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anin13 · 2 years ago

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Shumori chapter 6

TW: Diabolik Lovers, escapism, denial, STAB WHO, self destructive tendencies

It's a long way down... do you want to jump?

He was afraid but as if some other force controlled him, he jumped head first into a mass of darkness. The abyss spinned Laito around; soon he saw Ayato in the same situation.

He widened his eyes, unable to scream, as their gaze met. Ayato looked confused but not much else, like he was on autopilot.

The abyss threw his brother farther away from him until the dark swallowed him out of sight. Laito lost consciousness.

Why did you ask if you were going to do it anyway?

As his vision and a floor beneath him deigned themselves to come back to him, he heard some random yelling.

Then, reality had not been completely obliterated, had it?

-Why did you ask if you were going to do it anyway?

Kanato asked rhetorically in search of Teddy, which Ayato had "borrowed" after Kanato said Teddy was not to be borrowed.

As he opened his eyes and sat up, Laito felt disoriented, in contrast with his brothers, who seemed not to question this completely illogical interior design situation at all.

The three of them sat on the floor in a room that mixed the garden they used to play in as kids and their old shared bedroom in the castle of the demon world.

One of the very few things Laito could feel some degree of nostalgia about was the evenings reading and snacking there with Kanato and Ayato. Jumping on the furniture just because it was fun. The floor is lava, the absurd drawings they'd make and all that.

If he'd known what was to come for all of them... then what? Have you ever done anything worth the blood you drink?

Laito covered his ears despite that voice not coming from the outside and concentrated on the objects directly in front of him.

The floor was soft grass, and that was impossible; they were indoors. This must be a dream; was it that dream? The shelves on the walls looked like those antique ones in the castle, but they had random stuff like presents, a waffle maker, Ayato's old plush rabbit, and some other things vampire kids liked when they were that age.

As Laito was taking in the scenery and Ayato and Kanato argued about Teddy's whereabouts, a door that appeared out of nowhere opened and a dark figure entered from a room that was all blinding white.

Shu had just left an arid, white empty room to come to the triplets's chaotic nursery mixed with a garden, it seemed.

They were grown, but mostly acting as children, as usual. No surprise there. Laito was out of it though. Instead of making disturbing remarks, laughing at something or analyzing whoever was in front of him, he seemed depressed and looked at Shu with somewhat pleading eyes, but said nothing.

He decided to ignore, pointed out Teddy's location so Kanato quit yelling and left the room through a downward rainbow staircase that didn't match the rest of the room.

Outside, he found himself in what seemed like a forest similar to where he used to sneak out to as a child. He'd never forget his secret tunnel, but why was it here? ..!

Would he be there at their usual spot?

Hopeful, he hiked the small hill, which seemed to keep getting bigger; until he started suspecting he might be shrinking like Alice in Wonderland or something like it.

By the time he'd reached the tree where something illegible was carved, he felt like he was half his real size. And he wasn't wrong; judging by how he was below eye level with a child with long, messy hair that was sitting on a stump eating an apple. He was in his childhood body.

-Yo! You came. -Edgar said- Do you wanna see our eggplant's new fruits? They really look like eggs that grow on plants!

Shu was relieved and sad at the same time this was Edgar; in a way, he didn't know what to say to Yuma and he missed Edgar. At the same time, this wasn't real and he knew it.

Edgar, or young Yuma, whoever it was, was obviously unaware this was a dream, or who both of them were in real life these days. Shu hadn't realized how much he'd needed a break from that.

He was glad to follow his friend, it didn't really matter where they were going. He even felt curiosity and motivation, for a change. He had never wondered why eggplants were called that; he didn't need to eat, after all.

-We can take a shortcut through the vampire mansion courtyard; -Edgar said pointing to a direction- it can be a bit dangerous, but since we're together maybe it'll be okay!

-Aren't you a vampire, too? -Shu asked

Edgar looked confused.

-Never mind, everything is going to be okay.

Shu took Edgar's hand in his own. He had no idea how this could play out but wasn't willing to let him come near other vampires unprotected.

As they reached the vampire courtyard, he saw Laito was feeling better and was having a picnic in a nice spot near the fountain, not noticing him.

Was he aware this was a dream?

Laito, Ayato, Kanato, Subaru and Reiji were huddled in a picnic mat, snacking takoyaki and looking at something. Shu wouldn't let go of Edgar's hand in case they felt hungry for more than food and decided this child... but Edgar was gone, and Shu was in his adult body again. And his brothers suddenly noticed he was there.

-Shu! Come here, we're looking at our pictures! -Laito waved cheerfully. He was definitely feeling better. This smelled like a prank, but he approached.

-We are currently messing with our littlest brother, isn't he the cutest fairytale princess? -Laito pointed at a polaroid picture in an album he was holding- Look, he's Snow White!

Shu looked at the picture. It really was a fairytale kind of scene, but with a grumpy punk kid instead of a princess. He voted along with the others in the poll underneath it.

-You see? Only you don't think you're Snow White, Subaru! -Laito giggled- You need to accept yourself!

-Shut up. -Subaru grunted and pouted at Shu for not helping him out- What kind of creep hides in the bushes and waits for a "perfect" moment, anyway?

-Professional photographers do all sorts of crazy things to get the best shot! -Laito put a hand on his chest, inspired- I am only perfecting my art!

-Your art, my ass!

Shu laughed. This was rather amusing. It was an almost normal conversational banter!

-Why does your art have to be about making fun of me and Teddy instead of your perverted things? -Kanato said, nearly sobbing as he flipped the page- look, you took the picture just as the ice cream was overflowing!

-Don't be sad, Kanato! -Laito said, stroking Kanato's back in what he thought was a reassuring gesture, which Kanato slapped away swinging Teddy like a morning star.

-I am getting brain freeze and a toothache in this picture too! -Laito pointed out- Sometimes you have to make fun of yourself and others in otherwise bleak, harrowing circumstances! You should join in the fun! These moments are precious; they show our real, unmasked, raw selves!

-Yeah, Kanato! -Ayato chimed in, spitting some of the takoyaki he still had in the mouth- look, the great me is still much cooler than Laito, even if we are in the same ridiculous picture!

-But I'm not as cringy as him! -Kanato protested, red in the face, not fully reassured

-Hey! -Laito pouted but didn't lose his good mood

A sigh was heard and everyone turned to the source,

-I think you are all equally ridiculous, each of you in their own, special, unique way. -Shu declared.

Everyone laughed, even Reiji.

This surprised Shu. It seemed like the brothers who didn't know this was a dream weren't completely aware of their current situation in the real world.

Laito absolutely knew this was a dream too, as he was shocked that Reiji had laughed at Shu's joke, too.

Was this a good chance to spend time with Reiji again, even if it wasn't real? Real un-life was exhausting and a drag, this wasn't bad at all.

He sat down with his brothers to keep looking at what the photo album Laito had allegedly poured his heart (?) and soul (?) into.

-The great me looks great in this greatest picture!! -Ayato claimed, puffing his chest.

-Aww Reiji, that poltergeist should have never been exorcised! -Laito said- it came with free women's lingerie!

-Laito, I wasn't going to allow that degree of vulgarity in our respectable home!

-In which you make poisons and worse things, there is a torture chamber, a dungeon and a closet full of-

-Torture tools, mind control assets, dubious experiments, profanity and vulgarity all have a time and place, which is not out living room!

Their cheerful oblivion was interrupted by a movement in the bushes which turned into three of the Mukami brothers. Yuma wasn't with them.

Their leader, which definitely was the guy who cast a spell last dream and had cowered in history class, spoke:

-Sakamaki family. Our brother is missing and you are the only suspects, as he doesn't just get lost. Hand him over, in exchange for your precious Eve.

Subaru stood up, ready for action,

-So that's where she is! Give her back!

Reiji put a hand in front of him to stop him,

-Subaru, calm down. Hear out first. -Reiji turned to Ruki- We do not have your oaf, what would possess us to kidnap your hitman?

-Ugh -Kou growled as his patience evaporated in a hot puff- Ruki, just tell them! If they don't give him back, we're going to drain the masokitty dry!

Subaru lunged forward, knocking over Laito face down, his album and some of the pictures to beat up Kou, only to be restrained by Reiji and Shu,

-We didn't even know Yui Komori was missing. We have no idea where your brother is, you can search all over us. -Shu rolled his eyes as another attempt to punch Kou was made by Subaru- We have no reason to hold him hostage, it's too much work.

-Ruki... I can't sense Yuma anywhere here either... they are telling the truth... -Azusa almost whispered- let's not kill Eve today, okay?

Ruki sighed, closed his eyes and nodded, a bit resigned. He told Reiji Yui was not actually being held captive, they had no idea where she was either. Reiji raised an eyebrow.

He started picking up the album and pictures, as Laito was sulking about his picnic being ruined. Reiji told Subaru how unlike his actual status simply throwing punches was like, as he picked up the last picture that had fallen out.

Before he handed it back to Laito, he flipped it over to see it and paled.

-Shu, isn't this... -he stammered and flipped the picture over for Shu to see, hand trembling.

A carbonized figure, made of shadows and nearly unrecognizable in a fire, but it definitely was-

Shu was abruptly back at the blindingly white, arid place he'd started this dream in. He was sweating cold and couldn't calm down.

There was a German shepherd puppy in the room with him. Edgar's pup he couldn't keep. This was kind of absurd.

Shu tried the door he'd used last time to get out of here.

Locked.

-There is no way out, right? -the small dog said

Shu sat down, trying to collect himself.

He tried to wake up; this was all a dream!

He couldn't. He was trapped.

Was he, a vampire over 300 years old, who could fly under a full moon seriously trapped in a dream???

He tried to find another exit. He walked and walked, apparated and disapparated, but the white room seemed to take him back to the same place he started in.

He stared at a black chandelier that made lots of static noise despite being lit by black flames instead of electricity. He hated it.

He looked at the dog again, as if it would give him a clue.

-Or is there a way out? -the pup said

Shu tried to concentrate. Closed his eyes. Tried to breathe.

There was one way out left he hadn't tried out thought of.

He always had a pocket knife on him for paranoia reasons.

Even if it wasn't silver, he had to try.

Would he really..? It would be over with just a deep, swift cut in the throat, right?

Shu succeeded. He woke up.

What a hideous turn of events! Where was Laito? Was he awake? And Reiji! He'd seen it too, right? Would he remember? He realized he didn't know how to approach Reiji.

Laito was not in the house. But that meant he was awake, not trapped in a strange dream. Even if Laito didn't have a hostile disposition toward him, he realized he somehow couldn't approach him either. NO. Absolutely not.

There was something that intrigued him. That picture book he had, was it real? He'd never paid attention to it but if he searched his memory, Laito kept taking pictures all the time, of all the brothers.

Had he assumed and dismissed his interest in photography as just another antic? Maybe the album thing had been just a dream and he only photographed women against their will or whatever, best to forget about it.

He couldn't drop it. He knew it was technically wrong, but since Laito wasn't here, he'd have a look. He went into Laito's room. The album was indeed there. Apparently it was real. He opened it, prepared to find some bad taste things.

Somehow this felt sadder than if he'd just found pr0n. He had assumed a lot of things, maybe not just about Laito, but about all of his brothers.

Everyone in his family had a facade they'd developed due to the horrible situations they grew up in. He knew this to be true about Laito, but confirming he wasn't just... what if he got to know them? It didn't have to be in the real world, did it?

Had they thought something similar about him? Reiji definitely did.

There was a knock on the door. Three presences had arrived.

What a drag, was Yuma missing in reality too?

Reiji was in the dungeon, he wouldn't hear the knock; it was up to him since Subaru was in his coffin and the triplets were gone. Was he going to answer the door or let them wait until they got tired and left?

Did he want to find out anything at all? Of his past, of Yuma/Edgar, his brothers, anything at all or was it just safer to stay within himself, doing no harm to anybody?

The knocking was terribly persistent.

Open the door for the Mukami brothers?

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fanart #diabolik lovers fanfiction #shumori #omoriau #shu sakamaki #yuma mukami #laito sakamaki

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ruppisresort · 1 year ago

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shoppsin · 2 years ago

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hom3decor · 2 years ago

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ce-design · 5 years ago

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POP Mirror

By Fiam

Designer Marcel Wanders

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hayleymulch-art · 2 years ago

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Wainscoting Bedroom in Hampshire

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featherymalignancy · 4 years ago

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How About a Hug, Hm? REMIX

So a few days ago I got this ask about my Elriel one-shot “How About A Hug?” because I messed up the formatting and I you basically have to to read it as a reblog. I also was really unsatisfied with the end result.

So, I did the most Feathery™️ thing every and REWROTE THE WHOLE GODDAMN THING.

Please enjoy, and know that I will go back and tag people/clean up formatting tomorrow. Right now I just need to post and 😴

——————————————————

Elain Archeron was running late.

Granted, it was only by seven minutes, which—in many social circles—was still considered well within the accepted boundaries of punctuality.

The problem was that a) being late made Elain anxious, and b) there was absolutely nothing polite about Nesta Archeron when she was made to wait, even by her own kin.

Yet another reason it had been critical that Elain arrive on time: Nesta was already likely to be somewhat hacked off when she saw what Elain was wearing tonight, and Elain had hoped to avoid any further dramatics on her elder sister’s part.

She spent half the cab ride downtown trying to convince herself that it was fine that she’d borrowed something out of Nesta’s closet (even if it had been without permission) and that she hadn’t had a choice; she simply didn’t own anything appropriate for dinner at a four-star restaurant. However, by the time the cab slithered under Trump Tower’s unsavory shadow and into Hell’s Kitchen, she’d given up pretending.

The truth was she had half a dozen cocktail dresses that would have been perfectly suitable for dinner in the West Village, even if the place they were going was one of the nicest sushi restaurants in the city. No, Elain had raided Nesta’s closet for a far more embarrassing reason: she’d been in search of a dress she hoped might finally win her Azriel’s attention.

She wasn’t proud of the absurd crush she had on the guy, but it really couldn’t be helped. He was gorgeous, and smart, and darkly funny when he wanted to be, and she’d been secretly mooning over him since they’d met through Feyre’s fiancée three years ago. God, what she wouldn’t give to have him return even a fraction of her feelings.

Apparently not her dignity, Elain thought with a glance down at her neckline.

The worst part was that Azriel seemed oblivious to her interest in him. He was always polite to her, always made a point to talk to her when he caught her hiding out on the balcony during one of Feyre and Rhys’s crazy parties or sit next to her at their big family dinners, but he’d never once given her any indication that he was in any way that he reciprocated her feelings, which should have been reason enough for Elain to pack it in and stop harassing him.

And that was to say nothing of Mor.

Mor was the friend who’d first introduced Feyre and Rhys, and from what Elain could gather, she and Azriel had a long and complicated history. It didn’t seem to matter that Mor had been dating the same girl for over a year now. When she was in the room, Az’s eyes were always on her. Not that Elain blamed him—Mor was gorgeous in a way girls like her could only dream of being. Still, there was no denying the sting of watching the guy you were interested in pine over someone else.

Given all this, Elain wasn’t really sure why she’d gone to such lengths to dress up for this dinner. Mor would surely be there wearing something incredible and couture, thereby rendering everyone else invisible to Azriel. Still, Elain was a hopeless optimist, and she’d stubbornly sold herself on the idea that if she found the perfect dress, she could finally convince Azriel that she was a woman worthy of affection, rather than Nesta’s bookish, boring little sister.

She had to admit, there was nothing bookish about her tonight. The dress was tighter on her that it was her waifish sister, and dear god it deserved a Medal of Honor for the way it managed to keep her boobs looking so perky even without a bra. She didn’t suppose Nesta would be too happy about that bit, either, so she could only hope her sister was in a good mood by the time Elain arrived.

Just then Elain’s phone buzzed, and she looked down at it and groaned. It was from Nesta.

Where the 🤬 are you?

Running late, Elain quickly typed back. Is everyone waiting?

She watched the gray ellipsis pulse at Nesta responded.

Feyre and Rhys aren’t even fucking here yet. But hurry up, Cash is already driving me insane.

Elain rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure who Nesta thought she was fooling when she and Elain shared a bedroom wall. Nesta and Cassian, Rhys’s other best friend, ended up banging almost every time they saw each other, which—since Rhys and Feyre had gotten engaged four months ago—was fairly frequently. In fact, Cash was at their apartment making Nesta scream so often that Elain had been forced to invest in earplugs and a sound machine. From Elain’s perspective, it seemed rather pointless of Nesta to pretend she wasn’t completely hot of a guy she called “Daddy” in bed.

Elain shuddered at the thought, hoping that Nesta would end up going to Cash and Az’s loft in Williamsburg tonight instead. Though, she realized glumly, they only ever seemed to go there when Azriel was out, and the only person who seemed able to keep Azriel out later than Cash was Mor. That meant Elain’s options were either to pop an Ambien and hope for the best, or stay out and watch Az make moon eyes at Mor all night. Neither one was particularly appearing.

Elain ignored Nesta’s text as the car pulled up outside the restaurant and she wiggled out, smoothing the back of her tight dress before giving her curls what she hoped was an artful tousle before slipping inside.

Elain’s heart felt into her stomach as she took in the elegant but understated interior of the famed Sushi Nakazawa. Given the prices, she’d assumed the place would be all black granite and swanky chandeliers—the kind of place cleavage like hers wouldn’t seem out of place. Instead the place was elegantly spare and distressingly well-lit. God, she was such a prize idiot.

Unfortunately, she was also out of time, because a quick survey of the interior found that her group was already gathered at the bar, Mor, Feyre, and Rhys having showed up in the interim between Nesta’s text and Elain’s arrival.

Elain’s eyes went to Mor first, who stunned in a cardinal red lace and net sheath. It clung to her frame like it had been made for her, and despite a latent jealous she couldn’t quite contain, she was relieved to find that she at least wouldn’t look overdressed.

Elain’s stomach only wended in a tighter knot when Mor’s eyes fell on her and lit up, a reminder that not only was Mor prettier, she was also an infinitely better person than Elain.

“There she is!” Mor beamed, coming forward and hugging Elain. “I love that dress, Ellie!”

Elain braced herself for Nesta’s inevitably remark, but it was actually Cash who reacted first.

He’d opened his mouth to comment seemingly before he’d actually looked at Elain, because the second he realized what exactly she was wearing, his eyes they snapped the ceiling, as if looking at her chest directly might turn him to stone.

“Whoa, El, all dressed up tonight!”

Nesta, wholly unmoved by his attempted chivalry, elbowed him in the ribs.

“Don’t be vulgar Cassian!” She snarled before narrowing her eyes. “And that’s mine!”

Cash smirked, seeming more at ease now that Nesta was his target.

“I knew I’d seen that bef—ow! Goddamnit woman, what was that for?”

He scowled down at the dangerous stiletto Nesta had just jammed into his toe box.

“Sorry,” she cast over her shoulder, not deigning to look at him. “Did I accidentally step on your foot?”

“I’m an adult,” Elain interjected, cheeks burning as she faced her sister down. “Stop acting like I’ve fourteen and stuffing my bra.”

“They’re just boobs, Nes,” Rhys added, arm slung over Feyre’s shoulder. “Relax.”

“Watch it,” Nesta warned him, but Feyre only laughed.

“I agree!” She said, turning to smile at Elain. “And I think they look amazing.”

“If I’d have known they were going to be such a topic of conversation,” Elain mumbled, grateful Azriel wasn’t here to witness this circus. “I would have worn something else.”

“No, I’m with Feyre,” Mor said, wicked grin forming. “Breasts that nice deserve to be shown off.”

Elain wasn’t so humble that she didn’t feel herself preening a bit at that comment, even if she was still flustered by the prolonged attention. Either way, she was grateful when Cash interrupted with a somewhat sheepish laugh.

“Teenage me would be furious if he heard me say this, but can we please stop talking about boobs?”

“Elain’s boobs or just any boobs?” Feyre said with a smirk.

However, before Elain could admonish her for it, Feyre was crushing her into a hug.

“Hey you,” she said, wrapping her arms and Elain’s neck and whispering in her ear, “let me and Rhys know if you wanna stay at our place tonight; Cash already grabbed Nesta’s ass twice when she thought we weren’t looking.”

Feyre indicated the mirror behind the bar with her eyes as they pulled away, and sure enough, Elain watched Cash’s hand as it drew lazy, dangerous circles just above the swell of Nesta’s well-formed behind.

Elain groaned, hugging Rhys now as well. God , her sister was such a hypocrite sometimes.

Ignoring a lingering twinge of annoyance, Elain forced herself to glance in false realization before casually asking, “So where’s the Birthday Boy?”

“He was on his phone out back,” Rhys said, before raising a hand in greeting to someone over Elain’s shoulder. “There he is.”

Elain tried not to look to eager as she turned and drank in all six feet four inches of perfection that was Azriel Macar. He was dressed all in black, from his prada boots to the soft, expensive t-shirt fitted enough to show off his toned physique. Elain honestly had to fight not to swoon as he ran an effortless hand through his glossy sable hair, the longer pomaded pieces on top stand up for a second before falling into an artful tousle.

“Hey Ellie,” he said, gaze on her and gone so quickly that he never even had time to notice her much-discussed cleavage. Instead, his eyes flicked to Mor and held for a long, meaningful beat before he turned back to Elain and added politely, “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure,” she chirped, trying to ignore the fact that he was coming closer, and that in another second she’d be able to smell that divine Givenchy cologne he always wore. “Of course!“

She bent her head, pretending to be fixing the clasp on her bracelet as his scent hit her and she had to bite back a groan. Sweet Jesus, he smelled good. When she looked up again, everyone else was shuffling to their table and Azriel was lingering, a soft smile threatening to the reveal the absolutely devastating dimples in both his cheeks.

“Do I get a hug?” He asked. “It is my birthday after all.”

He extended his arms, and she gave a nervous laugh, accepting the gesture by stringing her arms around his neck.

“Of course,” she repeated stupidly, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he embraced her. “Happy Birthday.”

At this he squeezed her a little tighter and she fought off genuine giddiness.

It was a friendly gesture, she warned herself, and it ended the minute Mor called, “Az, come sit by me.”

Elain cleared her throat as he pulled away, turning to where Mor was still beckoning. However, before Elain could get too flustered, he turned back to her.

“Shall we?” he said, indicating Elain go ahead of him. To her delight, they reached the table to find that the only two seats left were next to each other. She tried not to give her eagerness too much leash as he pulled out her chair for her before sinking into the one between she and Mor. Mor leaned over to give him a soft peck on the cheek, and he flushed.

“Where’s Emmy tonight?” Feyre asked as Mor tried to wipe the lipstick from Az’s copper skin and he battered her away, like child trying to fend off an over-bearing mother.

“She’s sick, poor little thing,” Mor said, giving a tiny pout. “She hasn’t been able to get out of bed in days.”

Elain didn’t bother to her disappointment. Emerie had been one of Nesta’s best since they’d met in college almost ten years ago, and she not only was she like family to the Archerons, she also happened to be the only person in the group who knew about Elain’s crush. Elain had sworn her to secrecy at the time, and though it would have been reasonable to assume that once Emmy knew, Mor would know, Elain appreciated that she could trust Emerie to keep her secret.

Elain felt Emerie’s absence keenly and Nesta and Cash began bantering back and forth at lightning speed. Emerie was a master at slowing the tempo of Nesta’s quick wit, making it easier for Elain in particular to feel she could keep up.

More selfishly, Elain also missed Emerie’s ability to keep Mor distracted. When Emmy was around, she was all Mor could focus on. However, in her absence Mor’s attention had reverted almost completely to Az, a fact he didn’t seemed to mind a single bit, if his growing smiles were any indication.

Still, he seemed to be going out of his way to make sure Elain didn’t get lost in the chaos of conversation surging around them, even if he never looked at her for more than a moment or two before his eyes flicked back to Mor, studying her dark brown eyes and crimson lips.

After they placed their drink orders and the waiter came over to begin explaining the omakase menu, Elain wondered if she had time to dodge under the table to throw on some lipstick of her own. Assuring herself everyone was suitably distracted she bent down, hastily uncapping the tube before looking up just in time to see Nesta brush a very deliberate hand between Cassian’s splayed quads.

Elain jerked back, banging her head on the table.

“Fuck!” she swore quietly, straightening and rubbing her head.

Nesta shot her an alarmed look across the table and Elain flushed.

“All you alright?” Azriel asked, and she tried not to bleat in excited panic as his fingers brushed the back of her head. “What happened?”

“I—dropped something,” she fumbled, cursing her sister for being such a salacious wench.

Wasn’t it enough that she and Cash were already going to keep her up all night? Did she really have to make Elain look silly in front of Azriel, too?

“Does it hurt?” Azriel said, still studying her head before letting his eyes go to the server. “Do you need ice?”

“No, no,” Elain said hurriedly, trying to regain her composure. “I’m fine.”

“Did you at least find whatever you were looking for?” Mor asked, and Elain’s flush deepened.

“And then some,” she grumbled to herself, and Cassian gave a quiet but unmistakable laugh before letting out a surprised exhale. Elain had a fairly good idea what Nesta was squeezing to shut him up.

“Should we order, then?” Mor asked, hand falling onto Azriel’s arm. “Any particular requests, Birthday Boy?”

“He’s thirty now,” Rhys pointed out. “I think that makes him a Birthday Man .”

“Birthday Old Man,” Cassian amended. “Don’t worry champ, I’ve already put some viagra in your bathroom.”

“You’re not supposed to share your prescriptions, Cash,” Azriel said with mirth, eyes sparkling even as his face remained neutral. “And besides, I would feel dead back if you needed one tonight and couldn’t find them.”

“Checkmate,” Mor purred as Cash flipped her off.

Beside Azriel, Elain was fighting not to blush again. Cash’s comment, however sophomoric and lewd, had her imagining what Azriel was like in bed. She wondered for a moment if Mor knew before dismissing the thought and the twinge it induced.

“Let’s put this poor souls out of his misery and order,” Feyre said, smiling at the server where he still waited patiently. “Maybe if Cash’s mouth is full, he’ll stop talking.”

Cassian grinned, and, after placing their requests for the chef’s tasting menu, they all settled into an easy conversation. Cash and Rhys regaled them with stories of Azriel at various ages, from the gawky child he’d been when they’d first met him to the shy teenager who’d been terrified of girls.

“Let him be,” Mor said, touching her friend’s shoulder. “He was sweet in high school!”

Rhys laughed.

“It took him a year to pluck up the courage to say three words to you,” he pointed out.

“And they were ‘here’s a pen’ in response to you asking him the time. Nice work, Shakespeare,” Cash said, attempting to muss Azriel’s perfectly styled hair before being batted away.

“I can’t imagine Az ever being awkward,” Elain blurted. “I bet girls thought he was mysterious and cool.“

“See?” Azriel said, gesturing to Elain. “This is why I sat over here.”

“Oh please ,” Rhys said, bubbling his lips. “Ellie’s just being polite. If you two had known each other in high school, we all know how to would’ve gone: you’d have had an obscene crush on her and your dreams of true love would have been dashed after she politely signed your yearbook ‘have a good summer, Adrian’, leaving you heartbroken and alone.”

Azriel gave Elain a soft smile, and her heart burst open as thousands of butterflies flitted out of it.

“I hate to say it, but he’s probably right,” he told her. “I assume high school Elain was very popular.”

“She was,” Feyre said. “Eight different guys asked her to prom.”

“I’m not surprised,” Az said, and Elain made a great show out of drinking out of her masu to avoid having to answer.

She was relieved when the food began arriving to distract everyone, if only to save her the temptation of telling Azriel that there was no universe in which she wouldn’t have been into him, high schoolers or no.

Instead discussion turned to the Feyre and Rhys’s wedding as they ate, and as final plates were being cleared, Cash took the opportunity to once again mocked Azriel for the fact the latter had lost the rock-paper-scissors competition to be Rhys’s best man.

“I lost on purpose,” he told Elain quietly, taking a sip of the Yamasaki Single Malt he’d ordered after dinner.

“Why?” she laughed, following his gaze across the table to where Cash and Nesta were now bickering about whether Rhys’s stag night in Vegas would be better than Feyre’s hen do in Napa.

“Because Rhys told me that you’d convinced Feyre to pick Nesta as her maid of honor, and no offense, but your sister terrifies me. I’d much rather be with you.”

She laughed, biting her lip. It felt so terribly like they were flirting, but she couldn’t decide if it was her imagination or not.

“She terrifies everyone,” Elain said. “And I have a feeling this won’t our last trip down the aisle together.”

Azriel only quirked a bemused brow at this, which had Elain flushing scarlet.

“Not like that! She laughed, fumbling to pretend the idea of them being together was absurd rather than her heart’s desire. "I meant for Cash and Nesta’s wedding. Don’t tell me those two aren’t going to end up together.”

“We’ll have to work out a custody agreement when they finally get over themselves and start dating properly,” he agreed. “I’m spending a fortune on earplugs.”

She laughed, and he seemed warmed by the gesture, because he flashed a modest—albeit dimpled—smile being turning back to the larger conversation.

After dinner they’d gone a cocktail bar, then an Irish pub, and finally—much to Azriel’s chagrin—a karaoke bar. Rhys and Cash spend the majority of the evening trying to wrestle Azriel on stage while Mor and Feyre sang duets to Beyoncé and Spice Girls.

Elain was content enough to sit back and simply observe the scene as it unfolded around her. It was hard to contain her giddy, dreadful anticipation when Mor left around one to check on Emerie and Azriel—besides bidding her farewell with a soft kiss on the cheek—didn’t move a muscle.

Less than an hour later, Cash and Nesta both disappeared about an hour after without so much as a goodbye. Elain groaned, hoping they’d be asleep by the time she got home.

She’d have to rally if she wanted to manage it; they would be at it for hours yet.

By three the place was clearing out, and besides them, only a few tables of marathon drinkers and a girl on stage performing a beautiful rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” remained.

“We’re gonna go,” Rhys said, arm slung around a rather drunk, giggling Feyre. “Ellie, do you want to come with us?”

Elain glanced at Azriel, who’s glass still had two fingers of whiskey in it. If she wanted a chance to be alone with him, this was it.

“I think I’ve got one more in me,” she said, smiling.

“If you mean drink, I’m in,” Azriel said.

“Oh c’mon, brother,” Rhys goaded. “Just one song. I wouldn’t even film it….much.”

“Do Beyoncé!” Feyre chimed in, and Azriel shook his head.

“You know I’d play in traffic before I ever sang karaoke,” Azriel said mildly, making Feyre laugh. "Thanks for coming.”

He rose, embracing Rhys and pressing a kiss on Feyre’s head.

“C’mon, my little drunkard,” Rhys told her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s have sex when we get home,” Feyre said, her attempted whisper fully audible. Rhys pretended smack his forehead with his palm and a mimed, “ Oh brother ”, to Azriel and Elain before coax a still-singing Feyre outside.

Azriel chuckled before draining the last of his drink and rising. Elain pretended not to notice the way his well-tailored jeans fit his lean legs and…other parts of his anatomy as he adjusted his belt buckle and glanced down at her.

“Bud Light?” he asked, and she nodded, bobbing to her feet as well.

If she wanted a way to get closer to him that was more elegant than her increasing urge to crawl across the table and into his lap, this was certainly it.

“I’ll come with you.”

He flashed her a modest smile before indicating she lead the way. He ordered and waved off Elain’s attempt to pay before leaning on the bar to avoid towering over her. The gesture brought them nearly eye-to-eye, and Elain had to actively fight not to let hers roll back in pleasure at the bergamot and amyris wood notes in his sinful cologne. Up close Elain could see how much green he had in his hazel irises, and she wanted to tip into them and swim until she drowned.

“Did you have fun?” she said, desperate to get the conversation flowing again, and he smiled, making her stomach flop.

“I did, yeah,” he said, glancing around the bar in bemusement, as if still wondering how he’d ended up there. “Thank you for coming.”

Elain shrugged, grinning.

“You say that like you didn’t think I’d show,” she said, resting a cheek in her hand. She knew by now her expression was not her less than a swoon, though she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Hadn’t been this been her plan all along? Finally get Az’s attention long enough to tell him how she felt? Now was the best chance she’d probably ever get.

“No, I figured would,” Az said, interrupting her reverie. “Or hoped you would, whatever.”

Was that—

Did that mean what she thought it did?

Normally she would have chalked it up to wishful thinking, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck, dimples appearing as he huffed what almost sound like a sheepish laugh, had hope igniting in her chest.

“What does that mean?” she pressed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

For the first time all night, he didn’t look away. Instead, his eyes skated back and forth across her face, as if she were a riddle he only had seconds to memorize. She watched, transfixed, as he wet his plush lower lip with his tongue before biting it almost self-consciously.

“It means I’m glad you came,” he admitted. “And that you didn’t go home with your sister and Rhys.”

It wasn’t the confirmation she’d been hoping for, and the ambiguity of the statement had her conviction waning. That could just as easily have been mean platonically, and if she pushed him and ruined things between them by making it awkward—

“Of course I’d be here for your birthday,” she said, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “That’s what friends are for.”

She couldn’t help the way her voice got stuck on the word, not when her throat suddenly began to clog with tears.

She had to get out of here, right now. Before she started crying and made things worse. She made to retract her hand but Azriel grabbed it, grip gentle but intent.

“El, don’t go,” he said, and she was surprised at the frank discontent in his normally-impassive expression.

She waited for him to explain himself before instead he let out another strained laugh, grip on her wrist easing. However, he didn’t let go entirely, choosing to intertwine their fingers instead.

Holding hands.

She and Az were holding hands.

And he—

She glanced back up to find he was studying her again, his face a mixture of terror and delight. When she gave his hand a soft squeeze, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus, I am bad at this,” he said, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, but she thought his gaze flicked down to her lips as he continued to study her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Bad at what?” She asked, though she’d begun to suspect she knew exactly what, even if it seemed too good to be true.

“At least my timeline is improving,” he breathed instead. “And I haven’t offered you a pen you didn’t ask for yet.”

Hoping she wasn’t misreading the situation, she let her finger trail down to trace the circular buckle of his Gucci before glancing back up at him and purring, “Do you have a pen?”

He smirked before raising his right wrist and glancing at his watch face over her shoulder.

“It’s….3:17 am,” he said, smile spreading as she gave a low sound of approval and flicked her gaze to his lips.

“Smooth,” she said, and tried not to lose her mind as he let his raised hand fall to the back of her neck and bent to kiss her.

He had almost girlishly full lips, and they opened for her as they settled into the kiss. Immediately his hand tangled in her hair so he could alter her head position slightly and get a proper taste of her. She groaned into his mouth he pulled at her lower lip with his teeth. He tasted like oranges and the expensive Japanese whiskey he’d been drinking all night, and pleasure tightened in her low belly as his tongue brushed hers. Her brought his free hand up to cradle her face, and in response she pushed closer to run her hands underneath of his shirt and down the silken skin of his back.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a heated half-laugh, nose brushing her cheek as he bowed into her touch. “You’re killing me, woman.”

She only smirked, feeling more confident now that she had before. She could hardly believe this was happening, but she was too excited about it to fully care.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and he bit his lip, as if restraining himself from kissing her again.

“Like to another bar?” he asked, dazed as he continued to stare at her lips.

“Like to my bed,” she said boldly. “Or yours, depending on where Cassian and Nesta ended up.”

He didn’t speak immediately, just studied her, and she panicked.

“I mean, only if you—I’m sorry, should I not have—?“

He only kissed her again in response, more gently this time.

“Please stop apologizing,” he said, kissing her jaw now before seeming to realize something and pulling back, brows synced.

“I—Jesus, do you seriously not know?”

She felt a bit sheepish at his incredulous tone and fought not to stiffen.

“Know what?”

He laughed softly, though their was a edge of self-deprecation in it that kept the gesture from seeming conscending.

“I really am the worst at this.”

“At what?”

“El, I’ll crazy about you. I have been crazy about you since we met.”

“You have?” she blurted, horror fading into genuine—if elated—confusion.

He laughed.

“Did you think it was coincidence that you and I are always sitting next to each other at dinner? That I always find you at Rhys’s dumb parties?”

“I—“ she began, still trying to decide if this was a dream or not. “What about Mor, though?”

“Mor?” he repeated, confused now, too. “What about her?”

“I thought you and she—“

He leaned in to brush his nose against hers, and she blushed at the innocent affection in the gesture.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I did have a thing for her in high school, but I got over it after she and Cash slept together at prom. We’re just friends, I swear.”

“But she’s always touching you, and every time I see you together you can’t stop looking at her.”

At this he laughed, his smile so genuine and open she almost didn’t recognize him.

“She’s always been touchy-feely,” he said. “She grew up in Madrid, and people are just more affectionate there, I guess. And I only watch her when you’re around because she called me out for having an absurd crush on you, and I was afraid she was going to get drunk and blow my cover by telling you.”

Elain shook her head, still not quite believing what she was hearing. Reading her expression, he bent to kiss her softly.

“What guy wouldn’t be crazy about you?” he breathed. “You’re incredible.”

This seemed to break the spell, and she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him down for another steamy kiss.

“Text Cash,” she said a little breathlessly when they broke away. “I don’t want an audience.”

She couldn’t felt but feeling smug when he almost dropped his phone at those words. It felt good to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by all this.

“Cash and Nesta are at the lof—“ Az began after a minute, but Elain cut him off with a kiss.

H rose, pulling her against him as his tongue brushed the roof of her mouth.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he said as she kissed his neck and tugged on his earlobe with her teeth, earning a low groan. “You’ve been drinking.”

She grabbed his chin so he would look at her.

“Not that much,” she said, and it was true. “And besides, I wanted this way before tonight.“

“Good,” he breathed, pressing a hand to her low back to bring her close to him. “Because so have I.”

Though they spent the majority of the ride up town and the elevator up to her apartment making out, something seemed to shift as Elain’s door clicked shut behind him, as if the gravity of what they were about to do had finally caught up to them.

Reluctantly Az peeled his lips from where they’d been glued to her neck as he took a small step back, as if to give her space.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, feeling embarrassed for how much she still wanted him even now that he seemed to have come to his senses.

“Maybe we should—” he broke off, looking somewhat guilty. “Hold off.”

She nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay again.

“Are you worried this could mess things up in the group? Because I understand—“

“No,” he said hurriedly, coming forward again, as if he could no longer stand to be away. “Not at all. I just—you’re special, El. You deserve to be taken out and spoiled.”

“Az, you just took us to a $1,800 dinner! Or did you think I didn’t see you pulling our server aside?”

Azriel opened his mouth, and she covered it with a finger.

“You don’t need to earn my affection. It’s yours already, free of charge.”

“I’ve just been—I waited so long to make my move and I’m terrified of fucking it up,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Why, are you bad at sex?”

Azriel laughed, seemed to relax at her teasing.

“I’ve never had any complaints,” he breathed again her lips, kissing her deeply again.

She gently bit his lower lip in response.

“Then I’d say you’ve gotten nothing to worry about,” she said, kissing him a third time.

She moaned softly when drove his fingers into her hair, hips canting towards her as he pressed her more fully into the door.

She could feel his body’s reaction to her pressing between her thighs, and she moaned again.

“Fuck,” he breathed onto her skin. “You are so gorgeous.”

“So are you,” she said, running her hands up the back of his t-shirt and feeling the mosaic of muscles flexing underneath. “Take this off.”

He laughed and pulled the offending garment over his head, making her groan in delight.

“God, this body ,” she breathed, running a hand down his chest and enjoying his shiver at her delicate touch.

He responded by spinning her away from him and gently dragging down the zipper of her dress until he could slip a hand inside of it.

“I knew you couldn’t have a bra on underneath this thing,” he said, voice a touch smug as he cupped both bare breasts and her breath caught in her throat..

“I’m surprised you even noticed,” she said, voice somewhat. “I wore this dress for you, and you didn’t even look at it once the entire evening.”

She laughed, the sound into a soft moan as he twisted one nipple in experimentation. When she sighed and let her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Of course I noticed the dress,” he corrected. “You have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. I just knew that if I let myself look, I might not be able to stop looking.”

“You shouldn’t say that until you’ve seen them without the sorcery of underwire,” she said.

With that he spun her to face him, catching her gaze to ensure he had her permission before tugging down the top of the dress so her breasts fell free.

“Gorgeous,” he said, easing to his knees so he could replace his fingers with his mouth. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“If I known this was going to be your reaction, I would have worn a bodycon dress in front of you ages ago,” she said, threading her hands through his hair as he dragged his teeth and tongue along her nipple.

“You don’t need some tight dress to be sexy,” he said, resting his chin her her sternum so he could gaze up at her. “I’d take you in your overalls and pigtail braids any day.”

“Is this some Pippy Longstocking fetish we should all know about?”

He grinned, rising to his feet and giving one of her curls a playful tug.

“Because as devastating as you are playing dress up in your sister’s clothes, I prefer you as you.”

“You can’t say that when I’m naked,” she said with a smile, touching his cheek.

“Why not?”

“Because I may start crying and ruin the mood.”

He cocked his head to the side, tracing her lips with a finger.

“I wouldn’t mind a few tears from you in bed. But only if it’s from you sobbing in pleasure.”

His words sent blood pooling south, the intensity cause a dull throbbing.

“Why do I feel like you could do it, too?” She asked, reaching down to free his belt as he heeled out of his boots.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, taking her hand and guiding it between his legs. “Forget this,” he said, squeezing gently so she could feel how hard he was. “I could go down on your all night and be the happiest guy on Earth.”

Emerie had said as much once, at a drunken girls’ night.

Azriel strikes me as the type of guy who loves eating girls out. It’s why gay women find him so easy to befriend; we recognize kindred spirit.

Elain vowed to never tell the others she’d been right.

“Will you let me?” He asked, gently nudging her dressing off her hips until it came free and pooled at her feet.

“Is this a trick question?” She said, voice going hoarse as he slipping a hand into her underwear.

“Some people don’t like it.”

“I’m not one of them,” she said, he smiled, coaxing her legs around his waist so he could carry her.

“Thank God,” he replayed. “That would break my heart. Which way?”

She pointed him in the right direction before giving into temptation and kissing him again, looking to way she could feel like body reacting to hers as he held her close. Only when they reached her room—which was decidedly messier than she’d have liked considering Azriel Macar was now in it—did he set her down.

He wasted no time into coaxing her onto the bed, taking only a moment to admire the silky black thong she wore before dragging into down her thighs and discarding it.

“Spread your legs for me, El,” he said, brushing kisses to her knee as she slowly did as he commanded.

The light from the nearby street lamp made the room a lot less dark than Elain was used to during sex, and for a moment she though to be embarrassed or postpone. Then she glanced down to admire the contrast of Azriel’s inky black hair framed against the pale skin of her thighs, and she forgot what it even meant to be self-conscious as he finally put him mouth on her.

She swore at the first brush of his tongue, which was both deliberate and extremely delicate. She threaded a hand through his hair at his second stroke, the touch more intentional this time.

“Azriel,” she breathed.

She watched the muscles in his beautiful back shift at this, as if hearing her moan his name had untethered something in him. When he put his mouth back on her, it was clear he was no longer attempted to tease her. Instead he felt right to where she needed him most, refusing to relent until she tipped over the edge.

Even then he didn’t seem satisfied, it and it was only after he made her come a second time did he pull back, licking his lips before bending to kiss her.

“Take your pants off,” she demanded. "Right now.”

She felt him grinning against her neck as he peeled off of her, slowly working the buttons of his pants before sliding them down his trim hips. He wore black boxer briefs underneath, and he honestly looked like an Armani model. She bit her lip, eying the sizable swell of him through the cotton.

“Those too,” she breathed, greedily drinking in his well-defined adonis belt and the bare trace of hair above the band.

He did as she commanded, and she nearly melted. Naked he was a God, all rippling muscles and smooth unblemished skin, save for the chest piece tattoo that extended onto his shoulders and halfway down his arms. She let her eyes sink lower. Even half-hard he was big, and her belly clenched.

Wasting no time, she urged him to take her place on the bed before kneeling at his feet and putting her mouth on it.

“Shit,” he hissed, driving a hand into his hand then down his face. “Ellie, you’re kiling me.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, and he growled in approval, seeming to decide something before breaking her grip on him and hauling her to her feet. He kissed her again, and she could feel his cock as it practically pulsed between them.

She still wasn’t sure she could believe it was for her, that somehow he wanted her as much as she did him, and had for almost as long.

“Condoms,” he breathed against her mouth. “I need to be inside of you.”

She froze.

“I don’t have any,” she said, dismayed.

How could she be so stupid? Why didn’t they stop on the way home? The closest bodega was six blocks, and she knew everyone who worked there. The last thing she needed was all of them knowing—

Azriel pressed a swift kiss to her lips before tangling from her.

“Where are you going?”

“To grab a condom.”

“Naked?

He flashed her a slight grimace, “Let’s agree you won’t ask where I get it from.”

“Oh Moses,” Elain said, face flushing scarlet as she listened to Nesta’s door creaking open.

Azriel was back in less than a minute, tossing an entire box onto the nightstand as he pulled open one of the foils with his teeth, using his free hand to push his damp hair, long enough to brush his cheekbones now that it wasn’t styled, out of his eyes.

“You found those distressingly fast,” Elain said, unsure if she was amused or mortified at the situation.

“Cash is predictable with his hiding spots,” Az said, eyes hooded as he stroked himself several times before rolling the condom onto his length.

“And why did you take the whole box?”

Azriel laughed softly.

“Because I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Without another word Az sank to his knees again, one hand lazily stroking himself to maintain his erection as he went down on her again.

This time it only last three seconds or so before he pulled back, resting one knee beside her hip to steady himself before pulling her onto his shaft in a single wet stroke. Using her left bent leg as leverage, he adjusted his angle, smirking at her low, guttural moan of pleasure.

“Good to know your g-spot is as sensitive as the rest of you,” he breathed, and she laughed and tugged him into an ambitious rhythm.

Soon the only sound was their shared breathing, and the sliding on their bodies against one another. She came first, and he followed even before the dizzying waves of pleasure ceased. He pumped lazily in and out of her for another half dozen stroke before gently extracting from her and peeling off the condom.

She curled against him, cheek pressed to chest as her hands continued to explore. Her fingers caressed his swelling pectorals and each of his abdominal muscles before lazily venturing back between his legs. He gave a hiss of pleasure as she began to work his silken shaft in earnest, and in minutes he was fully ready again.

He groaned when she snatched one of the condoms and rolled it onto him before swinging a leg over and sinking astride him.

Her third orgasm hit her only a short time later, and she sighed when he bucked up into her before going languid under her ministrations.

She leaned down to kiss him as he ran a soothing hand down her back.

“Jesus,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers and swirling his hips, still inside her despite his orgasm. “That was incredible.”

She purred her contentment, feeling something even more alluring than desire swell in her chest as he discarded the second condom and tugged her into his arms, tangling their legs. He still smelled like cologne, but it had mixed with her perfume, and sweat, and the scent was intoxicating. She wanted to bath in it—in him—until she died from bliss. She listened to his breathing even out, and as she was drifting off to bed, he felt his breath ruffle her hair.

“Do you like pancakes?” he murmured. “I want to make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Really?” she said, looking at him over a shoulder and melting at the warmth in his smile, less guarded now than it had been even hours before.

“I want to make breakfast for you every morning,” he breathed. “I have since I met you.”

She smiled, nestling closer to him.

“I’d love that, but I should probably be the one making you breakfast. It is your birthday, after all. You have to let me give you something other than a bj and a few orgasms for your birthday, even if it is your dirty 30.”

Az choked on a laugh.

“Say you‘ll dinner with me, then. No family or nosy friends around, just us.”

“I think the word you’re looking for it ‘date’,” she said, laughing as his cheeks flushed before realizing something. “Or is the idea just too formal for the situation? I know we did things a bit backwards...”

“We did,” he agreed, stroking her cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I want to spoil you any less. So yes a date, if you’ll still have me.”

“I will,” she said, meeting his hazel eyes before gently kissing him. “With pleasure.”

He smiled against her mouth.

“Then that’s the only birthday gift I want or need from you.”

She smiled, feeling happy to the point of bursting when he kissed her ear and closed his eyes again.

"Happy Birthday, Az.”

His hum of contentment vibrated through her back.

“The happiest,” he breathed.

#featherywrites #elriel smut #elain x azriel #acotar modern one shot #four word prompts

190 notes · View notes

phantomqueen · 5 years ago

Note

vesik for 🏡 + 📚

�� Describe your OCs ideal house! Give us a tour around! What’s their garden like? Their bedroom? Kitchen? Where is it and how many people live there?

askdhfs vesik’s life still isnt stable enough for him to imagine having his own dingdang house. i’ll try to imagine it for him though

it would be 2 bedroom but fairly small, probably single story. one room is the bedroom & the other one is like, his hacker “office”, but he can sleep in the office and have the bedroom be a guest room if needed. couch…also good for guest…comfy. uhhh TV. viddy game.

decor is minimal. probably a few succulents. he doesnt deign to buy mass produced generic wall art but he’ll paint each room a different color. the gang probably gets him the worst knickknacks in the galaxy but he still puts them on display. uhh kitchen is pretty sparse & rarely used except for the fridge & microwave but at least that means its always clean! none of his kitchenware matches

the vibe of the whole house is like, plain but comfortable. he doesnt care that much about interior decorating. he has fairy lights in the bedroom (which is also canon, he has green ones in his room on base) and the bathroom is low key fancy. lots of…bubble bath products. oH HE OWNS AT LEAST ONE LAVA LAMP

i think vesik’s brain would explode at the thought of living with his boyfriend like one of those couples on holonet tv who Don’t have to worry about galactic war but tylan can move in there if he wants to. yknow no big deal. the gang is also free to crash whenever they want

im sorry this is so long but the question basically prompts a long answer

📚 If your OC was given some kind of forbiddon knowledge, what would they do with it? Would they tell anyone? Use it for evil or good? How would it change their outlook on life, if at all?

forbiddon…

UHHH i think it depends on the specific context of the knowledge. hopefully he would use it for good. i think its in his nature to try and keep it on the down low, maybe tell one or two people that he rly trusts but under the condition that they dont let it become widespread knowledge. unless the advice they give him is that he Should tell everyone. idk! it rly depends on what that knowledge is i guess

((oc q’s))

#lesbianrukiakuchiki #ask #vesik

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raendown · 6 years ago

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Happy Rae Day! A return gift to all of you for being so wonderful today. Did you think I had been idle under the showerings of your love? ;) I hope these two anons don’t mind that I combined their two prompts together!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5054 Summary: The first time they met Madara's world lit up with color - but Tobirama's didn't. Born blind, Tobirama would never get to experience color. And after all these years he still doesn't believe in Madara's claims that the two of them are soulmates.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Fool Me Once And A Half

The only reason Madara had deigned to leave the warmth and comfort of his uptown apartment was the slight panic in Hashirama’s voice when the man called. Excitable he might be but Hashirama wasn’t usually prone to genuine panic over small unimportant things. Usually. Madara would judge for himself how legitimate the situation was when he got there.

Slogging through fifteen minutes worth of snow so early in the morning was not how he wanted to spend the first day of his weekend, especially not with his car in the shop, so Madara was already scowling dark enough to scare a thundercloud by the time he punched the buzzer in the front foyer of Hashirama’s apartment building. Rubbing his hands together inside their woolen mittens, he breathed in between them and prayed that the feeling would return to his fingers soon.

Who is it? Hashirama’s voice was made tinny but the intercom. Madara snorted and pressed the button.

“Me, you idiot.”

Why didn’t you just use your key?

“I forgot it; just let me in! It’s freezing!”

A moment of silence passed and then the door behind him buzzed and Madara lunged for it, throwing himself in to the warmth of the building’s interior. Cheap red and green Christmas decorations winked at him from every corner of the front room, giving him pause as he stopped to take in the colors he’d spent many years unable to enjoy, but it was only for a brief moment. He quickly shook his head to clear away the thoughts trying to press in on him and made his way over to the elevators, thanking the fates that there was already one waiting on the ground floor.

While the elevator saved him the trouble of hauling himself up several flights of stairs, he slipped his gloves off and shoved them in to his coat pockets so he could breathe directly on to the skin of his hands. By the time a small ding prompted him to step out in to the proper hallway he was shaking out the tingling sensation of receding numbness.

Hashirama appeared to have thought ahead for once as the door had been propped open for him. Madara slipped inside, kicked away the wooden block stopping the door from latching, and looked around with a pinched expression.

“Alright,” he called in to the suspiciously quiet and dark interior. “What’s this emergency that you think I, of all people, will be able to help you with? If it’s not important then I’m making you pay for a cab back home.”

“Oh! You’re here!” Hashirama’s head popped out from one of the rooms on the other side of the lounge area and Madara immediately noticed two things wrong. Firstly that his normally loud, boisterous voice was reduced to a sort of whispery yell. Secondly that he seemed to be in the wrong bedroom.

“Why are you creeping around your brother’s room?”

Instead of answering, Hashirama frantically waved him closer and disappeared out of sight. Madara hesitated. Sure, he’d fantasized about being allowed in to Tobirama’s room hundreds of times over the last few years for various reasons, only about half of them sexy, but it was usually the younger man himself that he pictured inviting him in, not Hashirama. With a deep sigh he moved to follow where he had been bidden. If there was indeed some kind of trouble in there then maybe he could earn some brownie points by offering help.

He’d been working to earn Tobirama’s good favor for years now with no success but it never hurt to keep trying.

Peeking his head around the doorframe, Madara was met by a dark room with the shades pulled down and only a portable lamp on the desk illuminating the shape of Hashirama hovering over the bed. Squinting in to the darkness revealed nothing that seemed imminently dangerous so he stopped in the entrance and folded his arms to give his friend an expectant look.

“Well?”

“He’s really sick.” The lamp just barely lit up Hashirama’s pout. “And he won’t take his medicine.”

“That’s what you called me here for?”

“Of course! He won’t listen to me so I thought he might listen to you except now he’s fallen asleep so I thought–!”

“You are not sticking a needle in my ass while I sleep,” Tobirama’s voice interrupted him from one corner of the room, heavy with exhaustion and the dry rasp of someone who desperately needed a drink of water.

Madara blinked at the shapeless lump on the bed in surprise and then swung his eyes back over to Hashirama. For the first time he realized that the man was indeed holding a syringe carefully in one hand, something his gaze had passed right over because the man was a doctor, it wasn’t all that out of the ordinary. Now he frowned in confusion.

“You were going to stick his butt in his sleep? That’s real creepy, Hashbrown. Real creepy.”

“Stop calling me Hashbrown,” his friend whined while the lump in the bed snickered mercilessly. “He needs his medicine and he knows it needs to be delivered in to a large muscle group but he won’t let me!”

“And how the hell do you think I’m supposed to help with this?”

Hashirama stumbled towards him with the plunger of the syringe held out like a gift. “I thought you might be able to convince him to take his medicine. You know, ‘cause you’re his sou–”

Before he could finish that word Madara clapped a hand over the man’s mouth and gave the best death glare he could, hoping the light of the lamp was enough for his point to get across. Just in case it wasn’t he pulled Hashirama closer and whispered a few death threats in his ear if he didn’t shut the hell up. Only after his victim had gone limp with surrender did Madara let go and look around.

“Why are the lights off in here? Trying to give people needles in the dark seems like a bad idea.”

“Tobi was sleeping!”

“Brother, I am blind,” Tobirama’s voice pointed out, a little less sleepy than before as the commotion dragged him farther in to consciousness.

While Hashirama spluttered over how he could have been so stupid – honestly, it was a question many people asked with alarming frequency for such a ‘noble’ profession – Madara reached over to hit the light switch. Then he immediately wanted to turn it back off so he could deny ever having seen something as adorable as a sick Tobirama all bundled up in blankets with his hair in disarray and his cheeks flushed with fever. Knowing he was sick did nothing to detract from how cute he looked, although Madara admitted he might have had a slight bias.

To distract himself he let his eyes rove around the room, taking in all the details he possibly could; it was unlikely he would be allowed back in here any time soon. Soft green paint colored the walls, probably not Tobirama’s decision, and the room had a very simple layout with minimal furniture to clutter the floor space. A squat desk sat next to a tall bookshelf holding what looked like Tobirama’s massive collection of audiobooks, all of them labeled with strips of braille. On the other side of the room an open closet held a meticulously organized selection of clothing, underneath which sat a neat row of shoes. Madara smiled and wondered if Tobirama’s neat freak tendencies would have shown up so prominently even if he hadn’t been born without sight.

Actually he wondered a lot about how things might have been different if Tobirama had not been born blind, although he wouldn’t change the man for the world.

“Will the two of you go away? I am trying to sleep.” Dragging the blankets over his head, the poor man grumbled from underneath them about overbearing brothers and annoying idiots who wouldn’t go away. Madara wondered if the second was aimed at him. He hadn’t even done anything but respond to a panic call! Then he flinched when Hashirama looked over at him with pleading eyes.

“You’ll help, won’t you? He could get worse if he doesn’t get the medicine and you know how sickly he’s always been!” Ignoring the offended Hey! Tobirama grumbled, Hashirama stepped forward to latch on to Madara’s arm and whine plaintively, “I don’t want my baby brother to die!”

“Oh relax, he isn’t going to die,” Madara snapped.

“So you will help!”

“Will you shut up?”

Hashirama beamed at him and gently pressed the syringe in to his hands. After helping this idiot through so many years of med school Madara was hardly a stranger to handling such things but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with it. Unfortunately his friend didn’t stick around to hear any protests. Hashirama was bouncing out of the room with a cheerful smile and a happy announcement that he would make breakfast before Madara could do more than try to hand the stupid needle back.

Suddenly he found himself alone in a room with Tobirama, in the man’s bedroom no less, at a loss for what to say. He knew very well that he should leave. Most likely Tobirama was silently counting the seconds until he did so, eager to get rid of him, but he couldn’t seem to make his feet move.

“What did you stop him from saying?”

“Huh?” The unexpected voice made him jump, only just realizing that he had been staring at the nothing in complete silence for probably several minutes.

“Before, you stopped Anija from saying something. What was it?”

Madara swallowed thickly and did a bit of rapid mental math, weighing how badly he wanted to have this conversation with how willing he was to listen to the yelling that just opening the subject was likely to earn him. For all the times he’d tried to get them to talk about it, he’d never made it passed a few opening sentences before being violently shut down. He’d given up on the whole endeavor years ago and resigned himself to yearning from afar.

Sighing in deference to the inevitable, he shook his head and said quietly, “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“No, I want to know. My hearing is very good. I heard you threatening him if he didn’t shut his gob. That seems like it must have been very important and I don’t like it when people keep secrets from me.” Tobirama sat up in bed and turned his head towards where he could hear Madara’s voice, blank red eyes staring somewhere off to one side.

“Look, its fine. It isn’t really a secret. You just won’t want to talk about it.”

“If it isn’t a secret then you shouldn’t have any problem telling me.”

“Just drop it, alright?” Madara scowled and tightened his empty hand in to a fist but he was met with a matching scowl from the man across the room.

Turning his body more fully towards the door, Tobirama straightened as far as the obvious exhaustion weighing him down would allow. “Would you quit being difficult for once in your life? It was a simple question and it should be a simple answer.”

“It is but–”

“Then tell me!”

“You don’t want to hear it, trust me.”

“I do!”

“No, you don’t.”

“Just fucking tell me what you didn’t want him to say!”

Madara could almost hear the sound of his temper snapping, like brittle wood that cracked down the center and left splinters to dig under the skin.

“Because you’re my soulmate! There! That’s what I stopped him from saying! He thought you might listen to me because we’re soulmates but I didn’t think you wanted to hear that. Happy now?” He very nearly crossed his arms with temper until he remembered at the last second that he was holding something sharp and full of unknown medication. Moments like that made him glad that Tobirama couldn’t see his awkward flailing.

A deadly silence hung between the two of them for nearly half a minute before finally Tobirama said, “You’re still on about that, huh?” Madara had thought his heart inured against any blow this man could possibly hit him with but the callous, uncaring tone those words had been spoken in made him shiver and fall back a step.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he ground out stiffly from between clenched teeth. “It remains the truth whether you believe it or not.”

“I don’t get why you’re pushing it so hard. It’s been years. The joke can stop.”

“Joke?” Madara blinked, completely flabbergasted, but Tobirama only sneered in his general direction.

“Clearly. Look, I get it. Ha ha, tell the blind man that you see color and make him think you’re his soulmate. What a fucking laugh. But I am not a child, I will not fall for the same stupid prank twice, so you can take your fake little sob story and get out of my room! For that matter, get out of my life!” Tobirama panted raggedly in the aftermath of his outburst, hands fisted in the blanket covering his lap.

It took four different tries opening his mouth and closing it again before finally Madara was able to say, “You think I’m making fun of you. I didn’t…I never knew that was why you…I thought you just hated the idea of it being me.”

“Don’t try to make the sob story worse, Uchiha, Just go.” Tobirama huffed and Madara narrowed his eyes at the man, his irritation rising back up again.

“You won’t even consider that I might be telling the truth?” he demanded. “If it was all just a cruel joke, why would I have let it carry on this long when clearly you’ve never believed me for a single moment?”

“What would you have me do? Develop new eyes so I can see for myself?”

“There is a way to test this, you know.”

For a half a second Madara thought Tobirama might leap up off the bed and punch him because they both knew exactly what he was suggesting and clearly it wasn’t an option the younger man favored. Although, that was actually rather understandable. He very obviously hated Madara down to the core so kissing him to test whether or not they were really soulmates when he was already sure they weren’t probably didn’t sound like a great time.

He very nearly swallowed his own tongue in surprise when Tobirama nodded jerkily in acceptance.

“Alright, fine. Once. Just to prove it one way or another.”

“Right. Yeah. Just once, got it.”

“Get over here then.”

Madara very nearly leapt across the room. Even if this didn’t stop Tobirama from despising the idea, it would at least prove to him that it wasn’t all a big joke. Accepting the truth of the matter was something he could build on, given enough time, so he would take what he could get.

“You’re not, like, contagious or anything, right?” he asked, hesitating at the last second. Tobirama sneered.

“No. You’re safe from my icky germs.”

“Right. Good. How do you…want to do this?” Clearing his throat, Madara’s eyes darted from side to side even though the other man couldn’t even see him blushing. “Do you want me to, uh…”

“Just get down here!”

Impatient, Tobirama reached out towards the sound of his voice and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to feel around for his face so they wouldn’t head-butt each other. Madara remained still and very carefully did not shiver when the pad of one finger brushed over his lips. He watched the irritation on Tobirama’s face bleed slowly in to reluctant curiosity and sparks of electricity were already dancing along his spine by the time he felt another tug of his shirt bringing him that last remaining inch down.

When their lips met it was everything the movies promised it would be; it was every cliché sentence in all the terrible romance books and the historic legends, all the grand tales in bedtime stories. Fireworks went off, the earth shifted, gravity failed, and Madara could hardly tell if he were falling forward or backward but it didn’t matter because it was perfect. Tobirama was perfect.

It ended too soon. His companion pulled away with a ragged gasp that dragged a protesting keen from his throat before he could stop it, darkening the flush already heating his cheeks. He was at least pleased to note that Tobirama was panting as well and that all anger was gone from his expression. In its place was a strange mixture of awe and consternation, the look of a man who just realized that he had been proved wrong after holding firm to his opinions for years. Even as he struggled to remember how breathing was supposed to work, Madara managed to take a moment and revel in that expression, his moment of triumph after waiting for so long.

At last Tobirama seemed to gather himself enough to let go of the shirt his fingers were still fisted in, absently patting the material smooth like he had forgotten whose chest lay underneath. Madara straightened but did not move away while he waited for the other man to say something – anything.

“Clearly I…owe you some sort of an apology,” Tobirama said finally. Where normally Madara would have expected to feel anger, all he felt was a sort of saddened curiosity.

“You said that you didn’t want to fall for the same prank ‘again’. What did you mean?”

Tobirama sighed, his shoulders folding inwards, and for a moment Madara almost regretted even asking. But he had been fighting for this man to at least recognize the fact that they were soulmates for years now and it felt important to know exactly what it was that had kept them apart this long. The very moment they met Madara’s world had lit up with color for the first time. If only Tobirama would let him, he would spend the rest of his life trying to find the words to describe those colors for the one who could not see them.

“When I was fourteen a new family moved in down the street with a boy about my age. I didn’t know then but they had moved to seek help for the kid, psychological help. He’d found his soulmate and lost her in the same year and it sort of…broke something inside him. He’d begun preying on other kids, convincing them that he was their soulmate and that they must just be colorblind, probably in some desperate attempt to connect with someone again.”

“Fuck.” Madara pulled a hand through his hair, already able to see where this was going.

“Yeah, fuck,” Tobirama agreed ruefully. “As you can imagine, I was rather easy prey for him. I had no reason not to believe him when he said he saw colors for me and I was thrilled at first. Then the more I got to know him the more I realized how cruelly he treated me until one day I went to visit and found a young girl there who also claimed to be his soulmate and the truth came out that it was neither of us.”

“How come Hashirama never mentioned this?”

“At the time he was away at summer camp. I asked our parents not to mention it because I was already in pain and I didn’t want to deal with his dramatics making me feel worse about it.” Tobirama shrugged.

Now with both hands tangled up and tugging on his thick locks, Madara closed his eyes for a moment. It made sense to him now why Tobirama would have pushed back against him so hard. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to deal with even one false soulmate, let alone the possibility that a second person might be trying to same gag. As much as he kind of wanted to still be angry at being denied for so long, he just couldn’t find it within himself when faced with the latent pain he could see on the other man’s face. Self-preservation was a concept he understood only too well.

One thing he did not see on Tobirama’s face was any sort of joy. Knowing that they were truly soulmates clearly wasn’t the happy ending he had been waiting for as it was for Madara. Spinning the syringe still dangling loosely from the fingertips of one hand, Madara sighed. Changing the subject seemed the safest route to take.

“Will you take the medicine? I’ll leave you alone to…think about this or…ignore it. Whatever you want.”

“Fine,” Tobirama breathed faintly.

“Does it really have to go in–?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Better you than my brother though.” Pushing the blankets off of himself, Tobirama squirmed around until he was on his belly with a thumb hooked in to the waist band of his pajama and pulling them down to expose a large swath of one pale butt cheek.

Madara warred against the urge to pause and admire as he knelt down, making sure that his movements were as loud as possible, and inserted the needle with as little skin contact as he could manage. They both flinched as Tobirama hissed in pain but Madara kept a steady pressure on the plunger until the entire dose had been delivered. When he stood he reached for the alcohol swabs and bandages which had been prepared and left waiting on the corner of the desk.

“That’s probably not how you pictured seeing my ass for the first time,” Tobirama muttered after he was allowed to pull his pants back up. Madara spluttered and it made the other crack a smile at last. Just a small one but it was a start, at least.

“Ahem! Uh, well, I’ll leave you to rest. And I’ll tell Hashirama not to bother you.” Even as he spoke he was turning away, wrapping the syringe in some spare gauze until it could be properly disposed of.

“I am sorry, you know.”

Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Madara looked back to see Tobirama pushing his blankets away a little more so that he could turn sideways a bit. Ignoring the way his hands were shaking, he took a deep breath and let it back out slowly before allowing himself to answer. For all the things he wanted to say, however, all he could come up with was, “Its fine.”

“Just – oh fuck it.” Swinging his legs out, Tobirama struggled to stand on shaky knees.

“Don’t get up! You’re sick; you’re supposed to be resting! What are you doing?”

The idiot was shivering as he emerged from his warm bed in to the cold winter air but stubbornly stumbled moved anyway, pattering across the empty center of his room until Madara met him halfway, dropping the syringe on the desk so he could try and steer Tobirama back towards the blankets.

Exasperated, he grumbled, “I get it, alright? Get back in bed. You’re not even properly dressed to be up and about! Why didn’t your brother get you a sweater?”

“Quit being a mother hen for two seconds and just listen, damn it!”

“But you could get even more sick! I don’t even know what you have!”

“Ugh.”

Taking two fistfuls of his shirt again, Tobirama dragged him in until their mouths met for a second time, effectively cutting off any words which Madara might have been trying to say. In fact, his mind was suddenly emptied of words altogether. The only thing he could think of was Tobirama as he groaned in surprise, stepping closer on instinct to settle his hands on sharp hipbones. He cared little for the fact that the kiss tasted like chicken soup and some kind of cough syrup. What mattered was the bone deep feeling of relief for finally being together even if his brain managed to catch up to him eventually and remind him that he wasn’t really sure what was actually going on here.

When the other made to pull away from him this time Madara held tighter, tilting his chin up to deepen the kiss, desperate for just a moment longer. He was incredibly startled not to get shoved away for such a bold move. Instead the hands in his shirt tightened and Madara earned himself those precious few more seconds he so desired before a gentle nip told him it was time to back away.

He did – reluctantly – and was rewarded by the sight of cheeks flushed with something more than fever. Tobirama had never been more beautiful to him than he was now, up close and sheepish but for the first time without a single trace of displeasure for Madara’s presence.

“I was angry because I thought you were lying,” Tobirama said quietly. “And then as time went on I realized that no matter how angry I was I still felt pulled towards you in some way. Developing a crush on the person I thought was only trying to hurt me just made me feel stupid and it felt like you were winning. Like you were taking a part of me that shouldn’t belong to you. I don’t…hate this. I think I’m just going to need a while to adjust.”

“Adjust,” Madara echoed for lack of any ability to respond coherently. That wasn’t actually what his brain was caught on but Tobirama could hardly see his expression, responding only to the stunned tone in his voice.

“I’ve been angry at you for so long that it’s kind of an engrained habit. Now I know that I was wrong so I just need to rearrange my thinking a bit.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I know it’s not the overjoyed reaction you were probably hoping for but–”

Madara blurted out the words as soon as they caught up to him, cutting the other off. “You like me!?”

“Of course that is what you would fixate on.” Tobirama shook his head but he was almost smiling again. “How typical. I should have known that would distract you. Yes I have, ah, some form of feelings for you. They’re complicated and I’ll need to sort them out but yes.”

Restraining himself from crowing with victory took more effort than it probably should have but Madara wasn’t nearly as dumb as many people assumed him to be; he knew a hard hint when he saw one and he recognized that now was definitely not the time to press this. Still, he didn’t bother stopping himself from grinning like a maniac. Even just this small bit of progress was more than he had dared to hope for in quite some time now.

“You can have all the time you want,” he said. “But for now you should get back in bed. Sick people need sleep and you look ready to pass out just from standing up for five minutes.”

“Bully.”

“Sometimes, yes.”

At last Tobirama allowed himself to be led back to the bed, slipping under the covers and rolling over the face the wall. Madara hovered for a few seconds just to smile down at him and relive the kisses they had shared in his head. Then he retrieved the needle, shut off the light, and left the poor man to his rest.

Hashirama was fluttering around the small kitchenette on the other side of the apartment’s main area when he stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind himself with a gentle click. Several plates were already sitting on the dining table, each of them heaped with different kinds of food, yet still the other man was trying to scramble more eggs and slice up a few more apples at the same time. Madara wrinkled his nose in confusion as he made his way over.

“Were you planning on feeding an army?” he demanded. Hashirama spun around with one hand pressed to his chest in shock.

“Did he take his medicine!?”

“He’s fine. Yes, he took his medicine. What are you doing with this much food?”

“Stress cooking! I didn’t know if things were going okay in there or if he wasn’t taking his medicine still and I was worried! So I cooked. Though, I may have gone slightly overboard…”

Madara sighed tiredly. “Only slightly?”

In truth he wasn’t all that annoyed. He would have been worried too in Hashirama’s position and his habits for dealing with stress were much more destructive than overenthusiastic breakfast preparations. Rather than spout a long and involved lecture which he knew his friend would only half pay attention to and retain none of, Madara grabbed a plate and sat down in the closest chair, sliding his medical waste on to the lid of the garbage can.

“Deal with that,” he demanded shortly then began piling up all his favorite foods.

“How are you guys?” Hashirama grabbed a plate of his own and sat down on the opposite side of the table, over-acting in his effort to be nonchalant. “I was surprised when I didn’t hear any screaming.”

“We’re…making headway.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything!” Hashirama pouted and Madara threw a slice of apple at him.

Sticking out his tongue he said, “It wasn’t supposed to tell you anything; it’s none of your business!”

As his friend pouted and whined, Madara turned to look over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door, let his eyes linger on the solid blue color and the flecks of white where the paint had been chipped away. The first color he had ever seen – besides the red of Tobirama’s eyes, of course – had been the pale blue of the sky above him after his soulmate knocked him on his back for excitedly announcing the connection between them. At the time he hadn’t understood why such a happy occasion should been met with such anger.

Now that he had his answers he knew very well that still more patience would be needed before they could be anything close to what he hoped they might become but, surprisingly, he was alright with that.

“We’ll be fine,” he murmured absently. And for the first time since they met, he truly believed that.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #soulmate au #modern au #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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johobi · 7 years ago

Text

1-Year Anniversary

Word count: 7818

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: anal, ass-play, vanilla-y smut, copious fluff

Your 1-year anniversary is fast approaching and you’re determined to gift Namjoon the one thing he would never dare ask for.

Namjoon had been halfway through his turkey sandwich when his phone pinged. Already using the device to browse his usual social media sites, he narrowed his eyes when a banner bearing the words ‘____ sent you a video.’ descended surreptitiously from the top of the screen and disappeared before he had even a chance to react.

He cast a furtive glance around the staff-room. Half-empty, with only a few of his colleagues milling about; most of them had preferred to take lunch outside while the weather was nice. The reason for his understandable caution, was the fact that your MMS’ were usually a toss-up between harmless, goofy videos; clips of you zooming the camera into your face as you pulled some ghastly expression and performing the latest viral dance. And then there were the other videos. The hot as fuck snippets you deigned to bestow upon him at his most worthy, usually when he had gone out of his way to do something for you at great personal cost to himself.

Or when he had actually done the inverse; irritated you so much in such a way that you decided the most fitting punishment would be to send him some tantalising glimpse of what you were doing to yourself. The trick being, that you purposefully sent them to him while he was stuck at work, tying his figurative hands. And, Jesus, he’d needed physical bonds to prevent himself from opening the filth you sent him. It’d been an impossible feat.

The images, the sounds - they were forever burned into his retinas and scored into his ear drums. The only foreseeable solution, to rid him of his raging hard-on, had been to masturbate furiously in the staff toilets. And he knew that you knew he would have to resort to it. Of course, once he’d gotten home he’d immediately railed you, leaving you sore the day after, but still.

Worth it, you’d thought, wincing as you sat on a stool in your kitchen the next morning.

Sometimes, you didn’t even need an excuse to send those videos. You’d made it clear that if you got horny, you wanted to share it with him. Especially if he was unable to watch in person. If Namjoon was honest with himself, he could barely match your libido, as monstrous as it was. He’d had his fair share of women and sexual experiences in the past, and felt himself capable of keeping up with it all – with you, however, it was an ongoing challenge, one he prided himself on meeting every time. Not just when it came to the likes of stamina, either; you were adventurous, undeniably kinky, and always had your nose in some smutty book, harvesting ideas. Or even writing them yourself.

That was something he'd had to acclimate to after his string of more demure lovers – your openness about the whole subject; your sheer enthusiasm. The previous women he'd encountered had considered it something kept to a dimly lit bedroom. You, however, had thrown open the curtains and beckoned him into the light; illuminated his fantasies and brought them to the fore when he’d previously been too coy to share them. Up until that revelatory conversation, though, he’d avoided the subject out of a desire to prevent your feeling pressured. Predictably, the honest drunk that he was, Namjoon had eventually spilled his dark wishes during a rather tipsy date night.

“Anal?” you'd smirked, tilting your head to consider him as though seeing him anew.

“Yes,” Namjoon sighed, his hands coming up to wave away the words that he'd said. “But it’s literally just a fantasy. I don’t expect you to find it appealing, or even entertain the thought of doing it with me, at all. So, please don’t panic.”

You snorted. “Who’s panicking? I’m glad that you told me, Namjoon,” your voice dropped low as you eyed him over your fifth glass of wine, and he gulped. He’d half expected you to burst out into a sinister cackle.

So, looking down at his phone now, he knew it was 50/50 as to whether the video he was about to open in the staff-room was explicit. You'd sent no accompanying message but for the party popper emoji, which alone made him nervous. Luckily, his earphones were already plugged in, so no risk there – he’d learnt that most valuable of lessons when previously opening one of your gifts in a public place. Namjoon would never forget the many faces of disgust that turned to glare at him during his very apparent, very accidental display of perversion.

He inhaled deeply before pressing ‘play’.

And probably held it for the next 30 seconds as the sinful contents of the clip rolled before his eyes.

Namjoon was beside himself. With excitement, with arousal, with a mourning for the staff toilets that he wouldn’t be able to make it to. Not with the impressive erection he was now toting. And yet, he remained glued to his seat, feverishly tapping the ‘play’ button once more, desperate to see if he had merely been a victim of his lustful imaginings, or if you had actually done that for him.

The video had started unassumingly on your face, your peaches and cream smile disarming his apprehension and sending his heart soaring. The tone quickly changed, however, when one side of your mouth dropped into a wicked smirk, making eye contact with your intended recipient.

The camera’s view descended to graze the expanse of your underwear-clad form, your feet planted on the bedspread and knees already parted. You’d hastily propped the phone against something and sat back, treating Namjoon’s eyes to a feast as you whipped off your panties and flung them off-camera, your hand shooting out to retrieve a bottle of lube from the side-stand. He felt himself salivate in anticipation, fully expecting your slickened fingers to part your lips and allow him that most alluring view of your pink interior, but he should have known better than to expect the ordinary.

Indeed, you bypassed your pussy altogether, leaving him momentarily confused. And turned on. A certainly bespoke combination he had yet to experience until now. But all thought abandoned him, then, when you began to line your asshole - that tight ring of muscle he’d fantasised about fucking in the darkest, dampest of his dreams - with lube. Such a lascivious vision had him gasping.

Once, twice, you slathered the puckered orifice with the substance on your fingers before pushing one experimentally inside. You’d inserted it only halfway, but thrown your head back, then, arching into the meagre penetration. Namjoon knew you were putting on a show for him, riling him up.

And it was working beautifully.

He watched, transfixed and slack of jaw as you traced shapes inside of yourself, stretching the unyielding hole out for something bigger. He wondered, then and there - despite how seasoned he was in matters of sex - if it were possible for him to cum in his pants like a teenager watching his first porn video. It seemed a certainty when he resorted to palming himself under the table, like some rabid sexual deviant. But the pressure, it was too fucking much.

“Mmmm,” you’d moaned softly, a second finger sliding into slight resistance as it entered you. “Namjoon-ah. I’m prepping myself for you. Are you looking forward to the thirteenth?”

Too overwhelmed to have ascertained the meaning of your words on his first watch, Namjoon began to sweat when he realised that you were referring to your upcoming 1-year anniversary.

Inferring what you could possibly have meant would prove fatal. Or, it would be, if Namjoon was anything more than lobotomised when faced with the vision of you, spread-eagle and loosening yourself up. Your index and middle finger pulling, simultaneously, the most obscene and divine sounds from your body that he had ever heard. The only thing that came close were the times you’d somehow coaxed his barely responsive cock into a round three, and by that point your pussy was so flooded with your joint bodily expulsions that the squelching became as pivotal in getting him off as your taste, touch and voice.

Schluck. Schluck. Schluck.

Namjoon nearly bit through his lip trying to stifle the grunts of approval he was itching to release.

With a sigh, you’d withdrawn your fingers and pulled something from the draw in your side-table before flopping onto your stomach in front of your phone. You waved the object back and forth before the camera, your chin propped up in one hand. How the fuck did you manage to look so cute, so innocent despite having just fingered your asshole on film? And, now, taunting him with what appeared to be an intimidatingly large butt plug?

“I’m working up to this, Namjoon-ah, because you’re a big boy. But I’ll be ready for the thirteenth. Will you?” you’d grinned, then stopped the recording with a wink.

No, I won’t be fucking ready, Namjoon thought, his head spinning. He briefly wondered if his light-headedness was a physical attestation to all the blood in his body rushing to his excruciatingly engorged dick.

Glancing around with all the agitation of a fugitive on the run from the authorities, he clamped the lid on his lunchbox, tossing away the leftovers of his sandwich in the direction of the bin. Then, with some trouble, he clambered to his feet, pressing his vexingly small lunchbox to the outcropping in his pants and forcing himself into a half-convincing walk of nonchalance. He shouted a brief see you later to his colleagues who had no time to react before he was already gone and dashing - as well as a man could with such a cumbersome protruberance - to the toilets.

Namjoon had spent the next two weeks caught between excitement and trepidation. You hadn’t mentioned the video or its contents since, and when he’d brought it up you’d feigned ignorance with a knowing twinkle in your eye. When your bedroom activities continued as normal – well, as normal as it gets when you’re with someone as avant garde as you when it came to sex – Namjoon decided not to press the issue, and that whatever prep you were subjecting yourself to during his working week was to remain a tantalising mystery until your anniversary.

Which, somehow, was today.

It’d felt like one prolonged, harrowing slog to reach this point. Namjoon had actually resorted to leaving his phone at home. Because one day, as he left for work, he realised that he couldn’t trust himself not to wank to the often-worshipped material stored on his phone. Not even during school hours. It had become a twice, thrice-daily necessity.

You appeared to monitor his suffering gleefully. Though neither of you spoke a word of it - even in the throes of the ecstasy you found in each others’ arms each night - Namjoon knew you could tell nothing else would occupy his mind. You’d taken to wearing decidedly clingy skirts and pants that accentuated your ass in a way that set him on a simmer. Now, like most humans, Namjoon spent a decent portion of his daily life entertaining filthy thoughts, and yet, somehow, you’d managed to crank up this relatively benign behaviour into something that disrupted his ability to sleep, communicate with other people and otherwise maintain his focus on something other than the delectability of your asscheeks and the treasure waiting for him between.

But, today was the day.

In fact, it was more than the day.

It was already the evening, and he'd cleared away the dishes from the three-course meal he insisted on preparing. The meal that you had balked at given its size, and your obvious plans for dessert. You’d blushed, then, apologising profusely, gearing up to explain just why you wouldn’t be able to eat all of it.

And that was when it had clicked for him.

What a fucking idiot I am, he’d despaired inwardly. Namjoon had done his utmost to ensure that he had in no way, shape or form pressured you or outwardly let on how eager he was to partake in your proffered after-dinner activity. And yet, there he had been, laying before you a huge fucking bowl of minestrone, spaghetti - bread sides and all - and a black forest gateau. The expression on your face would have almost been comical had he not been cursing himself for being so inconsiderate.

In the end, he ate most of it, and quickly stashed the rest away in the refrigerator.

“Let’s skip the gateau,” you suggested, an impish smile playing on your lips. “So we can get to business.”

“And what business would that be?” Namjoon played along, his back to you as he washed up the remnants of your meal.

Without looking, he could tell you were stifling a laugh. “You want to explore my black forest, right?”

“Oh my God,” he bent over the counter, soap suds soaking the front of his shirt, though doubled-over in cringe as he was, it went unnoticed.

“I’m sorry,” you giggled. “I’ve had to bite my tongue over so many joke opportunities the last few weeks, I couldn’t deny myself that one.”

“That’s fair,” Namjoon croaked, when he finally recovered his breath. “And, I daresay, a little humour will help loosen me up a little.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back what he was sure you considered an absolutely genius response, but Namjoon was on the ball now and raised his eyebrows at you in a way that had you shutting your mouth with a guilty pout. You were quick, he had to give you that.

“Are you done yet?” you mumbled as you walked up behind him, looping your arms around his waist. Namjoon cast an adoring smile down at your small hands; soft and warm, perfectly made to fit into his. He had so many fond memories of holding those hands. Fluffy, oversized sweater sleeves that had begun to pill towards the ends obscured them somewhat. It was like receiving a hug from a small, demanding sheep.

And, to be honest, it’d been wholly unexpected that you hadn’t been waiting for him on the bed, already naked and with a rose between your teeth, cheesy quip at the ready, when he got home from work. In fact, today was the only day out of the last two weeks that you had draped yourself in such modest clothing; an old, holey sweater and some baggy sweats of Namjoon’s that you seemed overly attached to. Was this also part of your plan?

When he didn’t answer, so caught up in his head as he was, your hand burned a deliberate trail from his stomach to the front of his pants. He felt you grin against his back when he froze under your touch. “Hmm?”

“Y-Yes, I’m nearly finished,” he cleared his throat, the croak belying how much he was anticipating what was to come.

You didn’t free him from your pointed groping, however. Instead, you began to smooth the flat of your hand against his previously inert – and, now, rapidly stiffening – penis, the movement causing the most minute of frictions. Surely, it was more an affectionate touch, intimate and almost polite, as though you were introducing yourself to the appendage that would be spearing you deeper than you’ve ever felt before. But Namjoon found you irresistible in every way – that even just the scent of your clothes, your hair, your gentle petting – was enough to bring him fully to attention. Soon enough, he was rocking into your open palm, his eyes closing with the soothe of your strokes. The few dishes he hadn’t yet cleaned tumbled from his grasp into the water so he could brace himself against the sink when you gripped him suddenly, fully encircling his girth with your fingers.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hmm?” you questioned coyly, pulling the collar of his shirt down to press a long, deliberate kiss to the back of his neck.

“Don’t hmm me,” Namjoon squirmed, your lips sending a thrill as fresh as the first day he kissed you through him.

“Turn around,” you ordered seductively, and he was helpless but to comply under the spell you had cast over him.

When he acquiesced to your command, he almost felt his soul depart when his eyes met with the blown-out, black pools that confronted him. Namjoon was entranced when you descended to your knees, your hands already agilely working at the strings of his sweat pants. He'd indignantly defended himself when you accused him, one day, of being one of those mystifying people who actually tied them.

Unwrapping him like a present, you slid the soft material down his legs, casting an appreciative glance over the stretch of his gloriously long, toned legs as they revealed themselves to you. Clad only in his boxers, now, you held his gaze as you nuzzled your face against his straining bulge, mouthing at his balls.

“Nngh,” Namjoon grunted, large hands reaching down entangle themselves in your hair. “Baby, you’re going to kill me tonight. Don’t be surprised if I don’t last far into the main event.”

You pouted without an ounce of sincerity. Namjoon envisioned that, internally, you were grinning like a Cheshire cat and steepling your fingers.

“I’ll just hurry this along, then,” you shrugged, carefully peeling down his underwear and taking him into your hand, giving him a few encouraging pumps. Then, without warning, you opened your mouth wide and took the entirety of his length into it, the angry, red head of his cock nudging your tonsils as he came to rest against your tongue. Namjoon almost collapsed at the sudden shock of pleasure panging its way along the stretch of his dick and setting his abdomen alight. Involuntarily, a guttural groan tore itself from his lungs.

“Oh my—fuck, baby,” he keened, his fingers digging far more harshly into your scalp than he probably realised.

“Mmm?” you moaned around his length, gaining a similarly throaty response from him.

Aware that you wouldn’t be able to tease him for too long, you dragged him from the honeyed recesses of your sweet mouth. Your lips, instead, encompassed the tip of his quivering cock, greedily lapping at the pre-ejaculate seeping from its slit. With his saltiness coating your tongue, you sealed your lips around him as you coaxed him back into your mouth, working the underside of his member with an adept tongue.

“Baby, I can’t—“ Namjoon warned, and you dislodged him with a lewd ‘pop’ and a smack of your lips.

You raised your eyebrows up at him from your kneeling position. “Wow, have I gotten you that worked up already?”

Namjoon glared at you. “There has been a certain mental warfare going on these past few weeks, and deep-throating me as soon as you get my pants off is not fair.”

You acknowleged his accusation with a lip bite that had him pulling you up to his height and crushing his lips to yours; a kiss so fierce and raw with need that his insides churned in excitement. He wasn’t one to enjoy the taste of himself, usually, but tonight, upon your sultry tongue, it only enticed him further. His hand wrapped around the back of your neck to pull you flush to him, but you pressed a hand to his chest to stop him. When he drew back, dizzy and confused, you gestured between your woolly sweater and his glossy cock, and neither of you could hold back a chuckle when you envisioned what a terrific mess he would make of it.

Sweeping the oversized garment over your head in one, fluid motion, Namjoon was nearly winded when he drunk in the sight of what you had been hiding beneath. And when you took off the sweats…

There had, indeed, been a plan.

Your underwear was black, sheer and left nothing to the imagination; you weren’t normally the type to splash out on lingerie, as you were both in agreement that luxuries had to be kept to a minimum on your tight budget. And yet, you had spent your own, limited monthly allowance on something to please him. It made his heart and dick pulse in tandem.

What made him throb more than anything, however, was the lower half of your lingerie choice.

Crotchless. Panties.

If it were physically possible at this stage, Namjoon felt himself grow exponentially more aroused. When you twirled to give him the full view – indeed, the back was also open – he began to fist his cock in a desperate attempt to alleviate some of the strain, but you were quick to slap away his hand.

“Uh-uh. What are you doing?”

“If I don’t fuck you, and soon, I am going to die. Literally, I am going to die,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “So hot-foot it to the bedroom. Now,” he ordered, advancing on you. He could tell by the tremble of your bottom lip that you were having a hard time maintaining your unaffected facade. You loved it when he switched roles.

“Make me,” you huffed churlishly, and Namjoon narrowed his eyes on you. You were well aware misbehaviour would land you in deep trouble.

“Oh, I will,” he growled, throwing you over his shoulder with minimal effort, taking delight in your squeal of surprise. As he stalked toward the bedroom you wiggled your legs in the air, a petulant behaviour he halted immediately with a swift smack to your exposed backside.

“Fuck!” you squeaked, quieting in his hold.

Namjoon smirked.

Once over the threshold, you were unceremoniously dumped onto the bedspread in a fit of giggles. You dragged him with you, the momentum of your falling body pulling him conveniently to your chest where he began to paint a cluster of feverish kisses. His teeth tugged the scant material of your bra aside to expose one of your breasts. Target successfully located, your breath hitched when he latched his lips to your pebbled nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub between reverent kisses and exultations of your sexiness.

“You are so,” a kiss, “fucking,” another, “beautiful,” he panted against your skin, now dusted pink under his ministrations.

One not being enough for him, Namjoon kneaded your other breast with a soft but covetous hand, and despite your writhing, your other nipple was not exempt from being teased. Pinching it between his index and middle finger, he had you mewling beneath him, pliant and willing. Your pussy pulsed with the heat of what felt like a thousand suns, and yet you were the opposite of dry; you could feel your excitement coating your outer lips and dribbling toward tonight’s intended destination - your diligently trained asshole.

“Namjoon-ah,” your voice was a strained whimper. “Fuck me, please.”

His nose was brushing your navel as you said those words, and he halted his deliberate advance to your pussy. “You want to skip this?”

You nodded your head breathlessly. “I’m a madwoman, but yes. You’re not the only one barely hanging on. I need you in me.”

If he couldn’t tease you in the way that his tongue longed to, he would make do with the alternative. “Tell me what you want from me, baby.”

You turned full brat, jutting out your bottom lip and scowling at him under heavy-lidded eyes. “I just told you.”

“You need to be more specific than that, baby,” Namjoon cooed, kneeling between your spread legs and running a feather-touch of a finger along the expanse of your oozing slit. He drew your juices onto his fingertip and raised it to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the delicacy and sucking the digit clean, pinning you in place with a heated gaze as he did so.

You knew this was torturing him, too.

You decided to play dirty.

Hoisting yourself up onto your elbows so that your faces hovered but inches apart, you held him there, captivated, as the following words spilled sinfully from your lips. “I want your cock so deep inside me it’s painful. I want you to stretch out my tight little virgin ass.”

Namjoon’s lip curled almost imperceptibly as your filthy demands met his ears. The desire, the hunger he had for you was so great he felt almost feral. Like an animal that was responding to a primal call to rut his bitch into oblivion. He groaned low in his throat and went to close the gap between you, but you stopped him for the second time that evening and held him there as you edged him, mentally, further.

“Come so deep in me that there isn’t even a trickl—ungh!”

Your head collided with the mattress as he forced you onto your back again, your vision swimming when he consumed you in another breath-stealing kiss, his lips worshipping yours in a frenzied plea for entrance; one you eagerly granted him. Tongues clashing in a battle for dominance, he won when you felt the unmistakable entrance of one of his fingers into your sopping mess of a pussy, the two of you moaning as one for very different reasons.

Namjoon pulled back to gasp his disbelief. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t need to warm you up much at all. Do you want me in your ass that much?”

“Yes, yes,” you whined. Just one of his slender fingers granted only the most maddening relief; you had what you desired, but it was nowhere near enough. “More,” you begged, pawing at his arm. “More, please.”

“As you asked so nicely,” Namjoon purred, his middle finger sinking into place beside the other. Feeling that tantalising stretch, and the distant, but familiar build of an orgasm in your belly, you began to undulate into his languid penetration, arching your spine as though pulled toward the centre of your mounting pleasure.

Half-amused and half turned on beyond belief as he watched the flickering of expressions over your face, Namjoon began to tease you again. “I thought you wanted to get straight to it, baby?”

“Shhh,” you hissed, your eyes scrunched shut. “I—I think it would be best if I came first, get me to relax more, don’t you think?”

Forever a willing accomplice and abettor in your illicit quests for pleasure, Namjoon grinned. “I definitely think that’s best.”

He turned his attention back to your gyrating hips, and lowered his face level with your mound. The view from here never failed to enrapture him; the swell of your breasts as they heaved over laboured breaths, the way you would thrash your head from side to side as though possessed. Everything about you drove him to the brink of insanity. Namjoon watched it all assiduously as he sunk his mouth to the parting of your folds, his pulse skyrocketing when you began to wail his name. Your swollen clit secured delicately between his plush lips, he sucked against the charged bundle of nerves, the force with which he applied himself greatly determining the loudness of your barely coherent sobbing. When he sensed you getting close, he released you from his agonizing seal, only to attack you with the exacting lashes of his expert tongue. Your toes began to curl, your entire body trembling under the tension of your impending orgasm. “O-Oh fuck, N-Namjoon, please, I—“

“Tell me, baby. What do you need?” he would draw this out for as long as he could, as recompense for the past two weeks of torture.

“Let me come. Oh, God, please, let me just—“

The pacifist was gone. You decided to take what you were being denied. Your hands, previously snarled in the mess of sweaty bed sheets, flew to the platinum blonde locks atop his head. With a dire insistence, you pressed his face harder to your pussy, and although logistically you knew it would not help your cause to suffocate him between your legs, you just needed the weight of him there.

His breath fanned against your twitching orifice in a muffled chuckle. But he relented, seeing fit to put you out of your misery. Adding a third finger to the fray, Namjoon upped the tempo of his thrusts and re-adhered himself to your painfully engorged clit, swirling his tempered tongue around it to stimulate you past the edge.

It did not take long.

“F-Fuck, I’m coming, Namjoon, don’t stop, please,” you howled, your voice hoarse from your frequent exhortations.

As though he were symbiotically experiencing your descent to the peak, Namjoon could not help but grind his neglected cock against the mattress in his excitement.

He curled the fingers embedded inside of you to rub your most pivotal spot. And, almost as if he'd sent a bolt of lightning through you, you immediately became rigid but for the hoarse, gasping groans that he stole from your straining lungs. Waves following waves following waves of unbridled pleasure racked you, your pussy pulsating against his fingers – so intensely you thought you might crush them – until you were nothing but a limp, spasming ragdoll, glistening under a layer of perspiration.

Extracting himself from your clenching orifice, Namjoon’s breath hitched when he saw your asshole winking sordidly at him as you rode out the remainder of your orgasm.

That’s where he would be going next.

“All good?” he asked thickly, nursing his erection with a few loose, teasing strokes, enough to keep him at his most turgid.

“More than good,” the words whooshed out of you as you exhaled, dragging the oxygen into your lungs with rapid breaths. God knows how long you’d stopped breathing for during the apex of your orgasm. You’d come so hard that your hearing was comfortably muffled. A quiet, monotonous tone rang through your ears.

Still, no rest for the wicked.

Despite being suitably sated, your desire to satisfy your boyfriend sparked a different kind of hunger within you. Kneeling up on the bed, he spread his arms to allow you to unbutton and rid him of his shirt, unsure how it had even made it to this point still on his person. Fully nude, you let your hands wander over his lithe, bronzed torso, occasionally raking your nails against his flesh.

Namjoon’s muscles tensed under your cursory touches, before he was pulling you up by your chin to behold the sheer lust in his eyes. “I need you,” he murmured.

That was all he had to say. You were ready.

With a nod and a smile, you placed a chaste kiss upon his lips before turning away and fishing out the bottle of lube Namjoon had come to know so well from the video. You were still sopping wet, and you daresay that might be just enough to lubricate you, but from your past few weeks’ experiences, you'd come to enjoy the silky feel of the substance, and you knew that more was always better.

“Would you like to do it, or shall I?” you offered, gauging his reaction. He no longer seemed nervous about the proposition, and it must have had a lot to do with how laid-back you were being about the whole thing. The orgasm certainly helped.

Namjoon was only half-present, his mind flitting back to the way you had so boldly penetrated yourself in the video. He wanted - no, needed - it to be his fingers. “Can I?”

“I was hoping you would ask that,” you grinned, your tongue swiping your top teeth. “Be my guest.”

You handed over the pump-operated bottle and lay back on your elbows again, legs wide and inviting. Dispensing a generous amount onto his palm and warming the lube between his hands, Namjoon’s eyes roved hungrily over the way you presented yourself to him. His cock twitched impatiently. “Let me know, at any stage, if you want to stop. Okay?”

“You know I will,” you dismissed him casually, though his consideration was always gratefully noted. “I’ll let you know what feels good.”

Nodding his approval, Namjoon gestured to you to prop yourself on a pillow, which you hastily did. The position wasn’t uncomforable, but a little strange - like you were about to receive a gynaecological exam.

The sheer difference in diameter between your tense, furrowed asshole and your other, more seasoned orifice made him swallow thickly. Just imagining cramming himself into such a tight fit, God, it was almost enough for him to combust.

“Try and relax,” he soothed, when his fingers made first contact with it.

Although you were trying your best not to tense up, the lube was still a little cool, and in your enthusiasm you were becoming as taut as a bowstring. “Sorry,” you whimpered, your cheeks brushed with rubies. “I’m excited.”

“Excitement comes later. For now, just chill, baby,” Namjoon ordered.

As gently as he possibly could, Namjoon began to ease his index finger into your ass. The first thing that hit him was how much warmer it was than your pussy. He'd never even experimented with his own ass in the past, so he had no idea what it felt like inside. And now he was taking his first, tantalising glimpse into that world, and he was already trembling with untold anticipation.

“Fuck, it’s so tight, I can barely move,” he whispered, eyes alight with awe.

“I know,” you grunted; one finger wasn’t too much trouble for you after your recent trials, and indeed the only thing causing you discomfort was your impatience for him to stretch your – physical and mental – limits further. “That’s fine, that feels good. Move it around a little, like you saw me do in the video, and add another finger.”

Both happy to see you so eager and keen to comply, Namjoon very tentatively slipped the tip of his next finger into you, and immediately felt the ring of muscle tense around him. He looked up, trepidation marring his beautiful, broad features. “____?”

“I’m fine, it’s always just a little weird at first,” you smiled to reassure him, and he nodded, waiting for you to adjust. When you began to push your pelvis toward him, he took that as a signal to continue, gradually easing his lube-slicked digits through the drag of your almost suffocatingly restrictive asshole, teasing gentle circles all the while.

The deeper he got, the louder you became. You wanted so badly to play with yourself as he entered you, but you knew he would want you to save it for when it was him in the place of his fingers. “Oh, yes, that’s starting to feel really good.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon asked, mouth agape and spellbound by the way your face crumpled deep in concentration, as though you were chasing a glimpse of euphoria.

“Mmmm,” was the only response you could muster, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as it was.

After a few minutes of enduring the provocation the wet sounds of your asshole were causing, Namjoon - whose dick had begun to soften while the promise of fucking was still elusive - had once again become rigid under the hastening of his arm’s thrusts. You’d become so malleable so quickly, he was floored. Ass-play seemed like it was quickly going to become a regular in the bedroom for the two of you. “How does it feel now, baby?”

“So fucking good,” you almost crooned, as exhilarated as you were. “I—I don’t think I even need the plug. I’m so ready for you.”

Your words both incited and stymied him. “We don’t need to rush.”

“I’m not rushing, I—I genuinely feel ready, Namjoon-ah, honey. Please, I’m so fucking horny,” you implored needily.

Namjoon groaned. The first thing he wanted to do was pound you into the floor, and the last thing he wanted to do was reject you. But he had to make sure. “Not that I’m insinuating that you’re insulting my dick size, but I’m a lot bigger than the plug. Let’s consider—“

“No,” you were firm, and your eyes were resolute despite your sexual intoxication. “I don’t need it. I need you. Fuck me, Namjoon, please.”

No sane man on earth could spurn that.

Letting out a shuddering breath, he nodded. “Okay, baby, let’s do this. Show me how you want it.”

Clearly having thought-out the flow of this evening to its completion, you immediately flipped onto your stomach, presenting your ass to him in the most indecent, salacious manner. The panties, of course, covered nothing of your asshole, and yet just above it, embroidered into the strip of cloth hugging your hips was a black, satin bow. You really were a fucking gift, and all for his taking.

“It’ll feel really deep like this,” Namjoon warned, but your only response was to wiggle your posterior in his face, goading him. He smirked. “Alright, then.”

After dispensing himself a second helping of lube and allowing it to take to his body temperature, he slathered his length with the velvety, viscous fluid, his eyes closing momentarily at the first taste of relief his unresolved erection had received this evening beyond your brief torment of a blow-job.

“Don’t get carried away,” you warned, waggling your eyebrows at him over your shoulder.

“How couldn’t I,” he grinned, his free hand leaving streaks of lube over your backside as he palmed it hungrily. “When I have this magnificent view in front of me?”

“I can’t argue with that,” you quipped, throwing him a smirk. He grinned in avid agreement, and you felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze of adoration. Clearing your throat, you reached back to smack his thigh. “Now get the fuck in me, boy.”

Grasping his length level with your sufficiently loosened ass, Namjoon almost paled as he observed the magnitude your tight little hole would have to stretch to accommodate even the head of his cock. Which, by this point, was once again profusely leaking precum. As though sensing his hesitation, you spoke up again, and this time your voice was lower, coaxing. “I’m ready, I promise.”

Namjoon baptized you with the drippings of his lust, before pressing himself, gently but firmly, against your seemingly unyielding asshole. Within a couple of seconds, however, it began to stretch to accommodate him, and as he progressed further – the entirety of his time spent closely scrutinising your reaction – he felt the near unbearable heat and resistance of your ass begin to engulf the tip of him. “F-Fuck,” he muttered, his voice trembling along with his limbs. “How is it?”

You couldn’t reply however, because you had turned to submerge your face deep into a pillow. As soon as he saw that, Namjoon halted his passage immediately. He was about to pull out, but your hand flew back to catch his wrist. A very muffled order came from the pillow. “Just give me a moment.”

“____,” he began, but you dropped his wrist to waggle your finger blindly before his face, shushing him.

After a few long moments, you raised your head, your hair askew and face tomato red from lack of oxygen. “Okay, keep going, but very slowly.”

With one hand resting on the small of your back and the other continuing to guide his member, you let out a whoosh of breath when the head of his cock became entirely entrenched in you. From that point on, you seemed to relax more, and inch by excruciating inch, Namjoon buried himself within you.

Not wanting to emit any noise in case it were to cover up any vocalisations of discomfort, Namjoon had been stewing internally and was coming rapidly to a boil over just how fucking tight it was. It was almost uncomfortably so, like all the blood in his cock could be squeezed back out of it and back to his brain, which had come to a standstill under the assault of sensation he was currently weathering.

Halfway in, you began to move your hips again in circular motions, the movements encouraging your asshole to suck him in further. This was the feeling you had been looking forward to, that apparently insatiable, moreish longing to be filled to the brim, to be stretched to the brink of pain. What burning you had been experiencing up until this point was rapidly extinguishing, and the only thing that took its place was that same wanton hunger you had come to crave during your experimental sessions.

“Yes, Namjoon, this is it, God, you’re starting to feel so fucking good inside me. Keep going.”

Allowing the tension to flow free from his body, Namjoon grunted at your encouragement, gliding himself deeper into your scorching heat. Five inches, then six, and before he knew it, he had bottomed out entirely, the curve of your asscheeks flush with his twitching abdomen. Feeling himself ensconced entirely within you, so compact and so taut, he groaned your name as though pained, doubling over you to rain a shower of ardent kisses down your spine. “Baby, God, you feel so fucking good around me. I won’t last long.”

You whined into your pillow, your skin springing goosebumps at the touch of his butterfly lips. “That doesn’t matter. Namjoon, start moving. I need you to start—oh,” you gasped as he began to drag himself from the clenching of your puckered hole. The sensation of having him, the man you loved more than anything you had ever known, being so tender, so tentative to your needs, and filling you in such an alien, but pleasurable way, it had you fisting the bedcovers again and moaning like a debauched whore.

Namjoon began to build a steady but restrained pace. The slip of your walls around him, the delicious drag of effort it required to extract himself from your depths only to bury himself, right to the hilt, into your Siren’s call of an ass; it was swiftly hurtling him towards an unavoidable, earth-shattering orgasm. He was almost afraid of the sheer violence with which it was brewing within him, and his balls were already beginning to tighten dangerously, drawing themselves up in preparation for the hardest, he believed, he would ever come. “I can’t hold it much longer,” he panted, a joint groan ripping itself from the both of you when he hit particularly deep.

“I want to come with you,” you declared, just as breathless. Holding yourself up under his fastidiously aimed pounding was getting to become something of a challenge.

You could have said literally any combination of words at that moment and Namjoon would have been reeling from how fucking sexy, beautiful¸and perfect you were, as he proclaimed, loud and often, in between his harried thrusting.

Using his wrists to maintain leverage as his cock continued to impale you repeatedly, he grazed his hands over your stomach and swiftly found your dripping cunt, his already slippery hands becoming further lubcricated with your excretions. Knowing that he was already teetering on the precipice of his climax, he was far more unforgiving with your pussy than he was with your ass.

If they had had minds and personalities of their own, you wouldn’t begrudge your poor, frequently battered pussy for feeling persecuted. As it was, in this moment you were sorely grateful for his rough handling.

Namjoon promptly delved two fingers into your hungry cunt, the orifice suckling loudly and eagerly on the extended digits. His other hand was quick to work on your clit, clasping it resolutely between his fore and middle fingers and, with the aid of a quick wrist, rubbed you between an inch of your life. Before you knew it, you were screaming. Your cheeks streamed with tears; your mind lost its capacity to form all rational thought. And, with it, your vision; a blinding light assaulted your peripheral, as though some higher being deemed you worthy to glimpse nirvana.

“I—I’m coming, Namjoon, f-fuck, don’t stop, I’m so, so, so, close—“

The utter fullness, the wholeness you felt as he occupied what seemed like your entire being, it was incomparable to anything you had ever experienced. You’d never felt more physically or emotionally close to him in that moment, and though you were overcome by the ecstasy of it all, and blinded by it so, you were so aware of him; the strength in his arms, the way they held you as you began to crumble. The deep tones of his voice, though distant, anchoring you to the mortal plane. And what brought you back was the animalistic groan he expelled with one last thrust of his hips as your ass convulsed around him, his cock erupting, ostensibly, with endless streams of cum that coated your walls like eggshell white, until the two of you were a boneless, shivering heap. The room was awash with the sounds of aftershock – delayed grunts and whimpers, and the desperate intake of oxygen, as though you had risked death itself to prove your love to one another.

Following what seemed like an eternity of basking in the glow of your messy aftermath, Namjoon raised his head from your shoulder to brush away the damp, limpid locks of hair from your face. You were still lying prone beneath him, barely noticing the weight of him on your back, your eyes glassy and with whatever remnant of thought was left, distant. You didn’t even register when he slipped his softening cock from you, lying to the side of you and propping himself up on his elbows to see you more clearly.

��Baby,” he called, guiding you back to him. You turned your head enough to look at him. “I love you. So, so much. I really don’t deserve you. Thank you for this.”

You smiled, barely, having hardly enough energy to muster even such a simple expression. “I love you too. And, don’t thank me. I enjoyed it too, as you can tell.”

Namjoon snorted, pulling you against him. You allowed him to mold your exhausted body to his, your skin tacky and almost adherent upon contact. “What next, then?”

“What next?” you scoffed, though it came out more akin to a weak cough. “I don’t know about you, but I’m thoroughly fucked. We can think about that another day.”

“I must have really done a number on you, in that case,” Namjoon was smug. “It’s not like you to be so subdued afterwards. And here I was, about to suggest pegging. I guess you’re not interested.”

Your ears perked up like a dog hearing their owner preparing a bowl of food. “Pegging? Really? You’d let me?”

His resultant chuckle rumbled in his chest, tickling your face. “I knew that might get your attention. I don’t know, I’m thinking about it, especially after seeing how much this kind of thing affected you. Maybe for Christmas.”

“So I get to peg Santa?” you snickered, and Namjoon blanched.

“Only if you haven’t been naughty this year,” he reasoned, and you pouted into his neck, burying yourself into the comfort of his musky, post-sex scent.

“That’s definitely not going to happen, then.”

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vishwapatel · 4 years ago

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Interior Designing Course in Rajkot - INIFD Rajkot

INIFD is best Institute to study Interior Designing Course in Rajkot. Students who have to gain knowledge in the interior deigning field take admission at INIFD Rajkot to complete your dream. We give education with latest technology to the students for their better future.

In our college we have professional faculties in particular subject to give deep knowledge about the interior topics. After completing 3 to 4 years Interior Designing Course in Rajkot placement to the students are given according to their requirements. Make your vision interior plan into reality by making unique projects.

Students can decorate inside and outside places in stylish way. Interior Design syllabus includes planning of buildings, kitchen, flats, office, house, farm, school, garden, backyards, bedroom, wall, ceiling etc by using modern technology. Various projects are given to the students to know about their inner skills.

After course completing learners will have the ability to recreate and make exclusive ideas as the requirements of the users. Interior Designing Institute in Rajkot provides online session with famous Interior Designer to motivate the students. Make your dreams complete by designing home of your choice and style.

Interior Design Exhibitions are held to showcase the products and designs made by the students. Show the hidden talents and creativity in Interior Design fields with new plans. Students are taught under highly professional tutor from basic to advance level.

We are in one of the best Interior Designing Colleges in Rajkot to taken education in interior. Theory and practical lectures both are given to learner for improving their skills to become professional Interior Designer. Interior Design Course after 10th & 12th Standard in Rajkot at INIFD for student’s admission is open. Use of modern art design as per requirement projects is in constructing plan.

In INIFD education for Drawing & Drafting Skills, Foundation Design Studio, Residential Design Studio, Interior Products & Materials, Building Construction, Decorative Arts, Feng Shui & Vastu Shastra, Commercial Design Studio etc given. Vastu Shastra plan is also kept in mind while making the plan as per the client wish.

Teaching of subjects such as Furniture & Lighting Design, Corporate Design Studio, Design Specialization, Landscape Design, Estimating & Budgeting and many other related to interior fields. Be a professional Interior Designer by completing course at INIFD Rajkot. Learn How to use color combination to make it classy and attractive designing.

Learn Drawing and Drafting Skills to improve your skills in right direction for becoming professional. Pursue education with certificate course in Interior Field to construct your thoughts and idea to decorate interior spaces by your own. After graduation one can design best project in small and big space utilize.

All the modern concepts are taught to the learners so they can convert their education in the business. We also provide diploma and degree interior course for the beginners. Best programs are used for training the Students. Complete course education is given and at the end certificate is also given. Workshops are held for the students to show their talents in designing.

Students can apply now and be the part of INIFD Institute in Rajkot. Make your career in Interior Design after completing the 4 years education at our college. An opportunity for students is to learn from well-known celebrity interior designer at our institute.

#Interior Designing Course in Rajkot #Interior Designing Institute in Rajkot #Interior Designing Colleges in Rajkot

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myhouseidea · 7 years ago

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Sunny Boudoir is a project deigned by Ris Interior Design Team, covers an area of 67 sqm and is located in Taichung city, Taiwan.

The home owner is a single lady who loves exquisite matters, and here’s a sunlit abode resonates with elegant interior details for her. Starting from the entrance, sunlight goes through shutters, reflecting natural pleasing shadows on polished floor tiles like a shimmering carpet. The moulding wall shelving is not only made for storage, but composes an open space for displaying random knickknacks and bouquets from the backdrop to two-tone damask patterned wallpaper. The off-white space sets off a color scheme of blue: powder blue media wall and royal blue armchair at the living space, antiqua ceramic-tiled backsplash of the open-conceptual kitchen, and the wedgewood master bedroom bedspread in its iconic blue. Floral plants and embroidery throws add different touches. Though small space, it is full of wonders and culminates with unfettered and delightful vibes. Photography: Frankie F Professional Studio

Sunny Boudoir by Ris Interior Design Team Sunny Boudoir is a project deigned by Ris Interior Design Team, covers an area of 67 sqm and is located in Taichung city, Taiwan.

#apartment #bathroom #bedroom #house idea #houseidea #kitchen #living #myhouseidea #Sunny Boudoir #Van der Vein

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arplis · 5 years ago

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Arplis - News: Picturesque Nautical Outdoor Decor

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Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/picturesque-nautical-outdoor-decor

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2x2verse · 8 years ago

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I’LL NEVER CATCH UP FOR STRIDERCEST WEEK [takes another bite of toast, transforms into a shiba inu]

hello my kink is “nonbinary robots with interchangeable genital attachments”

cw for genital/orientation fuckery

It’s Only Science If You Write It Down [dirkhal]

Switching out panels is... doable. By yourself, theoretically. You think you have all the ports lined up, and you think the arrays are communicating, but it’s hard to tell, because everything’s so delicate and sensitive anyways. A good double-check would be looking at it in a mirror, but it’s at an awkward angle, and you don’t want to risk walking and dislodging something in the process.

Good thing you have a built-in double-check that’s just sitting there in the living room doing something that isn’t you. With your network connection, you tap into the television speakers to call out to him: “Dirk!”

TT: Stop showing off, bro, you have my attention.

“I need to run an experiment.”

TT: Then just get some graph paper and a pencil. It’s only science if you write it down.

“I also need all constants present to verify the results.”

TT: Implying I’m one of the constants, because you’re talking to me. TT: Fine. Where are you?

You can hear him shift off the couch, start following the hallway to the back of the apartment you share. “Just past Parliament and the second star to the right,” you say, your voice following him over intercom.

“Of course, right where I left--” Dirk’s voice stutters to an abrupt stop as he gets past the threshold of the bedroom.

Well, you must make quite the sight, you have to admit. The mattress has made for the best surface for any repairs or maintenance that needs done to your chassis, especially when you have to do it yourself; surrounding you are eyeglasses screwdrivers, a soldering iron, and some patching wires, along with other spare parts from your recent panel exchange. To that end, your legs are splayed open and you’re full naked, your ankles at each corner of the foot of the bed and your crotch on full display to anyone who walks through that door.

Your genitals, of course, being the panel that got swapped out. Your robodong is safe, out of the way on the nightstand, and back in its place (securely, you hope) is a yonic structure: clitoris, vulva, labia, vagina.

Dirk is fucking staring at it. Not at you--at it. Like it could bite him from two yards away or something. “What?” you challenge him. Shame is not exactly a thing you can feel, but irritation is.

“Why did you do that.”

“Mm, I think the better question is, why did you make this.” One hundred percent of your chassis, replacement parts and all, was designed by the man standing right in front of you.

“I--what--Hal, close your legs when I’m talking to you.” He’s pushing his shades up his face with his thumb on one point, middle finger on the other; it very conveniently totally blocks his view of your everything.

“I’m not sure that’s safe,” you tell him. “I can’t be sure it was installed correctly from this angle.”

“Then why the fuck--” Dirk takes a deep breath in through his nose, pushes it out heavy through his mouth. “Seriously, dude, this is weird.”

“Yes, I agree, you’re being weird.”

“Because you decided to do cosmetic surgery on yourself without telling me!”

“And would you have helped with this project?” Conspicuous silence from Dirk’s end. “Which is strange, because there’s no reason to make me a cunt if you don’t have some expectation of using it at some point.”

“Why would I use it? I’m gay,” Dirk says in a long-suffering tone.

“Christ. You transphobic shitlord. Get in here and help me make sure I didn’t damage myself.”

A snort. Then, Dirk drops his hand. “Okay. Okay, fine, but then you’ll--I’ll help you take it off again once you’re done doing your science, or whatever.”

“This is part of the science,” you tell him. This is really getting to him, and it’s interesting to watch his reactions. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

Dirk’s taken two steps into the room; he kneels at the foot of the bed, reaches up carefully. Still can’t bring himself to touch you. “Why isn’t this bothering you?”

“Having interchangeable parts?” He shakes his head. “Wearing this one?” A nod, and a soft hand on your thigh--but no further. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” Well, he could, but he’d be lying to you--that’s something you both remember, idle twelve-year-old fantasies. “I have the option, so I pursued it. I can uninstall this whenever I want--with your help, of course--and go back to the other set.”

“So you just... don’t care?” His other hand comes up, runs a caress up from your other knee, and why does it feel like his thumbs are holding your thighs apart for inspection?

“Not so much. Is it really that strange?” Maybe he needs a more metaphysical explanation; the practical one doesn’t seem to be getting through to him. “I spent more than eight years not having a body, let alone a dick. And now I have genitals. It’s great. Everyone’s happy.” Or at least you thought Dirk would be jumping at the opportunity to try this without having sex with some icky gross girl or something.

The way Dirk has his hands on you right now is the same posture as when he’s about to go down on you, except his breath is nowhere near your skin. That’s the real disorienting part to you. His thumbs run up the insides of your thighs, end up where your legs meet the gap between--oh, that’s so sensitive, it takes some real effort not to close your legs and trap his hands there. You know what he’s trying to feel out: near-invisible screws holding you together, making sure your connections match up. Usually this maintenance is a little more routine and has a much... happier ending. Right now, though, Dirk’s hands are tensed, and you know he intends his touch to be as clinical as possible. Even his lips are pursed together when you deign to look down.

“So?” you prod him. “What’s the verdict?”

“Everything seems fine,” he admits. “So can we switch this out now?”

“Okay, let’s try this again: What the fuck is your problem, bro?”

His thumbs still haven’t left that sensitive gap. It’s too far from your labia proper, but it’s just close enough to be in a place where the sun don’t shine, and it’s a hint that there’s more sensation to come. “I’m--I mean, you’re--this is--” He swallows and tries to articulate himself a little better. “It’s not supposed to look like this.”

That doesn’t make any sense to you, but if you make this silence as uncomfortable as possible, you know Dirk will try to fill in the gaps in his meaning. He won’t do that if you’re staring at him, though, so you let your head fall back to the mattress.

“It’s like looking in a mirror,” Dirk tries to explain. His hands still haven’t left the vague area of your crotch. This isn’t just a maintenance inspection anymore; his thumbprints can’t leave the soft skin you’ve exposed to him. “Except there’s one part that’s just wrong. Everything else is the same, face, build, hair, stature, but--It’s like I’m looking at myself and I just don’t look like I’m supposed to. I can’t believe it doesn’t feel like that for you.”

“I have zero problems with this.” Especially since Dirk has extremely capable hands and they won’t leave the vicinity of your princess parts; your hips have started a very gentle tilt with every sweep of his thumbs. “Now, are we doing science, or should I just spend a few hours undoing all the work I just put into this?”

Dirk lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “What science did you want to do.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d be curious about how the neural pathways correspond when I’ve never had these parts before.” That pricks his ears up. He’s always a slut for robotics. “It’s not as though you don’t have experience with digital manipulation or oral stimulation or penetration.”

“You seriously want me to fuck you while you’re wearing this?”

“I said or,” you point out. “Any or all of those would be acceptable.”

“I’m...” You’re starting to lose him again. And then you see the HUD on his shades flickering just that slightest bit. “Not really all that experienced with this set of equipment.”

“I’m sure the skill sets are analogous,” you reassure him. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m--what?” It’s like he didn’t notice his thumbs were still caressing you, right before he would actually touch anything like a genital. “Oh, that--that felt--okay?” Another flicker of his lenses.

That dirty cheater, he’s pulling up diagrams. (You ignore, for the moment, your own natural advantage over him in this department, having the entire Internet at your disposal at literally all times.) “A little bit of a tease, but yes, it’s okay.” You’ll upgrade that adjective if he ever starts getting a move on.

“So I’m--okay. I’m going to--” He doesn’t exactly warn you, but at the same time, it’s not painful. Just awkward. He kneads the pads of his thumbs into you, then ever so gently pries apart the delicate linear structures. “I might need you to scoot down.”

Something in a hidden, interior part of you clenches. You’re not used to that feeling being there. It’s not unpleasant, just strange--and the way Dirk’s peering at you so inquisitively makes you want to shove yourself in his face and chase down that sensation again. You push yourself down, but Dirk meets you halfway, hauling you towards him until your cunt is right at the edge of the bed.

He’s still just kind of... looking at it. Massaging at it a little with his fingers, but definitely staring. Your voicebox does a little glitch, the equivalent of you clearing your throat, and Dirk startles. “Sorry, I--still weird. Internal monologue. Having a... a pussy right here.”

“Then maybe don’t call it that?” Yes, you’re a little petulant, but he’s being so damn difficult. “It’s just...” Well, casting around for words isn’t exactly easy when Dirk’s hands are still doing a thing that’s just far enough away from anything meaningful that it frustrates you. “A node,” you tell him. “And a front valve. And some... channels.”

“And this part is your node,” Dirk guesses, moving his thumbs up and keeping you spread apart so he can expose your clit.

“Smart man.” Funny, once you get past that mental block, he doesn’t have near as much reluctance to touch you. “Guess which one’s my front valve.”

One thumbprint stays where it is; the other finds the seam of you, darts down until he finds that entrance. “Right here.”

“Much better. Oh--” when the thumb still at your--your node massages a slow, small circle around it. There are things happening to you internally that you don’t quite recognize, but you feel very open, very vulnerable, and very scrutinized.

“You’re--Hal, you’re,” Dirk tries to say, and his other hand slips; it feels like he’s smearing something between your legs like this. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do wh--” It cuts off in a filter of static as you realize you’re, for lack of a better word, leaking onto his fingers, and he’s tracking it all through your channels down here. “Ew, fuck, I feel wet down there.”

“Guess I’m a better structural engineer than I thought.” Delicate fingertips fold your channels, first one way, then the other, while he tries to get a better hold on your anatomy. And he’s just idly rubbing at your node with his thumb, in gentle up-down sweeps. The more of your lubrication he gets on his fingertip, the easier it goes and the better it feels.

You don’t know why it’s occupying so much of your attention when it’s objectively so tiny compared to what you’re used to working with. And the more Dirk manipulates your node, the less it squishes, like it’s--hnn... like it’s trying to distractedly connect to an output it’s used to and harden up so it can drink in every little touch. Or maybe it’s supposed to do that? You earmark that sensation for further testing, but not now. You don’t want to interrupt Dirk from his weird little genital trance and get him off his game again.

“So,” he says, his voice quiet and low. “This valve right here,” and he sinks his fingertips into you, drawing attention to that divot but not penetrating it just yet. “Does it act like your other one?”

“I imagine it would,” you half-truth at him. You have no idea. This is your first round with this thing, too. But if it’ll make him more comfortable, “Putting your tongue on it wouldn’t be too dissimilar to rimming.” Right?

Dirk frowns; you see it more in his eyebrows than in the turn of his mouth. “I don’t think you need any more slicking up down here, bro.”

“It’s also to relax the valve for further penetration.” You really wish you could roll your eyes without him catching on.

“Oh. Right.” The fingertips that were dawdling at that entrance slip away to hold you open instead.

As delicate as his touch has been, you weren’t prepared for the sinfully hot, wet softness of his tongue against your parts. He finds the cleft of you, dips in but not inside, traces up, and you’re melting into his mouth, trying your damnedest to keep your hips still so you’re not outright trying to fuck his face. “Oh, fuck, Dirk!”

He does that thing with his eyebrows he always does when he knows he did something right and does his best to retrace that movement. You need to hold onto something if he’s that determined for you to flip right off the handle. No sooner than your fingers run through his hair, though, and Dirk’s pulling away to glare at you. “No pulling.”

“I won’t.” He doesn’t want you to guide him where you want him? Fair enough, this is his show at this point, you’re just here to get pleased and look pretty. Still, he slithers his tongue through your channels and finds the shut of your valve with the tip and you’re tightening your hand, making him groan right into the core of you. This isn’t yanking, this is tugging. Completely different, and you’re prepared to argue with him on this.

If he ever stops making you a wet, shivering mess with his mouth, that is. His tongue is curling, persuading, encouraging, feinting at your front valve, his jaw constantly moving his lips in a strange little swallowing kiss around you. Your front valve, though, doesn’t seem as cooperative as the back one--because you’re unfamiliar with it, or because that’s how you always would have been, if you--? “I just want you to know,” Dirk says once he takes a breath; you look down and everything from his nose to his chin is dripping with you. “This is nothing like eating ass.”

“Yeah, it really doesn’t feel that way,” you have to agree. “Wait, what--”

“Well, like you said,” Dirk narrates, getting his fingertips up to the entrance of your front valve now that his mouth has fallen away, “it’s supposed to relax you, right?”

“Supposed to,” you point out, and then your voicebox shorts out in a dial-up warble as Dirk pushes forward and in.

It’s weird. It’s weird it’s weird it’s weird. Good, sort of? You can understand that it might feel better if you’d been at all ready for it, but you feel all tight inside. Not like your usual valve, but unsteady and soaked and nearly swallowing down what offered. “Hm,” Dirk says idly, and pulls back just enough to skirt a second fingertip around the ring of your valve.

“Nnn,” you start with, trying to get your vocal glitchfest under control. “Not that, no.”

“Not this?” You make an embarrassing stutter of fax-machine noises that come out long-short-long-long, and he stops with that doodling outside touch. “What about this, is this all right?” with a crook of the finger still inside you. A long screech followed by a short one, and Dirk sighs, starts trying to pull it out. Not easy, with how much you’re subconsciously trying to resist him, but there’s a hard-to-hide sense of relief once he’s not actually inside you anymore. “Okay, i’m at a loss. I don’t think you overloaded or anything, am I right?” Vigorous nodding from you. “You still want to?”

“Yes,” you hiss out--just because that last attempt was a completely bungled misadventure doesn’t mean you want to stop. Everything between your legs is still vaguely throbbing and definitely wet.

Dirk’s staring at you again. This one’s different than the way he was looking at you before, though. This time, you’re not a sideshow freak to be gawked at and avoided; you’re a puzzle, an equation that needs to be solved. When he plucks his thumb across your node, you shiver, and you watch a few variables slot into place behind his shades. Again, and you end up yanking harder on his hair than you intended, pulling his cheek down against your thigh. “Whoa, okay, I get the idea, hold your horses,” and then he’s.

Leaning down, breathing against it, and then swirling. His tongue? His tongue is on your node. His tongue is on your node. Folding around it, cupping it lightly before licking off, replacing that teasing touch with the heated seal of his whole mouth as he sucks you in, and yes. This. Like with your shaft, only all those sensors condensed into such a tiny space, and you feel a lot less guilty about tipping up with your hips and shoving your node further against his tongue when you can’t accidentally choke him off from his stupid human need to breathe with your eagerness.

Dirk’s mouth is fucking talented, and in a completely different way from his hands. His fingers are precise, ten surgical instruments that are search-and-destroy for any erogenous zone you ever thought you could hide from him. His mouth, on the other hand, is delightfully sloppy, and he always throws himself into giving head until he nearly swallows his own tongue with his exuberance. Right now he’s running his tongue in long, eager slurps against your node, laving it in affectionate attention, and you grab at his hair with both hands lest he have the audacity to stop. That same internal clench you’ve been feeling has evolved into a coil, a clamp, closing down around--around--chasing--

You overload with sparks in your eyes and shakes in your legs, one of those sublime, hovering orgasms that erases your id and crushes you into nanofigments of cosmic dust in the meditative space of a minute. Dirk just encourages it, never stopping that constant motion of his tongue until your slack frame falls back to the mattress.

While your fans stutter back online, you see him--or his blurry outline, given how fuzzy your optics are--wiping his mouth on his forearm. You have to give him credit for not viscerally spitting your juice out of his mouth. “Should I,” you lazily slur out, and start to prop yourself up on one elbow so you can reach for him.

“Don’t bother.” Curt, to the point. Then, a little softer, “That was for you.”

Fuck, that felt way different from what you were expecting. Not one hundred percent positively, either. But that overload... Really, you’re just dithering around in your head because you have no idea what to say to Dirk. He’s not still disgusted. You don’t think he’s still disgusted, anyway. You’re not about to apologize, but something about this seems awkward. Still fizzing a little in your circuits, you admit, “I don’t think this was very good science.”

Dirk’s breath catches. Catches again, this time in a snort. “Given that you wrote down jack shit with a side of fuck-all, your method needs a little work.”

“I’ll stipulate to that.” You go to sit up and the spot you’re sitting in makes the least dignified squelch noise you’ve ever heard. “Uh, bro, I could use a towel-off and a panel switch.”

“I gotcha,” Dirk says, picking up an eyeglass screwdriver and a corner of the fitted sheet so he can work on you in a totally different way. “Let’s see if I can’t remind you why original recipe is always the best.”

#stridercestweeknsfw #day 4 #dirkhal #lil hal #dirk strider #hal strider

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starsfadingbutilingeron · 8 years ago

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Chapter Two: The Hand That Rocks the Cradle

Fic Title: Secondhand Hero Author: @starsfadingbutilingeron Summary: What if All Might had been able to save Shimura Tenko? Read this free fic to find out the results!! Rating: General Audiences Read On AO3: x

----

Toshinori was beginning to doubt whether or not he’d taken a kid into his home after all. In the few days Tenko had been living at Toshinori’s house in Japan, the pro hero had barely seen the boy poke his nose out of his room. Sometimes he’d spy Tenko’s bedroom door open just a crack wide enough for one red eye to peek out; but the second Toshinori called out to the child, the door would slam shut again.

The only indications that Tenko ever opened the door wider than a crack were when he’d creep out to use the restroom and when he’d open the door up to take in the trays Toshinori left out for him. Toshinori had never been in the position of having to cook for anyone other than himself, let alone a small child; and found himself poring over cookbooks in his spare minutes for ideas of what an eight year old should even be eating.

Ever since word had gotten out to the media that All Might had taken in an orphan, pretty much every person across the globe had decided to adopt Shimura Tenko as well. Dozens of packages of toys and clothes from fans all over the world arrived at Toshinori’s doorstep care of his P.R. team as soon as twelve hours after he’d first brought Tenko home. The gifts were hardly enough to lure the young child out of his room, but Toshinori was always pleased to find that Tenko had taken in a package that’d been left outside his bedroom door for him.

Tenko didn’t really understand why so many people wanted to give him presents, and it felt strange for him to suddenly have so many nice new things; but he couldn’t say that he was displeased with having a few new toys and clothes after having spent the past few years in whatever secondhand clothes his father would deign to give him. The clothes his father had bought him were always bought from thrift shops, scratchy shirts and weathered pants that never fit quite right.

The young boy thought a few times of just going out into the main part of the house and saying something - anything - to Toshinori just so the man now taking care of him would know he didn’t hate him; but always froze with his palm on the doorknob and, after standing staring at his hand for a while, retreated back to the corner of his bedroom. He really did like Toshinori, Tenko got a small thrill every time he remembered that he was living with the Number One Hero; it was just strange to be living somewhere new and with a new guardian who had quadruple the energy and none of the cruelty his father had had. Tenko was relieved though that, for the most part, his new guardian seemed to be giving him the space to get comfortable in his new home.

Still, after five days of Tenko barely leaving his room, Toshinori opened up about his concern one night over the phone to Naomasa.

“I’m just worried about him, you know,” Toshinori rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his voice low so Tenko wouldn’t hear him talking about him over the phone. “He’s hardly left his room and hasn’t said a word since he came here.”

“Well, he’s been through a lot,” Naomasa said, voice a touch distracted. Toshinori could tell he was at the station, probably trying to focus on a case file but making time for his friend anyways. “It might take him a while to warm up to you.”

“Yeah, but is this normal?” Toshinori asked. “I mean, he acts so afraid but doesn’t he know he’s safe here now? Maybe he...Maybe he just doesn’t like me?”

“Toshinori, you really can’t take this personally,” Naomasa said, almost laughing. “You’re always there when the bad stuff happens, right? You save the day and give a huge smile and then that’s it. Well, this is what happens after the bad stuff ends. It takes people a little while to feel safe again after a traumatic experience; especially when that person is an eight year old whose father basically used his quirk to commit suicide. Be patient, he’ll come around.”

“You’re right,” Toshinori sighed. “Thanks, Naomasa, I owe you one.”

“Oh, I’ll add it to the list,” Naomasa laughed. “See ya around, Toshinori.”

“See ya,” Toshinori said, hanging up the call and sitting back in his chair.

----

Being the Number One Hero while also attempting to be a parent proved to be quite the juggling act; All Might had upgraded his security system even more since Tenko had moved in, but that was hardly a substitute for having an adult present at all times. The first few times Toshinori had left Tenko with a babysitter, the reports all came back the same; the kid had remained dead silent and hadn’t set so much as a toe out of his room.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tenko murmured on one of the rare rare occasions he’d left his bedroom door open and let Toshinori come inside. The two sat on the floor, the soles of their bare feet pressed together to form a lopsided diamond shape as they rolled a ball back and forth to each other. Toshinori had noticed that Tenko seemed to feel less anxious about speaking when he had another activity to preoccupy him.

“Oh, you don’t?” Toshinori raised an eyebrow as he pushed the ball back over to Tenko.

“No,” Tenko shook his head, rolling the ball with the flat of his palm. “I used to stay at home by myself all the time. It’s fine.”

“Hmm,” Toshinori pursed his lips, tapping his fingers against the ball before rolling it back across the floor. He tried not to let on how much it bothered him to hear that Tenko was left alone so much. “You know, if you don’t feel comfortable with the people I’m hiring, you can tell me and I’ll get someone different. Is that it?”

Tenko gave a small shrug, not looking up from the floor. After that, Tenko was quiet; Toshinori didn’t press him to say anything else, just sat and rolled the ball back and forth in silence. The simple game continued until Tenko accidentally touched the ball with all five of his fingertips; the child barely reacted, just gave a tired sigh and stood up to go sit on his bed. Toshinori had left him alone after that, shutting the door quietly behind him.

After a couple weeks of having Tenko in the house, Toshinori came up with what he considered a decent alternative to hired babysitters. While he trusted the person he’d requested to come look after Tenko, Toshinori couldn’t fight the violent flinch he had to suppress as his old teacher came crashing through the front door.

“Well, here I am!” Gran Torino exclaimed, looking around Toshinori’s house with a sneer of disgust. “I guess it’s pretty obvious you didn’t make interior design one of your supplemental skills, huh?”

“Thank you again for doing this,” Toshinori said as he followed behind Gran Torino into the living room. “I think Tenko will like having someone he knows around the house. Even though you only met the one time at the hospital, still...better than a total stranger.”

“Shouldn’t you, uh, be getting to doing your job?” Torino threw Toshinori a look over his shoulder. “I’ve got things handled here.”

“Okay, well,” Toshinori continued. “Don’t be surprised if Tenko doesn’t come out of his room; it’s been weeks and he still only comes out occasionally when just I’m around.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” Torino waved a dismissive hand, tossing a plastic grocery bag onto the coffee table and then flopping onto the couch. “Think I’ll just hang out here, maybe catch a nap. You should get going. Cities don’t save themselves, as you know.”

“Right, okay,” Toshinori said, running a nervous thumb over his clenched knuckles. “So, you’re good?”

“I’m good,” Torino nodded, voice dropping into an irritated tone. “Hit the pavement, Toshinori.”

“Alright, well,” Toshinori took a deep breath, raising his voice so Tenko could hear him. “I’ll be back in a few hours. If anything goes wrong, just give me a call.”

“Subtle,” Torino raised his eyebrows.

From behind his closed door, Tenko stifled a laugh. It was true that he liked Toshinori, but it was also fun to hear the boisterous larger-than-life hero talked down to for a change. Tenko remembered Gran Torino from the hospital, he was the only adult who hadn’t talked to him like a scared puppy; Tenko had appreciated that.

Eventually, Tenko heard the front door close as All Might left to do hero work. He waited by the door, expecting Gran Torino to come knocking to check on him any second. But he didn’t. The house remained silent apart from the occasional roar of some televised crowd. Gran Torino was leaving Tenko completely alone.

After about half an hour of sitting alone in his room, Tenko became curious as to why Gran Torino hadn’t come to check on him. Crossing to his bedroom door, Tenko gripped the knob carefully and gave it a reverently slow turn to prevent a loud opening. Creeping out into the hallway on his tiptoes, Tenko made his way slowly to the main part of the house. Tilting his neck a bit from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs, he caught the sound of someone clattering around in the kitchen. Tiptoeing up to the kitchen doorway, Tenko poked just enough of his face around the corner for his eyes to show.

“Oh, hey there,” Gran Torino said, catching sight of Tenko’s silvery hair out of the corner of his eye as he fiddled with the microwave. Tenko flinched back behind the doorframe, but Gran Torino just kept talking in his same casual gruff tone as if Tenko were still visible. “Didn’t know you were out and about,” he said, punching the buttons on the microwave with purposeful beeps. “I’m warming up some taiyaki, if you’re interested.”

Tenko poked his head back around the corner and found Gran Torino sitting atop one of the kitchen counters, watching the microwave countdown. As Torino just sat there staring quietly, Tenko grew more confident around him and moved to lean his whole body against the doorway in full view of the adult assigned to watch him. The two stood in silence, the only noise in the room coming from the whir of the microwave; by the time the taiyaki was done heating up, Tenko felt comfortable enough around Torino to follow a few feet behind him as he carried the plate of pastries into the living room.

“Welp, sit down if you’re gonna,” Torino said, patting the couch as he settled into the plush cushions with a taiyaki in hand.

Tenko glanced towards the exit, considering just leaving; but the longer he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t really want to leave just yet. Climbing onto the couch, Tenko took the seat farthest from Torino as possible and sat rigidly with his palms resting on his knees. Gran Torino just sat quietly next to him; engrossed in whatever game show he had put on, occasionally muttering the correct answer when a contestant couldn’t get it.

Leaning back into the seat of the couch a bit more, Tenko began to relax there next to Gran Torino. Pulling his hands up to rest on his chest, Tenko carefully moved his thumbs around each other; he felt like he should say something to Torino and wanted to be able to talk to him, but found the act of opening his mouth to be extremely difficult.

Gran Torino’s blase front turned out to be exactly that, because when Tenko shifted and made a noise like he was about to speak, the older man flicked his attention to the child seated on the couch next to him.

Tenko scrunched his lips up, looking up at Torino through his long eyelashes as he forced himself to speak.

“You used to be a pro hero,” he murmured quietly, looking straight at Torino as he waited for the adult to respond.

“Sure did,” Torino nodded, straightening up and angling himself so he was facing the kid. “Taught Toshinori everything he elects to ignore.”

Tenko smiled a bit at that, and Torino smiled in turn when he saw the kid’s blank face give way to a positive emotion.

“He was a student of mine when he went to UA,” Torino continued once he noticed that hearing him crack jokes about Toshinori sparked Tenko’s interest. “The most talkative, annoyingly optimistic kid you ever met. In fact, there was this one time, right before the Sports Festival…”

Gran Torino shifted into full-on storytelling mode, bringing up as many embarrassing high school stories about Toshinori as he could remember. Granted, he probably got some of the details askew and couldn’t remember a lot of the other students’ names; but the stories seemed to warm Tenko up, even getting a small laugh out of the boy at one point. Once Torino was out of storytelling steam, the two settled back into watching the television in silence.

Tenko looked down at his hands again, bending his fingers in towards his palm a little bit and then glancing over to Gran Torino. He looked between the former pro hero and his hands a few times before working up the courage to ask what he was thinking.

“Did you…” Tenko murmured, voice soft enough to almost get drowned out by the television. When Torino heard Tenko trying to ask him something, he quickly turned the volume down and looked to the kid. Tenko felt suddenly nervous as he knew all of the possible attention in the room was on him, subconsciously reaching up to scratch at his neck while he spoke. “...Did you really know my grandmother?”

Gran Torino blinked in surprise at the question, he honestly hadn’t been sure if the kid had even been listening to him when he’d mentioned Nana back at the hospital, but obviously he had. Shaking off the initial shock of the question, Gran Torino resumed his easy smirk and gave a soft laugh.

“Ah yeah, I knew Nana,” Torino nodded. “She and I were pretty close actually.”

“What was she like?” Tenko asked, looking down at the curl of his toes.

“Like?” Torino rubbed his chin, having to think for a minute. “Well,” he settled one hand against his thigh. “She was a hell of a hero, of course. Brave, strong, all that jazz. Really wise...wiser than a knucklehead like Toshinori...Practical to the point of giving up stuff she really really wanted...Hah,” Torino paused, looking down and away as he thought of his absent friend. “Ah, the really great thing about Nana thought was that she knew how to make people feel better; she could get anyone to laugh, it was quite a skill.”

Tenko smiled, looking down at his bare feet as he soaked up the words. “What happened to her?” he asked quietly, turning his gaze back up to Gran Torino.

“Ah, well…” Gran Torino blew a heavy puff of air out of his cheeks. “She was a pro hero too, as you know; and she knew the risks of that. A villain called- ah, uhm- A villain ended Nana’s life when she was still pretty young.”

If Tenko noticed Torino’s redaction of the villain’s name, he didn’t say anything; in all honesty, he assumed that Gran Torino had just forgotten another named. Instead, the child was more preoccupied looking down at his own hands as he fidgeted his fingers around each other.

“A villain?” he mused. Looking up to Gran Torino, Tenko scratched at his neck some more as he prepared to ask another question. “Gran Torino, do you think I-”

“Hello? Anybody home!?” All Might’s voice boomed out as the front door swung open. In an instant, he was leaning his muscular torso in through the living room doorway and taking in the scene before him. His usual smile faltered out of surprise when he saw Tenko sitting on the couch with Gran Torino, but Toshinori’s smile quickly returned as he realized Tenko had come out of his room. “Hey you two, have a fun time tonight?”

“Oh yeah, lots of fun,” Gran Torino winked at Tenko, and the small boy smiled as he remembered all of the embarrassing stories Torino had told him about All Might. Torino shifted off the couch and stretched his back out, giving a tired groan as he settled back into his usual slouch. “Alright, Tenko, we’ll pick this conversation up next time, okay?”

“Okay,” Tenko nodded, not really wanting to finish asking his question while Toshinori was in the room.

“I’ll see ya around, kid,” Gran Torino smiled at Tenko and began ambling towards the door. “Well, Toshinori, aren’t you gonna show an old man out?”

“Of course,” Toshinori nodded, turning and walking a step behind his old teacher until they reached the door. Holding the door open for Torino, Toshinori showed the old man out. “Thanks again.”

“Eh, chalk it up to my giving nature,” Torino waved a hand at Toshinori and then continued on his way down the walkway.

Toshinori closed the door and turned back towards the living room, finding Tenko standing half-hidden behind the doorframe with a small smile on his face.

“He was telling me about Nana,” Tenko said softly.

“Is that right?” Toshinori grinned, silently resolving to interrogate Gran Torino for the specifics of what he’d told Tenko at a later date. “Any thoughts?”

“She sounds like she was nice,” Tenko murmured, running a single finger up the doorframe before stepping out to the entry hall to stand by Toshinori. “How did you know her?”

“That’s...a bit of a long story,” Toshinori said. When he caught the flicker of disappointment cross Tenko’s face, Toshinori quickly backpedaled and added to his previous statement. “So, uh, why don’t you go get ready for bed and I’ll come upstairs and tell it to you?”

That suggestion elicited a tiny smile from Tenko. “Okay,” he nodded, turning to go up the stairs.

Toshinori watched the young boy disappear up the stairs and listened to him bustle around getting ready for bed. He tried to come up with a different story than the truth right on the spot, but he just wasn’t very good at lying; let alone lying to eight year old kids who were just starting to trust him. Taking a deep breath, Toshinori decided that if Tenko was going to be an official part of his family, that he’d have to tell him the truth about One for All eventually; and it would probably be better to get it over with sooner rather than later. Moving to the staircase, Toshinori began the walk up to Tenko’s room; preparing to let another person in on the secret of his quirk.

----

A soft knocking pulled Tenko out of the scene he’d been playing out with his action figures; he knew that Toshinori had to leave for work soon, and assumed that the knocking was him. It was funny, sometimes Toshinori would just leave with a hollered goodbye and sometimes he’d make the journey all the way to Tenko’s room just to tell him he was leaving, as if the child weren’t fully aware.

As it was, Toshinori had already said goodbye about fifteen minutes ago, and Tenko was positive he’d heard the front door open and close; but he figured Toshinori was just going through another phase of clinginess. He’d swing from his usual behavior to near-obsessive hovering every few days; but after almost a month living with Toshinori, Tenko had come to expect it.

Which was why, when a different man’s voice spoke out, Tenko nearly jumped out of his skin. It wasn’t an unfamiliar voice, Tenko definitely recognized it, but it wasn’t Toshinori or Gran Torino so he was immediately wary. He went through a whole cycle of anxious thoughts before he remembered that Toshinori had already told him who it was; it had been a few days ago so Tenko hadn’t immediately remembered. Letting his breathing return to normal, Tenko clambered to his feet and tiptoed over to stand by the door.

“Hey, Tenko,” the man’s voice called out from the other side. “It’s Detective Naomasa from the hospital, remember me? Yagi told me you knew I was coming over but I thought I’d come up and say hi just the same.”

Tenko remained silent behind the door, not feeling particularly threatened by Naomasa but not really having the energy for a conversation just then.

“Alright,” Naomasa said after a brief silence. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Tenko listened to the police officer’s footsteps recede down the stairs and then turned away from the door, more interested in getting back to his action figures. He secretly wished that Gran Torino were the one watching him again, but tried not to be selfish as he picked up his own figurine of the former pro hero. Dropping to the floor, Tenko resumed the narrative of his toys and hardly thought about the detective downstairs.

As the evening persisted however, Tenko’s intrigue at the placid quiet traveling up to his room grew. He remembered Detective Naomasa from that night in the hospital, how the policeman had been really nice to him in that way adults were when trying to prove to a kid not all of them were going to hurt you. Tenko also remembered how the policeman had been with Toshinori, the two of them talking and interacting like there was no pretense of Toshinori being the Number One Hero at all; it made him feel more relaxed about the man to know he didn’t idolize All Might.

Crossing easily to his bedroom door, Tenko pulled it open and stepped out into the hallway. Walking with more confidence than he felt like he should have, Tenko made his way down the stairs and into the living room where Naomasa was.

The detective was sitting at the table by the window, papers spread out and laptop open in front of him. When he saw Tenko enter the room walking towards him, Naomasa turned his attention to the young boy. He smiled at Tenko, opening his mouth to speak; but Tenko beat him to the punch.

“If you’re a cop,” Tenko said, coming to stand by the table’s edge. “Why aren’t you out catching bad guys?”

Naomasa laughed a little, sitting back as he regarded the child in front of him. “I had the night off,” he said, simple as anything.

“Oh,” Tenko nodded, turning that over in his brain for a second before responding. “And you wanted to spend it here?”

“Here’s as good as anywhere,” Naomasa shrugged.

“Hmm,” Tenko lifted an eyebrow. Then, he turned and walked to the opposite end of the table and sat down across from Naomasa. Reaching out, he tapped a cautious index finger against the stack of papers in front of the detective. “Is that about me?”

“Huh?” Naomasa furrowed his brow, looking down at the papers in confusion. “Ah- No, it’s not about you. Your case was pretty open-and-shut, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Open-and-shut?”

“Yeah, uh, straightforward, y’know? Easy to figure out,” Naomasa explained.

“Oh,” Tenko mused, resting his head on his folded arms. He kept his fingers carefully curled so only his thumb and index fingers touched the tabletop. “Then, why aren’t I in jail?”

“From what you told us, your dad made you use your quirk on him,” Naomasa said. “That’s not your fault, Tenko.”

Tenko felt his lower lip begin to wobble, so he bit down on it; his teeth grazing over the freshly healed scar the stitches in his mouth had left behind. He slammed his gaze down to the light brown wood of the tabletop, not wanting Naomasa to notice how emotional he was becoming. As he stared down at the table, the question he’d been worrying over and over and over again in his head for so many years; the question he thought he’d known the answer to that his father had so carefully ingrained in his mind. He’d been hoping to ask someone else, tried once before with Gran Torino and been too afraid of Toshinori’s response to ask him; but he figured a policeman might give him an honest answer.

“Tenko?” Naomasa asked in a soft voice, reaching out and giving the boy’s arm a small nudge. Tenko jolted upright, his shoulder blades hitting the back of his chair; once he remembered where he was, the small boy’s frame relaxed and he let go of a deep breath. Naomasa gave him a patient smile. “Is there something that’s bothering you?”

Tenko gave a small whine, flumping his chin back down to rest on the tabletop; bringing his arms around his face like a protective barrier, only letting one eye - the one with the scar - peek out at the kindly detective across the table.

“Do you think I’m a bad guy?” Tenko asked quietly.

“Do I think…” Naomasa trailed off, his voice going soft as he took in the question. Shutting his laptop, Naomasa folded his hands on top of the piece of technology and looked directly at Tenko. “No, I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”

“But…” Tenko looked to the window at his side, his words feeling muffled by his tongue. “But you saw what I did to my dad. Don’t you think...Don’t you think it’s a bad guy’s quirk?”

Naomasa sat back a little bit. “Tenko, do you want to know a secret?”

Tenko wrinkled his brows in confusion, but nodded his head just the same.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘bad guy’s quirk’ or a ‘good guy’s quirk’,” Naomasa said. “I’ve been a cop for a long time now, I’ve seen all types of villains and heroes and you know what that made me realize?”

Tenko shook his head.

“It made me realize that it doesn’t matter what quirk you have - or if you have one at all,” Naomasa said. “The thing that matters, is what you choose to do with the power you have. And bad things might have happened as a result of your quirk,” he gave a pointed glance to where Tenko was staring at his hands. “But those weren’t in your control. A real villain is someone who can do something good, but chooses to do the bad thing anyways. And I don’t think that’s who you are at all, Tenko.”

Falling silent, Tenko looked to the grainy wooden surface of the table. Chewing on his lip, he thought of another question he wanted to ask Naomasa. “Do you…” he hesitated, not sure if he should even be bringing the subject up.

“...Yeah?” Naomasa prompted when Tenko fell silent.

“Do you…” Tenko squinted his eyes, wanting to phrase his question as vaguely as possible. “Do you...know things…?”

“Things…?”

“About Toshinori?” Tenko clarified carefully.

“Things about Toshinori?” Naomasa nodded as he put together the question Tenko was asking. “Things you’re not supposed to talk about to people who don’t know?”

Tenko nodded slowly.

“Is it something about his quirk?” Naomasa asked.

Tenko nodded again.

“Something that has to do with Shimura Nana’s quirk as well?”

Another nod.

“I think I know what you’re talking about,” Naomasa said. “What do you wanna know?”

Tenko thought about how he should phrase his question, not wanting to directly give away what he knew about the One for All quirk even if Naomasa did know about it. But the idea that the Number One Hero’s quirk could be passed down to anyone All Might wanted, was an attractive concept to Tenko, to say the least.

“Do you think…” Tenko scratched his neck. “...the question could ever be about my quirk too?”

Naomasa blinked in surprise when he realize what Tenko was asking; but in the end, it was hardly surprising for a little kid to want to be just like All Might. So, Naomasa just shrugged and said, “Stranger things have happened.”

----

Toshinori was frantic. He’d looked in every nook and cranny of the house and couldn’t find Tenko anywhere. It wasn’t like the boy to hide anywhere other than his bedroom, but when Toshinori had gone in to check on him earlier he wasn’t there. Clutching his chest, Toshinori struggled to control his breathing; he could face down dozens of villains at once and not feel an ounce of fear, but one missing eight year old and the great hero All Might was on the verge of cardiac arrest. He was heading out the front door, hand poised on his phone to call the police, when he finally found Tenko.

The boy was crouched in the front hard, holding three fingers out to a small hidden figure. Staying poised as silent as possible in the doorway, Toshinori tilted his large frame to get a better look at what had drawn Tenko out of doors when it had taken weeks just to get him out of his room. When he saw what it was that had Tenko so enraptured, Toshinori almost laughed. There, inching closer to Tenko’s outstretched fingers, was a small black cat.

It figured that while Toshinori’s security system could keep out villains and the media and rabid fans, the one thing to get past would be a cat. The hero relaxed, leaning against the doorway as he watched the cat sniff Tenko’s hand. Toshinori fought the urge to move closer and start snapping pictures with his phone as Tenko began to tentatively scratch the cat behind her ears. It warmed Toshinori’s heart to see the boy’s face light up with happiness as the cat began to purr under his touch.

But then, as if Tenko needed another reminder, things took a quick turn for the worse. While the cat was getting eager to be more, she bumped against Tenko’s hand at exactly the wrong angle to open his grip which he’d let relax while petting the cat. And even though Tenko’s pull back as soon as he realized what was happening was as quick as lightning, the cat didn’t fully escape the effects of his quirk. The black fur around her left eye had frayed away, and a bit of her skin underneath was destroyed giving way to exposed muscle and blood.

Toshinori was out of the house in an instant, bolting down the front steps and over to where Tenko had toppled backwards and was now scrambling up to his feet. Holding his arms out awkwardly towards the distraught boy, Toshinori tried to offer a reassuring smile to him as the cat began to yowl out in pain.

“It’s alr-”

“Shut up!!” Tenko screamed, elbowing his way past Toshinori as he ran to go back inside.

Bending down and picking up the injured cat, Toshinori made it back into the house just in time to hear Tenko’s bedroom door slam and the sound of hysterical crying get muffled by a pile of pillows.

----

Usually when he knocked on Tenko’s door, Toshinori would wait to be invited in but this time was different. Before, Tenko had been doing what was best for himself by giving himself time to get comfortable and feel safe again; this time, he was isolating himself so he could spiral downward in his own negative thoughts. At least, that’s what Toshinori told himself as he slowly pushed the boy’s door open after giving a soft knock of announcement.

Tenko was laying face down on his bed, head buried under a pile of half-destroyed pillows unfortunate enough to bear the brunt of Tenko’s unrestrained quirk. The boy’s hands were balled tightly into half fists, his pinky and ring fingers on each hand pressed to his palms while the others lay splayed against his mattress. He was quiet; Toshinori hadn’t come up for a while because he’d been taking care of the cat, which was just as well for Tenko to have time to calm down before talking about what had happened.

“The cat’s fine,” Toshinori said as he edged closer to Tenko. “Called a vet with a quirk that can heal animal-related injuries. She took the cat with her to the animal shelter.”

Tenko didn’t react at all, just kept laying still in the hopes that Toshinori would just give up on him and leave. But All Might was nothing if not persistent, and came to sit on the corner of the bed by Tenko.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Toshinori said quietly.

Tenko gave an exasperated sigh. Planting both elbows into the mattress, he shoved himself up and turned a tearstained face to glare at Toshinori.

“Then whose fault was it!?” Tenko demanded, lip pulled back into a vicious snarl.

“Sometimes bad things happen and it’s nobody’s fault,” Toshinori said.

Tenko rolled his eyes and flopped down onto his side, the feathers from his destroyed pillows sticking to his still damp cheeks.

“My dad was right,” Tenko murmured. “The only thing I’m good at is hurting and killing.”

Toshinori felt a surge of rage burn in Tenko’s father’s direction. “That is not true,” he said, leaning forward on his muscled arms.

“I killed my dad,” Tenko sat up, glaring directly into Toshinori’s eyes.

“He did that to himself,” Toshinori enunciated, placing his hands on Tenko’s shoulders. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I killed my mom,” Tenko shook off Toshinori’s touch, deepening his glare to keep from crying. “Or did they forget to tell you that when you decided to adopt me!?”

Toshinori backed up a little bit, but quickly shook himself out of the initial shock. “I’m sorry, Tenko, I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, you don’t know anything about me,” Tenko spat, chest heaving with angry breaths. “You’re better off getting rid of me now before you end up like my other parents.”

“It’s gonna take more than a quirk like yours to scare me off,” Toshinori said.

“Just leave,” Tenko rolled his eyes again and laid back down.

Toshinori reached out to touch Tenko’s arm. “No, I-”

“I said get out!” Tenko screamed, swatting his hand back to ward off Toshinori’s touch. The tiny bump from the frail child was hardly enough to hurt Toshinori, but he didn’t try to touch Tenko again just the same. Having hit Toshinori seemed to trigger something for Tenko and Toshinori watched in horror as the boy’s face crumpled into distressed sobbing. “Please, just leave me alone. Please. ”

“Okay,” Toshinori murmured, holding his hands out and backing away. He didn’t want to push Tenko any further and realized he may already overstepped his boundaries. “Okay.”

Toshinori pulled the the door shut behind him and sighed heavily. Walking down the hallway, Toshinori closed himself in his own room and pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Hey Naomasa,” he said when the line picked up. “I’ve got another favor for you to add to your list.”

----

It was after midnight - hell, it was after three in the morning - and Tenko should have really been asleep, but regret of words left unsaid was keeping him awake as if someone were sharing the bed with him and kept planting their knee in his spine every time he was about to nod off. Rising from his bed, that was a mess of feathers and crumpled sheets, he padded over to his bedroom door. Looking down, he realized he’d never taken his shoes off; not seeing a point in taking them off just then, he shrugged and left them on as he stepped silently out into the hall.

Tiptoeing the way to Toshinori’s room, Tenko was both surprised and relieved to find light coming from under the door. Reaching up, Tenko bit the inside of his cheek and knocked softly on the door. There was no response. Knocking again, a little louder, Tenko waited for a response that never came. Getting frustrated, Tenko reached out again but this time just grabbed the knob and opened the door. Peeking inside the room, Tenko felt his eyebrows raise into his hairline.

Toshinori was hunched over in bed, a book pooled in his lap which he read as intently as a college student trying to find quotes worth a damn to pull for their final essay due the next morning. Tenko pushed the door open a little more, leaning his shoulders past the shield of the door as he tried to get a look at what had Toshinori so engrossed. But he couldn’t make out the blurred words on the cover of the book if his life depended on it so, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, Tenko found his voice and spoke up.

“What are you reading?”

“Ah AH!!” Toshinori jumped, tossing the book up in the air. It landed with a thunk on his head, and bounced off the bed and onto the floor. Tenko stepped fully into the room then, walking over and picking up the book to see it for himself. “Ah, wait, don’t look at-”

But Tenko already had the book in his hands, pinky fingers held carefully away from the hardcover binding. Moving the book back and forth as if playing the trombone, Tenko slowly made out the words on the cover. “Parenting for...Parenting for Dummies?”

Toshinori sat with his face in his hands.

“Were you seriously reading this?” Tenko raised an eyebrow, tossing the book back to Toshinori.

“Yes,” Toshinori admitted, flushing bright red with embarrassment as he tucked the book away in his nightstand drawer.

“Why didn’t you want me to know?” Tenko asked, suppressing a small smile.

Toshinori sighed, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned forward. “I kind of wanted you to think I could do this all on my own.”

Tenko sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to Toshinori as he twiddled with his fingers. “You weren’t really fooling me.”

“I figured as much,” Toshinori said then, clearing his throat, attempted to change the subject. “Wh-Why are you up?”

“I wanted to apologize,” Tenko muttered, reaching up to scratch his neck. “For yelling at you...and hitting you.”

“Ah, that’s quite alright!” Toshinori said immediately, his heart swelling with joy and pride at Tenko’s sincere apology. “No harm, no foul!”

But Tenko wasn’t as quick to recover from their earlier argument; looking down to the carpeted floor, he scrunched his nose against the tears he felt coming on. “I want to be a good guy,” he murmured. “I want to do good things.”

Shifting out from under the covers, Toshinori moved to sit next to Tenko; careful not to touch him without permission again.

“Naomasa told me what happened to your mother,” Toshinori said cautiously. “How it was the first time your quirk activated. I’m sorry that happened, Tenko.”

Tenko remained silent, not wanting to talk about his mother. He kept his gaze glued to his feet.

“You know,” Toshinori rubbed his chin, dropping the subject of Tenko’s mother. “The fact that you worry about making the right decisions, proves you’re a good person. A bad person wouldn’t care if they were doing something wrong; in fact, they enjoy it.”

Tilting his head to the side, Tenko threw a lopsided glance up to Toshinori. “Do you think I can be a hero?”

“The truth?” Toshinori asked. Tenko nodded, face serious. “I think you’ll make a fantastic hero one day.”

Tenko smiled a little, looking back down to his hands. Even after living with him for over a month, the fact that the Number One Hero was telling him this still meant a great deal to Tenko. “Now, then!!” Toshinori spoke up. “I think we both ought to get to bed, don’t you agree?”

Tenko nodded, standing up from the bed and turning to his guardian. “Goodnight, Toshinori,” he said, smiling a little.

“Goodnight, Tenko,” Toshinori chuckled, unable to stop himself from reaching out and ruffling the young boy’s hair. Tenko’s smile widened a bit at his hair being ruffled for a change; then, he turned and left the room. As the door clicked shut, Toshinori laid back in bed; turning his biggest smile up to the ceiling.

----

“I got you something!” Toshinori announced a couple mornings later, holding out a small flat box to a fresh-out-of-bed Tenko.

“Thank you,” Tenko said quietly, taking the small box in through his bedroom doorway. The door was wide open, but Tenko still remained inside. “What is it?”

“Well, open it up and find out!!” Toshinori smiled.

Tenko took the lid off and, carefully keeping his pinkies raised from the box, lifted the tissue paper away.

“Gloves?” Tenko wrinkled his brow, lifted the small black scraps of fabric to his nose with two fingers.

“Not just any gloves! Here,” Toshinori said, reaching out to help Tenko put them on. “I had them specially designed by my costume team. This is official hero gear. There you go!”

Tenko held his hands out in front of him, starting to get the idea. The gloves were lightweight, plain stretchy material that felt barely-there; fingerless all except for the pinkies. Looking up to Toshinori, Tenko smiled a little bit; reminded of the EMT who had wrapped his pinkies in gauze all those weeks ago.

“Thank you, Toshinori,” Tenko said again, voice full of sincere gratitude.

“Test them out!” Toshinori beamed, picking up the box that had been dropped to the ground and holding it out to Tenko.

Tenko took the box in his hands, putting all ten of his fingertips against it. Turning the box over and over as he held onto it, Tenko’s smile grew larger and larger as the box remained completely intact.

“They work!” Tenko exclaimed, his smile stretching to touch his eyes. Looking back down to the box in his hands, he smiled again and lowered his voice. “They work.”

“I’m glad you like them,” Toshinori smiled, relieved his gift had gone off without a hitch.

“Toshinori?” Tenko asked suddenly, quietly.

“Yes, my boy?”

“Do you think we could…” Tenko averted his gaze to his toes. “Do you think we could go check on the cat?”

Toshinori gave a laugh. “Of course we can! Just get ready and we’ll leave immediately!”

“Okay!” Tenko said, closing his door and making excited shufflings to get dressed in record time.

Toshinori waited for Tenko by the front door, and the boy came bounding down in a matter of minutes.

“You all ready?” Toshinori asked as he helped Tenko put his coat on, doing up the buttons for him.

“Yes!!” Tenko nodded.

“Alright then!” Toshinori stood up and pulled the front door open. “Let’s get going th-”

Toshinori broke off with a jolt. A small pressure on his hand that he’d never felt before was now wrapped around two of his large fingers. Looking down, he saw Tenko looking off into the distance with an unassuming smile on his face. Curling his small fingers around Toshinori’s a little tighter, Tenko tried to fight the happy blush burning up his face.

Trying to regain his composure, Toshinori cleared his throat and turned his gaze forward. “Let’s get going, Tenko,” he said, giving the tiny hand in his a gentle squeeze and leading the young boy down the front porch steps.

#bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha fic #mha fic #secondhand hero #beth writes #long post #immmm love this chapter!!

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