#but a cinematic masterpiece if you can stomach the crime | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

Text

good little omega

— He was an alpha, you were an omega. Can I make it anymore obvious? He was a crime boss and you were a movie star. What more can I say? Oh, he wanted you, really wanted you, but you swore you would never, ever need an alpha.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: alpha!shigaraki tomura x omega fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, abo/omegaverse, chad alpha!shiggy, virgin celeb!reader, kidnapping, drugging, sex slave auction, biting/marking, belly bulge, knotting, sex toys, heat, implied murder (lol rip shigsters last omegas), mind break, breeding, degradation, finger fucking, fucking in front of a crowd, modern world!au

word count: 6,174

a/n: this goes out to my shiggy stans. I never understood you until recently and now I blush like a schoolgirl when I see him. mondays are so busy, are they not? ive been home for 6 hours today wtf????

kinktober day 12 main kink: abo/omegaverse | kinktober masterlist

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You sat before the mirror, your eyes intently staring at your reflection. The people around you running around, chaotically bringing brushes and pencils to your face, the smell of chemicals in the air, tickling your overly sensitive nose.

“Are we ready?! Is Y/n ready?! I don’t think she’s ready?! We need to be out of here in five minutes, people, let’s hurry it up!”

Breaking your gaze from your reflection onto your agent in the background, you sighed softly at the growing sour and distressed omega pheromones. Oh, you realized suddenly, your nose unable to keep from scrunching at the mildewy detergent scent, they were really stressed out.

Today was the night of the biggest award show one could attend as a movie star celebrity in Japan. The Motion Picture Awards gave only the most prestigious and prodigious actors and actresses their due. A night of fashion, alcohol, and nervous pheromone pumping alphas and betas in a single room to reveal who was the best this year. Working in an industry such as your own, you had become quite the living legend already at the mere age of twenty-two.

As an omega, you grew up in a society that banned you from enlisting or attempting to join the ranks of the best in just about every field of focus or study. So that even included the area of acting. Casting Directors had always said the same thing each and every time you were forced to present your secondary gender to them all when being called back for auditions.

‘Omegas can’t be movie stars, your heats are too often and too long, they cause rifts in filming schedules this project cannot afford.’

‘We have too many prime alphas on set. Our film's projected main character is an alpha, we wouldn’t want to be caught up in a lawsuit should she find you to be too… fertile.’

‘Omegas can only be good, suitable nurtures and well, mothers. This movie just seems a bit too intense for a little omega like you!’

Omegas can’t do this, omegas can’t do that. Alphas, the pride of society, couldn’t be made to hold themselves back to your alluring scent and occasional heats. Betas, the majority of the population, didn’t feel a challenge when working alongside omegas. Omegas? Well, if there were any that actually existed within the film industry, they were for sure never heard from, or seen of.

At the age of eighteen, you had nearly given up on your long aspiring desire to become the first omega actor or actress to ever grace the scene. But just as you were ready to tell your agent that you were tired of all of the same, repetitive bullshit, a gentle alpha had approached you with an exciting role in mind for you.

Movies and cinematic films had always showcased omegas as sweet, nurturing individuals. For the most part, you agreed that that’s how you omegas were. You enjoyed hugging your close friends, scenting them softly as means of a small pack you had created as none of you were mated this young, yet didn’t ever wish to be bothered by self-righteous alphas or betas. Through many, many biology courses revolving around your secondary gender, you knew that the hormones that made you an omega also affected the brain to accept and view things in a… softer light. But unlike what they taught in school, and unlike what the alphas in society knew about omegas as they could never honestly watch an omega in heat while alone, was that omegas weren’t always the most nurturing or kind.

The week before your heat, the week of, and the week following your heat, you were always irritable, angry, almost cold. You’d flash your small fangs at anyone who dared to approach you with a scent you hated, your heat room never once escaping with everything torn to shreds, and you definitely did not wish to seek any fiber of soft love.

So when the alpha male sat in front of you, a single fang poking out of his lip as he exposed his neck in a motion of vulnerability and conceding to you — the omega — you knew he was serious.

He explained to you his plan on creating a more realistic movie surrounding the brutal truths of what being a single omega was like. Films had, after all, had always depicted omegas as being mated the moment they presented and going as far as saying that there were others means to be coupled to other alphas without actually being marked. It was atrociously wrong of the omega lifestyle, and it always made your stomach curl to see that it was an alpha or a beta actor putting on the role.

But he wanted to focus on the realities. The anger, sadness, and horrors you could face as a single, unmated omega. The director raved that you were the face for that movie and had a soul that made him come seek you out. And without so much as consultation from your agent, you agreed on the spot.

The title of the film had been an ironic one. Good Little Omega was what it was called in the end.

All in all, the movie had done poorly in the eyes of the critics. Many individuals — namely alphas and betas — claimed that the depiction of omegas within the film had been horribly wrong. Omegas were never sad, never homeless, never abandoned by society! That’s what they had all cried the moment the trailer flashed with bright letters:

AND INTRODUCING: Y/L/N Y/N (Ω)

Still, the movie made billions as many went to watch it because they ‘needed to see how horrible the movie was.’ They wanted proof that omegas weren’t cut as movie stars because how could someone who was out of commission for a week every two months be proactive on set. But all they got was a cinematic masterpiece.

You had taken a claim in the industry, one while small, that hadn’t hurt that much because you were much more focused on the fact that you now were a household name. Well, that is until you were nominated for the awards ceremony you were currently about to attend, only that it was the one from four years ago.

You were the first omega actress and now the first omega nominee. You hadn’t won, but that had solidified the step you had in the door. After that, the interests to hire you in omega roles came pouring through the door.

But you were brought back to reality when the setting spray splashed against your face, your eyes fluttering when they covered your scent glands with the flesh-colored band-aids they got for you. Alphas could never complain about you being a distraction if you smelled the same as betas.

Rising to your feet, you smiled graciously to your makeup and styling team, thanking them profusely as your agent placed her hand at the small of your back and began pushing you towards the exit.

“Goodluck!”

“Thank you!”

Shigaraki glared down the table of averted eyes, and his hands brought up under his chin twitched at his annoyance.

“Are you going to say anything, or are we going to remain silent?” he asked, his voice quiet yet heavy in all of their ears as they flinched. “Don’t think you’re going to get away without giving me an answer.”

The sour smell of fearful alphas should have corroded Shigaraki’s nose. It should have done something to unsettle the way that the young head sat on his black leather seat. But as a matter of fact, the young alpha had to resist the way he wanted to bare his teeth in a bloodied smile, his red eyes slit in his cruel lust for fear.

“O-Of course not, a-alpha!” croaked one of the smaller alphas down the table. Shigaraki snapped his eyes towards the yellow-haired croony, his neck exposed for the alpha, eyes refusing to look at his leader. “I-It’s just that, um, I — I mean, we don't know w-what happened to your mate!”

“I thought I gave clear and distinct instructions that you were supposed to have found them by this meeting,” Shigaraki stated, his voice somehow growing colder, meaner yet never once changing as his hands dropped from his chin to rest on the arms of his chair. He tilted his head, watching the pathetic alphas quiver like some scared, stupid omega. “Useless. Get out of here before I change my mind on killing you all where you sit.”

The crowd of alphas left quicker than Shigaraki could blink, leaving behind the reeking smell of scared alpha pheromones.

“Tomura-kun, you killed your mate,” came the singsong giggle from behind him, and Shigaraki didn’t bother turning around, his nose and ears sharp enough to pick up exactly it was behind him.

“They’re all a bunch of pissy lackeys,” Shigaraki simply stated, his eyes rolling as he slowly fell to the back of his chair, red eyes meeting golden ones that shone with mirth and joy. “What do you want, Toga?”

Toga leaned against the leather armrest, uncaring that Shigaraki hated his personal space invaded. The young female was an alpha, much like most of the people within this gang group, but unlike the others, she had a distinct, almost terrifying way to change the way she smelled. She could smell like anyone or any secondary gender. She often preferred to smell like an omega too.

“We have a guest visiting us today!” Toga chirped, her fingers clasping together. “I wanted to introduce him!”

“Bring Giran in,” Shigaraki snapped, his eyes narrowing with no real malice for the alpha next to him who simply pouted at the surprise — not a surprise — being ruined. Giran reeked of cigarettes and cheap body sprays that, when wafted with his distinct omega pheromones, made Shigaraki want to throw up. “Hurry up.”

“UGH!”

Shigaraki’s mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes watching as one of his most trusted allies walked to the table, and taking a seat in the abandoned chairs as Toga purred in happiness, sitting on the armchair of Giran’s chair, arms enveloping him.

“Shigaraki, how are you doing?” Giran smiled, the cigarette that seemed to take a permanent residence in his teeth moving with his words. “I came bearing some great news.”

“What do you have for me?” Shigaraki simply states, his eyes focusing on the letter that is unpocketed from Giran’s pockets and placed onto the table. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to sell me your omega niece again.”

Giran chuckled, looking at Toga, who was smirking softly, “I guess he still hates that joke, huh?”

“Absolutely livid!” Toga laughed.

Shigaraki growled, his mind and his inner alpha snarling at the lack of respect to the command of his question. He outranked them, outpowered them; they needed to respect his orders.

Giran took a deep inhale of his cigarette, sliding the card over to Shigaraki, his eyes averted, but his stance still firm. “I know you go through omegas faster than a teenage boy goes through a pack of tissues, but I think this can answer the pleas you have at night.”

Observing the card in his hand, Shigaraki scowls, unsure of how to feel about the print on the invitation.

“Say the word, and I’ll get you a seat,” Giran whispers, like a sinister god begging a mere mortal to sign over their life for something completely worthless. But Shigaraki knows his worth, and more importantly, he knows in this game he outranks Giran, who would never betray him. In the slightest. He huffs, his back hunched, and his eyes looking with subdued excitement.

“Who else is showing up?”

Giran knows the seat will be wanted that instant.

“No one who could hold a candle to you, alpha.”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Of course not, my liege.”

The award sitting in your hand feels almost fake as if the entire night was nothing more than a heat-driven fever dream. You had won, had actually won the most significant award of the night that an actress could win!

“Oh my gods, okay, okay,” your agent muttered beside you. Her eyes glued to the shiny gold statue between your legs. “Well, I know your heat starts tomorrow, and I’ll leave you alone for a week. But I swear, y/n, as soon as your mind isn’t a full-blown lusty heat brained bimbo, we’ll reconvene, and we will make sure you are nothing but the greatest!”

“Yeah,” you breathlessly state, eyes transfixed on the prize that felt like it could melt away any second right now. “That sounds wonderful.”

The car you were in pulled up to your front door, and you felt meek excited the car in nothing but a silk robe and slippers. The dress you had worn that night had already been put back into a plastic bag to be returned to the stylist who had offered to style you for the night. You waved with an almost transfixed look in your eyes as you closed your front door behind you, your heart hammering as adrenaline still coursed through your veins as if you had just been declared the victor of the category yet again.

Placing the trophy onto the table, you sighed in a wondrous, dreamy way.

You had done it.

You had won.

Fuck all those directors who had ever said anything different.

Still deep in your thoughts, you almost missed the knock on your door, and you figured that you must have left something in the car. Walking back over to the front door, your nose curled at the lack of scent, was it a beta?

Opening the door, you don’t remember seeing faces or even a scent of a pheromone. A single cloth wrapped over your head, and before you could send out your painful, fearful moments-from-heat omega pheromones, you were knocked out.

Cold and lifeless, you sunk against their arms, bile rising up to your throat as you know exactly what was going on. You were being kidnapped.

No… please not… not after all of this had happened.

You wake up to the sound of moving feet, sneering laughter, the feeling of coarse, hot, hands on your ass and wet, simmering tongues on your lubricated cunt. The sense is vivid. You can feel the very littlest touch on your body, the layer of scented pheromones on your glands, and slick from alphas — you know it's alphas imprinting themselves on you as a mark of a claim.

You knew about this from high school; it was an extremely outdated and frowned upon version of mating and claiming as it simply turned away any sort of pursuer who wasn’t the thick pheromone individual. You also knew it was frowned upon because if multiple individuals sought mateship with the typical omega individual, it would result in a massive, unsolvable death match. But these alphas, even with layering their scent on you so thick you thought you were turning crazy, didn’t attack. No, they took languid stripes of your fresh, intoxicating slick and growled to you, maybe, how that was how slick was supposed to be.

You wanted to move, to kick the stupid, demeaning alphas in the snout before running away, but in a twist of horrible realization, you soon figured out that despite your alert mind, you couldn’t move your body. Couldn’t shift it even the smallest of bits.

“I hope all you wonderful clients have been able to taste and smell your potential mates out here!” A loud, commanding introduction voice echoed from somewhere where you couldn’t see, his voice vibrating into the straps of your legs, but you couldn’t make a sound or even open your eyes. “As you know, we have such an arrangement for you all, the best of the best, really! We don’t wish to rush, but as always, all of these events are incredibly time-sensitive, so if you would, please alphas, please come and sit down, and we’ll begin bidding on our first of seven beautiful, fertile omegas tonight!”

The words sounded foreign in your ears yet at the same time, something so familiar because this was something you omegas were always warned about. This had to be some sort of omega mate auction, and by the stench of alphas who smelled like they owned millions and killed millions, you were in no doubt somehow caught up in one of the worst ones imagined.

Two long, completely hardened fingers suddenly entered your cunt, and as if for a single millisecond, your mind and your body were able to work in tangent, your hips bucked at the sweet feelings. Oh, your eyes tried to flutter, enjoying the way the two fingers circled the walls of your long lonely cunt.

“Please, alpha, please refrain from touching the merchandise for now, please join us so that we may begin!”

The two fingers buried within your cunt as if it was their right, slowly withdrew out of your pulsing walls, and you heard the sound of sneakers against the hardwood floor and felt relaxed and sickened at how you sort of liked it.

Heat brain, you reminded yourself. Just your stupid, horny heat brain.

You were a celebrity, you mantra, a dignified star who didn’t need a beta or an alpha unless you saw it fit. Right now, as you had repeated many times to the countless amounts of reporters who had asked, you had no interest in someone to share your heat with.

“Alright, and to start off our night in a rolling go! Please, everyone put your hands together for the fertile and beautiful thirteenth in-line the Princess of Cabodia: Dayanara!”

This auction was insane, all six omegas before you all sold from a price that ranged from 198 hundred million to the one right before you who sold for one billion dollars. You were a prideful omega, and you saw worth to your abilities, smell, and looks, but were you even worth anywhere in that range?

The entire time you had been set up in who knows what, the small, overwhelming pound of your heat sinking into the depths and pores of your body was becoming heavy. You couldn’t move a single muscle still, your body still refusing to respond to the call of your body, but the seep of your slick running down the innards of your thighs, undoubtedly beginning to pool on the ground, must be embarrassing of you.

Suddenly someone spread the skin below your ass out, and you couldn’t react as something sharp and prick stabbed into your flesh. You howled in the surprising pain, and you were fast to find that whatever they had injected you with had allowed systematic movement within your body. Your eyes fluttered open as two, impossibly huge alphas grabbed you by your forearm and hoisted you to your feet.

Your neck was far too weak to carry the weight of your head, so your eyes were transfixed on the white silk of the slutty dress they dressed you in. It showed off your cleavage with no regret, and by the feel and look of it, it barely passed the bottom of your ass. Your vision swam, the alphas all over the room distorted and melting within one another as you stepped onto a stage, the spotlight on you feeling deliriously hot and melting your skin.

Your hormones, already going crazy with your heat, seemed to intensify at the small of so many capable, potent, possessive alpha pheromones that suffocated the room. Handcuffs slapped onto your wrists, and you moaned pathetically at the sting of cold metal on your skin, and you obediently followed the command of one alpha to go on your knees.

A nail slammed between the metal links of the handcuffs, practically stapling you to the wooden floor, and you whimpered at the feeling of a stuffed pillow mount being placed beneath your lower stomach. You were in a forced and easily accessible mating position with your slick and cunt exposed for all the alphas to re-smell and see.

Moaning, you shifted against the mount, your body not able to have the full movement you needed to ward off that building, insufferable heat in your core, but nothing you could do seemed to satisfy it.

“And for our biggest prize of the night, we have the one, the only, the beautiful sensation Y/l/n Y/n!” the auctioneer roared. His voice echoing in your ear as he walked over to you, exposing your dripping cunt to the crowd of alphas who had all gotten a sweet taste of your essence already. His hand came down to slap your ass with a chuckle. “Where do we start the bidding on this one, alphas? She needs no introduction, and none of you better be pussies because we know this bitch of an omega won’t take any tiny cocks as her alpha! She needs to be broken in, fucked to submission. No one likes a trailblazer… someone needs to remind of what fucking trail she’s supposed to be on. Besides, the bitch is in fucking heat, and if you don’t claim her, I just might do it myself!”

“75 million!” someone started the bidding.

You stiffened.

“75 to the man in the back!”

“90 million!” someone challenged.

“We’re up to 90!”

“125 million!”

“Do I hear another offer?”

“250 million!”

The number climbed and climbed, the same voices coming to challenge each other until finally, they rounded out to a quantity that sounded bizarre even to you.

“950 million!”

If it had been possible for your knees to give out, you would have been collapsed onto the floor, the pool of slick that continued to lubricate your cunt without a doubt drowning you as you craved the need to be fucked by someone with undoubted alpha pheromones and cock in this room.

“950 million?” the auctioneer repeated, his voice for sure carrying a shark-like grin. “Going once, going twice—”

“Five billion.”

The gasp in the crowd was undeniable, and the omega in you crooned, knowing that this alpha valued you and your omega to be the price of five billion US dollars.

“Fuck!” screamed the man who had presented the 950 million deal.

“Wowee, five billion dollars, everyone! Anyone think they can beat that?! Going once! Going twice!” The crowd remained in silence, and you shook against your restraint, the heat emitting from your cunt almost demanding to be seen and fucked through this heat week. “SOLD! The virgin celebrity, Y/l/n Y/n sold to our own Shigaraki Tomura!”

The cheers of amaze weren’t nearly as loud as the smell of reeking petty alpha.

“Come and pay up, alpha, and then you can show us… a demonstration of how you’re going to break this omega.”

“Shut up.” Shigaraku growled, his footsteps heavy in your ear as you feel him climb up the stage, and you weakly tilted your head to look at the white-haired alpha boss hand over a simple credit card before walking over to you, his eyes unreadable as he looked you dead in the eye.

He reached out a finger that raised your chin up for him to study your face, moving and tilting your head as he pleased as a small, sinister smile pressed to his lips as he dropped your head. A sharp, uncomfortable pain fell on your chin as it crashed to the floor, and you shivered at the feeling of his calloused and rough fingers running down your exposed back.

“You’re such a small omega, still stupidly tiny. I bet you’ve never thought your first knot would come from someone like me,” Shigaraki laughed, his fingers and voice ice cold. His words were soft, spoken in a way that had your omega stupidly cooing for having secret conversations with your alpha who promised to fuck you till you were carrying a litter of pups. “I hope you realize that this is real life, that I will break you, and no hero in this world will be able to fucking save you.”

“Fuck the omega!” someone from the crowd screamed, and Shigaraki glared upwards. Still, you shivered in the thought of this alpha who spent five billion dollars to make you his claiming you, fucking your stupid heat brain into mush in front of these smaller, irrelevant alphas.

“I’ll do what I fucking please,” Shigaraki snapped, but the fingers you remembered to have been the last ones to enter your slicked crazy walls seemed to be his. They moved deep within you, curling and spreading your tight, sopping wet cavern apart, letting your pathetic, chirping cries echo powerfully in the room as lusting, near rutting alpha pheromones filled the room. “For fucks sake, omega, your pussy’s fucking tight as shit! Don’t you have any real knotted toys?”

You couldn’t respond back, your body on the road to a complete shut down at the feeling of something other than silicone deep within your body, fingering and dragging against your pheromone soaked walls.

“Alpha, y-your fingers feel so good!” you gasp, your hips thrusting backward, enjoying the way his fingernails press onto your warm velvet walls. “So good, you make me feel so good already.”

“I’ve seen you all over the news,” Shigaraki growled low into your ear. “Talking about how you didn’t want an alpha, how you never needed to feel the tightness that a fat knot could bring you, and look at you now. I’ve barely touched you, barely begun to make you mine, and yet you’re already begging for me, omega.”

Your arms tug at the handcuffs, pathetically wanting them off. Exasperatedly seeking more friction from your newly bought alpha. You can’t think straight, can’t come up with a single response except the stupid apologetic, “I’m so sorry alpha, I didn’t know i-it would be y-you!”

“Don’t be shy on her, Shigaraki! Fuck the slutty omega already! Fucking knot and claim her in front of us, I want to hear the omega whore scream. It’s always hotter when it’s the first claim ever!”

“You better learn how to shut the fuck up, or I’ll kill you for interrupting my fucking session here,” Shigaraki seethed, his red, smoldering eyes ripping from yours and glaring at some loser alpha behind you. You couldn’t care. You only wanted what looked like the growing cock in Shigaraki’s pants; you wanted to feel the cock fill up your cunt, and his knot to lock you both in place.

You drooled at the thought, your loud, whimpering cries unable to keep from pouring out as the slick from your core seemed to pour endlessly from your pussy, demanding attention and a knot. “Breed me, fill me with your pups,” you begged fingers taking in his dirty fingers in your mouth, tongue wildly and uncontrollably flicking across his fingers in hopes it would be a sinking prayer of your promise to be good. “I want your knot, alpha, I want these stupid alphas to know you’re so much better than them~!”

Shigaraki’s once snarl fell when he looked at you, a slowly growing smirk falling on his face as his lips spread into a cruel smirk, one that had you moaning around his fingers as he pinched the pink muscle in your mouth before disappearing before you.

“I smelled your distress when I put my fingers up your sloppy little cunt right before the auction happened; I could tell even with your growing heat that you hated the feeling of my fingers up your pretty pussy. But look at you now, I haven’t even set you on my goddamn knot, haven’t stretched that tiny cunt to its max. You’re smelling better than a bitch in heat,” Shigaraki growled in your ear. His clothed chest pressing deliriously into your exposed back, the huge cock outline in his pants grinding incessantly into your wet core, undoubtedly leaving a damp patch where his cock ground into you. “You’re an actress, aren’t you, little omega? I bet you just needed this audience cheering your name to break your mind over this. How. Pathetic.”

And the pressure on your tongue is gone, the drool and saliva sticky and cold on your chin as you whimper for your alpha. You promised that it wasn’t right, it was just that you had been scared before, but your alpha was so strong, his pheromones so scary and mean, he could protect you and fill you up with so many pups you couldn’t help but to be excited now.

The smell of Shigaraki seemed to brighten, and you moaned when his hands pressed the white dress up, allowing for your naked ass to be seen by him and everyone who stayed to watch. Shigaraki squeezed your asscheeks away, chuckling at the way your small asshole clenched in your embarrassment and pain at how your hormone-driven heat demanded that he fuck you and knot you now.

“So fucking wet,” Shigaraki observed, his fingertips tracing the slick on your folds before a small pop told you that he licked you clean from his fingers. “Such sweet slick too, you really are a prime omega, little one.”

You whimpered, ass shaking for him to continue to touch you, to continue to fuck you more.

“I don’t think you’re ready for my knot, precious omega,” Shigaraki taunted, and his words were a sealing deal in your lusting mind. Your hips knocking backward in some sort of desperation for more.

“She won’t,” commented the auctioneer.

“I will!” you scream, eyes filled with painful tears that could only be resolved with your alphas knot and claim. “I can take your knot, alpha!”

Shigaraki makes a small noise, and you choke at the feeling of something huge, nearly monstrous, shift into your cunt. You were a virgin, but even you knew that it was merely the head of his alpha thick cock, not enough for you to be satisfied, not far enough in you to breed or fuck you properly. All the moans in your throat were slightly painful, and the tears in your eyes continued to fall as you rocked your hips backward, trying to sink yourself further on his cock, wanting him deep in your womb.

You craved him.

“Ah, good, you can take more,” came the airy, almost insane driven coo of Shigaraki, the lack of humor making your cunt flutter against his thick, long cock. “Cry for your alpha, little omega.”

With that, Shigaraki slammed into you with no mercy, his cock bottoming out into you with a powerful, edging thrust. You screamed in pain, tears leaking from your eyes, and even with the pool of lubricating slick, his cock was far too big, incredibly thick that you felt your inner walls splitting in two as he fucked you as if you weren’t in delirious pain.

Drool and tears covered your arms, your painted fingers digging into the floorboards with crazy strength that you clawed scars on the floor as Shigaraki rutted deep within you.

Shigaraki commanded you with every thrust he gave, and soon the omega in you was cooing, howling for more, the pain of having your virginity ripped from right under you having become bubbling, glowing pleasure. You screamed in pleasure, Shigaraki grabbing onto your rolling hips to slam you back onto his cock, allowing for his thick cock to hit deep within you over and over again. The angle and power he possessed with every thrust were almost inhumane, nothing your lonely heat filled nights could ever dream of recreating ever. Shrill moans and pleas drowned out the annoying commentary of your onlookers, Shigaraki’s chest still flushed against your back, his hips landing heavily on your ass that was at this point raised because of the mount beneath you.

“My alpha,” you babble, eyes unfocused, hazy, and incredibly heavy as you stared at some point on the wall, overwhelmed with the feeling of Shigaraki’s hot cock pounding in you. “My alpha, such a good alpha. His cock is making my tummy feel funny, making my pussy feel so tight. Please fill me with your children, I’ll be a good omega to you and them, I promise! I promise — I — oh myyy goddd — I promise, alpha!!!”

Shigaraki puffs up with the praise, but he continued to fuck into you roughly, mercilessly, as if you were nothing more than the breeding whore omega that he had purchased you for. The wet slaps and satisfying squelches rang in the blazing heat room, the smell of the pleasured and heat insane omega saturating deeply within his nose, and in the other's nose, the prideful smell of a satisfied alpha.

Your spongy walls clenched and spasmed against his penetrating, pounding cock, sometimes even forcibly because, by god, it was hot when his cock would twitch within your womb, especially against your cervix.

“Fuck, you’re so damn annoying,” Shigaraki snarled into your ear, his teeth biting and scraping along your neck, and you wailed when his teeth dragged over the sweet scent gland on your neck. The one and only place for mating bites to go. His hand gripped your hair, tugging your head back so that you could feel his rough facial skin rub up against yours. “If you want me to fill you with my pups, you better be the best fucking omega on this goddamn planet.”

“I can be the best! I’ll be the best!” you cried, your ass shifting backward to meet his drilling hips.

The delirious sensation of his cock rocking against your cervix slowly begins to inflate the knot on his cock, restricting his still barbaric thrusting as he made to move faster. He wanted you to cum before he knotted entirely within you.

The pressure in your stomach is scorching and impossibly tight, and he takes another long stripe at your scent gland. You tremble with need, your fingers tearing into the wooden floors. You can feel the knot on his cock swelling up, catching onto the opening of your cunt with every successive cunt, and you begin to cry, shake, and tremble as the knot becomes too big.

Your eyes cross, your tongue falling out of your mouth as you babble his name. Your walls clamp around his knotted cock with the ferocity of a vice, and your body jerks violently as you cum hard around his cock. The slick essence of your orgasm slipping out of the few lasting places open before Shigaraki’s knot fills you out entirely. Despite his cock unable to move, the swollenness of his knot preventing him from moving out of you, Shigaraki still shoves his weight into his hips, the inflated knot stretching your cock out so widely, your vision went white, and you came yet a second time.

A small pop was heard, and suddenly with a rush of thick, hot, and heavy white cum exploded within your womb, his teeth sink around your scent gland, marking you — mating you. He filled you, filled you, and filled you. His cum wouldn’t stop until your belly was swollen with his hot cum, and he eventually fell off of you with a shaky, shallow breath.

You still remained on the mount, your eyes unfocused, breaths mumbling to your alpha, a promise to carry out every single pup he gave you and would give you. You were his omega, his good little omega, and you would never disappoint your alpha. Not now, not ever.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The next week, you opened your door with a broad smile, your usual clothes replaced with a dress Shigaraki had picked for you and a frilly white apron on as your agent was standing outside of your house, eyes wide, mouth gaped at the still bleeding mate wound on your shoulder.

“Ah, how funny!” you laughed, waving your hand as you sighed dreamily, your eyes fluttering at the thought of your alpha who was on a business call right now. “I’m actually going to be quitting! My alpha and I have many plans right now, I gotta produce as many litters as I can, being an actress would never give me this sort of meaning in life!”

“B-But, you’re doing so much?! You have so much to do! You can’t give up?!”

“Oh, my love, we both know that I look much cuter with a pregnant belly! Don’t worry,” you smile, taking your agent's hand, brightly smiling at her one last time. “I’m sure all omegas will eventually find their alpha so they won’t be so depressed and angry like I was!”

Your agent doesn’t get another word in.

You slam the door in her face, your hands already resting on your belly that you knew was already growing the life of your first litter of pups. It had been known the second Shigaraki filled you up anymore.

You were a good little omega, and your alpha needed you!

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

1K notes · View notes

divinehumanism-blog · 7 years ago

Text

mother! A Dark Allegory Sacralizing the Relationship Between Religion and Secularism

My vitals are oatmeal, my brain is slain, my soul is recovering from the syringe-injected wtf emotion. I haven’t been this excited since Aronofsky’s last release, NOAH (2014). And BLACK SWAN (2010) before that. And THE WRESTLER (2008) before that. And…you get the point. I’ve been team Aronofsky from the beginning (Sundance 1998, where he debuted PI). And, like all of his films, I’m destroyed in the most cathartic way as the credits roll. I’m reveling in the darkness of this feeling, this theater, paralyzed with intense awe. I have strong hope there’s light dancing somewhere inside my marred head, guiding me through the fiery, hellbent tunnels of what I just experienced. And MOTHER! is an experience!

What an absolutely sickening, messed up, brilliant cinematic masterpiece!!!!

Here is a film that only Aronofsky could’ve made, a film that contains a motherlode of rich interpretations, a symbolic maelstrom of ideas needing to be painfully birthed. The imagery stains, the ideas baffle, the third act impossible to predict, stomach, or prepare for. Believe me when I tell you: The barbs are real. And it makes for an ultra provocative kind of art because it’s so vulnerable, so sprawling, relevant and contentious in its reach. I might even describe it as a scalpel-sharp metaphor that rips, grinds, and eviscerates every faction of humanity ever to exist. No one is safe. Everyone is indicted. And Aronofsky, like the God of Genesis, is pissed with everyone, pissed with creation, pissed with politics and religion, with the overall state of the world, and he’s ready to burn it all down and start anew.

It’s a film that kind of plays out like NOAH — its prequel and sequel—but replaces the watery deluge with apocalyptic fire. It uses a biblical framework to shape and express a lot of political and humanitarian turmoil, and wraps them all together into one grand, outrageous, cyclical metaphor that might be difficult to grasp without a solid backing in these subjects.

MOTHER! isn’t a political or religious film per se as it is a human film commenting on the state of the world and how we endlessly abuse it. It evokes political and religious overtones to the extent of retelling the creation myth from a gnostic, secularized perspective. It’s also about a lot of other things — the social dynamics between artist, muse and feasting fandom, the creation of art itself, the downfall of civilization, of ecosystems, of human safety, the obsession with social media, tabloids and selfies, the portrait of a decaying marriage, the dangers of open-mindedness, and the list goes on. The interpretations will be myriad.

I found its retelling of the creation myth, however, one of the most moving, cross-pollinating attempts to ever sacralize the warring relationship between religion and secularism.

That retelling might go something like this:

The Earth — our world — is feminized, a Mother to all, a source of both nourishment for humanity and victim of male aggression.

Man’s aggression spawns from greed — from His dominion over Her (the Earth) — thereby becoming a catalyst for His belief in His dominion over Woman.

And so as the Earth is mastered, conquered, penetrated, plowed, tilled, burned, subdued, inhabited, and controlled, so is Woman.

Her paradisiacal garden is turned to waste, but Man continues to plant and labor and sow, and by brute sweat makes Woman yield — conceive.

The Earth — the Mother of all — “gives and gives and gives,” and in return gets invaded, pillaged, and raped, rebirthing the vicious cycle.

And Mother bears it, endures it, braves it, serves it, puts up with it.

Cruel male pagan gods divine this link between Mother and Earth, they gaslight it, and allow for the problem of evil to run amok for the sake of artistic musing and divine retribution for sin.

We’ve seen Aronofsky’s pagan sensibility shine before in BLACK SWAN, where anything that manifests itself to you may be a god, but in MOTHER! this paganism pulses and groans under the weight of what I found were five highly potent, timeless, relevant-in-2017 themes:

1) Mother, as an earthen vessel, holds the seeds to every noxious, selfish, unbending human crime within Her.

2). Mother, as an earthen vessel, may be pillaged, raped, and controlled by Man through “divine” rights, even corporation rights, unleashing the revelations and purgatories within Her.

3) Mother, as an earthen vessel, births, feeds, rears, nourishes, and puts up with a lot of vile, inane, intruding human garbage.

4) Yet Mother, even as this earthen vessel, can reach a furious, volcanic melting point, a chamber that can no longer contain the scalding pressure inside, exclaiming:

(!) “Enough!” (!) “No More!” (!) “The End!” (!)

5) Yes Mother! now as embodied, apocalyptic fury, can reject crude male taming and savagely roar back and boil over with destructive, unmatched chaos.

These themes stretch towards the sacred and the profane equally, finding home within the religious and irreligious alike. It’s a brand of home invasion horror that’s critical now. A story about our world bellyaching, roaring, reaching critical melting point — now! And what’s fascinating here is how Aronofsky transfers his past auteur portraits of hysteria and madness (think PI, BLACK SWAN, NOAH) over from his characters now suddenly to the lap of his audience. This will hit very close to home, and many will feel uncomfortable. In fact, the film almost plays out like Aronofsky’s middle finger to humanity at large, a venting frustration at how we mistreat each other and abuse our sacred, mother planet.

The result? Piqued reactions, confused reactions, zero neutrality, shifting accountability, and above all, a puzzle to be ciphered and querulously debated for years to come. This is the BEST kind of art. The kind that divides yet hopefully unites. It certainly is one of the most moving, thought-provoking films I’ve ever seen, one that hits personally close to home. I say this especially as a devout theist who leans on the side of a culturally religious agnosticism.

While this experience won’t be for everyone, I’d argue there’s a moral blade to the film that cuts DEEP, DEEP, DEEP into a problem that everyone is complicit in, right and left, black and white, male and female, me and you, but it isn’t necessarily preachy or scorning in presentation. Ok, it’s seriously messed up. But I reject any reading that claims Aronofsky is a misogynist or without compassion — especially for Jennifer Lawrence’s character — in part because this posture entirely misses the point by disguising a surface criticism as one that ignores the film’s larger, looming global symbolism, and the mighty realities for which those symbols stand.

MOTHER! might be the kind of art that liberals love to hate because some are unable to fathom how bad things being depicted is not equivalent to bad things being endorsed, but merely commented, mourned and reflected on. You need look no further for evidence of this than when Javier Bardem stated in an interview with USA Today, “Darren is the opposite of my character…He’s more into Jennifer’s character than my character. When I met him, I was like, ‘Where is this darkness coming from?’ Because he is the opposite of that. He’s nice, caring, generous, funny, very creative.”

MOTHER! has a moral edge to the extent that it forgoes pleasure, or punishes it wherever it occurs, to deliver a higher message. And my reaction to the film was one of total compassion, like a surgeon cutting into rotten tissue to find what parts are still salvageable. Put differently, Aronofsky plunges DEEP, DEEP, DEEP into darkness in order to find what shards of light may be hiding there, a skill he has always excelled at. His canon of work has proven how repeatedly and exceptionally acrid his ability is to peer into the abyss to yield enlightenment. And to make great art you have to go to the darkest place, the forbidden place. MOTHER! raises this cost as an insanely moving, nuanced presentation of what happens when you stare into the abyss — the forbidden place — too long.

If REQUIEM FOR A DREAM is Aronofsky’s required viewing for D.A.R.E programs, MOTHER! is his required viewing for earth stewards and married couples. If NOAH is Aronofsky’s biblical making of Genesis, MOTHER! most certainly unleashes his apocalyptic, unmaking, hellfire vision of Revelation. If PI is Aronofsky getting into the confined, mentally ill space of his characters, MOTHER! is him flipping that headspace burden over to his audience. If BLACK SWAN is Aronofsky doing hysteria-horror, MOTHER! is him making BLACK SWAN wishing it were difficult material for Sunday School. If THE FOUNTAIN is Aronofsky’s metaphysical view of history, MOTHER! is him exclaiming there won’t be any history left if our course goes unaltered.

And Aronofsky was right: No matter how many trailers/snippits I read prior to watching, NOTHING could prepare me for this sacred, unholy event. NOTHING! And don’t worry, my take here won’t spoil the madness you, too, will be put through (assuming you dare to step inside his theater!). And the third act. Good sweet mother Mary of all things blessed and disturbing, the third act! Good hell. Can’t wait to follow #mothermovie on that one. In sum, I’ve never seen anything like this. Will never be the same again. And will never answer a door knock again. Thanks a lot Darren.

#film #film critique #religion #philosophy #spiritual #politics #divine humanism #film nerd #poetry #darren aronofsky #allegory #bible study

9 notes · View notes

sprnklersplashes · 8 years ago

Text

The Future is Forever (2/?)

They stepped out into the yard, Emma starting to get excited. She hadn't had a partner before. Maybe they'd be like Bonnie and Clyde, minus the killing. Instead of running towards Regina's gates, Killian dragged Emma over to her garage.

"Wait here," Killian whispered.

"What are you doing?" she asked as his good hand twisted the latch on the door. Her head snapped up to the house, half expecting to see a light switch on.

"Regina took something of mine off me last week," he explained, pushing the door open so that it stood like a roof over them. "And I'd very much like it back. Can I borrow your torch?" She handed it over to him.

"What is this thing anyway?" she asked as she ran into the garage, shining the torch on every shelf. It was so dark that the small beam from the torch was the only light there was, giving brief glimpses of what was in the garage. He bent down and scanned along the very bottom of the walls before stopping at the far corner. "Killian."

She heard something scrape across the floor before he ran back out. He and Emma stretched up and closed the door, wincing as it slammed shut. No lights in the house turned on.

"Let's go." They raced to the heavy iron double gates, neatly avoiding damaging Regina's car. Emma knew better than to attempt to shake them; there was an electronic keypad keeping them shut.

"You go first," Killian said, offering to give her a boost. "Ever climbed one of these before?"

"I was climbing gates when you were still in diapers," she replied, taking his boost and wrapping her hands around the bars. She perched her toes on the bar below her. She reached up and grabbed another bar, pulling herself up. Despite the aches in her muscles she kept going until she was propped up on her arms and leaning over the top of the gate. With a grunt she heaved herself up so that one leg was swung over the top. Don't look down was the main thought running through her head. She swung her other leg over and carefully moved back down until she finally felt her feet touch the pavement and could take her shaking hands off the bars. Still slightly breathless, she gave Killian a thumbs up sign.

"Here," Killian whispered, passing the case he got from the garage through the bars and beginning to scale the gate himself, which took longer than Emma had with his one hand, but he managed. Emma drummed her fingers on the case as she watched him, constantly looking back at the house to see if someone was going to open a curtain and see them.

Killian jumped off the gate and landed roughly on his knees. Rolling her eyes, Emma helped him to his feet.

"A guitar?" she asked when he was upright. "For real?"

"What?" he asked. His eyes came to rest on the guitar case. "Oh yeah, that." "You hindered our mission for a guitar?"

"An important guitar," he told her, picking it up by the handle. "Come on, let's get away from here."

Emma had thought the streets at night would be scary. Full of dark alleyways and men with scarred faces and chainsaws for hands. But when she first ran away she found it wasn't like that. The streets had so many different colours in them for a start. Silver mixed with blue at one end while oranges and pinks collided at the other. It was a surreal feeling, even for a 14 year old. It made her breathe easier, she was brave, not scared. For a few fleeting moments, she felt like she could do anything.

"Are we going somewhere in particular?" Emma asked.

"Are you hungry?" Killian replied. Emma thought about it. The last thing she'd eaten was that cheesecake, which was a good while ago.

"I could eat." Killian smiled and picked up speed. She copied him. "I take it we're going to get food.”

"There's a diner just a bit of a walk from here," he explained. "As long as you're okay with a walk. They don't ask questions."

"And how would you know about this diner for teenage runaways?" she asked, nudging him. He scratched his ear. "I may have snuck out and popped down there for a burger once or twice."

"Do they know you?"

"Nah. They don't pay enough attention for that."

The dinner was tucked amongst various other shops on the street and was the only one open. Inside were light brown wooden tables and steel chairs, dirty white walls (which sort of looked gray) and dull orange lights. Emma and Killian rushed to a table at the back.

"Not that good looking but it's good food and low princes," Killian said, draping his jacket over the back of the chair. "What more could you want?"

Soon Emma was devouring a basket of fries and a coke.

"How are they?" Killian asked through a mouthful of his burger.

"Good and cheap," Emma said. "What more could a girl want?" Killian nodded and lifted two napkins out from the dispenser, sliding one across to Emma.

"Ever played this game before?" Emma shook her head. "Just tear the napkin up into as many pieces are you see fit." He demonstrated by tearing his napkin in half, then four, then eight. Emma nodded and tore hers into quarters then tore one quarter in half. "So you have six little pieces there. So you tell me six things about yourself. Then I tell you eight things about me."

Emma looked at the pieces of paper with uncertainty. Honestly she wasn't sure there was a lot to tell.

"Not anything major. Your favourite animal, for instance." Killian held up one of his pieces. "I'll go first. One, my middle name is Patrick." For every fact he said, he put a piece down. "Two, my favourite song is Love Shack by Cosmic Thing. Three, I really love burgers. Four, this is my second runaway attempt. Five, Who Framed Roger Rabbit is a cinematic masterpiece. Six, I was born in England. Seven, my family moved to the US when I was 8. And eight....." He paused, trying to find the perfect final fact. He nodded to himself. "8 is I'm glad I met you." Emma scoffed, ignoring the fluttering in her chest. "As a friend, I feel compelled to add. And partner in crime."

"You really know how to charm a girl," she remarked.

"Come on, exchange of information, Princess."

"Do you use the word 'Princess' on all the girls you run into or just me?" A cheeky smirk was her answer. "Okay so one..... my favourite movie is The Princess Bride. Two, I also happen to love burgers. Three, these boots happen to be my favourite boots." She was doing okay so far. He was hanging on to her every word. "Four..... I guess my favourite subject is art. Five.... um..... I've never been to Florida and it's the one place I want to go. And six...." She wants to say 'I'm glad I met you' but doesn't. She doesn't want to tell him that yet. "..... I think pineapple on pizza was a great invention." Killian's mouth fell open in mock shock.

"Wow. I am travelling with someone who geniunely likes Hawaiian pizza. That isn't a joke, you seriously think pineapple can belong on pizza."

"Yes. Yes I do." Killian rose and slowly backed away.

"You know, Swan I don't think this 'partners' thing will work out so I-" Emma rolled her eyes and he stepped towards her again. "Come on. Let's sail away."

"Do you have any idea where we're sailing to?" she asked.

"We'll find somewhere," he said, waving his hand casually as if he could conjure up a five star hotel out of nowhere.

They kept going, the weather seeming to get colder with every step. They were both soon shivering. Emma curled her hands into fists and stuck them into her pockets to keep them warm. Killian was hunched over trying to keep himself warm. Her feet were worn out from walking too, her legs slowly turning to Jell-o.

"Hey." Killian grabbed her arm and turned her slightly around. "Look." He pointed across the street where there was a large kid's playground, complete with slide, swingset, roundabout and big plastic castle.

"Yeah it's a park," she mumbled tiredly. "What about it?"

"I know it's not the best but it's shelter," he suggsted.

"What?" Emma asked, focussing on the park opposite them. "The castle?" Killian shrugged. He was right, even if she didn't want to admit it. It was late and that castle was better than nothing. "Okay. Let's go."

They ran across the street, managed to jump over the gate and jogged to the castle.

Inside it was cool with no proper floor, only the tarmac of the playground and almost pitch black save the moonlight coming in through the roof. There were tiny benches built into the walls. Emma took her sweater out of her bag, folded it u and used it as a pillow. The ground was still cold but at that point Emma was done caring. She almost found herself relaxing into the ground. Killian lay on his stomach with his jacket as a pillow.

"Warm enough?" she asked quietly.

"Nice and toasty," he replied. "Good night, Princess." "Will you ever call me anything other than Princess or Swan?" she asked, through a yawn. She saw him chuckle.

"Maybe one day." ***** The chill in the air and rising sun woke Emma early the next morning. She rolled onto her stomach, despite the small sharp stones pricking her stomach, and stretched, arching her back like a cat. She wanted to bury her head and sleep some more, but unfortunately that wasn't in the cards for someone who had slept on the ground. With a sigh she pushed herself up and pressed her back against the wall.

Killian was already up; his hair was sticking in different directions and he rubbed sleep away from his eyes. Still, he managed a warm smile and a nod.

"Morning Swan," he said. "Sleep well?"

"Just dandy," she replied, rising to her feet. "Any idea what time it is?"

"Six thirty, or thereabouts," he answered, consulting his wristwatch. "Which means we'd better get a move on. I'd say we have about three hours before Regina notices we're missing. A further two hours before she calls the police." They strolled out of the park together and into the town. They slipped into an empty café and freshened up in the bathroom before continuing their walk to a bus station in the centre of town.

“Any place in particular?" Killian asked as they consulted a large map of the country hanging on the wall.

"Well we're here." Emma placed her finger over the dot that said 'Boston, Massachusetts'. "And we're on a budget." Between them ,they had $360, including food. "So we can't go too far yet......" Her eyes scanned the states surrounding Massachusetts. "New York?" Kilian nodded.

"All the great musicians go to New York. Come on." They purchased their tickets at $15 each and Emma sat at the terminal while Killian mumbled something about having to use the bathroom.

When he didn't come back for a while, Emma started getting uncomfortable. What if he decided to ditch her? What if all this was an elaborate 'break in the new girl' prank and he'd gone to get Regina, who was hiding in the station? She didn't move but lifted her bag onto her shoulder and calculated this distance between herself and the door.

However she was proven wrong when Killian appeared only a few minutes later, carrying a brown paper bag. He plonked down beside her, grinning.

"There was a bakery," he explained. "And these were going cheap." He lifted out a chocolate covered pastry and handed it over to her. She accepted it with a smile, and oh god did it smell good, but she was wary.

"You shouldn't waste funds like that," she told him. He waved her concerns off. "They were a dollar each, Swan. Not exactly breaking the bank."

Slightly more reassured, Emma bit into it. Chocolate exploded in her mouth. It was the best thing she'd had to eat in a while.

“Thank you.”

They boarded the bus a while later, nestling in two seats at the very back, which happened to be the most comfortable place Emma had rested since they began their journey. Emma sat by the window with the early morning sun warming her face. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself and placed her backpack on her lap. The excitement had finally caught up her with, as well as the sugar low following the high she'd gotten from her pastry, slowly pulling her into sleep.

When she woke, it was to Killian shaking her shoulder gently.

"Hey Princess," he whispered. "We're here." She opened her eyes, blinking in the sudden brightness. Once she had adjusted, she saw a parking lot filled with buses like the one they were on.

"Doesn't look like New York," she mumbled tiredly as Killian helped her to her feet. He laughed at that.

"Well that's because it's a bus station. Come on."

They strolled out of the station and into the loud bustling streets of New York. There was a sweet mix of sounds going on; street performers, car horns, hot dogs on a street vender's grill, different conversations on around them.

"Okay, this is New York," Emma laughed. She and Killian ran along the street, taking in everything. New York was on a different scale from everything Emma had seen before, it was louder, brighter, more alive. She finally saw what the buzz about this city was.

"So now what?" Emma asked as they sat on a bench in Central Park together. Normally she'd just spent her days strolling around shops and parks.

"We survive," Killian replied. "Take it day by day. Live. Explore. And I'm sure New York has no shortage of bus stations we can kip in." Emma nodded, taking in the view.

"Can we just stay here a bit?" she asked.

"Sure. I'm in no rush."

When the sky turned to pink, they agreed to start looking for shelter. As the walked the streets of New York together on the lookout for a bus station, Emma looked up at a looming red-brick, Victorian looking apartment building. No lights were on inside and from what she could tell it was deserted.

"Hey, look," she said, grabbing Killian's jacket. She ran up and peeked in one of the windows. No one home.

"Lot of the windows are boarded up," Killian remarked, pointing up. Sure enough, the windows on the top floor were covered with wooden boards. Emma ran down the side of the house to check the back. The back yard was cut off from the rest of the world by a wire fence with a gate, but she could see that the bacl wall was sprayed with graffiti and had more boarded up windows. "It's abandoned," Emma concluded. She turned to Killian and gave him a knowing smile. "Think we could move in?" Killian looked over the house.

"How?" he asked. "We can't just break a window in broad daylight." Emma looked around, noticing the run down parade of closed shops facing the back of the house.

"We can if no one's around. Cover me." She ran to the gate and inspected the lock. Nothing too complicated. "If you see someone, scream." She took her hairpin out of her hair and began fiddling with the lock. After a few years of breaking and entering, she was an expert at this.

"Emma what are you doing?" Killian whispered, shocked. When the lock opened and the gate, after a few touch pushes from Emma, creaked open. Emma laughed and stepped over the threshold, prompting Killian to follow. "I shouldn't underestimate you." She smirked and started picking the lock of the back door. It was slightly more difficult than the gate but it managed to give way and open.

Inside was a long hallway practically covered in dust and dark. An old, broken chandelier hung from the ceiling. They didn't bother looking in the other rooms and raced up the grand staircase. There was another always upstairs, with doors on either side, some had dirty metal numbers on them, some had unpainted spots that showed the apartment number . Each apartment was the same; a small main room and what they assumed would have been a kitchen to the side, two smaller rooms and a deserted, half tiled bathroom. However, they varied in their levels of abandoned, some still had carpet or bits of furniture, some were stripped bare.

They settled in one on the second floor which had a couch in the main room and dragged in two relatively clean mattresses from the other apartments. "Well, not too bad then," Killian remarked. Emma nodded. Sure there was no electricity or running water but they didn't need that. It was shelter, it was a hideout and it was safe. Emma tested her mattress gingerly. It was soft enough and no springs poked out (yet).

"We should buy pillows or something," Emma said. "Just for comfort." "Oh look at the princess," Killian teased. "Needing her pillows. What next, having meals served to us on silver platters?" Emma gave him a mock glare. "You do have a point though." He lay back, staring at the ceiling. The silence stretched out between them; all Emma could hear was the beat of her heart and her own breathing. This was going better than her first attempt at being on her own. She wondered if that was the same for him.

"Hey," she asked. "How old were you when you ran away?" The question caught him off guard. She began to wish she hadn't said it until he smiled.

"Would you believe me if I said I was nine?" Emma's mouth dropped open and she imagined a smaller version of Killian with plump cheeks and puppy eyes and dimples running the streets. "Although looking back on it I'm not sure if that counts as an attempt. I was only on my own for two and a half weeks." "No way," she said, sitting up. "What did you-"

"Okay." Killian sat up and turned to face her. "I'm about to tell you one of my biggest secrets. I need you to keep this."

"Take it to the grave," she swore.

"I was nine and in my first foster home. And I hated it. I missed my family, I hated the other kids. So after a few weeks I packed my backpack with candy bars and comics and left." He gave her a smile but it was pained. She didn't blame him. If anyone understood what it was like to be alone from a young age, it was her. She reached over and took his hand.

"Thanks for telling me," she said.

Emma took a deep breath. If he shared his story, he no doubt wanted to know hers. And she was ready to tell it.

"I was fourteen," she confessed. "I'd been with this new forster mother and-" The words caught in her throat when she remembered Ingrid. That was one of the best places she'd been in, at least she thought it was. Ingrid took her seriously, bought her treats, let her watch TV, took her out to movies and amusement parks. She'd even bought her a little necklace for her 14th birthday; a snowflake. It was perfect.

"Are you okay?" Killian asked, crouching in front of her. "Emma it's okay...."

"No, it's fine," she said. "And um, this foster mom we were walking home and.... I don't know she starts talking about something and....." Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. "And put me in the path of a moving car." Killian stared at her, open mouthed and eyes wide. His hand slowly made its way to hers and linked their fingers. His touch made her feel calmer than she could remember and she didn't pull away. "So that's my sob story."

"Hey, look at us," he remarked. "A couple of sad loners with tragic stories." Emma laughed. "Thanks for telling me, Emma." Killian stood up and looked out the window. “Look at all the people.” Emma got up and joined him, perching on the windowsill.

“Where do you think they’re going?” she asked.

“Work, maybe. Or back to their homes.” They both cast a glance around their new home.

“Bet they don’t have something like this,” Emma said, feeling slightly down as she thought about how great a normal bed would be.

“Maybe not,” Killian agreed. “But I’d rather have this.”

“Really?” Emma asked. Killian raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Seems you have a knack for finding hidden treasures, Swan.”

#captain swan #cs ff #fic: the future is forever #emma swan #killian jones

9 notes · View notes