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cyncerity · 3 years

Note

Mmmmm.,, thinking about how if Tubbo nommed Tommy and Tommy grew just enough in his stomach to make a little bump.,,

Ok when I asked for sizeshifter Tommy getting nommed prompts, you got the message. You understood the assignment completely, you genius anon. Funnier yet, I had the same thought about Tommy shifting while in someone earlier, so you’re pyscic and also very much pandering to what i like to write and it’s working very well.

tw: vore, cursing

Btw, I took my shitpost idea from this post and made it a full story

“Tubbo, no.” Tommy deadpanned at Tubbo, who looked back at him with puppy eyes. “Tubbo yes!! You actually studied for this and I didn’t and if I flunk another test my dads gonna kill me!” the shorter teen whined. Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh. “Well then maybe you should’ve studied! I’m not gonna help you cheat this, I don’t even know how i would do that!”

Tubbo pouted and gave him a death glare that he ultimately couldn’t hold as long as Tommy could, so he sighed in defeat and started to get ready for school.

*****

School went pretty well for Tommy. He’d been pestered about the test a few more times by Tubbo, but he ignored most of the advances. He was just walking from the class he’d taken the test in to his next class when he got a text from his best friend: ‘meet me in the storage closet by the caf.’ Huh. Odd. Nevertheless, Tommy shrugged and headed that way. Not like he had much else to do at the moment.

He soon stepped into the storage closet, the heavy door closing behind him and shutting him in almost complete darkness as he fumbled around looking for a light switch. He could hear things clattering around him, but every time he reached in the direction of the noise, more noise seemed to come from another direction. What was going on? “Tubbo?” Tommy whispered. “You in here, big man?” Tommy said, a bit louder. No response, except the noises. Tommy could feel himself start to shrink in a bit as his movements became more sporadic looking for the light. “Seriously man, this isn’t funny!!” Suddenly, a loud clap sounded from behind him, scaring him and accelerating the shrinking he had already subconsciously been doing as he shrieked, now a measly 3 inches tall.

Suddenly he felt himself be lifted off the ground as the lights finally came on. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked up to see Tubbo holding him by his shirt collar, the heavy, large textbook that Tubbo had violently shut to make the clap noise now laying closed on the floor, looking smug with himself. Tommy glared daggers at him. “That was a low blow, Tubso.” “Of don’t be over dramatic,” the bigger teen smirked, “I’m just getting the help I need.” And with that, Tommy was tossed up into the air and quickly caught in Tubbo’s mouth. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing!!” Tommy shouted as Tubbo’s tongue lapped at his face. He was unceremoniously pushed into the side of Tubbo’s cheek as he tried to respond. “You just took the test, I’m going in to take the test now, so you can at least help me get some answers.” “You little-“ Tommy tried to finish before he was cut off by a loud swallow.

Tommy felt his legs get pulled down into the tight muscles of the throat. He tried to punch at Tubbo’s tongue to get his friend to spit him out but he only heard Tubbo chuckle as the muscles pulled him down to his shoulders and eventually sucked him in completely. Tubbo left the storage closet once he couldn’t feel Tommy in his mouth anymore and made his way to class. Tommy landed in his stomach with a dull thud as he heard the storage room door close and felt Tubbo start walking. Great. Didn’t this asshole know he had school, too?

Tommy pouted and laid back one of the wet spongy walls and slid down, begrudgingly accepting defeat. Eventually he felt Tubbo sit down, and he heard the lecturer start to speak, before silence once again. Tubbo poked his stomach. Tommy kicked at the wall where he had been poked. “You can’t just eat me and expect me to help you. Prick.” Another poke from the outside. Tommy kicked again.

There was an annoyed scoff from outside and soon the small space Tommy was sitting in practically folded in on itself as Tubbo moved to sit with his knees pressed against his torso. “Oh, fuck off, you dickhead!” Tommy shouted. “I’ll give you the fuckin answers, Jesus, just let up!!” Tommy could practically hear Tubbos smug grin as he put his knees back down and sat normally. Tommy sat fuming, giving Tubbo the answers to the test, waiting for the signal tap that signified his giant friend was ready for the next answer. So as Tommy sat and mindlessly rattled off information, he thought about what he could do to get a little revenge for the impromptu nom session. It was hard to think of something good enough. He needed something that was funny, but inconvenient, and that he could do from the stomach he was stuck in. Something that would piss Tubbo off in a playful way, and nothing that would cause him pain, maybe a bit of discomfort…wait. That’s it, that would work, all he had to do was time it right. The logical and mature side of Tommy’s brain said it was a bad idea: he’d never tried shifting while in a person before. Well, that part of his brain could fuck off for all Tommy cared. He’d never listened to it anyways. ‘Oh, this is gonna be so funny…’

****

A half an hour later, Tubbo finished the test. He was pretty proud of his successful plan to get Tommy to help him cheat, and he couldn’t see himself getting caught. There was no physical evidence of it, and he knew that as annoyed as he knew Tommy was, his best friend wouldn’t rat him out. He even made sure to fill in some answers wrong, it was foolproof! Tubbo leaned back, feeling the minuscule weight inside him, and if he focused hard enough, could even feel Tommy breath. He’d never get tired of how weird that felt, no matter how many times he ate Tommy. It gave him a sort of peace. He felt kind of bad for practically forcing Tommy into sitting in his gut, but it was his fault in the first place! If Tommy hadn’t refused to help him, Tubbo wouldn’t have had to resort to this! And he knew that Tommy would try to reign hell on him for this, but for the moment, he put that thought aside. There wasn’t much revenge Tommy could do from his stomach.

Tubbo soon heard the bell ring. And as soon as he went to stand up, he felt something inside him move. No, not move, grow. Double, triple the size Tommy was when he was swallowed, bigger than anything he’d ever even try to get down his throat, and all within the span of a second. The sudden shock of the change mixed with the uneven and unfamiliar added weight in Tubbos body made him fall backwards with a yelp, landing on his ass and knocking over a chair in the process. He heard some kids laugh at him on their way out the door, and saw other just stare. He could feel his face get hotter from the embarrassment. He not only heard, but felt Tommy laugh at him, the shifters now louder voice making the stomach walls around him vibrate slightly. And, oh god, that was a weird feeling.

Tubbo clutched his gut for dear life as he tried to stand. He grabbed a nearby desk and pulled himself up, doing his best to steady himself. And as soon as he finally managed to get used to the weight, more was added. He felt his stomach stretch around Tommy, more weight being added, making him stumble a bit more before he elbowed himself in the stomach, pulled his hood over his head, and tried to walk as quickly as possible to anywhere private, ignoring Tommy’s laughing fit.

Ten minutes later, Tubbo found a private, hidden area under a set of outdoor steps near his school. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and put it up to his ear just to be sure that if anyone saw him, they wouldn’t think he was a crazy person talking to himself. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Tubbo yelled, making Tommy laugh more. “Oh, you have no idea how much I would’ve paid to see the look on your face!” Tommy wheezed. “What did you do?” Tommy’s laughter died down as he tried to answer the question. “Well, I think that’s pretty obvious big man. I shifted.” “In me?!” “Well, yeah. Consider this payback for scaring me shitless and swallowing me without permission.”

Tubbo face palmed with his free hand and started to pace, feeling Tommy’s much larger form sway in his stomach and stretch it with every turn he made as he walked. “Ok, ok, fine I guess I deserved that. Just, why’d you have to do it in class? People were looking at me like I was an idiot. And how big are you even right now?” “Cause you are stupid,” Tommy answered part of the first question, but pondered the other. “I’d say a foot tall? Maybe a foot and a half?”

“A foot?!” “Yeah, that’s what I said. Listen, maybe.” “Alright, alright, ok, you’ve had your fun, now shrink so I can get you out of there and we can both go about our days.” Tubbo sighed. “No can do, big man.” Tommy replied simply, as if Tubbo were to have expected that answer. He didn’t. “Why the hell not?!” Tubbo yelled again, sitting on a step, to frustrated to keep pacing. “You put me in here in the first place. I’m now your responsibility, and you did this to yourself.” Tubbo felt a somewhat uncomfortable pressure on the front of his stomach and pulled up his shirt, partially horrified and partially amazed to see the front of his belly pushing forwards, slight imprints from under his skin. Tommy’s hands. Before Tubbo could even get a word out, Tommy finished: “Remember, I’m not stuck in here with you. You’re stuck out there with me.” The pressure released, and Tubbos abdomen went back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be. It still looked somewhat bloated for obvious reasons, the outline of Tommy practically indistinguishable from any other stuffed gut to everyone but Tubbo, but it wasn’t anything his hoodie couldn’t hide. Tubbo made it a point to stand up from the step quickly to try and jostle Tommy, but only succeeded in making himself feel a quick pit in his stomach, making him instinctually hunch over as it stretched downwards to accommodate Tommy’s weight. “Whatever. I’m done talking to you.” Tubbo replied sternly before walking off to his next class, which he was now horribly late for. “Sounds good, but I’m not quite done talking to you yet.” So the next 10 minutes was spent with Tubbo walking to class and Tommy rambling about increasingly bizarre topics in an attempt to irritate Tubbo, and with Tubbo unable to respond without being heard since he’d put his phone in his backpack like an idiot and now couldn’t reach it.

***

He walked into his next class 20 minutes late, and as quickly as possible made his way to his empty chair next to Ranboo, who started giving him weird looks a few minutes after he sat down. Tubbo gave him a weird look, and Ranboo looked back utterly confused and somewhat distraught looking. Tubbo shrugged and went back to his work, trying to pick up what the teacher was saying and drown out Tommy’s nonsense. Ranboo didn’t stop giving him weird glances though, and he seemed to be getting more and more anxious. Tubbo was about to ask him what was wrong when surprisingly Ranboo stood up and addressed the teacher. “Excuse me, I have a really bad headache. Like, it’s hard to concentrate and I’m seeing spots and it’s all around just really awful, can I go to the nurse, please?” He was given permission and was told to take someone with him, roughly grabbing Tubbo by the arm and practically dragging him out of the classroom as fast as possible.

At this point, Tubbo was worried. Ranboo was an introverted guy, there’s no way he’d draw that much attention to himself in class unless it was an emergency. He got even more worried when Ranboo dragged him past the nurses office and into a storage closet not dissimilar to the one Tubbo and Tommy had been in earlier. “Boo, are you alri-“ “Out of curiosity, where’s Tommy?” Ranboo interrupted. Tubbo froze. “Ummm…I don’t know, why do you ask?” He replied, trying not to sound as guilty as he was as Tommy, who had been silent since Ranboo had dragged Tubbo out of the classroom, mumbled to himself. Something about Tubbo being an asshole. “Oh, maybe because once you came in late and sat down I started hearing Tommy. Quiet, muffled, even, but I know his voice. That, and literally no one besides Tommy can talk about absolutely nothing for so long.” Tubbo heard Tommy let out an offended scoff and a “fuck you” at Ranboo, who apparently also heard it. “See, there it is again! You can hear him to, I know it. So where is he? I thought he was in your backpack, but you didn’t bring it with you to the ‘nurses office,’” Ranboo said, putting in air quotes, “so I don’t know where else I’d be able to hear him from.” Tubbo was left speechless again. Luckily for him, or actually rather unlucky, depending on how you look at it, Tommy was incapable of being left speechless. “In here, Ranboob!!” Tommy shouted, punching the front of the stomach walls, making Tubbo let out a hiss of pain as he punched himself in the stomach. Ranboo just stared blankly. “He’s…he’s in there?” Ranboo asked, pointing at Tubbo’s midsection. Tubbo sighed and nodded. Thank god he had to explain this to Ranboo and not some rando who didn’t know that he and Tommy did this regularly. “I thought that no one besides you could hear him when you ate him? I’ve never heard him from in there before.” “Probably because I’ve never been this big in a person before.” Tommy shouted in reply. “He’s a fucking foot tall, Ranboo. He’s making me miserable.” Tubbo deadpanned. “Just returning the favor!” Tommy shouted. “Ok, ok, wait, what happened, I’m so confused.” Ranboo questioned.

Tommy and Tubbo filled Ranboo in on what went down, who had his face in his hands by the end of the explanation, his thoughts clear to Tommy and Tubbo: ‘why do I have such idiot friends?’ “…ok,” Ranboo finally spoke out, “If anyone asks, I have a fever and you two, er, well, Tubbo helped me walk home. School ends in, like, 3 hours anyways, so it should be fine.” Tubbo and Tommy both seemed ok with that idea, so they went back to Tommy’s house, since Tommy’s family was at work, where Ranboo made both Tommy and Tubbo apologize for being assholes to each other, eventually convincing Tommy to shrink back down and finally give Tubbo a break. Tubbo didn’t spit him out though, and from the one sided conversation Ranboo was hearing, it seemed like Tommy was fine with that. Soon enough, all three were taking a nap.

***

At 2 o’clock, Phil got home, surprised to find the front door unlocked. He carefully made his way inside the house, looking for anything that could have been stolen or god forbid a thief still in the house. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Until he got to Tommy’s room, where he found Ranboo and Tubbo asleep on a backup comforter they kept around for the two when they slept over. Phil only had to wonder briefly where Tommy was, until his mind registered Tubbo’s hand, which was pressed protectively against his stomach. ‘Wait, shouldn’t they still be in school?’ Phil thought. But he took one look at the sleeping teens and decided he would chew them out later, turning of the light and closing the door.

#Slime this is what I told you about #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #g/t #tw vore #sizeshifter!tommy au #cynwrites #cyncerity

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babyybitchhh · 3 years

Text

Shigaraki x Reader 18+

Title: Crybaby

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 12,290

Warnings: I'll be honest and say I'm not entirely sure how to tag some of this so proceed with caution. Infantilization, forced age regression, mental age regression, non consensual regression, ageplay, mentions of baby bottles and pacifiers, coercion, general noncon and dubcon, diddling, vaginal fingering, involuntary urination, wetting, mention of forced third party bathing, diapers, penis in vagina sex, unprotected sex, creampie, excessive use of 'Tomu-nii', mention of sex slaves, a brief but explicitly violent death mention towards the start, overall very questionable decisions from both me and Shigaraki

A/N: I will not be taking any questions at this time, thank you.

( @tomurasprincess)

♥♥♥♥

There was a fine line between a gift and a burden.

A new video game, for example, is something people were generally happy to receive and there was no obligation to slave over it at all hours of the day, unless you wanted to. A puppy, on the other hand, came with a certain amount of responsibility that couldn’t be side lined until Tomura decided to deal with it. There was no save button, no coming back to it later. He had to be vigilant to some degree, mindful of the life that was now in his hands, and that wasn’t something he was accustomed to by any stretch of the imagination. He couldn’t stand it. Didn’t even really possess the vernacular needed to describe exactly how much it pissed him off that he was suddenly expected to take care of someone - something else.

It was bullshit.

Standing over your prone form sprawled out on the cluttered floor he thinks, not for the first time, about ending it right here and now. It would be easy, surely. One touch of his hand and you’d be gone. Disintegrated to mere dust and nothing more than a vague, unpleasant memory in the back of his mind. You deserved it by simple virtue of being such a damn inconvenience but, just as every other time, he hesitates.

Not because you don’t even realize the danger you’re in as you innocently kick your legs back and forth in the air, all your wide eyed, dopey attention locked on the tv screen. Tomura is not so soft as to consider a sneak attack you don’t even see coming an insult to his pride. He would’ve been showing you mercy, actually, because if he didn’t fear upsetting All for One so much he’d have preferred to wrap his hands around your scrawny little neck instead. Give you a good throttle or two. Squeeze until his knuckles were a stark white against your purpling blue skin. He could almost envision what you would look like, all bloated and full of blood from burst capillaries and reddened eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

His cock stirs in his pants and his hatred for you grows with it. He couldn’t stand you or what you represented, a sudden addition to his life that he never asked for but couldn’t get rid of, and the fact he was getting stiff from his morbid fantasies was certainly your fault too. Everything was your fault. Right down to the most minor of inconveniences, you were to blame - even if it happened before you were dropped into his lap with all the to-do of a posh, overly indulgent birthday present. It was you. You, you, you, you you you youyouyouyouyou -

“Tomu-nii?”

With a jolt, he snaps out of it. The haze lifts and his blown out eyes focus in on your tubby little face, now turned over your shoulder to glance back at him. Tomura isn’t sure when you realized he was looming over you like some horrible, sickly wraith and he knows even less how it is that you show no fear towards him. Were you really so stupid that you couldn’t sense his desire to not only kill you but make you suffer? So blind that you didn’t see the way his bony hands fisted at his sides with a purpose and not in idle reflex?

No. It wasn’t that you were as unintelligent as a brain dead sheep happily trotting off to slaughter. Rather, it’s because that was what All for One had designed you to be.

Tomura wouldn’t claim to understand how, exactly, his mentor had gotten these results but he knows enough to recognize the signs. You’d been stripped of everything in a way that far exceeded mere surface level nudity. All for One had gone even deeper than that, past flesh and bone and right into the heart of what made you you. The brain.

He had no doubt that a quirk had been used, the specifics of which he couldn’t even begin to fathom, but the tinkering and rewiring had done its job exceedingly well, in fact. While your body was that of a young adult woman, early to mid 20’s if he had to wager a guess, your mind was something like that of a toddlers. You could speak just fine but the enunciation was sloppy, your words childish and limited to small, easily communicable sentences. You picked up on things surprisingly fast, perhaps even a little too well if the way he’d heard you let out a soft, half hearted ‘fuck’ earlier was anything to go by. But you slipped up just as easily and he was getting real tired of making sure you went and sat on the toilet instead of pissing all over his (no doubt already smelly) carpet. Living in his own mess was one thing. Living in someone else’s was another matter entirely.

Nothing about this was in error, though. You were exactly what All for One intended for you to be - little more than an animal for him to look after but with arguably higher stakes involved - and he’d had enough. It’d only been a single day, a full 24 hours since you were dropped into his room, and he was already at the end of his patience.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like that stupid cartoon I put on for you?”

You actually had the audacity to pout at him, jutting your lower lip out and puffing your cheeks as if that was supposed to make him feel anything other than an even stronger urge to take you out of this world. “S’not that. Mm’ just bored. You’re no fun.”

Tomura very nearly lunges at you with outstretched hands, All for One be damned, but your next words stop him in his tracks.

“I thought maybe you were coming to play with me.”

Play with you? He would’ve laughed if only he could find even a sliver of real humor in this situation. This was a joke, if not because of the absurdity of it all then at least because he wanted to play with you alright. He wanted to play a game that started with you screaming in shrill terror and ended with a chilly body laid out on his bedroom floor. That sounded like more fun than a barrel of kittens.

He stills himself, though, and snobbishly peers at you down the length of his nose. “I don’t play games with brats. Sorry.”

That only makes you pout even more. “Meanie.”

“Watch your fucking cartoon,” Tomura grits out through gnashing, angry teeth, unreasonably irritated by your persistent refusal to cooperate. “Before I make you.”

He isn’t even really sure if that threat makes any sense at this point, so thrown off by your mere presence in what should’ve been his space that he can barely make heads or tails of his own thoughts anymore. But the dramatic way you squawk in displeasure and throw yourself out flat on the floor placates him somewhat. You were easy to rile up, and he would have been a boldfaced liar if he’d said he didn’t get a kick out of that. Tomura had never felt quite so cruel, so much like an adolescent bully looking to make his problems someone else’s as when he was working you up into a proper fit.

It was easily the most enjoyable aspect of this arrangement so far, and he watches with nothing short of smug satisfaction as you pound your hands on the floor in pent up frustration. It was laughably easy to picture what they’d look like, well groomed after a manicure and with a fresh coat of polish on the nails. You looked like you’d probably been the sort of woman who would go with reds. Fierce and bold, as much a statement as your pretty face, which was currently scrunched up and pressed tight against the carpet in front of his tv. Those same hands were plain and unadorned now, squeezed into tight little fists that were about as harmless as they could get. Tomura probably would’ve considered a turtle more of a pressing threat than you right now.

“Crybaby.” He spits the word out like it’s poison. “Does that make you feel better? Huh? Throwing a tantrum just because you’re not getting your way?”

“Mm’ not a crybaby!” You scream into the carpet. The contrast between your plushy figure and your behavior is disturbing on some very real, intrinsic level and that only seems to add fuel to his fire.

“Hah! That’s funny. You certainly look like one, you know that? What would you even think of yourself if you were in your right mind, I wonder.”

“Mm’ not!” Your incessant screeching rises in pitch and Tomura is almost positive you aren’t even really hearing him anymore, but he decides he doesn’t care.

“Embarrassing. Maybe I should have Kurogiri bring me a bottle since you want to act like a baby so much. Or would you like a pacifier instead? Hmm? Would that make you feel better, princess?”

“Nooooo!”

Your feet start kicking the air again, violently rather than in placid distraction, and the motion draws Tomura’s gaze to the seat of your onesie. Pink and humiliatingly infantile for a grown woman to be wearing, he’d looked at it with nothing short of contempt up until now. But the (no doubt exhausting) flex of your legs bunches the loose cotton, making it gather around your upturned ass and in turn emphasizes the convenient button flap across the back. Now that he’s actually looking at it, he’s almost positive it was wide enough to expose your entire rear to the world with little more than a quick snap of his fingers. Maybe even wide enough to expose other things too …

Tomura jolts with all the force of a sudden electric shock when you cry out his name or, rather, the ridiculous moniker you’d given him. He’d like to know who’d planted that particular seed in your head - if it was All for One’s idea of a twisted joke or if Kurogiri had really thought being called niichan by a woman who may or may not actually be older than him would make Tomura feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It doesn’t exactly matter now, though, because the wet quality of your voice makes his cock spring up in his pants. He’s mildly horrified with himself, far more comfortable with his earlier fantasies of killing you, but there’s no helping it anymore. Not when you say his name like that. Not when the tears he’d initially thought were crocodilian at best were so thick and heavy in your throat that the syllables come out garbled and almost incomprehensible.

He’s not sure what he intends to do, but he shuffles closer.

You’ve started to tire out now and the kicking slows before stopping all together. He watches your ankles cross over one another in the air, as if you were trying to self soothe on some level by physically keeping yourself together, but it doesn’t seem to do much in the way of good. Your shoulders were still trembling with the lingering traces of your fit, and he can hear you mewling into the abrasive carpet like a wounded animal. It was clear that you were hurting because of him - and not just as a result of his teasing. After the complete and utter deconstruction of your mind, you were probably scared without even really knowing why. Confused, but too lost in the quirk induced stupor that had left you in this sorry state to seek out answers.

He hadn’t bothered to test this theory yet, but Tomura would have been willing to bet good money that All for One left you with very little inside that thick skull of yours. It just made sense, after all. For what good was a doll with memories of her past life? What would he have possibly gotten out of playing house with someone who fought him every step of the way, either out of embarrassment or repulsion towards him as a person?

No. You were a blank slate in the strictest sense. His to mold however he deemed fit and with no recollection of who you were, who you’d been or even who you’d wanted to be, he was free to do whatever he damn well pleased.

There was still raging contempt for you burning within his chest, certainly. You were an annoying, unnecessary burden on him and there was no getting around the fact that he still wanted you gone. But the spark igniting his gut is even stronger and, for better or worse, it momentarily overrides his better judgement.

So he sinks down onto his knees, directly behind you, and reaches out to tentatively palm the swell of your ass. Pinky held away, so as not to disintegrate you, which surprises him somewhat given how vivid his fantasies of killing you had been. He doesn’t get to linger on that for very long though, because you grow still at his touch and your pathetic sniveling quiets to a soft, almost hopeful sniffle. Tomura bites back a crude snort, just barely managing to catch himself before he backpedals and hisses another insult at you. He could probably take what he wanted with any given method, he didn’t have to be nice about it, but somehow the alternative just felt wrong. Physically you were an adult, but with the mental state of a child it felt a bit like taking advantage of an innocent and he wasn’t a complete monster.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, the word foreign on his tongue. “I shouldn’t have been so mean. Will you forgive me?”

You squirm and push your face further into the carpet. “Mhm.”

He doesn’t smile. But he does take that as an incentive to push forward, and he starts caressing your backside with slow, cautious circles. “Do you really want me to play with you that bad?”

“Mhm.”

Hesitating, Tomura considers his next words very carefully. “Fine. I’ll play with you. But I get to choose the game.”

You don’t immediately respond and he starts to wonder if he’d made a mistake. Overestimated his ability to be diplomatic and conscientious - which wouldn’t exactly have come as a surprise. But then you shift on the floor, tension draining from your body as you turn your head so you aren’t suffocating in the carpet anymore. “Okay.”

His brows lift in surprise only to then knit together. It was that easy? He’s not so sure he trusts it but, dropping his gaze back down to your ass, he gives the doughy soft flesh an experimental squeeze. Your only response is a soft, faltering sigh that seems to help you relax more. This, too, seems a little too good to be true but he keeps going anyway.

When a few minutes of kneading your defenseless backside does nothing to upset you, Tomura starts to get bolder. He slowly brings his opposite hand forward and latches onto the other cheek with four fingers, massaging both sides in tandem. He’d had the unfortunate luck of seeing your bare ass late the previous evening, after you’d emptied your bladder all over the blanket he’d tossed you to sleep on which had resulted in an aggressively administered bath for you and a frustrated headache for him. He hadn’t paid too much attention at the time, far too angry to be horny, but he knew enough to realize that you were unexpectedly voluptuous under that onesie.

The garment itself was so oversized it hid even the smallest hint of the womanly figure underneath. He probably would’ve forgotten all about it, pushed to the back of his mind in favor of more pressing matters (like getting rid of you) but now that he’s got his hands on your butt it’s all he can think about. The way your full tits jiggled when he’d non too gently manhandled you into the tub. The frustratingly cute lower belly pouch that bulged when you sat down, crying, on the porcelain surface. The way your thighs molded to whatever position he’d yanked them in so he could hose you off like a filthy stray. He’d actively avoided looking at what was between your legs, in fear of what he’d see as much as stubborn refusal, but looking back on it now he isn’t sure how he hadn’t given in to temptation.

Now, however, he was suddenly more interested than ever in finding out what your pussy looked like and, hooking his long index fingers into the flap, he starts to unlatch it one button at a time.

You make no move to stop him. Don’t even protest or question what he’s doing. It’s almost as if just having his attention on you is enough, and Tomura’s mouth pulls back in a sneer at the mere thought. You were so damn stupid for trusting him like this, completely oblivious or uncaring about what his intentions were. He could be as violent with you as he wanted. He could erase you from this existence with the briefest touch. But you just lay there, your shoulders slowly rising and falling with each even breath you draw, and he can’t decide if that feeling clawing at the back of his throat is hatred or guilt.

But there’s no real reason to stop now, so he carefully peels back the flap of fabric once he’s got it completely unfastened. Bare skin greets him, a perfectly exposed strip of swelling flesh that seems all the more enticing with pink cotton framing it so nicely. He pauses long enough to lick his dry, cracked lips. The weight of his stiff cock strains against the inside of his zipper, twitching eagerly when he reaches out to hesitantly touch your back side again.

The sensation of a real, living person under his fingertips makes his breath come a little faster. Still, you don’t move though and he picks up right where he left off, roughly groping your ass cheeks with barely contained excitement until he gets so vigorous that you whimper.

“Shh. I’ll try not to be so rough.” Tomura shushes you, throaty and barely more than a murmur.

You settle back into place, thankfully, and he takes that chance to spread your cheeks open. He gets a brief glimpse of the puckered hole hidden inside, white hot static racing straight to his groin, and he lets out a rumbling groan. His fingers squeeze into flesh again and he pulls, baring you entirely to his voracious eyes. The tight muscle twitches, winking at him, and his attention drops to the smallest satiny peak of your slit. He can just barely see it, mostly hidden behind the pooling fabric bunched under the swell of your ass, but it’s more than enough to make him feel dizzy.

“Shit,” he sounds winded even to his own ears. “You’ve got such a nice body.”

To his surprise, you actually perk up at that. “Really?”

Tomura almost snaps at you on impulse, so irritated by the sound of your voice that he nearly forgets what he’s trying to do. Quelling himself, though, he tugs at the bottom half of your onesie until he can see the plushy soft lips of your pussy. You look so inviting, so warm and real he can hardly even stand it.

“Really.” He croaks. “How old are you again?”

You seem to think about that. “Mm, I dunno’!”

He frowns. Contemplates that for a long beat. But the coarse hair curling around your slit seems answer enough, for him at least. You weren’t actually a child. You just sounded like one, acted like one, dressed like one. That wasn’t what was getting him so painfully hard though. It was the fact you were a woman, physically, and he’d never gotten to see one up close and personal like this before. Why hadn’t All for One just given him a proper sex slave instead of one that threw tantrums and cried at the drop of a dime? Was this really what his mentor had intended for him to do with you?

“Tomu-nii?”

Drawing a sharp breath, he brings his attention up to bark at you to be quiet but the words catch when he finds you looking at him over your shoulder. He can feel his cheeks starting to warm, suddenly embarrassed.

“What?”

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

He flounders for a moment. Then, awkwardly clearing his throat, he decides to fall back on his original excuse. “This is the game I mentioned earlier. You wanted to play, right?”

You nod your head, but you don’t look entirely certain about that. “I do but … aren’t games s’posed to be fun? This is boring!”

His mouth presses into a thin line. It hadn’t occurred to him that you might not be content to just idly sit by while he molested your slutty little body, but if it was fun you wanted then he could certainly give you that. “This was just the warm up. Roll over and I’ll show you how to play.”

The way your eyes light up almost makes him regret this decision. It’s too late though, you’re already twisting over on to your back with your elbows braced on the carpet so you can stare up at him. Stupid and expectant.

He clicks his tongue.

Reaching out to grab your wide set hips with only eight of his fingers, he inelegantly drags you closer so that you were nicely slotted between his knees. Your legs curl up as you regard him with nothing short of intense curiosity, lips parting in a silent ‘o’ that very nearly sends him over the edge. You were too pretty for your own good. Much too beautiful to be wearing a pink onesie and acting like a baby. This was such a waste, and he almost feels bad for what All for One did to you.

But he shrugs it off, forcefully, and his delicately poised hands descend on your zipper. Zrrrrrt, straight down the length of your body. It stops directly above your crotch and he reaches up to reverently push the cotton out to the sides and expose the rest of you.

Your tits were even better than he’d initially thought. They were full and heavy, dotted with the most perfect little buds for nipples. Soft and smooth. Tomura’s mouth waters in anticipation and he doesn’t realize how roughly he’s jerking your arms out of the sleeves until you wail dramatically that it hurts.

He’d like to tell you what really hurts is his cock, unbearably hard and trapped inside his pants, but he refrains. Instead, he huffs out an insincere apology and keeps on yanking. He can’t get you undressed fast enough, mesmerized by the way your breasts jiggle and bounce every time he pulls on you. There’s something inherently wrong about this, he knows. It’s so damn obvious you’re not right in the head, that you aren’t of sound enough mind to even understand what he’s doing to you, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you were so willing and pliant under his shaking hands.

Finally managing to wrest the blasted onesie off your kicking feet, Tomura tosses it off to the side and he eagerly sets his sights on your naked body. You should have looked seductive and coy, spread out in front of him with a devious smile curling artfully painted lips as you invite him to have his way with you. Instead, you fitfully squirm, neither seductive nor shy. It’s clear that you have no sense of shame, your artificially infantile brain completely void of the concept and even less aware of how inappropriate any of this was. You just keep looking at him, waiting for the explanation he’d promised to give you.

Oh. That’s right. The game he kept talking about. Perhaps he could still salvage this after all.

“The rules are simple,” he says slowly, scrambling to put together a decent excuse to keep going. “I’ll touch you for a little bit and if I can make you feel good then I win. After that, it’ll be your turn. If you make me feel good, you’ll win. Understand?”

Your expression pinches in confusion. “So we both win?”

“Only if we make each other feel good. What’s wrong? You don’t want to play with me anymore?”

Much to his relief, you quickly bob your head. “I do! Please play with me, Tomu-nii!”

The way his cock jolts at that makes his entire body ache. It’s much too late to turn back now, he was well past the point of salvation, and he haltingly drags his attention down to your chest. Your petite nipples had stiffened in the cool air but it’s as if you don’t even notice. Wasn’t that something a grown woman would be conscious of? He thinks so, or at least he’s pretty sure it is. Apparently it isn’t the sort of thing a dumb baby brain even registers, though, and he reaches out to curiously flick at one.

You gasp, eyes widening slightly. Misplaced hope sears his veins and he watches you intently, holding his breath, but you don’t seem to understand what it is you’re feeling. Your brows furrow as you glance down at yourself and bring a hand up to cover your nipple.

“Oww …”

That certainly wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Or at least it wasn’t the sort of reaction Pornhub had taught him to expect, but it was still something.

“Baby.” He grumbles, reaching for the opposite tit.

“Mm’not!”

“Are too. Didn’t that feel good?”

“No!”

“Then you’re winning, aren’t you?”

Confusion marches across your face for a moment before understanding dawns. You look quite pleased now as you track the movement of his hand as he carefully pinches your puckered nipple between thumb and forefinger, gently rolling it between the pads. He doesn’t get an immediate reaction out of you but the longer he does it the more your lips start to purse. It’s as if you were holding back, determined not to show him that you might be enjoying it and risk losing the game, but it’s enough to embolden him.

His ministrations pick up and he gives your delicate little teat a mild twist. There’s no malice or cruelty behind the action. He just wants to see what you’ll do. And you don’t disappoint, the way you jump and your mouth flies open as if to squawk making his stomach clench with something perverse. You catch yourself at the last second though, teeth clacking together as your gaze flits up at him to see if he’s looking.

He is, of course, and you forcibly swallow the sound you’d almost let out. Tomura is a bit disappointed, sure. He’d wanted to hear how pretty you’d moan for him but there were still plenty of other chances for him to coerce at least one out of you.

Hunching over your prone body, he brings his other hand up to latch onto the opposite nipple, the one he’d previously flicked. You wince at the contact but make no move to stop him, biting down on your lower lip to keep quiet as you watch him play with your fat tits in petulant silence. It was ass backwards in so many ways. He’d thought, despite everything, his first time with a girl would be somewhat normal. Maybe not picture perfect or all that good when everything was said and done, but at least relatively mundane. This was the farthest thing from that though. He couldn’t conceive of a more wildly abnormal scenario even if he’d tried, nor did he recall ever seeing any porn with this hyper specific set up. But there was still some sick, twisted part of him that was deriving pleasure from this decidedly unorthodox encounter with the opposite sex, and that feeling only grows exponentially the more he keeps going.

Kneading, pinching, squeezing, tugging. He doesn’t let up until your nipples are flushed dark and straining hard, the glistening hint of tears at the corners of your eyes telling him beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was getting somewhere. The urge to call you a crybaby swells in his chest again but he doesn’t want to risk another tantrum. He wasn’t so sure his cock could handle it, particularly not when he’d positioned himself over you in such a way that one solid kick would put him out of commission for the foreseeable future. No, this was a delicate situation that required the utmost care on his part and, gathering his nerves, he swoops down to cover one of the stiff buds with his mouth.

The heated gasp that bursts out of you in a great woosh has him groaning into the meaty swell of your tit. You shudder underneath him, involuntarily twitching as he traces your areola with the tip of his tongue and laves it in warm, wet attention. He can tell that you’re not sure what to do so he waits with bated breath, reveling in the fleshy nub pinched between his lips. There was no reason for him not to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment he could get out of this while he could, after all - but then your hands find his hair, threading into wavy locks, and he throbs for you.

“Tomu-nii …”

He practically sinks into you, damn near suffocating himself in the plushy swell of your breast. His mouth opens wide and sucks more of you past his lips, suckling enthusiastically just like the infant you were programmed to be. This particular role reversal doesn’t even seem to register in your mind though and he seethes when you tug at his hair, trying to pull him off.

“St-aaahp …. I don’t like it!”

Tomura comes up off you with a wet gasp. “Bullshit.” He practically growls, narrowing his eyes at your dopey, flustered expression.

“It’s true! I don’t!”

“Oh? Should we check then?”

Your face scrunches and you draw a breath to question him, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Going back up on his knees, he plants one hand against the meat of your inner thigh and shoves it wide. His other darts between your legs before you can react, spindly digits finding your bare cunt and prodding at your folds with rough fingertips. You jolt at the contact but it’s too late. He barely has to touch you to feel the slick oozing out of you and he lets loose a harsh bark of laughter.

“My ass. You’re fucking soaked. You shouldn’t lie, you know.”

“I didn’t!” You gasp, clearly offended by the insinuation. “You’re just a fucking meanie!”

That gives him pause.

Glancing up at your face, Tomura regards you carefully as he tries to figure out his next move. On one hand it was his own fault for saying that word around you so much and it’s not like it was any of his business what you did or didn’t say, but on the other … there was something uncomfortable about hearing that come out of your mouth with such a childish inflection. It lacked any and all bite, not even a hint of impotent aggression to be found. You were just parroting him, that’s all, but for whatever reason he didn’t really appreciate it.

“Don’t say that.” He huffs, turning his attention back to your pussy.

Tomura had wanted to leave it at that, but of course you have to fight him every step of the way.

“Why not?” You ask rather flippantly.

“Because i said so. If you want to get smart, be my guest. I know how to handle bratty little girls like you.”

He’s a bit surprised when that actually shuts you up. Apparently, he was starting to get the hang of this but he still has to sneak a quick peek at you just to make sure. The fact you actually look contemplative, as if you were turning that over in your empty head, almost makes him laugh.

“Do you still want to play?” God, he sorely hoped you did.

You hesitate though, unwilling to give your acquiescence just like that. “When is it my turn?” You ask warily.

“Soon. I’ve got one more chance to make you feel good and then you can try.”

“Mmm … okay. But I’m not gonna’ lose!”

He’s almost certain you would have already lost if you weren’t such a petulant little thing, but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he once again turns his attention to the spot between your legs. Your puffy slit was noticeably wet, the faint sheen of fluid glistening slightly in the overhead light, and he takes a moment to gently part the curls there. Just as he’d thought. Damp to the touch and only getting wetter. He really was going to have to talk to you about lying especially since, in this particular context, you were cheating. This was a far cry from his video games but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

Swallowing his reprimand for the time being, though, Tomura carefully presses two fingers into the doughy softness of your labia and spreads them apart. He can see now that you were practically drenched in slick arousal, thin threads of discharge stretching across your petal soft folds before snapping. He gulps down his nerves. You really did have the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen and the fact it was all his for the taking very nearly had him creaming in his pants right then and there. It was almost obscene how bad he wanted to fuck your tampered brains out but he didn’t want to scare you into noncompliance. He wasn’t going to fight for this if he didn’t have to.

Slowly, so as not to startle you, he brings his other hand close and prods at where he thinks your clit should be. He’d certainly seen them in enough triple X videos to have some idea of where to look, but when all you do is let out a soft sigh he knows he’s mistaken.

His teeth gnash in high strung irritation as he walks his finger lower and then higher, feeling a bit like a blind fool searching for buried treasure. There were so many fleshy ridges and folds that he couldn’t pinpoint the right spot from memory alone, so he has to take his time feeling around instead. He thinks he’s found it for a split second when you shift underneath him, but then he realizes you were simply getting fussy - no doubt bored with all his incessant pawing - and that only angers him further. It shouldn’t have been this damn hard to find!

Impatient now, Tomura roughly swipes his finger up the length of your slit and surprise washes over him when you jolt as if he’d electrocuted you. Your head comes up off the rug and you stare at him, wide eyed, but it was much too late. He’d finally gotten the reaction out of you that he’d been hoping for, and he leans into it with nothing short of devilish delight.

Knowing precisely where to look helps a great deal and it immediately occurs to him that the reason he’d struggled so much is because your clit was still hidden behind its protective hood. But he’s got the advantage now, and he ever so carefully pinches at satiny soft skin until he can ease it back and expose the sensitive little bud nestled inside. You whimper slightly as he does it, squirming awkwardly on your back as if you could instinctively sense that you might be in a bit of trouble now. It was kind of cute, if he was being totally honest.

“I don’t think I like this game …”

“You will. Trust me.”

Clearly not believing him, you start to open your mouth to complain but he stops you cold with a quick flick of his finger. Your engorged clit jostles against the indelicate contact and you blurt out such a startled sound that he actually glances up to make sure you’re okay. Unsurprisingly, you look a little more flustered now and the panic edging your expression is almost enough to make him reconsider this.

Almost, but not quite.

“What’s the matter?” He goads, dropping his gaze back down to your pussy again. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

“I … I don’t …”

“Really? I’m not sure I believe that.”

He does it again, gentler this time. Just a brief tap against the meaty little nub, but it’s enough to make you twitch and try to close your legs from him. Tomura won’t let you back out so easily though and he shifts even closer so he can wedge himself between your thighs to keep them spread. You issue a frustrated, huffy sound that he could only describe as babyish as you try to push up on your elbows, no doubt intending to scuttle away from him. He had to give you credit for being so hard headed even in this infantile state but he was far too invested to quit now.

Letting up his hold on your labia, Tomura directs his fingers lower and wedges three of them into your slit. You freeze, momentarily stunned, and he takes that split second opportunity to feel around for your entrance. It’s not hard to find. Much easier than your clit, at any rate, and he wastes no time wriggling a long digit up inside your body. The penetration is smooth, your guts such a slippery mess that it almost startles him.

You really were a liar.

He suddenly realizes he’s panting. At the same time, he realizes that you don’t appear to be breathing at all. Your expression is about as dumbfounded as it could be, and he dully watches the way you sway in your half upright position. Shellshocked would probably be an appropriate descriptor, and he wets his lips in anticipation.

“Well? Do you like it?”

Your legs flex around his arms and you shake your head. “Nuh … no …”

“If you don’t stop lying to me,” he grumbles. “I’m going to get mad.”

You stiffen, clearly drawing yourself up to challenge that statement just like he’d known you would. It was embarrassing how predictable you could be.

He’s had just about enough of this back and forth though, and he roughly curls his finger upward in search of the spot that would finally shut you up for good. But his efforts only make you more fussy and his patience quickly unravels when you try to twist away from him, wailing in displeasure. He hated that sound and, if you weren’t careful, he’d go right back to hating you too

Grunting, Tomura abandons your clit in favor of latching his hand onto the swell of your thigh and he digs his blunt nails in to keep you still. You actually have the audacity to kick out at him but he puts a stop to that quickly enough by shoving a second finger into your sticky cunt. Just like the first time, it makes you hesitate and he watches your warbling mouth drop open in what he thinks might be pleasure. It’s frustratingly hard to tell with you but, having no other choice, he decides to take it at face value.

Your pussy clicks loudly when he starts pumping into you straight down to the knuckle, the wet squelch almost deafening in his ears. It’s unreasonably hot though, his mind running a mile a minute as he tries to commit every little detail to memory. The way your face screws up with a stuttering gasp, the way you squeeze your eyes shut and try to brace against the pressure of his digits driving into you again and again. The way you moan, even when you try not to, is particularly enticing, especially since it’s just as pretty as he’d hoped it would be. The way your legs shake and you threaten to double over, the way he can see you clutching the carpet in a death grip, the way you just seem to get even wetter for him. There was too much to take in all at once but it was also far too erotic to look away from. He really was going to cream his pants at this rate.

Somehow, your honest reaction appears to make up for all the trouble you’d given him up until now and Tomura can feel the wet spot bleeding through his boxer briefs start to grow. He was positive he’d never been harder in all his life. Animalistic and practically slobbering like a rabid dog, he hunches further over your quaking body and pistons into your cunt so vigorously his arm starts to ache. You were wailing for him to stop, crying out for Tomu-nii, Tomu-nii, Tomu-nii, but he doesn’t even slow down. He can’t.

Your cunt just keeps sucking him in deeper on every plunge, gummy walls pulsating around his no doubt pruning fingers so enthusiastically that he’s sure you’re going to cum. He can practically taste it. Tomura wasn't going to stop until you did and, realizing he doesn’t have to hold onto you any longer, he reaches out to roughly shove you down on your back again.

“Are you going to cream for me, princess? Huh?” He grits out through savagely bared teeth. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

“No! Please, Tomu-nii … it hurts!”

Even in the heat of the moment he can’t stop himself from clicking his tongue in irritation. “No it doesn’t, you big baby. You love this. I know you do. I can see it written all over your stupid, pretty face. Go on. Tell me exactly how good you feel. Do it!”

Wailing, you peer up at him through heavy lashes with a look so imploring it very nearly gives him pause. “I - I can’t! I’m … Tomu-nii, I’m gonna’ … I’m gonna’ pee!”

“No you aren’t. That just means your clo - -“

Tomura cuts himself off when you do exactly that. He’s almost too stunned to react and all he can do is watch as the steady stream of urine bursts out of you before dribbling down his wrist to soak into the carpet underneath. It’s only now, when you’re pissing all over yourself as well as him, that he finally has the decency to slow his pumping to a staggered halt. For a fleeting moment he actually considers the notion of keeping at it. There wasn’t much else you could do to ruin this for him, after all, but one look at your expression immediately quashes that idea.

He’d be lucky if all he could manage was to stop you from dissolving into ugly, heaving sobs, let alone worry about getting himself off. Dammit. You really were nothing but a pain in his ass.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He deadpans, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt now that he was thoroughly coated in warm, smelly piss. “To be honest I was kind of tired of that rug anyway. And these clothes, too.”

You hiccup so sadly that what little bit of anger had sparked inside him immediately dies out. He couldn’t even be mad at you for this no matter how much he may have wanted to blame you for everything. You’d tried to warn him.

“T- Tomu-nii … mm’sorry …”

Tomura sighs through his nose, hard enough to make the split end tips of his hair shift. “Don't be. That was my fault. Just - let me find something to clean us up with.”

“Do I have to take another bath?” You ask so meekly he almost misses it.

Pausing halfway through the motion of rising to his feet, he glances down at you again. It occurs to him quickly enough that it wasn’t the accident you were so upset about but, rather, the looming possibility of another aggressively meted out trip to the bathroom. Interesting. He’d almost think he was mistaken, it had only happened once, after all, but the way your lower lip wobbles tells him everything he needs to know. Apparently you were more scared of him than you’d let on.

“No, not right now. I think I can get you clean enough with a wet rag or something. You’ll have to take one later but,” Tomura scoffs, hating that he was actually trying to be nice after you’d peed all over him. “I’ll try not to be so rough next time. You just made me mad last night, that’s all.”

You nod slowly, looking like you don’t quite believe that, but still too naively trusting to press the matter. “Okay.”

Nodding once, Tomura climbs to his feet. The inner seam of his pants from the knee down is absolutely soaked and he makes it only three steps before deciding he didn’t like them all that much to begin with. Dropping his hand to the rough denim, he brushes all five fingers across the thigh and they dissolve into nothing without a second thought to the matter. He can faintly hear you ooohing behind him but there were much more important things to worry about than how easily impressed you were.

His half flagged cock throbs hopefully inside his boxer briefs and he reaches down to delicately adjust himself. God, he’d be aching for the next week thanks to your uncontrollable bladder.

An idea pops into his head with that thought. You weren’t the only thing he’d been saddled with yesterday, and he turns to regard the thick gym bag he’d previously thrown against the far wall in anger. It’s where he’d gotten your pink onesie after you’d similarly soiled the first pair of clothes you’d been wearing. He hadn’t bothered to look through all of its contents just yet, but he felt relatively confident he’d find what he wanted in there.

Circling back around, Tomura squats in front of the bag and yanks it open. He can feel your eyes watching him from your spot on the floor but he pays it no mind. Digging inside, he pulls out a few more articles of clothing, far too cutesy for his tastes, and then a book on child care that he knows for certain was put there in jest. Over his shoulder it gets chucked, and he digs deeper. Down at the very bottom he finds exactly what he’d been looking for.

But in addition to the baby wipes there are two other items that catch his attention. He outright balks at the very notion - however, realistically speaking, it could very well be the answer to his problems. At least the most pressing one, anyway.

The idea that All for One knew he’d likely run into this issue but still decided to dump you on him anyway bothers Tomura a great deal and he frowns even as he looks over the packaging. Diapers and pull ups. What was the difference? He’s not so sure there is one, and he feels almost certain that they serve the same purpose. But further inspection proves him wrong. One was for a total lack of control and the other was for the potty training stage, so not as thick or absorbent. That’s what the packing said but, at any rate, they definitely weren't the plain adult brands he was looking at here.

These were bright and colorful, and he can’t help but cringe at the thought of putting you in either of them. But he was still left with a very real concern that he simply couldn’t overlook. The fact he even had to make this decision at all was ridiculous but he couldn’t very well have you pissing on every available surface in his room. And given your track record of absolutely drenching whatever you happened to be sitting on at the time …

Hesitantly, Tomura takes out the diapers and shuffles towards his unkempt bed. The print on the back wasn't particularly clear about what to do with them. He’d probably have to look up a tutorial later, when he wasn’t feeling quite so downtrodden and his balls weren’t aching, though that would certainly put him on a few watch lists. Not that it really mattered.

He sighs and tosses the package on top of his sheets before tearing into the baby wipes. Taking his time, he methodically scrubs his wrist and his legs clean while he contemplates his next move. It wasn’t going to be pretty. It certainly wasn’t going to be sexy. It was still probably the lesser of two evils, though. Far be it that he wanted to go this route but did he really even have any other choice at this point?

“Tomu-nii …”

Your soft whining draws him back to reality and, abruptly realizing you’ve been sitting in your own piss this entire time, he turns to look back at you. For a split second, he seriously considers just killing you right then and there. It would save him a lot of trouble and you wouldn’t even realize what was coming. You were so stupid you’d probably think he was going in for a hug or something asinine like that. He’d be doing you a favor, really, because as far as he was concerned, death was certainly preferable to wearing diapers but … the urge fizzles out almost as quickly as it had appeared. He wasn’t going to let you slip out of his hold until after he’d gotten to bury himself in that tight, pretty little pussy of yours.

Decision made, Tomura makes his way over to the carpet again. You look cold, which doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, and he bends down to grab the meat of your upper arms so he can drag you up to your feet. “Come on. I think I’ve got a solution.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Salution?”

“Close enough.”

Steering you over to the bed, he makes you bend over the mattress so he can take a baby wipe to the backs of your thighs and ass. Luckily, depending on how you looked at it, the urine had run down rather than going every which direction so it was pretty easy to clean up. The way you tremble and shift your weight back and forth makes it a bit more difficult than it needed to be but he manages, somehow.

Tomura straightens after a long moment, finally deeming the back of you good to go. He’s not so sure he can get through this next part when you were fidgeting so much, though, and he briefly considers the clothes in the gym bag. The thought of putting you in another girly, saccharine sweet garment repulses him almost as much as the thought of putting you in a diaper. But he was going to have to pick and choose his battles here and, reaching back, he delicately tugs off his t-shirt.

“Turn around.”

You slowly comply, teeth chattering the whole time.

“Arms up.”

At this, you hesitate. But at his expectantly bland look, you do as you're told and raise your arms up in the air. The lift of your heavy tits almost successfully distracts him and it is with a great deal of self control on his part that he pulls his shirt down over your head, yanking it a little too forcefully into place.

“There.” He practically hisses, watching you clumsily work your arms through the sleeves. “Is that better?”

You think about that for a moment, eyes scanning across the front of his shirt, and he briefly wonders if you’re going to say something derisive about the worn video game logo stretched across your chest. But then you smile, nodding your head a little too enthusiastically.

“Mm! It smells like Tomu-nii!”

He really couldn’t stand you.

“Good. In return, I’ll need you to cooperate with me here. I’ve never done this before, you know?”

You blink at him quizzically. “Done what?”

Tomura rolls his eyes, feeling grumpier by the second. He couldn’t wait to get this over with and have you situated so he could run off to the bathroom for what probably wouldn’t even amount to five minutes of desperate jerking. “Never mind. Just do what I tell you, okay?”

You nod your head again, but he has some very real doubts about that. Even when you were pretending to go along with whatever it was he wanted you still found some way to fuck everything up for him. If this scheme somehow backfired because your brain was so scrambled you couldn’t even follow simple directions, he was not going to be happy.

Mentally bracing himself for the worst possible outcome, he reaches for the diapers. He rips the bag open almost violently and pulls one out, but it feels even more wrong in his hands than he’d thought it would. A strange sense of scandalized affront warms his chest, making him reconsider this choice for the upteenth time. If Tomura was being completely honest, he felt embarrassed for you but a quick glance in your direction proves that you don’t share quite the same sentiment. You really couldn’t have cared less, huh?

Right. Baby brain.

He grumbles under his breath as he non too gently snaps the diaper open with a loud crinkle of plastic and lays it out close to the edge of his bed. Motioning you closer, Tomura awkwardly helps you get seated on the damn thing and then instructs you to lay down. You genuinely don’t seem to have a problem with this as you recline back, just placidly peering up at him with your little fists balled in the hem of his shirt, but now that he’s gotten this far he’s not sure how to proceed.

At a loss, he takes another baby wipe out of the package and inserts himself between your bent legs. “I’m going to clean you some more, okay?” He's not sure why he’s telling you that, especially when all you do is nod your dopey head in understanding. Just buying time. That’s all he was doing.

But it gives him a chance to think and for that he’s grateful. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to figure out what All for One’s intention with all this had been. ‘A splendid birthday present for my favorite pupil’, he’d said, as if there were any others. But what was the reason? Surely you weren’t actually supposed to be a sex slave for him. Not in this sorry state. His battered onahole did a much better job on that front and it wasn’t prone to tantrums or crying, and it certainly didn’t pee on his stuff. It also didn’t require more than a perfunctory cleaning every few months. He couldn’t very well shove you into his nightstand and forget about it until the next time he was in the mood to rut into something.

All that was true, yes, but … his onahole also wasn’t warm to the touch, and it didn’t have soft, curly hair framing its abused slit (he really should buy a new one) nor did it self lubricate. It didn’t squeeze him quite the same way your pussy had squeezed his fingers, and it didn’t even really feel like an actual vagina now that he had something to compare it to. You were soft and squishy, pliable in the way only flesh and blood could be, and although he had no way of knowing if this had been All for One’s plan or not, he was certainly self aware enough to recognize that he’d screwed up somewhere along the line.

Tomura absolutely should have turned you to dust while he still had the chance.

Licking his lips, he drags the wipe through the seam of your cunt much more slowly than he needed to. You don’t even stir on the bed, and he thinks you must be starting to doze after … all of that. He’s not quite ready to leave well enough alone yet though, and he gently presses down on the spot where he now knows your clit is hiding. Still using the moist towelette as a pretense to keep touching you like this, he circles the sensitive little bud with it and genuine surprise washes over him when you let out a soft, pleasant sigh.

He glances up at your face but you aren’t even looking at him, lashes fanned out against the apples of your cheeks. It’s hard to tell if you were actually asleep or just pretending so you could lull him into a false sense of security, yet he doesn’t particularly care one way or another. You were his so he could do whatever he wanted to you, right? Besides. You kind of owed him after pissing all over his hand like that.

Discarding the baby wipe, Tomura bends closer and carefully spreads your labia again. He could see your little hole weakly palpitating, beckoning him to pick back up where he’d left off, but he drags his gaze a bit higher instead. You were so velvety soft and smooth it bordered on insane, so much more inviting than he ever would have thought possible.

He briefly hesitates before throwing caution aside and sealing his lips around your clit, gently mouthing at it. Your plushy thighs twitch around his head as you shift on top of the mattress, letting out another breathy sound that rushes straight to his cock. It almost hurts, the way it so eagerly springs back to life after being denied something as simple as release, but he can’t find it in himself to complain. You were giving him another chance, knowingly or not, and he wasn’t the type to squander such an opportunity.

Tomura takes his time lapping at you over the next few minutes until you’re almost as wet as when he’d started. You taste heavenly even with the artificial flavor of the wipes clinging to your folds and he entertains the notion of eating you out until you cum all over his face. There’s something he wants even more than that, though, and he sighs in relief when he finally straightens up so he can fish his cock out. It was almost painfully sensitive to the touch, and he could feel it throbbing potently in his hand. He knew this probably wasn’t going to last long but he didn’t care.

Guiding himself to your waiting entrance, he slowly pushes in one fraction at a time, damn near blowing his load the second his glans disappears into your body. He holds back though, struggling to maintain his composure as he seethes through gritted teeth. You finally seemed to realize that something was going on and your pretty eyes flutter open, immediately searching out his face.

“Tomu-nii …?”

“Be quiet. I’ve got you.”

You accept that in lieu of an explanation surprisingly fast, at least by his standards, and without another word you sleepily glance down at the juncture where your bodies were connected. A slow inhale makes your chest rise, mouth falling open as if to groan. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck,” the sound rattles out of Tomura’s chest as he slides in right down to the base, toes flexing against the floor. “I’m not even gonna’ get to enjoy this.”

Brows knitting together, you let out the softest mewling sound he’s ever heard and it makes him dig his carefully poised fingers deeper into the meat of your hips. He can’t even bring himself to move, so overwhelmed by how soft and wet your guts are. It felt like you were massaging his length, involuntarily or not, as your pussy suckles at the tip like he’s almost positive your mouth would.

Softly wheezing, Tomura drops his chin to look at where the two of you were stuck together. His pelvis was so flush against yours that your pudgy cunt was molded to the front of him, squishing under the pressure, and his silvery pubes were tangled with your darker ones. He hadn’t expected such a sight to be so damn erotic and it has him twitching, fighting back the orgasm he’d gone through hell and back for.

He’s almost scared to do it but, slowly, he eases back. The way his cock gradually reappears, glistening obscenely now, very nearly sends him over the edge. He isn’t sure how he hasn’t ruptured yet, his ballsac drawn so tight and throbbing that it leaves him feeling lightheaded, but through sheer force of will alone he manages to sink back into the inviting heat of your body without spraying your insides white. His self control was tentative as best, hanging on by a mere thread, but you felt far too good to waste on a quick nut.

“Goddamn … you’re so tight, baby. So fucking tight.”

You fidget underneath him, fussily tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Mm’ not a baby …”

Your pouty little response is enough to make him bark out a clipped laugh, more breathless than amused. You could insist you weren’t a baby all you wanted but, even putting aside the cruel, infantile reprogramming of your brain, it was hard to think otherwise when you were spread out on top of a diaper. It’s stark white, cottony lining was an almost unsettling backdrop to the perfect view he had of his cock stuttering in and out of your slick cunt. Even when he was barely moving, it crinkled softly underneath you with each rocking motion of his hips and he couldn’t quite forget it was there no matter how hard he tried.

Tomura wasn’t sure what he would ultimately do with you and he knew even less why he was even entertaining this wildly absurd situation to begin with, but there was no denying that you did have some use. The clinging grip of your pussy, for starters, and if he could get that bratty mouth of yours under control he might even some day find your company bearable. He still didn’t particularly like you but it wasn’t so farfetched to think that he might be able to tolerate you, with enough effort.

Hissing through his teeth, he drags one of his hands down to spread your puffy lips apart and get a good look at the way your petal soft folds clutch to his cock. It was a mesmerizing visual in the worst possible way, especially when accompanied by the soft, wet clicking he pulls from your body. He could have watched this for hours on end but, realistically, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and he gives his wrist a brief twist to bring the middle finger down on your clit.

You twitch at the contact but Tomura takes a much more gentle approach this time, sedately drawing circles around the swollen bud. He doesn’t get much in the way of a reaction for his trouble so he just keeps at it, rubbing you in tandem with his staggered thrusts. The thought of making you cum around his cock is almost disturbingly enticing, but he isn’t so sure he can accomplish that. Not when so much of his focus was devoted to simply biting back his orgasm - but then, to his throbbing surprise, you draw a faltering breath.

“Tomu-nii … feels good …”

It’s as if the air had been punched right out of him. He isn't so sure he even believes his own ears, the blood suddenly pounding inside of them making it hard to hear much of anything. He groans though, thick and heavy as he slides his other hand up across your stomach to push at the bottom of his shirt. Your grip on the soft cotton momentarily tightens, still fighting him at every turn, but you give in almost immediately and allow him to shove it over the swell of your tits.

They’re moving, jiggling ever so slightly with the push and pull of his narrow hips as they quietly slap against the backs of your thighs. Tomura heaves, practically doubling over you with another throaty moan that rises in pitch at the tail end. His palm descends on one of your breasts, squeezing hard enough that the pliable flesh bulges and spills out between four of his fingers. You just stare up at him the entire time, face pinched and flushed while your glistening eyes dreamily watch him with a far off sort of quality that he’s sure must be - has to be pleasure.

He’d never seen anything sexier in his whole life, and that thought alone is far more terrifying than he could have ever guessed it would be. There was something wrong with you, yes, by All for One’s design. But there was something even more inherently wrong with him for getting off on this so much and without the added bonus of quirk tampering to excuse his behavior. You were so sweet and unfairly innocent despite your seductive figure, the sight of you naked save his bunched up t-shirt driving him absolutely wild. It was like you belonged here, with him, in his bed. It wasn’t that he no longer wanted to kill you but that he couldn’t.

What little bit of self control he’d still been clinging to up until now shatters, and Tomura snaps his hips into your upturned ass: once, twice, three times. The sticky squelching between your bodies increases in volume, echoing inside his skull like a ricocheting bullet as he watches your face screw up at the sudden force. It doesn’t even matter though. He’s long since reached his limit and, with a wounded grunt, he slams into you one final time, lurching over your prone body.

The sound that comes out of his mouth as he shudders and violently paints your pink guts is, frankly, embarrassing. But he’s riding a high too great to care, clinging to you hard enough to make his joints ache and you whimper in discomfort. He can’t stop though. He’s cumming so hard, pulse after pulse, that it feels like his soul actually slips out of his body for a worryingly long beat before returning in fragmented pieces. The same, but also somehow different. Like he’d experienced rebirth in the warm, comforting clutch of your drenched cunt.

He wheezes as if he’d been stabbed in the chest when he finally eases his softening cock out of you some time later.

Tomura was completely spent, both physically and mentally. His wobbly legs could hardly support his weight anymore but, with a strength of mind he hadn’t even realized he possessed, he directs a shaky finger to your clit again. You squirm in response, huffing after that rough treatment, but he soothes you with hushed words and a gentle touch to the delicate little pearl he barely even needs to brush against to have you shaking for him.

“Relax. You feel good, don’t you? Let me hear those pretty sounds again, baby.”

Obstinately, you purse your lips together to deny him even that one simple request. Tomura heaves a tired sigh, wishing you weren’t such a brat, but he doesn’t let up. The gentle circles he rubs into your clit with the pad of his finger slowly brings you around though, grudgingly, and he can’t quite deny the satisfaction that sparks in his throat when your mouth warbles open to let loose the sweetest, tiny moan he’s ever heard.

“Nngh … Tomu-nii …!”

“Don't fight it. I want you to feel good too, yknow.” He pauses, tongue glancing over his dry lips. “Will you cum for me, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, eyes screwing shut, but the way your body continues to tense up seems to suggest otherwise. He could tell you were practically thrumming with it, burning from the inside out even as his milky white discharge slowly oozes down your slit to pool in the seat of the diaper. It was unexpectedly exciting to watch, disproportionately naughty given how utterly unappealing the crinkly plastic was at first glance, and he picks up the pace of his rubbing.

“I think you’re lying again. You liked how it felt when I was inside you, right? This will be even better, I promise. You’ll love it. I know you will.”

Weakly writhing on top of his bed, you crack your eyes open to peer up at him again. “T - Tomu-nii … I can’t … ahh. Ahh. Ahh! I … I’m … ahh! Tomu-niiiii!”

You suddenly jerk, tossing your head back against the sheets, and he watches in rapt fascination as you quake so hard it nearly catches him off guard. It wasn’t the seductive, rolling tremors he was used to seeing in porn videos but, rather, a full bodied spasm that had you twisting as if to get away. Your thighs try to clamp shut around his hand but he elbows them apart, refusing to let up until he’d milked your orgasm as thoroughly as you’d milked his.

And you looked so pretty, too. Caught up in mind numbing pleasure so intense he couldn’t even begin to fathom what you were feeling. Even his own earth shattering release seemed to pale in comparison to this, and it takes you much longer to start coming down from it than it did him.

Your hair is a mess by the time you’re done, matted in some places and sticking to your damp forehead in others. For a fleeting moment, Tomura can almost see the adult woman you should have been when your face goes slack in ecstasy and your flushed lips were parted to suck in as much oxygen as you could get. He imagines you were probably no stranger to pleasures of the flesh, not with that body and those looks, so the thought that he could make you feel this good was a bit like a pat on the back for him. It was probably just beginners luck, but that didn’t stop him from feeling any less proud of himself.

Slowly, he takes his hands off you and steps back. The spot between your legs was absolutely covered in fluid, your sticky, copious slick mixing with his spunk to make a truly viscous concoction that clung to your damp curls. He thinks that he should probably clean you up again and reaches for the baby wipes, but stops himself short.

The idea that crosses his mind is very likely foul, perhaps even more offensive than anything else he’d done til now, but … a quick glance at your sloppy pussy proves too great a temptation. There was something inherently erotic about making you walk around with his semen dripping out of you, even if it was only going to be absorbed by the diaper, and he shuffles close again with his heart in his throat.

Tomura hasn’t the slightest clue what he’s doing and it takes him a long moment to figure out the tape tabs on the sides. He gets frustrated halfway through the process, struggling to make sure the crinkly plastic was secure enough around your waist, but by some miracle you stay relatively still through all of his fumbling. He isn’t quite sure how he got so lucky but he doesn’t stop to question it, hawkishly focusing all of his attention on the task at hand.

At length, he straightens to admire his work. It’s not perfect by any means but he’s pretty sure the damned thing wasn’t going to fall off as soon as you stood up so there was that. The diaper itself was just as obnoxiously girly as everything else in the gym bag; a soft, lilac purple with a flowery, cartoon bunny design on them. He didn’t mind the rabbits so much, and it was certainly preferable to the onesie, but he still thought you’d look nice in something a bit cooler.

The realization that he was thinking about this in such quaint, fuzzy terms chills Tomura to the bone, and his gaze flicks to your face so he can ask what you think of them. Even if only to distract himself from his own uncomfortably perverse change of heart.

But you were already asleep. He probably should have expected as much, and he could tell you were actually snoozing this time by the shallow, even rise and fall of your chest. A strange sense of embarrassment washes over him and he reaches out to delicately take the hem of his shirt between thumb and finger so he can tug it back down into place. You only snuggle further into the mattress though, getting comfortable, and further cementing the notion that he had, indeed, fucked up.

He’d never be able to get rid of you now.

Grumbling under his breath, Tomura leans over you with one hand braced on the mattress. The other slips between your legs, unable to squeeze shut now with the bulk of the diaper between them, and ever so carefully cups his palm over your crotch. It was cool to the touch, but if he pushed down hard enough he could feel the warmth of your body bleeding through. You let out a quiet huff in response, petulant towards him even in your sleep, and he can’t quite stop himself from laughing. It was absurd. It was strange. It was strikingly, unequivocally weird, but he was almost glad he hadn’t disintegrated you or strangled you to death.

This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d wished for a woman he could do with as he pleased and not have to worry about her running away, but … it was close enough, he supposed.

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #self insert bullshit #my writing #I'll tag the series later #I don't know if I want this to show at the top of the main tags seems a bit like inviting trouble #I've wanted to write something like this for a very very long time and I just took advantage of Shigaraki's birthday to finally do it #blah #I make him cry bout' the pussy #prolly why my shit so wet #ahh 👅

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kuroos-moon · 4 years

Text

『Hate’s Twin Called Love』

— request by anon whose initial ask i could no longer find 😫

❥ pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

❥ genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, denial

❥ warning/s: language

❥ wc: 2.4k

“I got here first,” you frown, narrowing your eyes as you placed a hand on the chair nearest to the window.

“I placed my bag here, which means I got here earlier,” he casually replies, wondering why you won’t back down despite your height difference and his intimidating facade.

Your frown deepens, and he does the same when neither of you give in. “I don’t care, I wanna sit here,” you say, your inner brat surfacing just because the way he glared at you ticked you off, so you stubbornly sit on the desk.

“What a nuisance,” he grunts, sitting down on his chair as he rightfully should.

Ever since then, you never passed up the opportunity to piss him off or give him even the slightest inconvenience of the day, devilish, you’re well aware. He’s the devil himself though, and only you could point that out. With him showing a sly grin your way when you lose a pen, only for him to proudly use it for you to see.

“Hajime you asshole, give me back my pen,” you give him a death glare, and he innocently looks at you, acting confused. “I don’t have it, y/n.”

“Cut the bullshit, that’s my only one,” you grimace, irritated at the fact that of all the numerous pranks he could do on your never-ending war ever since highschool, he just had to steal your pen right before a test.

“Don’t blame me when you’re the one who lost it,” he blinks, perfecting the art of acting clueless. “Give it back I don’t have another one!” You raise your voice, and he stops scribbling, looking at you in amusement.

“What?” You huff, and he only chuckles under his breath, momentarily biting your pen to further irritate you. “I’ll fucking kick your ass after this,” you bite your tongue, wanting to scream at him if it weren’t for the many other students and a strict teacher here with you.

And that’s just one of many encounters with the sly seemingly-mature ace who knew just how to annoy you like it were his second nature, but deep down, your day’s never complete without the usual sarcastic banters or the subtle mouthing of ‘fuck you’ or ‘whatcha looking at’ between classes, that’s why you sit bored in class for a few days when they’re excused for practice.

Your happiness literally comes from seeing him so mad that he’s speechless as he sees you’ve uploaded an embarrassing baby picture source: oikawa or as he realizes you’re the one who’s been giving away his number.

For him, you’re the exact same, you’re the devil’s spawn. Trotting along so casually as if you were an angel, only for the disguise to fall off the moment you open your mouth, profanity after profanity especially when you were talking to him. It wasn’t long before your string of curses was music to his ears and the highlight of his day, taking pleasure in having you yell at him, or in especially irritating occurrences, you’re throwing things at him.

It just so happens when you’re casually sitting in the corner of the room, minding your own business as you listen to music. “Y/N-CHAAN!” You look up to see Toru, out of breath as he leant on the doorway of your classroom . “Iwa-chan’s talking with some girl, come look,” he grins, and just like that, your eyes twinkle with excitement.

Time to to get back at him for that ruined test, you smirk to yourself, the clueless Iwaizumi standing at the end of the stairwell as he flirts with the poor girl who didn’t know at all how much of an asshole he was.

“Babe!” You exclaim, the fakest and widest smile on your lips as you throw yourself at him, loving how he cringed away from you the moment you wrap your arms around his torso. “What the fu-

“I missed you, shall I come over tonight?” You gush at him, locking your hold on him with intertwined fingers as he tried to push you off without actually using too much force to hurt you. “Cut it out, you little shit,” he mumbles to your ear as he stills, waiting for you to unwrap yourself from him.

“Who’s this Iwa-chan? Is she a friend?” You say enthusiastically, the deadly aura he gave off only making you want to piss him off more. “Iwaizumi is she your girlfriend? I thought you hated each other,” she raises a brow and you smile, looking up at Iwa.

“That’s just our love language though, isn’t it babe?”

He has had enough. It’s been days since you’ve bantered, the only interaction the past few days were the failed attempts to trip each other in the halls, but he wasn’t in class the whole week. Some part of him thought that he was relieved in your absence, but lately he’s been feeling empty.

“Iwaizumi?” The blonde girls huffs, crossing her arms against her chest.

“Iwa-chan, doesn’t she know how much you love me?” You pout, squeezing his bicep which you really hadn’t realize was this rock hard until now. It was the look of annoyance and pure hatred that made you smirk for only him to see, but you thought wrong.

He wasn’t mad because you interrupted his romantic stairwell rendezvous, nor was he mad that you literally show up out of nowhere, being this close to him. He was irritated because you thought you were winning, you thought you were pissing him off; but joke’s on you, he actually found himself amused by this whole ordeal.

“Babe let’s just go, you’re not cheating on me are you?” You add fuel to what you thought was a burning flame, thinking you had succeeded on ruining his day.

“How ridiculous, you know I only have eyes for you,” he leans down, a teasing and excruciating mere inch between your faces, the side of his lips curving upwards so subtly you’re not sure it’s really there. Your eyes widen, and his grin grows as he could practically feel you stop breathing.

He watches you storm off, knowing fully well he was victorious for this round.

Iwaizumi - 1

Y/n - 0 (Loser)

The game against Seijoh and some other school was over, and like every other game, you got first-row seats, it was the one and only time wherein you actually admire Hajime (admittedly). You stood outside, waiting for your friends to finish gushing over Oikawa and you look up questioningly when you see pairs of shoes on the ground.

“Uhm, do you guys want something?” You ask, confused, somehow feeling ganged up on with three girls surrounding you.

“We’ll cut to the chase, stay away from Hajime,” she spitefully says, and you snort the moment you hear his name.

“You don’t even have to beg me for it,” you say and they furrow their brows. “You’re acting so coy! Pretending to be some goofy girl who tries to piss him off only to get to spend more time with him!”

You sigh, “I’d kill to have him away from me for as long as possible, what are you guys even on about?”

“Just stay away from him y/n l/n, he’s mine.” Cue another chuckle from you, “yours? I question your taste but Hajime doesn’t belong to you,” you sweetly smile, not knowing where the sudden irritation came from.

Seriously, how could she say he was hers when he probably doesn’t even know her name like the stupid non-caring jerk he is, but you somehow thank him for it, somehow relieved that he could barely name a girl in your class that wasn’t you.

“What do you know?!” She seethes, about to land a palm right across your cheek but it doesn’t come, instead, she stood petrified as she meets Iwaizumi’s gaze, securely standing behind you as he firmly grasped her wrist.

“That’s quite enough,” he glares, the girl immediately withdrawing her hand. “What are you here for?” You bitterly ask, the previous encounter in the stairwell still having your hate meter for him past its max.

“Y/n-baaaaka, where’re those killer moves of yours that almost have me injured all the damn time,” he says, his lips tugging downwards as he looked at you, and you stiffen under his touch when he rests his elbow on your shoulder. Now looking at the girls, “You’re quite the troublesome bird-brained bunch, pathetic too. You better not come anywhere near us again,” he grunts, a dull ring to it in fact; but his usual voice was also usually intimidating, hence the effortless success of scaring away the girls for good.

You scoff, “what’s with the sudden chivalry?”

He raises a brow at you before a scowl forms at his lips, “shouldn’t you thank me?”

“What? For coming to my rescue? How charming, nothing less to expect from our ace,” you huff, turning around to walk away. You know how much he disliked you, so why was he being kind? Why do you a favor and rest his elbow on your shoulder and act like friends, maybe lovers— you recall the position you were in last time, you clinging to his arm while he leaned in, face painfully close to yours.

“Did you really mean that? You’d kill to have me away from you,” he chuckles, “what strong emotion,” and you halt, turning around to look at his expression which resembled the masking of hurt. “You were listening?” You ask, but he merely walks towards you.

“Thought I’d hear some sort of love confession,” he stops a foot away from you, “but that was fucking disappointing.” You’re beyond confused at this point, why in the world would he expect a confession out of you? YOU of all people, you’re enemies, same sides of a pole that simply will and never attract.

“What would you have wanted me confess?” You narrow your eyes at him; your pathetic attempt to be defensive when in reality your walls were all crashing down, and he’d be free to walk in and capture you his; vulnerable and genuine, free from your lies and forced obliviousness.

“I’m exhausted,” he says, leaving you stupefied when he holds your chin between his thumb and index, warm from having spiked the ball multiple times as the ace from the game earlier on. “I don’t give a fuck, just keep your fucking hands off of me Iwaizumi,” you glare, making him grin.

“You swear a lot with that pretty mouth of yours,” he presses on you more, knowing this would either be a hit or miss. A hit for when you crumble and give in to him, spilling the truth about how you truly felt which he has long figured, because he can’t be the only one who felt this way, no?

The miss wouldn’t be much of a miss though, he’d still love it if you exploded, punching him or something but at the same time postponing your long overdue truthful conversations because you convinced yourself too much that love and hate were separated by a thick line, which was far from how it actually was.

“I hate you,” you spat, but he can’t see any hatred in your eyes at all. “Does that mean you don’t want me?” He taunts, his lips inching closer and closer to yours. You only find yourself looking down, unable to breathe at the suffocating feeling of having your emotions come out all at once.

love or hate, which was it? The latter. No, it couldn’t be, you wouldn’t be finding yourself getting lost in his eyes if you did truthfully despise him. Then, was it the former? Perhaps... Maybe... Probably explaining why you were going to say it, “if you don’t kiss me right now, Hajime, I will.”

Bingo, he wins, it was a hit.

In one swift motion, he locks lips with you, your hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders as he tilts his head sidewards to deepen the kiss, not wanting to spare an inch of your mouth. It was the perfect kiss, one to show your yearning for the other through questionable means such as inconveniencing the other’s life, and one to express the raw passion of love that without a doubt made every bit of you ecstatic.

“Oya, Oya, what’s this?” Oikawa’s annoying voice reaches his ears, Iwaizumi pulls away with one last peck on your lips. “I’ll fucking kill you,” he mutters under his breath, Toru flinching before letting out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, well then, I’ll leave you two to it,” he grins, waving at you before running off.

“So you’ve had a crush on me all along, huh,” you smirk at him, his ears turning red as he looks at you. You snicker, poking at him teasingly as he covers his face with his hand.

“Don’t push me,” he finally says, and you let out another laugh, of course you’re going to push his buttons, “eh, so what are we now, babe? I don’t think I like you at all, honey, that was charity.”

“Charity?” He muses, grabbing your wrist to whisper closely in your ear, you gasp, his breath against your skin leaving you flustered. “If anything, all I did was fan service.” HE HAD YOU ALL FLUSTERED AND SPEECHLESS AND FOR WHAT?

You push him away, irritation making you want to breathe fire, “FAN SERVICE?” You exclaim, wearing the deepest frown he had seen on you making him laugh.

“Kidding, kidding,” he nonchalantly says, and you scowl, “I hate you.”

“If you hate me so much then why not go out with me?” He says, all seriousness in his tone.

“What?” You blink, that was sudden.

“You should date me, cling to me, piss the fuck off other girls who try to get in between, and make sure I see your face everyday, that would ultimately make me miserable, and you hate me so much that you want that, don’t you?” He finishes, hands in his pockets as he looked straight at you.

This time, he actually feared how this would turn out. He had revealed his cards already, there’s no going back to normal after this, things could only go from being strangers or to being lovers.

“Sure, let’s date. Give me the luxury to annoy you everyday, and you better not break up with me for it,” you smile, and he chuckles, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Then don’t break up with me if I make you mad like ten times a day,” a soft subtle smile plays at his lips while you both walk hand in hand together outside the building, the sunset striking so beautifully at the two of you but you didn’t have much time to admire it as you were kept preoccupied with each other’s conversations.

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alderaani · 3 years

Text

Skies

summary: After a long campaign, Jesse and Hardcase indulge in some well earned TLC. AO3 | Series

Part of my 100-clone centric prompts series, prompt list used is here

wanrings: allusions to canon-typical violence, death mention.

a/n: oof, I’ve been so unmotivated to write recently, so i’m honestly just relieved to have finished something. i’ve been wanting to write this for ages, based off this post by @lilhawkeye3 - it’s such an endearing image.

The ocean didn’t smell anything like Hardcase thought it would.

He slipped his bucket from his head, squinting against the sudden rush of unfiltered light. On either side of him troopers broke free of the tree line, and, feeling sand beneath their boots, took off whooping towards the frothing crest of the sea. The sunset blazed red and orange, bleeding like a punctured egg yolk across the cloudless horizon and into distant water. Hardcase breathed in, wrinkling his nose against the salt-laden tang, so visceral he could taste it.

It wasn’t like Kamino. That was almost the biggest surprise. He’d thought that oceans would be the same everywhere, but this wasn’t a bad way to be proven wrong. It was the salt, he realised after a moment, darting his tongue out to touch his lips. There weren’t really any beaches on Kamino, though he supposed there must be sand under there somewhere. There were no winding strips where ocean met land, where the sun could ferment the pools, rocks and shells left behind. It tasted lighter there, cleaner, more cut through by its brutal winds. He breathed in deep again, wrinkling his nose and grinning at the way the seasoned tang sat on his palate here, briny and thick.

It was the colour too, that really made the difference. It was so pale and clear on this far-flung planet, instead of the angry greyish blue he remembered. The waves were...politer, somehow. Less vengeful, not boiling with ever-falling rain. Several troopers had reached the shore now and were chasing the surf, shouting and laughing when it nipped at their heels.

He decided he rather liked it.

It was something different after weeks spent cowering under cover further inland, coated in showers of dark earth from enemy artillery and rationing out stale water in mouthfuls that were barely enough to coat the back of the throat. Even the air was damp here, and overhead the gulls were crying, sharp against the thundering crash of the waves. He lived for these moments, these breaths between the axel-grind of war. It was true that he loved the spoil of a fight, loved sinking into it and letting his Z6 sing. But there was a different, more intoxicating thrill in these snatched hours or - if they were lucky - days. He’d never voiced it to anyone, but he sometimes thought he might like to do this all the time, one day, trawling the stars and standing beneath unfamiliar skies. For the views, this time, explored under his own rhythm.

Yeah. That sounded pretty good.

“Oi, Hardcase!” Someone bellowed, sticking up a hand and waving at him amidst a far away knot of troopers knee deep in the sea. “You coming?”

He shook himself, setting down his pack and his Z6 with loving care amongst the mountainous piles of gear, before jogging down the dunes, following the trails of discarded armour and the shouts, happy laughter and splashes echoing from the water. The wind was sharp on his face and neck and on the strips of skin at his wrists, intoxicating and too heady to ignore. The sand was strangely weightless beneath him, too. He’d slept on a real feather pillow, once, while they were hunkered down on Ord Sedra and several hundred crates of luxury bedding had gotten damaged in the crossfire. It had felt like floating, and all of them had tossed and turned all night. This was similar, and just as strange...what would it all feel like on his skin?

The thought wouldn’t let him go. Halfway down the beach he sat to strip off his boots, then his plates, then his blacks, until he stood in just his greys, laughing at the feeling of the wind and the spray licking against his body. The way it cut through the stubble sprouting on his scalp after far too long stuck in a bucket-locked zone was...disconcerting. The prickle of just-forming curls felt like phantom fingers on the nape of his neck, and he’d found the way sweat clung to hair under his helmet sort of disgusting - it reminded him of being an under-washed cadet. Frankly, he didn’t plan on letting it stay long enough to get used to it.

The sand though...now that was weird. The way it sat between his toes made him squirm, each grain a bolting pinprick against the soles of his feet. When had he last had his boots off? Back on the Venator in the communal fresher, probably. It was a cruel galaxy when that barren room and its clinical racks of scentless soap started to look like a king’s treasury. He dug his feet into the cold, wet sludge, shivering in disgusted delight as the beach swallowed them whole.

“Hardcase!”

He looked towards the bellowing figure stumbling up the sand towards him, squinting as the sun hit their upturned face. Then he barked a laugh of surprise at the edge of the Republic cog he found there.

“ Jesse? Kriff, vod, barely recognised you.”

It was the first time he’d seen his flesh face in weeks, aside from in hurried moments allocated for gulping down rations. Jesse’s hair had grown in thick and black, much to the consternation of several brothers who were offended he could grow a moustache like that and still chose not to. Right now, he reached up to scratch the offending hair on his cheeks and scowled.

“S’rich comin’ from you. What is that slug on your face?”

Hardcase winced. His own unwilling hair cultivation very much proved that clones were not all made equal.

“It’s a casualty,” he said, feeling the short, patchy bristles on his upper lip. His trainer had always promised it would settle as he came out of puberty. That had been a lie. Hardcase blamed it on the crack in his growth jar, like he did most minor physical inconveniences. “This is why I don’t bother with the stuff.”

Jesse nodded, turning away to rummage through the packs strewn over the sand. “It just won’t stop itchin’.”

“You’re telling me.” Hardcase groaned. “You didn’t get woken up last night because your hair tickled the back of your neck and made you think you were bein’ jumped.”

Jesse snorted, straightening back up with his meagre GAR-standard microfibre towel in hand and a ration bar hanging from his mouth.

“Was that what that was about?” he asked, voice muffled. “We thought we could hear you squirmin’.”

Hardcase kicked lightly at Jesse’s ankle. “Real nice of you to not even ask if I was alright.”

Jesse broke off the ration bar and smirked round his mouthful.

“‘Case, it’s when you go quiet that we start asking questions.”

Hardcase shoved him. Jesse went down with a yelp and a curse, his towel catching under his ass and the loose end flapping like a banner in the wind. Hardcase bellowed a laugh, kicking sand towards him. It was a fatal mistake.

Jesse caught him by the ankle and yanked him down too. He landed on his stomach, still laughing as the wind knocked out of him, and scrambled forward with abandon, yelping with shock as water seeped cold and heavy into his greys. He wasn’t fast enough. A leg slung heavy over Hardcase’s ankles, pinning him, and then Jesse’s weight was pressing down on his back, forcing his face towards the wet sand.

“Get off, you kriffin’ shabiir,” he laughed, groaning as Jesse adjusted his weight and squashed the air out of his lungs.

“I’m not the one startin’ fights they can’t finish,” Jesse retorted, his voice light.

“Who said I was finished?” Hardcase shot back, going limp and then bucking hard. Jesse swore, losing his grip, and then they were scrabbling again, a tangle of limbs and righteous yelling.

The fight ended with them lying side by side on their backs, both covered in muck. Hardcase was sure he had sand in his crotch. The sun was still blazing on the horizon, lower now, deepening from yellow to dark, hazy red. It gleamed like fire on the water, like copper on the sand. This world was so reluctant to let the light go, eking out the daylight drop by drop. An errant touch to his thigh made him look over. Jesse was rummaging around underneath himself, grumbling about something digging into his back.

“You think we’ll get to stay here long?” Hardcase asked eventually.

“Aw, hell,” Jesse said, pulling the squashed, sandy remains of his ration bar from underneath him. “This was my last flavoured one. What’d you say?”

“D’you think we’ll stay long?”

Jesse hummed, flinging the ration bar away up the beach. A gull immediately swooped down to snatch it. “Here? Don’t think so. Heard Rex talking to the General, lots still to do before we can get off this rock.”

Hardcase sighed, letting the disappointment wash over him quietly. He shut his eyes again, just listening for a moment, committing the sounds of the sea to memory. It wouldn’t be goodbye. He’d come back to this place, one day. He’d make sure of it.

“So,” he said, cutting himself off before the longing could get too strong. “We gonna shave or what?”

Jesse scoffed. “What? Now?”

Hardcase shrugged. “Why not? We leave here, we’re gonna be back on water rations, right? You really want that nest growin’ for however the fuck long?”

Jesse sighed. “Course I don’t. But what the hell’re we gonna shave with? You didn’t bring your razor, did you?”

“Not a chance,” Hardcase said. That was only a mistake shinies made.

It wasn’t so bad if you lost one of the Kamino issue ones - those were about as blunt as a butter knife. Better to grow hair on campaign and hack it off later than lose one you’d bartered. He still mourned the first he’d ever owned - he’d never seen another with the same quality Corellian steel, and Uppercut had been so smug to win it over sabaac. Gracious enough to let him keep using it though. Some of Hardcase’s best memories were in front of fresher mirrors with him, taking it in turns and helping catch any stray hairs, paying each other in gossip for their trouble. He still hadn’t forgiven that bastard for dying. The first time he’d had to shave after had left him curled over the sink, his head half lathered and his whole body shaking, so on their next planetfall he’d taken the razor with him and buried it in the nicest spot he could find.

Uppercut had always preferred cities to trees, but Hardcase hoped that, wherever he was, he’d appreciated the effort all the same.

“I do have a vibroblade, though,” he carried on brightly, grinning at the way Jesse’s expression fell.

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on. It won’t be that bad.”

Jesse pushed up on his elbows, his face scrunched. “If you think I’m gonna let you dry shave my head with a dagger, ‘Case, you’re more stupid than you look. I want a haircut, not a cut head.”

Hardcase rolled his eyes. “Who said anything about dry shaving? I’ve got soap.”

Jesse paused. “You’ve had soap this whole time? Here?”

“What can I say, I’m an optimist,” Hardcase said, peeling his back out of the sand. “You in or not?”

Jesse didn’t answer, just stood, grinned, and offered Hardcase a hand.

The light continued to wane as they made their trips up and down the beach, finding a good spot where the shoreline banked a little, and where it would keep the worst of the wind off while Hardcase lathered Jesse’s head. He stuck his tongue out a little as he worked, trying not to get distracted while the frothy water lapped at his ankles. He felt himself loosen as he scraped the vibroblade over his brother’s head, even just the act making him feel more like himself. It relaxed the jittery edge his thoughts always had, dialling down the almost frantic noise that built in combat and then sat under his skin. Usually it took a good spar to bounce it all back out of him, but this had always worked too…it had just been a long time since he’d had anyone else to go through the ritual with.

When it was his turn, he all but melted under the gentle, smooth touch of the vibroblade on his head, the soapy lather chilling quickly on his skin. He hummed, the feeling of the pads of Jesse’s guiding fingers on his chin almost too much sensation after so long under plastoid. He let his mind drift, watching the ocean and listening to Jesse’s mutters and curses as he concentrated.

When they were done and had rinsed in the freezing water, the sun had almost vanished, leaving only a purple after-bruise on the darkened sky. Most of the battalion had settled much further up the beach near the largest sand dunes, so they drifted there and claimed a patch of sand, pulling on their blacks when the sticky film of drying salt water got too much in the cold night air. After a late meal of ration cubes, and, far more enticing, some dried bantha milk the last villages they’d fortified had gifted them, Hardcase was splayed out on his back again and feeling quite ready to have a nap.

Jesse was lounging beside him, carefully rehydrating his milk with water from his field flask. Hardcase couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a night like this, where the war had felt so far away.

They turned their heads at several loud hoots, a crash, and a cheer, followed by an angry bellow. He squinted his eyes against the sudden flare of bright light.

Several brothers had constructed a modest bonfire out of driftwood - and, Hardcase suspected, several unlucky clones’ blacks - and had just tossed over a spare fuel canister, setting the whole thing ablaze in a column of blue flame. The tense figure stalking towards them looked awfully like Appo.

“D’you think we should help him?” Hardcase murmured, his hands propped comfortably under his head. Plasma always burned fast and hot, and he could already feel it faintly against the side of his freshly exposed head. It was nice; soothing, even.

Jesse hummed, pushed up on one elbow so that he could sip at his drink.

“...Nah,” he said slowly, lowering his cup and scrubbing away the blue moustache left behind. He flopped back down with a boneless huff. “Appo’s a big boy. He’s got this.”

Hardcase turned his head again, in time to see Appo tug futilely at some of the dark fabric being swallowed by flame. He chuckled and shut his eyes, breathing in deep and enjoying the soothing melody of shouting that, for once, was not being directed at him.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a moment, sighing as the heat flared and there were more jubilant whoops. “I think you’re right.”

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @simping-for-fives @missinashkin @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu @dom-i-nic @snippytano @808tsuika @eries45 @whatanoof // list here

#alderwrites #hardcase #clone trooper hardcase #clone trooper jesse #arc trooper jesse #501st legion #star wars #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #jesse #time to hit post before i can decide i hate this loooool

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officialleehadan · 3 years

Text

Same Side

“Let me be as explicitly clear as possible,” Alexander told Richard’s team, who were decidedly not happy to see him. “The new baby villain is annoying me. This does not mean that we’re friends. This does not mean that I like you. This does not mean that I expect you to like me. It does mean that until Alloy is appropriately handled, I’m on your side.”

“You’ll forgive us if we don’t exactly take you at face value,” Skybreaker said coldly. He was Richard’s second in command most of the time, and had a strong, personal problem with Alexander. It was mostly justified. He was a flyer, and Alexander made a habit of wrapping him up in cables whenever he was being annoying. Out of respect for Richard, Alexander didn’t hurt any of his team, but he occasionally wanted to. “You’re a villain!”

“He’s also my twin, and I would know if he was planning to double-cross us,” Richard spoke up. He was mostly willing to let Alexander do his own talking, but when it came to his team, a little more persuasion was sometimes required. “He filled in for me three months ago. Remember when I took that hit from Sledge?”

“You said you walked that off,” Windsinger said quietly. Of all of Richard’s team, Alexander liked her best. Weather control took a lot of concentration, and that meant that weather-control Powers were usually reasonably stable, or completely insane. Windsinger was one of the steadiest people Alexander knew. “We were worried, but you showed up the next day, and you were fine…”

“Because it wasn’t you, was it?” The last member of Richard’s team was Tanktrap, a physical-boost Power. She was arguably the most powerful of the team, but absolutely refused to be in charge of anything. “You swapped on us again. Dammit, Lockdown, we told you to stop doing that.”

“I had broken ribs. Blackout had it covered until I could get out to Mender.”

“You’re not supposed to trade places with the villain. Wait, do you fill in for him too?”

That wasn’t a line of thinking Alexander wanted them on, so he sighed noisily and drew their attention back to him.

“No,” he lied through his teeth, since Richard did cover for him if he was hurt and had a meeting he absolutely couldn’t miss without making bad enemies. “I don’t mind helping people if it’s not inconvenient, but he has a bad case of morals. Now, can we get back to talking to the baby villain who is being a pain in the ass?”

“You’re very committed to getting Alloy off the streets,” Windsinger noted with some interest. Her white hair was piled up on top of her head, and she hadn’t bothered with a mask. There was no point, she said when the rest of the team questioned her about it. Alexander knew them, and if he wanted to do something awful, he could have. Her good sense was another reason Alexander liked her. “What happened?”

“He took a swing at our mother,” Richard said, silencing the room. The heroes looked between each other, suddenly unsure at the lethal tone in their friend’s voice. “Decided that if he can’t tell us apart, he would just see about getting us both in the same place so it wouldn’t matter.”

“Is she okay?” Skybreaker asked, elevating himself a few notches in Alexander’s mind. Anyone who cared enough to protect his mother was someone he would actively try not to kill. “What happened?”

“She’s a precog. Realized what was happening, and called us,” Alexander supplied darkly. Their parents were hidden away in one of his safe-houses, with the kind of protections that the Hero Consortium didn’t like to talk about surrounding them. If Alloy went for them there, he would be extremely dead, extremely quickly. “They’re safe.”

“Want one of us on them?” Windsinger asked gently. To his surprise, he laid a hand on his arm, and Alexander had a brief moment of confusion. He might like her, but he hadn’t been under the impression that she liked him. “Don’t worry. We’re going to stop him.”

“You’re too nice for your own good,” Alexander told her reluctantly, aware of his twin’s sudden interest in the half-formed thoughts that Alexander was not prepared to acknowledge. “Look. I’m here, ready to work with your team until Alloy is handled. Take the win.”

“Won’t your villain contacts try to kill you for this?” Tanktrap asked, more familiar with the villain side of things than most. Her father was a villain before he died saving the world. “They’re usually not cool with people switching sides unless it’s life or death.”

“There are stipulations in place to cover family,” Alexander explained. He spent most of a week making sure that everyone knew exactly what Alloy tried, and what he was planning to do about it. Most of the replies he got were wishes of ‘happy hunting’. “They won’t help me, but as long as I don’t cross them, they also won’t cause me problems. A few are taking it a little more personally, and might kick the brat our way if they get the chance.”

Villains, by nature, didn’t work well together, but family was family and Alloy was a newcomer to the Powered scene. No one was going to stick their necks out for him when he was begging for a beatdown with both hands.

Alright, so Alexander and Richard hadn’t exactly agreed about whether or not they were going to kill him, since Alexander was decidedly for the murderous option, and Richard was notably against murdering anyone. Alexander thought he could probably talk his twin into looking the other way, though, considering the attempt on their parents.

Probably better not to tell his twin’s Hero Team about that part.

“Right,” Richard said when it seemed like his team wasn’t going to raise any serious complaints about the villain joining their team. “Anyway, Blackout’s on our side for now. What do we have on Alloy?”

+++

Twins Together:

There’s always a good twin, and an evil one. The thing is, Alexander and Richard really don’t know which of them is which, no matter what the tabloids say.

Brothers Apart

Sanctuary Always

Twins in Crime

Twinning Disagreements

Bond of Brothers

One Mind, Two Heads (Subscriber Only!)

Get Out of My Head (Subscriber Only!

Superpowered Birds and Bees (Free on Patreon!)

Black or Gold

+++

More Stories!

+++

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pinkprimrose05 · 3 years

Text

GX Month Day 7: Ojama Delta Thunder!!

@gxmonth

"That’s right! You know what today is! Today we celebrate The Chazz, the one and only Manjoume Thunder! Give sparky boi a hug!"

...I'm not giving Manjoume a hug. I...*cackles evilly* am gonna make him suffer as much as the actual Duel Links players do, maybe even more. And I'm not the least bit sorry, because hey, he gets something out of it in the end!

Manjoume Jun was not having a good day.

The Ojama Duelist grumbled to himself, kicking a non-existent pebble into the air as he made his way to the Duel Studio. The picturesque environment of Duel Links -too clean, too perfect- never ceased to amaze him and many others, but right now, he was too damn pissed to care about that.

After all, it's hard for one to appreciate the technology behind a game's setting when that same technology had just fucked up their entire collection of cards- And in the middle of a Duel no less!

The door slid open as he walked through, revealing rows upon rows of multicolored tables placed on either side of the massive ground floor that was the Deck Editor section, leaving a clear path to the spiraling staircase of clear blue glass that led to the Card Catalog and several other, more obscure sections. After all, the Deck Editor was the single most popular part of the Duel Studio, if the couple dozen Duelists buzzing around all day long were anything to go by.

Manjoume plopped down on a chair at the first empty table he could find, fishing out the single Deck box in his pocket and dropping it on the yellow, round surface. The twenty cards inside the box spilled out over the table (he had hundreds of those for fuck's sake!), and their owner groaned in frustration as he rifled through his completely reset Deck....Scratch that, it wasn't even his own Starter Deck. Battle Warrior? Flame Manipulator? What the hell?!

Briefly, he considered the benefits of marching up to Isono and demanding an explanation and solution to what happened, but that idea was shot down almost immediately. It's not like the guy would be of actual help; the last time someone asked about a bug in the game Isono had literally told them, quote unquote "Please ensure that no other house utilites are interrupting your connection, such as a microwave oven.", and while Manjoume was no tech expert, even he could tell how much of a half-assed excuse that was.

Stupid Duel Links and its stupid customer service-

"Manjo-kuuuuuuun!!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Manjoume only had enough time to gasp before a familiar blue blur put him in an unexpectedly tight headlock, already rambling at rapidfire speed straight in his ears.

"I'm so glad I could find you today!!" Kylie squealed "Had no idea I'd see you here, but that doesn't matter- do you wanna Duel?? I've been working on a new Deck and combos for days now and I can't wait to show you-" the second-year abruptly paused when she caught sight of the cards spread on the table, letting go of Manjoume in favor of taking a better look at them "Waaiiiit a minute, what's with those cards? They don't look like anything you normally play-"

"-It's Manjoume-san." He sharply interjected in a mix of annoyance and exasperation, shooting a glare at the oblivious blunette standing next to him as he massaged his neck "And yes, those aren't my cards. The game just randomly decided to reset my connection in the middle of a Rank-Up Duel of all things, yeet off all my Decks into nonexistence, and then gave me a shitty Starter in exchange, so now I'm stuck with almost zero gems and no way to recover my progress, which is just fucking splendid considering how close we are to the next KC Cup."

Manjoume sighed "Fuck this. Just, fuck this."

Truthfully, he wasn't as mad about the progress he lost as he was about losing his cards. It hadn't even been thirty minutes and, while he'd never admit it out loud, he already missed his trio of obnoxious Ojamas. They've been through thick and thin together, and it felt unnatural to have them just up and disappear like that. The last time they've been away from him wasn't exactly something he wanted to remember, and while the situation here was nowhere as severe as the Dark World, it still felt wrong for the air around him to be so quiet.

Kylie, who was uncharacteristically quiet as she listened to her 'friend' ranting about his current predicament, nodded along "So you...basically got your account reset?"

"No shit, Sherlock." Manjoume deadpanned in response. Kylie put a hand to her chin, humming thoughtfully with closed eyes, before suddenly slamming a hand on the table and nearly shocking him into falling off his chair.

"I GOT IT!" She exclaimed, snapping her fingers with a bright grin "This reset bug happened once to someone I know- I don't know if you remember Ruby from Heartland Academy, but anyway, she also lost all her progress a couple months ago after she got booted out of a Duel, and it turned out that her cards were just scattered all around the Duel World, so we went around asking everyone we could if they saw them, Dueled those who had some, and we got all her cards back in the end. It must be the same with yours, so let's get going and find them all!!"

Without warning, she grabbed the Legendary Duelists's hand, hauling him up and out of the Deck Editor before he could even get out a word. Manjoume gasped and spluttered along the way, trying to tell his companion to slow down a bit to no avail; as talking someone like Kylie out of anything was like trying to build a Deck around Cold Feet.

That didn't stop him from actually looking around and asking, though. If there was even the slightest chance of him finding his cards this way, then he'd be damned if he didn't at least try and go through with it. Compared to staking it out at the North Pole for a barely synergic mishmash of a Deck, to going down a haunted well in an empty forest for a bunch of 0-ATK monsters that were -figuratively and literally- bottom of the barrel, Dueling a couple chumps and scavenging for some lost cards was nothing, and he was ready to do so much more to get his partners back.

"See? I told you Aniki would come find us in the end!"

...I take back everything I said, Manjoume thought, cringing in disgust as Ojama Green and Black hugged each other and began prancing around him in circles, babbling and crying tears of joy while they were at it How could I ever miss this shitfest?

He just did, somehow. It hadn't taken too long to find the two Ojamas anyway; the sound of them banshee screeching weeping their asses off by the fountain was all he needed to know they were somewhere out there, and by some lucky miracle, their cards didn't get sprayed to oblivion with all the water by the time he came to retrieve them. As for his other cards, he and Kylie had stopped by the Shop, the Card Trader, the PvP Arena, the Gate and the Duel School, asking everyone they could about his cards, and beating the shit out of those who had some and refused to give them back

(Well, Manjoume was the one who did that, and only to Evan and Zachary, but that wasn't the point here, was it?)

By the time they decided to return to the Duel Studio for a small break, they'd gathered practically all of his key cards. He couldn't care less for the bunch of staples he lost -he'd just reroll the Selection Box or whatever-, so the only missing card that actually mattered, as much as it stung his ego to admit it...

...was Ojama Yellow. And after what happened with his brothers (and with Fairy Dragon, which he found resting on top of a very inconveniently high branch of a tree), Manjoume fully expected the third Ojama to be sleeping in the trash can or somewhere equally stupid. Because if he wasn't, he'd have found him before any other card by simply following the sound of high-pitched crying mixed with a lot of screaming and weird Ojama noises-

-A sudden rattling sound interrupted the noiret's thoughts for the second time that day, and when he stopped to locate its source, he let out a long, drawn-out sound between a sigh and a groan. Surely enough, the sound was coming from the trash can by the cliff, which was shaking wildly and practically begging to be opemed. Feeling a migraine coming up, Manjoume turned left, walked up to the can, and with some difficulty, pried the lid off.

"ANIKIIIII!!"

He instantly regretted it (he didn't) when the snot-faced creature that was Ojama Yellow exploded in his face, crying uncontrollably as he tried to hug Manjoume (keyword being 'tried'). His brothers all but sprang up from their cards, meeting him in a hug midair and effectively plucking him off his master for a bit as they all laughed and cried and did everything in between.

"Aww, look at how happy they are!" Kylie gushed, eyes almost sparkling. She lightly smacked Manjoume's back "You sure have a funny bunch of spirits, luckyyyy~"

Swatting away the Ojama trio and a pair of Catnipped Kitties before they tried sneaking up on him for a hug, Manjoume folded his arms and snorted in response "Yeah, sure."

But regardless, he found his lips quirking up in spite of himself. If it were me from three years ago, he mused I wouldn't have bothered with any of this in the first place.

But this wasn't the him from three years ago. This was the him of today, the Manjoume Thunder who'd gone through so much shit and learned from it to become a better Duelist, a better Duelist, and a better person. And while he had many people to thank for that, he also had to give credit for the monster spirits that followed him through all of the aforementioned shit, because as cringy, messy, bombastic and obnoxious as they might be, they were his partners, and he wouldn't give them up for anything in this world-

"WILL YOU FUCKING STOP THAT??!!"

-Unless they tried to hug him again. Pissed beyond reason, Manjoume chased after the quintet of Level 2's, ignoring Kylie's hysteric laughter and the surprised yelps from other Duelists as they dashed around the area in circles, all the noise merging into a cacophony of angry hollering and frightened squeaking, among other sounds.

In the end, some things never change....for better or for worse.

~~~~~~

Screw the actual Duel Links game for not including most of Manjoume's low-ATK monsters in his Starter/Lv 10 Deck (why tf is Catnipped Kitty a main Box card 4 years after his release?), and double screw them for splitting his Ojamas and Dragons into separate Decks.

I hate how his higher level Decks in the game completely disregard the former half of his cards; those are the ones that actually stuck with him in a meaningful way, not the Armed Dragons...they deserve some more recognition, so why not mix both archrtypes and slap in Ojamatch?

Also, yes, Standard Duelists actually exist here, so I decided to throw in my favorite GX girl AKA Kylie and have her interact a bit, and boy is she fun to write.

Headcanon: Kylie considers Manjoume (and everyone else, but especially him) her best friend because she basically has Yuuma's mentality of 'Anyone I Duel becomes an amigo!', and by sheer dumb luck, the two keep logging in at the same time and often get matched up in PvP Duels.

That's part of why she's so familiar with him (and also why she calls him Manjo-kun) and as you can see, Jun does not approve.

Aaaand this would be everything for Day 7! Expect to see me again...in a week from now. By Day 15 to be exact. In the meantime, if you’d like to follow my prompts for the month, I’m posting them all on ArchiveofOurOwn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33473653/chapters/83489824

#gxmonth2021 #chazz princeton #jun manjoume #Standard Duelist #Ojamas

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years

Text

The idea of this came quick and haphazardly. I meant to have it ready on thanksgiving, but then didn’t, haha...enjoy a last little slice of thanksgiving fic...

About 2K. Planning on doing a Christmas and/or new years addition with this one too.

Thanks so much for reading!

Friends Like These

Aelin cursed as she stared at the pan of green beans she pulled from her oven. Frowning she glared at the mess of crispy fried onions on top and the edges that were most certainly black instead of golden brown.

“Well this was a terrible idea.”

She didn't even like green bean casserole but Lysandra had insisted they needed green beans of some sort and Aelin was a mess of uncertainty. She wanted to bring an extra chocolate pie but Lys refused that front citing that she had all her pie bases covered.

Aelin did not believe her. For as much as she loved her best friend, Lys did not understand Aelin’s desires for chocolate and pie in general.

Back to the green beans however, Aelin was certain they were burned. Who the hell liked green beans anyways?

“A real, real terrible idea.”

Talking to herself wasn't going to fix anything, so Aelin grabbed her oven mitts and made for the door of her apartment. By some twist of fate and intense insistence, Aelin lived across the hall from her best friend and cousin. Lysandra and Aedion had only been married a few months and they were already intent on being the go-to couple for holidays and other occasions. As long as it meant Aelin didn't have to clean her place, she didn't care.

She left her apartment door open and crossed the hall to Lysandra’s.

"Open up bitch,” she called and kicked the door. Too late did she think that the neighbors would not appreciate her antics. She received far too many looks of exasperation from them anyways.

Despite how much she really didn’t care, she glanced down the hall. Maybe she could ditch this poorly made casserole on some unsuspecting soul. As she glanced down towards the elevators, she caught sight of a ridiculously good-looking man coming up the hall and he had most definitely heard her.

His silvery hair was stark compared to his bronze skin and his button up shirt strained against his obvious muscles. Oh he was very attractive. Aelin had quite often found herself fondling over the likes of Rowan Whitethorn.

It was highly unfortunate that he was already here, considering Aelin was still in yoga pants and an oversized cardigan stained with bleach from a misadventure in cleaning. Not to mention her hair was a failing top knot and she hadn’t even put on a coat of chapstick today. Oh hell, she was most definitely staring at him.

“Galathynius,” Rowan said, giving her a long, penetrating look. His generous mouth tilted into something akin to a sneer.

“Whitehorn,” she replied. She prided herself at least on the fact that she managed not to lick her lips while checking him out. Because holy hell it should be illegal for him to look so well put together. She wasn’t sure if she preferred him in this almost professional style as compared to the dark grunge that he was usually found in. Or both. Definitely both.

Aelin was saved from saying or doing anything else as Lysandra opened the door to her apartment.

“You actually brought something other than chocolate,” Lysandra said with an amused sort of expression

“Bite me,” Aelin snapped and swerved past into the apartment.

She missed whatever Lysandra said to Rowan, but it was clearly filled with more love and appreciation than what was extended to Aelin.

Aelin entered the kitchen and was immediately greeted by the scents of cooking turkey, stuffing, and rolls. It was wonderful. She stuck her still hot pan on the edge of the counter while she dug out another hotpad from where Lysandra usually kept them.

Aedion was busy setting things up in the small living room where he’d dragged out their table and an extra foldable one. It looked like there were far more place settings than Aelin had been expecting.

“Hey Aelin,” Aedion said as he settled a floral arrangement on the table. It was a cheapish plastic one—but it reminded Aelin of years growing up with him and tossing the abused decoration around the table to use it as a means of hiding from Aunt Maeve.

“Hey, where d’you want this,” she asked, holding up the green beans.

“Wherever should be good,” Aedion said with a shrug. He looked the pan over and frowned. “You burned the green beans?”

“No one even likes green beans Ashryver,” Aelin fired back. She slapped down the hotpad and the casserole and tried to pretend she didn’t care.

Truth was, she’d actually tried on the casserole. But she wouldn’t admit that. It would just make the end product all the more pathetic.

“Thanks so much for bringing pie, Rowan,” Lysandra was saying from the kitchen. “I tried asking Lorcan, but he was staunchly against it.”

“Nah, the bastard would never make such a commitment,” Rowan. Aelin glanced at him to see a crooked smile that did not help her feel any better about herself. “He will bring plenty of booze though.”

“At least he’s good for something,” Lysandra laughed. Her laugh was short lived though as she looked between Aelin and Rowan. It was no secret the two had nothing short of a hostile relationship. No matter how long their friend groups had been integrated for—they always found a way to be at each other’s throats.

Lysandra took the bag of pie from Rowan and smiled gratefully. “Also, I appreciate everything you’ve done in the shop, too. I don’t know what I wouldn’t do without the help.”

Just across the street, Lysandra was opening a clothing boutique that would hopefully expand into a makeup and hair styling salon as well. While Aedion was finishing his law degree and working full time in an apprenticeship, Lysandra had bitten the bullet to fulfill her dream of owning her own business. Even if it was a slightly inconvenient time to be an entrepreneur. Aelin couldn’t have been prouder of her best friend.

“Oh, until everyone else gets here, Rowan can help you move that dresser Aelin,” Lysandra said suddenly. Aelin froze in a sudden wave of panic. “She’s getting rid of that tiny little dresser she has and got a new one. You’ve been complaining about it all week.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin brushed a few loose bits of hair from her forehead. “It hasn’t been all week.”

“Right, just the hours we’ve been together,” Lysandra said with an ironic sort of expression. In truth, the two had spent nearly every waking minute together in the hopes of getting the shop ready to open.

Scowling, Aelin made her way back to the door of the apartment. “Can’t believe you married her Aedion. C’mon, buzzard. I need help, apparently.”

“You can’t move a damn dresser by yourself?” Rowan groused. But he followed after her, shooting irritated looks over his shoulder no doubt.

“Be nice to each other!” Aedion called after. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

The door closed softly behind them. The hall was silent as they crossed the short distance to Aelin’s place. She was muttering under her breath the entire time about how annoying it was to have him in her apartment.

As soon as they entered Aelin’s apartment, Fleetfoot was on them. The dog, despite loving her mother to no end, went to Rowan with an excited flap of her tail. Rowan glared down at Fleetfoot in exasperation.

“Don’t you give your dog any attention?” He asked.

Aelin gave him the finger over her shoulder as she went to her room. “Get your ass in here and help me.”

Rowan cursed under his breath and followed. “Why do you need a new dresser anyways. The old one was fine.”

“Well someone told me it was too small. And someone said that how could a substantial amount of clothing even fit in the drawers I had. And that same someone told me that something had to change.” She leaned against her bedroom door and glared at him. “And that, dumbass, was you. So now I have a giant dresser that I don’t know what to do with. So really, this is all your fault.”

Rowan quirked a brow and looked down at her, but he said nothing.

For the past three months since Rowan had begun helping Lysandra in her shop, the two had started something. Something that neither knew how to define or explain. It involved quite a bit of kissing, sex, and staying over at one another’s apartments. And no one else in their friend group knew.

The previous week Rowan had made a comment about never having enough space for his things in Aelin’s place which had resulted in an uncomfortable conversation of defining what it was exactly they were doing together. It promptly led to ignored texts and phone calls.

“You got a new dresser,” Rowan said, finally.

Aelin dropped her eyes from his and turned slightly so she was leaning against the wall instead of the doorjamb. She looked into her room where the new dresser was standing at an awkward angle. She hadn’t quite known what to do with it so she’d left it half up against one wall and half blocking her closet. Rowan wasn’t supposed to find out about the dresser this way. Mostly because she didn’t want for it to be a big deal, even though it was...they’d danced around the idea of each other and being more than friends with benefits for so long that this—giving up space and a little bit of independence was huge.

Especially for Aelin.

“I just wanted some more space,” she said dismissively.

Rowan’s eyes were still on her. She could feel them burning into her. If she looked at him now, she was certain she would combust. There was always something about Rowan that made her feel different. That made her feel complete. It was strange to say. Especially after being on her own for so long. But being with him, even for the few short months, had given her a new sense of purpose and self that Aelin had never had before.

“More space?” Rowan asked, stepping closer to her.

Aelin chewed on her bottom lip and finally looked up. “Less space?”

Rowan grinned down at her, his body heat completely enveloping her as he pulled her to him.

Aelin went willingly, wrapping her arms around him and clinging to him tightly. It was slightly embarrassing how much she’d missed him. Even in this one week of being apart and not even texting had been unbearable.

With gentle hands, Rowan cupped her face and ran his calloused fingers over her cheeks. The feel of it caused Aelin to shiver and immediately want to burrow into him again. Rowan had other plans as he tilted her chin up and captured her lips with his.

Sighing happily, Aelin melted into his touch. She curled her fingers in his hair and pressed herself harder against him. Every other plan for the day went right out her head. None of it mattered when he was so close.

A loud knock sounded on the front door and Fenrys’ voice called out from the kitchen. “Have you two killed each other or what? Come on! Turkey’s getting cold.”

“We’re coming,” Rowan called out as Aelin pressed her lips into his neck, in part to suppress her grin and also because she wasn’t ready to let him go. “Galathynius can’t make up her mind.”

Aelin nipped at his skin with her teeth and his hands tightened on her hips.

“Finish after turkey, I didn’t spend all morning making yams for them to go to waste,” Fenrys yelled back. The front door slammed shut as he left.

Aelin couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her as she kissed her way back to Rowan’s lips. “I don’t want to go.”

Rowan pressed his forehead against hers, breath slightly uneven. “Unless you want to tell everyone about us.”

Shaking her head, Aelin sighed. “I’m not ready to share you.”

She of course already did share him with everyone, but Rowan seemed to grasp the underlying meaning of her words as he captured her mouth once more. The kiss was hot and deep and Aelin was ready to lock the door to her apartment and feign death or illness if it meant she could spend the day wrapped up in Rowan.

“Fireheart,” he whispered.

“Buzzard,” she replied.

He smiled against her lips before pulling back and running his thumb over her cheek. “Beautiful.”

“I look like hell,” she complained.

Rowan shook his head. “Beautiful,” he repeated before regretfully pulling away.

Aelin sighed before running her hands down his chest and interlocking he fingers with his, just for a moment.

“Stay the night?” she asked quietly.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “You just need help with that dresser.”

“True,” she admitted, “but I also missed you.”

Rowan nodded once before giving her a quick, chaste kiss. “C’mon or else we’ll really have to tell everyone about us.”

Sighing, Aelin pulled away completely. She left her room and made sure Fleetfoot was settled on the couch, and episode of “The Office” playing on the tv to keep the dog company.

Before they let her apartment, she looked back at Rowan with a determined gleam in her eyes. “Soon.”

“Soon,” Rowan agreed.

And they went back to being somewhat tolerable friends.

thanks for reading dears, i so appreciate the support and comments and everything!

tags: if i missed you let me know, by inbox/asks are always open

@tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow

#aelin and rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass #the fanfic no one asked for continues #aelin galathynius

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pl-panda · 5 years

Text

Damienette arranged marriage: part 12

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @thyladyanput for idea for Chat Damian and me for the plot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10

Part 11

Damienette arranged marriage: part 12

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

Marinette felt an excruciating pain in her chest. It was like her heart burned alive. She kicked Chat Noir right below the belt. He let go of her and stumbled back, this time falling onto the blanked an holding his manhood. Marinette also fell. A green light covered the general area of her heart.

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

The excruciating pain slowly died and light faded, but both still lingered. Marinette could feel her limbs stiffen to try and counter the pain. It was like she just survived a serious heart stroke.

She slowly managed to stand up. Chat d’amour was still lying, crying in pain from her two punches. Marinette got to the edge of the balcony and looked down. Her body was still hurting, but she managed to jump over the barrier and slide down the edge. Her beautiful red dress was dirtied and damaged, but she didn’t care. She had to get away. She had to escape. But she was still too close. She had to get down. But she was three storeys above the ground. It took her only a moment to make the decision to jump.

People who were down there watched in fear as young girl fall from the roof. Marinette had to think fast. She cursed herself internally that she left her bag at Chloe. Tikki was still there. She did not plan on leaving in this outfit. She loved the dress, but there was a need for some accessories. Specifically, a place for Tikki. Acting in panic she tried to grab herself onto some sill, but it did little to actually work. She was sure she would smash into the ground.

Hard pavement came much to fast. She only managed to slightly bend her knees and extend her legs to minimize the impact. When she came into contact, the momentum pushed her into the ground and she felt immense pain in her soles, but to her relief she was able to walk. And more importantly, to run. All of her person was full of pain and each step felt like walking barefoot on broken glass, but the fear of what would happen if the Akuma caught her won over physical discomfort. She had to get away. She had to get to the hotel. Marinette needed Tikki. And more importantly she had to check if Damian was safe. Oh Kwami! Damian! He tried to defend me and Chat threw him at the wall! He must have been hurt badly. He doesn’t have miraculous to protect him!

But what mattered most was that she had to stop Chat. She couldn’t let him harm anyone because of her. He was doing it because she rejected him. He got akumatized over the fact that Ladybug rejected her and then apparently he shifted his focus on Marinette, only for her to publicly start dating Damian! But that was no reason to wreck the whole city. To get akumatized! To try and kiss her!

She shuddered at the memory. This was not okay. Marinette remembered her panic. In the hindsight, maybe breaking his nose was not a sign enough… I will go straight to castration if it ever happens again. Great. Now I sound like Damian…

“So your mother is some cult leader that decided to play a matchmaker?” Chloe asked in disbelief. “Ridiculous! Utterly Ridiculous! And why Dupain-Cheng? I mean I… What does she brings into it? How would your mother even know about her?”

“I am not sure.” Damian admitted. He operated on half-truths since the beginning of the talk. “Maybe that’s exactly why. Marinette has heart of gold and she doesn’t care about people’s past, their status or family. She just looks at them and what they have inside.” He spoke from his own experience. She didn’t care that his mother was the one who forced him into this. She apologized for inconvenience she caused him.

“But why her? There must be thousands of girls like her that would entail at least some benefit…”

“I can assure you miss Bourgeois that there is no one like her.”

“I guess…“ She wanted to say more, but seeing Damian start to glare through the window angry made her stop. Now there was the brooding ball of angst she heard so much about.

The whole talk while waiting for the ambulance was taking too freaking long for his liking. They sat here for almost half an hour by now. He could only guess that Akuma attack was making things hard, but he had no idea why since no one besides him was hurt to his knowledge. It was like people stopped caring about them. He tried to call Drake again, but there was no answer whatsoever. It was almost like they were isolated from the rest of the world.

The realization dawned on him. He was a complete idiot. The idiocy on par with that of Drake. “Nobody is coming. I think I know lover cat’s powers.” He stated

“Then talk instead of sitting there like an utter idiot!”

“Isolation. He wants to have Marinette only for himself, but this idiot probably used his powers on us too!” Damian was fuming. Chat not only tried to take Marinette against her will, but his whole goal was to make her separate from everyone. Screw the rules, he would gut him and worry about the consequences later.

Standing up he felt pain rush through his leg. Damian frowned, but he used his sword in scabbard to support himself. That is until Chloe pushed him back to the bed.

“You are not going anywhere Lover Boy. Last thing I need is you making Dupain-Cheng a widow before she turns sixteen.”

“Why are you suddenly so defensive of her?” Damian scowled at the blonde. From what he knew, she was not the kind type. And he didn’t buy the sudden ‘change of heart’ thing.

“Because I don’t want to be alone! I want to have friends! I know I am utterly ridiculous, but I want to have real friends! She was ready to just forgive me and defend me! I want… I want to repay her!”

“Then man up and help me get to my room. I need to call one person who can help us.” Damian snarled. He was still unconvinced, but it seemed that it didn’t matter. It was that or leaving Marinette alone with the French Psycho #2. Blonde frowned, but helped him nonetheless.

They arrived at his room and Damian got a reinforced case from under his bed. He made sure to open it just a little bit and snatch the satelite phone and smash it back locked before Chloe saw the kevlar suit inside. It was enough revelations because he fucked up today anyway. His brothers would not let him live the fact that he revealed the marriage anyway. If he also outed himself as Robin, he would probably just return to being a hermit in the mountains. It would sure be easier than the scolding from father and jokes from his brothers.

He pulled the phone and pressed several buttons. After scanning his finger, the screen came to life. He picked the number and called. After two rings a muffled voice came from the other side.

“Yeah yeah. I need Superboy so drag your tired ass here this instant!”

“~~~~”

“I don’t care what your father said!”

“~~~~”

“Eh… My wife is in trouble… I hear one tease from you and I am asking father for Kryptonite knuckle dusters for birthday!”

There was a sound of incoming plane and suddenly someone crashed through the window. The boy wore a zipp-up jacket with Superman logo, jeans trousers and had ruffled black hair. He was about thirteen, maybe fourteen.

“‘tsup?”

“Shut up Superboy.” Damian frowned. He had to restrain himself not to out Kent in front of the irritating girl. He wished he just got Mari home when he had a chance.

“I though we were on the first-name basis Robin!”

The sound of Damian’s facepalm could be heard in Fortress of Solitude.

——————————————————————————————————–

Taglist (sorry if I missed you)@pheonixashtree @sassakitty @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @maggiecc12 @actualdisasterwoman @tired-butterfly @shizukiryuu @floralfi @imanerddealwith @northernbluetongue @krispydefendorpolice @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @bluesoulblueheart @theatreandcomicfreak @disneyfoxuniverse @mindfulmagics @alwaysnumberonetruth @nyaabinch @jardimazul @lenamau @rosep16 @dramatic-squirrel @sonif50 @daminett4life @lulutheawkwardess @weird-pale-blonde-person @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @mochegato @moonlightstar64 @dragonflyswing @silverwhiteraven @shamefullove @magic-miraculous @valeks-princess @heaven428 @mlbchaosqueen @winter-gardenflower @spicybelladonna @emo-elaine13 @vetilora @karukofox21 @my-name-is-michell @sturchling @lokiifriggasonn @redscarlet95 @melicmusicmagic @interobanginyourmom @the-fusionist @razzledazzle247 @miss-mysterys-blog @darkthunder1589 @i-is-mysterious @catthhay @the-one-woman-army @zestyzealot @dahjokester @write-for-your-life2 @mermaidreject @peachedpocky @sassakitty @dahjokester @crazylittlemunchkin @novicevoice @justafanwarrior @eliza-bitch @schrodingers25

#mlb x dc #maribat au #maribat #arranged marriage au #crossover #guardian!marinette #batman #damienette #marinette x damian #league of assassins #order of the guardians #mlb #miraculous lb #miraculous ladybug

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swampofiniquity · 4 years

Text

Warning Signs (Leon Kennedy x Reader

Part Two of Point / Counterpoint

Rated: Teen and Up

Word Count: 2,088

Cross-posted from AO3

Summary: Leon calls you for a favor and your night devolves from there.

Part One

You hated driving through D.C.

It was always a nightmare of clueless tourists, reckless locals that had lost their regard for personal safety, and insane taxi driver’s that you swore must have all been taught by the same drunk asshole of a driver’s ed instructor. The lights never went your way, half the time a block or whole street would be closed for a parade or movie shoot or some other inconvenience. A couple of years of living in the city had taught you two things.

One - America needed to invest more in public transportation. And two - never try to drive anywhere in rush hour traffic.

The last of which meant Leon Kennedy owed you big time.

If any other human being had asked you to pick them up between the hours three and seven pm, you’d have laughed and given them directions to the nearest Metro station. People who you would otherwise not think twice about taking a bullet for either needed to wait until a more reasonable traffic hour, or find alternate transportation. But Leon was different.

While technically your superior at the DSO, he was also your best friend and a man that so rarely asked for help that his phone call asking you to come pick him up from the White House was practically the equivalent of spotting a unicorn running through the National Mall.

He had just gotten back from nearly two weeks of grueling back-to-back international peace summits with the president and apparently the pair had decided to celebrate their success by cracking open a bottle of executive bourbon. Now Leon needed someone with a high enough security clearance to come pick his exhausted, drunk ass up and take it the fuck home. You had the lucky distinction of being the first person he called.

And yeah, you kinda also owed him for watching your cat last time you had an out of country assignment. So, you hopped in the car, fully prepared to curse and rage your way through an infuriating hour or so of whiteknuckle fun.

Mercifully, Leon was waiting for you outside when you finally made it through the security gate. He was wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses you had never seen before, despite the sun having gone down at least an hour ago, and was leaning crookedly up against a wall like he was fighting gravity on a sinking ship. It was somehow both alarming and utterly hilarious. You couldn’t remember the last time you'd ever seen him so out of sorts and had to fight the urge to document the moment for posterity. Or blackmail.

You rolled the window down as you pulled up beside him. "Hey sailor," you sang, as he struggled to push himself upright. "Need a ride?"

"Why am I already regretting this?" Leon grumbled, his scratchy voice about a whole octave lower than normal. Despite clearly being wasted he managed to shove himself and his duffel bag into your car without incident.

"Oh please, you missed me and you know it." You flashed him a cheeky grin, that he subtly returned.

"That’s presumptuous." He fumbled with the seat-belt for a moment before finally managing to get the latch to click.

You leaned across the console and pinched the meat of his arm through his jacket in retaliation, before pulling him into the closest approximation of a hug you could manage with the seat-belt pulling you back. It had been more than a month since you'd been this close to the man and seeing him again, alive and whole, made your chest clench unexpectedly.

Leon hummed and returned the embrace, burying his face in your hair. He was so warm, but a shiver still went up your spine as you felt his breath on your neck. "Good to see you too, gorgeous."

It was something he had always called you, a leftover from the early days of your relationship when Leon tried relentlessly and futilely to seduce you into bed with him. Something you had heard more than enough times to render it practically meaningless. And normally, it wouldn't affect you in the slightest, but the fact that you were in his arms and could feel his words as clearly as you could hear them, made the pet name seem so much more intimate.

You cleared your throat and pulled back, praying you didn't come off as awkward as you suddenly felt. "Yeah, well uh good… let's get you home then."

_________________________________________________________

A dark, humid night had long since set in by the time you pulled up to Leon’s building just outside of the main metropolitan area and only about a ten minute walk from your own apartment. After a very graceful and coordinated trek up the three flights of stairs to his door, you used your key and let yourself in, stepping aside for Leon and his duffel bag to slink past.

“You want me to order you some food or something? That new pizza place down the street finally opened up while you were gone.” You flipped on his living room light just in time to see Leon go limp and flop face down on his couch.

He let out a dramatic groan and went still.

“You dead?” You asked, fighting back a smile. He hadn’t even bothered to kick his boots off, opting instead to rest them on a throw pillow like an animal. “After all that effort to pick you up across town and bring you back here...”

“Mmmmphm,” he grumbled into the cushion before turning his head so you could actually understand him. “Yeah, very dead, sorry.”

“What am I going to tell your boyfriend, the president?” You bent down and removed his shoes, tossing them vaguely towards the door before lifting his legs and taking a seat beneath them.

There was a lot of very dignified flailing and wriggling as Leon turned himself over onto his back to level a glare up at you. “Not boyfriends.”

This was one of the reasons why you loved drunk Leon. Normally, he’d barely acknowledge your stupid jokes and attempts at teasing, but give the man a few too many drinks and he became the perfect target for a little friendly ribbing. You couldn’t help yourself. “You’re right, I forgot he’s married. So that’d make you his side piece.”

A pillow grazed the top of your head as it soared past you. “Rude.”

“Sorry, work wife?”

Another pillow, this one aimed a little better, hit you in the shoulder and bounced off onto the floor. You laughed. “Hey, just because he is never going to leave her for you doesn’t mean you can just throw things at me!”

“I’m out of pillows anyway,” Leon responded. Then he raised one of the socked feet on your lap up, nearly touching your nose. You squealed and grabbed his ankle, trying to save your face, but despite your efforts you still caught a whiff of the not-so-pleasant aroma of a foot that had spent most of the day stuck in a boot during international travel.

“That is so gross.” You glared at his smirking face.

While you were distracted, Leon snuck his other foot up and managed to gently caress your cheek. Squealing again, you jerked away. “Oh I’m going to make you for real dead, Kennedy!”

He laughed as you slipped out from under his legs and snatched one the pillows he had thrown at you off the floor. You stood over him, just out of his reach. “Apologize,” you demanded, pillow raised threateningly.

“Ha, you first.” Leon sat up, folding his arms across his chest.

You cocked your arm back and brought the pillow down hard, aiming to hit him in the stomach, but even drunk Leon was too fast. He caught the pillow and jerked it back, bringing you toppling down onto his lap. At the last second, you managed to brace your hand on the back of the couch to avoid knocking foreheads.

“Careful now.” Two strong hands latched onto your hips to still your squirming as you tried to right yourself. “Watch your knees down there.”

Your skin felt flushed as you caught his meaning. “Sorry,” you muttered, feeling embarrassed around him in a way you hadn’t in years. You gingerly adjusted your knees that were dangerously close to his crotch and moved so they were on either side of his thighs.

And boy was that position just so much worse. You resisted the urge to hide your hot face in his neck. Your brain was working overtime, rationalizing that the only reason you were this affected by straddling your best friend had to be the current dry spell plaguing your love life. That was the only plausible explanation for the sudden awareness of all the places Leon’s body was in contact with your own.

“That’s better,” he said quietly, warm hands still firm on your hips.

The air suddenly felt heavy, thick like you were trapped under a woolen blanket in the summertime. You could practically hear the alarm bells going off. This was dangerous territory.

Fighting back panic, you lifted your head up to face him, fully intending to crack another stupid joke or make fun of him, anything to ease the tension that had fallen. But the look in his eyes made the words stick to your tongue like a carpet tack.

Leon slowly gathered a lock of your hair that had fallen into your face and tucked it behind your ear. His hand lingered on your neck. “Hey there.”

“Hi” you breathed, heart beating double time in your chest. You were frozen, completely unable to move even if you had wanted to.

“You’re so soft,” Leon’s voice rumbled out, as he ever so gently ran his hand across your neck and under your chin, the calluses on his fingers catching on your skin like fine grain sandpaper. Goosebumps erupted at his touch and you bit back a contented sigh.

“T-thanks,” you muttered, closing your eyes and tilting your head back as you let him explore your skin. It felt so good being touched so tenderly, so affectionately, that it didn’t matter who was behind it.

A gentle yet firm hand on the back of your neck brought you closer, the fingers tightening as Leon pressed his lips against yours. You shuddered, your body wound so tightly that you were afraid you’d snap at any moment. This was a bad idea for more reasons than you could count, but you were finding it impossible to care in the moment.

It wasn’t until the kiss deepened, when you parted your lips and tasted the bourbon on Leon’s tongue that you came to your senses. He was drunk and you were sober. What the hell was wrong with you?

You scrambled off his lap, feeling your stomach churn with shame and embarrassment. “Oh god.”

Your sudden movement must have jolted Leon back to some semblance of normal as well because he cleared his throat, looking sheepish. “I’m a drunken asshole. I am so sorry. ”

“No, I shouldn’t have-”

“But it was clearly my-”

You both started and trailed off, stewing for a long moment in your collective chagrin. Neither of you had a protocol for accidentally making out with your best friend. The only sound in the room was the distant droning of cicadas in the humid night outside before you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Um maybe we forget this happened?” Your voice sounded so small to your own ears.

Leon perked up. “Yes, good. Nothing to talk about because it never happened.”

You nodded enthusiastically, trying not to let how quickly he latched onto the idea sting. You recommended it for fuck’s sake. “Exactly.”

Leon let out a huge breath and slumped back into the couch. “I either need another drink or to sleep for ten years. Or both.”

“Well, best of luck with that. I’m going to head out.” You made a show of patting your pockets for your car keys, still feeling horribly awkward.

Leon frowned, but otherwise didn’t move from his prone position. “Okay. Wanna catch lunch tomorrow?” He asked, finishing the question around a yawn.

“Yeah, call me.” Normally you would have hugged him or kissed his cheek, but the thought of getting in his personal space again made your skin feel too tight, so you settled on a halfhearted wave. “Goodnight, Leon.”

“Night gorgeous.”

You spent the whole ride home fighting the stupid grin that kept trying to creep onto your face.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy fanfiction #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfic

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howemancing · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday?

I was tagged by @dalishkadan. I tag uh. @thedascharlatan, @allisondraste, This is somewhat a sneak preview for my main fic, but I’m also not sure I’m gonna keep it - it’s an intense chapter and this might be a little too off the main point of the chapter. It’s WIP, so clearly editing hasn’t happened yet. A flashback scene in progress - maybe the last I’ll do for awhile?

Elsa Cousland, 9 years ago

Grey eyes stared at me, stony, cold, and full of threat. My throat felt suddenly drier; what had I done to piss Nathaniel off this time? It had been a long time since I’d made him so genuinely angry.

My grip tightened on my daggers, holding them ready. I could see him do likewise, eyes narrowed.

“You can do this, pup,” Father cheered me from the sidelines.

Rendon chuckled, casting a sidelong glance. “Are you so certain she needs the encouragement, my lord?”

Papa clapped him on the back cheerfully. “Probably not, old friend, but a father can’t help be proud of their child. I admit, I’m rooting against yours, now.”

Rendon chuckled, but my focus was back on Nathaniel, who was openly scowling at this point.

“Are you...alright?” I asked, hesitant.

“Focus on the match,” he chided me immediately. Which, rude, but he wasn’t wrong.

I nodded, getting into a ready stance.

“Begin,” Rendon’s voice snapped out.

In a flash, Nathaniel came at me harder than I’d ever seen before. The ferocity of it almost made me lose the match right there, but a particularly aggressive moment on his part left a wide opening I could brutally punish with a kick, buying myself a moment of breath.

“Attagirl, Pup!” Father called cheerfully, while Nathaniel scowled harder.

I stared at him, trying to divine what was wrong, but after a moment, realized it didn’t matter. Father was here. Father was going to decide if I’d learned anything after all. I had to prove myself, prove that I hadn’t wasted my years, that I wasn’t the silly, frivolous girl Rendon thought I was.

Everything was riding on this moment. I wouldn’t let even Nathaniel stand in my way.

I met his eyes, then, determined. In his own I saw understanding - and, confusingly, hurt. Clearly I’d erred somehow, but I’d have to find out why, later. This match mattered. And if Nathaniel wanted to bring his all to stop me, well, I could appreciate the challenge. And I’d rise above it.

Unusually for us, no taunts were exchanged, no words spoken. Nathaniel’s practice daggers flashed out, continuously intent on striking the killing blows which would end the match. I ducked and wove around them. Thomas had given me more than enough training in someone who just wanted to do whatever it took to stop me. Coming from Nathaniel, it was surprising, but - this was Nathaniel.

I was missing something, and as much as I wanted to focus, my brain couldn’t help pick apart the knot of whatever was wrong with my friend. It took me a moment, but finally I realized - he just wanted to push me, to give me every chance in the world of showing off exactly how much I had learned.

A savage grin took me, finally stumbling upon this realization, and the last chain holding me back fell away. Nathaniel was holding nothing back. Why should I?

I struck out, sliding my dagger in between the gaps in his defense I’d noted, beginning to score on him more and more. His frustrations only seemed to grow, which I didn’t quite understand, but it didn’t matter. The match was steadily turning in my favor. Nathaniel usually had a plan, and tended to get easily unsettled when things threw him off - and grumpy, too.

I could use that.

One particularly keen moment locked us, and I felt him trying to bear his entire strength down on me, which felt a bit unfair, as he had 5 years and a few stone on me.

“I’ve always admired you,” I said quietly, and his eyes widened, startled. I used that moment, hooking out a leg and breaking his stance.

“But I won’t let you stop me,” I finished, shoving hard at the right moment, forcing his stumble back.

It was enough of a weakness, and I pounced, practice daggers flashing faster then they ever had before. A particular energy had taken hold of me. Rendon had never believed in me, but couldn’t I prove myself, now? I was good. I was very good, I knew I was. Nathaniel believed in me - why else would he come after me so hard? I would show them all.

Nathaniel, my rival, my best friend (with Delilah!), the boy I’d been silly enough to have a crush on, thankfully one I was finally getting over. But he was smart, talented, and I would prove I was his equal. No, that I was better. Maybe there were some things he could still beat me in, and he was probably a better rogue than me, but like Thomas always said, I was a freakishly violent girl. I could do this.

It wasn’t easy. He was probably my fiercest challenge to date. But in the end, I was more prepared for his ferocity than he was mine, and the match ended when I dumped him on his butt and slammed forward, dagger hovering at his neck.

My father let out a loud whoop, but Nathaniel just squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. And it began to occur to me that Nathaniel very much hadn’t wanted to lose.

“Ashes, Nate, what’s wrong?” I muttered, dagger still hovering, hesitant, at his neck.

“Nothing,” he lied, refusing to meet my eyes. “Congratulations on your victory.”

Father congratulated me with a whoop and a fierce hug, which squished all the giggles out of me as I clung right back to him.

“Didja see, didja see-?” I began, and father laughed louder, kissing my cheek.

“Old friend, you’ve trained her wonderfully,” he congratulated my mentor. “Better than your own son, I noticed!”

“Thank you, my lord,” Rendon replied evenly. Nathaniel stood up, brushing himself off, looking bitter.

Oh. Oh.

Sod it all. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I found him later by our tree, angrily chucking stones into the lake.

“Hey,” I said hesitantly, unsure. He had to be aware of my approach, and yet he’d said nothing.

“Good match,” he said evenly, chucking another stone.

“What’s-”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he asserted immediately, lying.

I stamped a foot. “Nate,” I objected, stealing the next stone before he could chuck it. He blinked, looking at his hands, before glancing to me, sighing.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m being an ass.”

“A little,” I agreed solemnly, and he scowled, before a rueful expression took his face. “But I was an ass too, I shouldn’t’ve-”

“This isn’t your fault,” he interrupted me quietly. “Honestly. You did - you did everything right.”

“So what’s-”

“I’ll miss you,” he told me, and it was excuse enough; I launched myself at him and hugged him tightly.

“I’m not gone, you goose, just going home,” I pointed out. “You can visit me any time. You and Delilah. In fact, I insist!”

He chuckled faintly, reverberating his ribcage pleasantly, arms tightening around me. It began to provoke inconvenient feelings in me, so I disengaged. He sighed, shoulders slumping as he allowed it, eyes drifting to the lake. “It’s...going to be a little hard to visit, soon,” he said gently.

“See, that’s why you should come in late fall, and then, oops! Guess you can’t travel and you’ll have to stay in Highever all winter,” I informed him cheerfully. “I can’t wait to show you everything, home is so pretty, and our hounds are WAY better, and we have so many beautiful trees, and...hey. Why do you look so glum?”

His hands twitched, and for a concerning second, I thought he wanted to fold me into another hug.

I probably wouldn’t have resisted, which said something about me. I really needed to explain to Nathaniel to stop flirting so much, but - it was my fault, really, for getting carried away, and anyway, it wouldn’t matter, soon, right?

But instead he just shrugged helplessly. “I...don’t think that will work,” he claimed, and I sighed. Neither he nor Delilah were keen to visit me, and I didn’t really understand why, but letting them know I was hurt would just be rude.

“Of course,” I said simply. “Well, I hope you’ll find the time to visit me at some point.”

“You’ll still visit us, right?”

I gave him a wan smile. “Any time, Nate. Just...just ask.”

“Ok. Ok, then,” he said quietly. A faint smile crinkled his eyes, which seemed - stormier than usual. “You did amazingly, today.”

“YEAH I did,” I crowed gloriously, pleased he had recognized as much.

“I bet so many nobles are going to want to marry you, now that you’re going back home,” he pointed out, and I shoved him, hard.

“I’ll make you eat dirt again, I will,” I threatened him.

He chuckled, faintly, and with a surprising lack of grace for Nathaniel, plopped down on the ground, and after a moment, I came to sit next to him. “I’ve dreaded this day for so long,” he confided in me. And I blinked.

Then sighed. Damn these boys and their damnable pride. “Nathaniel, you’re still a much better rogue than me,” I admitted, words galling, but he deserved the honesty. “If you’d had real daggers, if you’d wanted to kill me - th’match would have been over much quicker. I just went for your weaknesses and tricked victory out of you.”

“Elsa!” he said, shocked. “I don’t-”

“Want to hurt me, I know,” I groused, rolling my eyes. “I just mean - I’m gonna have an advantage in friendly matches. ‘Specially against people I know. But when it counts, if you were up against a real bad guy...well, I’m very glad we’re friends, is all.”

“You wouldn’t have to leave if we were engaged!” he burst out.

I stared at him. And blinked. And fought the sudden tears in my eyes. Dang rogues, why did he always have to go for my weakest parts?

“Oh - oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” he said quickly

I laughed, forced. “Don’t joke like that, Nate, it’s rude.”

“I…” he said, trailing off. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“I forgive you,” I told him immediately.

“Liar,” he whispered. “I keep hurting you and you keep forgiving me, and-”

“Nate,” I breathed, aggrieved. “You’re making a big deal out of it. Stop. I said I forgive you and I mean it. You’re my friend, I don’t - I don’t want to be mad at you.”

“Oh.”

Silently we sat, staring at the water before us, Nathaniel a gloomy cloud next to me.

“I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished here,” I said quietly, wishing my friend would just be happy for me. “Even if - even if your dad thinks I’m silly, I’m - I’ve learned a lot. And I’m happy I’m going home. I missed my family, Nate,” I said quietly.

He hunched over, lower. “Oh. Maker. I’m such a selfish ass.”

Considering he was getting all contrary about visiting me and expected me to drop everything and visit him - “You are,” I agreed.

His scowl deepened, and somehow the shadows seemed to grow. “Are you going to forgive me for that too?”

I snorted, giving him a sidelong look, assuming he was teasing, but he just glared ahead. “Only if you come visit,” I teased him.

A spark of life appeared in his eyes, then. “Ok. That’s fair.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He never did end up visiting me, but he had a pretty good excuse. Not long after I left I got a letter, informing me he was going to go all the way to Starkhaven to start knight training. I may have thrown myself onto the bed and sobbed a bit when I read that. But he asked me to come visit to see him off, and there was really only one response.

Seeing the Howes again was fun, though of course Thomas challenged me to a sparring match right away and the cad tried to turn it into overly touchy wrestling. Unluckily for him, I suddenly remembered I didn’t have to care about pissing him off too much such that he’d whine to his father, so I simply caught him in an unforgiving headlock and choked him out, dropping him unceremoniously to the dirt when I finished.

Delilah claimed time, as apparently Nathaniel was getting his clothes fixed by Adraia, and had borrowed Helma from Delilah as well, so she found it only fair to borrow me.

We laughed and giggled and swapped stories about Nathaniel, both of us keen to avoid admitting how much we’d miss him.

“Did you ever tell him how you used to feel?” Delilah asked me.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m over it, Delilah, what’s the point in bringing that old story up?”

“I guess,” Delilah agreed, flouncing back on her bed, legs kicking out. “It’s still be cute though.”

I giggled. “You’re such a silly romantic,” I teased her. “What do you want me to do, write a love letter?”

“Elsa, no!” she protested, offended.

“Oh dearest Nate, my heart yearns the hardest, it burns so burningly,” I began performatively.

“Elsaaaaa!” she whined, standing up and stamping her foot. “You can’t confess through letters, that’s just wrong.”

“Didn’t what’shiface confess to what’sherface through a letter?” I pointed out slyly.

“Exactly,” Delilah agreed. “It went TERRIBLY. See-”

I quickly waved my hands in surrender. “No, please, don’t try to tell me about that book more, it’s rotting your brain.”

“I’m just saying,” Delilah pouted. “You’re friends. You shoulda told him properly, is all.”

I giggled. “I’m glad I didn’t. That would have been SO mortifying.”

“But-”

“Lilah, c’mon.” My eyes slid from hers, and her mouth snapped shut, apparently my tone was more serious than I meant to reveal. “I’m not as brave as you think I am.”

She sighed, and came to sit next to me, arm around my shoulder, and we sat in silence. “I’ll miss him.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and with effort, I forced them back. “Me too,” I whispered.

#Nathaniel Howe #elsa cousland #fanfiction #wip #delilah howe

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