#but damn I appreciated him and his frayed nerves

[mixnmatch4dead]

Hey all! Not answering an ask for this one, but my old drawing app is about to go Kaput and take all its data with it, soooo… Who wants some of my old doodles? Most of these are like pre-2021, so you’re getting to see some oldies!

Nd for this last one, I decided to include Blake, Haruka, Sara, and Yusuke from the Japanese Arcade version of left 4 dead

Just for fun.

ANYWAYS, would y’all prefer for my next post to be another full picture, or more smaller personality-fleshing doodles? Asking so i may try to revive this dang blog,,

[dulcescorderitas]

after hunt relaxation

parings: samwinchester x reader

warning: thigh grinding

the motel room is dim, the single bedside lamp casting warm, flickering light against peeling wallpaper. the hunt had been brutal—nasty werewolf pack that took too long to track, too much blood, too many close calls. your body hums with exhaustion, tension wound tight in your muscles, your nerves still frayed even after the hunt ended. and sam sees it. he always does.

he's sitting on the edge of the bed, broad thighs spread slightly, his jeans tight against thick muscle. his hair is still damp from the shower, messy against his forehead, and his expression soft but full of intent. his hands find your hips as you stand between his legs, fingers warm and firm as they press into you. “c’mere,” he murmurs, voice thick with something deeper than concern.

he tugs you forward, guides you to straddle his thigh, and your breath catches. he always knows what you need before you do. the ache between your legs has been festering all night, and now, with the warmth of him beneath you, it sharpens into something unbearable.

his hands move, skimming under your shirt, fingertips teasing against your ribs as he eases the fabric up and over your head, leaving you bare from the waist up. his eyes darken as he takes you in, but there’s no rush in him, just that quiet, steady control that makes your stomach twist with need.

his hands move to the waistband of your pants next, and you lift your hips instinctively, letting him work them down, dragging your underwear with them—until he pauses, eyes catching on the lace. a slow, knowing smirk curves his lips. “these are new,” he murmurs, fingertips tracing the delicate fabric stretched over your hips.

heat floods your cheeks. “sam—”

“shh,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hipbone. “just appreciating how damn good you look.”

but his hands are already gripping your waist, dragging you back down so your soaked lace-covered core grinds against the firm muscle of his thigh. the friction is instant, searing, and you let out a sharp, broken breath, fingers curling into his shoulders for balance.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, watching you like he wants to devour you. his hands guide your movements, rocking you forward, pressing you down, dragging that desperate little sound from your throat again. his lips ghost over your jaw, then your throat, slow, teasing, before capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips. “grinding all over me, getting yourself all worked up.”

his fingers slip between your legs, rubbing over the soaked lace, pressing just right, and your hips jerk against him, chasing the pressure. he swallows your moans, drinks them down like they fuel him, one hand gripping your hip tighter as the other works you open with slow, lazy circles.

“been wanting you like this all damn night,” he mutters against your lips, voice wrecked, the tension in his own body betraying just how much he needs this, too. “such a good girl, rubbing yourself all over me—look at you, baby. you gonna cum for me?”

his words send a violent shudder through you, the coil in your stomach winding impossibly tight as you grind harder, faster, chasing that edge with every rock of your hips. his hand presses against your lower back, anchoring you to him as the pleasure builds to a dizzying peak, his thigh slick beneath you, heat pooling between your legs.

“fuck, sam,” you gasp, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he growls, tightening his grip. “you’re right there, sweetheart. let me feel it.”

his name spills from your lips, a breathless, desperate sound, and then you're shattering, hips stuttering against him as pleasure crashes over you in waves, white-hot and endless. his arms lock around you, holding you through it, his mouth pressing against your temple, your cheek, whispering soft, filthy praises into your skin.

“so damn pretty when you fall apart,” he murmurs, voice rough. “God you’re gorgeous.”

and when the aftershocks leave you trembling, spent and boneless in his arms, he just holds you tighter, hands roaming slow and reverent over your skin. “better?” he murmurs, and you nod, breath still unsteady, fingers tangled in his hair.

“yeah,” you whisper. “much.”

his smile is wicked against your throat. “good,” he says. “’cause i’m not done with you yet.”

credits of divider @toastray

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume

[doumadono]

I'm so sorry to bother you. Could I do an emergency req..? Possibly dabi or bakugou? With all these fireworks I've been on edge and a comfort fic could help. (I was thinking Bakugou because he works so closely with explosions he's understand.) [For context, I was sh0t when I was young, and fireworks bring back memories]

Happy New Year - Bakugo x Reader

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The night sky was alight with colorful explosions, each burst of fireworks echoing like thunder. The sound reverberated through the city, causing many to gaze up in awe. But for you, each boom sent a shiver down your spine, memories flooding back unbidden.

You sat on the balcony of Bakugo's apartment. You lived with Katsuki now, a decision that had brought you more comfort than you could have imagined. Yet, nights like this still unsettled you. The sounds of fireworks, so similar to gunfire, made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

The cacophony of fireworks was overwhelming, and no amount of deep breaths seemed to help. Just as another explosion lit up the sky, you felt a presence beside you.

"Hey," Katsuki's voice cut through the noise, a gruff but concerned tone that only those close to him ever heard. He stood at the sliding door, watching you with a mixture of worry and sadness in his sharp eyes. “Knew I’d find you here,” he walked out on the balcony, leaned against the railing, his gaze softer than usual. "You okay?"

You nodded slightly, not trusting your voice to be steady.

But Katsuki wasn't fooled. He knew you too well. He'd seen the way your shoulders tensed with each explosion, the way your breath hitched as memories flashed before your eyes.

Without a word, he walked over and sat down beside you, the weight of his presence both grounding and comforting. He didn't say anything for a moment, just sat there with you, his presence a silent reassurance in the midst of the chaos. "You know," he began softly, his voice unusually gentle, "fireworks used to freak me out too."

You turned to look at him, surprise evident in your eyes. "Really?"

He nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah. When I was a kid, I couldn't stand the noise. But I got used to it. Now it's just another sound. But I get it. It's not the same for everyone."

You appreciated his attempt to relate, even if you knew his experience was different. It was the thought that counted. He was trying to understand, trying to help, and that meant more to you than anything.

Another burst of fireworks lit up the sky, and you flinched despite yourself.

Katsuki's hand found yours beneath the blanket, his grip warm and steady. A silent promise that he was there, that you were safe. "Look at me," he said, his voice steady. You turned your gaze to him, focusing on his fiery eyes instead of the fireworks. "It's just a sound. Hush."

You knew he was right. But the fear was still there, lurking in the back of your mind, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike. "It's not that easy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. But you've got me, and I'll be damned if I let anything hurt you."

His words were a balm to your frayed nerves. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He tensed for a moment, then relaxed, wrapping an arm around you in a rare display of affection.

"Thanks, Katsuki," you murmured, feeling a bit more at ease.

The fireworks were still going off, but they seemed a little less overwhelming with him by your side.

"You're welcome," he replied gruffly, but you could hear the sincerity in his voice.

You nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

The night sky was still alight with bursts of color, but with Katsuki beside you, the fear seemed a little more manageable. You had someone to lean on, someone who understood in his own way. And that made all the difference.

"Happy New Year," he said softly, his breath warm against your ear.

"Happy New Year," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

[great-master-airplane]

FengQing

12

aaahhhh thank you, my dear anon <3 hope you enjoy your angst~

[now on ao3]

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep

“Hey… are you awake?”

Feng Xin’s voice filled the small room, gruff even when hushed into nothing but the barest whisper. He always managed to sound pissed off about something even when he wasn’t, and Mu Qing struggled to hold in the scoff that threatened to give him away.

He kept his back turned, his eyes shut, his breathing as consistent as possible. It was too late to listen to whatever criticism that Feng Xin wanted to hand out now. Mu Qing was tired and hungry and sore from yet another day of working for what felt like nothing, and if he didn’t rest now while he had the chance, how could he convince himself that he could do it all again tomorrow?

Feng Xin made a small noise, something between a sigh and a huff. “Good… this wouldn’t be as easy to say to you if you were awake.”

Suddenly, awake was all that Mu Qing did feel. His heart raced, pumping his blood so quickly through his veins that his limbs felt restless, itchy.

Dammit, Feng Xin.

He forced himself to remain still, at least until he heard what Feng Xin had to say. Then he could decide if getting up to yell at the bastard was worth waking the royal family at this hour. He didn’t know how he’d manage to stomach the way that Xie Lian’s brows always ticked in muted disappointment every time the two of them fought nowadays. He rarely smiled now, not a true smile. Just one of those tight, fake things that made Mu Qing’s chest feel as though it had been weighed down by rocks, and then he’d spend the rest of the day with the bitter taste of bile lingering on the back of his palate.

Fighting with Feng Xin just wasn’t worth it anymore.

… Didn’t mean that it didn’t still happen. Even if it wasn’t worth it, pissing each other off was one of the only things that still felt right in this world. Sometimes, their bickering was the only thing that made the everyday stress of not knowing where their next meal would come from as he continued to run himself ragged for the Xianle family seem a little less agonizing.

Arguing to them was like breathing, and Mu Qing worried that if they ever stopped, he might actually suffocate. His only solace over having such ridiculous, silent codependence was that Feng Xin would likely suffocate along with him.

Feng Xin shifted a bit, always so damned noisy. The man didn’t know how to be quiet, his presence loud and grating on Mu Qing’s already frayed nerves. Wouldn’t he just come out with it already so that Mu Qing could go back to pretending to sleep?

“I just wanted to—thank you, I guess. Yeah. Thank you. For, uh… for sticking around like you have. You didn’t have to, but uh… Xie Lian appreciates it.” Feng Xin paused to swallow, the bob of his dry throat sounding harsh in the quiet room. “And I—dammit, Mu Qing—I appreciate it too. I know everything’s hard right now, but I wouldn’t want to do this without you.”

Mu Qing kept his breath quiet and even, but inside, everything ached. He wanted to stand up, demand who the hell Feng Xin thought he was! Thanking him as if Mu Qing didn’t have a reason to be here? As if he didn’t care about Xie Lian too? As if he didn’t care about—

As if he didn’t have reasons to be elsewhere.

Mu Qing’s anger left as quickly as it had arrived. His eyes burned, and his body trembled. He wondered if Feng Xin could tell that he was awake. Was Feng Xin even looking at him? Or had the idiot been so embarrassed that he’d turned his back so that he could talk to the door instead of Mu Qing’s supposedly sleeping form? Fucking coward.

Like Mu Qing could talk.

A breath passed, long and deafening. Then he heard Feng Xin let out a long, exhausted sigh, one that he felt deep within the marrow of his own bones.

“Anyways, that’s… that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.” Feng Xin paused again, as though waiting for something. “… Night.”

Mu Qing listened to his footsteps start up and then fade away, and it was only once he was on his own again that he let out a long, hard breath. He felt so much more unsettled now, duty and guilt and grief all at war in his heart. He stared ahead at the scuffed wall in front of him, vision wobbling as he hissed a quiet, annoyed curse through his teeth.

That damn idiot! How dare he act so earnest when he thought Mu Qing couldn’t hear him! Didn’t he know that Mu Qing didn’t want such genuine gratitude from him? Didn’t he realize how much it hurt? Couldn’t he tell that it would only make things that much worse when Mu Qing’s resolve to keep sticking around finally shattered?

Mu Qing huffed again. Rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Huffed again.

He felt restless now. Restless and exhausted. Too wound up to sleep thanks to Feng Xin and too tired to do anything other than lay there and replay words that he wished he’d heard under any other circumstances. Part of him wished he’d turned around and yelled at Feng Xin right from the very beginning, griped that he was too damn tired to listen to whatever it was that Feng Xin had to say.

Maybe then it would’ve ended in a fight. Maybe then Feng Xin would’ve chickened out, decided that Mu Qing wasn’t worth his thanks after all, and Mu Qing could have slept peacefully.

And maybe then tomorrow would have been easier without the phantom of such bittersweet gratitude following him as he walked away.

[optimisticgrey]

Echoes of the Thread, Part 6

Pairing: Unnamed Tav, Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, Astarion, Gale, Lae'Zel

WC: 1131

Summary: What happens to a Tav who does remember all their previous runs but failed every time?

Warnings: This contains spoilers. All of them. Some light smut hinted.

Read on AO3

The next day begins on a sombre note, the weight of the previous evening’s events still hanging heavily over the camp.

At least Scratch’s cheerful arrival helps little to lift the collective spirits. You make sure the good boy has everything he needs and can cuddle up in a tent if it starts raining. Shadowheart is delighted by the dog’s presence, taking her time to introduce herself.

You watch the interaction from a distance, a faint smile on your lips. A glimpse of the brilliant, kind-hearted person she will become.

When Astarion asks about the day’s plans, you inform the group of your intention to investigate the Zhentarim hideout.

It’s only partly true.

You know the horrors awaiting at Waukeen’s Rest, and the thought already twists uneasily in your gut.

Wyll, still despondent after last night’s ordeal, remains quiet. Not even Gale’s enthusiasm over the wine collected can cheer him.

When you arrive at Waukeen’s Rest, the group’s mood grows heavier. It is a grim sight after all: burning buildings, desperate shouts of Flaming Fist soldiers searching for their comrades, the acrid stench of smoke and death.

You help push open the main doors, already steeling yourself for Wyll’s reaction to the mention of his father’s name. His nerves are fraying, but you force yourself to maintain composure.

Shadowheart and Gale are tasked with extinguishing the fires, while you, Karlach and Astarion head deeper inside to rescue Counsellor Florrick. The tension is palpable, but you notice Gale watching you, his gaze lingering as you work. It brings a faint smile to your lips despite the chaos.

Navigating the collapsing buildings, you take the exact route you know will lead to Florrick, though you’re careful not to reveal just how familiar you are with this scenario. You have Karlach toss you and Astarion to the first floor and rearrange some boxes for easier exit while  Astarion picks the door’s lock. The door swings open to reveal the Counsellor. Together, you escort her back outside, Karlach offering a steady hand.

In front of the fountain, the drama unfolds as expected. You hang back, keeping a watchful eye on Astarion to ensure he doesn’t escalate things, while Florrick delivers a sharp reprimand to Wyll. It takes all your restraint not to push her into the nearest smothering corner.

Afterward, you shoo the others in the direction of the Zhentarim hideot and approach Wyll, alone. You offer him a hug. He accepts it, leaning into you as if drawing strength from your presence. For a moment, he confesses pieces of his history and the reasons he’s kept his struggles to himself.

“I understand,” you tell him gently. “It’s fine. You will be alright, Wyll.” Your words seem to ease something within him, and he even manages a small smile.

Moving on to the Zhentarim hideout, you say the damn passphrase to get access before stripping their storage containers of food. Zharys is as sharp as ever, and you take her gold with a practiced ease. You free the artist, Oskar Fevras, and send him on his way to Baldur’s Gate, barter with Brem for healing potions, and add a few spices to your mental list.

Gale will appreciate them later.

When you return to camp, you notice Shadowheart and Karlach are missing. Just as worry begins to creep in, the two of them appear, carrying a wooden bathtub between them. They set it down beneath the stone canopy near Shadowheart’s tent, both of them smiling as they admire their work.

“Care to join me?” Shadowheart asks with a chuckle, summoning water into the tub with a flick of her wrist.

The moment strikes a chord deep within you, stirring emotions you force back as you help her with the bath. Shadowheart summons the water, and you heat it.

A routine so familiar it brings bittersweet nostalgia.

“How long until dinner is ready, Gale?” she calls out, and his reply seems to satisfy her.

You watch her, trying not to stare, but it’s difficult.

She’s giggling. Light, carefree laughter that tugs at your heart. It’s the first time you’ve ever coaxed such a sound from her, and it makes your chest ache.

Shadowheart, so deeply wounded and unaware of the trauma she carries, is here now, inviting you into her moment of comfort.

Grabbing a bottle of wine from Gale after asking for one that holds no particular value to him, you return to Shadowheart. She’s already in the water, her soft moans of relief as she sinks into the bath making you smile.

You’re aware of the others watching as you undress and join her, their attempts at politeness doing little to hide their curiosity.

But you couldn’t care less.

Sharing this moment with Shadowheart is significant.

As you relax together in the warmth, you know this will become a tradition after the hardest battles: a chance to unwind, to reconnect, to heal.

Dinner is a delight, the new spices enhancing Gale’s cooking. It’s his first attempt at this recipe, but you have no doubt he’ll perfect it by the time you reach Baldur’s Gate.

You accept Astarion’s silent invitation as you all settle around the fire, though you still don’t quite understand why you always have to wait for the others to fall asleep.

Somehow, you crave him. His touch, the way he shivers when you kiss the sensitive spots you know too well, moaning his name.

Even this half-assed version of the brilliant man he will be once day, is just enough to help you keep it together.

When you meet him in the small grove, he greets you with a smile that stops you in your tracks. It’s different, somehow honest and unguarded. The first of its kind from this Astarion, and it sends an unexpected jolt through your chest.

Before you can fully process it, his lips are on yours, kissing you deeply, with a longing that feels almost vulnerable. His hand gently slides under your shirt, you shiver as he touches your skin. Realising you are letting him take control, Astarion smiles, his movements fluid and confident, but then you pull him closer, your tongue pushing into his mouth with a force that surprises even him.

“Someone is hungry ton—” he starts, but you cut him off with another kiss, harder this time.

“Stop talking, please,” you whisper against his lips as your hands open his pants. “I just need to get fucked tonight.”

A wicked grin spreads across his face, his fangs flashing in the moonlight. “Oh, darling, I am so glad you came to me.”

That night, for the first time in what feels like ages, you sleep well. Though your tent still carries the faint smell of rats.

[anarchiii]

Worlds Apart-3 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part three | warnings: mild language. | Azriel x Celaena Sardothien

Summary; Pain and suffering one after the other, Azriel decides that maybe he’s not meant for this world, but maybe he is meant for another…

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Celaena’s POV

“Move and you’re dead,” the male growled from behind her, she felt a sharp blade at her throat, “I wouldn’t dream on it” she whispered—as not to slice her own neck, of course—“state your name and where the Hel I am.” He said. His mouth so close she could feel his breath against her neck, “I’d check your tone, mister, I’m the reason you aren’t dead—by drowning or execution” she moved her head slightly, meeting his eyes and smirking, she may not know this male well—or at all—but she knew the simple gesture would piss him off, he released the knife from her throat and turned around to face her slowly, he quirked an eyebrow, “what do you mean executed? As far as I’m concerned—you are the odd one here. With your rounded ears and your blunt teeth”

She snorted, who did he think he was? He had some nerve making her the one sounding like an idiot, “look…Male…I don’t know what kind of thing you are trying to pull off but it’s not working. You can’t just appear in Ardalan—of all places—and act like you own the place. Especially in the Capital of Ardalan in the castle. So I’d check your place and in Mala’s name not point my own dagger at me!” she hissed.

The male had the audacity to just act surprised, did he hit his head or something? If he did it was probably her doing and if he hadn’t then she would very soon.

Thankfully, he lowered her damn knife and sat down on the bed, that’s when she noticed Fleetfoot hiding under the bed, “stop hiding under my bed you scaredy-cat!” She yelled at her dog, some protector.

The dog whined, crawling out from under her bed and pawing at her feet in an attempt as to apologise, Celaena just grumbled and scratched her snout before glaring at the male again, sighing. She said. “Look. I know we haven’t made a great first impression…my name is Celaena Sardothien, what of yours?”

“Azriel,” he said simply, not a male of many words apparently, though, it was better for her. She could only deal with so much talking before she started stabbing.

“Okay, Azriel…” she started, “how about you tell me where the fuck you are from?” He just frowned, okay…, “are you from Doranelle or just Wendlyn? Or maybe even the Southern Continent? I heard there are Fae there, or are you from here? Terrasen perhaps?” He blinked. Celaena’s patience and hospitality were fraying.

Fine, if he wasn’t going to talk then she would try tomorrow, besides, she had a client to take care of, and she had a feeling his majesty wouldn’t appreciate being kept waiting, sighing, she grabbed spare clothes from off the nearby table and chucked them at him—simply saying; “the bathing chamber is to your right, those clothes should fit you but I don’t know your exact size and it’s not every day I see a male your…hight…please go for a bath, you smell horrendous and I’m not sleeping next to you if you don’t” before she walked out. Not waiting for his answer. She grabbed her cloak off the nearby rack and walked out—just remembering to grab her sword, Celaena had enough pains-in-the-asses to deal with, she didn’t need to deal with Azriel as well.

The End.

-Taglist

@azrielslittleslut

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

[dreadsuitsamus]

Anytime | Kensei Muguruma x Reader |

author's note: this hurt a little bit to write lmao and i apologize in advance if it hurts you too

pairing: kensei muguruma x fem!reader

warnings: reader and kensei are divorced, a little bit of angst and jealousy

"I'm on my way."

It rings in your head, over and over, as you sit on the side of the road and wait for your ex-husband to come save you. Stomach a pit and each and every nerve wired and frayed, tears nearly brim in your eyes at the anticipation of his arrival. Being stuck on the side of a road you're sure hasn't seen a single driver on it in at least a week is one thing, and it's another when you've got three flats and an ex-husband with a hefty I told you so locked and loaded.

Your divorce with Kensei was finalized over two years ago, but the sad fact remains that he's the most important person in your life, and vice versa— which is why you informed him of this last-minute road trip, only to be warned against it.

"I don't think your car can handle that trip. Put it off until I can make sure everything is functioning properly."

And like a fool, you neglected to take it seriously and off you went to the festival. Perhaps it's why you had as great of a time as you did— karma was evidently waiting with a dish best served cold.

Your heart jumps at the sight of a black Silverado truck pulling up. He hates that damn truck, much preferring his fuel-efficient Elantra, but you've left him with no choice today. You're so distraught you can't even take much time to appreciate those long legs of his as he steps out of the truck; sometimes you wonder how you could be divorced from the most handsome man you've ever known.

Dressed in jeans with the platinum chain you'd gotten him many moons ago attached, boots and a black button down shirt, your gut tells you he was busy when you called. Looking so fine… He was on a date, wasn't he?

It burns.

With a resounding sigh, you meet him in the halfway distance between your cars. Kensei's never been particularly talkative and mouthy unless angry, and though there's certainly some simmering beneath the surface, he's calmer than you initially expected. He passes you a bottle of water and a protein bar before going to inspect the damage, subsequently sighing and rubbing his temples with his long fingers. "I'm amazed that your luck is so shit that you only got three flats so your goddamn insurance wouldn't cover it."

"I'm still trying to figure out how I only got three."

"Divine intervention." Kensei mutters bitterly and starts to roll up his sleeves past the delicious forearms that once would hold you up against the inferno that is the rest of his body at night. "When's the last time you even got these rotated, let alone changed?"

"I don't even know what having them rotated means."

Kensei sucks in a sharp, irritated breath and steels himself; it'll do no good to get upset this early into the project. He just… Wishes you fucking listened to him. About anything, at this point. "New rule. Get it done every time you get an oil change." And thank God your car is one that will bug the hell out of you about your service interval— he doesn't want to consider what your oil and other fluids would be like otherwise.

"Okay." You mumble and crack open the water, taking a long pull from the cold drink. It's refreshing and perfect, pulling your spirits up just a tad as you start to feel a little bit better physically.

"Eat that protein bar." Your ex-husband demands, heading for the bed of his truck and lowering the tailgate. He's got everything he needs for the swap— including time. "I know you, you little shit. You're running on a refresher from six hours ago and had a hearty helping of hopes and dreams to eat, didn't you?"

You scowl as you chew the protein bar. It's terrible, like every protein bar you've ever tried, but at least he got one that doesn't make you want to vomit. "I didn't call you here so you could lay into me about my eating habits."

Kensei's brown eyes cut to you as he lowers a tire to the ground. "You rather me go off about the rest of the shit you got yourself into now, then? 'Cause I was saving it for later."

Rolling your eyes, you look away from the man you married six years ago. He huffs and resumes himself, setting up a workstation and prepping your car to start swapping the new tires on. You find a spot nearby him, settling down onto the lawn chair you took to the festival as he begins cracking off lugnuts. Sparing a glance your way, Kensei feels a bit of a tug at his heart despite his rage. You may be his ex-wife, but you've never been bad to him a day in his life. "How long did you sit here before you called me?"

"About two hours." You sigh, finishing the water after forcing the protein bar down. "I tried to get my insurance to help me. They wanted to charge even more because it's a Sunday and I just don't have the money for all that. I considered just camping out for a night and having them come out tomorrow, but…"

Kensei shakes his head. He was waiting for your call or text announcing you were back home; that plan would never fly as long as he's in your life. "We gotta get you a new insurance policy, babe. You're done paying for one that would leave a woman stranded like that."

"Yes sir."

Silence settles in for a while as you watch Kensei work. A light bead of sweat trickles from his temple to his neck, and then he tosses his tools down to carefully slip the buttons open and take off his shirt. If it's somehow possible, his biceps are bigger than they used to be. Leaving himself in a white tank top, he tosses the shirt your way. "Keep that clean for me, yeah?"

"Mhm." You slip into the oversized shirt, his handsome smelling cologne flooding your senses. He's not slick at all; it's chilly out in this wasteland, and rather than simply ask if you're cold, he'd rather ensure you won't be.

His unstoppable air of authority wraps you up, even now.

"Were you busy?" Tumbles out of your mouth after the beat of silence lasts too long. He's finished one tire already and it's really hit you how much you relied on him during your marriage.

It's no wonder he didn't fight to salvage it.

"No." He lies through his teeth and it's easy. Just a little too easy.

It's no wonder you served him divorce papers.

Huffing softly, your brow draws together. "Yeah, right. You got dressed all nice just to come bail me out? Bullshit. I'm smarter than you give me credit for, Ken."

"And yet, you went on this trip without getting your car checked out." Kensei snaps right back, irritation creeping up and warming his neck and ears. "If you didn't wanna wait for me, fine! Why not take it to Abarai's place?" He's got a point— You've known Renji for years now, and he'd always make time for a friend, his business needs be damned. He'd have it done in a day, easy.

Still, the embarrassment of being scolded like this lights your temper. "I told you, Ken, this trip was not planned. I had a friend up north mention the festival and we decided to go to it and meet up."

"Even if I accept that answer, which I don't, there's no reason for you to let your car get this bad! I don't even wanna look under the hood! Why do I always have to take care of your shit for you?? Time and time again, you fuck up and then you call me to bail you out!"

Your eyes widen with a series of blinks. He doesn't sound pissed as much as he's simply… Tired. Upset. Kensei being angry or frustrated is not foreign to you— on his surface, it's the only emotion he knows. But as his wife, you saw the softer side of his feelings. He does get sad, he does cry and he does have bad days like anyone else. And as you take in his tirade… The realization hits that those glimpses of his belly showing were almost entirely gone by the time of your separation.

That marriage was already doomed by the time you attempted to save it. Serving the papers to him wasn't supposed to do anything but show his true colors— he'd fight for you, or he'd give up. And Kensei chose the latter.

"Ken." You murmur carefully. "What were you doing when I called you?"

Kensei throws the tools down, rubbing his hands over his face. "I was on a date."

You'd rather have been left on the road to die than hear him say those words to you. The sinking feeling in your stomach threatens to send that protein bar back up just at the thought of him sitting at a restaurant with another woman, treating her in the same ways he'd treated you way back when. Kensei dating isn't unusual, per se. He's a single man, attractive and still quite young…

But he's yours.

"And you came for me?"

Kensei's hands drop to his lap. "For better or worse, babe: that's the promise I made you."

"The wedding vows don't particularly mean shit after the divorce." Tears of shock and hurt fill your eyes, though you refuse to blink and let them fall. He will not make you cry again, ever, but… The turn of your head to look away from him sure does accidentally force them out.

Kensei drops his head— he hates it when you cry, and hates himself for being the reason. He should've just lied again, brushed it off and moved onto the next flat. It wouldn't have worked though; the guilt he shoulders when he lies to you eats him alive, and it triples due to the look on your face when he does lie. You know he's not telling the truth, every time he tries it.

"I don't know why you think I'm the type of man to leave any woman stranded, much less you. You're the exception to every rule I have, always have been."

Your lip wobbles. It's true, you've always been the one to break Kensei's rules. He said he didn't date coworkers. But he dated you. He said he wasn't after a serious relationship. He married you. He said you shouldn't see each other after the divorce. Yet, he was calling and asking how you were doing not even a week later.

He's always loved you.

It's quiet for a while, and eventually Kensei gets back to the entire reason he's here. Clouds are rolling in, and he'll be damned if he gets caught in the middle of a rainstorm right now. His chest cavity feels empty and he wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep these horrible feelings away.

"Why?" You ask after a while, your few tears mostly faded now.

Stop, stop, stop! Stop asking questions, stop crying over your ex-husband moving on!!

"Why what?" Kensei mutters as he torques the lugnuts on the second tire.

You sigh to yourself, a beat of silence taking over again. Kensei's amber eyes flick over to you, snuggled into his shirt and avoiding his gaze as you curl into your chair. You're at war with yourself, that mental battle clear as day on what he can see of your face. His heartstrings tug, and next thing he knows he's wiping his hands and kneeling in front of you, cupping your cheek in his hand so you'll look at him.

His thumb swipes away a small tear. "Babe. Talk to me. You're not gonna feel better otherwise."

Your chest heaves at his touch, at his sincere eyes and warmth that keeps you so in love with him even now as a shudder wracks your entire body. "You keep your promises to me. You're always there when I need you. But why didn't you fight for our marriage?"

Kensei's silver brows raise before knitting together. "You wanted to leave. I wouldn't force you to stay if you weren't happy."

"I wanted you to care! I wanted my husband to tell me he still loved me and that we could work it out, but you didn't! You let me leave without so much as asking why!"

Kensei withdraws his hand. "Of course I cared! Does this—" He gestures back to your car. "Look like I don't care?? You had my whole heart in your palm, and you broke it! But I still come for you! All I want is for you to be safe and happy, and if it's not with me, so be it! You matter more to me than I ever have!"

"I've never wanted anybody else." Your eyes burn with fresh tears. You've never so much as entertained another guy for a potential date, let alone go out with someone after the divorce. There's nothing but your love for Kensei stopping you, but foolishly you hoped he would do the same; how unrealistic and unfair of you.

How many dates has he been on with this woman? Has he kissed her yet? The entire idea makes you want to scream and cry and cuss an innocent woman out for banging your husband. Ex or not, he's still so much of your heart that to lose him would ruin you.

"Then why divorce me?" He murmurs, standing and stepping back. The clouds are darkening, and he feels a hefty drop on his shoulder. "Why put me through a divorce if you wanted to stay together?!"

Anger boils inside your stomach, blood churning at an incredible pace as you rocket out of the lawn chair and fill the space he's created between you. "Why not fight?! If you love me as much as you keep saying, why didn't you fucking try?!"

"I already told you!" Kensei yells right back. "You wanted to go! So I let you go, because it's what you fucking said you wanted! You ended our marriage over a goddamn test, like the six years we spent together were some kinda fucking joke to you. You can't accuse me of not caring when you ended a four year marriage over petty shit!"

"I gave you a choice, Ken! I served the papers, but you signed them." You poke his chest harshly as two raindrops bounce against your forehead.

"I'm not having this argument with you; the shit's been said and done with for almost three years." Kensei turns his back to you as the rain starts a steady fall to swap out the last tire and get the hell away from you.

"Is she pretty?" It's beyond petty, so stupid and childish but you've got to know. If he likes this woman, or God forbid loves her, you'll never call him again. You'll die cold and alone before even considering reaching out to him, as an ex-wife to an ex-husband should.

Kensei stops in his tracks. "Yeah."

"Do you love her?"

"Never."

"Why?"

Kensei looks up at the sky, the gray clouds swirling as the rain descends. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and it's the same as always every time he's left to gaze at the back of his eyelids— you and him on the night of your wedding, laying together in bed and giggling like teenagers at the prospect of your happy life together starting.

He turns, white tank top half soaked as he comes back to you and holds your face like porcelain. This beautiful face drives me crazy… "Nobody's ever gonna be able to be you."

You whimper and a fresh set of tears mixes in with the rain as Kensei leans down and kisses you, his passion so pent up that he's picking you up and pressing you to his truck before you can make heads or tails of anything. His shirt is swiftly bunched into your hand as the surprise subsides and the gratification fills you to the brim, your lips and tongue sliding with Kensei's in a messy reunification. Too long, it's been too long since you had this, since you felt his warmth on you and reveled in it.

His silver hair is silky between your fingers and he groans as you massage his scalp with your nails. He's always been a bit like a cat in that sense. Your legs around him and his arms around you tighten as you urge your bodies closer, leaving no room for even Jesus now. The rain pours around you, leaving you drenched by the time you've got no choice but to pull back, lest you die making out with your ex-husband.

All in all, not the worst way to go.

Kensei kisses your cheek gently, his lips lingering as he maneuvers to open the door to the passenger seat and shield you from the onslaught of rain. Peppering small kisses while he wipes the rain from your face, he turns the truck on and sets the heater up to keep you from getting sick.

He strips himself of his tank top once he's left you safely in the truck, tossing it in the truck bed before running to finish up the last tire change with this lucky break in the rain. Your fingers come to touch your tingling, smiling lips and you close your eyes as the space of Kensei's truck encompasses you.

By the time Kensei's back, his tools and your old tires all loaded up, you're beyond sleepy. Scooping you into his arms, your husband walks slowly and kisses your temple as he carries you to your car. "C'mon. Time to go home."

You steal a kiss off his lips, and by the time you're back in town, you weigh every option as you sit at a red light behind Kensei. Taking the next turn leads you home, but going straight will bring you right to Kensei's apartment building.

The light turns green.

[waitmyturtles]

Turtles Finds a Coping Mechanism: The Until We Meet Again Rewatches

I've been so committed to crushing through the Old GMMTV Challenge that I kind of didn't allow myself to think that life's blips and bloops would shake me from my pace.

Well, real life has SLAYED ME as of late, SLAYED ME, and as @lurkingshan has noted to me -- yes, there's a CERTAIN amount of dissonance for my watching UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, OF ALL SHOWS, as a coping mechanism, but here we are. I wanted to copy @bengiyo and rewatch UWMA anyway as a means of preparing for New Siwaj's Absolute Zero, which will be premiering at the end of September -- a time when my life will be calm-ish (???) again -- so I decided to take the plunge to see if UWMA would be a salve to my frayed nerves. It is, it totally is.

So here's some stream of consciousness notes, quite unlike my usual comparative/analytical style, just to honor what a ridiculously fabulous show UWMA is. (In my OGMMTVC analyses, I don't always get to gush over the cute stuff anyway because my posts get so long, so I'm doing a little of that here, too, ha.)

I knew that as soon as I watched it the first time for the OGMMTVC that I desperately wanted to rewatch it, so I just gave myself the go-ahead to eat the leum kleun candy. I've already completed one rewatch and am well into a second rewatch -- this show is so damn good, and now that I know the beats much better, I'm just having a lot of fun seeing in-depth the little nuances I missed the first time.

1) On my first watch, I did not appreciate how clearly Pharm was into Dean from the very start. The way Pharm flips through the photos of Dean that Team sends him from the first beach trip; the photo of Dean eating Del's breakfast; the way Pharm looks at the Facebook photo of Dean holding up the leum kleun. And how Pharm reacts when he saves Dean's phone number in his phone -- that ENORMOUS grin. I knew a lot going in the first time about Pharm's blushing maiden approach and how he was gunshy with intimacy for so much of the show. But I forgot in those early episodes -- homeboy was really into his crush! Taking that secret photo in the library, etc. He acknowledged it pretty immediately -- especially in that whispered conversation Pharm has with Team and Manaow in their English class. I had also forgotten that the show began with Pharm possibly questioning his sexuality, but being solidly knowledgable that it was Dean that was causing him to catch feelings.

2) Speaking of that fleeting moment in the library: after having watched the entire series the first time around, and remembering that Dean had saved that very first Post-It that Pharm had used to write a quick note on the papers that Pharm gave back to Dean in the library in... episode 2? Pharm had originally erased his name on that Post-It. It didn't click with me until this rewatch that Dean was able to make out Pharm's erased name from that Post-It -- which caused Dean to save the note, and use it as reference in the very last scene of the series. So cute.

3) I finally took the time to read about Phra Aphai Mani, the prince of the legend that Dean and Pharm talk about in the aquarium. Remember how Pharm says to Dean that Pharm doesn't like players?

DUDES. HAVE YOU READ ABOUT PHRA APHAI MANI? I guess, like, yes, if you're gonna have a super-long epic poem, a lot of shit needs to happen, but Aphai just kept marrying WIFE AFTER WIFE! FOUR WIVES TOTAL! One ogress, one mermaid, and two maybe humans? A half-ogress son here, a half-mer/son THERE, prince of THIS, king of THAT. Homeboy's life was COMPLICATED! I'm all EXTREMELY SYMPATHETIC to chaos, but this takes the damn cake. (And maybe gives me a touch more context into what's happening with that second marriage in I Feel You Linger In the Air, without the actual monsters/mermaids.) (Oh man -- imagine the Only Friends version of Phra Aphai Mani.) (NO.)

4) The first time around, I kind of though that the bits about Alex hitting on Pharm were a little extraneous and maybe a touch unnecessary, à la New Siwaj's style. But after my first rewatch, I stopped thinking so, and I actually began to enjoy them -- not only for how ridiculous they are, but I also recognized that that was the first time in the show that we see Pharm establishing boundaries. Of course, we see Pharm in his blushing maiden era forming boundaries with his P'Deeeean. But the way he's very clear with Alex, putting up as many walls as necessarily, and being exact in his communication that he likes someone else and is VERY not into dating Alex -- Pharm showed clarity and strength there. While Dean clearly liked to care for Pharm and treat Pharm as his younger companion -- Pharm also had agency, and knew he owned his agency, and I liked how that agency was first demonstrated vis à vis Alex.

5) I totally forgot about this, but -- I think it was the second time they had breakfast together in Pharm's condo? the third? that scene where Pharm's wearing the yellow shirt and he drops the bowl -- remember when Pharm asks Dean if he's mixed-race? I don't think I still understand the meaning of that. I'm guessing Pharm is asking if Dean is Thai-Chinese? I want to think on this more, because -- in episode 16, when Pharm goes to his uncle's/grandpa's house, it is clear that the house is a Thai-Chinese household. There are banners with Chinese script on the walls. I wonder if that was meant to indicate that Pharm was under the impression that he himself (Pharm) was fully ethnic Thai -- but with his relationship to his dad's side of the family being more revealed, it would turn out that Pharm himself was also "mixed." I did think it was cute that Pharm said, "I like it" to Dean after Dean's answer -- another instance where Pharm was being clearly flirty, despite the whole blushing maiden thing.

6) I did not appreciate the first time around, how good Ohm Thitiwat's acting was in the car scene when he's processing Korn's suicide. At the end of the series, I was so taken by the condo scene that I failed to give props to other intense moments, and that car scene was one of them. When Dean arrives at the building where Pharm and Sin lived next to each other -- a part of me wondered if he had originally intended to visit Sin, before hesitating to knock on Pharm's door. I'm not sure, and I wasn't sure after this rewatch. But that was a hell of a recognition moment on the part of Ohm's acting, and it was really damn good. (In fact -- it was my thinking about that car scene, and my wanting to watch it again, that prompted these rewatches in the first place.)

7) It may have been a little confusing, but: I really liked that the Korn x Intouch flashbacks were never presented in chronological order. I liked that the show had Dean and Pharm piece together their dreams and nightmares to come to a collective understanding about the trajectory of Korn and Intouch's relationship, even before Dean receives the background information from Sin. I know I was always a little confused during my first watch as to what moment in time I was watching with Korn and Intouch, but I recognize now that that was a reflection simply of when Pharm and Dean were receiving the same information themselves -- and I liked that the viewer was going through the same process that Dean and Pharm were going through.

8) At the way beginning of the series -- episode 2, maybe? episode 3? -- I like that Dean slyly figures out where to park himself on campus to see Pharm coming out of class. This is before the electric transformer explosion. Dean already was so swayed by Pharm. So cute.

9) I think it first struck me as a touch weird that Manaow and Del (Dean's sister!) were the admins of the DeanPharm chat group. But now that I can think more about it -- I wonder if they were doing that maybe as a way to help Pharm through his hesitancy and protect him from the fans. That being said: one of my absolute favorite moments was when Del first leans about Dean's first sleepover at Pharm's condo -- the way she jumps up and down and tries to calm her smile down. I was CRAAACKING up.

10) Maybe it's because I'm Indian, and used to very large and complicated families, that the relationship between Dean being a part of Intouch's family and having Korn's spirit, and vice versa with Pharm, wasn't confusing to me. But what really got me during my first rewatch was: Fluke Natouch's just INCREDIBLE acting when Pharm first meets Intouch's sister/Dean's grandmother, and Intouch's niece/Dean's mother. When I first watched the scene of Pharm meeting Dean's grandmother, a number of friends commented on loving that scene as well. GOD. It struck me as hard the second time around as the first time. And I think I was even MORE moved the second time around to see Pharm meeting Dean's mother.

Dean's mother had to process a LOT in the moment that she met Pharm. She had to process that her son had a boyfriend, that that boyfriend was there in her house in the first place, and that she'd have to tell her husband (Dean's dad) that their son's boyfriend was sleeping over. AND, that was all BEFORE Pharm had his reaction to Dean's mom once he was finally awake and processing things again. And THEN, she knew that Dean HIMSELF would have to tell his dad the next day and ask for his blessing. Moms have to go through a lot (do I ever know that life), but that was a LOT for Dean's mom, and god, I just gained a new appreciation for those scenes and how Dean and Pharm managed the whole damn thing together. (Also, now that I've seen The Love of Siam, as well as, of course, KinnPorsche -- and, OH, Be My Favorite, too! Kob Songsit. LEGENDARY BL DAD!)

11) My initial flip-out on the condo scene still stands. During my rewatch, I rewound it, like... three times? Fuck, man. One of the BEST BL scenes, ever, ever.

12) I loved taking my time to watch the very final scene, when Dean and Pharm have had the same dream of Korn and Intouch thanking them, and they get back together. I really loved paying attention to how all the Post-Its came back, the meaning of Never Forget, all the little notes and memories of when they had first met. Intouch's ring, the very first note Pharm wrote to Dean, all of it. Dean was such a sentimental simp from the start.

(Because I'm on such a DeanPharm kick -- and I know this is against better advice, but -- I'm considering a fast watch of Between Us just to see DeanPharm's conclusion. I know! The side couples are supposed to be chaotic, but, but. Once I get more time.)

13) Last note. Again, when I have time again, I'm wanting to write a Big Meta on separation. I've noted in some of the most important GMMTV BLs, that separation is often a key theme. But I think Pharm asking for a break was also incredibly key, and keyed into his continued commitment to setting boundaries. I think I probably fell most for Pharm as a character with him doing this -- strange, I know, since I love DeanPharm incessantly, but his standing up for clarity for his feelings meant so much for the internal strength he had gained by surviving the ordeal they had gone through. He was going to stick to his guns to make sure the relationship was authentic FOR HIM, and he did just that.

GOD, THIS WAS CATHARTIC! If you read this, thanks for going through this with me! I'm addicted to writing and this was a fun break in the midst of life chaos. I promise the OGMMTVC will hopefully continue without interruption, but that being said -- I'm watching Not Me, slowly, and having a great time with it. But UWMA is my woobie at the moment, and I just love having fallen in love with this show.

[raisoramizu]

Hazbin Hotel NSFW angst Fanfic - Golden Ashes

Fan Fiction Radioapple: A Seven-Chapter Series for the Luciangstweek2025.

Lucifer's move to the Hazbin Hotel after the clash with Adam doesn’t seem to help with his depression. The void left by Lilith’s absence and his growing frustration with managing Hell lead him to develop a form of masochism.

However, the worst human soul residing at the Hotel seems to notice.

Thanks to @Sberryradio for the cover art. CHAPTER 1 (Loss/Alone): The Void of Solitude

After Adam’s complete destruction of the old structure, the Hotel had been entirely rebuilt. Bigger, grander, ready to welcome all the sinners who would come from now on. Charlie was convinced of that. She was full of hope. The kind of hope I lacked. The kind that had faded over the millennia and had vanished completely in the last seven years. She was my light. Given all the darkness clouding my heart now, I didn’t think I could ignite another flame—but I did. Of course, it wasn’t all my doing.

At first glance, Charlie was my physical twin, but she had a lot of her mother in her too; that rebellious energy, which she insisted on keeping dormant in her naivety, had come out during the last extermination. She was a seemingly harmless ember, still smoldering, waiting to ignite at the right moment. My little ember. And I, like a moth drawn to the flame, had ended up here.

Despite promising Lilith I wouldn’t interfere with the Hotel, here I was.

We could’ve done better with the structure. I definitely would’ve done better. But I chose to let Charlie and her friends decorate the Hotel as they saw fit. There’s a piece of everyone in there. A piece of me, too. But there’s also...

“Mmh.”

An irritated groan snapped me back to reality, and I turned toward the kitchen entrance.

“What is that disgusting smell?”

His voice alone was enough to set my nerves on fire. I felt a heat rising from my chest, flaming up into my head, dizzying me.

There he was. Artasos, Arlatos, Aristos, Alastor—whatever the hell his name was—that damned sinner with the vintage deer aesthetic. He stood still under the doorway, lanky, smug, dressed in his frayed red suit and black slacks, with his hands clasped behind his back, gripping his microphone-topped staff. The staff was clearly broken, held together by thin strands of his greenish sorcery.

I stopped what I was doing and turned to him, throwing him a glare.

The kitchen was massive, one of my designs, with a few pointers from the maid... Niffis, Miffy, Niffty—whatever! That tiny cyclopean psychopath. The floor was a black-and-white checkerboard, with red stripes along the walls that connected to the wall-mounted lamps. It was fully equipped: double ovens, sleek modern decor, adorned with flourishes reminiscent of my beloved circus.

It was obvious that sinner didn’t appreciate the decor. He lazily tilted his obnoxious, sharp snout toward the ceiling, scanning the room with a judgmental air.

I adjusted my footing on the stool I’d been standing on—for better reach at the stovetop—and leaned toward him, wearing my most inflamed expression.

“I’m making pancakes!”

“Oh ~ I can tell. You must’ve drowned them in a sickening amount of maple syrup. The stench reaches all the way down the hallway.”

He shot back, staring at me with those crimson eyes, full of so much detachment and arrogance that I wanted to jam my fingers into them. But I noticed something different. Unlike when we’d first met, his eyes were rimmed with a strange weariness. I only picked up on it because there was something off about his voice—it was sharp and insinuating as usual, but... something was missing.

“...”

I hesitated, furrowing my brow and parting my lips slightly, but a pang in my gut snapped me out of it.

“Don’t worry! These are only for those who fought and helped rebuild Charlie’s Hotel—not for cowards who got their asses kicked and ran off with their tails between their legs. Ha!”

I exclaimed, so worked up that I lost control of my tone, which echoed obnoxiously through the room. I puffed out my chest, placing my hands on my hips, still standing on the stool, feeling triumphant as the other let out another irritated groan.

Think of the devil, and he grows horns. But hell, buddy, I’m the devil!

When I looked at him again, his crimson eyes had sharpened with anger.

I bared my teeth, saliva dripping as I lit up my own gaze with a fiery red glare, leaning toward him—still on the stool—rigid and ready for a fight.

“Alastor! Dad!”

But Charlie’s voice defused the tension that had swelled in the room.

I instantly wiped away my demonic scowl, relaxing my shoulders. My surprised expression shifted to Charlie, who was peeking around Alastor’s shoulder.

He hadn’t turned around, still staring at me with that damned smirk and an exhaustion-lined face, tinged with an annoyance I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Oh, what’s that burning smell?! Something’s on fire!” Charlie gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.

“!”

In an instant, I realized the disaster. I whipped around toward the stove, where a dense, irritating black smoke was billowing from the skillet holding the last two pancakes.

“Oh, crap! Crap!!”

I panicked.

Grabbing the skillet handle, I yanked it off the heat, snapping my fingers to summon the magic needed to fix the damage. In a blink, the smoke vanished, and the pancakes returned to their perfectly golden state.

"Ah-ah-eh... ah! All done, no problem!" I exclaimed with a nervous chuckle. I turned on the stool to face them, proudly showing off the frying pan with breakfast. I squinted one eye, glaring at Alastor again—that bastard had noticed it was burning and didn’t say a thing.

"Oh, perfect! Great job, Dad!" Charlie exclaimed, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. "They look delicious!" she added before turning to Alastor beside her. "Are you joining us for breakfast, Al?"

That question struck a nerve.

"No," he answered cordially, curt. That’s what his voice was missing—that embarrassing radio filter. "Thanks, Charlie, but I think I’ll step out for some fresh air. Wouldn’t want to get poisoned." He turned and started to walk through the doorway.

Charlie looked puzzled. "Poisoned?" she asked, but he didn’t answer. Then she looked at me, seeing the fiery glare I had fixed on him—fire that instinctively flared between my horns.

Poisoned. He really thinks I’m capable of something so pitiful? As if I’m on his level—on par with the hordes of mad, degenerate sinners, dishonorable murderers polluting my realms. He knows nothing about me. If I wanted to end his miserable existence, I wouldn’t need cheap tricks like that. A single look would be enough to reduce him to ashes.

The look I kept fixed on his bony shoulders as he disappeared from my sight.

"Dad..." A soft voice, accompanied by the light touch of a hand on my shoulder, shattered the darkness gathering in my mind. That simple gesture destabilized me more than any blow could. Charlie, so much like her mother, with that ability to dissolve my torment with just a glance or a touch. Yet the weight of her concern pierced me like a blade. I didn’t want to be the cause of her pain.

"...Please. Can you try to get along with Alastor? He fought for the Hotel; he got hurt. What else does he have to do to earn your trust?"

Her words stabbed straight into my heart. Hurt? Oh yes, he had been hurt. My eyes widened as I glanced again at the doorway where the Red Sinner had disappeared. Is that why he looked so battered? Of course. Who cares. He’d be better off dead anyway.

He’s just manipulating my daughter, scheming for some twisted reason. Maybe he wants to make a deal with her, to use her when the time comes, or... violate her? Oh hell no, if he even thought about laying a finger on her, I’d string him up by that tiny excuse of a manhood he probably has between his legs.

"Yeah, I don’t trust him, Charlie. Be careful with sinners, okay?" I sighed, letting my free hand rest on the back of hers, which was still on my shoulder.

She stared at me, her expression growing more intense.

Damn it. Don’t look at me like that, like you pity me. I’m here to support you, to protect you, not to make you worry.

A lump formed in my throat, and a strange pressure weighed down on my chest. My anxiety was rising, dangerously so. I couldn’t break down into a panic attack right now. I suddenly jolted, forcing the best smile I could muster, and with an annoyingly high-pitched voice, I shouted, "LET’S EAT!"

I quickly flipped the pancakes in the pan, narrowly avoiding them crashing onto the floor. Damn it.

"..." She looked at me, almost puzzled, then smiled. "Okay, Dad, I’ll go get the others!" She stepped away, leaving the kitchen.

I stretched my grin from ear to ear, keeping it plastered on my face until she left the room. Then I nearly collapsed. I let out a long, defeated sigh and dropped the pan onto the counter with a metallic thud, my hands trembling as I tried to keep some semblance of control. But the pressure on my chest tightened, like invisible claws gripping my ribs, and my shoulders sagged under the weight of an anxiety I wouldn’t even admit to myself. The ruler of Hell, reduced to trembling like a pathetic mortal. Shit.

My eyes widened, my mouth refusing to close. I started gasping heavily as the crushing sensation in my chest tightened like jaws around my ribcage. Shit.

I turned pale, chills running over me. It was freezing, but I was starting to sweat. Shit.

I swallowed hard, once, twice, three times. Calm down. I’m going to have breakfast with Charlie. She’s so happy I’m here with her. I’m with her. Calm down.

I was drooling. Swallowing wasn’t helping. I licked my lips and wiped my chin with the back of my hand, leaping off the stool. I staggered to the sink, conjured a glass of water with magic, and gulped it down in one go. Charlie asked for my help. I’m helping her.

I don’t know how I managed to calm down enough to avoid raising suspicions and sit through breakfast with everyone. Somehow, I kept up appearances: only a stray lock of hair out of place and my bow tie undone, but my shirt and waistcoat remained perfectly neat. I spent breakfast laughing and basking in Charlie’s smiles, in her joy at having me there with her in a moment that almost felt like family. Like what we’d lost so many years ago.

...But despite it all, my anxiety never left me. The whole time, I felt it scratching away deep inside. A sense of dread, of unease I couldn’t quite place. I knew exactly where it came from. But right then? Damn it.

In the end, everything went smoothly, and I found myself walking through one of the grand upper hallways alongside Charlie and her girlfriend.

"We’ll get ready, and then we’ll meet in the Common Room for the morning redemption activities. If you’d like to join us... I’d really love that, Dad!" Charlie said, so sweetly. Her partner, Vaggie—I immediately remembered her name—was wrapping an arm around Charlie’s waist as we walked toward the crossroads of the two wings of the Hotel. They brushed against each other with their hips. Charlie was taller, but the other one had a more confident, proud air about her. You could see how much she cared for Charlie and how willing she was to erase herself to protect her. My Charlie, my little girl, had found sincere love, a pure connection that I couldn’t help but admire.

In that moment, my anxiety settled, as if their happiness alone could disarm my inner demons. But then that thought hit me like a blow: the image of Lilith, her face, her voice… and the emptiness she had left behind clawed its way into my chest again, demanding space. I stopped suddenly after the last step, standing at the center of the crossroads between the two wings. Ahead of me was the staircase leading up to my room on the Hotel’s highest floor.

I placed a hand on my chest and stared at the floor, my eyes wide. “Are you okay, Dad?” Charlie asked.

“Oh, yes!” I blurted out, snapping my head up with a massive smile. “I’ll come! I’ll go freshen up too!”

“Great, see you later, then!” she exclaimed, turning and starting to walk toward her room, still wrapped in her partner’s embrace.

I stood there, motionless, watching them. Charlie extended an arm to encircle Vaggie’s waist, and I saw them exchange sweet words, giggling together, cheeks flushed, before sharing a small kiss as they disappeared down the corridor.

Sighing, I moved my arm in a sweeping motion, conjuring the golden portal that transported me directly into my room. I wasn’t about to climb all those stairs. I needed to get away. To escape. To flee… or to lock myself away even further?

That’s exactly how I felt when the portal spat me out into my suite. I stumbled out of the golden arch and collapsed to the floor with a thud as it closed behind me.

Before I could even plant my feet firmly on the ground, I felt all the tension I’d been holding onto unravel into a frigid wave. I found myself crumpled on the plush white carpet, my palms pressed against it as I succumbed to a full-blown panic attack. My breathing was erratic, matching the frantic rhythm of my racing heart. Eyes wide open, I stared at the saliva dripping from my parted lips, forming dark stains on the floor beneath me. I was paralyzed.

The jaws were devouring me from within, clawing at my lungs and making my head spin. My muscles tensed instinctively, cords straining under the thin skin of my neck and the backs of my hands, while my loosened bow tie swung wildly with each convulsion of my body. Crap, crap. I clenched my teeth, furrowing my brow, as my eyes burned with the heat of the combustion flaring inside me. I needed to get out. A window. I needed air, but I couldn’t move. Crap, crap!

I was used to this. How many times had I endured and survived these kinds of attacks? I’d never died. I wasn’t going to die now... though it felt like I might. Maybe this time, there really was no way out. This time was different. Because I wasn’t just feeling that unbearable tightness; there was something else. Anger.

I could feel it rising, bottling up in my throat like a boulder that choked me. My breathing grew more desperate. My skin felt icy, and sweat trickled down my face. “Find a fucking way, Lucifer.” There was no way. I was alone. Alone in a room half-draped in shadows. Despite its spaciousness, thanks to its circular design and the countless tall windows lining its walls—the ones visible from the Hotel’s exterior—despite the modern, bright furniture, the white-and-gold walls, it felt like I was trapped in a vise tightening around my body.

It was all dark. I was alone.

Charlie needed me, but for how much longer? I couldn’t focus on happy memories or comforting thoughts. She had friends; she was a grown woman. She had built the family I had never truly been able to give her. A family made of damned Sinners. The most wretched souls, those who had turned Free Will into sticky tar, into absolute evil. And Lilith was gone.

Her beauty, her smile, the warmth of her voice… all gone. She was no longer there to calm my storms, to hold me up when I faltered. I could no longer touch her skin, taste her lips.

I realized my tongue—red and forked—was hanging out of my mouth, drooling onto the floor. Was this how I would die? Petrified in such a humiliating position? Oh fuck, if I died, at least I wouldn’t feel this shit inside me anymore.

My gaze felt heavy. I tried to lift it, and for a moment, my eyes rolled back, sending my head spinning. But then I focused on the room. The outlines of objects blurred and wavered, as sweat streamed down my face.

The fireplace by the entrance. Above it, a small painting of the Royal Palace. A yellow rubber duck, mundane.

Then my gaze moved to the cabinet next to the bedroom door. A messy pile of rubber ducks. And a photograph, mounted on the wall: Lilith and me. I was laughing, my mouth wide open in pure joy, while she looked at me with affection and understanding. Gorgeous. Unreachable.

I mustered the mental strength to pull my tongue back into my mouth to avoid biting it off as a growl erupted from me, my jaws clenching so tightly I tasted the sweet, metallic tang of my divine blood. My claws dug into the floor, leaving deep grooves behind.

And then, I exploded.

With a desperate scream, I leapt to my feet, arms wide open. A shockwave tore through the room, lifting chairs and objects, ripping the photograph from the wall. Before the small frame could hit the floor, I’d snatched it midair. Completely transformed, my body radiated the searing light of fire—flames igniting between my horns as my wings blazed, filling my body and the room with spectral eyes. They were everywhere, yet not as fiery as the glowing red embers of my pupil-less eyes.

Clutching the picture frame, I crushed the glass in my grip. Then, with a furious snarl, I hurled it at the wall. The glass shattered, fragments scattering like shards of rage.

I screamed. A raw, guttural howl that made the windows tremble. My hair, soaked with sweat, clung to the hands gripping it tightly. And once again, I froze. Panting, I stared down at the fallen photograph, now a broken memory among the shards.

I’d let it out, but the cold crept back in, the weight of what I’d just done crashing over me.

My eyes widened, brimming with tears. Through the shards of glass, I saw the photograph. "Lilith!" I cried out, lunging desperately toward the memory. I stumbled, my body heavy and awkward. When I finally grasped the photo, I collapsed onto the ground, my body returned to human form.

The glass from the frame crunched beneath my knees as I cleared the photo of fragments, lifting it against my chest with trembling fingers. I hunched forward, shaking with sobs. "Oh, Lilith, I’m so sorry!" I whimpered, crying. "I miss you so much!" My voice was thick with emotion, my face burning, irritated by the salt streaking my skin. "This is why. I’m sorry... Why is this more important than me?" I shouted, my voice cracking uncontrollably. "I can’t wait for you anymore, see? Don’t you see... I’m so pathetic!"

The last words escaped in a broken whisper as I crumpled again, pressing my forehead to the floor among the shards of glass. I held the photograph beneath my chest, my hands trembling, my heart feeling like it would implode.

"Lilith…" I whispered, an unbearable, primal need taking over.

I licked the saliva mixed with tears from my mouth, while my left hand, still wearing my wedding band, slid toward my groin. A wave of raw desire hit me, swelling my cock against my pants until it was visibly straining. I lifted my forehead slightly, clawing at the carpet as my other hand pressed against the tightening fabric. Each touch heightened the tension, forcing me to seek relief.

Tensing slightly, without shifting position, I raised my hips and started massaging the hard need through my pants. Pre-cum soaked the fabric, and my movements grew faster.

I rubbed, the rustle of fabric mingling with my increasingly ragged breaths. My heart still pounded wildly, but now it wasn’t panic or anger—it was lust. Perversion. Arousal. It pressed against my balls, tightening them as impatience drove me to free my cock and take it in hand.

What a pathetic creature I am. For centuries—and the past seven years—I’d dug into my heart to find the source of this pain. I knew it stemmed from my Fall. Though I never sought forgiveness, I’d never accepted it. I thought I could manage it. She was there. She’d always been there. But now, she wasn’t. Something else mattered more than me. How arrogant I’d been to think I’d remain the center of her thoughts as she has always—still today—been the center of mine. Human souls are fickle; they grow weary.

With fevered movements, I unfastened my pants, grabbing myself firmly. A groan escaped me, releasing part of the pressure consuming me. My mind emptied; the world around me vanished, leaving only the photograph before my eyes and the wet tip of my cock emerging between my fingers.

Everything else faded, but I remained in a bubble. Around me, there was nothing but that photograph. My muscles felt numb, but I needed it. Needed to rub, to stroke.

Each motion brought louder, raspier gasps. I needed release, and only this would grant it—rough, violent strokes, heedless of the tears drying around my swollen eyes.

And I stared at her, Lilith. My movements became frantic, the strokes quicker and more erratic. The raw sound of flesh against my groin filled the room, blending with my labored breathing. Each thrust was a silent scream against the suffocating pain inside me.

The blond hairs surrounding my groin grew damp with the pre-cum coating my cock, soaking my pants. I wiped it off the taut skin, spreading it again, faster, in increasingly erratic motions, matching my ragged breaths and heated moans.

I was created to bear Divine Light, and I brought Darkness instead. And I couldn’t even handle that. A king without a crown, with an unwanted kingdom, forced, shackled. A naive creature with lofty hopes, crushed under the weight of them.

I didn’t care about the sweat soaking my clothes, the saliva dripping to the floor, or the ring scraping my skin. I wanted to feel that pain. I wanted it to hurt, to punish my sin, my failure.

I gripped too tightly, pain coursing through me like a jolt, shooting up my spine. I cried out—a guttural sound that accompanied an explosive orgasm. Pleasure overtook me, silencing every thought, every torment. My spasms spilled in hot streams, striking the photograph, covering Lilith’s face.

Her visage, once so radiant, was now obscured by my shame. Even my most cherished memories tarnished under the weight of my existence, as though everything I touched was destined to decay. I whispered her name again, as if saying it could mend the wound carved into my heart. But the only response was the silence of the room, so vast, so empty.

I didn’t even glance at the mess I’d made. The release had emptied me, leaving only the echo of my torment. And yet, in that forced quiet, I found a flicker of peace. It wasn’t enough—it never would be—but for now, it was all I had.

I collapsed fully onto my back with a thud, amidst my filth and the shattered glass, too exhausted to rise.

I didn’t want to rise. I fell asleep that way, on the floor, finding a brief reprieve in slumber after years of torment. At last, the darkness came to save me. It wasn’t the redemption I sought, but a temporary oblivion. And perhaps, just perhaps, there, I wouldn’t feel the weight of her absence.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Wait For Me

Summary: Dean wants to blow off a bit of steam on his own, so he leaves Sam to his research and hits up the local watering hole. 

Pairing: Dean x Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: one night stand, bar hookup, semi-public sex,  attentive lover, mutual comfort, touch starved, volume control, dirty talk, praise kink, orgasm control, teensy bit of breath play Word Count: 4,030

Commissioned by: @pink-sparkly-witch

Bingo Square: @j3bingo - “You better be quiet if you don’t want to get caught.” / @anyfandomkinkbingo - Beggin’ for Thread, Banks

“Don’t wait up,” Dean waves at Sam absentmindedly as he shuts Baby’s door behind him, slapping her on the hood in farewell as he heads into the bar while his brother is still rifling around in the trunk of the car, looking for the library books he needs to return. They’ve been on the road for a few days now and Dean has been feeling a bit too cooped up with Sam the past few nights. Stopping over in this town to look into a case had been more of a whim so they could stretch their legs, and after a day of fake fed interviews and local library research this wasn’t looking like their kind of thing after all, but Dean would be damned if he was just gonna pack up and drive another ten hours with nothing but Sam’s weird serial killer podcasts to keep his mind occupied. 

He pushes into the dive bar he’s picked out and breathes in deeply, his frayed nerves immediately settling as his lungs filled with the familiar scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. He’d never been hooked on smokes, but the smell always takes Dean back to the rebellious excitement of his high school days when he’d been too bored to stay in class and too concerned with looking cool, spending hours under rusty bleachers lighting up with the local stoners and ne’er-do-wells. 

Eyeing up a stool that has a healthy amount of empty seats on either side of it, Dean sidles up to the bar and signals to the server, who flashes him a friendly smile as she finishes pulling a pint for another customer. Dean shucks his jacket and tosses it on the seat beside him, getting comfortable as he eyes up the available liquor and debates just how quickly he wants to make himself forget why he’s drinking in the first place. It’s not like he’s got any specific baggage he’s looking to shed, just the standard supernatural crap that they wade through on a weekly basis and the persistent sound of his little brother’s bossy voice in his head telling him he needs to loosen up a bit. Well, Sammy, wish granted, Dean muses as he decides he’ll dive right in with the whiskey and skip the beer altogether tonight. 

“What can I get ‘ya, handsome?” the bartender interrupts his thoughts and Dean switches his gaze to inspecting her instead of the whiskey. She has warm, welcoming eyes and a wide smile that feel flirtatious on the surface but Dean’s been in enough bars and hit on enough bartenders to recognise the distance behind her expression. He knows the difference between flirting for tips and flirting for a quickie on their shift break, but Dean’s happy to accept the friendly attention nonetheless. 

“Whiskey, rocks on the side–” Dean clears his throat and pulls on his most disarming grin, “–and your name, gorgeous?” 

“Any particular label?” She gives him a wry smile as she reaches for two glasses, dipping one into the ice cooler and setting it on a napkin in front of him.

“Dealer’s choice,” he shrugs, popping an ice cube into his mouth while he waits. “But I will be judging your taste behind your back, just FYI,” Dean chuckles as she turns towards the liquor shelf, giving her ass an appreciative once over while he has the chance to do so unobtrusively. He’s not disappointed with the view, but in his distraction, he misses which bottle she selects to pour from. 

“Getcha anything else?” the bartender smiles as she slips his drink onto another napkin in front of him. 

“Still waitin’ on that name,” Dean raises a brow hopefully but tries to keep his expression neutral and non-lecherous. He doesn’t want to come across as a dickbag. “I’m Dean,” he offers when she keeps her silence for a beat longer.

“Well, Dean,” she leans forward seductively over the bar and Dean has to make a concerted effort not to look down her top at the very nice pair of tits she’s displaying to him. “I don’t usually give my name out before you’ve had enough drinks that I know you’ll forget it in the morning,” she winks, her tongue tucked mischievously between her teeth as she smirks at him. Quick to take the bait, because it now seems like she’s graduated from tip-flirting to actual-flirting, Dean picks up his whiskey and knocks back the double shot in one go, letting the empty glass thunk down onto the bartop and then sliding it back towards her.

“I’ll take another.” 

Your eyes flick back over your shoulder for the millionth time since he’d arrived at the bar. Dean. Once again, his golden-green eyes meet yours over the rim of his whiskey glass, his brow furrowed deeply in concentration as he studies you, and you feel a flush burning hotly across your cheeks before you duck your gaze and turn away again. He’s been flirting with you all night, and you’ve been indulging him more than you normally would with most new customers. Typically you only flirted back with your regulars to keep them coming and keep the tips high. You wish that Dean would become one of those regulars, but he’d told you he was just passing through; road trip with his little brother, he needed a night to himself for once, he’d said. You wonder if he would object to alternative company… 

The way he was still staring at you so openly suggests that he might be up for it, and god knows you could use a one night stand. Your last boyfriend had been so selfish in bed, hardly ever bothering to make sure you were enjoying yourself as long as he was getting his rocks off. You have a feeling that Dean would be much more…generous. You can’t say why, but the way he carries himself, the way he keeps his eyes on your face when you’re talking and seems to actually pay attention to what you’re saying, even if it’s inconsequential small talk–you just have a good feeling about him. You aren’t looking for a relationship by any means, the last one was still too fresh a wound, but you wouldn’t say no to a decent fuck for once. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean calls from down the bar, and you turn to see him smirking at you with his empty glass raised, indicating he’d like another refill. Typically you would object to strangers calling you sweetheart but you still haven’t given Dean your name, so you suppose he has to call you something. And the way the word sounds in his mouth shoots shivers over your skin. It rumbles out of his chest, sitting low in his register and balancing on the back of his tongue, which flicks out to wet his lips as he keeps his gaze trained on you while you walk towards him to freshen his drink. 

You grab the whiskey and pour him another double, setting down the now considerably lighter bottle and turning around to add it to his tab. 

“You can go ahead and cash me out,” Dean says from behind you, and your head snaps around to look at him embarrassingly quickly. 

“You sure?” Your voice sounds pathetic even to your ears. You don’t want him to go, not yet. Your shift isn’t over for another two hours, and you’d hoped… stupid, you berate yourself. Gorgeous men don’t just drop out of the sky to fuck you and then disappear, you should have known better than to hope. 

“Yeah, I know my limits,” Dean chuckles, swirling the amber liquor around his glass and dropping a single shard of ice into it to open up the nose. You can smell the smoky caramel scent wafting towards you as the ice melts. “I want to be able to walk outta here on my own two feet, callin’ Sam to get me defeats the purpose of a night to myself,” he smiles at you with mirth lighting up his eyes, and you’re once again struck by how mesmerizingly gorgeous this man is as you slide him his bill across the counter. He barely glances at the total before grabbing a wad of cash out of his pocket and flipping down a handful of twenties that more than cover the tab. 

“Are you always this bad at math, or is that because of the drinks?” You giggle as you pick up enough cash for the bill and turn to put it in the register and retrieve his change. 

“Are we not supposed to tip our bartenders anymore?” Dean cocks his head curiously, eyes sweeping up and down your figure as a smirk spreads languorously over his full, whiskey-pinked lips. 

Raising a challenging brow at him, you look pointedly at the nearly two hundred dollars still sitting on the bar–the amount of his total all over again–and you carefully pull two twenty dollar bills from the haphazard pile, tucking the bills into your apron pocket. “That’s my twenty percent tip, put the rest back in your pocket before Sam finds me in the morning and has me arrested for robbery.” You let your lips turn up in a smirk as you give Dean your best authoritative stare, which probably neutralizes the effect a bit too much because he shakes his head in amusement, downs the rest of his whiskey, and sets the heavy-bottomed glass on top of the cash with the finality of someone who is used to getting his way. 

“My math is fine, sweetheart,” he insists, picking himself up from his barstool and leaning across the counter, close enough that you can clearly smell the whiskey on his breath when he speaks. “And the rest of me is still working just fine, too, if you follow,” Dean’s eyes narrow seductively. 

You’re instantly outraged, realizing that he’s hoping the big tip will sway you to sleep with him. Even though you’ve been hoping to do just that, being offered money for it makes you feel disgusting. 

“I’m not a prostitute,” you hiss angrily, turning away to leave Dean and check in with your other customers, but a strong hand shoots out and grabs your wrist holding you back. His fingers are long enough to wrap entirely around your arm and still overlap on the other side, and the feel of his skin on yours makes you freeze, your heart speeding up in your chest.

“I wasn’t sayin’ you are,” Dean assures you seriously. “The tip is for your excellent taste in whiskey and the good service.” He pauses, waiting for your eyes to meet his, and you swallow heavily when they do as the heat of his gaze seems to bore straight into your bones and warm you from the inside out. “I don’t pay cash for the other thing, more into a quid pro quo arrangement.” 

Slightly puzzled, your head tilts to the side as you consider his words until their meaning hits you. Orgasms. That’s how he pays for sex, making sure it’s reciprocal.

“My shift isn’t over until midnight,” you mumble lamely. It’s all you can think to say, your throat suddenly tight and your tongue dry.

“I haven’t seen you take a single break all night,” Dean counters with a quirk in his brow, lips pursed. You feel your mouth open and close as you search for a flirty answer, something that won’t make Dean think you’re a complete idiot, or worse–a complete prude. You’re not. You like sex. You want to have sex with him. You’re just having a bit of trouble functioning right now because he’s staring at you in a way that makes you feel like your stomach is melting out of your body. 

Dean releases his grip on your arm and the skin where his fingers were wrapped around you suddenly feels ice cold without his touch. “I’m gonna go find the restroom,” he clears his throat and gives you a meaningful look. “Seems to me even bartenders should be allowed bathroom breaks.” 

“I…” your mouth continues to cockblock you as you can’t think of any words to respond with. You see Dean’s face drop and his mouth draw tight in defeat. He raps his knuckles against the bar in farewell and turns towards the back of the bar in the direction of the restrooms–obviously actually planning to use them before he leaves. As he takes a few steps away, the prospect of letting him slip through your fingers like this spurs you to speak. “Dean!” you call after him, and he turns hopefully, but just as he does someone else calls for your attention from the other end of the bar. Caught between the two men looking at you, your glance back at the customer, then towards Dean again. 

“Wait for me?” you say to Dean pleadingly, glancing over your shoulder towards the man calling for you again, and you see a sly smile spread over Dean’s face as he nods and then spins on his heel and heads to the bathroom. 

You serve the new customers and check in with the other couple of people scattered around the bar to see if anyone needs anything before you slip away. Looking to one of your regulars–Kyle–you ask him to make sure no one burns down the place while you go around back to get some fresh bottles of liquor, and he agrees amiably with an entirely unsuspecting smile. You thank him and scurry away, hoping that the ten minutes or so you’d left Dean to wait wasn’t long enough for him to change his mind. 

As soon as Y/N–that’s what Dean had heard someone at the bar calling her, and he tells himself it’s not that creepy that he was paying attention, it’s perfectly natural considering his line of work that he likes to be aware of his surroundings–gingerly opens the door to the men’s restroom, Dean pulls her inside and slams the door behind her, pushing her body against it as he presses in the button of the lock. There’s no talking, there’s no need, he just dips his head down and kisses her, his hand coming up to the nape of her neck and tangling her hair between his fingers as his other hand settles rather chastely on her hip. Y/N’s arms wind themselves eagerly around his shoulders, pulling him even closer, and Dean takes the hint and presses the bartender into the door with the entire length of his body, his hips grinding against her and probably giving away the fact that he’s already got a semi hiding in his jeans. 

Pulling her lower lip between his teeth, Dean bites down experimentally and is pleased when she rewards him with a groan of excitement. Y/N’s chest heaves against his, crushing her tits against him, and at the reminder of their existence, Dean drops one hand to cup around the swell of one of her breasts, kneading it appreciatively beneath expert fingers. When Y/N arches into his touch encouragingly, Dean brings his second hand up under her shirt, pulling down the cups of her bra so he can play with her nipples while he sucks her tongue between his lips. There’s a muffled groan, and Dean realizes after a moment that it’s coming from him–a desperate effort to restrain himself from simply dry humping this girl to his climax. He’s established her willingness at this point, it’s time to move on to why they’re both really here. 

Sliding his hands around her waist and down the soft skin of her back, Dean bends at the knee to hook his large hands around the backs of her thighs and hoists her into his arms, whirling them around so he can set her down on the edge of the counter holding the sink. Y/N emits a squeal of surprise at the move, and as soon as he’s got her safely settled, Dean claps a hand across her mouth and makes a shushing sound, holding a finger to his lips. 

“You better be quiet if you don’t want to get caught,” he whispers heatedly, and his voice sounds rougher than usual to his own ears. “Can you be nice and quiet for me, sweetheart?” 

Y/N nods quickly, her lips pressed together in the universal expression of promised silence, and Dean grins at her, trying to hide his anticipation behind a veil of charm and seduction when he remembers to. 

“I know you’re gonna be a good girl for me,” Dean leans in to whisper against the woman’s ear, letting his breath ghost over her skin as he drags his lips teasingly down the column of her throat. Lower down, his hands are undoing the button and zipper on her jeans and helping her lift up so she can wiggle the tight denim down her thighs. He skims his fingertips between her legs and finds the damp fabric he was hoping to, pulling back to watch Y/N’s face as he begins to touch her. “I can feel how good you’re being for me already,” Dean smirks, rubbing the whole length of his hand across the crotch of her panties, using the fabric to add to the friction on her clit. Y/N’s head drops back against the mirror behind her and her eyes slide closed, her bottom lip sucked into her mouth as she tries to hold in whatever sounds she’s desperately wanting to make in response to the sensations Dean is drawing out of her. 

When he slides her panties to the side and slips a finger inside her for the first time, Y/N’s composure breaks and she swears loudly. “Fuck, Dean,” she groans, her hips thrusting back against his finger as he brings his thumb up to pet gently over her clit, teasing her as good as he knows how. 

“Tch, tch, tch,” he shakes his head in mock disappointment, the tip of his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “That wasn’t very quiet, was it, baby girl?” Dean furrows his brow in a teasing pout and the bartender rolls her eyes at him with a look he finds far too Sam-like. 

“How about you do something to shut me up then?” Y/N quips, raising her own brows in a challenge, and Dean has to suppress a chuckle. 

“Alright, but just remember you asked for it,” he grunts roughly, pulling her down off the counter with an abrupt yank on her hips and spinning her around so her ass is sticking out towards him, at the perfect height for his cock to sink straight into. With one hand pressing down on the center of her back, Dean rids himself of his jeans with the other, remembering to grab a condom from his pocket at the last moment and releasing the girl in front of him momentarily so he could roll the rubber down his aching erection. He gives himself a few strokes while he presses two fingers back between Y/N’s legs roughly, fucking into her and with a specific target, and Dean is satisfied with himself when he feels her cunt slick up around his hand even more as he massages her g-spot. He wonders if he’ll get her to squirt when she comes on his cock. 

Y/N buries her whines of pleasure against her forearms, and when Dean is satisfied with how wet he’s gotten her, he drags his fingers out and uses his other hand to line his cock up with the inviting hole, pushing himself in easily with a stifled groan. Y/N’s sounds of pleasure become a little too loud again and Dean tugs on her hair to force her head up and back, straining her throat and hopefully making it a little harder to get in a breath. 

“How long has it been since you’ve had a cock in here? You feel like a fucking virgin, I swear,” Dean growls softly, his words almost getting lost beneath the sound of his hips slapping against her ass every time he thrusts in. 

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Y/N pants, keeping her volume down more successfully. “Make me forget about him, Dean, please,” she begs, a high, keening whine getting caught in her throat as he directs his next ingress downwards so he’d rub the head of his cock over her g-spot. 

“No problem,” Dean groans, loving the way Y/N is squeezing his cock inside her with every thrust. He can see the muscles in her back straining where he has her shirt pushed up, and he’s pretty certain he’s gonna make her cum any minute. “Think about how good I feel inside you, how close you are already,” he leans further over her back so he can growl against her ear as he grinds against her ass, pushing in as deeply as possible and losing his breath as she flutters around him in a way that’s clearly involuntary–Dean’s been around the block enough to feel the difference. 

“Are you gonna cum for me?” he asks roughly, biting her earlobe and drawing a squeak out of her. It gives him a good excuse to bring a hand up to her mouth and slip his fingers inside to stifle her noises. She sucks greedily on his hand and Dean smirks to himself as he realizes she’s licking the taste of her own cunt off his skin. “God, you’re somethin’,” he moans, smacking his hips against her sharply. “Good fucking girl, cleaning your mess up for me.” 

“Mmphm,” Y/N moans by way of response, unable to say more with Dean’s fingers practically down her throat. “‘M, mm-onna umm,” she tries to warn him, and Dean decides that he wants to draw this out just a little bit longer. 

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, his forehead resting on her shoulder as he picks up the pace of his thrusts but changes the angle a little, trying to get his cock in deeper. “No you're not,” Dean pants. “You’re gonna wait for me like a good girl, ‘kay?” A groan of anguish is her only answer, but Dean feels her take a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself and draw back from the edge of her climax. “That’s it baby girl, so good for me, aren’t you?” he croons. “You took my fuckin’ breath away the second I saw this ass, and your cunt is even better than I could have imagined,” Dean babbles, he tends to start running his mouth when he��s about to cum. 

“D-eee,” the girl beneath him chokes out around his fingers, her volume climbing to discoverable heights once again, and Dean wraps the hand that isn’t finger-fucking her mouth over her nose, blocking out her air roughly. 

“Shh,” he commands. “I’m almost there baby, just let me use this cunt for what it’s fucking made for and we’ll both feel so good. Gonna make you see stars, sweetheart, can feel how good you’re squeezing me, I know you’re so close. You’re being such a good girl, waiting for me like I told you. You don’t have to wait anymore Y/N, but you still gotta stay quiet. I’m gonna take my hands away and rub that little clit because you’ve earned it and I want you to cum on my cock while I fill you up.” 

Dean yanks his fingers out of Y/N’s mouth and digs them between her legs, her spit making it easy to speed his fingers over her bundle of nerves, coaxing her orgasm out of her forcefully as the muscles in his thighs seize up and his balls draw tight. When Y/N’s cunt spasms around him Dean finally lets himself go, muffling his groan by biting down on her shoulder as he stills inside of her, his cock twitching as it empties into the condom. 

“Fuck,” the bartender swears under him, her mouth pressed against her forearm to stifle her own sounds.  

“Worth the wait?” Dean asks breathlessly, a grin already spreading across his face because he knows the answer.

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[theherosvillain]

1: You'll never take me

(TNT)KAYF Masterpost - Next >>

CWs: violence, kidnapping, drugging

I slumped against a brick wall, my thoughts racing as I tried to catch my breath. I was almost certain I’d run halfway across the city by now, but I didn’t think Amoret had followed me. Still, I felt jumpy, my nerves frayed by the encounter. Letting her catch me was a stupid, risky move, and I was cursing myself for it now. I got what I wanted, but it left me injured, breathless, and worst of all, without my powers.

It was temporary; Amoret had at least assured me of that. But I couldn’t use my telekinesis or sense anything around me. It felt like being blindfolded. She hadn’t told me when it would wear off, either, which only added to my anxiety.

I needed to get out of the open. Maybe I could get to Doctor Professor’s place—I wasn’t in desperate need of medical attention, but I didn’t exactly want to be alone after everything that happened tonight. I couldn’t tell him everything, but I knew he wouldn’t press it.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself back to my feet—and then I heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching down the alleyway.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Phantom Prince.”

Axton Vale stood at the opening of the alley, silhouetted by the streetlamps. Despite the time of night, he looked unruffled as always, his suit pristine and his hair slicked back neatly. The ghost of a predatory smile appeared on his face as he sized me up, taking in the scrapes, the bruises, the exhaustion evident in my posture.

Dread pooled in my stomach as I steeled myself to face him. He always managed to find me at the worst possible moments, and I shouldn’t have expected tonight to be an exception. But after dealing with Amoret earlier, I was hardly in the mood to deal with Vale. So far, his unexpected appearances had been more annoying than dangerous, but I knew that could change in an instant. With the condition I was in, I couldn’t afford for it to change tonight.

I narrowed my eyes at him as I steadied myself against the wall. “I am not doing this right now.”

He acted as if I hadn’t spoken, still looking inordinately pleased about my condition. “You don’t look so good, Phantom. What happened?”

I wasn’t about to tell him that his girlfriend—or whatever Amoret was to him—had done this to me, so I just rolled my eyes. “I appreciate the concern, but I have it handled, thanks,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

Vale crept closer, ever so slowly, and it took all my willpower not to back away. On instinct, I reached out with my powers, trying to sense whether any of his henchmen were lurking at the other end of the alley—but, of course, I couldn’t sense a thing. My powers were still gone. I maintained eye contact with Vale even as I itched with the urge to look over my shoulder, and silently cursed myself for not checking my surroundings before I collapsed here. If I could use my powers, I’d already know whether my escape routes were blocked off, whether Vale’s henchmen were lurking in the shadows, and whether the alley that branched off this one was a dead end. If I’d bothered to check the area, I’d at least know the answer to one of those questions. I couldn’t tell if I was angrier at my own stupidity or at Amoret for putting me in this situation in the first place.

The sound of Vale’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He tilted his head curiously as he said, “You’ve never let me get this close to you before. Normally, you would have used your powers by now.” My silence was just as damning as any unconvincing excuse. He kept watching me, his icy blue eyes flickering with interest. “Unless, for some reason, you can’t?”

I backed away, hyper-aware of the henchmen that could be lurking at the other end of the alley. “Back off.”

It was as good as a confirmation, and my stomach dropped at the intrigue in his expression. I had his full attention now. “Now, isn’t that interesting,” he said, his grin widening. “How did that happen?”

I ignored the question, risking a glance over my shoulder. Four of his henchmen stood at the other end of the alley, about twenty feet away, their eerie, blank-faced masks barely visible in the low lighting. On a normal night, I might’ve been able to get past them, but that wasn’t an option now. There was another alleyway between me and them, to my left, but I didn’t know whether it was a dead end. My best bet was trying to get past Vale—but he likely had other henchmen waiting out of sight behind him. My heart pounded, my brain yelling at me to run. But none of the options seemed particularly viable, and my muscles ached at the prospect of having to run again.

“Phantom,” Vale said, snapping my attention back to him. My fists clenched as I saw the look on his face, like a cat that had just cornered a particularly evasive mouse. “My offer still stands. You can make things easier on yourself and come with me willingly.”

This was not the first time he’d “asked” me to work for him. Ever since we’d first met, he’d been intrigued by me—or, more accurately, by my powers, and what he might be able to use them for. I’d always refused, and Vale never pushed it too far. Usually, I could just fight off his henchmen, or some other distraction would come up, and he would reluctantly leave me alone. But this time, I didn’t have my powers to defend myself. He had me cornered, and he knew it.

I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of going with him willingly. Despite the aching in my limbs, I lifted my chin and met his eyes. “I think I’ve made my position clear.”

For a moment, Vale almost looked disappointed, like he’d really expected me to agree this time. Then his expression cleared. “Very well, then.” He looked past me and nodded to his henchmen.

Before they could react, I was already moving. I turned on my heel and dashed for the side alley. I got there before the henchmen reached me, and my stomach plummeted as I saw the chain-link fence dividing the alley in two. It was better than a brick wall, but not by much—I’d still have to climb it.

I reached the fence and scrambled onto a trash can next to it, grabbing hold of the links—just as a hand twisted in the back of my hoodie, yanking me off balance. The air rushed out of my lungs as my back hit the ground, and before I could recover, a boot pressed down on my chest.

I heard Vale’s footsteps before he appeared, looming over me with that predatory smirk on his face. “That was almost too easy. I should have done this months ago.”

“Let me go!” I demanded, but the words didn’t have the same bite to them while I was still gasping for breath. The henchman’s boot pressed harder into my sternum, making me wheeze.

Vale signaled to his henchman, and the boot lifted. I finally sucked in a full breath and scrambled to my feet. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. Vale and his henchmen surrounded me in a loose semi-circle, and the fence blocked off my only means of escape. Yet my eyes still darted around, desperately searching for an escape—a distraction, a gap in their defenses, anything that could get me the hell out of here.

Vale met my eyes. “No more running, Phantom. You’re coming with me.”

The henchmen grabbed my arms. I kicked out and twisted away, and for a moment the hands left me. Feeling a surge of hope, I tore away and started running—

And the hands returned quickly enough, slamming me face-first against the brick wall. I grimaced and sucked in a breath. Fuck, I thought. My heart pounded so hard I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Somewhere to my left, I heard Vale sigh. “You’re making this much more difficult than it has to be.” There was a pause. “Sedate him.”

Panic shot through me, but there was hardly any room to struggle with the weight pinning me against the wall. A moment later I felt the sharp prick in my arm, the drug entering my veins.

I didn’t stop struggling until I physically couldn’t anymore. My knees gave out beneath me, and I slowly slid to the ground. “No, no, no, please,” I whispered. This couldn’t be happening. After everything I’d been through, especially tonight, this couldn’t be how it ended.

Darkness crept into the edges of my vision. I kept my gaze fixed on the brick wall in front of me, trying to breathe. But it was hard to focus on anything but Vale and his henchmen at my back, waiting for my consciousness to fade.

Just as the henchmen hauled my limp body up, everything went black.

-

[Title credits: Kill All Your Friends - My Chemical Romance]

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[black-queen-rising]

Rhaenyra had waited quite some time before leaving the embellished seat at the head of the Hand's high table and retreating to her desk to continue on with the day's work. If her youngest Prince, Baelon, had attended sessions with her that day she could've happily sat for hours, marking off tasks in the seemingly endless stack of papers that always waited on the desk of the Hand of the King, and listening to her little one tell stories. Baelon was attached to her hip, even more so than his younger sister, Aemma, despite being three years her senior, her eldest, Jace, liked to joke he wasn't just attached, he was sewn onto her. She had spent the day meeting with many of the Storm Lords, however, men in large part in need of convincing to heed the vows sworn almost thirty years previous to uphold her ascension, and not want to agree to the deals drawn up to guarantee they would do so with a reminder they were, after all, treating with a woman, playing at the Princess-Hand's feet.

Now, however, she was just attempting to get through the most pressing paper work as quickly as she could, so she might return upstairs, eat dinner with her family, and hold Aemma on her lap while she read their youngest children stories from Old Valyria, or perhaps even find a moment for just herself and her eldest son with Daemon, Aegon, "Aeg" within their family, as they hadn't spoken alone in a few days. Rhaenyra hardly wished her father dead, nor did she look forward to the prospect, but she looked forward to her role shifting when she finally became Queen. She looked forward to someone else being charge of all this damned paperwork. There was the matter of Lord Swann, the reason she had waited so long at the table, and was now over an hour and a half late to his expected audience. She knows such lateness would have reflected poorly to most in her position, but today she's quietly grateful for his tardiness, how it's allowed for her to power through more work than she had expected to accomplish,, and how in turn that would allow her time with her children.

Finally as she was putting the seal on a raven due to be sent to her cousin Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Lady Paramount of the Vale, the guard outside her door at last announced the man she'd been waiting so long to see. He was much younger than she expected, the Crown Princess quickly concluding he was either a newly inherited Lord, or his Father's heir. House Swann stuck out in her mind for precisely two reasons, their status as Marcher Lords, who were important allies to the Crown despite being viewed by many as lesser nobility due to their shared border with Dorne and the tenuous peace they shared with the Southern Kingdom. The second was their House Words, though she could not recall them precisely, something about only fighting injustice, or injustice being the greatest enemy, so many mottos lent themselves to strength, power, and fortune, her own house words certainly not above that fray; Rhaenyra appreciated that these Lords who ruled a tempestuous borderland and endured a lower status than they likely deserved for doing so espoused acting against injustice as their highest ideal. She dared to hope perhaps this young Lord would feel the same.

"Your Grace..." Rhaenyra listened to the Swann heir's introduction intently, it seemed to her he was running half on nerves and half on passion. In the monotony of her own day, his disposition finally reminded the Princess-Hand that to him this meeting must feel like the defining moment of his whole future, and there was a level of truth to that. Either she would find him memorable, or she would not, she would find him useful in some way, or annoying, worthwhile company, or someone of no particular interest. Rhaenyra let silence sit for just a moment before she responded.

"I'm sorry to hear your father was unable to attend us, how does he fare? I don't mean to pry, my own father's condition has simply...if he is unwell, know you have my sympathies. Please, sit, I ought to thank you for your lateness, you've allowed me to see to quite a bit of work this afternoon. What is that saying? The King speaks and the Hand does? Well, there is quite a lot of doing to get done on my part at the moment. That said, you are your father's heir as I am mine, so, let us speak as equals for a moment. My guards reported seeing you wander through half the city on your way to the Keep, startled everyone a bit too when they saw your trunks turn up without you. Were you looking for something in particular? Anything I might help you find?"

Crown & Swan - In the Shadow of Dragons: A Starter with @black-queen-rising

Ser Jon Swann was walking amidst the bustling streets of King’s Landing, teaming with the life and activity of the small folk. There had been a carriage waiting for him and his luggage, when he docked at the River Gate, the Mud Gate, he corrected himself with what he overheard from the workers of the dock. Jon had sent the carriage along ahead of him, allowing him to walk the streets in person. He was not in the small folk clothing that he often wore when walking among the common streets, but he didn’t yet have a place where he knew he could change from street cloth to lordly. He also noted he would have to adjust his clothes somewhat. Perhaps being at the seat of power in the west gave more options to the small folk, as there was more pop of occasional color and higher quality fabrics than what he found back home in Stonehelm. 

I’ll have to talk to some merchants while I am here. He thought. Simple luxuries like those may not improve the overall life of those living in the towns and villages surrounding Stonehelm, but simple joys did make small folk happier. Happy small folk created trust, and with enough trust, one had power. 

Soon enough Jon found himself standing at the gates to the Red Keep, the seat of power in the Seven Kingdoms. It was said this is where Aegon Targaryen, the Conqueror, landed before making himself king. As he stood, looking up at the looming towers of red stone, shining like blood in the sunlight, Jon’s thoughts turned to the thoughts of the treasures that could be found in the royal libraries. While many men held all sorts of passions, Jon’s greatest was always his thirst for knowledge, old and new, lore, and rumors. He had heard tales of the vast collection of ancient tomes and manuscript houses within the Red Keep, and he longed to walk those ancient halls.  

Jon smirked before making his way to the guards at the gate. 

__________

Jon was ushered through the outer courtyard, full of bustling servants, dealing with the arrival of lords like himself. 

He took note of the banners and sigils he saw as he walked. 

Frey, Dayne, Martel, Blackwood, and… some white animal on a green field. Must be House Stokeworth or Lydd-

A loud roar from above cut off his thoughts, followed soon by a shadow that blocked the sun from the entire courtyard. 

He stumbled as he looked up to see what could only be a dragon flying above, in and out of the clouds. 

“You’ll get used to it,” The guard said with a good-natured laugh. 

“Truly?” Jon asked back with a smile and a hesitant laugh, matching the guard’s humor.

“No.” He chuckled in response, and Jon answered with a smile as they continued their walk towards the tower of the hand. Jon righted his cloak as he looked back at the dragon dancing between the clouds. His face smoothed behind the back of the guard. He might have laughed along but would not again flinch at the sound or sight of a dragon. 

In moments, he was led into the Hand’s Tower, and the guard gave him a polite nod before opening doors into a large room. It could have been a hall for some smaller houses but was clearly some kind of study and workplace, with shelves of books that his eyes lingered on, a table for gatherings, and a desk at the back of the room where a woman sat. The room was splendid but not in open opulence.  Still beautiful and expensive, but the items in the room were ones of quality rather than just flash. 

With a determined stride and a respectful bow, Jon approached the Princess and Hand, his gaze meeting hers with reverence. 

As the heir to house Swann, Jon viewed his every action as one that could affect the future of Stonehelm, and he knew that his meeting with Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen may be the first step on a journey that could shape the course of his destiny. “Your Grace,” Jon began, his voice steady and composed. “It is an honor and a privilege to stand before you today. I am Ser Jon of Heir to House Swann. My father Lord Royce was unable to make the journey here and has sent me in his sted.” As he spoke, Jon’s dark eyes sparked with a fervent intensity, his determination to seize the opportunities that lay before him burning brighter than ever.

A Roleplay Blog within @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

Main • Message • Plot • Questions & Answers

[saturnsorbits]

BNO: The Time After

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Angst, Smut, Miscommunication, This Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Happy Ending! Word Count: 6k.

A/N: Hi. Uhm. I'm so nervous about posting this. It fought me tooth and nail every step of the way (it kind of still is), so if it’s missed the mark: oops, I guess?

-> Series Masterlist

Bakugo sits outside of the conference room, chewing at his thumb. The committee inside have been deliberating for almost an hour and his nerves have started to fray. It had taken months to get here, to be sat in this badly upholstered chair and he'd be damned if everything he had sacrificed would go to waste. The interview had gone well, or so he thought, but there was still one problem.

Midoriya sits beside him, offering up a thin-lipped smile and raised eyebrows.

'Stop fucking staring.'

'I...' Clearing his throat, Midoriya knits his hands together on his lap. 'I was just wondering if you've spoken to -.'

Bakugo doesn't let him finish. He doesn't want to hear your name drop from his mouth, followed by the pitiful stare that would follow. Everyone gives him that look these days. The one that makes his stomach churn and his mind drift back to nights that he's tried and failed to forget. With a snarl, he gives Midoriya the same answer he gives everyone else. 'Fucking mind your own business.'

'I was just -.'

'Yeah, well fucking don't. We're here for a job, not to catch-up...' Bakugo growls, eyebrows flattening as he clenches his teeth. He forces a warm breath out, swallowing around the lump in his throat before gritting out a shallow: 'Just – I don't want to talk about it.'

'No, it's okay. I shouldn't pry.' Holding up his hands, palms flat, Midoriya sinks back into his seat. Fidgeting, he worries his lip. 'I – Well, we've been patrolling together and I really think she -.'

It's the conference room door swinging open that saves Bakugo this time. Both men rise to their feet and hold their breath, anxious as a tall man wearing a pin-striped suit emerges from the room.

The man smiles. 'First, I'd like to thank both of you for coming in today – I know the interview process has been a little more rigorous than for other missions and we really do appreciate you jumping through all of our hoops. We know this position in particular will likely carry a lot of weight when it comes to the rankings, but we think we've finally found the man.'

Bakugo's whole body tenses. If he doesn't get the job, it's all been for nothing. The obsessive work-load, the refusal to take time off, the pushing you away; all of it would have been for absolutely fucking nothing.

'Deku -.'

Fuck.

'I'm very sorry, but on this occasion we've decided to go with Ground Zero.'

Eyes blowing wide, he savours the tingling sensation in his chest as his whole body sings with pure excitement. He resists the urge to flip Midoriya off, restraining himself enough to throw only the smuggest smile he can muster over his shoulder.

'My apologies, Deku.' The suit bows.

The smile Midoriya pastes onto his face doesn't quite cover the disappointment that echoes in his eyes, but he pats Bakugo cautiously on the shoulder to congratulate him all the same. Even after all this time, old rivalry's die hard. 'You chose the best man for it, I'm sure.'

Bakugo shrugs him off immediately. 'Course they fucking did.' He steps forward, crushing the suits hand in a handshake, beaming from ear to ear. He can almost taste what it's going to be like when he takes the number one spot, can almost hear the roar of cheers that'll almost deafen him as he delivers the speech he's had prepared since he was five years old.

'We'll prepare a full brief for you in the next week, until then, I'm sure you have people you want to celebrate with.' The suit winces when he gets his hand back, shaking out crushed fingers. 'We look forward to working with you Ground Zero.'

Floating almost six feet off the ground, Bakugo flashes a signature smirk at his new employer before stomping his way down the hall. Midoriya follow on his heels, adding an extra half-an-inch to his strides in order to keep up.

'We...' He mutters. 'We should, uhm, we should go out – you know to celebrate.'

Stopping in his tracks, Bakugo fixes Midoriya with a stare. 'Like I'd want to celebrate with you, Deku...' The growl in his throat is light, his body still riding too much of a high to bother with its usual gravelled timbre.

Midoriya chuckles, shaking his head as another slither of disappointment inches into his chest. He doesn't press Bakugo any further when he receives another annoyed snarl. 'Anyway, I should get back. I'm heading over to -.'

'I didn't ask.' Bakugo mutters, already jabbing at his phone and ignoring whatever Midoriya is saying in favour of scrolling down his contact list. Thumb hovering over his screen, he freezes. There's only one person he wants to celebrate with...

Victory has never tasted so bitter.

Bakugo slams open the door of his apartment. 'Red?'

'How did it go?' Stood in front of the living room mirror, Kirishima smears cologne along the length of his collarbone.

The excitement in Bakugo's chest has been tempered by the walk home. The numbness brought on by shoving his phone into his pocket, your number left un-dialled, had seen to that. It shouldn't be like this. He should be punching the air, figuratively foaming at the mouth to tell everyone about the damn job, but when confronted with the perfect opportunity: he changes the subject. 'You smell like a fucking candle factory.'

'I'm going out for dinner, remember? That new pro from the UK invited me out last week, I told you -.' Kirishima doesn't look at him when he speaks, inspecting the glinting silver of his cuffs instead.

Ever since he'd returned home from your apartment, red-eyed and ragged, something has shifted between him and Kirishima. It's uncomfortable, navigating the egg shells that have scattered on the floor of their friendship, but at this point he doesn't really have a choice. He's lost too much already to risk losing him too. 'He the new flavour of the month then?'

Twisting his shoulders, Kirishima lets his eyes roam over the thin, black dress-shirt that barely manages to contain the broad expanse of his chest. 'It's not a date. Just, y'know... Dinner.'

Rolling his eyes, Bakugo arches his eyebrow before moving to lean against the breakfast bar. 'I can see your dick print and you're expecting me to believe you're not trying to get laid?'

Kirishima shrugs.

Clenching his jaw, Bakugo blows hot air out of his nose. 'Are you still angry? You've been acting like I've pissed in your cornflakes for months.'

'I'm not mad.'

'Tell your face that.'

'I'm just -.' Digging a hand into his hip, Kirishima chews at his lip.

'Yeah.' Annoyance itches at Bakugo's temples as he recalls the series of arguments that have littered their lives. The scolding he'd received as he slunk home and cried in his room, the frustrated huffs and tensed jaws as they'd bickered when he revealed that he had no intention of trying to call you. 'You're just disappointed in me, or whatever.'

Kirishima barks out a laugh. 'I just think you're being a prick.'

'See!' Bakugo's eyes widen, jaw dropping. 'You are pissed, you're fucking swearing.'

Biting his tongue, Kirishima drops his head and sighs. 'How did it go... The interview, you didn't say.'

A smile rises to Bakugo's lip. There's something shining in Kirishima's eyes, that threatens to spark the dying fire in his chest. 'I got it.'

Turning to face him, Kirishima beams. 'Holy shit, bro.'

Excitement and pride bubble in Bakugo's stomach until his smile is so wide, he's flashing incisors. Now, this is more like it, this is how he should be feeling. 'They handed me that shit on a silver platter. Told me in front of Deku and everything. You guys aren't going to know what's fucking hit you when I get back.'

Pursing his lip, Kirishima frowns. 'Back?'

'The missions in Europe, spend a while working underground and then, it’s a straight ride to number one.' He mimes a flying plane, taking off from the flat of his palm and wiggles his eyebrows.

‘How long is a while…’

‘Six months minimum, two or three years tops.’ Bakugo shrugs. ‘However long it takes.’

'That's a long time...'

'I don't give a fuck how long they have me out there. It's too good of an opportunity to turn down. This – This is what I've been waiting for..'

Kirishima swallows. 'Yeah.'

The crease between Kirishima's eyebrows grates at Bakugo's nerves, causing annoyance to rise in his throat and choke him. The air in the room goes stale. 'Yeah? That's all you got? I've just told you -.'

'Nah – yeah. I mean.' Squeezing his eyes shut, Kirishima shakes his head forcing a mega-watt grin back to his lips. 'I'm happy for you! I really – I am really – You deserve it, bro.'

Bakugo huffs. He does deserve it, he knows he does. 'Thanks.'

There's a pause and then, Kirishima is shuffling his feet and clawing at his bottom lip. 'Are you gonna tell her?'

There it is. The numbness settles back into Bakugo's sternum like it belongs there, snuffing out his excitement entirely. 'No.' Wiping a palm down his face, he licks at his soft palate trying to rid his mouth of the sourness.

'I just -.'

'How many times do I have to tell you that she doesn't want anything to fucking do with me?' They're in familiar territory now, running loops of the same argument. 'What part of that is so hard for you to understand?'

Kirishima glares. 'The part where it's all bullshit.'

'Oh, what the fuck do you know?' Bakugo throws his arms up, snarling. His tongue finds a back molar as his face burns up.

'I know she'd want you to tell her that you're leaving the country for half a year.'

'Yeah, well.'

Sighing, Kirishima tilts his head, eyes narrowing. 'Why do you always do this?'

'What?'

'Run.'

Bakugo reaches for a salt-shaker, prepares to throw it.

'As soon as you realise you could be happy, you get scared and turn right back into who you were at fifteen: pig-headed, stubborn and too blinkered for your own good.' Kirishima feels it, the subtle push of anger that builds at the base of his skull. It's been months of this, months of watching Bakugo hide every time he glances at his phone hoping you've messaged, of him mumbling your name in his sleep when he passes out on the sofa because of all the extra shifts he's taking. It's like he's trying to prove a point, but Kirishima isn't sure if even he knows who he's trying to convince. 'There's a woman downstairs that makes you the happiest I've ever seen you, but you're here, boasting about some job you don't even want because -.'

'Oh, fuck you.'

'You know I'm right.'

The air feels tight. It snakes into Bakugo's lungs and makes him want to be sick.

'I don't know why you've convinced yourself that you can't have both -.'

'You fucking know why!' Bakugo tightens his grip on the salt shaker making the glass splinter in his palm.

Kirishima licks at his lip, shaking his head. ‘I really don't... You don't have to prove yourself to earn happiness, Kat. That's - that's not how it works...'

Bakugo's head spins. Kirishima's voice scrapes along the insides of his skull, forcing him to confront the tangle of emotions he'd unleashed that first night he'd touched you. He thought he'd be able to push it down, to brush it off, but - He snorts, catching Kirishima's eye. 'Fucking Pandora's box, huh. Is that what you where -.'

'I’m not arguing with you.’ Checking his watch, Kirishima offers Bakugo a tight-lipped smile. 'I've got to go. Text her, at least. You can't just vanish, regardless of how much you've fucked up.'

Slinking off to the couch, Bakugo fumbles in his pocket for his phone as the door slams, leaving him alone. He throws it to the coffee table and stares at it. There's been an emptiness infesting him since that night, a cold weight that resists all of his attempts to shift it.

'Let's try...'

Your voice echoes in his head. You'd been shaking when you said it, your lips so close to his that he could feel the vibrations of your breath.

From the coffee table, his phone taunts him. The black screen is mocking: a reflective reminder of everything he could have, everything he's kept from himself and... for what? He isn't so sure any more. Forcing himself to his feet, he storms to the kitchenette and dips into one of the top cupboards. He returns to his phone with a glass of whiskey.

One drink.

He promises himself one drink to steel his nerves and then, he'll do better than texting you, he'll just knock on your door and tell you he's leaving.

The knocking makes you jump, causing the wine glass you're holding to almost spill across the counter. The liquid spreads, creeping across the surface until it almost soaks into the crust of one of the pizza's laying on the breakfast bar. 'Fuck...'

'Do you want me to get it?'

A voice floats in from the bathroom, but you're already moving, body on autopilot as you abandon the spill and head for the door. 'No. No – just sit down. It'll probably be that guy from 104 wanting to borrow sugar again.'

There's no answer from your guest, but you hear the sound of ass meeting cushion behind you, telling you that he's at least obeyed your order. Wrapping a hand around the door handle, you huff out a breath preparing to tell your neighbour that you really can't spare any more sugar, but as soon as the door swings open it becomes apparent that nothing could have prepared you for this.

Bakugo stares at his feet. 'Uh.'

You swallow, arm tensing around the back of the door. Its been months, fucking months since you'd been plunged into the worst heartbreak of your life and yet, your stomach still twists when you look at him. 'What are you doing here?'

'Can I come in?' Bakugo chances a look at you. The air is kicked straight from his lungs as soon as he sees your face, cheeks full and warm, a faint wetness clinging to your lips like you'd just taken a drink, or been kissed.

Stepping aside, you nod, hauling in a breath.

As soon as he steps over the threshold, he pauses, brain re-booting as quickly as it can manage, giving him exactly two seconds before he makes a wide leap to his next conclusion. His chest heaves, fists balling at his sides as he stares at Midoriya sat on your sofa. Anger rises inside of him in a way that hasn't happened since he was a teenager. His palms heat as faint pops ring out from his clenched fists. 'What the fuck is this, huh?'

The soft click of the door echoes when you finally tap it shut, but Midoriya is already on his feet. 'Hi, uh – Kaachan.'

'You – fuck... You bastard.' It feels like his chest is going to explode. There's a pressure behind his eyes that feels as though it might pop his skull and he's not sure if it's anger or something stronger turning his vein's to ice.

Midoriya tilts his head, thumbing at his eyes. 'What? We were – oh...' His eyes widen, realisation hitting him square in the jaw. 'Oh, no, no, no we weren't... I just, I wanted company because of – y'know and – we, well we...'

Reeling back, Bakugo looks as if he's fit to start a fight, but he stops short when you appear in front of him. His heart stutters in his chest.

There's a kindling building in your stomach that threatens to sharpen your tongue, but one look at the ocean beginning to swell in his eyes dampens it's flames. 'He doesn't have to explain anything to you.'

Bakugo grinds his teeth as betrayal wedges itself under his lungs. 'So you're fucking him now, is that it?'

Licking at your lip, you step towards him, drawing his eyes back to you. You have half a mind to scream, to curse him out and make him feel all of the hurt you've carried with you since he left, but you don't. Instead, you sigh. 'What do you want?'

Turning to leave, he refuses to spare Midoriya another glance. If he stays any longer he doesn't know what he'll do. 'Doesn't fucking matter.'

'If you walk out of that door now, you don't fucking come back.' Your voice shakes in your throat, but you stand your ground. 'I mean it...'

He spins on his heel, still glaring, but unable to force himself out of the door. 'Well, I ain't saying shit while he's here...'

You shake your head, before turning to Midoriya and offering up a pained smile. 'Are you going to be okay?'

Midoriya nods.

'Sure he can cope without getting his dick wet for a few minutes, I ain't gonna be long.' Bakugo snorts, leaning heavily on the wall by the door, his hands tucked into the crooks of his elbows to disguise how much he's shaking.

Heading for the door, Midoriya knocks against your shoulder gently. He pauses, chewing at the inside of his cheek. 'I – I didn't want to – to cause...' He swallows, Adam's apple bobbling as he looks from you to Bakugo and back again.

Brow furrowing, Bakugo glares. He hadn't noticed before, too blinded by the heat in his chest, but Midoriya has been crying. The skin around his eyes is puffy and streaked, his freckles standing out stark against reddened skin.

You shake your head, silencing Midoriya's stammering. 'It's okay 'Zuku... I'll check in later, yeah?'

With a curt nod and bounce of green curls, Midoriya is gone.

The slamming door jostles Bakugo and prods at the sickness wriggling in his stomach. The thought of you with another man burns hot, flaying him from the inside out. 'So it's 'Zuku now, is it?'

'Do you have to be such a cunt all the fucking time? Take a day off.' You step into his space automatically, adrenaline thrumming under your skin. Part of you wants to slap him, to dig your nails into his scalp and scream until he's too deaf to argue, but you settle on jutting out your chin and glaring at him.

Bakugo's nostrils flare. 'I'm not the one fucking shitty Deku...' He pushes off the wall, putting you chest to chest.

Throwing your head back, you let a chuckle spill over your lips. You blink, pressing in closer to jab him in the chest. 'You are fucking insufferable, you know that?'

'You like fucking things you can't stand then, huh?' He grinds his teeth to stop him from spewing out something more vile, something spat out with intent to wound.

Huffing, you step back letting yourself breathe in the new space. 'I don't know why you're so intent on making yourself miserable, but I'm not letting you drag me into whatever the fuck you've got going on.'

Venom pours from his lips before he can stop it, nose crinkling as he spits the words at your feet. 'I've got a Hell of a lot more going on than you have...'

'What the fuck is that supposed to mean?' You laugh, shrugging.

'I'm leaving.' It topples off his tongue too quick and makes him cringe. There's a look in your eye that makes his knees weak, makes him wish he wasn't coiled up inside, Hell-bent on a goal that was so close he could taste it. Even if the taste seemed to sour by the second.

'Leaving?' You tilt your head.

'Surprised your new boyfriend didn't fucking tell you.'

Your mouth runs dry. 'You got the Europe job.'

Suddenly, it's hard to speak. He chances another look at you, but when he brings his eyes back up to meet yours what he finds there makes him feel worse. 'I'm finally gonna be number one.'

The thought of him leaving is enough to churn your insides. It causes your heart to bloom, dripping painful realisations into your bloodstream. You hadn't even known he had been invited for an interview. A bark of a laugh bubbles over your lips. 'So what?' You lick at your mouth, snarling. 'You want a goodbye fuck or something, is that it? Is that why you're here?'

'What?' Bakugo's face contorts, his brows dropping as he watches you blink and take yet another step away from him. 'No -.'

You shake your head, dislodging the tears that cling to your eyes. 'You're a fucking prick...'

'Princess.' Instinct makes him stumble forward, makes him reach for you. It burns watching you cry, knowing that he's the one who has caused the pain etched into your face again. He wants to hold you, to tell you that you've got it wrong, that he promised you'd never become a meaningless fling – that he meant every fucking word.

'Don't fucking Princess me...' Your eyes are wide, mouth dropping open as your tongue pokes at your cheek.

You look ethereal with fire in your eyes, like you'd burn him to ash if you could and right now, he'd let you. The anger in his chest vanishes, replaced by something more primal that makes his throat dry when he pictures a life lived without you. He's ready to back track, ready to say anything to stop you kicking him out and blocking him out of your life for good, but before he can force the words up his throat you're crossing back to him and fisting the front of his shirt.

'You want to fuck me, Katsuki? Is that what you want?' You press up on your tip-toes and purr into his ear, revelling in the way he shivers against you. 'So fucking weak when it comes to me... That's it, isn't it...' You could laugh, he's not the only one who's weak, but this might be the last time you get to have him and you'd be a fool to turn it down.

'I -.' Body betraying him, he sighs when he feels your hand press to his chest. A hoard of butterflies wake up in his stomach and stretch their wings, beating harshly against his ribs. You both know how this goes now. He swallows. 'Yeah.'

'I'll let you fuck me... But, this better be the best goodbye fuck I'll ever have...' Leaning in you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue. 'I want you to make me see stars.'

Something possessive crawls up his throat as his voice drops. Without thinking, he takes hold of your chin and lets the feel of your skin under his fingertips heat his whole body. Everything snaps back into place all too easily. Leaning down, he gives you pause to move back, to change your mind, but when you stay rooted to the spot he breathes against your lips. 'You and Deku -.'

Mouth parting, you smile before closing the gap between you. It feels like coming home when he slips his tongue into your mouth, mapping out the wet heat there before you suck harsh on the invading muscle. You savour his taste, flicking your tongue at your teeth. 'I'm not fucking Midoriya. He came over because he was upset about losing the job.'

Mouth splitting into a grin, he takes hold of you by the hips and pulls you flush against him. A weight lifts from his shoulders, letting air back into his lungs. Now this... This is right. 'Good.' He whispers, then, his lips are at your neck, peppering kisses from the turn of your jaw to your shoulder. It's entirely too easy to collide back into you, to succumb to the thing inside of him that needs you, craves you.

'Katsuki...'

He smiles against your neck. Hearing his name on your lips sends a violent shiver up his spine and he hums against your skin to show his appreciation. 'Miss you saying my name like that.'

Sinking deeper into him, you lace your hands around the back of his neck. You don't want to think about him leaving, so you don't, you focus on his lips, his tongue, the bar of his cock as it hardens against you. 'Bed - bedroom.'

He doesn't need telling twice. Dipping at the knees, he slips his hands down your back to cup ass and thigh before hauling you off the floor.

Your legs wrap his waist, squeeze at his sides as he moves quickly, carrying you through the apartment.

The bedroom door is flung open, revealing a made bed and bright sheets. There's a few hangers out of place, dangling from the lip of the wardrobe, a sock that has missed the laundry basket and three abandoned t-shirts looped over a floor-length mirror. Usually, the mess would bother you, but not tonight.

Lowering you down to the bed, he crawls over you making sure to stay close enough that his lips are still able to explore your neck.

You press in, pushing your pelvis against his and hum when you feel the heat of his cock twitch against your thigh.

'You like it, ha?' He pulls back, holding himself up on his elbows as he meets the slow grind of your hips with his own downward thrust. 'Like what you do to me?'

Snickering you wriggle a hand between your bodies and palm at him, earning a groan from the back of his throat. 'I've seen you get hard watching the cooking channel... Don't pretend it's special.'

Even covered by the darkness of the room, he can feel his cheeks burning. 'You complaining? Because I've got a cucumber in the fridge that wouldn't give me this shit.'

You nip at him, squeezing his cock in your palm to shut him up. 'Won't make you feel as good as me though, will it?

'Fuck.' He sighs, pulling back to leer over you, unwilling to tear his eyes away. 'Look at you. Fuck, I've missed this...' Raising his palms, he inches under the edge of your t-shirt and works it up and over your head, sucking air over his teeth when you're left bare to him. It's animalistic, desperate, the need that rises inside of him. The need to have you dwells in his chest, making his cock weep inside his boxers.

'Just fuck me, already...' Reaching for him, you manage to brush your fingertips against the underside of his shirt covered pecs before he's grabbing at you. He collects your wrists, trapping them in the palm of his hand before leaning over you and pressing them above your head.

You're stuck. The weight of him towering over you makes you dizzy, but to be caught under him like this is nothing short of thrilling.

'Nah – ah – ah.' He licks his lips, as his free hand slinks down your body, stopping at your chest to toy with a nipple. As soon as he has you gasping, arching up and trying to force him to take a hold of you, he moves on ripping off your sleep shorts. Slipping a hand between your thighs, he prises them apart before sliding between them.

You clamp down around his hips instantly, calves straining to bring him close. Without the pressure of your thighs pressed together, your cunt aches, throbbing and aching to be filled, making your hips lift and grind against the air.

'Gonna really take my time.' Keeping your hands trapped above your head, and your thighs open, waiting for him, he lowers his head to your neck. He plants soft kisses against your skin, marking out his claim with a littering of bites that he brings to a shallow bruise. It feels like hours before he's finally ready to bring his hand to the soft mound of your cunt, but he's too lost to care. He wants to savour this, wants it burnt on the back of his eyelids so he can't sleep without picturing you.

'I still think you're a prick...' You've tried to thrash, to contort your body and make him give in, but each time the grip on your wrists gets tighter, the spread of his legs wider until you're rendered useless again.

Bakugo snickers, drawing agonisingly slow circles on your clit with his thumb. 'Whatever you say, Princess.'

His teasing raises your tackles and soon there's more fire pouring over your lips. 'I mean it.'

'Okay.' He grins into the next kiss, the tips of his incisors catching on your lip as he slips two fingers into your slick cunt and curls them upwards.

The sudden pressure makes your whole body jolt as your eyes threaten to roll back into your head.

Keeping his fingertips pressed snug against your G-spot, he keeps his thumb barely touching your clit. Each pass ghosts over your nerves leaving you just short of bliss as he watches you thrash. Crying out, you squirm, trying to make him move.

He licks your jaw. 'You know what I want from you, baby.'

‘’M not fucking begging.’

‘No?’ He curls his fingers harsher, quickens his thumbing on your clit. ‘What about now?’

'Fuck. Katsuki – just – move –.’

He smirks. ‘What’s the word…’

Throwing your pride aside, you buck your hips into his hand as your mouth begins to move on it's own. ‘Please... Want you, I want your cock – please... I...' There's tears cresting in your eyes by the time your babbling subsides, but he's already there, nosing them away gently.

'Okay, Princess, Okay.' He chuffs and brings your lips together, but breaks the kiss soon after to strip, allowing his cock to spring free. 'You want it?'

There's a blush coating his cheeks that you want to lick off, but it's the stuttering in your chest that pulls you back into the moment. Groaning, you rock your head back into your pillow. The idea of being filled with him again, of feeling him leak down your thighs when he finally pulls out to admire his work makes your whole body shiver. ‘Yes. Fuck - want it bad…’

'You really are perfect, aren't you...' He gives himself a few cursory tugs and slips your underwear down your legs only to smear his arousal against yours. It's a clean slide, the head of his cock catching against your clit and making both of you groan. Then, he's gathering your hands back into his and burying himself to the hilt without any more preparation.

Your cunt moulds to his cock like it belongs inside of you. The sudden intrusion makes you cry out and squirm, but it isn't long before the subtle burn melts to blinding pleasure as he moves against you. Each thrust of his hips is harsh, slapping against your ass as he buries himself deeper, and deeper.

'Good girl... Take me so well -.' Speaking between broken breathes, he searches for the thing inside of you that makes you see static and is rewarded when he brushes against it. 'Look – look at you, fuck... It was like you where made for me, huh baby.'

It's pathetic. He plays your body like he was born to, working you up so quickly that you almost get whiplash when you feel your cunt milk him. Violent waves of pleasure rock though your stomach and all you can do is moan and clamp your thighs around his waist as he continues to abuse your cunt.

A shout rips from him as the most intense orgasm he's ever had is forced up through his torso. He spills, coating your insides and struggles to breathe as he submits to the new exhaustion that overtakes his muscles. 'So... You see stars, Princess?'

You moan, feeling the last valiant twitches of his cock as you both come down from your high. It takes little effort to slip his hold now and as soon as your hands are free, you bury them in his hair and scratch out slow patterns on his scalp. 'Maybe.'

He snorts, shifts his hips slightly and hisses as he feels the warm river of his own spend begin to trickle back out of your cunt.

In the afterglow, everything becomes too real. A whine worms its way up your throat at the thought of losing any of him and you shift, pushing down to follow his hips. You're not ready to let him go, not ready to lose the feel of him: not yet.

'Want to cock warm me... Make sure that little cunt stays nice and full, huh?'

You let him pull out, let him shimmy on the bed until he can slot perfectly behind you and then, his fingers are there, gently spooning back in the cum that had leaked onto your thighs.

His lips press to your shoulder as he takes himself in hand and slips back into you.

An arm comes to wrap around your waist as the rhythmic beating of his heart vibrating through your back lulls you into an uneasy rest. 'Can you do something for me?'

He speaks against your skin. 'Anything.'

You stifle a sob as reality comes crashing back into you hard, leaving you almost breathless. 'Leave before I wake up again.'

When you wake up, sore and aching, he's gone. A familiar pain settles in your chest, comfies itself in the confines of your ribcage and burrows. You don't know how long you lay there, half-covered by the sheets as the cold bites at your exposed flesh, but all you know, is that it feels like eternity.

In a few weeks, he'll be on a plane. You wonder if he'll feel the burn of the distance like you will, like you already do. A weak sob leaves your chest as tears swell in your eyes. You lick away what reaches your lip, but don't bother trying to clear the rest. The constellations make your vision blur, make it easier to sink into the mattress and wish for all of it to stop.

'The fuck you crying for?'

You feel the adrenaline surge into your veins the second he speaks. The rush has you bolt upright, gasping and grabbing at the sheet to cover yourself as tears are blinked out of your view. He's there. Actually there. Stood in the doorway to your bedroom clad in nothing, but a tight pair of black boxers is Bakugo.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he takes in the shake in your chest and the wetness of your cheeks. You look about as rough as he feels. 'I cleaned your kitchen – binned the pizza though. Someone spilled wine, it got into the dough - I'd make breakfast, but -.'

Still clinging to the sheet, you stare slack-jawed as he climbs back onto the bed and settles against the pillows, arms looping behind his head. You cut him off before he can finish suggesting morning plans. 'I'm going to ask you a question.'

He groans, head bumping the headboard. 'Fucking, really?'

You ignore his annoyance, balling the sheets in a fist as you feel another wave of tears press at your eyes. 'What's your end-game here? I don't... I can't...'

'I don't want to go.' The confession drops off his tongue and hangs there between you. Admitting it makes it real, makes the mess of emotions in his chest something he can't run from anymore. He swallows hard.

'What?' It leaves you mouth encased in a gasp, but he doesn't pay any mind to your shock.

He shrugs, like his reasoning is more than obvious, but his voice still shakes when he repeats himself. 'I – I don't want to go.'

'This is your dream, you can't just -.'

'I'm not - I'm not fucking giving up, or whatever, just... Re-evaluating.' Sitting up, he prises one of your hands from the sheets and laces your fingers together. Your hand is warm and solid under his, bolstering his confidence. 'I've been thinking -.'

You snort. 'That's dangerous.'

He glares at you, a silent threat to let him finish. 'I wanted that job so fucking bad. I should've - fuck - I should have felt like I on top of the world when they told me I got it... And all, all I could think about was you. Fucking leaving you and -.' He rakes his other hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. 'and when I thought you and... him - I - I just - I was ready to tear the world down. Fuck, would have given up my damn licence just to crack him in the face...'

Reaching for him, you cup his cheek forcing his eyes to yours. 'What are you trying to say?'

'I'm gonna give up the job.' He shakes his head when your mouth drops open to argue, a small smile itching at his lip. 'They can send fucking Deku to Europe instead.'

'And number one?'

He chuckles, as he searches for the spark in your eyes that will tell him it'll be okay. When he finds it, he's almost blinded. ‘I’m still gonna be number one… Just giving Deku a head-start. Y’know so it’s fair.’

This time when the tears come, they aren't spurred on by a hole in your chest or waking to a cold bed. Leaning in, you press a kiss against the tip of his nose, as a new heat blooms in the middle of your chest. ‘He’s not gonna stand a chance.’

Pulling back, he flicks up his eyebrows, running a thumb across your bottom lip. 'I can't promise I'll be any good at any of that boyfriend shit... But, I'll try: For you.' He presses a lingering kiss to the edge of your mouth. 'Let me try?'

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[yantako]

Yandere Twisted Wonderland (all or dorm leaders ft grim) would react to kuudere reader brings a giant cat (like, totally big). And reader the whole time just spoiling the cat (and grim as well because he deserves love)

Lmao, thanks for dropping this in. Really appreciate the ask here hehe~ Though I may not be regularly writing because I'm a moody ass.

But if anyone would like to drop in twst requests, feel free to, hehe. Though, I would definitely take a long while to write it. Gotta be in that mood, yaknow~

My idea of this giant cat would be something like Appa from Avatar, kinda? Just a totally cute thing chilling about.

It may be OOC, as I haven't really wrote much about the other characters and about kuudere people in general, but I hope you like it!

TW: Yandere, cat abuse, violence

Kuudere MC who has a gigantic cat.

Ft. Yandere Dorm Leaders ( and Jealous Grim who is not yandere )

Riddle Rosehearts

• He had always known you as someone who doesn't really show their feelings on their sleeves. Though he understands the notion of wanting to remain professional (even if you may not intend to do so) with everybody, he somehow could feel himself yearning to get closer to you. He believes that could be achieved when you show some sort of positive emotions as you know, textbook says that when people are happy, they smile.

• Then suddenly, one day, it seems that you had picked up a cat. A...really big and prominent looking one. Even though you already had an annoying one by your side. (Cough GRIM cough)

• Riddle watches as you spoil the cat with hugs and headpats. It wasn't a pleasant feeling for him. Rather than being comforted by the view, it started to bother him deeply in his heart.

• What made Riddle's face go red in anger was when he saw the rare, slight smile you had on your face as you spoilt the big cat. He had tried to make you smile before through acts of small affection such as inviting you to the many Heartslabyul events. But, you remained mostly cool on the outside. This made him felt that it was extremely unfair that a big cat you've barely met has managed to win your smile rather than the him who has put in so much time and effort out of his busy schedules.

• This definitely ignited something in Riddle.

• This causes more stress and anxiety for Riddle. It's to the point where he would make up his own rules to keep your cat away. If the both of you are in a relationship, Riddle's rules will definitely control your life. He would make sure that the giant cat (and also possibly Grim) would not be able to resurface in front of you ever again as he imposes crazy rules to bind you to him.

Leona Kingscholar

• Actually doesn't care initially when you brought the giant cat over. Yes, it may be gigantic, but it's just a mere cat, ain't it? It can't use magic nor can it scheme. Leona simply cannot see it as an opponent.

• But, as you spend more time with the gigantic cat, spoiling it whenever it follows you around the campus, the cat starts to get on Leona's nerves. Grim was already an annoyance in the first place but you just had to add another one into the fray.

• It's even worse if Leona's naps are disturbed by the damned cat(s). Especially when they have to be joining you and Leona on the nap.

• The cat becomes a bigger threat to Leona as it takes up more of your attention. You're already so hard to reach, and this cat is increasing the distance. How annoying.

• Whenever the cat is around, Leona would make sure to threaten it behind your back by using his stare. If that fails to faze the big cat, he would definitely try to find ways(by utilizing Ruggie) to get rid of the cat when asking you to nap with him.

• Your constant fawning over the cat is merely testing Leona's patience. If he becomes extremely jealous, he might be controlled by his emotions to get rid of your cat, most likely through the use of violence, or even the possibility of killing it. Size is not a matter for him, after all, it's just a mere cat, right?

Azul Ashengrotto

• Oh My, A big cat? Now, now. Where did you pick that thing from? Azul is having a major headache upon finding it out.

• Unlike Leona, Azul immediately views the cat as a threat. It's disturbing him so badly that he feels like he is going crazy.

• As someone who is already so insecure about himself, your cold attitude towards him only makes it worse. Then, now we are adding a cat in that you are fawning over? Azul is definitely growing jealous.

• Whenever he sees you smiling and having fun with the cat, he can feel his entire body shaking with anger. It is even worse when he knows that this big cat follows you everywhere and is the one who lifts up your mood.

• He can't help but think, why not him? Why can't he take the place of that cat instead? Was he that worthless even with all his efforts to remain civil and kind towards you? After all the goodwill he has given you, this is what you repay with? Constant negative thoughts filled his head up.

• This pushes him to the extreme. He can't push out this waiting game any longer. He's not going to go slow and remain kind towards you anymore. If the cat is worth that much to you, he is going to take it hostage. And along with that, how about taking the entire Ramshackle dorm in the process too?

• Seeing as how dearly the big cat is to you, Azul will definitely formulate a plan revolving around it. The Tweels will be put into action, to possibly put your cat into a state of pain and suffering behind your back. The Tweels would also be excited as they are very interested in this creature. An enlarged cat, how fun would it be to play with it! Plus, with this, they don't have to deal with Azul's negativity and whines too. So, Little Shrimpy, they will do their best so do yield, okay~?

• As you find your cat coming back in such a bad state and panic about it, Azul would prey on this vulnerability you show by offering you a contract. Coincidentally, at this moment, he just so happens to have something that can save your dying cat. Well, all you have to do in exchange is to, you know, pay him back some favors.

Kalim Al Asim

• Wow! A big cat! Of course, Kalim would be intrigued in it.

• As Kalim tends to be on the more delusional side, he views this big cat as both you and his darling pet. He would spoil the cat with extravagant goods and make sure it has a comfortable life. He especially does this, so that he can hopefully make you smile at him.

• However, you're the same as always when dealing with him. Donning a poker face and treating him politely. Even if you don't mean it, he feels like you're treating him coldly.

• Initially, Kalim viewed this as something normal you do. In which, it is. So he does not really get worked up over it. However, he accidentally stumbled upon a scene of you and the cat being alone.

• He saw your smile directed at the cat as you spoil the cat with hugs and kisses. Because of Kalim's delusions, He sees this as the worst thing ever. No matter how slight your smile is, it is magnified in Kalim's eyes. He will view it as the brightest smile you would ever have and that brews his jealousy.

• Of course, at the same time, he feels extremely troubled by this feeling of his. He didn't know what to do with these strong and unknown new emotions. But all he knew was that, it has definitely awaken something in him.

• Kalim is not the type to scheme. But that doesn't mean that he would not take impulsive actions.

• Let's just say, maybe during a party in Scarabia, someone had "accidentally" fed your cat some chocolates or something that shouldn't be fed to cats in a place that people do not usually frequent.

• But, don't worry! If you're sad about it, Kalim would be there for you!

Vil Schoenheit

• A big cat, that's interesting. Vil would be interested in it if it was beautiful or exotic as they would probably be good as props to highlight his beauty.

• Other than that, He probably does not have much interest in the cat. Though, he would agree that having that cat around you definitely enhances your loveliness.

• Vil would most likely always be commenting on your poker face, and asking you to smile. However, no matter how hard the both of you try, your face remains stiff or just stuck in a poker face.

• Vil is extremely eager to see your smiling face as he believes that it would be beautiful.

• It was only at one point where he momentarily gives up on trying to see your smile, he catches you fawning over you big cat with a genuine happy smile on your face.

• This infuriates Vil. You would rather smile to a beast than him? You're upsetting him to no ends.

• This can push Vil to start treating you coldly for awhile as he gets enveloped by the anger, especially when the scene keeps repeating in his head.

• This could push him to create poisons that will kill the cat off, and also making sure that it does not trace back to him.

• You just had to push Vil Schoenheit to this extreme with just a smile, did you?

Idia Shroud

• The Ramshackle Dorm has a new cat? Idia is extremely excited. A new cat on the campus means more fluffy action! It's gigantic? Even better!

• Idia is probably the only one who wouldn't go to huge extremes to hurt your cat out of jealousy as he can understand the appeal of those elegant felines.

• Idia is also probably aware of how you are and will definitely call you a kuudere(behind your back and lovingly, of course).

• As he sees you spoiling the cat and Grim, the smile that you had on your face while facing them definitely made Idia feel flushed. Though, he may get a little jealous over the cats, his action in plan is probably to win the cats over so that the cats would prefer him to you.

• That said, he would probably have to buy more cat toys and treats in order to do that, would he?

• Maybe, if he's frustrated about it, the worst he could do is probably to write a few venty posts online to denounce that cat.

Malleus Draconia

• The child of man has a weird creature following behind them? Is it a threat? Malleus would first check up on the big feline following you around. He would ask you questions on it out of curiosity.

• This lonely dragon would join you with any opportunity that he gets.

• As with the others, he finds it curious on why you always kept up such an appearance towards everybody. Even though he did say he respects your reasons why. He can't help but feel a little discomfort and anger when he sees you spoiling the cat and having smiles on your face as you do so.

• It hits worse when Malleus felt as if he was being ignored by you as you face the cat.

• As he felt that your full attention wasn't on him, lightning would start to strike in the back ground.

• He feels extremely pleased (smug Malleus) when you get startled by it and stopped putting your focus into spoiling the big cat.

• Malleus would also try to get along with the cat initially, well, until he ends up extremely annoyed by even its mere presence as the cat keeps demanding for your attention.

• The fact that you would show up to your meeting with Malleus with the cat? It irritates him.

• One fine day, as Malleus decides to stop tolerating the cat, it may suddenly disappear and you would not be able to find it.

• If you questions Malleus about it, he would reply you with something along the lines of, "Well, maybe it went to find some milk and never came back?"

• Sorry, your big lovely cat's gone now. Can't help it.

Jealous Grim

• C,mon! Another cat? Doesn't this mean he has to share his tuna cans with them?

• Would probably hiss at the big cat.

• Would also not be bothered by his size because, look. This cat has been through crazy stuff. I doubt he would be scared off by just a big cat.

• Initially, didn't stop to think that YOU would give your attention to that cat instead. But as you did, Grim starts to panic and get worried. You would constantly see him with watery eyes looking over at you.

• You probably would just sigh and signal Grim to join in too, so he would receive attention from you too through rubs and hugs. <3

• When left with the big cat alone, Grim would probably try to fight with the big cat.

• Well, Ramshackle dorm would probably have some burnt marks on the floors and walls, as well as maybe some fur lying around when you came back after leaving for just a moment.

[astrcthesiai-archived]

Then you will die.

The words echoed through his mind, but instead of a shocked expression, Roberto sent Livio an understanding smile.

"I know it'll get me killed, but I'm overdue for a story for Bernadelli.  That op-ed is not going to write itself, and I sure as hell won't leave Meryl to her fate either this time," Roberto attempted to reason.  It was definitely time for a cigarette, he could practically see the anger on Livio's face despite the assassin doing his best to hide it.  He looked down and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.  "My role in the group is to keep Meryl from getting in Vash's way.  To simply observe, and I'll be damned if I don't get the truth."  Staring back at Livio was a man knowing he was going to die.

He took a cigarette from the box and placed it in his mouth.  God was his nerves frayed.

"I know I am a god damned fool, kid, but someone's gotta tell the truth, and if it's not me, it's gotta be my partner, Meryl.  I would be damned if she doesn't complete this story," he looked up into Livio's golden orbs.  He was deadly serious as well.  He won't move, not unless Livio took out his own punishers and shot him.

He took a drag on his cigarette, as Livio went on.  "Livio, I know I will die.  I've seen your punishers at work before when I did an article on the Eye of Michael.  I've seen just how many bullets a previous partner can take while trying to see a goddamned fight up close.  I've seen the battleground and I'm lucky to have you and Wolfwood warning us of the dangers.  But the truth is out there, and I'll be damned if I don't attempt to bring it to light, son."

He smiled and shook his head.  "I can't, I was going to become one of those scientists too.  It was thanks to a Plant undergoing a Final Harvest that I saw the cruelty of Science and of mankind.  I don't fight like you guys, I know, but the truth is out there, Livio.  Someone's got to unearth it and it'll either be me or Meryl.  I've lived longer, so I think it'll be Meryl that survives."

His lopsided smile widened and he took another drag on his cigarette.  "It's alright, you're concerned and I appreciate it, Livio," he said.  "I'm going to wield my pen to the very last."

''Then you will die."

Livio stated those sharp words in a quiet monotone. "What you're about to walk into will get you killed. Doesn't that concern you at all?"

Those quiet amber eyes glinted as he squinted at the old man. "Doesn't you life mean anything? Don't you have daughter to go back to? A family? That girl?" Livio pushed off the pillar to stride forth, his blank expression wavering to show just how angry he really was at the response given. He came to circle the Reporter till he was face to face with him.

"You're a fool. I'm not saying there is a chance of death, I'm saying you WILL die. It's a fundamental fact for anyone who isn't more than human...like me, like my brother or Stampede."

"You will not survive. Nobody will and I can't save you." There was a bite to his hissed words. "I'm giving you a chance very few others will get in the city and you won't listen. Thousands of other poor bastards don't have an assassin who knows the gameboard like I do watching them play the game like I do. You are being told to save your own goddamn life and run."

''Don't do this, Roberto...I will not suffer another causality of the innocent. At least let me save one life that matters. If I do that then maybe all the horrible things they did to I and my brother will actually matter for something good..." Livio looked away with a somber expression.

"...I-...I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

[sunaluvs]

SWEET ON MY LIPS | izana kurokawa x reader

+ EXCERPT: izana doesn't really have a lot of experience with this sort of thing to make a fair comparison, but he's annoyed (and a little alarmed) when he recognizes that your hot chocolate might have been the best thing he's ever tasted, and he refuses to investigate why.

+ TAGS: gn reader, fluff, swearing, very precarious characterization of izana, unedited.

+ A/N: its 2 am and i have no what im doing or what this is but i just wanted to write ab him n the lack of izana content is appalling </3 as always, feedback and rbs are always appreciated <33

"get ready to taste the best damn hot cocoa you'll ever have in your life."

“that’s a bold statement,” izana replies, careful eyes watching you open the cupboard to pull out two mugs. one is in the shape of a black cat, with big white eyes and a pink nose, while the other resembles what he thinks is supposed to be a duck—a blue duck. they’re weird and a little ugly, but strangely, he doesn't mind them.

“a factual one, nonetheless,” you flash him a quick grin, before turning back to the drink on the stove. the sweet aroma wafts throughout your kitchen, and his shoulders subconsciously relax at the sound of your faint humming.

his hands are folded on the kitchen’s counter in front of him, and his earrings sway as he gives your home a sweeping glance. there are small paintings hung up on the wall, pretty with no running theme. mismatched cushions rest on your aged couch, the fabrics’ edges fraying slightly. a brown coffee table lies in the center of your living room, a few books stacked on top with stray pieces of paper scattered all over. he manages to spot some plants lining your window sill, obviously fake with the exception of two cacti.

despite the blatant mess, your place remains… cozy. lived in, he thinks.

“and here we are,” you finally announce, appearing in front of him to set down the steaming drinks. izana’s eyes flash back to you, taking in your content smile as you take a seat next to him. the proximity makes him tense up a little, but you either don’t notice or decide not to comment on it.

up close, the rich scent of chocolate is stronger, but not unpleasantly so. his hands unfold to wrap around the cup, the sting from the heat grounding him a little.

(you gave him the black cat, and now that he's taking a closer look, he confirms that it really is ugly—in a weirdly endearing way.)

“so,” you begin, body facing him, and in turn, he shifts his head to the side to look to you, “what’s your favourite christmas movie?”

he tilts his head, earrings tinkling at the movement, and thinks it over. he doesn’t want to tell you that he’s never been able to watch a christmas movie all the way through, doesn’t want to speak about the envy and grief that bubbles low in his gut—and he certainly doesn’t want to bring up the weight that sits heavy on his shoulders every time he tries to watch them, alone.

he settles on, “can’t choose. they’re all great.”

you hum in understanding, nodding sagely, “understandable. i don’t trust a person that can confidently say they have a favourite.”

he exhales a silent breath.

his fingers twitch in the minute silence that follows. it’s not nerves (of course not, what’s he got to be nervous about?), but there’s an urge itching under his skin to do something, so in an uncharacteristic manner, he does the first thing that comes to mind, and automatically lifts his hot mug to his lips.

“wait, that’s really hot—”

your words arrive a little too late. the scalding liquid suddenly meets his tongue and burns, forcing a wince out of him. he swallows down the pained noise that threatens to leave him as the drink sears his throat, his hands immediately placing it back down on the counter as he tries not to splutter at the ache.

a suspicious cough next to him brings his attention to you, a distraction as he restrains himself from sticking his tongue out like a damn dog to cool it down. his eyebrows furrow when he sees you forcing on blank features as your eyes focus on his face.

“what?” he asks, and it comes out a little harsher than he intended it to. you don’t seem to really care, though, as you clear your throat to speak.

“you, um,” you breathe out a shaky breath through your nose, “you got a little something—” you point to the top of your mouth, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

something like embarrassment—and really, this is ridiculous, what’s wrong with him?—flushes through his body when he realizes the whipped cream you topped the drink with must have accidentally gotten on his top lip.

his scowling expression must have been the last straw, because you burst out in laughter as he hurriedly wipes off the cream with the back of his hand. he waits for the irritation to crawl up inside him, the inevitable anger that always follows his humiliation, but as he watches your nose scrunch up in a free grin, the skin around your closed eyes creased in laughter, he’s—shocked at the lack of it. instead, he swallows around the tight feeling in his throat, and doesn't think about the abnormal lightness in his chest.

"sorry," you grin, not looking very sorry at all, "you just—you looked sorta like an annoyed cat, with the," you do a vague motion with your hand, "pout and all."

he stares in disbelief.

pout? you may as well have called him a goddamn bunny.

you snort at the sight of him stunned, before picking up your own, now safely warm, mug and holding it out to him.

"here," you offer, "you can have a sip of mine, in case you have leftover trauma from yours."

it's stupid. you're stupid, this whole thing is, and frankly he's not sure why he decided to walk you back or accept your offer of coming into your home to avoid the pouring rain outside. you're only coworkers in that quaint little bookshop, and it wouldn't have been the first time he's made it home in the rain. hell, he's slept with the rain as his cover before.

and yet, despite the confusion in his mind and his rationality telling him that he has his own damn cup to drink from, his hand reaches out, stiff in its movements, and wraps itself around your mug, grazing your soft skin for a second before you quickly pull away.

you give him an encouraging nod, and he can't stand the excitement in your eyes and the unknown feelings they bring to him. rigidly, he turns away from you and looks down at the drink. he didn't get a chance to taste anything beyond a painful sting last time, so he closes his eyes, tries not to think about what he's going to do, and lifts the mug to take a sip.

instantly, his taste buds are sighing at the delicious flavor they encounter. the chocolate tastes rich and prominent on his tongue, the comfortable warmth soothing its previous ache. it's not too sweet or bitter, and he thinks he can taste the beginnings of vanilla and a touch of cinnamon.

he almost forgets that this isn't his cup, but he quickly puts it down once he realizes he's taken more than a sip from your drink. his tongue darts out to collect the remnants on his lips, and he savours the pleasant warmth of the smooth liquid traveling down his throat.

"well?"

he shifts to cast a glance at you, bringing his eyes back down to the counter when he sees you biting your lip in anticipation.

izana doesn't really have a lot of experience with this sort of thing to make a fair comparison, but he's annoyed (and a little alarmed) when he recognizes that it might have been the best thing he's ever tasted, and he refuses to investigate why.

(this is so fucking stupid.)

he gives you a little nod and quietly says, "it's good. really good."

the noise of victory you make draws his lavender gaze to you, his body slowly turning towards you as you grin and take back your cup. there's a twinkle in your eye as you proudly straighten your back and flash him a wink.

"what did i tell you," you beam, "best damn hot cocoa you'll ever taste."

he doesn't know it, but the corners of his lips are minutely curved upwards, and deep inside, something finally starts to beat behind his ribs.