your hiding spot you breathed easier, taking the seat hidden behind a column, you played with your phone until the event whined down.

"Hey your in accounting right?"

You looked up from the phone to find John Walker. He smiled softly, slipping into the empty seat next to you. "Oh no, sorry.."

"Why are you hiding away by yourself?" He cut you off. You reached for your half empty flute and took a big gulp. Swallowing it down before tapping the glass, signaling your exit just as he began to crowd you into the corner space.

"How do you like it here?" He asked you another question stifling your exit. You could feel his breath on your face as you tried to lean away, but his arm stretched out pulling you closer.

A yelp escaped your lips when his other hand found your thigh. You don't want to cause a scene, but you want him to give you space. Your hiding space was too good. No one noticed or cared that you were trapped by a fellow colleague. "I need to-"

John pulled you down when you tried to stand and excuse yourself. "Hey" the scent of his drink finally hit your nose. "You cant leave before we cheers." His grip on you felt so firm that you worried if you upset him, his smile seemed strained and his eyes roamed you uncomfortably. John suddenly lifted the hand from your shoulder and snapped his fingers in the air, signaling a server to bring more drinks to the table. "One more drink huh? Bad luck not to cheers with everyone you know?"

You gripped your phone so hard you felt it imprint on your palm. You just wanted to go home. When the serve dropped the glasses John pushed one at you. To appease him you took it. Maybe he would leave after this. He raised his glass and you did the same. "To a fruitful quarter."

You murmured and repeated him. The glasses clinked before you both took a drink. This drink hit you harder than before, but you chugged it down anyway.

When John finished his glass he cloaked you. His eyes filled with a hunger that had you leaning further back into the back of your chair. He kept coming so close no matter how you shifted in your seat to gain distance. "Please I need to go home" you begged as he roamed up your skirt.

When his eyes bulged you were confused before you felt relief. John fell away from you, hitting the floor hard as a hulk of a man appeared standing over him. John did not appreciate it, hopping to his feet. You tried to stand yourself, but the room spun and swayed with such force you fell back on your seat. John and your savior blurred as you try to focus. You squinted as John pushed back on the stranger only to find his chin connecting with a right hook. His body fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes as you watched everything in slow motion.

It was so surreal seeing John laid out. You looked up to see the founder standing above him. Steve Rogers was the man behind the knockout punch. You snorted, laughing loudly at the ridiculousness. There was no way you saw that correctly.

He turned his attention to you, mouthing words at you, but you couldn't understand them. People began to crowd around John and your table. You were becoming the center of attention and that filled you with an urge to escape.

"I want to go home." You whimpered lowly, as you found it hard to move with so many people around. You reached your limit, there were too many eyes, too many voices, you felt trapped yet again.

"Where do you live?" His voice cut through everyone else. It sounded so concerned yet sweet it set you at ease. You slurred out the destination as he helped you up from the seat.

He felt so warm, firm and safe that you couldn't help, but cuddle into his side as he guided you out.

Your eyes started to feel heavy as your body floated along. “Um, you...you fight good.” you blurted out making him chuckle. "Thank you" you slurred out the complement. Your yawn muffled his response as your eyes closed and you slipped into sleep.

🐻

Your head lolled on the back of the leather seat as a chill nipped at your body. "It's too cold" you groaned missing the warmth that sent you to slumber.

"I miss warm" you whined tilting your head to the side, squinting at the blurry blob that resembled the sun. You reached out to find the source of warmth, but got jerked back by a restraint, you grumbled and frowned when you found a seat belt.

"Hey sleepy head." It sounded like Mr.Rogers. You had heard his voice many times over many corporate calls and monthly meetings, but that was preposterous. There was no way the high powered CEO was talking to you.

"Give me warm" you whined again, your eyes still heavy as you tried to focus on their face. You attempted once more to reach your hand out, this time your finger tips clumsily grazed over a nose before trailing up to gelled hair. "Oop. Watch it you almost blinded me there." He laughed lightly as the car swerved a bit. "Ok ok settled down I'll turn on the AC." The click and whoosh of the heater elevated the chill a bit.

"Sorry I run a little hot. Does this help?"

You hummed with delight as a warm hand reached out to glide up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. Your fingers played in the sleeked geld locks. Your thighs absorb the warmth of his hand as he kneaded your skin.

"You have arrived at your destination" the robotic voice announced.

"Yay!" Clapping your hands together ready to go to bed.

"Don't like parties huh?"

"I like home better." You yawned still very tired.

"Yeah me too" he agreed as the warm hand in your lap left. You whimpered in disappointment as a car door opened and closed. You stayed lazy sat in place too tired to move, closing your eyes welcoming sleep once again.

"Come on let's get you home." He grunted as he reached over you, waking you slightly. The smell of his cologne filled your nose as you heard the distinct click of your seat belt and feel of the strap slide away.

"Who are you?" You genuinely inquired.

He pulled you from the seat and stood you up against the car. Your body sagged, but he kept you standing. "Don't remember me, huh?" He huffed dragging you out. "Steve. Steve Rogers." He told you as he tried to keep you steady while closing the door.

"Your face is soo fluffy" you giggled as you grabbed at his beard. "No! Your not Steve! Your teddy" you dubbed shouting at him, cupping his face as you brought him closer. "You feel so good teddy."

"You think so?" Steve chuckled excepting his new nickname.

Stepping closer he pressed his weight on you and chuckled, boxing you between him and the car. "Fluffy teddy bear man" you giggled again as his cologne once again invaded your nose.

"You smell good too" you confessed as he leaned closer. His lips tilted into a devilish grin as you leaned forward to inhale along his neck. His strong hands held your hips before squeezing when you licked at him. "Tasted good too."

"Bad girl." Steve admonished leaning away from you. "Bad teddy" you frowned, pulling him closer by his blazer. "Keep me warm teddy." You pouted.

"Like that?" Steve questioned as his palms slipped down your waist then road up your thigh. You gasped when he ascended up and under your skirt. You nodded 'yes' allowing his brazened hand to slip into your panties, cupping your mound. The car rocked a bit as he leaned all his weight on you, sinking into you. His bristly beard hairs tickled your neck as you panted wildly into the cold air.

"Do you like how I make you feel?" Steve asked trailing up and over your lips. You moan a 'yes' into his mouth while you pushed into his palm urging him on.

Steve tried to pull his hand from you, but you squeezed your thighs together, not allowing him to retreat. "No teddy don't leave" you begged pouting. Steve smiled at the nickname while plunging deep in your core, curling his digits inside of you.

Your skirt road high off your ass and you felt the chill of the door on your exposed cheeks. You didn't care, you just wanted more. Lifting your leg Steve hooked it around his waist. "I love you teddy" you proclaimed drunk off his touch.

"Oh yeah" he growled in your ear, sending fire down your neck as he kissed you all over. You felt your panties pushed to the side as he pressed his sheathed need on you.

"Ummm mmm" you hummed eager for him to do more. Steve steady you with one hand while his other fumbled with the front of his pants. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your hips pushed forward. Waiting impatiently you bite your lip giving him a pleading look. "Love you so much teddy."

"So this is love?" Steve swirled his cock in your juices, teasing as he pressed hard along your eagerness. "Don't tease" you slapped at him frowning. "You want teddy to love you?" he groaned pressing his tip hard against your entrance. You nod 'yes' and hiss as his cock slowly stretched you open. You welcomed the strain while another warmth burst from your core. Your fingers tangled in his hair while Steve kissed you passionately. You panted wildly as Steve picked up speed, rutting you against the car door. "So this..." Steve stretched out each word, thrusting into you hard and deep, your slick him thoroughly. You chanted 'yes' allowing him to rut you against the car. Steve's thickness made you quiver. Despite being out in the world it felt as if you were the only two left on earth. "This is love" he sighed pushing as deep as he could go.

The warmth of him exploded all around you, melting you into him deliciously. You dissolved into him, slipping mindlessly into ecstasy.

🐻

[ellitx]

okay currently head empty, only dry humping with venti-

I’m gonna use butler!venti here so i hope you don’t mind

masterlist

word count: 1.6k

art belongs to rome

warning: NSFW content ahead

           “Mistress, do you really want this?”

            A small nod from you is all the answer Venti needed to know before stretching out his hand to you. You slowly approached him and took his hand in yours while he guided you to sit on his lap, facing him.

            Your thighs comfortably rested on both sides as you straddled him. Leaning forward, you pressed your chest against his and draped your arms over his shoulders.

            “Please tell me if you wish to stop.” His hands drifted down your sides sensually. One hand cupped his cheek and you ran your tips on his bottom lip slowly and seductively, tempting him to latch his lips with yours in which you happily indulged him.

            He captured your soft and pliable lips bringing it to an intoxicating kiss. Neither of you two stopped. Venti’s hand only brought you closer to him, bringing it to a much more heated and deeper kiss as his tongue swept across your mouth asking for entrance.

            You granted him entry and your butler took his time to explore the insides of your mouth. He loves you’re allowing him to do such things with you. He is, after all, your most trusted butler. Always coming to him in need of help and he never says no to his dearest mistress. Always accepting them except for that one time where you asked him to have indecent acts with you. He did abide by your request albeit hesitantly.

            It’s the first time he received that kind of demand from you. But did he say no? Of course not. Whatever his mistress needs, he’ll do it no matter what it takes. 

            Heavy breathing and the sound of two wet tongues fighting are the only sounds evident in the quiet room of your butler.

            “I want you…” You muttered under your breath and carried his hand to grope on your clothed breasts. Venti slowly helps you unbutton your blouse and drag the clothing away until it’s hanging over your shoulders.

            Your eyes were settled on every tiny button on his shirt, urging you to unfasten them and discard them away. “I’m not forcing you, am I…?” You asked quietly, hands resting on his shoulders timidly as you gently massaged his clothed flesh. He simply smiled and shakes his head before leaning in to connect his lips with yours for a soft and quick kiss.

            His hands reached up to your face, gently holding you as his thumb circles on your cheek. “Whatever you ask, I’ll do it for you, Mistress.” You pressed your lips to a thin line and looked away. 

            “I don’t want you to think of this as an order from me. I want to make you feel good as well.”

            “I know that,” he smiled. “May I?”

            After a small yet timid nod from you, he brought his gloved hand close to his lips and pulled the article away between his teeth. Throwing it aside, his palm trailed gentle patterns on your slightly bared back. Long and slender fingers taking in the sensation as they pull over each strap and band of your lacy bra. 

            Your two voluptuous breasts look inviting as they sit perked in their covers. All Venti wanted to do is reach and touch it, wondering how soft it would be in his hold if he squeezes them. You feel his practiced hand brushed over your breasts and it brought you in large anticipation what his next move will be to play with your body.

            A sudden moan escapes from your lips as he slips his hand in your bra and squeezes them firmly. 

            “V-Venti…” You moaned and threw your head back as two fingers were playing with your nipples in between them.

            Your smooth and flawless collarbone has been always his weak point, always tempting him to mark you whenever it’s exposed and he wastes no time latching onto your throat, sucking, nibbling, and releasing your skin between his teeth.

            You helplessly pushed your body against him and felt something hard against your thigh, surprising you. Venti leaned in closer and initiated the heated make-out session once again. His hands came to rest on your clothed hips and helped you move in a back and forth motion in his lap.

            The friction between you two is so delicious that you want to grind more on him. Shameless and erotic moans continuously slip from your throat causing his lips to tugged into a smirk that he’s pleasing his mistress very well. 

            You feel something damp is forming between your legs, staining your panties as both of you persist on grinding against each other. It feels amazing. His hard cock hitting your wet and clothed pussy had your body shivering in delight at the sensation. You laid your head on his shoulder and panted heavily while he continued to move your hips to and fro.

            “Mhng~!!” You moaned and tightly held on to his arms in hopes he’ll understand your request. Your butler stops and looks into your eyes to read your countenance. 

            “Ah~! V-Venti—!” A sudden gasp left from your throat as his thumb circled at your sensitive clit through your damp undergarments. Your nails dug into his sleeves, whimpering and crying his name the more he moves them.

            “S-so good… hmm… m-more~” It’s too good to be true and you never felt this before. It brings excitement and anticipation to your nerves. Your whole body turning warm as his other hand rubbed up and down your legs. When his fingers hooked on the waistband of your skirt, you immediately halted him.

            “Wait,” You breathed out and held his wrist catching his attention. “My apologies, should we end here?” He questioned and let go of your skirt before placing a hand on your exposed thigh to rest on. 

            Shaking your head, you pushed yourself forward and pressed your temple against his. Your breathing was heavy, he could feel it brush on his skin every time you breathed out. Your gaze landed on his lips, admiring the silent but tremulous manner. Just from your quiet state, he understands what you want and so he finally closes the gap between you two and holds your head carefully.

            You shakily took his hand and guided it back to your covered sex. He patiently waits for you to allow yourself to get used to the sensation of him touching you like that. It’s the first time the two of you have gone this far. It’s mostly a heated kiss and touching each other and he understands how it can be quite overwhelming with all these sensual ministrations he’s been giving you.

            Venti groaned in the kiss as your fingers pushed his hand to put more pressure on your clitoris, stroking it up and down that made you so wet even more just from a simple touch. Your delicate hand rests above his own and he didn’t hesitate to increase his pace. He wants to drink your moans, listen to them forever, and just take in and remind himself he’s the only one who can make you feel like this.

            Your juices dripped on his slacks, staining them but he paid no attention to it. He only wants to hear your melodious moans for his ears to bestow with. Rocking you back and forth in his lap, he vigorously grinds your body together against him causing you to break the kiss and bite down your lower lip at the gratifying friction.

            You quickly held onto his shoulders to balance yourself as you thrust your hips to keep up his pace. A strangled moan got caught in your throat and your legs trembled from excitement and anticipation.

            “Venti~!” You gasped his name and he absorbed all your whimpers and stifled moans with his own, linking your lips together to bring you to another full open-mouthed heated kiss. 

            “Moan for me, Mistress.” His voice had an authoritative tone to it while his hold on your hips was firm to keep you balanced as he moved you back and forth on his clothed groin. “Venti—! Mnghh~!! More please~!” Another moan came as you pressed harder down on his erection.

            Venti hissed and bit on your exposed shoulder to muffle down his noises. He panted and moved you faster until you feel yourself reaching close to your orgasm. Your toes curled at the heat building up in your stomach. His nails were digging deeper on your skin that will surely leave a mark as he pressed you harder down onto him to increase the friction between you two.

            “I’m close, Mistress.” He breathes on your shoulder, nibbling and sucking on it until it turns a dark blemish. 

            “Hah… V-Venti—!! Ah~ f-faster!” He abides by your wishes and thrusts his hips against yours. Your back arched and clenched your thighs together as pleasure pulsed between your legs. You slung your arms around his neck as your fingers ran through his dark locks and gripped on them tightly.

            Venti immediately locked your lips together with his for an umpteenth time, swallowing all your moans and taking them in as his hands kept thrusting your hips throughout your orgasm as he reached his climax as well.

            “[Name]…” He groaned into your mouth and stared deeply into your eyes, observing your flushed face before wiping away the drips of sweat rolling down on the sides. Your panties were damped of your own cum, smudging his outfit. It goes the same for him— a wet stain colored his slacks underneath to where you were sitting.

            You breathe in delight while you catch your breath after your orgasm, thighs continuously shaking from the vehement and fiery session with your servant.

            “Do you feel much better now?” Venti asked with a gentle smile, leaning his head against yours and engraving every single feature of you in his mind. You nodded and softly pecked his nose before gripping his lower lip between your teeth, much to his surprise, to kiss him in thanks. 

            “Hm. Thank you, Venti.”

            The male softly chuckled and slowly laced your hands together with his. “Anything for you, Mistress.”

[spideyspeaches]

Inconveniences ↬ p.p

AN: This is a reupload from my old account!

An entry for @geminiparkers’s 1k writing challenge!

Pairing- College!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: mentions of sex :)

Wc: 1.7k

Masterlist || Taglist

1.

You didn’t understand what people saw in the Avengers. They were annoying and had no concept of personal space.

Or maybe those were just your thoughts. You’ve been living with them ever since quarantine started, finally able to convince your parents that you were capable of living alone, you were an avenger, after all. Well you weren’t really living alone, as the people in question along with your boyfriend, Spider-Man lived with you.

Never were you ever glad that May Parker, the angel, had allowed you two to stay together (without much embarrassment).

Back to the point where you got no privacy. For example:

“Peterrrr” you whined, elongating his name to get his attention. You had been horny all day long, craving some semblance of touch from your extremely sweet, hot, amazing, beautiful boyfriend.

He hummed, not even looking up from the laptop he was typing on. He was laying on his side, so you tried to shimmy yourself between the little space on the couch and him, only to grunt when he wouldn’t move.

So you tried something else, because fuck the Avengers you wanted a dick now.

“Petey petey pie,” you whispered, tracing his abs from under his t-shirt. You knew your trick would work, because you could feel them clench.

“Y/N, not here sweetheart.” He muttered, holding your hand while he continued to ignore you.

Pouting, you huffed and flopped back as much as you could.

“You promised you would be free tonight! Gah you’re such a nerd!” You whined, rolling your eyes when you saw Nat entered the living room.

At first she ignored you both, sipping at her milkshake and walking towards the kitchen.

“You chose me and not Harry remember? Thought you were into nerds not gonna lie.” He smirked, his voice low, the kind that had you clenching without a thought.

“And? Are you questioning my choices? Come on Petey you can do your homework later.” You said.

You climbed on top of him, your foot purposefully catching his dick. By now you were practically on his chest , tracing circles around his nipples.

Smirking, you continued to pepper his exposed neck with featherlight kisses, making sure to moan every now and then.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” He clenched his jaw, huffing to show that your kisses were not affecting him.

“Well you’re being a party pooper, so I’m having mine.” You muttered, voice muffled as you slid your hands inside his t-shirt, scratching your fingers against his chest.

Grunting, he gently pushed you off, sitting up with his laptop on his legs, “Y/N this is important."

Mouth open now, you puffed your cheeks, folding your hands on your chest.

"Can you believe this dude?!” You shouted, looking at Nat while pointing at your smirking boyfriend, “he chooses homework over sex!”

***

2.

Sipping at your drink, you smiled at the scene in front of you. It was almost half a year under quarantine, and Tony had finally agreed to host a party, albeit an internal one with only the Avengers, and May, now that she was out of duty from the hospital.

“How’re you feeling babe?” Peter appeared, wrapping his hands around your stomach, resting his nose on the crook of your neck.

Sighing, you leaned onto his head, enjoying the way he kissed your neck, caressing your waist with his thumbs.

“I’m good, things are getting normal again, if only the president caught the virus, this country would be a much better place.” You snorted, feeling your back vibrate as he laughed.

“You hate him so much don’t you?” He said.

“He’s hate worthy.” You shrugged, turning around to wrap your hands around his neck, playing with the baby hair on the nape.

Leaning forward, you hummed against his lips, crading your hands through his hair as he pushed you into his chest, fingers playing with the hem of your pants.

“Someone’s gonna walk in on us.” You mutter against his mouth, moaning as his tongue attacks your lips, parting them hungrily.

Swaying with the loud music, you whimpered when he touched your waist, his fingers hot and leaving shocks, your pussy throbbing and gut coiling with anticipation.

Panting desperately, you pulled at his shirt, fingers scrunching in the material as he lifted you up, planting on the counter top as you wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively straddling him. Feeling his muscles rippling under the shirt, gave a throaty moan, huffing due to the lack of oxygen.

Sweat was already coating your foreheads, creating highlights on his cheekbones and reflecting off the lens of his glasses-

“Peter did you see my- Oh! Oh am I disturbing you? Why don’t you use the bedroom though, I don’t think Tony would like if you do it in the kitchen-"

"May! Oh my god-"

”-It’s okay honey, you’re not a teenager anymore-“

Falling off the counter top, you bit your lip, playing with the hem of your shirt, not meeting May’s eyes. You look at your blushing boyfriend, embarrassed at being caught making out in between a party.

"May, just go, please-”

“Um, sorry I was just leaving anyway, you know, I got work to do. Yeah. You both continue.” She smirked, nodding at you and sending a sly wink at you.

Shaking your head, you looked at Peter, twiddling your hands together.

“Sooo, wanna make out?” You ask.

“Yeah. Sure"

***

3.

The dishes clinked together, the noise echoing in the empty kitchen. Peter moved with agility, hands cleaning the dishes as he passed it to you who were putting them on the rack.

You saw him take a deep breath, biting your lips and gulping. You knew what was coming next.

Peter had always been protective of you, as a friend or as a girlfriend. He protected everyone who he loved.

"I’m sorry-"

"Save it. Take your meds and go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He grunted, nearly smashing the plates as you raised your eyebrows.

“Well be careful of the plates, they’re fragile.” You joked, heart beating fast as you contemplate his reaction.

“How are you so chill about all this?! You know you were reckless, and yet you do decide to not acknowledge the fact that you almost died!” He slammed his fist, nearly breaking the plate with his hand, a small piece did break, piercing his skin.

You jumped at his sudden aggression, your own anger building.

“I’m a big girl now Peter, I can take care of myself, I don’t need you to look out for me everytime I go out!” You snarled, curling your fist, “and you’re one to talk you hypocrite! You’re always so reckless during patrols, how is me getting blasted by a bomb in a fireproof suit, reckless when you get hit by bullets on a daily basis?"

"I stopped listening after you said you got blasted by a bomb, you’re not enhanced Y/N, how am I supposed to-”, he said voice cracking, “I love you okay? I can’t - I can’t lose you okay?"

Your chest ached at his hurt voice. Peter had lost a lot in his short life, his parents, his uncle, almost lost Tony. And now you felt bad about making him feel that way.

"I’m sorry Petey.” You said, taking his cheek in one hand, holding his suds filled hand in another, “You’re hurt."

He chuckled, looking at his hand where the broken plate had pierced it. Tony wouldn’t mind one broken plate, he was a billionaire after all.

"Yeah.” He said, sniffing and putting it under the faucet to get off any remaining blood. You watched in fascination as the wound closed up, not even leaving a scar behind as if you were watching a time lapse.

Rolling your eyes, you grinned mischievously, poking his chest with you fingers and snorting as he giggled, pulling you closer-

“Bucky! Give me back my cookie now or I swear to god-"

"Ughhh you guys do this purposely don’t you?” You groaned, glaring at Bucky and Sam as they stop in their tracks, looking at each other and smirking.

“We neither confirm nor deny your accusations.” Bucky said, plopping the cookie in his mouth and walking out of the kitchen as you bang your forehead against the table.

Why can’t people just let you be intimate with your boyfriend for one second?

***

+1

“Are you sure no one’s gonna walk in, Spider-Man?” You hummed against his lips, moving in slow motions as he caresses your bum.

“If they do, I’ll take care of it.” He rasps, squeezing your bottom and fingering the hem of your shirt shorts.

You were sitting in Peter’s bedroom after a full day of teasing him, because you were horny and desperate. Softly kneading your fingers through his hair, you whined at the feel of his bulge against your crotch, a wet feeling already seeping through those shorts.

Rubbing your hips faster against his, you huff, tracing his biceps and squeezing them occasionally as he moved down with his lips, slipping off your tank top.

“Thought you had super speed.” You grunted, urging him to go faster as he unclasped your bra before looking at you with a smirk, his eyes shining with mirth and lust.

“You were a bad girl today, teasing me every opportunity you got, it’s only fair if I get to do the same.” He said before squeezing your one boob and sucking on the other, a wet pop noise leaving his mouth every time he sucked on it.

Spreading your legs further, you shimmy out of your shorts, lifting Peter’s shirt up to get him out of it before he stopped you.

“Oh no, you’re not-” he started before the door opened with a bang.

“Did you guys-” before Tony could see anything, Peter produced his web-shooters and shot at the door, locking it for at least another two hours.

A muffled, “at least use protection!” Was heard from outside the door. Your face was burning with embarrassment, looking at Peter with an innocently terrified look on your face. He could hear your heart racing, and it was making him like, really hard.

“Now, where to begin.” He whispered, chills shooting up your spine, goosebumps appearing on your skin and the wet feeling intensifying between your thighs.

“Let me at least undress you.” You plead, lifting his t-shirt and unbuttoning his jeans simultaneously.

“No, you were a brat today, and brats don’t get a taste without punishment.” He smirked, flipping you so you hit the backrest, holding your arms up and…webbing You up against the headboard, “today I’m doing all the work."

And you didn’t mind it really. Like, at all.

[volleychumps]

HEY HEY HEY!! I just wanna say your writing is just amazingggg! If possible, can you do a Bokuto x reader where reader is dared to call her crush and calls bokuto and he's right next to her but hella confused? I feel like the clownery would be IMMENSE 😂😂

Hiii!! They yoinked my teethsies but I’m feeling better, thanks to everyone who asked I love youuuu guys so much!! 

Sober Realizations. -Bokuto Kotaro-

Word Count: 1548

Warning(s): cursing, suggestive content(nsfw),  alcohol (aged up) 

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

“Talk about a pussy dare.” 

Kuroo winks at you as he downs the rest of the vodka bottle in one go, high-fiving Bokuto afterwards as you glare at Tsukishima, who had given the raven-haired captain the dull dare to begin with. The blonde simply shrugs, leaning back to pop open a can of cranberry beer as Kaori continues to burst out laughing at the turn of events. 

“So I have to strip my shirt off but Mr. I’m-too-good-for-girly-drinks gets to chug his favorite alcohol? I call bullshit.” 

“At least your bra is cute!” Kaori exclaims, cuddling you close as you roll your eyes, feeling Bokuto shift next to you as your breath catches in your throat. The shared dorm of the boys had you all sitting in a rather closely knit-circle, you and Kaori coming over for old times’ sake seeing you were all attending the same college as you ended up sidled comfortably up to your high school crush. Bokuto takes another swig of Smirnoff before offering the rest to you. 

Bokuto grins as you fight your blush when he reaches a hand out to tousle your hair as you shyly sip, his jacket loosely covering your frame yet still remaining unzipped to reveal your black bra underneath. Bokuto hadn’t even reacted when the bastard Nekoma captain dared you to strip, simply laughing and making you feel worse as a result-

especially considering the brother-like gesture of draping his team jacket across your shoulders. 

Tsukishima had to call Daichi- 

“D-Dad come pick me up, they’re drinking alcohol-” 

“Tsukishima, to put it nicely, what the fuck-”

Akaashi had to reenact High School Musical’s iconic Gotta Go My Own Way with Bokuto playing as Troy-

“Akaashi how do you mess this up?! It’s a simple one-two rhythm-!” 

“I will end you.”

And your personal favorite- 

Bokuto had to also strip his shirt off, due to Tsukishima’s bland-ass pick of the dares and his unwillingness to be creative. So that’s how you ended up, head leaning loosely on the broad shoulder of Bokuto, who (thank the gods) had his hair down from his previous shower, smelling of bath soap and a tinge of his cologne with his shirt discarded to the left of him. 

You bite back a sigh as your turn comes around again, Kaori grinning a tad wickedly at you as you arch a brow, wondering just where your friend would take this. 

“Truth or dare, Y/N~?” 

Your eyes narrow at her tone. “Truth.” 

“Who would you want to fuck the most in this room right now?” 

“Me, obviously-” 

“Bite my ass, Kuroo.” You snip at the smirking player, turning back to your suspicious friend. “Dare.” 

“Oho? I dare you to call your crush.” 

“What are we, seventh graders?” You challenge almost immediately, feeling your heart rate pick up as your fingers trace the rim of your drink, telepathically cursing Kaori with every colorful word you could come up with. 

“Well, I’d most definitely want to fuck Kei-” 

“wHAT?! Over me?!” 

“Sit your clown ass down, Kuroo, I’d want to fuck Kei over for picking shitty ass dares.” 

“Don’t make me come over there, woman.” 

“Not the truth, Y/N~, you know what that means~” Kaori sings as you think it over for a moment. Although your immediate reaction had been to deny deny, and deny, you couldn’t help but wonder if doing this childish action would bring you the closure you needed. Your petty crush on Bokuto had started in high school, but he had never acted as anything more than your older brother and best friend. However, you had never directly stated to him after all these years what you really felt for him, the boy who had been there through countless breakups and heartbreaks. 

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you throw your drink back as your other hand fiddles with your phone, tapping quickly before you can stop yourself. 

“Five bucks she calls Lev.” 

“Lev’s like, my child, how dare you say that.” 

After your pointed glare towards an amused Kuroo, the silence that settles around the room when you hit call makes you want to turn off your phone and end it-

but it was far far too late for that.

You keep your eyes downcast as Bokuto’s phone lights up with your name, heart emojis and all. 

Akaashi and Tsukishima exchange quiet, knowing glances as Kaori and Kuroo’s eyes widen at the fact that you had actually done it-

“Huh?” The golden-eyed boy seemed to be immersed in confusion for a good second as he looks down at the caller. You hold your breath- 

“Heyooo Y/N!” Bokuto picks up the phone from next to you as you sweat drop. 

“You were supposed to call your crush, but you called me! Do you need a do-over?” 

Akaashi and Tsukishima both hang their heads gloomily in disbelief as Kuroo cackles, Kaori putting both hands to the sides of her temple to massage the sides. You swallow the lump of dissapointment in your throat as Bokuto continues to hold his phone up to his ear, grinning that same cheeky grin you were still in love with. 

“What? Why is everyone being weirder than usual?” Golden eyes blink in innocent confusion as you forget just how much of a dumbass the talented ace was at times. 

“...Yeah. Maybe I do need a do-over.” Your smile is wobbly as you finish off your drink, standing all of a sudden to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. In the minute of silence after your leave, Bokuto seemed to be concentrating really hard with furrowed brows, wondering why the sudden change of atmosphere had occurred as Akaashi begins to reach a hand out-

“Bokuto-san-” 

“Sh. He’s almost there.” Kuroo stops him with a knowing grin. 

“Kuroo, his brain might explode from thinking too hard-” 

“Let it.” 

“That’s awful, Kei!” Kaori swats the blonde. 

Amidst the conversation, Bokuto stands all of a sudden, eyes widened with a weak finger ponting at himself as he looks each of his friends in the eye. 

“Wait, don’t tell me-” 

“I was this close to playing jeapordy music, too.”

“Tsukki, go to your room.” 

Ignoring the flicked off finger in the direction of Kuroo from the blonde, Akaashi groans to himself when Bokuto makes a mad dash to his bedroom, the room that had the bathroom you excused yourself to as the setter rolls his eyes. 

“Four years to get together and they have to do it in my dorm bathroom?” 

“Just drink your wine, old man, we’ll put him on clean-up duty.” 

Tap. 

“Can I come in?” 

“O-One second!” Your voice attempts to chirp, only to crack. Upon hearing that, Bokuto lets himself in anyway to see you supporting yourself up with both arms on Akaashi’s sink, head hung over the drain as you straighten all of a sudden, startled at his entry as palms swipe at the moisture falling down your flushed cheeks. The loose sleeves of his jacket and the exposure of your undergarment-

had Bokuto’s mouth drier than he remembered it, the sudden urge to touch you overwhelming him. 

“Sorry, I might’ve had too much to drink, I don’t know what’s with me...” You trail off in a slight slur, prompting Bokuto to shut the door tightly as he lessens the distance between the two of you in the already small bathroom. You bite your lip at his shirtless form and you’re practically matching one as your thoughts remain sober, wondering if you could play it off with you being too drunk. 

“Y/N-chan...Did you mean to call me?” Bokuto’s voice is scarily soft as his grey-black locks fell over his goregous golden eyes, and you find yourself at a loss for words when a hand reaches out to grab the sink, leaning over you and sealing off your escape. You gulp at the proximity, looking away bashfully. 

“No. I didn’t.” 

“Don’t lie, Y/N-chan, we promised we wouldn’t do that!”

You flinch at the feel of Bokuto’s lips ghosting over your neck, feeling hot all of a sudden as Bokuto pulls back slightly, gold eyes deadly serious, something you only had seen in his matches. 

“How long?” 

Your lips pout as you look away again, refusing to answer, prompting the gray haired boy to use his thumb and forefinger to turn your chin back in his direction, gold eyes desperate for an answer. 

“S-Since our second year.” 

His warm hands dip through his jacket to stroke your waist, causing you to whimper a little as Bokuto releases a breathy sigh, using the sides of his jacket to pull you closer to him so he can sit you on Akaashi’s sink. He smiles as you try to process what’s happening as he moves to stand between your thighs. 

“Then I have...what, four years to make up?” Your alcoholic breaths mingle as your fingers find themselves woven throughout his hair, your other hand moving to rest on the back of his neck as you shyly meet Bokuto’s loving gaze.

“O-Only if you want to...” 

“Oh trust me.” You flinch when he pulls the jacket off your shoulders, the material falling to the floor as his hand moves to turn the lock. 

“I want to.”

[writeblrfantasy]

born from the prologue of the way of kings, some old school supernatural inspiration, and my entry into the hannibal fandom, i give you cyril's hell! all the characters in this are gods of actium state and urkon, and this happens well before acogs takes place. nikolai and katya tell this story over the fire over the course of the book. it's a mythology story.

cw blood, very vague descriptions of pain and torture and injuries, everything you can think of about someone being tortured in hell basically

word count about 7000

thank you guys for all the love on the summer of seret ashling, it definitely inspired me to write another short. i love writing shorts--you get the serotonin from finishing a wip and seeing people's reactions to it much faster. lower stakes. i have plans to write many more :)

enjoy! <3

Cyril wakes to burning pinpricks of agony seared into his arms. Unfortunately, this is perfectly normal.

The ghost of Alabaster’s laugh echoes in his ears, slowly fading out, but never completely. He never leaves Cyril alone, whether he’s sleeping—if you can call it that—or widely, excruciatingly awake. He’s dropped Cyril back in what has become his home, a room brightly lit with distant fire and a musical background consisting of the screams of the damned.

This place, out of all, is probably the safest for him, despite the metal piercing his arms, the chains connecting him to the ceiling. His arms went numb from the angle minutes ago. He tries not to jostle them, as well as his collection of new wounds, only healed enough not to kill him.

What does Cyril have to do to prove he knows he can't escape?

It’s not about that, he knows.

Alabaster's hell is more than pain, more than agony. It transcends anything Cyril has ever experienced, and yet every week Alabaster finds ways to show him something else new.

How long has it been?

Does it matter?

Alabaster’s cologne lingers on Cyril’s skin, one more layer of invisible pain. The worst thing is perhaps how he’s unable to wipe away the sweat dripping into his eyes. It only takes minutes after Alabaster deposits him back in here for his whole body to become soaked again.

Cyril naively thought, when Alabaster first brought him here, that it wouldn’t be so bad. That everything he’d be made to endure would be softened or cushioned in some way, more about drama than actual pain.

How wrong he was.

Alabaster, or perhaps just his own mind, has trained him to be relieved when he comes to unlock Cyril’s door every week. Freedom, he thinks, respite from the endless heat and sweat and reprieve for his aching arms. For the first few seconds, Alabaster’s smile looks pleasant. He’s undoubtedly excited to see Cyril, but Cyril somehow manages to forget every single time that smile means nothing good for him.

“Hello, beautiful,” Alabaster always says, in such a familiar tone it’s imprinted in Cyril’s dreams. “Let’s go.”

Reprieve turns into regret quickly.

Cyril has learned how to manage this, somewhat. Stay very still, don’t trigger anything, don’t tense up, try to sleep. Doing nothing but sleep for the whole week until Alabaster comes still won’t do enough, but in sleep, he has relief for a bit longer, a chance to see Damokles’ face again.

Tonight, when he closes his eyes, it’s not just Damokles’ kind eyes waiting for him, it’s Thea’s dark ones, clearer than usual, almost like they’re calling out for him.

He opens them and jostles himself a bit by accident, groaning in agony. He searches the shadows in the corner of the room for her face, and he could’ve sworn—

There’s nothing there but the sweat in his eyes.

***

As he drifts through sleep and wakefulness, Thea’s dark eyes return to him. He sees flashes of her through the haze of flames and screams, a striking dark clarity and a sense of peace.

The days just before Alabaster collects him are the worst. He finally has his strength back, or as he much as is possible down here, and it’s a new kind of agony to feel so glorious the day before his feet will be knocked out from under him. In the early days, when he still believed he could sway Alabaster by repetition alone, that if he begged just enough, Alabaster might listen, he pled to be left alone for just one more week.

“Not this time,” he’d sob, back when he still sobbed, when he gave Alabaster the pleasure of savoring his carefully crafted creation. Let him see, let him have it, he once thought. If he gave Alabaster what he wanted, he’d get a reward, because that’s how fair people work. All it did was make Alabaster hungry for more of his tears.

“Thea?” he whispers, low, as he swears her face appears in the shadows again. She’s exquisite, and she’s not real. if he’s not just seeing things, she’s one of Alabaster’s new experiments designed to drive him out of his mind.

Cyril will not fall for it.

“Thea?” he asks, still, hopeful and naïve despite everything.

The darkness in the corner moves, too clear to be a product of the shadows cast by the flames. Cyril stands straight so that his feet are supporting his weight instead of his arms, alleviating the perpetual ache in his back for a precious moment.

Theadora, in all her glory, walks out of the corner, dripping darkness and shade. Her long dark hair flows behind her, and her skin shines under the straps of her long dress. She doesn’t seem to walk on solid ground—her feet and the bottom of her black dress melt into shadows before his eyes.

Cyril loses his breath. She’s just as beautiful as he remembers. Most wonderfully of all, she’s clean, her face free of sweat and her arms free of blood and age old wounds.

She rushes over to him immediately, cupping his pale, ashen face in her dark hands. “Cyril,” she whispers, perhaps afraid of disturbing nonexistent peace. Cyril would be more afraid of drawing Alabaster’s attention.

“You’re not real,” he murmurs as she presses their foreheads together. She smells like their garden in the clouds, sweet and fresh, not a trace of smoke anywhere on her. She kisses him, and Cyril melts into it like liquid, imagining he can sip freezing water from her lips. She’s so refreshingly cold. Her heart is the only part of her that’s warm, and pleasantly so. It burns for him.

“He fabricated you to taunt me with for his pleasure. You’ll be gone in a moment, and I’ll be screaming for you because I still haven’t learned after all this time, and in a few days he’ll come in to see the results.”

“No. Cyril, I am real.” She touches one of his hands, clearly resisting the urge to squeeze it but knowing the ramifications. The way she stares at the chains holding him to the ceiling makes him shiver. He’s almost forgotten any type of power existed other than hot, burning, prodding pain.

How he’s missed the icy power of the moon.

“I am here to get you out,” she insists. He closes his eyes—they’re the words he’s dreamed of thousands of times, exactly in her sweet, desperate voice, but it’s too good. If he concentrates hard enough, he can see Alabaster’s grin in Thea’s eyes.

“You can only open the door from the inside, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let you in,” he argues. Anything else pleasant would tear him apart when it inevitably crumbles down on him. “You—you wouldn’t happen to have any water, would you?”

“Of course.” She brings out a jug and raises it to his lips. He drinks eagerly, the water sweet and cold, probably from the Pelia, her favorite. He doesn't care if it's poisoned.

Her silver bracelets sparkle in the firelight, and his eyes follow her fingers as she wipes the swipe off his face with a velvet cloth. He jerks his hands towards her as she begins to pull away on instinct, remembering his chains with a sigh. She’s still close enough for him to press his lips to her dark wrist, light as a feather.

He jerks again when something wet hits him, but his heart lurches when he looks up and sees that it’s her tears. For a moment, the only sound is the crackle of the fire lining the walls and the distant screams of Alabaster’s victims.

Cyril has never wanted his hands back as much as he does now. He wants to wrap his arms around her, whisper assurances in her ear like he used to when she grew worried. Instead, she wraps her arms around his torso and buries her face in the hollow his neck, crying quietly. The slight twinge of pain her salty tears bring to his hundreds of wounds old and new is more than worth it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

She gathers herself enough to say, “What? Why?”

“I’m sorry for getting caught. I never should’ve left you. I should’ve been smarter, shouldn’t have let him anywhere near me, I knew what would happen—”

For a moment he's back in that seedy human tavern with both of them, intrigued but not alarmed by Alabaster's sudden presence and mischievous grin. What a fool he was to let Alabaster take him outside. Before he knew it, he was here.

“I would slap you," Thea says. "This is no one’s fault but Alabaster’s.”

He raises his eyes and smiles at her through his lashes. Thea makes him feel young again, as free and painless as if he’d never been dragged down here.

She pulls back, dries her eyes, and says steadily, “Me and Damokles have been waiting outside the door every night. Alabaster has been greedy, going out more often to collect new victims. He’s been careless. He leaves the door open enough for me to slip in through the darkness. He’s bright enough to take up all the light, he doesn’t notice me.”

Cyril’s heart pounds. Damokles. He resists temptation to ask about him—Thea would tell him if something was amiss with him—and instead asks, “How long have you been trying to get in here?”

“Too long. I’ve only been able to set foot inside some of his maze before he comes back or locks the door. This place is convoluted.” She swallows. “Do you even know where you are?”

He doesn’t care about where he is, he cares that she is actually starting to sound real, which is the worse option. If she’s just Alabaster’s creation, she’ll be ripped away from him. if she’s real, she’ll be ripped away from him when Alabaster discovers them together, and that will hurt ten times as much.

“Yes,” he says, smiling. “The eighth ring of hell. I’ve been through them all. The misconception is that each gets worse the further up you go, but that’s not true. Each sector of hell is just as bad as the last, just in different ways.” He licks his lips.

“Alabaster has spared nothing spared nothing in my tour of his domain. He’s shown me every piece of what he calls art. I have become so intimately familiar with the beauty of hell, the beauty of pain, the purity of it. He says it reduces us to our most basic needs again, tears down our walls and erases our dignity. He loves watching the change.”

Her mouth drops open. “He—” A distant creak draws her eye, whipping her hair into his eyes.

“That’s nothing,” he says. “I hear that ten times a day.”

“Nothing for you, maybe. That’s the sound of Alabaster opening the door.”

“Really? It’s that quiet? That’s a bit anti-climactic.”

She hasn’t taken her eyes off the door. “I need to go.”

“No,” he says, rattling his chains, which is more likely to draw Alabaster than their voices. He seems to have a sense for when Cyril is struggling or in pain more than when he’s talking to himself. “Please. Don’t leave. I won’t survive it.”

I won’t survive it? He’s survived far more corporeal pain than Thea’s absence. Moreover, where is this panic coming from?

“I’m sorry,” she echoes—now she’s the one with nothing to apologize for. The last thing he wants is her getting trapped down here too. He’d sooner endure everything Alabaster has done to him again than let him touch her. “I’ll be back, I swear. Damokles and I miss you more than you know.” She feeds him the rest of the water and kisses him one more time, a break from the endless heat. He takes it greedily. He’ll take everything he can get.

“That one’s from him,” she says, longing eyes raking him over one last time, before disappearing into the shadows of the corner. He knows she’s gone—the flames flicker, almost going out, before returning in full force. The sweat she wiped away from his forehead returns quicker than he would’ve liked, but at least Alabaster doesn’t come running.

***

“Hello, beautiful. Let’s go.”

Alabaster sweeps into the room in a ray of light blocking out the darkness of the hallway behind him. The clank his lantern makes when he sets it on the floor is a noise Cyril hears in his dreams.

Cyril stopped speaking to him long ago, and he ignores Alabaster while he reaches up, spreading his sweet smell everywhere, to free his arms. Through gritted teeth and a stifled shout, he lowers them, resisting the familiar temptation to shake them out.

“You know you don’t have to hide your sounds,” Alabaster says. “They’re like music to me, the finest lutes and cellos all at once.”

“That’s exactly why I do.” It’s the first time he’s spoken in a week, and his voice is hoarse and dry with thirst and underuse. “No water this time?”

“I have something better.”

“Better for you, maybe.”

Alabaster grins, showing sharp white canines, running a hand through white blond hair. He’s always chosen a wickedly tall body with long, pale fingers, skinny as a stick. The sleeves of the crisp white shirt under his brown waistcoat are always rolled up above his elbows, ready at a moment’s notice to get elbow deep. Black trousers are always stainless and black shoes are always shined perfectly.

He never wears a hint of the filth that lives in his mind, the grime that’s often under his fingernails. The only light he gets is that of the flames—he’d never go near Cyril’s sun if he could help it, just in case it might hurt him. He only leaves to draw in more victims, never under Thea’s moonlight. Cyril has been around him long enough to know that he’s not invincible, not mentally, at least. He does have fears.

To be fair, Cyril can’t think of many who wouldn’t be terrified of Theadora.

Alabaster rests a hand on his lower back as he escorts him out of his little room; Cyril jerks out of the way.

Alabaster is a whole head and slim shoulders above him, and Cyril hates having to look up at him, but his power on this place prevents Cyril from changing his own appearance. He’s been stuck with white skin, plain blond hair and sea blue eyes for however long he’s been down here, a short body with a bit of fabricated muscle—Thea liked that. He hasn't seen his own shirt since he got here, and his pants are somehow still clean.

Gods don't need to eat, so Alabaster never feeds him. Just one more pleasure he can deprive Cyril of.

After this, when he gets out, because there will be a when, Thea will come back—he’ll never be able to stomach wearing a toned body again. Perhaps the strength Cyril gave himself improved his endurance a little bit, but he stopped counting his blessings long ago.

He and the others are the ones who give the blessings. They shouldn’t be able to take them from each other, but Alabaster has taught him with not just words that anything can be broken if you try long enough, human or god.

The only thing Alabaster doesn’t have control of down here is his eyes, orange like his flames. Every master of hell has to don them while they’re down here.

The orange glows and dispels all hints of innocent gold. That gold fades every time Alabaster sets foot here in his heaven, and returns when he mingles with normal humans, enticing them with his beauty to follow him to the point of no return.

“So,” Alabaster drawls as they walk out of Cyril’s little prison room into the darkness of the hall together, the screams louder and everything dirtier, “you’re in a rather good mood.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You’re glowing. I work hard to make sure no one glows except me.”

Cyril rolls his eyes. Let Alabaster psychoanalyze him all he wants, that won’t change the fact that for the first time, Cyril has hope built on fact. Hope is something Alabaster can beat out of him, but not if he doesn’t know why Cyril has it, and he’s already exhausted the Thea-and-Damokles-aren’t-coming-to-save-you angle. It’s a novelty now.

Alabaster shepherds him to a room Cyril could easily find on his own now, hell’s elevator, or as Alabaster likes to call it, the hellevator. The box of iron bars is decorated with skulls. Cyril started naming them a while ago to occupy his mind. Tiana stares down at him from the top corner, Alis from the outside looking in.

He waves at them. Alabaster doesn’t keep him in chains outside his room, since there’s no hope of him escaping hell. Only the master of hell can open the door, and only from the inside.

The elevator takes off with a lurch that knocks Cyril backward. It's nothing more than a cage, and no more stable, but Alabaster is convinced of his own invincibility, that nothing will ever befall him in his own domain. Cyril is determined to prove him wrong.

As the elevator finally stops, he lands with another lurch that ends with him face first in the filthy ground. It’s far from the first time, and he picks himself up with what dignity he has left while Alabaster strides out upright.

Alabaster brings him past room after room, cell after cell of unfortunate people like him who have endured Alabaster’s abuse like him. They stop in front of a pair of bone decorated double doors that stretch up toward the sky, shadows licking at the walls. Screams seem to come from within, or perhaps that’s just Cyril’s mind.

The doors open slowly, apparently triggered by Alabaster’s presence. “Welcome to my newest creation,” Alabaster says with a grin, spreading his arms. The room is large and shiny and new, not yet tainted with bloodstains and misery. Cyril is here to break it in.

Cyril lays on the table where Alabaster asks him to, doesn’t try to run. He’s tried, so many times. It gets him nowhere. It’s easier just to submit.

Alabaster probably likes this best. Not the physical pain, the scars, the blood, but rather watching all the joy and hope fade from Cyril’s eyes.

Alabaster loves nothing more than inflicting pain, but he has too many unwilling participants to get to. He only personally tends to a handful of his favorites, but he’s made it abundantly clear that Cyril is his ultimate favorite. “I’ve managed to capture a god,” he said when Cyril asked. “An equal. How could I not treasure that? I will find time to visit you personally every week however long as I keep interest in you.”

Alabaster will never lose interest.

What gets Cyril through it this day is the memory of Thea’s icy hands on him, her tear filled kiss, her promising words. Hope. Hope will get you killed here, or it can sustain you if you’re lucky. If you hide it well enough.

Hope is the memory of the natural warmth of his sun on his chest instead of the harsh heat of hellfire. He thinks of one day in particular, laying in a field north of Actium, flowers arranged in his hair by Thea, the wind threatening to blow them away while Damokles’ fingers carded mindlessly through it.

They had so few worries, then. They are gods, what do they have to worry about? They are eternal. Nothing can hurt them but themselves and each other.

The irony of that, as Alabaster does what he does best, is striking.

***

The next time Thea visits, she brings Damokles.

Damokles has no control over the shadows, the darkness, hell, and especially not keeping silent, so Cyril doesn’t know how Thea managed to sneak him in, but that’s not the important part. The important part is that in seconds, Cyril has Damokles wrapped around him for the first time in who knows how long.

Thea stands to the side, her eyes brimming with tears but letting a weeping Damokles have his moment. Not much except pain can bring Cyril to tears, but the deep, chest wracking sobs Damokles lets out nearly do. “Oh, Cyril,” he cries, clearly unafraid of drawing Alabaster’s attention the way Thea was. “Sweet, sweet Cyril. My love. What has he done to you? I will rip him apart with my bare hands.”

Cyril smiles. “I’ve always loved your passion, but I think Thea’s iciness will be more lethal. You are nothing but fire, and while it is beautiful, Alabaster revels in it. Is resistant to it.” He looks over Damokles’ shoulder at her, the way she crosses her arms and passively admires them both.

“Fair enough.” Damokles kisses him with salty tears trapped between them, igniting the fresh wounds on Cyril’s face, but it doesn’t matter. His lips stretch his wounded cheeks into a stinging smile.

“Cyril, have you seen yourself?”

His smile fades. “No. Why?”

Damokles slicks back his black hair with his hand, and Cyril gets to admire the way the firelight dances off his olive skin. Cyril has a love hate relationship with the flames and the light they paint onto his lovers’ faces.

“Thea, can you get him a mirror?” Damokles asks, now decidedly not looking at him. Cyril’s heart begins to sink.

“I’m ugly to you now?” he asks quietly.

“No, no,” Damokles predictably says, cupping his cheeks. “Nothing could ever make you ugly in my eyes, or hers.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Damokles.”

Thea passes Damokles a mirror, who holds it up in front of Cyril’s face.

The sight there takes his breath away.

Alabaster never gave him a mirror down here, ever, and for good reason. What has to be months and months, maybe even years of abuse and torture is shown on his face in lines of scars like claw marks. There’s an x over his right eye—he doesn’t even remember that one. What Alabaster does to him sometimes bleeds into mindless waves of pain.

“Tilt it down,” he breaths in a voice deep and full of grief that’s not his own. Thea takes in a sharp breath, and Damokles searches his face uncertainly before complying.

Cyril has never been vain about his looks—how could he when he could just change them anytime? But Alabaster’s hell is different. He can’t just wave away his scars. Anything etched into his skin down here will remain, which is probably why Alabaster has been so thorough in marking him.

The first time Alabaster brought him out of his little prison room, freed him from his chains, Cyril attacked him. Alabaster would’ve hurt him regardless, but the fire in his eyes increased after he pried Cyril’s hands from around his neck. He gave Cyril his first scar, a slash across his palm that cut deep and bled deeper. Before Alabaster put him back in chains, which effectively cut off his powers, Cyril tried to heal himself. Alabaster’s laugh afterwards still haunts him.

“That won’t work,” he said, smiling. “Hell’s scars cut deeper. They can’t be wiped away by anyone but me. I am going to enjoy making a canvas out of you, beautiful.”

Cyril spat in his face, but that didn’t change the outcome. Now, Alabaster’s masterpiece is unveiled to him for the first time. The body looking back at him in the mirror is unrecognizable in its horrors, faded pink lines wrapping around his torso like a rope, a collection of slashes over his heart, one long cut from his jaw to his collarbone.

He remembers that one, remembers wondering how it didn’t kill him. Of course, Alabaster would never let him die. He has utter control of every piece of matter in every circle of hell, from the worst torture rooms at the top, to the sixth ring where Cyril’s prison lies, to the door leading to the outside world at the bottom.

Cyril is strangely fascinated by his new appearance. A wave of panic that he’s stuck with this now washes over him, but he stubbornly pushes it back. He’s survived so much worse than vanity.

“Please, be honest,” he begs, hanging his head, letting his arms hold his weight like he does when he’s alone. “You truly don’t think differently of me?”

Thea and Damokles are silent for a long time, exchanging uncertain glances, which does nothing good for Cyril’s esteem. Finally Damokles turns to him and says, shaky and angry, “Of course I view you differently. I view you as someone who’s gone through pain and horrors I can’t even imagine, with scars he would probably love to get rid of but can’t. Cyril, I’m pissed.”

Cyril swallows. Thea murmurs Damokles’ name and lays a hand on his arm, but he shakes it off. Damokles never hides his emotions. There isn’t enough space within him to contain everything he feels—it’s the reason every human looks to him for guidance with the head and the heart.

“I’m pissed that Alabaster did this, more pissed than I could ever express. I’m a little pissed at you for not being pissed at us, for thinking we’d ever abandon you, that we haven’t been trying to find you. Don’t deny it, I know that look on your face. Most of all, I’m pissed that we took so long to get here. I’m pissed at myself for not doing more.”

He pushes his hair back again, long curls always falling into his eyes, and seems to get some of his sense back. “Thea will attest that she had to hold me back every time we watched Alabaster leave hell. I could barely keep my hands to myself, I wanted them around his pale little throat. His unmarred, unscarred throat.” Damokles’ fists clench. Cyril shivers under the burning rage in both their eyes, boiling—or in Thea’s case, freezing—just under the surface.

“Cyril, you are the bravest thing I’ve known. I love you. Nothing could ever change that. How could I ever be anything but horrified for you?”

“I don’t want you to be horrified,” Cyril says. “I want you to treat me the same way you always have. I just want to go back to how things were before I was abducted.”

Thea’s sad eyes tell him what he already knows: things will never be the same again. But Cyril can shut his eyes and pretend, just for a moment, that they’re back in the field under the sun with Thea’s flowers and Damokles’ fingers in his hair.

“Can you hang in here just one more week?” Damokles asks. “We’ll get you out. I have a plan.”

Cyril’s eyes dart to Thea, raising an eyebrow. She’s staring at Damokles like she’s never seen him before.

Cyril swallows all his questions and nods. “Okay. I trust you.”

Damokles breaks into a blinding white grin and kisses him again, sweet and hot in the way Cyril needs. Thea is wonderful, and sometimes is the break from reality he needs, but Damokles is the dose of truth no one else will tell him.

Thea’s icy kiss comes next, with both of them their arms around him to follow. “When you’re out and completely free of pain,” Damokles says, a promise burning in his eyes, “I’ll show you exactly what I think of your scars.” Thea hits his arm, calls him inappropriate, but Cyril’s grin reassures them both.

They disappear into the shadows, Damokles holding tightly to Thea’s arm. The heat of the flames doesn’t feel so intense, now. When Alabaster comes the following week, Cyril is almost grinning, and no question Alabaster poses in between cuts and bruises can make him give them up.

***

It’s not Alabaster’s abuse or declining sanity that will kill him, it’s the anticipation, the waiting. When Thea and Damokles finally melt out of the shadows, after an eternity of waiting, Cyril’s stomach is in knots. Even stranger, both of them are empty handed.

“How are we going to get me out of here if you have nothing to do so?” Cyril demands before noticing the expressions on their faces. Damokles’ mouth is set in a grim line, and he tries to force a smile that just doesn’t stick. He’s uptight and determined about something, or, more accurately, stubborn.

Thea is furious. She’s perfectly composed and neat as always, but her fists are clenched and the air in the room is more frigid than usual. Cyril isn’t complaining about the latter, but they’re obviously withholding information. “What’s going on?”

“We’re here to get you out, like we promised,” Thea says in a far stiffer tone than he pictured her saying those words, glaring at Damokles’ back. Cyril has tried getting her to budge when she shuts herself off before, and it’s a fruitless effort, so he doesn’t even try now. He’s always been the calm force keeping those two storms from destroying each other. Without him there to separate them, who knows what they’ve gotten up to.

“And how are you going to do that?” Cyril asks again, shaking his chains. “Only Alabaster can get me out of these.”

“Oh, love, is that what he’s been telling you all this time?” Damokles asks with the pain of the heartbroken. “We can’t open the doors of hell, we can’t remove your scars, but gods have more influence in hell than you would think.”

Cyril’s blood begins boiling just under his skin. “Are you telling me I could’ve freed myself somehow this whole time?”

“No, those chains are as anti-god as I’ve ever seen. We didn’t free you before because we didn’t know—we just found this week—but it’s probably a good idea we didn’t. I would’ve hated causing you the pain of replacing them before Alabastard got back.” Damokles closes his eyes and breathes slowly, fists clenched at his sides. The fire flutters in the room, and a pop of air follows.

The breath is knocked out of Cyril as the chains abruptly break and drop his arms from the ceiling. Much like the elevator, he falls to his knees with the force of it. Thea is there immediately to hug him while Damokles deals with the noise of the chains. Cyril leaves the possibility of Alabaster in their hands, they’re not stupid. He allows himself to bury his face in her neck and shake, weak with relief.

“It’s okay now,” she murmurs into his hair. “You’re going to see your sun again soon. My moon.”

He begins quietly sobbing.

He told himself, all the times he foolishly dreamt of freedom only for Alabaster to drive the dream out of him, that he wouldn’t cry. He’d stay strong, he’d pretend he was fine. Damokles and Thea are too perceptive, too sensitive, he didn’t want to upset them any more than he knew they would be.

So much for that.

“Please,” he begs, a word he’s used so much, but never like this. He’s shaking all over, bleeding from his lip, bleeding inside, burning. He’s always burning, always bleeding, always pleading. Alabaster thrives on it. “Help me. Get me out of this place. Can't you just take me out through the shadows?”

“We will get you out,” she says shakily, dodging the question, cradling the back of his sweaty, bloody head against her. She’s on the verge of tears. Damokles drops to the floor to join the pile, wrapping chiseled arms around them both. They sit there in silence for a moment, grieving and celebrating and fearing and hoping. Cyril’s heart is so full of love for both of them he could burst.

“What about Alabaster?” Cyril has to ask at last. They can’t avoid him forever.

Damokles stands and suddenly shouts, “Alabaster! Come out, you bastard. Face us.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Cyril hisses, but Thea holds him down. "Let's just go out through the shadows." He'll leave Alabaster behind, he'll leave it all behind without revenge if it means he can just be safe.

“He’s an idiot,” she says, “but you have to trust him. He has a plan.”

“I know how hell works, Thea. I know the limits of Damokles’ stupidity.”

She just cradles him closer. He should've known Damokles wouldn't be able to leave without revenge.

After a few minutes of nothing, a great rumble begins shaking the room. If Cyril still hides his head in Thea’s neck, who’s to judge?

Alabaster has never made a dramatic entrance like this before, which must mean Damokles is onto something.

Cyril hears the moment Alabaster enters the room, firm boots on stone, Thea’s inhale. Cyril raises his head and sees Damokles standing tall and strong, his favorite handmade sword stashed somewhere else. It wouldn’t do anything against a god—Thea begged him not to include that in the list of things it could slice through like bread, and he loved her enough to agree.

Quick as Thea’s lightning, Damokles lunges forward and wraps his arms around Alabaster from behind. He is the patron of soldiers for a reason, his strength is unmatched, his grip sure. Alabaster struggles to no avail.

Cyril studies the contrast in them with pleasure. Damokles meets his eyes, panting, and smirks. Alabaster isn’t struggling, bucking Damokles off like he did so easily with Cyril. Perhaps it’s Damokles’ natural strength, maybe Alabaster is more afraid of him than Cyril.

“Oh, Alabaster,” Cyril says, smiling. “You spent so long trying to teach me the beauty of your ways, but you never believed I’d start agreeing with you. Well, here you go.” He raises his arms, trying to hide a wince and stifle a groan of pain. Thea’s hands on his waist help steady him—though that might just be her calming powers. “Here is the result of your hard work in all its glory. Are you happy now?”

Alabaster looks at him through long, pale eyelashes. He manages a manic grin through the grimace breaking out on his face, licking the sweat off of his lip. He’s blinking and flicking his hair like that will do anything about the sweat. Cyril is looking forward to watching him realize nothing will work.

“This won’t work,” Alabaster says. “Keep me as long as you want, but you’ll never leave. Only the master of hell can open the door, and from the inside, and I swear I’ll never open it for you as long as I live.”

“Good thing you’re not going to be the master of hell much longer,” Damokles says, lowering Alabaster to his knees in front of him, hands held behind his back. His eyes meet a breathless Cyril’s. “Shall I place him in your hooks?”

Cyril, open mouthed, is speechless even for that question. He can only manage a small shake of the head. “Keep him low, where he belongs. Don’t give him the dignity of meeting your eyes.”

Damokles nods in approval. Thea helps Cyril to his feet to avoid that exact issue, and Damokles ties Alabaster’s hands more securely with some rope. “What the hell do you mean?” Cyril asks.

Damokles meets his eyes without fear, a dark, intense stare. “I mean, I’m going to kill Alabaster and take his place.”

The whole room freezes. Even the fire seems to still.

Cyril looks at Thea for help, but her arms are crossed and her face set in that same muted furious expression she arrived with. He understands the fierce determination in Damokles’ eyes now.

“You’re not.”

“I will. That bastard doesn’t deserve to live, and you two deserve to get out.”

“Why can’t you just take both of us through with your shadows?” Cyril demands of Thea.

She’s crying now, silent and strong, even with her cheeks shiny and wet. “The moment Alabaster places his mark on someone, like a scar, they are bound to this place and its rules. No shadows for you.”

“Not even after his death?”

She shakes her head and squeezes his waist. “I tried so hard to talk him out of it,” she says, gesturing to Damokles. “His mind can’t be changed.”

“Damokles, no,” Cyril says. This can’t be real. “Don’t do this to us. I can’t lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” Damokles says, his own eyes shining. He’s smiling, though. “If we could, I would have you kill him.”

Cyril breathes out. “I don’t want you to get trapped down here! At least, uh”—he rubs his forehead— “you be the master only until Thea and I can find someone to take your place. We’ll find a way to do it without you having to be killed.”

“You would involve a human in this mess? An innocent?”

“I won’t lose you.”

“It’ll be preferable to what you went through,” Damokles counters, though Cyril sees his hands trembling. Cyril’s lower lip begins trembling.

“I’m not sure it will be,” he chokes out. “You’ll be without the physical pain. The rest is the same. I never had to manage the eight rings of hell.”

Damokles shakes his head, turning his eyes back to his prey. He sighs, then his hands are moving.

“Damokles, no!” Cyril yells. Thea’s hands hold him back, but it’s too late—rather, Damokles ignores him. He wrenches Alabaster’s head to the side with a crunch as satisfying as it is agonizing to watch. Thea squeezes his hand and lets out a harsh, shuddering breath, as Alabaster’s pale head falls limp.

The room begins shaking again. Thea falls to her knees and presses her forehead to the ground, Cyril is rooted to the spot. Damokles stands tall and breathes in, embracing his new role. When he opens his eyes, they’re bright, flame orange.

“You idiot,” Cyril hisses, shoving him back. “You didn’t give me any time to input. You never think. We could’ve worn him down in one of the hundreds of rooms alone I was sent to. We could’ve gotten our revenge and our freedom. Instead, you decided to become the master of hell instead. We’re split up again.”

“Better me than you.” Damokles yanks open the door of Cyril’s little room and walking with purpose. Cyril follows him. “Tell me where the door to this place is. I don’t know this place from the inside yet.”

“West,” Cyril says automatically, then curses himself. “You can’t just leave with us. Too long away and you’ll start to wither away, and I’m not coming back here if I can help it. This isn’t a solution. Far from it.”

“Hell no you’re not coming back here. Never again, for you.” Damokles takes a deep breath as Cyril guides him to the elevator. Thea is hot on their heels, shadows licking the ground. “Cyril, I did this because I love you and Thea more than I’ve ever loved anything. I would set fire to our Actium in a day if it meant protecting you. I didn’t care what it would take to free you, I just didn’t want you to suffer you anymore.”

“When you described how we’d spend our time when I was free, had you made up your mind then? Were you lying through your teeth?”

“No, dammit,” Damokles growls, turning around and pushing him against the wall. It burns Cyril’s back, but not as much as his kiss. “Don’t worry about me.”

“What if I love you, too?” Cyril yells back. “What if I never wanted us to be apart again? I will find a way to fix this. We will get you out.”

Damokles doesn’t argue.

When they reach the door Cyril tried to break out of so many times, tall, white, and uncharacteristically clean, Damokles kisses Thea goodbye. Tears begin filling Cyril’s eyes again as Damokles presses both hands to the door and murmurs something under his breath. It opens as easily as a human door.

“There you go,” Damokles whispers. Cyril can smell the fresh air, and it almost brings him to his knees, but he doesn’t look yet. He stubbornly looks back at the aching oranges and blacks, the smell of smoke that’s ingrained into his soul now, the blistering heat they’re leaving Damokles behind in. Thea’s hand snakes into his, and Cyril squeezes it like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

“We’ll meet again,” Damokles promises, before the door swings shut and locks with a boom. Cyril misses him immediately in a wave of incredible grief.

He turns around.

The sky is so very black, the stars so very bright, the air so very cool. Cyril closes his eyes and breathes in, long and slow the way he dreamed of for so, so, so long. But his right hand is painfully empty, the pains of hell too fresh. He needs a thousand baths, a thousand days in the sun, but he’ll never stop wishing Damokles was there.

Cyril breathes, closes his eyes, and with barely any effort changes his hair to a dull, mousy brown. It's an immediate relief, enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Cyril says, “but I already want to go back.”

“Yeah,” Thea murmurs, thick with tears. Cyril lets her cry, too in pain and exhausted to do anything but hold her hand and stand in solidarity.

In his mind, he’s in the field with flowers and fingers and laughter in his hair, the sun warming them all.

It's so peaceful at night.

It's wrong.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog

tag of interest: @aelenko

[atomicblasphemy]

So, that before opening credits scene at the grom episode, I’ve been putting a lot of thinking into it. Here’s the thing, we see the portal open and King is watching so videos on Luz’s phone, right? Moreover, there’s a charger there that leads straight to the aforementioned portal. Now, this means that they are pretty much siphoning electricity from somewhere in the human realm. And we know for a fact that the human realm side of the portal is in a ran down shack that’s pretty unlikely to have power, also its in a pretty isolated wooden area. This leads to the unavoidable questions of: a - where the hell is the outlet?  b - how long is that damn extension cord (and where can I buy one as long as that)?

For all we know, Luz and Camila’s home is the closest building to that ran down shack, i.e. the most likely answer to question a. This raises a few interesting scenarios, because it means that someone from the owl house would need to go through the portal, probably carrying an obscene amount of electric cables, go into Camila’s home, plug it, and make sure that Camila won’t unplug it.

First candidate for the job would be King, obviously. Problem is, he probably wouldn’t stand for such a lowly job. Besides he is likely too tiny to carry all that  amount of power cables.

Second candidate: Luz herself. This should be even more difficult.

-----------

“Mija? What are you doing?”

“Oh... Hi, Mami... Nothing, just uhhh charging my phone.”

“Why here, though? Don’t they have power at camp? Is that why you’re not returning my messages?”

“They... uhhh...” *sprints back to the portal*

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

And, of course the third candidate would be Eda.

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

“Miss Noceda, I understand you are in a lot of distress right now. But I need you to try again and tell us what happened in a calm manner. You said there was a break in, right? Where did the intruder go and when did this creature appear?”

After taking a few long breaths, looking at the officer’s eyes she continued. A few meters behind a large feathery figure lay asleep, it’s body coated with the colors of many tranquilizing darts.

“I... I was trying to get some sleep. I have long shifts and little chance to rest so this normally comes pretty easily. But as soon as my head hits the pillow I start hearing noises from downstairs, like someone going through my stuff. So I grab the first heavy object I find and start making my way there. So... In the middle of the living room is this tall white lady, striking ambar eyes, long grey hair going all the way down to her hips... and that tight fitting burgundy dress, like something that she had worn multiple times, but she still looked surprisingly elegant in it...” “Ma’am, please stay on track. You mentioned she said her name was ‘Edalyn Clawthorne’, most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles. Is that correct?”

“Right, sorry about that. But yeah, that’s correct.”

“We have checked, many times actually, for an Edalyn Clawthorne and nothing came up. Needless to say the same goes for those ‘Boiling Isles’. Did the intruder present any other form of behavior that you, especially considering your line of work, would understand as indicative of drug use or anything along those lines?”

“Humm... Well... Right after she introduced herself she said she was there to steal my power, some of my stuff... then she took a long look at me and said ‘and with some luck, your heart’. Then she winked at me and... I believe the kids call it fingerguns... She did that. That’s pretty much all that happened before I remember this person was invading my house and then I started yelling and trying to hit her with my bedside lamp. That’s when... Look, you won’t believe me anyway...”

“Why don’t you try me anyway?”

After taking a deep sigh, Camila continued.

“Right... At first she seemed like she was trying to calm me down or something. Then all of a sudden her eyes started going all black...”

“Mhmm”

“She let out this blood curling screech. It sounded almost as if she was in pain.”

“Mhmm”

“Then the feathers started appearing, her body started growing... I really thought she was going to kill me.”

“I see... That being the case how do you explain the first officers in the scene reporting they found the creature cuddling up to you in the front porch and the two of you watching Up! on your phone?”

“Well... First of all, shiny things seem to calm her down. Second, I didn’t know birds could purr.”

Meanwhile, the house’s backdoor is open, a long white cord snake in. It’s end laying a few inches from an unused outlet.

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

Suffice to say Eda would be a no go either.

This leaves Owlbert. He is used to the human realm, but there’s again the problem of size. Nevertheless, the biggest problem is he obvious cuteness, which means that if Camilla is anything like her daughter, means the lady will try adopting and we might get some kind of weird reverse version of the show staring Camilla and Owlbert.

This leaves one final option. And I think it is important at this point to remind ourselves that it is of the utmost importance that the power cord remains connected to an outlet in the Noceda household at all times.

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

Camila had just laid her head on the pillow. The softness of the fabric was a great contrast to the sounds emerging from downstairs. There was no question: her house was being burglarized. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence around those parts, she wanted to afford Luz the most safety and comfort possible but there was only so much her limited income could do. She was terrified, but also curious. After all, it stands to reason that criminals more often than not use discretion as their best weapon, the way the make sure to be long gone before the victim ever realizes that there even was a crime.

Whoever was downstairs, they had not intention of making their presence a secret. They had broken through the window and the shattering glass was loud enough in the mostly empty house, but that didn’t seem to be enough for whoever was down there. It sounded as though a tornado was taking place entirely on her living room and kitchen.

Curiosity defeats fear. She opens her chamber door, tentative steps heading towards the stairways. She was never a reckless person, she knew the costs and consequences actions can have. But something deep in her being, churning up her guts, screamin that what was taking place in her home did not belong in this world. That whatever it was she would never have another chance of witnessing and no amount of adult responsibility can defeat the childish urge for wonder. She thought of the daughter she so missed. And such novelties are hardly ever divorced from the fear of the unknown.

The final step and she was at last on ground level. Sure enough, she could see plenty signs of the devastation. Furniture upturned, shelves spilling their contents on the floor, dirt and mud splattered in all surfaces. But, nothing missed. Not much broken either. Whoever was there, their intentions evaded her entirely.

The kitchen. A loud metallic bang came from the kitchen.

When had she start shaking?

She regrets her former bravery, but she was a Noceda, she crossed the sea in search of a better life. She faced monsters before. She was no coward.

Camila Noceda was no coward. She looked into the kitchen.

There was the intruder, whatever it was. She lacked names for the being, no, the monster making a ruckus in her kitchen. In it’s beak a plug it tried to jam into one of the outlets on the wall and surprisingly enough it was the one closest to the window it had entered through. And she knew that that had been the entry point better than she knew her own name at this point. It the shattered glass on the flower was not incontrovertible evidence enough the damning proof was that the being had not yet finished crossing that threshold. Perhaps it never would. Its body, this elongated yellow mass of yellow feathers was still on the window, going back into the woods to an unfathomable distances.

This monster, she knew did not belong in this world. Reality was unkind, and working with the healing of bodies she knew nature could be cruel. But this. This was madness. And finally when the creature seems to notice her presence the void in it’s eyes seemed to voice agreement with such belief.

It’s birdlike face inched ever closer to Camila’s. She couldn’t move. The power cord still in the creatures beaks. Camila would have once considered owls as the most precious and adorable birds. No longer.

It offered the power cord to the human. She plugged it. Mortals could not challenge the designs of immortals, after all.

The creature seemed satisfied. It’s face grew even closer to Camila’s, and finally a sound in a surprisingly screechy voice echoed through the ravaged home and it’s denizens soul:

“H O O T”

And before perception could catch up, it was gone.

She would live in the house for the remainder of the many decades of her life. Things would change, new pieces of furniture, new colors, adaptations to accommodate an aging body.

Much would change in the Noceda home over the years. But that plugged power cord would be a constant. A heirloom she would pass on for generations. An offering to make sure whatever demon, or god she made acquaintances with that night would remain satisfied, not to return to this world, not to ravage it one home at a time again.

--------

So yeah, I’m pretty sure Hooty was the one that made sure the owl house has a reliable source of electricity.

[theundercovermarvelfan]

(Image Credit: Whumptober Challenge Tumblr)

@whumptober2021​

Day Five I’ve Got Red in My Ledger

​Betrayal | Misunderstanding | Broken Nose

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

“Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how gods talk? And if that’s how you feel... what about Bucky?”

XxXxX

Despite Bucky’s protests, Sam wasn’t about to let him face Zemo alone. Together they traveled to Sokovia, and just as Bucky had predicted, they found Zemo standing at the base of the memorial. Sam hung back while Bucky walked forward to confront Zemo. 

“I thought you’d be here sooner,” Zemo commented as Bucky walked into his peripheral vision, not taking his eyes off the memorial. There was a heavy pause. “Don’t worry. I’ve decided I’m not going to kill you.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, a strange feeling in his gut at those words. He had the sudden urge to walk forward and stand protectively next to Bucky… but he had promised Bucky that he would let him handle this on his own. 

“Imagine my relief,” Bucky said flatly. 

Zemo finally looked up as Bucky cocked his gun. He looked at the gun, but strangely seemed unfazed. Instead, he actually turned and practically strolled toward Bucky as if it were any old day.

“The girl has been radicalized beyond salvation. I warned Sam,” Zemo briefly glanced in Sam’s direction, “but he didn’t listen to me. He’s as stubborn as Steve Rogers before him. But you… They literally programmed you to kill.” 

Sam didn’t miss the way that Bucky tensed, his grip tightening on the gun. Just do it, Sam silently pleaded. But of course, Bucky didn’t. Instead, he continued to listen to Zemo for god knows what reason. Sam had no idea why he was even bothering to humor Zemo at this point.

“James, do what needs to be done,” Zemo went on. “Karli has people everywhere, and there’s only one way to make sure she cannot continue her mission.”

“I appreciate the advice,” Bucky said stoically. “But we’re gonna do it our own way.”

Zemo chuckled softly to himself. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I was afraid you’d say that.” 

It happened fast. Zemo whipped a pistol out of his coat and fired off three shots. Sam found himself running forward before he even really knew what was happening. Bucky was falling backward, but he somehow still had the presence of mind to raise his own gun and return fire. Zemo cried out, his own gun clattering to the ground. 

And it was only then, as Sam reached the pair, that he finally comprehended that Bucky had been shot. 

“Bucky!” Sam shouted as he dropped to his knees next to his friend. He grabbed the gun from Bucky’s loosened grip and turned it on Zemo, who was clutching his arm where Bucky’s bullet had found purchase. “Don’t you dare!”

But instead of going for his gun, Zemo lifted his free hand slightly in a gesture of defeat. “I hold no ill will toward you, Sam.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to kill him,” Sam growled, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he sounded like a child. Did he really believe that Zemo was a man of his word?

“I didn’t think I would,” Zemo said with a shrug and then a wince. “But if James isn’t going to kill Karli… then there is no use for him.”

“You sonofabitch!” Sam spat. 

Just then, there was a commotion just beyond the tree line. Sam tensed as he shifted his gun… only to find it was the Dora Milaje that Bucky had summoned. Sam quickly shifted his gun back to Zemo as the women   hurried over to them. 

“Ladies,” Zemo greeted, not looking at all surprised by their sudden appearance.

As the warriors surrounded Zemo, Sam finally was able to drop his gun and turn to Bucky. 

“Bucky?” Sam said desperately. 

Bucky was startlingly pale, his breaths coming shallow and fast threw his nose as he clenched his jaw so tightly Sam wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked a tooth. His eyes were opened but stared straight up, and Sam wasn’t even sure that he knew he was there. 

“Take it easy, let me see what we’re working with here,” Sam said as he quickly unzipped Bucky’s jacket. 

There were two dark stains on Bucky’s shirt underneath the jacket. One high on the right side of his chest, just below his collar bone, and a second on the right side of his abdomen. Sam figured the third shot must have missed completely, or hit Bucky’s vibranium arm. He reached over and lifted Bucky slightly as he looked for exit wounds. Just the small motion drew a wheezing groan to claw up Bucky’s throat. There was only one exit wound. It was low on Bucky’s back, likely from the shot to his abdomen.

“Damnit, Bucky,” Sam breathed as he carefully laid Bucky back flat on the ground, the severity of the wounds crashing down over him. 

“Does he need aid?” 

Sam glanced up to see Ayo had approached, looking down at them with concern. 

Sam nodded immediately. “He’s been shot,” he reported flatly, shock causing him to default to his pararescue training. He ripped off his own jacket and shoved it underneath Bucky in order to get pressure on the wound in his back. “Two entry wounds, one exit. Lost at least a pint of blood already, maybe more with internal bleeding.” 

It didn’t feel real. He was talking about a nameless patient… not a friend who had become one of the most important people in the world to him.

“We will bring a gurney,” Ayo said. “We can help him back in Wakanda.”

Sam swallowed thickly and nodded. Ayo turned and hurried back to the woods where Sam assumed they had left their jet. 

Sam took off his own jacket and laid it across the two entry wounds so that he could put pressure on both. But as soon as he did, Bucky cried out horribly, his back arching and bucking against Sam’s hands.

“Easy, easy Bucky!” Sam said desperately. “I’m sorry, but I have to do it, you’re losing a lot of blood. Just take it easy, help it on the way, got it?”

But Bucky didn’t appear to hear him. His head rolled listlessly from one side to the other as he gasped in desperate breaths. 

“Bucky?” Sam tried again to get Bucky’s attention. “Bucky? C’mon, talk to me, man. Can you hear me? Buck? Please?” 

Finally, Bucky’s eyes drifted in Sam’s direction, slipping past him for a moment before refocusing. “Sam?” Bucky hissed threw his teeth. 

“I need you to hold on, okay Buck?” Sam said firmly. “Help is on the way and you are going to be fine despite that incredibly stupid stunt you pulled.”

“Not gonna…” Bucky rasped, pausing to heave another breath. “Not gonna tell me… tell me you told me so… are you?”

Sam huffed out a half sigh, half laugh at that. “Not now. I’ll do it later when you don’t look so pathetic. Deal?”

Bucky gave a small smirk, but the expression disappeared as quickly as it had come as his muscles suddenly spasmed painfully and a yelp of pain clawed up his throat. Bucky lifted his right hand and for a moment, Sam was afraid he was going to fight him again. But instead, he simply wound his fingers around Sam’s closest wrist, holding onto him like a drowning man would cling to a lifeboat.  

“You’re going to be okay,” Sam reiterated with all the sincerity he could muster as the Dora Milaje finally returned with the gurney. “I promise, Bucky.” 

And Sam finally believed those words. Bucky would be okay, because Sam wouldn’t allow for any other outcome.

[mochimiyas]

reassurance

pairings: platonic!sakusa kiyoomi x reader 

warnings: angst (fluff at the end), mentions of depression (subtly?), first time writing sakusa (so my apologies since he may be ooc), lowercase intended

a/n: ahhhh sorry for being MIA for a hot minute ): been busy with work and getting this new apartment since the one im living in is absolute dog shit. this fic is based on personal experience and i just need a little reassurance today, so its entirely self-indulgent <3 enjoy! content under the cut...

sakusa kiyoomi was utterly confused and internally, freaking out at the scene unfolding right in front of his eyes.

seeing you laying in your bed listlessly with tears staining your reddened cheeks was an unruly sight to see. sakusa felt his heart clench at the sight of you trying to lift yourself up to greet him but to only fail and fall back down in your bed, curling up in a ball. he looked around the room to see clean and dirty clothes thrown astray, boxes and boxes of takeout cluttered up around your trashcan, and papers laying haphazardly around you. 

the urge to cringe and shudder in disgust at the state of your room was immense, but for you, only for you, he held back in consideration to your feelings at the moment. 

you and sakusa have been friends since childhood, meeting through komori since you got transferred to the same class as him. sakusa couldn’t understand why komori wanted him to meet you so badly and once he did, he realized why. 

your personality is what drew sakusa to you like a moth to flame. seeing your cheerful yet calm disposition contrasted to his own. people often described you two to be “yin and yang,” and that you were destined to meet each other, which the former itachiyama ace scoffs at the ludicrous idea, but nonetheless brings a small smile at the thought of it. he couldn’t imagine a life without you, and you to him. your friendship with the ace is something he wants to cherish as much as he could, and seeing you spiraling downwards slowly kills him inside. 

sakusa quietly sauntered over to you and kneeled down near your bed, nudging you with his elbow. you lifted your head to see sakusa signal his head towards your restroom, indicating that he wanted you to clean up. you sighed as you unfurled from your position and stretched, groaning as some of your joints popped. you head over to the restroom to freshen up and once he heard the shower running, sakusa immediately went to work on cleaning. 

he wanted you to know that he was there for you like you were there for him. he wanted you to feel that you weren’t alone because you always spent time with him whenever his parents and/or his older siblings were too busy to come home. you’ve always went out of your way to show sakusa that you weren’t there for his looks, nor his celebrity status from being in msby. you were there long before that, and you were there because you genuinely wanted to be his friend, and sakusa couldn’t be more than grateful for that. you never asked for anything in return and he felt it was time for him to start showing his appreciation and gratitude for you.

~

“kiyoomi-chin? where are you,” you called from the restroom. you peeked into your room after you finished showering to see that your mask-clad friend was no longer in the room, causing some confusion. ‘where did he go?’ you wondered as you slung your towel around your neck and adjusted your clothes. turning off the light, you exited the bathroom and dropped your phone in shock at the sight before you. 

there wasn’t any clothes scattered about on the floor; no crumpled papers in sight and your takeout boxes was taken care of. the musty smell from staying in bed all day was gone and the faint smell of lysol and laundry detergent wafted through the air, the scent instantly comforting you. tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and you brought a hand to muffle your sobs. you couldn’t believe sakusa would clean up for you, let alone feel comfortable enough to see you in your previous state knowing of his sanitary tendencies. throughout the years, sakusa would subtly do minor things for you whenever you needed a hand but never something like this to this degree. 

you furiously wiped your tears and made way to your living room, hoping to see him; you wanted to thank and repay him for his kindness. 

the smell of sukiyaki* hit you with full force the moment you stepped into your living room and looking to the left, you see the chiseled back of the outside hitter cleaning all of your dishes. 

“kiyoomi”

startled, he turned to see you standing at the kitchen entry way with a misty-eyed look and stepped back from the sudden force of you hugging him like your life is depending on it. sighing, he took off his gloves, gingerly wrapping his arms around your shaking form. all he could hear was the muffled mantras of “thank you,” as he brought his hand to your damp hair and gently patted your head while you cried. 

“let’s eat some sukiyaki okay? the food is getting cold”

~

after eating the hearty meal sakusa cooked, you both sat down in your living room to watch some dumb cheesy drama as you basked in each others presence. the nagging feeling in the back of your mind was still there, lingering around. your mental illness was something that’s going to stick around for a long while, but with having sakusa by your side, you felt like you can overcome your demons. 

you turned to face sakusa, ”seriously kiyoomi-chin, thank you for cleaning up after me. i should’ve done it before you came over but-”

“no buts,” sakusa interrupted,”i don’t mind cleaning up after you, but i will say.”

you waited for him to continue as he cleared his throat. suddenly he felt claustrophobic and the walls were closing in on him, but the need for you to know his appreciation was stronger.

“i know i’ve told iizuna-san this when we lost at nationals during my second year, but this also applies to you. your mental illness brings you down and makes you spiral out of control. you shut yourself away from everyone and people worry about you. in that situation, it would be common sense to help you out and be nice to you. nothing else is necessary. but when i hear your people around you talk about how ‘it sucks to see you like that,’ then i feel even sorrier for you. you don’t deserve people pitying you just because. you deserve to have people around you to help you while you’re going through hard times. i haven’t done anything in the past to truly show my support for you, and i foolishly believed that you can overcome whatever you have going on without us telling you that you can,” you snorted at his pout and he glared at you. 

he continued, “but i was wrong. i want you to know that your efforts never go unnoticed. all the time and dedication you put into your work, school, and your friends around you; i’ve seen what you’ve done for others and for yourself. there will be a time your efforts will flourish and you’ll be at a better place than you were at before. if you ever feel like this again, just know i’ll be there like you have for me.” 

sakusa finally made eye contact and saw that you were tearing up again. he wrapped his arm around you and instinctively, you laid your head on his shoulder. the warmth sakusa radiated made you lean further into his body, making you feel secure and content. 

you couldn’t help but cry at his sudden declaration. it was so unlike of sakusa to say these sorts of things to you due to his realist personality. he tends to keep to himself and only says anything that would be of any substance in a conversation he’s in. so for him to go out of his way to clean up after you, let alone verbally showing his support for you makes you felt like you have a place in this world again. 

you both sat in silence after, him languidly stroking your hair and you slowly falling into a deep slumber. before you completely fell asleep, you called for sakusa, in which he turned his head towards you. 

“thank you for the reassurance. i’m glad we’re friends.” 

your eyes fluttered shut, and sakusa chuckled at your ability to fall asleep instantly. 

“i’m glad we’re friends as well” 

[dalgonachan]

Latibule

pairing: Seungkwan x reader, ft. 95z as a troublesome trio genre: high school au, angst, fluff warnings: none prompt: every day is a new beginning, but today just seems to be too tough to face count: 3632 a/n: i feel like my new writing pattern is updating on the members’ birthdays. this one has been sitting in my drafts for like a year and i was having second thoughts about posting it but alas here it is. happy birthday to best boi boo seungkwan 🥳🎈

Standing in a shower cubicle, as you feel your hair and body dripping wet, definitely counts as one of the most awkward moments in your entire life. Most especially when you’re waiting for everyone to leave the locker room. Forgetting to bring your towel with you was a completely dumb move because you just ran in and took a shower without even thinking of the consequences of being unprepared. Although, first come first serve basis has become a tradition during gym class and you don't want to run out of stalls and wait. Even worse, having to share with someone too generous would be an unpleasant experience. So here you were waiting for everyone to leave so that you can dash out of the cubicle and grab your towel from the lockers.

Maybe I could just wear my swimsuit, go out, and take my towel—no. You thought to yourself, quickly dismissing the thought with a shake of your head. That is just disgusting.

There are around four or five more people left. Silently, you whisper to the air about how much you wish for them to leave so you can be alone right now. Not long after, you hear the locker room door close, followed by a sudden stillness. You carefully open your stall's door, hoping it doesn't creak, and peek outside to check if there's still anyone left. 

Nobody's here. But me. Good.

Without hesitation, you immediately exit the stall and manage not to slip while running. You slam the locker door open as soon as you’re inches away from it, then grab your towel and start drying off. You’re not even close to dry when you change back into your uniform and shoes, but for now, you really don't care. You’re running late for math class thanks to your stupidity.

Your footsteps and ragged breathing echo in the empty hallway. You slow down and start searching for your locker. Upon instantly catching sight of it, you sprint for it and nearly slam against it. You twist the knob to put in the code, however, it doesn't open and you try again. A few more attempts to open it are made, but none succeed.

"Come on! Work!" You plead, twisting the knob one last time.

Finally, you give up and kick your busted locker in anger. Being awfully late for math class is as bad as lacking the needed requirements, but together they're simply distressing.

You turn around and walk down the hall, dragging your feet lethargically. Your backpack seems to weigh heavier than it is... or was gravity also conspiring against you, trying to get your body to drop to the floor? As usual, you shrug it off and try your best to go on.

I'll just get to class and hope that this day doesn't completely go downhill.

Eventually, you reach your destination. Hesitantly, your hand reaches for the door knob, but getting caught standing outside any longer could give you a formal warning. You decide to walk in as casually as possible. For certain, you’ve failed to act normally because your movements become stiff with everyone's eyes on you. Barely reaching your chair, the teacher calls you out.

"(L/n)! You're late," her harsh tone is startling and you freeze.

"My apologies, Miss Kang," you timidly respond.

"I hope you have your materials with you." She taps the attendance chart on her desk. "Don't forget to register."

The attendance chart is where students write in, of course, their attendance. However, that isn't all. Listed above their names is a row of all the requirements needed in class. If they have the specified material, a check mark is put below it, beside their name. Lucky for you, you have none so the space beside your name is left blank.

Miss Kang checks the chart and gives you a look after reading your entry. With her eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, and hands on her hips, it's obvious that she's cross. You lower your head in shame as you feel everybody staring in silence, watching the scene before them unfold. 

This must be so interesting for them. Spitefulness drips off your thoughts like venom. (Y/n) (L/n), the pupil who came to class tardy and incomplete, is sent to detention by the math teacher.

You take off the embarrassingly enormous detention tag hanging around your neck and place it in the plastic basket right next to Miss Joo's desk. She doesn't even look up from her computer as she points to your seat—fifth to the right, third to the back. Making your way to the chair, you take a gander at all the other students in the detention room. Some were familiar faces, some others you didn't know at all. Yoon Jeonghan, Choi Seungcheol, and Hong Jisoo, a group of known troublemakers in your school, huddled at the back while palavering about what most likely is their next evil scheme. You get into your seat, pull out a pad paper and pen, then carelessly drop your bag onto the floor.

Miss Kang sent you to detention to write a two thousand word essay about why one should always be prepared and early for class. Could there possibly be a punishment much worse than this? Honestly, it doesn't take long to fill up half of the paper since you were simply stating all the corrections to the mistakes you've recently committed. Just as you’re about to move on to the next page, something slobbery hits your nape followed by an eruption of laughter. You don't even have to turn your head to know who shot that spitball, but still do it to send a death glare their way. Jeonghan shrugs as if he knows nothing, meanwhile the other two are too busy laughing their heads off. If only.

Returning your attention to the paper, you force yourself to ignore them. The pen glides smoothly across the sheet as your thoughts fluidly flow out... but not for long. Another spitball comes your way, but this time it lands on the paper. You can tell they used so much saliva on this one because it created one hell of an ugly blotch on the essay that it actually ruined the ink. So much for effort.

This time, there is no room for mercy. Obviously, Miss Joo doesn't care, so you push your chair out of the desk, letting it screech across the floor, and stomp over to the three boys. The other students in the room watch closely, anticipating the drama about to happen. With arms crossed and eyebrows arched, you shoot them with the most painful glare you can make.

"I'm sorry, but what is your problem?!" You could almost yell at them, but you don't want to get into any more trouble. You’re going up until only this far.

"Nothing. We were just messing around," Jeonghan smugly replies.

You fight the temptation to rip his mouth off his face, but the urge to do so can still be heard in the way you speak.

"Nothing? Oh, sure! I totally believe you, as if you three..." You point an accusing finger at each of them, "...weren't spewing spitballs in my direction!"

The whole room is filled with silence and old Miss Joo is still as deaf as ever.

"We weren't aiming at you," Jisoo defends, leaning forward.

"We were trying to get it to the trash can over there!" Seungcheol points with his thumb, but you don't turn around to look.

"I'm not falling for that and you idiots should know that. Oh, but I guess idiots like you don't really understand anything at all." You feel the tone in your voice getting angrier by the second.

"Fine, fine. We're sorry, okay?" Jeonghan says, but the smirk on his face is still evident.

You squint your eyes and tap your foot impatiently on the floor.

"Right, guys?" Jeonghan glances over at his accomplices.

"Sure," Seungcheol says.

"Sorry," Jisoo mumbles.

"You better be. Just quit bothering me." Turn on your heel, you walk away.

Thankfully, you get to reprimand the three of them for their stupidity. Even so, you can hear them whispering behind your back. Returning to your chair, the tension is thick as you feel everyone's eyes on you. Once you sit down, their gazes divert elsewhere because Miss Joo announces it's time for lunch.

The high school cafeteria is filled with boisterous students, making it almost impossible to move around. You carefully weave through the winding crowd, in search of Seungkwan, your boyfriend, while tightly clutching the lunch tray close to your body. Your eyes sharpen upon nearing each table, trying to identify the people seated down.

The crowd begins to thin when you catch sight of him. He's by himself at the table, staring straight at you with a faint smile on his visage, then you notice he hasn't touched his food yet. Obviously, someone's been waiting. You grin widely, approaching the table he reserved for. Fortunately, lunch time is the most forgiving part of a school day. It's also a good thing because you get to spend time together.

"Took you long enough," Seungkwan comments as you arrive.

"I got stuck in the crowd and I had a hard time searching for you because of that," You respond, still standing in front of the table.

"I noticed," he says with a smirk.

"You could've called me!" I grumble.

"It was fun watching you get lost," he says with a chuckle. "Now sit down already! I want to eat!"

"Alright, alright," You say, placing the tray down and settling into the chair.

In the blink of an eye, a football crash lands on the table, knocking out your lunch and hitting you in the face. Food splatters you from head to toe in less than a second before the whole tray falls on your lap. You lose hearing for a while, your ears ringing. The pain on your face throbs mercilessly.

You look up, vision blurry, still dazed from the hit. Your eyes make out the empty space in front and before you can assume he's left, you feel him tugging you out of your seat. The other students simply look at what all the commotion is about. Turning to the direction where the football came from, your vision clears to see Jeonghan, Jisoo, and Seungcheol with guilt-stricken faces. Unsurprising.

"I should've expected those jerks to have done it again," You mutter.

Grabbing your bag, you stand up from the table and burst out of the cafeteria doors in frustration. This day has been pushing your buttons and you've had just about enough. Perhaps, even, too much. And those three just had to add up with the disasters of today.

"(Y/n)! Wait!" You hear Seungkwan yell.

Not wanting him to catch up, you quicken pace. Hot tears streak down your cheeks as you continue to run away. His constant pleas for you to stop being rendered useless by ignorance, however, he still manages to catch up with you. His hand seizes your wrist, but you yank it from his clutch and push him away.

"(Y/n)!" He calls again, stopping in his tracks.

You don't look back and proceed further on through the corridors, not knowing where to take yourself.

History class helps tone down your emotions, distracting you from the reminder that this day is cursed. The quiz temporarily brings your thoughts to concentrate on the task at hand except for the irritatingly scratchy uniform the clinic let you borrow. Just as how your luck ran out today, so does the ink of your pen. Not to mention, writing an essay to a question which isn't even second to the last of the whole paper. Fingers scrambling through the contents of your pencil case, you realise that this is the last pen.

"Hey," you whisper, attempting to get your seatmate's attention.

No response.

"Hey," you say a little bit louder, worried that she didn't hear you at first.

Her head merely turns to the side, sending a glare your way. Before you can ask, she goes back to answering the paper.

"I need to borrow a pen," you persist.

She leans her head to the other side, letting her hair fall over her face to block you from view.

"Please, I'm still not done," you beg, glancing at the clock. Just a few more minutes and the quiz was going to end.

"I really need to bo—"

"(L/n)!" Mr. Ho's voice booms from behind and you flinch.

He snatches the paper from beneath your arm and shoots an angry look. All you could do was sink into the chair in humiliation since you had no idea how to defend yourself. To him and everyone else in this room, it did look like you were trying to cheat. Therefore, you’re sent to detention for the second time this day.

Mr. Ho's class was the last, so technically dismissal comes next. Right now, as you sit in the same seat during the previous detention session, the bell is all you have to wait for. At least the trio didn't get into any trouble this time or you'd be spending the last period with them. Sleep gets the best of you and you’re consciously aware that you were snoozing off, although decide to let it come. You are really exhausted after all you've experienced.

A crackle of thunder jolts you awake from a dream. Your eyes snap open and see the lack of people in the detention room... which means you're alone.

Wait, what time is it? You lean over to check the clock and it's FIFTEEN MINUTES PAST DISMISSAL TIME?! WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY BOTHER TO WAKE ME UP? Hoisting the bag onto your shoulders, you hurry out of the room and scurry the hallways. Only a few students are left, but they have varsity training or cheerleading practice, anything to keep them busy and give them an excuse to stay late in school.

The rain pounds on you when you exit the doors of the school. From head to toe, you are once again sullied. Well, this has officially ruined the whole day. Unstoppable tears, you've been holding in all this time, flow out of your eyes.

Without re-evaluating your thoughts, you run away from the school and hurry home. The cold wind stings your skin and the reoccurring flashes of lightning blind your vision. Hurried steps splash large puddles on the pavement, drenching yourself even more. You really didn't care about anything anymore, so enduring the bad weather didn't matter at all.

Sooner than you could have expected, you reach the bus stop. You don't take long to go sit under the shed because you’re just absolutely done. Panting and soaking wet, you lean against the cold glass pane. You don’t even notice Seungkwan, who seems to be in shock at your condition, come in.

"You're soaking wet! Why didn’t you wait for me?" He asks sitting beside you.

"I'm just having the most terrible day of my life and I don't want to talk about it!" You didn't expect to yell and you bet Seungkwan didn't too because his eyes widened flabbergastingly.

A fresh set of tears begins to pour down again. By then you knew you've made another error you'd immediately regret. Seungkwan’s face is rewritten all over with worry as he reaches for you, but you push his hand and scoot away, then wrap your arms around yourself. He decides to leave it alone for the time being, allowing you to sit with your emotions. Soon, the bus arrived and he stood up, hand outstretched to you.

“Let’s get home.”

You shut the door and click the locks in place. Slamming your back against it, you slide down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest and sobbing. Hopefully, after you give vent to all this exasperation, you'll eventually tire out and go to sleep. The saltiness of your tears blends with sweat, hair sticking to your face.

"(Y/n)?" Seungkwan’s voice is muffled behind the door.

You suck in a breath and stay quiet. He still hasn’t left after dropping you off at your house out of concern.

"Open the door, please?" He gently knocks. "I just want to talk for a little bit. Maybe it will make you feel better."

"Go home, Seungkwan. I'm fine." I know I can lie better than this, but why didn't I?

"No, let me in and we'll talk about it. You can't carry all your problems alone," he says causing you to stiffen.

Reluctantly, you sigh and get up from the ground. Your eyes meet Seungkwan’s lush brown irises the second the door opens. He comes in and engulfs you into a delicate embrace, rubbing your back and kissing your cheek. That's when you let it all out completely.

You cry onto his shoulder uncontrollably, but he tightens his hold on you. Now that you think of it, you feel like a bunch of lumber being chained together to keep from falling apart.

"(Y/n), what's wrong? Did they do something to you again?" He pulls away, his eyes scanning your face worriedly.

You tug him back, shaking your head. As much as it's embarrassing to know that you've already stained his shirt with tears, the crying doesn't stop. For a while, you're standing in the middle of the room, cradled in each other's arms and not letting go. Soon, the sadness turns into sniffles and you’ve calmed down a bit.

"Are you ready to talk about it now?" The tone of his voice by your ear is so timid, his breath barely grazing the skin.

"I don't know how to say it without making a racket," you reply.

"Just say what you have to." He smiles at you lovingly, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers together.

You inhale deeply then sigh.

"Today has been very... horrible. First, I forgot to bring my towel to my shower stall, so I had to wait for everyone to leave. Second, my locker got jammed. Not only was I late, but I also didn't have the materials for math class. Third, I got sent to detention for that and then Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and Jisoo had to ruin the essay I was writing. FYI, that was a punishment from Miss Kang!" You pause to catch your breath before continuing again.

"Because of that, I got mad at them. Oh! And because they shot a spitball at me, too! Fast forward to lunch, they take their petty revenge on me and thanks to them, I had to borrow an itchy uniform from the infirmary! Then here comes History where my last pen died while I was taking a quiz! And I thought it was such a good idea to borrow a pen from my seatmate, but instead, I get myself caught. Mr. Ho sends me to detention again and I fall asleep, then wake up fifteen minutes after dismissal time. Guess what? We aren't even at the best part yet!" You throw your hands up in the air in utter frustration.

"That does sound like a rough day," Seungkwan opines.

"Oh, believe me, it is," You say, rolling your eyes.

"So, what's the best part?" He shuffles closer.

"I forgot to wait for you, so I ran back in the pouring rain." You finish, shutting down the whole story.

Seungkwan stands up, and with your hand in his, you do too. He moves his palms to cup your cheeks and tilts your head to meet his eyes. The warmth of his touch makes you close your eyes and hum in content, further calming down. Before you could open your eyes again, his lips meet yours and you kiss back. When he pulls away, you grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him more passionately than a while ago. If this is the only good you can get from this extremely horrible day, you’re taking every single bit of it while it lasts.

"Whoa," He gasps just as you part.

"I'm sorry, I kinda got carried away," you shyly apologise, sheepishly scratching the back of your head.

"It's alright," he says before reading the time on the clock. "You know what, after all, you've been through today, I think you deserve some rest."

You haven't had the chance to say otherwise when suddenly he’s dragging you by the arm and you let out a squeal.

"Kwannie! I still need to do my science homework!"

"For science? Nice try, but you don't have science tomorrow," he chuckles.

You puff your cheeks and glare at him.

"You look adorable when you do that, not terrifying. Now go to sleep."

"But Seung—"

"Sleep."

"Kwan—"

"You need to sleep."

You groan in defeat. 

"Fine, but only if you sleep with me." You point a finger at him. Seungkwan thinks for a while before he nods in agreement.

"Hooray!" You move over and let him lay down beside you.

"What made me do this?" He asks while getting in.

"Your love for me, duh. Now, goodnight, darling," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Goodnight to you, too. I love you," He says, pecking your nose.

You tuck into your blankets then close your eyes.

"I love you, too. And thank you for comforting me earlier,"

"You're welcome. You needed it," He replies, standing up to turn off the lights.

When he comes back to the bed, he wraps you in yet another tender embrace. You snuggle into him and bury your face into his chest, to which he responds to with a giggle.

If this is how my day ends, then I'm positively sure tomorrow is going to be a new day.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Running

A/N: Here is my entry for @obsessedwithrandomthings​ 500 followers celebrations! Congratulations Dee! You more than deserve this! The prompt I used is in the summary, but I have also bolded it in the text. Thank you so much for letting me take part! The gif doesn't really match the theme of the fic but I searched ‘running’ and it was the best of them lol. I’m also less than 10 followers away from 800 so this is exciting!! As always, I hope you all enjoy!!

Summary: “Run away with me,” You plead, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, mentions of death and anxiety, vomit - there is a lot of worry and anxiety in this, so please don't read if you don’t like, but I have tried to wrap it up in a fluffy fashion!!

Word count: 1.5k

Your stomach had been a ball of anxiety all night. Nothing anyone said could dampen the fear that was crawling its way up your throat. Something was going to happen tonight, and it wasn’t going to be good.

Your fears are proven correct when Sirius lands in the hallway, holding up a drastically bleeding Remus. His blood stains his white button-up shirt and drips steadily onto the floor.

The scream is caught in your throat. You look wildly at Sirius, demanding an explanation. Sirius explains quickly; they had been tailed as they were following their own targets. Remus threw himself in front of Sirius to protect him from the Sectumsempra curse.

“I couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s. I don’t know who works there, but I’ve already called for a Healer I can trust,” Sirius shudders, murmuring the levitation charm straight after, following Remus up the stairs in a hurry.

His blood stains the carpet in the hall and would stain the stairs too, but it was the last thing on your mind as you hurry behind Sirius. Remus is laid on the bed; his face contorted in pain, barely conscious but still aware of the pain lancing through his body.

Wordlessly, you conjure clean towels from the airing cupboard, holding them to the cuts across Remus’ chest and arms. Sirius takes a towel from you, holding it to the wound across his stomach.

The Healer arrives in what seems like hours, but it could have been minutes. Your eyes do not leave Remus as you press towel after towel to his cuts, trying to stem the bleeding despite knowing that nothing but magic would help.

Sirius’ hand on your shoulder has you stepping away from the love of your life, letting the Healer complete his work. Your hands are covered in Remus’ blood; your clothes too, are ruined. You barely make it to the toilet to empty your stomach. Sirius is there, holding your hair back, muttering comforting words to you. You press your forehead to the cold porcelain, trying to take everything in now that the adrenaline was leaving your body, but your brain couldn’t comprehend what you had just been witness to.

You force yourself to stand; pushing down the fresh wave of nausea as you make your way back into the bedroom, to Remus. He lies on the bed; his body entirely healed, but deeply asleep.

“I’ve had to give him a strong sleeping draught. He lost a lot of blood and whilst I was able to heal the injuries, there’s going to be some damage internally. He needs to be asleep for it to heal which, with his lycanthropy, will heal in a few days.”

“How long will he be asleep then?” Sirius asks, learning the information to relay to you later. He knows that at the moment, you would not be listening to word being said. That all of your attention would be focused on the man on your bed, asleep and no longer in any pain.

You refuse to leave his side. They all try to coax you from your room. Sirius promises he’ll stay with him so you can shower, but you refuse. Harry tries his hardest to get you to come downstairs to eat, but it doesn’t work. Instead, he leaves for a moment before coming back with a plate of food. You nibble at it, but the nausea soon returns.

The first day blends seamlessly into the second and there’s no change in Remus. He lies on his side of the bed in clean clothes and clean sheets, sleeping peacefully. You admire him from your spot in the armchair across the room; this would the first time in a long time that Remus had managed to get a solid block of sleep without being interrupted by the order or the lunar cycle. You think it every time but in sleep, you see the Marauder in him. You see the teenager you had fallen in love with one afternoon by the Black Lake. The teenager who had stuttered through asking you out but soon found his confidence once you had accepted.

For years it had been you and Remus. The only survivors of the first wizarding war, Remus claimed though it pained him to say it.

On the third day of your vigil beside the bed, Remus groans before blinking against the bright light of the morning. You’re out of your seat in an instant, lurching to the end of the bed with tears in your eyes. “Remus, you’re awake! How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

“I’m sore, but I’m okay. I don’t need anything right now.”

You sag in relief, “I am so happy you’re awake, dear. That was the most terrifying time of my life.”

“Even more than the time you saw me as a wolf?” Remus tries to joke, but he winces instead.

“This isn’t a joking situation, Remus!” You cry, “Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember being followed and then jumping in front of Sirius and then blinding pain. I passed out then, I think.”

Your hands grip the bedpost at the end of the bed, “Sirius brought you back here and we called in a Healer. You were hit with the Sectumsempra curse and your blood was everywhere, and I couldn’t stop it-” You break off suddenly; your words getting caught in your throat.

The sudden urge to run overwhelms you. Your eyes dart around the room – to the suitcases, to the wardrobes. A plan begins to form in your head; a few more days healing was all that Remus would require before he’s stable enough to apparate. You know of a place where you couldn’t be traced where he could spend a few weeks or so recuperating before you run for real.

The desire to leave it all behind takes over. In that moment, the only thing you could ever want is a longer life with the man lying on the bed in front of you. If this war continued, how long would you have? Optimism in this situation is vitally important but as your eyes return to Remus, running over the war-weary, pale face of the love of your life, all you want is to go.

To go and never look back.

“Run away with me,” You start, rushing to his side, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

“Where would we go?” He asks, his eyes bright with possibilities.

“Anywhere – the country, the coast, abroad. Run away with me Remus, before the war swallows us whole.”

“What about the Order? Darling, we can’t leave them.”

“Fuck that, Remus. Look at yourself! You can barely move.” You stand, gesturing to the four walls in which you stand, “These last few days have been my own personal hell; I didn’t know if you were going to wake up. For the first time in my life, I have had to face a possibility of a life without you and I won’t do it. Not again. Run away with me, Remus.” Your eyes are wild as you plead to him, beg to him to consider doing this.

Remus’ eyes search yours, looking for what, you don’t know. You know the minute you’ve lost the battle, and you would be remaining where you are. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” You ask brokenly.

“You won’t leave Harry, love. You’re his godmother – you won’t let him face this war without you, you simply won’t.”

The tears that were previously lining your eyes now overflow onto your cheeks. You look at Remus through watery eyes, not bothering to stem the flow. “You can’t do this to me again, Remus. I will not live in a world that does not have you in it, do you understand?”

“I understand, darling.” Remus holds his hand out for you. You stumble over to him, desperate to touch some part of him. With a light tug, he has you sat next to him on the bed you share. “I’m here now,” he whispers, “I don’t plan on leaving for a long, long time.”

You sniffle, “Good. I didn’t like the look of my life without you.”

“What have I missed then; in the three days I’ve been asleep?”

You look at him, somewhat sheepishly, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t left this room.”

Remus frowns at you. “Darling, please tell me you’ve eaten and taken care of yourself.”

“I’ve eaten a little, but I didn’t want to leave you and I didn’t want to let anyone look after you.”

“I really did scare you, didn’t I?”

You nod, “Beyond scare, Remus. I couldn’t think straight, I don’t think I’ve thought a coherent thought since Sirius appeared with you in the hall.”

He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to the back of your hand. “I am so sorry, my love.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Remus. You did nothing wrong.”

“Nevertheless. I am sorry, I didn’t think before throwing myself in front of Sirius, and I should have.”

“You were protecting your best friend.”

Remus shrugs, but winces at the stiffness in his joints, “I will not leave you like that again. The minute I’m out of this bed I’m speaking to Dumbledore, demanding lighter missions. I’m too fond of this life to leave it prematurely.”

Tears start anew as you lie next to the man you so dearly love. Gripping his hand in both of yours, you press it your chest, “I’m too fond of you to let you leave it prematurely.”

**************

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @kalimagik​ @summer-writes​ @lupins-sweater​ @slytherinprincess03​ @mischiefsemimanaged​ @soleil-amaryllis​ @bforbroadway​ @masterofthedarkness​ @chaotic-fae-queen​ @peachesandpinks​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @siriusly-addicted-to-writing​ @firewhisky-kisses​ @deafgirltingz​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @harrypotter289​ @sprvpti​ @accio-rogers​ @potterverseimagine​ @figlia--della--luna​ @angelinathebook​ @dreamer821​

[chris-evans-indian-fanfic]

Voice

One-Shot

Description: When Mr Freezy enters your life, your peaceful world is destroyed.

Warnings: Non-consensual, voyeurism, masturbation, verbal abuses, harsh language and hints of necrophilia

DO NOT PROCEED IF THESE THINGS UPSET YOU. THIS IS A VERY DARK STORY. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This one-shot is my entry for Week 5 of @donutloverxo 's superfun writing challenge. This time, the challenge was based on GIFs. The one I selected will appear in the story below. Click here to participate in their weekly challenges

A/N- I blame @jtargaryen18 for making me an unholy hoe for Mr Freezy! 

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

You were living the best life in 1969. Working part-time at the ice-cream parlor in the mornings, hanging out with your friends in the evening and sneaking out for parties at night, you loved your routine, carefree life in New Jersey.

Your foot bobbed along the tunes of Honky Tonk Woman by The Rolling Stones as you read that month's fashion magazine, sitting by the new, shiny cassette player. Taking pride in the fact that your family was the first in the neighborhood to buy the expensive cassette player, latest in the technology of playing music, you smirked as you delicately, almost teasingly fondled the device. 

*beep beep*

The annoying horn of the filthy ice-cream truck broke you out of your reverie. Scowling, you turned to look at the abomination on 4 wheels parked right in front of your house. The long-haired driver, who called himself Mr Freezy, always gave you creepy vibes. Maybe he thought his wide smile would lure in more children, but it never failed to make your skin crawl with disgust. 

You tried your best to ignore him and his irritating horn, hoping that he would drive away soon enough. Unfortunately, it was a hot summer's day and there was a long, winding line of customers.

After yet another *beep beep* you slammed down the magazine on the table. Walking out in your pinkish-red knee-length skirt and long-sleeved top, you had a good mind to tell Mr Freezy off.

Standing in front of his ice-cream truck window, you stomped your foot and placed your hands on your hips. "How can I help you Ms Jello Mould?" his disgusting attempt at comparing you to a dessert sent a chill down your spine. 

"You have a long line of customers! Stop pressing your horn every 5 seconds!" you exclaimed, gesturing your hands towards the waiting people.

Mr Freezy chuckled, but the mirth didn't reach his eyes behind the glasses, "Now now. That is no way to talk to someone who is older than you Raspberry Ripple," he said in a friendly tone, "Not everybody can afford to buy a cassette player." 

"Maybe you can if you cleaned your ice-cream truck once in a while," you spat, purposefully covering your nose, "I work in an ice-cream parlor, and no establishment dealing with ice-creams should stink like this!" 

"My customers don't seem to mind it Sugar," his sweet tongue rolling the last word as if he was drooling.

You huffed, "I mind it! And stop with the horn! Or I will have daddy make sure you are never seen here again." And with that hardly intimidating threat, you walked towards your house. Mr Freezy licked his lips as he saw your silhouette disappear behind the front door. He could put your bratty nature to good use. Very good use indeed.

🍦

Dressed in a brown checkered dress, you sauntered home after your shift ended, your spirits high as you looked forward to being Ricky's date tonight at the party.

As you entered your home, your eyes fell upon the new cassette sitting besides your beloved player. Squealing with excitement, you rushed and grabbed the plastic box, hurriedly prying it open. To your surprise, a few photographs of you and Ricky fell out of the case with the words "Does daddy know about him?" scribbled on the back of every photograph.

No no no. OH GOD NO! you panicked as you rifled through the images. Your parents had no idea about your nightlife, let alone your boyfriend! These lovey-dovey photographs threatened to reveal your secret and ruin your life.

You found another note in the box behind the cassette, "There are plenty where these came from. Now be a good girl and play the cassette." Just beneath the sentence, a chocolate bar was roughly drawn in the corner and the words “My Chocolate Fudge” were written in small letters. 

Your hands trembled as you hit play. A raspy voice greeted you from the device.

"Hey baby." You knew this voice, who was he? "Has daddy's little princess recognised me?" You were pretty shaken up, your mind refused to let go of the terror and think straight for a moment as your thumbs rubbed against one another.

"Oohh Sugar, what am I going to do with you?" the voice chuckled. That sentence brought you to a complete halt. It was Mr Freezy! How dare he threaten you like this?

Before you could form any coherent thought, he tut-tutted in annoyance, "How can an ordinary ice-cream man like me trouble a beautiful young woman such as yourself? What will Daddy say? Let's call Daddy shall we? I am sure he would enjoy looking at how well Ricky can fondle his daughter's breasts."

You felt numb as his words sank in. If your father found out, he would have you sent to the country, to his relatives who lived on a farm! Eww!! You shuddered, overcome with disgust as the cassette continued.

"Now Sugar, we don't need to tell Daddy about us. Do we?" You shook your head in response. "Very good," Mr Freezy continued, "Open the curtains to your right, and look at the house across the street."

You followed the instructions, and nearly choked on your spit. There he was, in your neighbour's house, smiling and waving from their first-floor window. "Follow my next instructions very carefully, or I will make sure that your entire neighborhood comes to know about the wonderful kisser that Ricky is."

You could only nod in response. No matter what, you could not afford to let your family be humiliated because of your actions. 

"From now on, hit pause after you finish every command. And hurry, we haven't got all day Sugar. Your mother will be home soon. And if she is home before I am done with you, then let's just say tonight there wouldn't be any dessert for you," you gulped in agreement.

"Pull up a chair near the window and place the player near you." Your fear slowed you down and the recorder kept on playing, "Face the window, and strip." After a pause, you heard, "Sit on the chair and spread your legs wide. Keep your feet on the windowsill."

The rest of the commands fell on deaf ears as your body was stunned in shock. Did this man… really? You couldn't. You wouldn't. Maybe you could still apologise…

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you realised what this man wanted you to do. It was almost 4:30pm and people would soon fill the street in front of your house. If anybody decided to even look towards the window, they would surely see your body on full display.

As if reading your thoughts, Mr Freezy shook his head and pointed to his wristwatch.

You knew your mother would be home before 5:30pm. Whatever you had to do, you would have to do it quickly. 

With trembling hands, you paused the cassette, and obeyed his first two commands, the upholstery on the chair feeling warm against your naked bottom. From this angle, you couldn't see him, but you were sure he was keeping an eye on you.

You were correct. 

Mr Freezy sucked on his ice-cream bar as he watched the scene unfold. His tongue working the cold dessert as if it were your core. A small bite here, a suck there, and his length was already aching in his pants.

"Oooo look at that slutty pussy! Just waiting for a man's touch," his voice cooed from the recorder, "Play with your clit with one hand, and bring your other hand to your breast."

You begrudgingly relented, wanting to get it all over with soon. Heat flooded to your face as the indignity of your actions set in.

Across the street, Mr Freezy unzipped his pants, and started rubbing the neighbor's panty on his shaft, his touch fleetingly light as he sucked on the bar. He bit into the ice-cream when you rubbed your clit, the cold going straight to his length.

"I love how your plump breasts bounce everytime you take a step. A man can get lost in those curves of yours," his raspy voice continued, "Squeeze your breast lightly. Feel it's roundness. Tease your nipple too. Fondle it with one finger." 

You bit your lips as you followed his instructions. You had masturbated a few times and had even reached third base with Ricky, but it had never felt like this. You knew this was humiliation in answer to your rude behaviour. But this… it felt… good. You were ashamed to admit it, but as the teasing prolonged, you started feeling the familiar and ever elusive knot building up in your stomach.

"Yes yes yes baby. Rub that clit harder. Make that pussy wet for me. But don't you dare enter a finger in your cumhole." 

He watched as your hips thrust upwards, desperate for friction, as he started pumping himself faster. 

"Slap that boob," he commanded as another moan escaped your lips, "slap harder!" and you did. "Pinch your nipple and pull it. Pull it you cock sucking bitch."

More wetness pooled at your core as you continued to play with your body. 

"Stop," said Mr Freezy's voice. At first you thought you misheard him and so you didn't.

"I said STOP YOU FUCKING BITCH," his shouts from the player sounded as clear as a bell. 

Startled, you brought yourself to a complete stop. Despite yourself, the sudden cessation left you feeling disappointed and hungry for more. "Pause this recording. Go to the full-length mirror in your room and have a good look at yourself," his voice urged you.

Meanwhile, Mr Freezy had come undone across the street, his thick release coating the neighbor's cotton panties. He sighed as he used the neighbor's brassiere to wipe himself clean. He was longing to get a taste of you. Too bad he had other things planned for you instead.

You ran towards your room, trying to hide your nakedness as much as you could. You didn't recognise the woman in the reflection. Hair astray, lips and cheeks slightly flushed, puffed breath, eyes wide and the hair on your mound glistening with your arousal. You couldn't bring yourself to meet your eyes reflected in the mirror. 

You carefully went downstairs, and resumed the cassette.

"Saw the slut in the mirror? That's who you are bitch. A whore for a man's cock. Don't let Ricky touch that filthy pussy again, or I will fill you with my cum infront of your Daddy while he watches," the cassette ended with the heavy threat.

🍦

You were living the worst life in 1969. Quite often, you came home to a new cassette with new instructions recorded on them. Everytime, the plastic box was filled with naked photographs of your previous lewd acts. Up until now, you had jumped naked in front of the window, placed ice on different parts of your body, deep-throated an ice-cream bar and stripped to a vulgar song. 

Tonight however, it was different. He had asked you to carry a bottle of wine (that he kept on your bed while you were gone) and go to a hotel at midnight. Mr Freezy had explicitly mentioned that you were to wear only your bra and panty. Still, you covered yourself with a long coat as you snuck out of the house.

The hotel, if you could call an almost crumbling building that, was in the notorious part of town. With your heart pounding in your throat, you shed your coat and knocked on the door. A large man answered, his smirk widening as he took in your appearance. "You Buffy's girl?" you nodded just as you had been instructed. The stranger pulled your breast and dragged you into the room. 

He smacked your ass as he grabbed the wine bottle with another, "Buffy always sends the best stuff."

He was swift in opening the bottle, chugging the liquid down as if it was water. You shuddered at the thoughts of what this man was capable of doing to you. Tears filled your eyes at the realisation.

The man looked at you and, without warning, shoved the glass bottle in your mouth. "Drink. I like it when my prostitutes are drunk." His gaze swept over your entire body. One second you were gulping down the foul liquid, the next you were gasping for breath as he pulled the cups of your bra and poured the liquid down your torso, "Let these girls drink too! Lets get hammered baby!" he exclaimed as he pulled the elastic band of your panty and poured the wine on your mound. 

He laughed maniacally as you squirmed in his grip. Drinking the last of the drops, he pulled you into his lap, licking and sucking at the wine currently following down your figure. 

Your protests only spurred him on, but it all lasted only for a few seconds. 

You felt the stranger's body seize with yours. Breath coming in harsh rasps, you felt your throat constricting as sharp pain shot in every nerve of your body. Your agony, along with the stranger's, lasted only for a few minutes as your shallow breaths became few, finally coming to a raggedy stop.

Mr Freezy smiled a lopsided grin into his binoculars. He hurried across the street, grabbing the girl's dead body and dumping it into his ice-cream truck.

He happily hummed when he saw the ice slowly creep up your skin. You see, this profession had turned Mr Freezy cold, inside out. To an extent where he despised the warmth of a pussy around his cock. He craved the cold. He craved you.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

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[immortalcoelacanth]

Smile for Me Oneshot (Reader x Habit): Make Love, Not War

*crawls out of my writing slump*

I live, and bring forth new reader content! This was inspired big time by a fellow Smile for Me fan I met on Discord, so if you're reading this know that this goes out to you!

Word count: 2563

Summary: The last thing you wanted to do was fight Habit, but you had no choice! Unless…

Thinking back to what Kamal had warned you about when you had first expressed an interest in confronting Habit and his scheme, you were not too sure what to expect. You had assumed the towering man would immediately be hostile, that some sort of fight might break out, a fight of the verbal and mental sort rather than physical, and for you to use your wits to secure victory.

But, toothfully-

…

That gas Habit had hit you with was definitely making thinking significantly tougher than usual at the moment. 

Truthfully, you had been hoping, praying, that you would be able to get out of this without hurting anyone, or being hurt in the process. Hoping that everything would go according to plan. 

Of course, entering Habit’s office and getting gassed, being knocked out, and waking up restrained in some dentist’s chair was the furthest thing from the plan. Essentially being powerless as you were forced to listen to his rambling, only able to nod or shake your head was also something you had not planned for. To see him so… unhinged, to quote Kamal, and so menacing, it was… 

Sad.

It made you sad to see him like this, especially with what you knew about his past. Those diary entries, and that slideshow-

The abuse.

You could see what Kamal meant. Habit’s soft spot, something that drove his horribly twisted need to “help” people, was fading. If you took too long or hesitated, it would be too late. 

And you did not want to think about what too late would mean, and what you would have to do.

Once Habit left, you made your move and broke free, even though it meant using your teeth to get out. 

You… you were going to repress this moment to the furthest corners of your mind, the sight of Habit looming above you in the gloom, the numbness that gave way to panic, fear, and sorrow. The tears that had bubbled up in the corners of your eyes.

 It was a good thing you had dental insurance, too.

After acquiring the mirror and managing to hit the buttons in front of you, occasionally missing due to the lingering dizziness from the gas, the restraints popped open and you were free. From there, it took no time for you to get the door open and stumble out into the lobby-

Directly in front of Habit. 

You honestly had no clue who was more surprised at your sudden appearance, you or him, but the shock you both experienced quickly wore off as a frown crossed Habit’s face. 

“You… You Flower Brat!” He spat as he stepped towards you, his shadow engulfing you. 

Why did he have to be so tall?!

Instinctively, you raised your hands and took a step back. Okay, okay, you had to do something. You had to get him to stop, to calm down, to snap him out of his angered state. Unconsciously, your gaze wandered over to the various signs plastered over the walls. You did still have that glove-

No, no! The last thing you wanted to do was resort to violence! You did not want to hit him!

Knock him onto the fragile, glass balcony behind him… 

You shuddered in horror at the thought of such a horrible outcome. 

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. Just before confronting Habit you had conversed with Jerafina in the Lounge, and gained a very special item in the process. An item that could definitely prove to be useful in this situation. 

So, without warning, you jumped up and kissed Habit. 

It was, thankfully, a gentle kiss. Your lips brushing against his jaw, the only point of his face you could reach even with your jump. You were just so short and he was so… so tall!

And bright red. 

Indeed, the moment after you kissed him, a brilliant blush consumed his face, frown vanishing in an instant. He took a step back in shock, giving you some welcome space, due to the unexpected gesture. 

You… you had kissed him. Not hurt him, insulted him, or done anything cruel to him. 

No vengeance for all the cruel things he had done to you, said about you. 

His mood immediately took a dive as he recalled all the hurt he must have caused you, as well as his employees, the people he was responsible for taking care of and helping. The Habiticians, too, must have been hurt by his actions. He took a step back and looked towards the ground, long fingers knitting together. 

He couldn’t, wouldn’t, look you in the eyes. 

He was too scared to see what he might find. Was that kiss the last of your compassion? Your empathy? Would you mock him? Hurt him much like his father had-

“Flower,” He began, voice shaky as beads of sweat began to roll down his face. “I… You want to stop fighting, yes?” 

You quickly nodded your head, hopeful that you had managed to get your point across. All that was left now was to talk everything out and get Habit smiling again!

“I… see.” The dentist nodded. “Flower, I am… confuzzed. I do not know what to say-”

He cut himself off and let out a quiet, tired sigh. “Perhaps it... would be best if you left. I won’t bother you again.”

Oh, there was no way you would allow things to end like this. Habit was still sad, still hurting, and you refused to stop helping him until you managed to cheer him up. So, you strode over to him and quickly shook your head. 

He would have to carry you out if he wanted you to leave. 

Habit looked exasperated by your refusal and quickly pointed at the open door that led to the lobby. “Out-”

Deciding to take advantage of the gesture, you quickly reached out and tugged on his arm, still shaking your head. He did not move, you were far too weak to actually pull him around, but hopefully it was enough to help him understand that you wanted to talk. Slowly but surely, you managed to navigate Habit towards the ground where you both sat down beside one another. He still looked confused, but at least he had stopped trying to kick you out. 

From your spot on the ground, you carefully pulled on Habit’s arm once more, encouraging him to slowly lay down, his head resting in your lap, his hat falling off in the process, not that he seemed to care about it at the moment. His hair was so soft, so fluffy, but you managed to wrangle your urge to run your fingers through it. He looked up at you in confusion, and you smiled warmly at him while tilting your head to the side. 

A compassionate smile that you hoped conveyed the words you wish you could say, but knew he would never understand. 

It’s okay, you’re safe with me, I promise. 

I won’t hurt you.

You can talk to me.

It was as if a dam broke the moment he saw your smile. Words rushed out of Habit almost faster than you could comprehend, but you were able to keep up. Stories about his childhood, his family, and his pain. The coherency of his speaking fluctuated, and there were times where he started speaking in Russian before switching back to English, but your attention never faltered. 

You nodded, and expressed concern, and occasionally pat the top of his head to help him calm down. 

“Thank you, Flower. It’s nice two be able too talk.” Habit mumbled as he looked up at you. It was obvious he was doing better than before, more stable and calm, but he still was not happy. 

You pouted in annoyance as you tried to figure out a way to cheer him up. You knew you were getting close to what he needed, the conversation had definitely helped, but you just needed a bit more oomph! 

Unfortunately for you, you were unaware of Habit’s amusement towards the endearing and adorable expression on your face. He had never seen such a look before, and it made that smile on his face grow just the slightest bit larger. 

“Flower cutie…”

Immediately a blush took over as you looked off to the side at the compliment. This was unfair! He couldn’t call you that, especially with that almost-smile on his face! He was the one who was adorable, not you! 

Instinctively, flowers started to sprout out of the top of your head, as they always tended to when you were very happy, embarrassed, or startled. Several daisies popped up, petals unfolding and swaying in the momentary breeze. Habit chuckled at your reaction, causing the last flower to bloom. 

Pop!

It resembled a typical lily, although there were some differences. The petals held more of an orange and yellow hue, and seemed to smell nicer than the rest of the flowers. The scent was not overpowering, but it was calming, and while you were unaware of the significance of this new flower, Habit was not. 

He sat upright in surprise, oblivious to you jolting backwards and nearly falling over. By the time you managed to resettle yourself he had turned so he was facing towards you, a hand stretched out in your direction. His eyes were focused not on you, but on the flower sprouting from the top of your head. 

His Lily... 

You were quick to let out a cough, snapping him out of his dazed state. He blinked a couple times before looking down at you, clearly trying to figure out what to say. You looked up, tilting your head to the side and causing the flower to sway in the process. 

Flower… flower… oh, that’s right! 

You held your hands up, before quickly rummaging around in your bouquet. With all the chaos, interactions, and people you needed to help you had completely forgotten about planting the Erythronium seed Millie had given you. It was tooth shaped, which made it seem like the seed had a connection to Habit, especially since Millie had found it in the Habitat. Upon locating the item, you grinned victoriously and held it up for Habit to see. 

His jaw dropped, unintentionally exposing far more teeth than you wanted to see. You suppressed your winced and quickly thrust the item in his direction, your intentions clear. 

Take it.

As though he were handling glass, Habit carefully accepted the seed and looked it over, a gentle, genuine smile crossing his face. 

He looked so cute!!!

“Do you kno what this is?” Habit asked. You shook your head and tilted it to the side to show your interest, and the dentist was quick to answer your unspoken question. 

An explanation about the Tooth Lily, the importance of the flower, and how challenging it could be to grow it. It dawned on you that perhaps the reason why the Tooth Lily had bloomed atop your head now had to deal with that kiss you and Habit had shared… 

Something that you wanted to do again. 

You blushed once more and looked off to the side, quietly frustrated with how emotional you were being at the moment. You were just so… so flustered! The fact that Habit was so cute, and warm, and how safe you would feel if he wrapped his arms around you-

Pop! Pop! Pop!

As more flowers bloomed, you hid your face in your hands to hide from your shame. You were faintly aware of Habit shifting so he was sitting a bit closer to you, that bubblegum smell growing stronger. Curious as to what he was doing, you looked up-

Just in time for Habit to plant a kiss on your forehead. 

Immediately, another Tooth Lily bloomed and you swore you were going to pass out with all the blood rushing to your face. However, before you could respond and attempt to get back your dignity, the sound of the door to the lobby opening caught both your attention. 

Kamal had, apparently, decided to check up on you, probably since you had been with Habit for so long and to make sure nothing bad happened. You appreciated the compassionate gesture, even if it did nothing but make you feel more flustered. 

It seemed as though he was just as flustered as you were, a blush appearing on his face as he started to sweat. Habit was silent, appearing to be completely stunned by the appearance of his ex assistant. 

“Erm, uh,” Kamal stuttered as he retreated back to the lobby. “I’ll just be waiting out here for you guys! T-Take your time!” 

As Kamal vanished from sight, kicking up a trail of dust in his wake, Habit let out a distressed noise and reached towards him, as if trying to get him to come back. Of course, by the time he moved it was far too late for Kamal to have noticed his gesture. Like a wilting flower, Habit visibly drooped in disappointment and sorrow. Concerned, you reached out and took hold of one of his hands, rubbing slow, gentle circles into the back of it. 

“... I hurt so many people.” He said after a couple moments of silence, sounding completely worn down and exhausted. “Kamal, Wallus…” 

He nervously picked at his sleeve with his free hand, his anxiety growing. Would any good come from him apologizing? Kamal had to hate him at this point, and even if you seemed to be alright with him, the kissing certainly helped to soothe those fears, who knew if the same could be said for everyone else? 

You frowned to yourself. He was starting to spiral again, losing that light you had seen in his eyes. Apologies were definitely going to be awkward, but they needed to happen, for the sake of Habit and those he had hurt. 

You pushed yourself up so you were standing in front of him and held out a hand. He appeared confused for a moment before slowly placing his hand in yours. Rather than pulling him up like he expected you would, you turned his hand over, palm facing up, and slowly traced letters into it.

Letters that formed words.

Words that made a sentence. 

I’ll help you.

His eyes went wide as he looked up at you, stunned at the offer. You were quick to trace out more words, internally agonizing over how long the process was taking. Perhaps when you got out of here you could encourage Habit and the others to learn a bit of sign language since nodding and shaking your head only went so far. 

Or at least carry a notebook around to write in.

Everyone deserves to be happy, and that includes you. You might not be able to fix everything you did, but apologizing is a good place to start.

You gestured for him to stand up as well and then pointed towards the lobby. Kamal had been hurt the worst out of everyone and was the most deserving of an apology, so he would be the best person to start with.

As Habit stood up to join you, you leaned forward and pressed one last kiss against his cheek, your touch spelling out one final sentence. 

I believe in you. 

And in the end your belief, your support, was what Habit needed most. 

                                     xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I, like the reader, am an immense simp for Habit hugs, but then again I just crave hugs in general XD

I hope you all enjoyed reading!

- ImmortalCoelacanth