#but my chest did that heave thing it does whenever you cry really hard

[lunalikestowriteanddraw]

“Oh, I don’t typically cry at things like this, so I doubt I’ll cry at episode 46”

*watches episode 46*

*clutching my blanket while sobbing” FUCK

[elysianslove]

shameful lust; suna rintarō

synopsis; he’s off limits in every way, but that only makes you want him more. based off of this, this, and this. the smut is inspired by my bunny anon’s birthday idea :) bunny, you know the one :)

pairings; brother’s bsf!suna rintarō x fem!reader

genre; porn with kind of plot lmfao

word count; 5.5k what the fuck??

trigger warning; age gap (not specified, & everyone’s 18+), masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, humiliation, praise, mini panic attack, link for the lingerie (slight nsfw warning)

it started off innocent, as most things do. you were sixteen when you first felt the butterflies nestled deep in your stomach, the drop of your heart, the heat of your cheeks, only around him. you’d thought it was a natural reaction; after all, you’d known suna rintarō since, quite literally, forever, and you were a growing girl, hormones imbalanced and thoughts as confusing as ever. it was normal, completely ordinary to feel as nervous as you did whenever his hand so much brushed against yours, or whenever he’d barely glance your way to offer a small, teasing smile.

it meant nothing, of course. you were just a young girl, sixteen, desperate to lose yourself in some sort of fantasy. a silly crush on your brother’s best friend was nothing strange, and definitely inevitable.

it would go away.

you’re eighteen when the feelings don’t go away, and when they begin reshaping into more— impure thoughts. the more you see of him, the more hyperaware you grow of everything that he is. suddenly your eyes easily find the small strip of skin revealed when he stretches his arms up, and suddenly you can’t help but constantly think about the way he sits, legs spread so wide as if to... accommodate something. suddenly your thoughts always find their way back to the way he’d hugged you goodbye, arms squeezing you so tight to him, allowing you to feel every ridge and ripple of his muscles, and the way he had ruffled your hair and his hand, so large, so easily sinking into the strands— and you’re left wondering what else his fingers could do in your hair, to the rest of your body—

it’s bad. it’s really bad. every day you try and convince yourself it’s innocent, and every night you prove yourself wrong when you find yourself on your stomach, face buried in your pillow and teeth biting down on it, mouth dampening the cloth as your fingers rub harshly at your clit and sink into your dripping cunt— all with his name falling off your tongue as you heave and cry. every night you think about how much thicker his fingers are in comparison to yours, how much longer, how they’d feel inside of you, curling within you. you know he’s dexterous, insanely good with his hands. you’ve seen the way his fingers fly across a keyboard or tap urgently at a gaming console. you know it, and it in no way helps in calming your frustration.

it’s bad, of course, but you live with it. after all, he is in every way off limits. a lot older than you, and much more experienced, suna would have to lose his mind before he ever thinks of you the way you think of him. what would a girl like you have to offer a guy like him anyways? your shaky hands and clumsy mouth? your tight cunt that can barely fit two of your fingers? you’d only leave him unsatisfied, and leave yourself utterly humiliated.

worst of all, however, you can’t imagine how devastated, how betrayed, your brother would be if he’d caught you fooling around with his best friend.

so although you’re yearning to say fuck all and fuck him, you don’t, because it doesn’t make sense in the slightest for you to do so. you continue to make due with what shirtless image of him or that time he slept over and went commando, waking up at the same time you had and his — his dick was hard— you could see—

fuck.

you need to grow up.

as you sit with your back to your headboard, your knees bent up and swinging slightly, two simple knock erupt on your bedroom door. it’s late afternoon, the sun’s brightness dimming slightly, casting your room in an orange glow. in all honesty, it’s soothing.

looking up from your phone momentarily, you call out for the person knocking to come in, your eyes returning to your screen once more.

“hey.”

at the sound of the awfully familiar voice, your head snaps back up and you lock your phone, looking up with newfound excitement at the man standing at your doorway. “hi,” you return with a smile, sitting up and crossing your legs.

suna smiles back, walking into your room with one hand tucked behind his back. “your brother said i’d find you here,” he explains, walking towards you.

you quirk a brow, curiously and amusingly smiling as you ask, “whatcha got there?”

he’s quiet for a moment as he walks over to your side of the bed, maneuvering in a way that doesn’t reveal what he has hidden behind him. you twist around on your bed, leaning on your knees to face him properly, and it’s just when you lift up slightly to settle comfortably that he leans down, bends over to get close enough to whisper, “happy birthday, pretty girl.” he gives you not another moment to process how close his face is — how close his lips are to yours — before the hand behind his back comes around between you.

tucked in his hand is a medium sized bag, not related to any sort of brand, so you assume it’s a simple bag he’d gotten from a convenience store. that would really only mean one thing— that he’s gotten you more than just one gift. you can’t see what’s in it since there are colorful papers stacked within it, obstructing your view, but you’re still flustered at the mere thought he’d even considered to buy you a gift. it’s not unusual; suna, every year on your birthday, has gotten you a gift, yet it’s usually more so a gag gift than anything. some inside joke of yours, maybe he’d pay for your dinner, things like that. never a full on, thought out gift.

“you didn’t have to,” you say, settling back down on your knees and hesitantly taking the bag from him.

he waves you off, disagreeing. “course i did; you’re nineteen now.”

you roll your eyes. “wouldn’t eighteen be more special?”

“fine,” he decides, playfully taking the bag from your grasp and pulling it to him. “guess i’ll just give this to someone else then— maybe your mom—“

“suna!”

at your reaction, he laughs boisterously, and against all odds, you find yourself smiling too. quickly, you reach out for the bag again, pulling it back to you.

“open it when you’re alone,” he disclaims, almost as if in warning.

warily, you eye the bag.

“sure.”

you try to be quieter when unboxing suna’s gift, but the paper’s scrunching is just so damn loud. after cursing it out, you finally rid the bag of its first layer of paper, and are met with a scented candle and some lotion. basic, expected. there‘s a card there too, and when you open it, there’s a note in his messy handwriting, reading out a simple happy birthday— and a good couple of yens too. money, a candle, lotion.

so basic.

there’s still more paper beneath, but you don’t expect it to be for anything except decoration, not for—

what the fuck.

what the fuck.

What The Fuck?

your two hands dip into the bag, reaching out for the final gift, grabbing it by its straps and—

holy shit, he got you lingerie.

it’s so— sheer? you don’t think an inch of you will be properly covered, even with the lingerie on. it’s properly transparent, with only the intricate lace designs to modestly cover you. when you dig into the bag, you find the panties to match the bra and— well, it’s pretty, you can’t lie. there are dark, almost flowerlike designs all over, and it’s a deep black, nearly blue or green. there’s also a garter belt, but there aren’t any stockings in the bag to attach to the clips. maybe he’d expected you to take care of that?— ah no, you stand corrected. there are stockings.

fuck, he thought of everything didn’t he?

but more importantly, what the fuck does all of this mean?

burying the lingerie deep inside the bag again, and making sure to cover it up with the paper, thoroughly, you place the other gifts and the card back in and on top, before putting it aside on your bed.

and now, to gather your fucking thoughts.

you had to text him to thank him for the gift, obviously. but there was no way he’d accidentally misplaced the lingerie there. it was deliberately placed, with the way it was folded and tucked neatly, underneath an extra layer of paper above and beneath it? yeah, definitely on purpose. but— why? had he taken notice of your feelings towards him? was this his way of making fun or... reassuring you they were mutual?

god, what the hell are you thinking.

snatching your phone from your bedside table, you check the time.

2:01 a.m.

okay, everyone‘s bound to be asleep by now. hopefully. you eye the bag, so cautiously one would assume there’s some sort of killing machine within it. you contemplate. shake your head. no. the gears twist. yes.

no.

yes. no. yes. no—

fuck it, it’s yours anyways, isn’t it?

you snatch it loudly, rushing off to lock your bedroom door, then rushing to close the blinds, tightly, surely, then rushing to turn the lights off and turning the small lamp by your bedside on instead. what else are you meant to do with lingerie other than, well, put it on? it’s rational, you think, obvious.

it’s fine.

stealing one last, deep breathe, you dump the contents of the bag again, and pick out the lingerie.

it fits.

it fits perfectly.

the bra is snug against your chest, pushing at your breasts but not digging in uncomfortably. your nipples peak through what‘s revealed of the mesh, and when they stand perky and hard, you blame it on the fact that you‘re half naked. the garter belt wraps tightly around your waist, not squeezing to the point of discomfort and pain, but not loose that it’s a nuisance, and the clips that hang from it are attached to a pair of stockings that stop mid thigh, squeezing at the flesh. finally, a pair of panties rest on your cups, cupping your ass perfectly. it too is sheer, and god— you can see so much of you.

is this— what he would‘ve wanted?

you can’t deny that you do look good. it shows your figure off appealingly, and coupled with some dark lipstick, your messy hair, and the slightest smudge to your day’s eyeliner— would— would he have wanted you like this? all dolled up for him?

is this what suna likes?

doubting the fact that you’ll ever have the courage to put this set on again, you grab at your phone, clearing the area before your mirror, then sitting down at the edge of your bed. might as well enjoy it while it lasts, shouldn’t you? posing in the mirror, you appreciate the way you look, the way the dim lighting complements the atmosphere, the way the piece hugs your body and shows you off. you look so good.

so good— for him.

reveling in this surge of confidence, you snap a good amount of pictures, posing differently in each of them, taking them at different angles. your camera roll overflows with them, and as you fall back on the bed, hair splayed out on the mattress, you smile proudly at the pictures.

do you look good enough for him to see?

the thought strikes you suddenly; it tickles at the pit of your stomach, makes your knees bend and your toes curl.

should you?

the messenger app is open at the text messages between you and him before you can think, a picture of you uploaded and ready to send.

should you?

you tuck your lower lip between your teeth, mulling it over anxiously.

no, you most definitely shouldn’t.

quickly, you swipe out of the messenger app, and onto safari. porn it is.

you should‘ve turned the ac on. fuck, it’s hot.

3:10 a.m. 45 minutes since you’d put the lingerie set on and had your mini photoshoot, ten minutes since you’d started masturbating. everything’s still in place except for the garter clips, which have snapped off of your stockings at some point in the past few minutes, but you pay it barely any mind as your legs spread wider, one hand dipped beneath your panties, the other pressing hard against your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet.

it’s not that you generally had a problem keeping down your noises. your home was constantly filled with people, and you’re almost always sexually frustrated at the most inconvenient times. this time, however, it’s different. it’s different because you’re wearing a lingerie set that suna picked out, that suna bought for you, that suna gave you himself. would he have wanted to watch you touch yourself like this, dressed up so pretty? or— would he have wanted to fuck you while—

shit, you’re gonna cum.

you let out a broken moan, bleeding into a desperate son, muffled barely your hand. your fingers fuck into your cunt faster, squelching lowly as you arch your back, pressing your palm harshly against your clit.

“ugh, hngh,” you whine, squeal, wrist aching. “fuck, rin— please—“

you’re so loud, shit, shit, shit.

beside you, your phone dings! loudly, alerting you of a message received, but you can’t stop, not when you’re so close. it dings again, and again, but you continue to ignore, chasing your own high so desperately, faster, faster, faster. the coil tightens, your body tenses, mind hazing over and eyes rolling back— so close, so fucking close.

“well aren’t you a doll.”

your eyes snap open, and you only manage one second to process who the fuck and what the fuck before your hips are trembling and twisting, and your legs are shaking so awfully as your back arches deep. the moment you hear his voice, so deep and clear, looming just by the edge of your bed where you lay spread, fucking yourself, you cum— and you’re convinced you have a humiliation kink. you didn’t cum because you’d simply been close— you came because you heard him catch you.

in your post orgasmic daze, you pant deeply, chest heaving, rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. your fingers pull back from your panties, falling to the bed, sticky and wet, while your other hand falls from from your mouth, drool and spit dripping from the corner of your lips.

“aw, you ruined the set.”

you sigh. “rin.” the way you say his name isn’t in a way that’s calling out for him, but neither are you scolding him nor brushing him off for teasing you. you’re just simply trying to process the fact that he’s here.

“i like it when you call me that,” he admits, and in a second he’s falling over you, hands bracing and steadying him beside your head, keeping himself hovering at a small distance. “why do you always insist on calling me suna?” he wonders, head tilting curiously.

blinking slowly, you breathe in, and out, and ask, “what are you doing here?”

above you, he shrugs. “you were the one that sent me those—”

immediately, you’re pushing him off you, sitting up all too quickly as you reach out for your phone. you shakily unlock it, typing in your password and opening the messenger app. he’s right— shit. you could’ve sworn you’d deleted the photo, because you’d explicitly decided just how stupid sending it would’ve been. 

well, look at you now. 

“that wasn’t— oh my god, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you stutter, turning your body towards him once more, but avoiding his gaze, your body, only barely having just cooled down, heating up once more. 

“oh?” he tests. “was it not meant for me?” 

“no, i—“ 

he’s smiling all too wide for him to not be getting off on your embarrassment. at the thought of that, your eyes unintentionally snap up to him, to his crotch, where beneath his sweats is a bulge, and god, it’s like all those nights ago where you’d seen his dick through his sweats and he’s big, he’s so big—

“just where do you think you’re looking?” he sneers, hand all of a sudden gripping your chin, tilting your head back up and forcing you to finally, for the first time, meet his eyes. they’re dark, almost sinister, as they narrowly glare at you, begging you for explanation. 

your mind’s no longer clouded over, all pleasure dissipating from your veins, pathetic humiliation replacing it. “i’m sorry,” you mewl, eyes tearing up at the look on his face. of course he was disgusted. just as your stupid crush on him was natural, so was his reaction. “i’m sorry, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg, lower lip wobbling. 

his grip on your chin tightens as he furrows his brows. “tell anyone?” he questions. “about what?” 

had he not— heard you? 

he says your name, firmly, deeply, in a way that has you stifling your sobs and biting your bottom lip to stop its quivering. patiently, you wait for him to speak, to say anything, until finally, he asks, “do you want me to fuck you?” and your heart stops. “yeah?” he continues, his other hand reaching for your wrist, your hand, the same one that’s still sticky with the evidence of you. slowly, as he brings his lips closer to yours, fingers slipping so that he’s squishing your cheeks tightly, he leads your hand to his crotch, to where his dick is painfully hard beneath his sweats. your initial touch is featherlight, and he doesn’t fully press your hand to his clothed cock, but still, just the smallest, tiniest feel of him has the lust in your veins thrumming alive. “you think you’d look pretty—” he pauses, lips hovering by yours, eyes searching for any sign of hesitance or resistance, “sitting on my cock?” 

“i’m sorry,” you apologize again, but he swallows it by finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. his lips are so soft, softer than you’d imagined and fantasized a thousand times over, as they press against yours, managing to pull the softest moan of surprise and pleasure from you. you’d forgotten, in your moment of shame, just how much you’d craved suna rintarō. just how often you thought about him, those same fingers gripping your chin to be buried inside of you, those pretty lips sucking on your tits and clit. “want you so bad,” you hiccup, kissing him back. “so bad.” 

he hums, amused, pulling back. licking his lips with a grin, as if tasting you, his hands leave you entirely, reaching for the hem of his shirt as he lifts it up, freeing himself of the piece of clothing. “don’t you think i know, sweetheart?” he teases, daringly. at the sight of your eyes widening, he nods with a dramatized serious expression, tutting as he adds, “so dirty, thinkin’ ‘bout me like that.” 

you whine again, hands lifting up to obstruct your face from his view as you fall back on the bed, body bouncing slightly. “stop,” you plead, not for him to pull back but for him to stop reminding you of just how wrong it is to feel the way you do. still, you spread your sticky thighs for him when he presses his hands to your knees, and you shiver at the feel of his fingers tickling at your skin. “i’m sorry.” 

“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he reassures you, faux sweetness dripping like honey off his tongue. he leans in, carefully slow, hands following the curve of his body and yours. “i want you too.” he smiles mischievously, leaning close once more. “so bad,” he mimics you, lips hovering right above yours before he kisses you once more. you want to pinch his arm for outright mocking you, because really, how infuriating can he be? but it’s impossible to want to do anything but desire him in every possible way at the moment, especially when he presses himself harder against you, hips slotting between your legs and clothed cock brushing against your dripping panties. 

“rin,” you plead, hands clawing at his back, grasping at his shoulders. god, his skin is so warm. 

“yes?” he drawls, wet lips kissing the corner of your mouth, trailing easily to your jaw, and down to your neck. patiently, he waits for you to speak. 

with a trembling voice, you ask, “be quick. please.” 

a little stunned, suna pauses his ministrations at your neck, but it’s barely for a second. because moments later, he’s grinning sinisterly into the crook of your neck, sucking hotly as he replies, “sure thing.” 

you do want to take your time. you want him to stuff his face between your legs and sink his fingers so deep inside of you. you want him to force your mouth down on him, want to bury your face in your lap till you’re choking and gagging on his cock. you want him to take his time stretching you for his cock before he sinks inside of you, letting you feel every single inch and ridge of his dick until he bottoms out. you wish. you wish. 

but you’re desperate, and needy, and frustrated, and most of all, you’re not even sure if this is real. you’re scared to blink and have him disappear all of a sudden. you’re scared to wake up with soaked panties and no gift from suna, no suna above you, hard cock pressing against your cunt, only the same suna from all these past years, the same suna you pine over at a distance, wanting but never having. 

so you whimper so quietly, “be quick,” again, because he’s still too slow for your liking.

his fingers grasp the sides of your panties, pulling as quick as he can, sliding them down your thighs, watching as the cloth rolls at the urgency as it slides past your knees, your shins, your ankles, legs lifted high up. at the final loop around your right ankle, as suna flings it off, he kisses at your ankle, gripping it tightly and using it to spread your legs. 

as your legs spread, your pussy, soaking from both your past orgasm and this unbelievable build up, spreads too, glistening and dripping for him. his eyes easily fall to it, and, with that same glint in his eyes, he grins, and licks his lips again. “wish i could have a taste,” he admits to you, shuffling closer and bending your legs closer to your chest with one hand. the other hand frantically pushes at the hem of his sweatpants, tugging it low, beneath his balls. “god, i’d have you sit on my face for hours.” 

he’s going to kill you. 

he’s going to fucking kill you. 

at his words, your cunt pulsates and clenches tightly, hole glistening as you moan. you hope he doesn’t notice, but he does, somehow, and he laughs, too fucking loud. “you liked that, hm? bet you’d look so cute,” he spurs you on, and your entire body trembles. 

you wish to say something, to find the courage to belittle him, degrade him, remind him that if you’re in the wrong for wanting this then so is he, but it’s so hard to find your voice. it’s like he’s stupefied you completely, reduced you to this dumb, wordless, horny mess. god, fuck, it’s embarrassing. you can only watch with wide, tearful eyes and quivering lips and trembling legs as he spits on his hand and fists his cock, quickly, getting himself all nice and slick for you. his cock is— he’s so big, fuck. if you’d been shocked feeling him beneath his sweats, well, your entire body’s rigid with anticipation now. 

just as promised, suna’s quick. with one hand pressing and steadying firmly at your lower stomach, right by your hip, he guides his cock to your cunt with the other, wasting no time by pushing in. no way, no way, no fucking way. 

how is he fitting? 

“ease up,” he orders sharply, forcing more of himself inside of you.

in response, you bring both hands up to your mouth, clasping them tightly above your lips. you remaining quiet is as impossible as ever, with the way he’s stretching you so wide for him, so you press down harder with your hands and throw your head back as he sinks in deeper, and deeper. 

“aren’t a good girl?” he praises sweetly, his other hand mirroring the one on your hip. he watches as you lower your head again, lifting it up slightly to look between the two of you at where he’s fully bottomed out, buried deep inside of you. “feel good?” he wonders, even if he knows the answer. your head falls back again and you nod with your eyes squeezing shut. “feel so full, yeah?”  you’re glad he’s speaking for you, because you doubt you could find your voice at the moment, even if you tried. 

you nod again instead, urgently, just as he pulls out until only his tip remains inside of you, before pressing back in quickly, thrusting into you suddenly. the sight of him above you is better than anything your mind has ever made up, hands squeezing at your hips tightly, both ensuring you keep your legs spread for him and keeping himself up, steadying himself as he fucks into you. his arms bulge and the muscles in his abdomen tighten and tense with every thrust. his chest, so flushed red; his hair, a little sweaty, a little messy; his brows, furrowed deep in concentration; his lips, wet and red, so fucking red, his tongue jutting out slightly as he picks up the pace, as he thrusts faster, harder. 

and best of all: the noises he makes. he’s shameless, fucking into you with abandon, moaning and grunting and whining for you, like he’d been the one yearning, pining, and not you. and, you suppose, with the way he’s fucking into you right now, that there might’ve been some truth in his words, that he’s wanted you just as bad, that this wasn’t some pity fuck— poor little girl, his best friend’s sister, sending him lewd and inappropriate photos because she’s so desperate, she can’t help but lust after him, every single day. 

his hands squeeze even tighter and he grunts, gritting his teeth sharply. “fuck, m’already close,” he grunts, and somehow, that makes your heart swell, pride deepening. “cunt’s so fucking tight, shit.” you’re making him say those words, you’re going to make him cum so quick, it’s you. you. 

when his hands crawl up to your breasts, squeezing and kneading through the bra, your hands fall to his forearms, gripping so tightly and digging your nails into his skin. “please, please, please, cum inside,” you beg, trying to be as quiet as you can. “please rin, please.” 

the bed creaks with the effort and speed of his thrusts, your body bouncing as his cock fucks deep into your cunt. his head bows in, smooth hair swinging forward as he curses. “are you— hm..hngh—sure?” he asks, and you nod so rapidly you feel dizzy, arching your back as much as you can to get him deeper inside of you. he’s a mess of curses and pants as he fucks you even faster, one hand remaining at your breast, grasping tightly, the other lowering to your wet clit, rubbing furiously, messily, clumsily. 

no words are exchanged as he desperately circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing and kneading your breast as he angles his hips, trying to get you to cum before he does. and just as as before, just as he’d caught you earlier, your body starts to tense up, shaking in anticipation as your orgasm draws closer and closer.

but there’s something— different. 

“rin!” you yell out, still half-whispering in an attempt to keep quiet. your eyes well up as you call out for him again, your orgasm unbearably close. “rin, feels weird— oh m—”

he only just barely manages to shove his hand against your face before you’re screaming, throat aching and scratching as you thrash beneath him. around his cock, your cunt spams and clenches down tightly, cum splashing and spraying all over his lower stomach and past his cock to his balls. you’re still thrashing, still squealing and screaming, and he’s spilling inside of you, filling you up impossibly, his cum splashing and dripping as it mixes with yours. 

“holy shit,” he breathlessly marvels, hips still rocking and grinding against yours as he helps the both of you ride out your highs. “you ever—“ he steals in a breath, steadying himself slightly, “—cum this hard?”

you’re sobbing, hiccuping and mewling and whining and crying, your body impossibly sensitive. tears stream freely down your cheeks as you sink into the mattress, feeling quite literally like jelly. slowly, suna pulls his cock out, trying not to get distracted by the way your cunt squeezes out some of his cum, and instead focuses on you, his hands cupping your cheeks softly. 

“hey, hey, eyes on me,” he encourages, kneeling above you as his thumbs brush at your tears. 

“m’sorry, ri— suna,” you heave, hands grasping his as your eyes water again, fresh tears joining ones that are yet to dry. 

“what for, sweet thing?” he asks gently. when you start to lift yourself up, he leans back, sitting on your bed, giving you space to get comfortable. he watches with worried eyes as you furiously rub at your eyes with your palms and the back of your hands, as the tears never stop flowing. shit, did he fuck up somehow? he calls your name again, cautiously reaching out for you. when you don’t reject his touch, his heart settles, just a little. “tell me what’s wrong?” he offers again, and you sniffle. 

“are you not disgusted?” you ask, voice wobbly and cracking. 

his brows furrow, and he cocks his head. “because you... squirted?”

you slap at his arm with a roll of your eyes. “no, suna.” 

“when did i lose my first name privileges?” he asks, dramatically shocked. again, you roll your eyes. well, at least the tears have ceased. softening slightly, suna sighs. he’s shit at this. he’s worse than shit at this. talking in general? awful. talking about his or someone else’s feelings? he’s sure the devil would be better comfort. still, he can’t just— leave you. he’s sure that would make things a thousand times worse.

and honestly, neither does he want to leave you. 

“i can’t read your mind, pretty girl,” he reminds you, and momentarily, you look away. 

until you inhale sharply, and meet his eyes again. “it’s okay...” you begin, trailing off as you attempt to gather your words, before continuing, “that i feel this way for you?” 

at your words, at the much needed clarity, suna sighs in relief. so that was it. “more than okay,” he promises you. 

you nod in understanding, before prodding further, “not weird?” 

he thinks it over, before answering. if he’s honest with himself, the most he’d felt with you was sexual attraction. he liked the way your tits bounced when you ran to greet him or the press of your ass against his crotch when you passed by him to get somewhere. he liked— he liked thinking about your body, your lips, your hands. it’s why he sent you that lingerie set, the one that sits so pretty on your body right now. not that he’d been expecting you to send him anything, and he’d even anticipated that you might feel disgusted, might throw it in his face and slap him too. but he knew you better. suna was observant. he knew more than he let on, more than anyone could imagine. if he hadn’t realized your eyes on him in the past years, he must be blind.

still, he’s not sure if it was ever more, or if it is more. but, he supposes, it’s not an unimaginable feat. he thinks that maybe, there is a chance. he likes you, sure; you make his belly twist and his heart jump. but is he going to risk leading you on? 

he doesn’t know. 

he settles for, “good weird.” 

your face is the definition of a question mark. “what the hell is good weird?” 

“your face is good weird,” he retorts. it’s a bad comeback, terrible actually, but his face is flushing a dark red, and he needs to get away. you’re flustering him and it’s pissing him off. 

“that’s so mean!” 

yeah, the devil would’ve been better comfort. he wasn’t around though, so he made sure suna had been sleeping over that night instead. 

worked in your favor didn’t it? 

end note; my godddddfhksfhbskjbsb ,,, sorry if you found mistakes this took me all day and im not assed to proofread <//3 but i hope you liked regardless!! 

[waka-chan-out]

Okay so I heard you were looking for requests for short stuff so do you have any headcanons for getting just. Absolutely railed by Haikyuu team captains, please and thank you. (I really love your stuff and I hope you take this!)

Rough Captain Headcanons

sub captains edition here.

you heard correctly!! (though this did not end up being very short lmaoo) i am a whore for the haikyuu captains so you’ve come to the right place. and thank you so much! i’ll take any opportunity to talk about my boys.

i included literally every single captain i could think of, including the karasuno captains after daichi and our timeskip kings. have fun.

post-timeskip, obviously.

content warnings: mostly gn! reader (but occasional fem!), lots of pet names, lots of teasing and degradation, hair pulling, spanking, three (3) creampies god i hate that word, hickies, handcuffs, etc. all of these are established relationship.

so i don’t know how to describe what exactly these headcanons are? i don’t think all of the captains are the “railing” type. however, these are basically just headcanons for when they go their hardest and either accidentally or purposefully get carried away.

Sawamura Daichi

likes to cage you under him and just lose it. will loop an arm around your waist and lift you up into him, so your back arches and he can hit the perfect angle.

will. not. let you look away. grabs your chin. pulls your hair. will move you however he needs to so he can look you in the eyes while he’s pounding into you.

“Shy now, princess?” Daichi said, tipping your chin to look at him. “Don’t hide. You look so pretty like this.” A sharp breath left your lips as he pressed his hips farther forward, grinding into you and sending a shock of pleasure through your body. “That’s it, sweetheart. Taking it so well. Let me give you what you deserve.”

Ennoshita Chikara

he’s a hair puller. like he doesn’t think much about it but he really likes pulling you by your hair back against his chest so he can whisper dirty shit in your ear. sometimes he gets a little too aggressive with it, so if you’re into that kind of thing, he’s your man.

possessive as all hell. you’re going out for drinks with coworkers? he’s leaving a hickie right at the collar of your top so everyone can see that you’re taken. coming out to dinner with his old teammates? he’s going to have an arm on you all night. loves to pull you in and remind you of things you did the night before to get you flustered.

very particular about how you’re positioned. will pin your arms above your head and readjust his grip several times. pushes your legs out of the way. grabs your jaw and moves your face where he wants you. somehow he doesn’t realize how hot that is until you tell him to his face. he’s still confused about it but has learned to love that you love it.

Chikara ran a hand up your side and let it rest in your hair for a moment before tugging hard. You gasped as he pulled it back and to the side, exposing your neck so he could leave marks as he pushed deeper inside you. You let out a whimper and tried to loop an arm around his neck but he grabbed your wrist and pinned it down.

“Patience, love. I want everyone to be able to tell I fucked you senseless.”

Yamaguchi Tadashi

he tries to dirty talk, but it always turns into praise and repeating how much he loves you.

aggressive and whiny, begging for more even though he’s the one giving it to you.

prefers when you ride him, but will do anything you ask of him. loves being told what to do. thinks you directing him to go faster or slower or a little to the left is the sexiest thing on the planet. he will fuck the life out of you if you just ask nicely.

“Harder, Tadashi,” you gasped. He grunted and snapped his hips as fast and as hard as it seems his body would let him.

“God, you’re gonna make me come. How do you feel so fucking good?” You smiled at the praise and pulled him in for a kiss. His breath hissed against your face as he continued pushing into you. You wrapped your legs tight around him and he let out a whine, pressing his face against yours. “I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

Oikawa Tooru

he’s a biter

likes to be lazy and dirty talks while you ride him usually, but every so often he shifts and will fuck you until tears are running out of your eyes.

will lay on top of you while you’re on your stomach, an arm looped around your neck, and just fuck you into the bedsheets. he’s wrapped up in his own little world, choking on high pitched moans and gasping for breath. like i said, he’s a biter, so you end up with marks all over your neck and shoulders. he’s just a fucking baby. the sounds he makes are so whiny and breathy it sounds like he’s the one getting destroyed instead of you.

“Ngh, fuck,” Tooru gasped. His breath was hot in your ear as you panted into the mattress. “Feel so good around me. You’re just begging for my cum, aren’t you?” You wanted to laugh and tell him you weren’t the one begging, but you couldn’t. Your breath was being torn from your lungs with every thrust. Tooru sunk his teeth into your shoulder as he pounded into you harder, letting out a soft whimper against your skin. His voice raised in pitch until he was practically whining. “Hah—gonna come soon. You feel so good.” His voice trailed off as it reached a whimper and he buried his face back against your neck, body shaking in anticipation.

Kuroo Tetsuro

spanking spanking spanking

seriously, hits it from the back and is not nice about it.

kuroo likes pulling you closer by your hips or ankles, turning you over whenever he feels like it, whatever. he just likes being able to toss you around and position you so he hits you just right every time.

“What? Trying to get away? That’s not how you take it, is it?” Kuroo grabbed your hips and yanked you flush against him. You cried out and buried your face against the bed. “There we go.” He laid a slap on your ass and laughed at the small sound you let out. “I’m not done with you yet. You’re not going anywhere.”

Bokuto Koutarou

he fucks himself dumb. accidentally goes so hard he’s whining and can barely hear you if you ask him to speed up or slow down.

likes missionary because he likes being as close to you as humanly possible and it gives him the best leverage to just.....lose it. gasping against your face and babbling about how good you feel. going off of that, he has a very hard time pulling out. lord have mercy. use a condom or get on a reliable birth control because as much as he tries, he’s never going to have any self-control in the moment.

he forgets just how strong he is sometimes, which results in bruises and weak limbs and occasionally trouble walking. he always apologizes profusely and offers many kisses to make up for it even after you insist that you’re fine.

“Baby, please let me come inside you. Please. Oh my god,” Koutarou whined, tightening his grip on your thigh and snapping his hips harder.

“Yes, Kou. Please.” You brought him down into a kiss. You were both panting and Koutarou was moaning, practically vibrating against you as he got closer. He began moving erratically, pounding harder into you and making you cry out.

“M’sorry. Fuck. I’m gonna come.” His chest heaved as he thrust into you hard once, twice, and let out a long groan. You could feel him twitching inside you, hands clutching your skin so hard it was almost painful. He mumbled praise and curses and nonsense against your lips, slowing his movement until he collapsed on top of you. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead and tucked his face into your neck. “Thank you. I love you. Oh my god.”

Futakuchi Kenji

likes holding your legs and moving them around to see what gets the biggest reaction from you. doesn’t care what position you’re in but loves when your legs are closed and lifted so you’re extra tight around him.

his goal is to see you as desperate as possible. he’ll do whatever it takes to get your eyes rolling back, your hands clutching at anything they can grab, mindless pleading, all of it. he just wants to watch you fall apart because of him, and i gotta say, he’s good at getting his way.

“Oh, that’s it. Look at you,” Kenji cooed. He gently wiped a tear from your face as he readjusted your legs with his other hand, holding them tightly to his chest. “Coming apart already. I’m just getting started. Are you going to be good for me?”

Daishou Suguru

finger sucking finger sucking finger sucking. loves watching you gag so he’ll shove two fingers deep into your mouth and strokes them over your tongue. he also just does it to shut you up whenever he feels like it.

likes edging and teasing a little too much. will hold off from fucking you until you’re genuinely angry at him, so wet that he can push in with no resistance. then he makes it up to you by fucking you until you’re sobbing or your eyes are rolling back in your head. you’ve never had an orgasm with him that didn’t feel like you might not live to see the end of it.

“You like that, don’t you?” Suguru said, thumbing over your bottom lip as his cock slid between your legs, not pushing in like you desperately wanted him to. “Like when I use you like this? Should I just come like this? I don’t even have to fuck you to get myself off.” You let out a pathetic noise in protest and he laughed. “Maybe another time. Today I’ll be nice and give you my cock.” He dragged between your legs again and stopped at your entrance, slowly sinking in and pulling a relieved sigh from your throat. “There we go. That’s my fuckin’ girl.” He slid two long fingers between your lips, pressing on the back of your tongue and nearly making you gag. “Now stay quiet while I use you.”

Terushima Yuuji

i.......i gotta mention the tongue piercing. i’m sorry. i know he gives the most enthusiastic, sloppiest head and FOR SURE owns a vibrating tongue ring. what a whore. i love him.

i feel like he’s messy. like he’s into spitting and really sloppy kissing and cum play and everything. will come in your mouth and tell you to hold it there while he fucks you stupid. sometimes kisses it out of your mouth. he’s a freak and i like it.

“Yuuji, fuck.” You could practically hear your body vibrating, past orgasms still lingering under your skin.

“Yeah? Tell me where you want me to come,” he said. You groaned as he abused the perfect angle inside of you and smirked down at your strained expression. “Not gonna talk to me?” You stayed silent as your head tipped back against your pillow. He chuckled and grabbed your face. “Open.” You blinked up at him and did as you were told, sticking out your tongue. He leaned forward and spat into your mouth. “I’m gonna come inside of you. Yeah? That what you want?” You nodded and swallowed, eyes pinched shut and voice frozen in your throat. He laughed and snapped his hips harder. “That’s right. Anything for you, princess.”

Ushijima Wakatoshi

so we’ve all agreed: horse cock ushijima, however, he usually uses those powers for good. very gentle, very eager to please, exactly what you’d want in a man.

he’s not a hard dom, but sometimes he gets so overwhelmed with how much he loves you that he forgets how strong he is. pounding into you with his whole heart and whispering in your ear how much he adores you between groans. very vocal. a little too rough. definitely feels very guilty when you’re sore the next day but if you kiss him and tell him you liked it....he may be willing to throw caution to the wind again sometime.

Wakatoshi didn’t speak much, but the room was far from silent. He made the prettiest sounds when he was lost in you, grunts turning to long moans, made even sweeter when they were hummed against your lips. The groan of the bed mixed with the strike of skin against skin, white noise behind your already muddled thoughts. Wakatoshi pushed your legs farther toward your chest and leaned down, laying his face right against your ear.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice seemed to rumble through your entire body. “You’re so good to me, darling. I love you.”

Kita Shinsuke

very soft. y’all are never gonna catch me writing hard dom kita shinsuke. HOWEVER. he is so eager that sometimes it’s a little too much for either of you. like he doesn’t realize how aggressive he’s been until you’re both literally unable to catch your breath and have to just lay in silence for a while. will ask you very nicely if you’re okay and get you water and anything else you need, but he will have this little grin on his face the whole time because he’s so happy to be able to put you both in that state.

Kita’s face scrunched up into a tight wince as he came, as his hips slowing into hard, deep thrusts that made your vision go white. Your grip in his hair was so tight you were sure it hurt, but you couldn’t help it when he was scrambling your brain with every touch. He stopped moving and you realized just how hard both of you were breathing. It felt like you couldn’t fill your lungs, body so spent that it couldn’t even do what it needed to do to survive. His braced arms on either side of your head were shaking, and his eyes were still shut tight.

“Shin,” you said, as steadily as you could through your gasping breaths. He didn’t answer. “Shin, baby, you okay?”

He exhaled hard and smiled, then let himself fall on top of you.

“Perfect. I’m—you’re perfect. I love you.” You laughed and combed your fingers through his hair, then pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you too.”

Meian Shūgo

what to say about this man......

i feel like my opinions about what he likes and doesn’t like are kind of hot takes, because most of the stuff i see with him is hard dom. but. i raise you: overly excited switch meian shūgo.

captain meian shūgo likes to be teased and edged within an inch of his sanity. he likes when you talk shit and order him around and he’s DEFINITELY into handcuffs. however, he always pays you back for it. even if he’s still cuffed up and a little pink in the face from embarrassment, he will absolutely use you. very loud. loves when you leave scratch marks. loves leaving hickies everywhere.

You were almost shocked by the high moan that left Shūgo’s throat as he finally sunk into you. His face screwed up in pleasure and concentration as he withdrew his hips and drove them back against you.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this. You tease me all that time but you can’t wait for me to fuck you like this, can you?”

“That’s some tough talk for someone whose wrists are still bound,” you said through a smile. He let out a breathy laugh and braced his hands on your stomach, still connected by leather and a short chain.

“Doesn’t keep me away from you.” He raised an eyebrow and pushed deeper inside you. “I can still use your body when I’m all tied up.”

Hirugami Fukurō

pulling a headcanon from his brother’s list and saying he likes getting his hair pulled, which means he loooooves going down on you.

will leave your legs feeling like jelly because he makes you come at least three times, and each one is hard. like, you forget where you are and can’t breathe for a few minutes afterward.

will cock warm you until you’re begging him to please, please move. proceeds to fuck you slowly, but so hard and so deep you’re feeling him between your legs the entire next day.

“Done already? That’s no fun,” Fukuro teased. You were still shaking from the last time he had pushed you over and he wasn’t helping the situation, thumb still circling your clit after already abusing it with his tongue.

“Come on. You know how to take me.” He continued easing his cock into you, dragging out all of the breath remaining in your body.

“Please,” you whispered. He smiled and leaned closer.

“Please what, love? Do you want me to stop? Use your words.”

“No.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

“Want you to—“ You gasped. “—fuck me. Please.” Fukuro grinned and positioned himself so he had more leverage over you.

“Good girl.”

[mooniefics]

— personal punishment

pairing : nanami kento / fem reader

word count : 1.8k

tags : pnp, degradation, authority kink, office sex, semi-public sex, boss / secretary, nanami literally being the sexiest man to ever live and breathe

warnings : nsfw, power imbalance

summary : He couldn't expect you to be perfect—but he could definitely expect you to pay for each imperfection in more ways than one.

notes : thank u so much to @suna-reversed for hosting the incredibly creative jujutsuhub collab and allowing me to participate !! much love (୨୧•͈ᴗ•͈)◞*♡

you couldn't exactly say you weren't proud of your performance today.

for one, you'd come into the office late, knowing that your penalties would be formally waived by your boss but well aware that you would have to face his own personal punishment. it was just your luck that this very day was the most busy the office had been all month, leaving you running papers back and forth from your boss' office for hours, nearly tripping over your own heels three times too many before you even reached your lunch break, praying that you weren't screwing anything else up in your frantic rush.

but before you could even think about escaping the confines of the office building to make up for your missed breakfast at a cafe nearby, your boss was already calling back into his office. you already knew exactly why he was requesting your presence, fear and anticipation immediately tangling into a heavy knot in the pit of your stomach. but still you went, obediently as you always did, keeping your head low as you passed your coworkers in the hall.

your fate had been sealed the moment you made a mistake, the same outcome that had been repeating for months now each time you made an error, whether it was as small as not taking the trash out from the waste bin when it was too full for his liking to something as grievous as spilling his morning coffee all over one of his pristine white button-ups. for any and all errors, you were certain to face this punishment.

the position you were in wasn't unfamiliar, bent over nanami's desk, pencil skirt hiked all the way up to your waist with your underwear around your knees, completely at the mercy of the man caging you in with his body from behind.

"if you keep making all that noise, you're going to end up getting us both fired." he growled, voice low in your ear, one hand still pressed firmly over the center of your back, forcing your chest down onto his desk. the other was occupied between your legs, two thick fingers plunging mercilessly into your needy cunt as you struggled to hold in every whimper and moan each snap of his wrist drew from the back of your throat.

"'m s-sorry, s-sir..!" you barely managed to breathe out, nails beginning to scrape at the edge of the wooden tabletop, teeth digging almost painfully into your bottom lip.

"'sorry' doesn't even begin to fix everything you've fucked up today," his stern tone persisted, ribs aching between the pressure of the heel of his palm and the hard desk, "you know just how much stress i've been under and yet you went out of your way to make it worse."

"no, n-not that..! p-promise!" you whimpered, breath coming in pants, struggling to not rock back into his hand with the knowledge that he'd stop entirely if he noticed you doing it.

you had no choice but to keep your eyes trained on the door in front of you, thighs trembling with anticipation, muted gasps and mewls managing to find their way out into the open air despite your efforts. you knew he didn't mind the noise as long as you were making a conscious effort to keep quiet, only loud enough for him to have the pleasure of hearing, only expressing the pitiful broken attempts at showing remorse that seemed to arouse him to no end.

he curled his fingers to rub at spot inside you that made your knees weak, barely chuckling when you writhed under him. "enjoying your punishment like this... you're just a pathetic slut. That's all you'll ever be, isn't that right?"

Your head hung low as you came over his fingers, shuddering, biting firmly at the inside of your cheeks to hold back the whine threatening to escape your heaving chest. you knew you should be ashamed to be so excited in the face of his cruelty, but when it was his voice and hands—discipling you harshly but still paying such good attention to you and your body—you couldn't help yourself.

before you had enough time to begin catching your breath, you could already hear the clinking of his belt buckle as he pulled it free from the belt loops of his pants, the warmth of naked skin as the length of his cock met the back of your thighs, already hard. the hand resting at your back slid up to rest at the base of your neck, fingers working their way into your hair to firmly grasp, holding you still while he eased himself between your thighs.

"please, s-sir.." The words spilled out of you before you could even think to maintain your obedient silence, earning a tug at your hair harsh enough to jerk your head back, arching your body further.

"snd who are you to be making any demands?" He muttered scornfully, the head of his cock now rubbing directly over your dripping pussy, making no effort to do anything more than painstakingly tease.

"i'm not, i j-just—" You sucked in a quick breath as you felt a sharp sting over your ass, certain there was a reddening welt where his hand had just struck it, "i pr-promise i'll be better..."

"and how can I be certain that you actually will? you say the same thing every damn time, and you still have yet to show me any improvement."

your eyes watered as you searched for a proper response, stammering over your words for just a moment too long—long enough to reignite the anger you'd found a momentary mercy from. you just barely pressed your hand over your mouth in time to muffle your own cry as he slammed himself inside of you, the desk shifting across the ground with a harsh squeak, insides struggling to accommodate his size all at once. he found a quick, ruthless rhythm of thrusting almost immediately, paying your quick gasps and pitiful whimpers no mind, almost painfully deep.

"is this is really the only thing you're good for?" he huffed, groaning lowly despite his apparent ire, "just taking cock and nothing else?"

"n-no!" you protested, barely able to hold your voice steady enough to respond, swallowing down each hiccuped breath interrupting your words, "this is the l-last time, i swear..! p-please sir, please—"

he shushed you harshly before you could continue, large hand rubbing over the aching flesh he'd previously slapped in a silent threat to repeat the action. you wouldn't be entirely opposed to feeling his large hand strike you again and again, leaving prints of red across your skin that wouldn't fade until hours after you'd left the office for the night, but you knew that you still had the entire second half of your day ahead of you to pretend as if he hadn't completely ruined you just meters away from the rest of his hardworking employees.

"at this point, i might as well just be paying to fuck you." he muttered callously, the speed of his hips slowing the slightest bit, each thrust still hitting deep enough for you to feel in your stomach, "then what does that make you, hm? a prostitute? my personal little plaything.."

you strained to vigorously shake your head side to side, fingers aching from how tightly they were clenching around the edge of the desk, your own arousal trailing down between your trembling thighs, hot tears dribbling down your flushed cheeks. you should've felt more inclined to deny his assertion, to prove yourself to be more than just a toy for him to used whenever he desired, when he needed to take out the pent up frustration he saved for your errors and your errors only—but you knew in the back of your mind that you were perfectly content with your position, as immorally lucrative as it was. you would embarrass yourself everyday for the rest of your career if it meant you could experience this at least once more.

"sorry, s-sorry..! oh fuck, sir, 'm so sorry!" the apologies you knew he loved so much spilled from your lips in a pathetic, broken moan, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as you held out for a few more mind-numbing moments before cumming around his thick cock.

you barely registered his hand grasping your hair painfully tight as he grunted a few low curses beside your ear, shakily exhaling a sigh when he emptied himself inside you, finally letting you rest back against the hard surface of his desk while you both caught your breath. it was all over far too soon, the intense intimacy that never lasted longer than the half-hour of your lunch break, even though you were sure he could steal you away for far longer without anyone daring to question him.

you wiped at your damp under-eyes with quivering hands, trying to not further disturb your already ruined mascara, swallowing down a whimper when pulled himself out of you and tugged your underwear back into place, readjusting your skirt for you before moving away from your body entirely.

he had already tidied up his own clothes by the time you pushed yourself to stand, that familiar expression of cool indifference having already resettled onto his handsome features. he barely ever let you see his face when he was disciplining you, always making sure you were facing away from him, or that you couldn't lift your head enough to get a good look at his face. it made it all feel so impersonal, inspired something that felt like sadness in the back of your mind, despite how you tried to remind yourself that what you had wasn't true intimacy, and that he could really replace you any day if he felt so inclined to do so.

"go clean up in the bathroom." he said without looking at you, straightening his tie back into place and checking the time on his watch, "you will need to take a call from a new client soon, and it is imperative that you give them the perfect first impression of our company. i expect you to be back here within the next ten minutes." his brow furrowed, the look of someone who'd just thought of something unpleasant flashing across his features when he finally met your gaze. "no more exceptions today."

"yes, sir." you replied obediently, voice hoarse, quickly turning away before the weight of a sudden sadness could show, advancing towards his door as briskly as your state allowed you to. you didn't look back on your way out, even though you so desperately wanted to, maybe deliver a genuine apology now that you knew he was genuinely irritated with you.

but you didn't, and the day continued as it always did, phone calls and document filing keeping you occupied for the rest of your shift, not receiving another word from your boss regarding anything. you tried not to take it personally when he didn't bid you farewell before leaving the building, reminding yourself that it was most likely just the pressure of a busy quarter, cursing yourself for screwing things up and enjoying your momentary bliss before the true consequence of genuine disappointment from nanami anchored you back to the somber reality of your situation.

it was foolish of you to think you'd be anything more than a secretary in his eyes.

[iwaslut]

— SUGAR DADDY REINER!

note: i want this sad man’s dick in my mouth 

ft. reiner braun

warning: fem!reader, nsfw, oral (male receiving), slightly subby reiner, use of princess

⤷ main page

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡ 18+ CONTENT

SUGAR DADDY!REINER

Unexpectedly, the reason that Reiner becomes a sugar daddy is because of Porco.

He made some snide dig at Reiner that the only way he’d be able to get a girl is by being her sugar daddy.

Reiner brushed him off and chalked it up to Porco’s usual animosity, but it got Reiner thinking.

Reiner doesn’t have much experience with women and he’s lonely. Although he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s unbearably lonely. He craves human affection, but he’s always had a difficult time approaching women and given his current mental state, he’s just in no position to pursue a real relationship with someone.

But what Reiner does have is a fuck ton of money. He has a relatively well-paying job and all he does is save all of it besides when he spoils Gabi and her friends every once in awhile.

So that’s how Reiner comes in contact with you.

You have experience with being a sugar baby. You know how to play the game, immersing yourself in whatever role that will make you the most profit.

It’s hard sometimes. Forcing yourself to bat your eyelashes and let out faux airy laughter whenever one of your clients says some stupid shit, bragging about their job or flaunting their newest purchase.

Reiner, however, is like a fresh breath of air. He’s just so innocent.

It becomes apparent to you through your first interaction with the man. The first thing you note is that he’s handsome, in a rugged sort of way, and that he looks highly uncomfortable, which isn’t uncommon.

Like you thought, he quickly confesses that he’s never done this sort of thing before.

You assure him that’s okay, but cut to the chase, asking him what he wants from this arrangement and what sort of compensation can you expect.

Reiner tells you that all he wants is companionship. He doesn’t really have any expectations and he doesn’t want to pressure you into doing anything that you may be uncomfortable with.

He says that in return, whenever the two of you are together, he’ll buy you whatever you want and that he’ll pay you a set amount every week.

You’re sold. Honestly, this might be your best deal yet. Reiner’s handsome, not that much older that you, and from your limited interaction, he seems genuine.

He’s also going to be paying you a fuck ton of money, which doesn’t hurt either.

When you depart from your meeting, you’re left feeling content and eager to see how this arrangement will play out.

It turns out that Reiner’s good company. Although this is a job in your eyes, you don’t mind the time you spend with Reiner. He’s not the greatest conversationalist, but he’s an attentive listener and will add comments here and there when you talk.

You also quickly realize that what Reiner is in search of is emotional support. You don’t pry and he doesn’t exactly bring it up, but you can tell that something’s happened to him that’s left him haunted. It’s in the way he carries himself, as if he carries an unseen burden on his shoulders.

The nights you spend together are pretty tame. A lot of cuddling and maybe some making out. The first night you spent together, you thought Reiner was going to faint with how red and nervous he got. You had to inform him that it was indeed okay if he touched you and playfully promised that you wouldn’t break if he did.

Reiner was awfully stiff when you first lied your head against his shoulder, but he began to relax as the night continued.

After awhile Reiner becomes more comfortable with physical touch and begins to actively seek it out from you. It becomes normal for him to hold your hand when you’re walking around or toss an arm over your shoulders when you’re watching a film.

He’s still adorably shy when he kisses you.

Oh and he spoils you so much. It’s almost overwhelming. Your gaze could linger on an item for a second too long and Reiner would buy it for you without any prompting.

It gets to the point where you have to tell Reiner that he doesn’t have to buy you everything that you look at. He just smiles at you when you say that and replies that he doesn’t mind spending money on you.

Who are you to argue with that?

You come to care greatly for Reiner. You wouldn’t say it’s love, but it’s more than you’ve felt for any of your previous sugar daddies.

So you happily offer to help him forget whatever’s tormenting him.

“You—ah—you really don’t have to do this.”

You pout, peering up through your lashes to glare at Reiner. “I know,” you state with a smack of your lips.

“I want to do this,” you purr, dragging the blunt edges of your nails down Reiner’s bare chest. His abs instinctively flex underneath your light touch as you trace the contours of his body until they lead you to the waistband of his slacks. You fiddle with his belt loops, reveling in the shudder that wracks throughout Reiner’s body.

“Okay,” Reiner breathes out, placing a gentle palm on the back of your head, “Go ahead, Princess.”

Kneeling in between his sturdy thighs, you unbutton his slacks with deft fingers and quickly yank them down to pool around his ankles. Your mouth nearly waters when you see the outline of his cock hidden underneath the thin material of his briefs and the wet patch of pre where his tip is. 

“Fuck,” Reiner exhales when you drag the flat of your palm over his clothed cock and massage the head with your fingers through the flimsy fabric. He lifts his hips off the chair for you to peel his briefs off of him. His dick hits his thigh with a resounding smack.

Oh. Oh. He’s big. He’s not incredibly long, but Reiner’s thick. 

His breath hitches when you place kisses on his hips and playfully nip at his thighs. “Don’t tease—shit.” He’s cut off with a groan when you suddenly lick a stripe along the underside of his length. His hands tangled in your hair tighten their grip before easing up once more.

Heat pools in your lower stomach, your panties sticky with arousal. You brace yourself, placing your hands on Reiner’s thighs, and take the tip of his cock in your mouth. It doesn’t taste bad, you think when you swirl your tongue around his head, licking his precum clean off and swallowing around him. You relax your jaw and slowly take him further down your throat, lifting a hand from his thigh to reach down and massage one of his balls that lie hot and heavy underneath. Reiner hisses and bucks his hips up in response. You take deep inhales through your nose as you work your way down Reiner’s cock, mouth stretching wide around his girth.

You’re forced to pull yourself off about halfway through to breathe. You look up from in between his thighs when Reiner pets your hair and runs a thumb along your bottom lip. “So pretty,” he mutters, chest heaving, when you take his thumb into your mouth and slowly begin to suck on it.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you quip with a cheeky grin, “Now sit back and look pretty for me.”

You smooth your hands over the expanse of his thighs before taking his cock in your mouth again. Reiner moans, loudly, when you slacken your jaw and hollow your cheeks, determination blazing underneath your skin. Your mouth is stuffed full and you gag when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, nose buried in blond curls at the base of him.

“Yeah, just like that Princess—fuck,” Reiner grits out. He shudders and harshly bucks his hips up into your mouth when you cup his balls and massage them with your hands. It’s not long until Reiner’s spilling into your mouth with a loud cry. You swallow his load and slow your pace down, gently sucking and working him through his orgasm until he’s twitching in overstimulation. You pull off with a wet pop and rest your head against his thigh.

“Such a good boy, Reiner,” you sweetly coo, tracing circles on his pelvis bone, causing him to shiver. You grin up at him, eyes swirling with heavy lust and mischief.

“But we’re not done yet.”

[pervysenpaix]

Pray You Catch Me- Tomura Shigaraki

WARNING (NSFW 18+) Content MDNI: TW- pregnancy, Implied death, Implied suicide

Here's some angst for you bitches

No....

This cant be happening,

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

Its been said that if you say things repeatedly, then you'll start to believe them. But ... it doesn't really work if you're staring at that thing with your own eyes.

Two red lines.

Tears fall. Salty white streaks stain your brown skin. Cognitive ability diminished to rocking on the bathroom floor repeating one word.

Tomura

Memories cycle through your mind in an endless loop. The story of your life. Of you and him. The beginning, middle, ... and end.

A perfect reenactment in your own personal theater whenever you close your eyes. It's haunting. If you focus hard enough you can still smell the smoke from his hair or feel the soot from his face on your fingertips.

"Tomura ? W-what happened ? What are you doing here?"

The man in the doorway regards you, chest heaving but still maintaining his composure. Probably for the sake of you.

"It's doomsday, Angel" he smiles, such a sad smile. One that doesn't meet his striking red eyes. Heart breaking you reach out to him but he takes a step back. "N-no" he stammers, walls cracking slightly, "I don't have my gloves on yet ... I don't want to hurt you this time".

The last time he thinks, taking in your doe-eyed expression as he put on the custom accessory. That sparkle. The hopeful glint in your eye. Unshed tears glimmering in the corner. This is why he's here. Even at the very end.

The lion fell in love with the lamb.

Loaded silence pricked at your eardrums. Scratching at the sanctity of the moment, one that you never thought would come. He said that he wouldn't back. Said that you're safer away from here. But, here he is. Does he not care about your safety anymore? Or is it his that he's disregarded? They know where you live. They probably tracked him here. Why did he come ? So many unanswered questions, and you want to ask them so badly but you won't.

"Be his peace" Kurogiri told you when he realized your situation.

That's what you intended to do. No matter how much it knawed at you. No matter how scared you were. You didn't say anything. Kept the questions to yourself because apparently he needed you in that moment. And you needed him.

But now, as you sit on the bathroom floor of your new apartment crying while holding that positive pregnancy test, you realize that it was a mistake.

If you didn't let him kiss you. Let he him hold you. Let him touch you.

Yes he touched you.

Your smaller hands rise to your neck trying to mimic the sensation that you felt when his replaced your own. When his lips were pressed against yours and your hands were buried in his white hair. When he thrust so deep that it felt like he touched your mind. White light exploded around you and in your state of euphoria all you could see was him.

He told you that he loved you.

Something he'd always shown but never said before, but now in this moment of pure intimacy he was pouring out his soul. Raw and passionate declarations of love. Tearful apologies about the pain he'd caused. You didn't know what he meant at the time, misinterpreted for something else but now you know.

He held you after.

Stroking your hair and rubbing your back. Pressing your body so close to his that it was almost painful. Like he was afraid to let go.

"Time to fall asleep, Angel" he murmered, you didn't hear the crack in his voice. Didn't notice the way his hands trembled. If you did ... if you knew ... If you knew that it would be the last time then maybe you would've said something different.

"Only if you catch me".

Why would you say that ? Couldn't you see how much it pained him to leave you. Breaking your heart again after you were just so happy.

"Goodnight, love"

Yes. You should've said something different. Something supplemental. Something that explained that you loved him as much as he loved you. Something that explained your devotion to him. Either that or ... you wish you would've told him to leave when he first arrived. Then maybe he would've gotten away. But then another life would've been lost.

A perplexing situation.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were supposed to be together.

This isn't real.

This isn't real.

It actually works better on things you can't see. Tomura. You can't see Tomura so you can tell yourself that it isn't real. This life isn't real. There is no you without him, so this MUST NOT BE REAL.

It's a dream and you have to wake up, but how ? Then you remembered. The last thing you said to him.

Only if you catch me.

Simple. Now all three of you can be together. The answer is painfully obvious.

All you have to do is fall.

My Moots 💋💋: @xogabbiexo, @plussizeficchick, @nasty-quillz, @riozakii, @not-your-damsel, @namjoonswifeyy, @bookwormsenpai, @blkchxrryblyss, @bl--ankhaeji, @po3ticb3auty, @angwritez, @presidentmonica, @rinhoes, @tenyaiidasslut

[amorousadepti]

❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry 

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while. 

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation. 

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place? 

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion. 

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!" 

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.) 

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?" 

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns." 

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—" 

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon. 

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something." 

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this." 

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."  

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes. 

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday." 

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!" 

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield. 

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip. 

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!" 

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile. 

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you." 

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?" 

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?" 

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone. 

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand. 

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him. 

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow. 

Except— 

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before. 

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier. 

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place. 

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar. 

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!" 

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick." 

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade." 

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is." 

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed. 

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"  

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?" 

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?" 

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier. 

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot. 

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine. 

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!" 

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place." 

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!" 

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please." 

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker. 

Hungrier. 

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more." 

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering. 

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax." 

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him. 

You're glad to drown. 

[aenaxes]

chasing fountains

[fives x afab!reader] it's so easy to forget that the man you love is war incarnate. and maybe that's exactly why he can't be yours.

warnings: nsfw, angst, breakup sex, cunnilingus, unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 2.6k

a/n: wrote this while listening to the reverb edit of good days by sza and definitely didn't cry idk what you're talking about

"Are we gonna be adults about this, or are you gonna give me the silent treatment until I guess what I did wrong?"

Fives's tone is no longer a novel sound in the dark walls of your apartment, a jagged sneer sawing through the silence as he sets his helmet down hard on the countertop. It's the kind of sound that doesn't cut deep but cuts wide, leaving a broad swath of gnarled scar tissue that will never heal quite right. (The worst kind.)

The holodrama in front of you drones mindlessly over the midnight channel.

You tell yourself that you've grown used to it, the cold and bitter thing that found home between you after the rosy light he flooded into the room faded away leave after leave, tour after tour. It helps you cope. But your body remembers what your mind tries to forget—memories of first leaves in months and boyish glee as Fives swept you into his arms and kissed you breathless in the narrow berth of your kitchen—and you flinch anyways.

"Isn't it obvious?" you sigh. It's a labored thing that crowds the bottom of your lungs up to your collarbones and chokes your throat with what's left of your straining heart.

You don't think it's anger.

It's something muted, something like the ache of a rusted plasma turbine sputtering out what last dregs of fuel it has left, numb and rote but the only thing it's ever known before it careens off the side of a landing bay and into dark waters. It happens, disrepair, discord. But the fact that it happens somehow makes you feel even worse, makes it feel like it was bound to happen.

"No, cyare, it's really not," Fives frowns.

You can hear the scowl in his voice.

"You forgot to call," you mumble, shifting your arms tighter over your chest, and you aren't sure whether the pressure in your chest is anger or the desperate claws of sorrow trying to remind you that you used to care. That he used to care.

"Cyare, I'm sorry I forgot to call, but I was in an active warzone. I can't just call you whenever to tell you goodnight because I'm usually writing condolences to the training squads of the men I bury."

You can hear the anger tearing at the fine threads of his restraint, his voice rising and rising until it's another sound away from a full-bodied yell. Before now, that sort of volume, that sort of presence, had been exclusive to late-night speeder bike joyrides and chasing fountains of youth over sandy dunes—the types of adrenaline rushes that felt good. You wonder if it's now become resentment or regret or a combination of both.

"You forgot to call for our anniversary," you say at last. Maker, you can't believe how pathetic you sound.

"I'm sorry, but I almost lost my entire squadron out there. I have to prioritize... differently, on the field," Fives says after a moment's pause (so he really did forget), his voice soft again but no less cold, no less tired of raising hellfire and being greeted with an impassive glaze over your eyes.

Silence settles through the room again, thick enough that the holodrama playing before you is reduced to a low buzz, and you tell yourself that your fingers feel numb because you always let the air conditioning run colder when Fives was on tour.

"Look, I'll try to make it up to you next time, cyar'ika," Fives murmurs, picking across the threshold and dropping down onto the couch beside you.

You aren't sure if there ever will be a next time when Fives only exists because of this endless war that cracks open the earth and swallows battalions whole. But when you drop your head onto his shoulder; when he tugs you close and cradles your head with a rough, warm palm; when you both pause and breathe the same breath together, you can pretend for just a moment that things are good again.

"'m tired," you mumble.

"What can I do?" It's the most earnest his voice has been all night, seeking gaps in the armor, places where he can reach in past the stony impasse and to that pearlescent light you've long since hidden from him. It's the closest to an apology you'll get.

"Take me to bed," you say.

Fives gently untangles you from around him, clicking off the holo before he secures his arms beneath you and carefully lifts you into his arms. Bittersweet memory, fragrant and dusted from months of disuse, floods your tongue as you loop your arms around Fives's neck and feel him press a kiss to your temple.

It's muscle memory, really. Nothing more. But it completes the little show of normalcy. It shifts you away from the hazy fugue of the present and back into better days when touch carried with it tender intent, more than ritual motion.

Fives presses a second kiss to your neck when you reach the bedroom door, mouthing his dry lips softly over your pulse. You cling to him and sigh. A third on your jaw, the next on your cheek, and another, another, another over your lips as he shifts you upright and lets you wrap your legs around his waist so you can tilt your head and push your tongue into his mouth.

It's muscle memory when, after he's thrown his armour off into the darkness of your room, you shift your hips down against his, gasping softly over his tongue as you catch the bulge in his blacks and heat floods your core. He groans into your mouth, fisting one hand in your hair and kissing you so hard it's almost crushing. It's muscle memory.

"Fives," you breathe, and it's becoming harder to tell performance from truth as something else hums in your chest.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "I'm right here, cyare. I'm always gonna be here." And the way he says it almost makes it believable.

You kiss him before he can say anything else, your teeth clacking against his as you swallow his words with a low moan, too afraid that if he says any more, you might actually convince yourself that this is more than an elaborately rewound memory.

Fives is no fool.

He knows, too, laying you carefully on the bed where he would usually toss you onto the mattress with a gleeful laugh and tumble in after you. In the darkness, you catch him hastily twisting out of his top, the low light catching over rippling muscle and warm skin before he rushes between your thighs and drops to his knees. He kisses the soft inner skin of your thighs like he always does, but this time, he does not linger instead kissing you for the sake of motion than playful desire.

This is choreography.

But performance as it might be, you do not need to pretend your pleasure when his heady exhale over your clit serves as a brief warning before Fives licks a broad, wet stripe over your cunt.

In the early days, you had been eager to chalk it up to the end of the gilded shimmer of the honeymoon phase, an entry into a stabler shared life that would be just as sweet. You're not certain what you've become, he and you, but it isn't that.

Whatever you are now, it has no concern in this moment because Fives still knows how to coax pleasure from your deepest parts, finding your softest, most vulnerable places and calling you to something better than a frigid spat to welcome him home.

You clap your hand over your mouth as Fives wraps his lips around your clit, pulling a raw euphoria from your heaving lungs that has you moaning louder than you have in too long. He groans your name into your own skin, gasps, and delves deep again.

"Fives, Fives," you plead, reaching down to grope for his head in your blind pleasure.

"Cyar'ika?" Fives pauses only to respond then plunges his tongue back into the saccharine wetness of your cunt, feeling you jump and spasm around him.

"Fuck me," you cry over a groan, knotting your fingers in his hair.

"You didn't come yet," he murmurs into your skin, almost irritated, his voice thrumming straight to your core as you cry out again.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," you chant. The intimacy will only prolong the ordeal of greed, will only make you want more when you're already drowning under the weight of what little remains now. "Need you inside me, please."

Fives hums his assent, curls his tongue into your cunt one last time, and leaves you with a ghost of a kiss pressed over your clit. He staggers up off his knees, hardly bothering to lick your slick smeared over his lips—to savor it with the mischievous delight he no longer shares before you—and cups the back of your neck to pull you into a crushing kiss that might almost be painful if you weren't so desperate to soak up every last touch he has to give.

"Tell me if it hurts," he says like he has every time he's pulled you into his arms and parted your thighs. Except this time, there is no lingering gaze, no silent professions of something more than physicality in a moment of heat. Fives only kisses you one last time before he buries his nose in the crook of your neck.

This is a performance, you tell yourself as you press close.

And then he's pushing into you, stretching you open around him and filling you in every way you forgot that you needed, in the way only he could as he cages you between his arms.

He sets a pace that is altogether the same and yet nothing like how you remember him. You're playing out something you had done before arguments lasted weeks and couches became occasional beds. Yet it feels just like the real thing, his thighs sticking to the skin of your ass as he plunges up into that spot that whites out your vision and curls your toes tight.

It feels so real that if you squeeze your eyes shut and release the tension coiled at the base of your neck, you can pretend that when you meet his eyes, Fives will flash you the smile that crinkles around the corners of his eyes and bubbles laughter from his chest.

Instead, he shifts your ankles from the base of his spine, his brows knit tight and his chest heaving as he hefts your legs over his shoulders. You sob as he fucks into you harder now, hard enough to nearly fold you in two and fill the bedroom with the sharp clarity of his skin pressing into yours. You wonder if it's to crowd you close, to mold himself as close as he may ever be and take one more fleeting taste of you.

"Fives," you cry out one last time, the flared ridge of his cockhead catching your clit as he pulls out.

Desire crests so high in your core you almost feel sick with want for more. You cling to the feeling, committing to memory what you will later try to scrub away: how you flutter around the ridges of Fives's cock, how he fucks you in the way only months of true, genuine desire would allow him to know, how when your legs jerk and he lathes his tongue your shoulder that you might have called this love.

It's ironic how that's the one thing that crosses your mind when you squeeze your arms around his neck and come with a strangled sob. His hips connect hard with yours, fucking into you in one swift motion that has your back arching off the sheets. You blindly kiss over the coarse stubble of Fives's jaw, and it crushes the air from your lungs as he takes your chin in his hands, all gentle and trembling restraint, and kisses you so sweetly it burns.

A few more sloppy thrusts, and Fives bows his head low and pushes deeper than he has all night. Groping over his shoulder for his hand, he frantically laces his fingers with yours, squeezing tight. And when you squeeze back, you hear him make something of a moan and a sob pushed into one as he finishes inside you.

He overwhelms you with one last gesture of him as you pulse around his softening cock, and you can't help how you look to him with stars in your eyes, just like before, just like how it was supposed to be. He notices—opening his eyes to reveal something forgiving and warm—but before whatever it is drags you both into its inescapable orbit, he takes you into his arms and collapses onto his side.

Fives pulls out of you with an obscene noise, something you might have laughed at before the thorns of distance had grown long and sharp between you. You only sigh at the slow drip of his come sliding over your skin and pooling over the sheets as he pulls out.

For a while, you lie there, the sheets kicked to the foot of the bed and your cheek pressed to the sweat-slicked skin of his chest. You don't remember what you would do to fill the buzzing silence of afterglow, but you remember it felt better than what you're feeling, the slow descent of gilded curtains in a dark room, falling, falling.

Fives takes the guesswork out of it for you, though. There's a semblance of real tenderness when he kisses your brow and shifts away just enough that he can't meet your eyes but instead can keep you close enough to touch.

"When's your next tour?" you whisper into the quiet as he lifts his hand to your face.

"I have a week of leave," Fives responds. He traces his fingertips over the highest points of your cheeks and nose, memorializing in touch what the darkness tucks away.

"Where to?"

"Ringo Vinda." His fingers curl over your chin, cradling you to his skin before he slowly sweeps them up the edge of your jaw.

"That's far," you say.

"Not too far," he chuckles, hollow and weak as he runs his thumb over your ear. "I can still call you at night."

"You don't have to."

"I want to, y/n."

"Don't," you whisper, and you hear his inhale catch in his throat.

It's where this entire evening has been going from the moment he stepped foot into your apartment until now: one final, cresting movement pressed into the absence of space between you, impossibly wide and impossibly close all at once as Fives's hand stills over the skin just beneath your eye.

"Don't call?" He knows his answer, but he says it anyways, desperate rhetoric clinging to something that has already been gone for months.

"Don't," you manage to say over the heat in your eyes and the asphyxiating swell at the back of your throat. "Please."

There's still a part of you that wants him to fight. Wants him to rear back, raise his voice, and look you in the eyes to say horrible things to fight for the sum of you and him like he always has. Because it isn't right for it to end like this, a lonely blip over the comm channels that cries once then blinks out forever. It isn't right.

But you're tired.

"I'm sorry." Your calm breaks with a trembling sob.

And when pries his fingertips from your face to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you close, you know it is the last time you will fly this close to the sun; the last time you will bear witness to the glorious, warm light that had only soured in the time you shared.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup.

"It's okay," Fives's voice rumbles under your ear, backgrounded by tight, shallow breaths that only close the vice tighter around your throat. "I'm sorry, too."

And you let him go.

(He doesn't call.)

[muffindaddystyles]

Please write more of Dove and Harry ? You’d earlier written in ne where she gets lost and Harry can’t find her…. Please some more like that. I really like reading protective Harry for his kids especially daughters!

HARRY HATES A CERATIN PINK BICYCLE BUT DOVE THINKS OTHERWISE :D

Harry has never been this stingy towards things. You don’t hold a beef with stuff round you, right? You hold beefs with actual hell of people who're mighty pests in the name of human being.

But, this. Oh damn this. Four wheeler little pink bicycle, that have sparkling pom-poms around it’s handles, a cute yellow basket corked to it's front and rainbow coloured cups hanging from the back of it’s seat that cackles whenever the wheels roll.

It’s the most obnoxious transporting vehicle, Harry had seen in his whole life. He's kind of grousing in the corner that why out of trillion of toys auntie Gemma had to prove herself the best aunt in the whole world alive and chose this hideous gaggingly pink bicycle.

It just doesn’t makes sense to gift it to a three years old! And when that three years old’s a headstrong little thing, with wilfulness of her daddy and the marbles of kitten in replacement of those eyes.

“Daddy we’ll ‘ve fun, promise!” Her ‘r' vanishes into a whistle since she’s still wary onto speaking huge words, babbling her daddy’s ears off with random shite doesn’t count.

Sometimes Harry thinks; that his 50 years old mum's prisoned and captured into a dainty body of three years old -- and his time has come to get bossed around and scolded for his own good sake.

His mommy in the guise of his little dove.

“How’s tha’ missy!?” Harry squints down at her with his hands fisted on his hips. His fake scowl breaks into a fluttery smile when dove with her grubby pudgy hands pushed the bicycle around, her boot clad feet stomping against the hardwood floor, “Like this daddy!” Her chest heaved from getting tired of pushing it around in circles.

“Y'gonna put y’old man to labour?” When she sees her dad’s strictness resolving into contemplating the idea she squeals out giggles making Harry flinch and cover his ears, He’s sure he’ll end up deaf in his fifties.

Harry feels his chest warm and gooey with fond when she jumps on her tippy toes and wraps herself around Harry’s calves.

“Kay, teddy bear enough of butterin’ dada up.” Harry grunted through his nose ducking down to scoop her up in his embrace and she instantly loops her arms around his neck, her button rosy nose twitching with happiness as she patted his cheek with a toothy grin.

Harry shook his head at her brains, his eyes closed and lips thinned while he tries to announce it to her in the most dramatic way.

“Why’re you the way you’re dovie? He sighs and her response doesn’t baffles him any, “’Cos you.” She whispers into his ear as if it’s the most secretive thing in the world getting his cheek and earlobe wet with her drool.

“Yeah, cos' ‘m your inventor. My bad.”

.

That’s how they ended up here in the living room since Harry’s still hesitant and scared to let her ride the bicycle outside.

She makes sweet and loud kissy noises dangling her feet in a rhythm messing the already bombed up curls of Harry while he puts protection pads around her knees, he leaned more onto his shins adjusting the strap of her helmet and pinched her chin to make her look at him.

“Hello baby –..,” He opened his mouth to give her instructions when she cut him off with a cute whiny huff and the fold of her arms round her small body, “Daddy ‘m no baby.” Harry rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and bats his lashes.

“F'me you’re.” He tuts with a coo and took her wrist gently to help her slide down the sofa before she could possibly terrorise him more, sometimes Harry has this aching urge to laugh at her statements but it’s not right to his lil bean so he does it when he’s alone to not to hurt her feelings.

She refused any kind of guidance from him with just a single gesture of her palm (he doesn't know how she manages to behave like a 30 at her 3) and he ended up helping her wiggle her bum up the seat anyhow, “Hmm. Y'already know the deal dovlin'.” He knocks on her pink helmet which has tiny cows on it.

She bobbed her head and puckered her lips, Harry being her best telepathic communicator gets the sign and forwards his cheek for her to kiss it.

“Love y'daddy.” Her affection for her dad muffling against his stubble and in droopy voice he mimics her with bright teasing eyes, “wuveee you daddy.”

“Back to work!” Harry commanded moving towards the end of cycle and squeezed her neck tenderly before pushing her around and giggles happily when she squealed out in utter thrill.

“Weeeeeeoiiii!!” Harry joins her putting aside the fact he was very against it moments ago, but the little fun does no harm, right? He did think so.

It has always happened to him in this particular order whenever the things gets into their happy track a downfall is always written for them, just like the time when dove got sick and wouldn’t get any better taking her to hospital got crucial only for them to come back to their family being there for them her grandma and auntie Gems were their to get her recover but she got sick again.

“Alone!” She grumbles trying to move Harry’s hands away but he grips it tighter, “’M big!” She complains feet reaching for the paddles that took a swing.

“Hands on handles!” Not in a mood for her to throw a tantrum after such exhilarating moment Harry dismissed her off with a bit of frown, “Hands on handles! Hands —--,” He shouts anxiously heartbeat racing painfully against his ribs and he feels time slowing down as he watches dove losing her balance – but – puffs out in relief when she thumps against the sofa.

“Shit!” He cries out when the cycle tumbles along dove and falls on her, the poor baby didn’t even got time to process what's happening before the metal basket hits her bottom lip and her elbow hard.

Harry’s fear reeling infront of him, deafening him for a moment.

Immediately, He throws it away from over her half assed about where it lands and bunched her in his arms protectively. Cradling his sweet baby’s face in his palm and his eyes watered up at the bleeding lip and more abrasions on her elbow.

He sucks in a whimper when she tries even not to sniffle being a brave girl for her dad and goes to wipe his tears with her trembling lil hands, “It’s otay daddy.” Harry hiccups into her wrist smacking kisses upon kisses into her palm.

“’M sorry me lil dovlin'.” He sulked wiping his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie and kissed her forehead.

It physically pains him to see his Dovie hurt, it makes him sad till long hours.

Call him sensitive but with Dove he’ll never able to hold his tears back, she pulls onto his heart strings the most agonisingly, she comes before anyone else and her safety too.

“No cry.” She pushed him away and pouted leaning to peck his lips and Harry giggles when she wipes the subtle blood stain she got on his mouth with a sheepish smile, “Lets fix your boo boos honey pot.” Harry gave her a weepy smile and pet her head taking them to his room.

He’s really surprised and well very proud that she was so brave for him, in times like these Harry realises if nobody got him his daughter’s gonna be there for him always.

“’M really reallyyyy proud of you sweet pea.” After putting Dove's favourite rapunzel bandages on her gashes Harry showers her in kisses that are loud and exaggerated but full of pride and love for her, making sure to do ‘mwah!’ at each one.

.

Harry made her chicken nuggies and let her drink orange juice (even though it gives her an achy throat) she’s such a good little briber.

She’s all snuggled in his bed, her face hidden in his chest out of shyness as Anne asks about her accident with a sad pouty smile.

“You gotta be careful next time okay sweetie?” Anne told her. Harry groans when her head perked up with gleam in her eyes, “There’s no next time!” He quips making his point clear.

“Gran’ma you wan’ see?” She blubbers excitedly crawling out from under the covers but carefully Harry catches her ankle and tugs her back towards him which causes the phone to fall from her hands onto the floor.

The clumsy cutie.

“Oh Grandma, you otay????” Her curly head pops from over the mattress and the room fills with laughter at her innocence and dumbness, she's just three, you prick.

“My silly little bear.” Harry’s laugh fades into giggles while he settles her bum on his chest and cuddles her tightly into his neck despite of her whiny protests and squiggles to let her free.

[morganaspendragonss]

quédate un segundo más (2/8)

and the second chapter! lots of research went into this, but i am not a medical professional and there probably will be certain errors.

ao3 | 1.5k | cancer, chemotherapy

Owen Strand is not a quiet man. He always has thoughts or comments at the ready to fill any silence; always a joke to crack or a story to tell.

So when he’s been silent for a full ten minutes, TK knows they’re in dangerous territory.

“Dad, please,” he begs. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?”

There’s a terrifyingly calm, hollow quality to his dad’s voice, a kind that TK has never heard before in his life. It chills him right down to the bone, and he clutches onto Carlos’s hard with a strength that must hurt, though of course Carlos doesn’t complain.

He never complains about anything anymore, not even about TK’s annoying habits. He’ll just quietly solve the problem himself, always with a smile, and it feels weird. It feels like he’s already an invalid, like his life has already stopped long before he’s dead.

It’s something that TK knows he’ll have to address, sooner rather than later, but his father still isn’t saying anything, and TK really, really needs him to.

“I don’t know! Just…please.” TK’s voice cracks and tears spring unbidden to his eyes. At least that gets his dad to look at him, finally, but the pain and grief in his expression almost breaks him again.

“TK…” He sighs heavily, then abruptly stands and starts pacing, fingers drumming an erratic beat across his knuckles. “Are they sure? Are they sure that it’s— Because back in New York, they told me my chances weren’t the best, and look at me now! The doctors here are miracle workers, I swear; let me call Doctor Jacobs and talk to her, I’m sure there’s something—”

“Dad, stop!”

His dad stops pacing and looks at him, wounded. “You told me to say something.”

“I know! Not that, though.”

“Then, what?”

“That you support me? That you’ll be here? And, I know”—his dad’s mouth snaps shut, indignation wilting into guilt—“I know you will be. But say it anyway?”

“Of course I will. Whenever and however you need me. I just think—”

“Doctor Jacobs is on my treatment team,” TK interrupts, quieter this time. He meets his dad’s eyes, aching at the pain he’s putting everyone through, and he sees something give way. “This isn’t something you can fix, Dad.”

It takes another minute or so before his dad finally slumps and moves to sit back down. And it’s funny—TK can’t help but wish he was still fighting against the inevitable because that, at least, is familiar. Just as it did when Carlos broke down in his arms, the reality of TK’s situation becomes that much more real, and the noose around his neck tightens just a bit more.

“What have the doctors said?”

TK takes a deep breath, looking back at Carlos for support. He smiles and squeezes his hand, but there’s something sad behind the gesture. There always will be now, TK supposes.

“They’re gonna put me on a chemo course. Obviously it won’t… But it will help with the, um, the pain. They said there are possibilities of surgery to deal with some of the side effects, but it probably wouldn’t be worth going through with it in my case.” Sensing another interruption coming, TK levels his dad with a hard look—as hard as he can manage, anyway.

“Dad, you know why. I’ve got the option of support care and they said we’ll deal with side effects as they come. After that…”

He trails off, the mere thought of talking about the after making him feel about to throw up. In truth, the doctor hadn’t said much about what comes after treatment, claiming that it’s too soon to think about it, but TK knows. Or, he can imagine. He’d done enough of it years ago, when it was his dad on this side of things.

Days spent in bed, too weak to even stay awake for more than a few minutes. Constant discomfort, being drugged out of his mind on pain meds he won’t be able to refuse, time losing all meaning as he slowly loses the fight.

And then…

And then.

His dad nods and stays silent, and this time, TK doesn’t mind.

There’s nothing else to say, after all.

*

TK balls up his dirty socks, gaze flicking between them and the hamper. It would take three steps, maybe four, to cross the room and put them in; TK knows because Carlos loves to remind him every time he throws them and misses.

Carlos hates when he does that.

So TK throws the socks across the room, and, like always, misses.

And, like always these days, Carlos says nothing and simply bends to put the socks where they belong.

“Stop it,” TK blurts out.

Carlos freezes and frowns, a deep crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Stop what?”

“That!” He gestures violently towards the socks, which only serves to make more confusion appear on Carlos’s face. “I know that it annoys you when I do that, so tell me! Don’t—Don’t be so nice all the time!”

Now Carlos looks beyond confused. “You don’t want me to be nice?”

TK groans, flinging his head back—mistake—and turns towards the window, only half to hide the sudden dizziness. ���That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Behind him, TK hears Carlos sigh quietly, then soft footsteps make their way across the room. Carlos’s arms slip around his waist and his chin lands on his shoulder, TK stiffening a moment in the embrace before melting into it. They stand there in silence for a long time, staring out across their backyard, Carlos clearly giving TK the time he needs to figure out what to say.

“I want things to be normal,” he whispers eventually, not daring to look Carlos in the eyes. “I’m not going to break if you tell me to pick my socks up or do the dishes because I left them soaking in the sink for ages. Things don’t have to change—I don’t want them to change.”

“TK…” Carlos breathes, but TK isn’t done.

“I know that one day—one day soon—they’ll have to. But, not right now, okay? I need it to not be now.”

A second passes, then TK feels Carlos pressing the socks into his hands. “Okay,” he says, and it feels like a reprieve.

*

It seems like they’ve just started to return to something resembling normality when the first chemo session comes along and smashes it all to pieces. He’s told to go in two hours early so they can run tests, but as soon as TK steps through the hospital doors, he feels as though that time could just as easily be thirty minutes or thirty hours.

When he’s finally seated in the recliner with a nurse prepping to insert his IV, a sudden panic overwhelms him and his chest heaves as tears well up in his eyes.

He doesn’t want this.

He doesn’t—

He doesn’t want to die.

TK doesn’t realise the nurse has stopped working until a firm grip on his hand brings him back to reality. He looks at Carlos with wide eyes, his reassuring smile clear even through TK’s blurred vision.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, reaching up with his free hand to wipe away the tears making their way down TK’s cheeks. “I’m going to be right here the entire time, I promise.”

It’s a promise that extends beyond the chemo session, and TK doesn’t doubt that Carlos is going to keep it. It still terrifies him that today is the start of the end of his life—at least, that’s how he sees it—but Carlos’s hand in his is enough to give TK the courage to relax and allow the nurse to start his IVs.

The session passes relatively uneventfully. TK never forgets where he is or why, but Carlos’s soft voice is a comfort, as it always has been for him. He feels weird as the drugs start to take effect, like he’s floating and on the verge of sleep, but also hyper-vigilant of everything around him. The nurse stops by at intervals that feel random but are probably regular to check his vitals, and then, finally, to take the line out.

Through it all, Carlos is there.

Once treatment is over and the precautionary thirty minutes after have elapsed, TK’s eyes are growing heavy and he knows he’ll probably fall asleep as soon as he gets in the car. Carlos supports him as they walk out and eases him into the passenger seat, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He’s still smiling, like he has been the entire day, though TK doesn’t understand how, when he knows how much Carlos, too, must be hurting.

He wriggles his body until he’s facing Carlos, watching him through half-closed eyes. “You can cry, you know,” he mumbles, needing to say it even though he knows what Carlos’s response will be. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time.”

Carlos sighs and starts the ignition. “Yeah, I do.”

TK doesn’t argue.

[kpop-cakepops]

Hello! May we ask for a continuation of the Wonwoo Damaged story? Maybe angsty this time?

Finally got to your request! Here it is!! I think I really really really love the Damaged series, it makes my heart warm. Thank you for requesting!!! Enjoy!

Genre: Angst with a bit of fluff at the end.

Warnings: none.

Word Count: 1,245

Damaged: Because I Love You// Wonwoo x Fem!Reader

Wonwoo had been very quiet since the both of you had arrived from Vernon's birthday party. He didn't seem interested in talking on the way back home from it, and it appeared it'd be that way for the rest of the night.

"Are you okay?" You finally built up the courage to ask him as he passed you by, but only managed to get a curt 'Yes' before he disappeared into the bathroom to shower.

You retraced your every movement that day, from when the both of you woke up to the end of the party. Had you made him upset? Did you say something wrong? It had been that way for the past 2 weeks. You had both been on edge and for some reason unable to speak on what was bothering you. Half the time you didn't even know what it was.

When Wonwoo stepped out of the bathroom you grabbed at his wrist before he could walk off somewhere you were not. "Are we not going to talk about this?"

A soft sigh left his lips as he stared down at you. His dark eyes seemed cold and distant. "Talk about what?" He asked.

"About why you've been ignoring me since we left the party"

"I'm not ignoring you. Are we not talking right now?" The sarcasm in his voice was thick as he removed your hand from his.

It was in moments like those that you questioned if everyone in your life was right. If you should give up your one-sided relationship with Wonwoo. Everything had gotten worse lately, too. With your parents and family pressuring you to get married, and Wonwoo putting up walls... it made you feel like you were losing on both sides. The pent-up frustration had finally reached a bursting point.

"Do you think this is easy for me?" You finally asked. You had decided long ago that you'd be patient, that you would always be on Wonwoo's side even if he wasn't right, but it had gone on for too long.

You were tired.

"What?"

"I asked if you think it's easy for me," you repeated.

Wonwoo raised a brow at you in confusion. "What's easy for you?"

"This guessing game you always make me play when you're upset. It's always you being upset by yourself and me following you around like a lost puppy, trying to figure you out and make you happy. Like an idiot. Am I a joke to you?" Your voice was quivering. You weren't sure if it was because you were hurt or angry.

"I'm not trying to make you guess anything. If anything, I'm trying to spare your feelings" His arms were crossed across his chest. "The last thing I want is to make you cry because I was too honest."

You couldn't help but raise your brows at that comment. Wonwoo knew he'd misspoken as soon as the words came out but he was not about to backtrack.

"You must be holding off on a lot, Wonwoo. Why don't you just spit it out and hurt my feelings a little more? It's not like you haven't been doing that anyway." the words both of you spoke had a sharpness to them, almost as if made to cut the other.

"If I'm hurting your feelings so much and being with me is so hard for you, then why don't you just leave me? Break up with me." His chest was heaving nervously as he watched you closely.

That's what had been bothering him lately. Every time he saw the way other men looked at you like you were the perfect woman like you were everything a man could want, it made him feel undeserving. How could he explain not being able to love you properly when you were quite literally the best woman to exist? How could he excuse being by your side when he was so unable to make you happy?

Joshua telling him mid-party that he was lucky to have you, that you were the nicest girl he'd ever met had made Wonwoo's skin crawl with both Jealousy and insecurity. Joshua had told him that. Joshua the one that every girl liked, the gentleman, the one that smiled once and made everyone happy... wouldn't you be better with someone like that? Wouldn't it be better for you to be with someone that wasn't holding you back?

"I-is that what you want?" You asked. "You want us to break up?"

No.

"Wouldn't that be better for you?" His insides were screaming at him to stop. To stop it then before it was too late but his lips wouldn't make the right move.

"So what, we just throw away the past two years?" You asked. "Do you think it's going to be that easy?!"

"What? As easy as it was for you to talk Joshua's ear off all night?!"

There it was. Finally. The air around the both of you seemed to still. Wonwoo's face was flushed, his chest heaving as he watched you closely. "Is that what this is about?"

"No. It's about everything. It's about me, about your family, about our friends, about Joshua, IT'S ABOUT EVERYTHING, Y/N. Every time any of my friends meet you, it's always about how beautiful and perfect you are, and you are. You really are! But I'm not. I've been holding you back for years, it's not easy for me either- the guilt I feel whenever I see people like Joshua talking to you- I can't help it. I feel inferior!"

"Then why don't you just tell me?! Why do you have to let it get to this point, Wonwoo. Why do you never trust me enough to just say what's bothering you?!" You were upset that he thought you would ever even think of leaving him for another man. "I tell you time and time again that I want to be with you. That there is no one else in this world that I'd rather be with, so why?! Why does it have to be this way? Why is it that you get to choose what I do or don't deserve?!"

"Because I love you."

Your heart dropped. He said it. For the first time since the two of you had started dating, the first time in two years he said it.

"I love you so much that I just want what's best for you and most of the time I can't help but think that I'm not that. I can't help but think that I'm not enough for you-" He wasn't able to finish his sentence as you threw yourself into his arms, grabbing his face to press a loving kiss to his lips.

"I love you too. Do you think I'd stay this long if you weren't exactly what I wanted? I love you, Wonwoo." His long arms wrapped around you enveloping you entirely in his warmth. "I don't want or need a perfect man, okay? I really don't. I want you, you're the only man I've ever even thought of as perfect."

"So you're not going to leave me?" He murmured.

"I will fight you every time you even suggest that" You answered.

"I love you." He repeated causing you both to feel lighter on your feet. "Please don't give up on me yet."

You sniffled into the crook of his neck. "I won't"

"Please don't cry. I'm sorry."

You nodded your head softly. "I'm sorry too..."

[neoloves]

— 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧.

| 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 | The second part to 'Oikawa, Tsukishima and Akaashi comparing you to their ex'

Part 1 can be found here ♡

| 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Oikawa Tooru, Akaashi Keiji and Tsukishima Kei

| 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) | swearing

| 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝.𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.6k

| 𝐚𝐭𝐡.𝐭𝐱𝐭 | I'm not even gonna front, I wanted to do the part 2 angsty, but I didn't 🧍🏻‍♀️ happy endings for everyone! ✨ damn why this so long for

(also I just realized 'how to say sorry' by middle school is the perfect song to listen to when reading this 👁️👁️)

「 Oikawa 」

Oikawa slaps himself one more time, his vision was getting blurry, his eyes searching for one person, that one person that's put up with all his bullshit and loved him thoroughly. "Fucking hell Oikawa, can you focus a little bit more?!" Iwaizumi yells at him, they lost the first set, all because Oikawa couldn't find you at the bleachers.

"Oh I'd love to, but you see Y/N-" Iwaizumi cuts him off, "Y/N didn't come today because she's still hurt you ass! Now get your head back into the game," Iwaizumi sends him one last glare. Oikawa scoffs, you were his lucky charm, whenever you were there to watch his games he was more motivated to win but without you, it's almost like it's not worth it.

Even after all of the things Oikawa said, you couldn't help but watch his games, it felt like a routine for you. The game finished with Aoba Johsai winning, the gap wasn't big but they won and that's all that matters. You quickly made your way out of the gym but someone's hand stopped you from doing so, looking up you see Iwaizumi. He was the one that ran after you instead of your boyfriend, he helped you calm down during that time, "Y/N can we.. talk?" He asked.

Looking around, you didn't see Oikawa anywhere so you agreed. Walking just outside the gym, there he stood, the moonlight was shining down on him so beautifully, fuck. "Y/N, please have a listen to what he says, he's been a wreck these days.." Iwaizumi says, offering you a gentle smile before leaving you two. "So.. what did you want to talk about? That you wanted to break up? That you found someone that's way better than me? Someon-"

"No! No one is better than you! No one can ever replace you y/n, so please listen to me. The shit I said before was because I wasn't thinking straight, it was never you, I just- I just thought that you might see the real me, pathetic little athlete and leave one day, I didn't want that to happen.. I'm sorry," Oikawa said, his chest heaving up and down, his pretty hazel eyes had tears flowing down his cheeks.

You couldn't watch Oikawa cry, all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around him and tell him that it was alright. Instead you approached him slowly, taking his hands into yours, "I forgive you Oikawa, but it'll take time for me to put in trust in you," You said, giving him the slightest smile. "T-That's do-able, I'll wait until you're ready again, and I promise to not break your heart again," And he plans to keep that promise.

「 Akaashi 」

Akaashi tells himself that he'll be a better boyfriend, he'll make it up to you. But why can't he send you a single text? Maybe call? No, he wants to apologize in person, the longer he drags this fight out the more he realizes how much of a wreck he really is without you. He starts to ask himself, 'What would y/n do?' or 'Have they eaten yet?'

The last time he's seen you was at the hallways, he's always seeked you out but you always avoided him, the calm and composed Akaashi Keiji, going crazy over you. "How do I even make her listen to me Bokuto? She won't even spare me a glance.." he muttered, Bokuto felt pity for his friend, 'Maybe this is how y/n felt when I ignored her,' he told himself.

"Just walk straight up to her, say that you want to talk and apologize, don't make excuses, say that you're sorry, wholeheartedly," Bokuto says, smiling at him. "Easier said than done," Akaashi sighs, it's the first time he's ever dealt with something like this, but for you, he'll keep trying

He found the perfect opportunity to face you when the teacher had asked Akaashi to help you with some subjects you were failing, you've skipped school for a week prior to the argument. It's been hard to catch up with all the work, so Akaashi was sent to lend you a hand. You were more than surprised when Akaashi comes up to your door step, "Uh.." You said, slamming the door onto his face, but he was quickly to catch it, leaving the door slightly opened.

"Y/N I was sent here by the teacher to help you with school.. and to apologize," He said, hesitantly, opening the door once again. You let Akaashi in, you couldn't tell but Akaashi was nervous as hell, all the words he's rehearsed were forgotten the moment he saw you. He curses himself for hurting you, "Sorry, you were forced to come here to help me," You said, keeping your gaze on the floor. "No, I should be the one apologizing,"

"It was unfair of me, ignoring you and then lashing out like that. I don't know why I did that, but I want to apologize, I never wanted to hurt you, some boyfriend I am," He said, his mind replaying the scene over and over, he can't forget the hurt look on your face. "I'm supposed to protect you, not hurt you, so.. you can decide if you still want me or not, I'll respect your decision," He said, "I– You know I still love you so much Akaashi, of course I want you back, but please, give me time.." You said, your heart feeling way lighter.

"Of course Y/N, I'll give you all the time you need, I'll be waiting," Akaashi smiles, he can wait for a lifetime, maybe even forever just to have you back in his arms.

「 Tsukishima 」

Tsukishima can't help but glance at your seat from time to time, it was empty, it's been empty for a week now. You weren't the type to skip school, but he guesses you have an excuse to not come anymore. How would Tsukishima let you know that he didn't mean all the shit he said? How would he let you know that it's always been you?

Even Yamaguchi started to make up excuses about not being able to hang out, Tsukishima fully knows that Yamaguchi would meet up with you, but he doesn't why. He guesses that it's to console you, but it's making him feel bad. Having his friend comfort you instead of him, but he can't really say much as he's the cause of this. So he'll endure it until he can't anymore, jealousy is an ugly emotion and he knows that fully well.

He's been seeing you and Yamaguchi together more often, sure it tugs at his heartstrings but what the fuck can he do? He's a coward that runs away from emotion and bottles them up until it comes around to bite his ass. That's exactly why that argument between you two happened in the first place, he's been dealing with personal issues with college and his life that he ended up bursting it out on you.

"Nothing I do is ever good enough, fuck," He curses, as he misses another ball. "Are you alright Tsukishima? You're usually not this distracted," His teammate asked, "It's nothing, just tired, let's get back to practice," He replied, not wanting to answer anymore questions. His teammate seemed to have gotten the message and left him alone, "How about we go eat out tonight? My treat," Their captain suggested, "Sorry but I think–" Tsukishima was going to decline but the captain insisted.

So now he was getting dragged to a barbecue house, what Tsukishima wasn't expecting was to see you and Yamaguchi at the same restaurant as he was in. He couldn't turn away, you looked so much happier with Yamaguchi, would it be right to let you go? Should he keep fighting? You sensed someone staring at you for a while now, but when Yamaguchi leaned towards you to whisper, "Tsukishima's here, what do you want to do?"

"Nothing, I'll be perfectly fine," You said, minutes had passed but you've grown more and more uncomfortable with the amount of staring Tsukishima's done. This is so strange even for you, Yamaguchi sensed your uncomfortability and suggested that he walks you home. "Sure, I need to get back home anyway," you answered, Tsukishima was sure as hell that he's not gonna get another chance to talk to you unless he does it now, so he takes it.

"Tsuki?" Yamaguchi said, "Can we talk Y/N.. in private?" He asked, trying not to sound as desperate as possible, you stayed quiet for a couple of seconds but ultimately deciding to hear him out. You two step out of the restaurant, the streetlight flickering above you two. The atmosphere was tense, a little bit awkward, your gaze bounced all over the place, from his trimmed bangs, to his brown long coat, then back to his eyes.

"I'll keep it short, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was inconsiderate of your feelings and how I didn't think about my words before spewing them out. I'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't enough, cause you were more than enough, and I feel like I should've shown you how much I appreciated you more.. but I couldn't, and I.. I'm sorry," He finished, his eyes unwavering, that was the Tsukishima you knew. His jaw was clenched, most likely to stop himself from crying.

You felt the sincerity from his words, that was more than what you wanted. "Thank you Tsukishima, I accept your apology, but.." Tsukishima was hooked on your words. "I'd like to be treated out for food so that I can see that you're really sorry," You said, obviously joking, but half not really. Tsukishima lets out a small chuckle, there was the y/n he knew. "Of course, pick any place and I'll pick you up tomorrow," Tsukishima said, starting tonight, he'll work hard to be the man you deserve.

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if... you are what we needed?

Corin keeps in the background when the kids are gathered, as usual, but his clever eyes are locked on Davarax and he’s hanging on his every word. Dulsissia can’t help but to smile at the sight of her son not only listening to what Davarax says, but how he says it, how he’s standing while he’s talking, his facial expressions, the gestures of his hands, everything. It’s like watching a baby bird imprinting in real time and Davarax being adorably oblivious to what is happening.

And Corin is not alone.

Din has begun to roll up the sleeves on his shirts like Davarax does, Barthor has adopted the same rest-head-in-hand-while-reading posture Davarax has, Paz suddenly decided to change his hairstyle into the very one Davarax has and Dulsissia had to send her embarrassed husband a pointed look when Raga had uttered some very salty and familiar curse words only yesterday.

But as cute and funny it is to watch Corin, it is also painful to see him desperately want Davarax’ attention but at the same time not dare to draw any attention to himself to get it. He will hover near him but with a skittish nervousness that Dulsissia knows comes from the years with Macero.

Macero had barely been present in the boy’s life, but whenever he was, Corin quickly learned that his father’s attention landing on him was rarely a good thing. Around Macero, it was best to be invisible. She’d tried to shield her son as best as she could, but it was impossible to block all of the cruel comments and mean remarks.

Today, Din, Raga and Barthor are going to head into town to pick up supplies, while she and Paz are set to do a complete check and cleaning of their weapons collection.

Corin is to accompany Davarax on some minor repairs on the Razor Crest and her soft heart aches with worry.

She’s not worried that Davarax will even think a harsh word in her son’s direction, but Dulsissia knows how anxious Corin will be with no buffer between him and Davarax. So she worries, but she also have faith in Davarax.

-

Carrying a large bag with equipment, Corin trails after Davarax, who has one in each hand and is leading the way to their ship.

Usually Din would be the first to volunteer when it is something related to the Razor Crest, but it was decided they all needed to learn about the ship and ships in general, so everyone has to take turns whenever some work needs to be done on it. Today is Corin’s turn and he’s more than a little nervous.

Corin knows he doesn’t have the knowledge that Din has about the ship and maybe Davarax thinks he does? There is no way this can end well…

When they arrive at the ship, to his utter relief, Corin is explained what they’re going to do, what the problem is and how to solve it, and in a way that actually makes sense despite him not being as smart as Din. And after getting a couple of easy tasks that he completes without any trouble, Corin starts to think it might not be such a horrible experience after all.

Especially after he’s finished switching a fuse and Davarax gives Corin’s shoulder an approving squeeze after he inspects the job.

The gesture brings a fierce burst of happiness inside his chest, it feels like he grows two inches taller, so Corin eagerly moves on to the next assignment given to him and then awaits Davarax’ verdict with a hammering heart.

Davarax reaches out, tugs gently at where Corin has attached the wire and makes a pleased sound when he finds it securely fastened. “Perfect. Good job. Keep this up and we’ll be done in no time.”

There is that fierce burst of happiness in his chest again. Corin nods.

Davarax absently twirls his welding gun when he looks at the next panel, considering what to do next, so Corin does the same thing with his wrench and feels incredibly cool.

They work together in the cargo hold for a while. Davarax opens panels, points and explains, then often steps back and lets Corin do the actual job, only offering advice or coming in to help when Corin meekly asks for it. It goes so well that Corin actually forgets to be afraid and just has fun.

“I need to head up into the cockpit and check out some data. You okay here? You got this?” Davarax asks while Corin is halfway into an open panel to try to reach some wires.

“Yup.” Corin replies, making a triumphant sound when he gets a hold of his prey. He hears the man walk away but he’s too busy focusing on doing a good job to get anxious over it. He can do this.

Turns out, he can. Corin fixes the problem with the wires, checks they are securely fastened before putting the panel up again and fastening it as well. When Davarax is not back by the time this is done, Corin simply moves on to the next panel.

Removing the bolts, he lowers the panel to the floor and Corin eyes the now revealed wires with a critical gaze. Yeah, there is rust and muck on them as well, so they definitely need changing too. He gets to it, eager to show Davarax that he can manage on his own.

He has just managed to loosen the wire at one end when Corin somehow manages to drop his wrench into the mess of wires below where he’s working. It must either tear something loose or connect something that shouldn’t be connected because only half a second after the wrench falls, there is a fierce crackling of electricity, sharp glimpses of light, and just as Corin makes a panicked grab for the wrench; flames jumps into existence and forces him to withdraw his hand with a pained cry.

Cradling his aching hand to his chest, Corin backs up to the opposite wall and stares with wide-eyed horror at what he has done.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Davarax slides down the ladder, lands on his feet with a heavy thump before trotting over to where there now is a thin line of smoke emerging from the wall. He grabs a small bottle of something that is hanging on the wall and he sprays the content on the fire that is quickly extinguished.

Tossing the bottle away, Davarax turns to look at Corin.

“I’m sorry!” Corin blurts out before Davarax can say anything. “I didn’t mean to-It was an accident and, and I’m sorry!” He heaves for air, struggling against tears. “I’m sorry!”

Davarax merely shakes his head and grabs Corin’s wrist to pull his hand out to inspect it. “Did you get burned?”

Corin yanks his hand free, cradling it protectively once more, backing away from him. He can’t even look at Davarax and has to stare at the floor. “Please, I’m sorry.” Why did Corin have to mess up everything? Davarax had been so nice to him and now Corin has angered him. He’d set fire to his ship! Davarax had to be furious. Everything is ruined because Corin can’t hold on to a kriffing wrench! Stupid, stupid, stupid! “I’m sorry!”

“Corin…” Davarax takes a step after him but stops when that makes Corin back up again.

“I’m sorry!” Corin shouts, really on the verge of crying now.

“Corin, it’s okay.” Davarax says.

Knowing how this will not only make the man angry with him, but also ruin his mother’s happiness as Davarax is bound to turns his bad mood her way as well, just like his father always did, Corin almost buckles under the weight of the guilt. “Please…” He whispers, agonized. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t mean to, Corin. I know it was an accident. Hey, come on, look at me.” Davarax’ voice is gentle. “Don’t worry. It was an accident.”

Corin dares to steal a peek up at Davarax and is surprised to see no trace of anger on his face. If anything, there is concern and… sadness? It gives Corin hope that maybe he can take the brunt of the anger and spare the others. “I’m still sorry. I’m sorry I set your ship on fire.”

Davarax nods and gestures towards one of the fold-down seats. “Could you just… take a seat? Let me look at that hand of yours? Please?”

Corin shuffles over and sits down, like a doomed man going to his execution. It’s difficult to breathe. If feels like someone is sitting on his chest.

Davarax crouches down in front of him and eases Corin’s hand into his to examine it. He hums at the sight of it. “No burns, that’s good. But you got awfully close.”

Corin stares at the floor and shrugs. Maybe if he’d been burned then that would have been punishment enough and Davarax would be pleased?

Sighing, Davarax pulls out a thin strip of a bandage from his belt and begins to wrap Corin’s hand. “Corin, listen to me. I need you to really listen to me. Okay?”

Corin glances up at him and when their eyes meet, he gives a faint nod. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to make up for what he did.

“I will never, and I do mean never, be angry with you over an accident.” Davarax fastens the bandage and gives his wrist a light pat. “You hear me? All I care about is that you’re okay.”

That… does not make sense to Corin. But he’s kind of afraid to anger Davarax further by asking what he means. So he merely nods and hopes that is good enough.

It clearly isn’t, but this time Davarax is the one to look down at the floor. “Was… Was your dad like that? Angry over things that wasn’t your fault?”

“It was my fault.” Corin whispers. It always was. Otherwise his father wouldn’t have been that angry with him, right? And his parents wouldn’t have been arguing so much if not for him.

Davarax shakes his head and sighs, still looking down. “I don’t think it was, Corin. Not then. Not now.” He pats Corin’s wrist again. “I don’t mean to speak ill of your dad, Corin, but he was a complicated man and he made mistakes too. Getting angry with you was a big mistake.” He finally looks back up to meet Corin’s eyes again. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Corin. I promise.”

Tentative hope flutters in Corin’s chest as he hears how sincere that promise is. And Davarax really isn’t angry with him. He’s not. The relief makes Corin a little dizzy as well as giddy with joy.

“And you can always talk to me, you know? Tell me things. Ask me questions.” Davarax says.

Back on Seswenna, Corin learned the hard way to never ask his father any questions, but seeing how not even setting the ship on fire had caused Davarax to become angry, Corin does not hesitate to make a grab for the wealth of knowledge Davarax is offering him. There is one thing...

“Can you show me how to shave?” Corin blurts out in an eager rush. Ever since Paz started shaving, he has ‘complained’ every morning about the hassle of it. Corin suspects Paz only has about six strands on his chin and does it to rub in the fact that none of them have reached that stage yet. But, it would be cool to know how to, for when the day comes. He’s fairly sure not even Din knows how to shave.

Davarax bursts into a brief laugh at his question, but it doesn’t hurt as there is no trace of malice or mockery in it. He reaches out to pat Corin’s shoulder. “Absolutely. First thing tomorrow.”

Fire all forgotten, Corin grins and sits up a little straighter.

“Now, do you want to wait here while I do the rest of the repairs, or do you feel like going back to work? Your choice, Corin. Either option is fine.”

“I think I would like to go back to work. If that is okay…?” Corin says. “I promise I won’t drop the wrench again.”

“You got this, no problem.” Davarax reassures him. “And if you need a little help, I’ll be right here.”

-

Dulsissia is on her way back to the room where Paz sits half-asleep over the dismantled blasters, oiling each part meticulously and bored out of his mind, when she sees Davarax and her sweet boy returning from the ship.

There is an instant stab of worry as she sees the bandage of Corin’s hand, but that is quickly drowned out by relief and raw happiness as she sees her son march next to Davarax with a confidence she’s never seen before. He’s doing something close to a swagger! And he’s chattering away like he usually only does with Din.

It’s hard to believe it is the same boy who had looked at her with anxious eyes before following Davarax to do the repairs on the ship. Her son looks proud. He looks confident and happy and shining in the spotlight of Davarax’ attention.

That man had made her baby walk tall and she had thought she couldn’t love him any fiercer?

Wiping away a tear, Dulsissia heads to the room where Paz is currently lamenting his fate and decides to make this a memorable day for everyone. She hands the puzzled teenager some credits and tells him to bring Corin along, head into town, find the others and have fun. Dulsissia even grants them permission to try out the speeder-bike grounds as long as Paz promises to make sure nobody gets hurt. He nearly hurts himself eagerly nodding his promise.

The boys are out of the door and heading towards the town before Davarax is done washing his hands.

“Dulcy?” Davarax calls out, somewhat confused by seeing the dust in the boy’s wake, walking out of the refresher room while absently drying his hands on an old towel.

She grabs a hold of him when he walks by their room and yanks him inside, causing Davarax to drop the towel with a startled sound and stumble to regain his balance. The unexpectedness of it all makes it easy for her to push him lightly against the wall and crowd up against him with a smile. “I just sent the kids to find the others in town and gave them some credits to burn. We’re all alone, for once. You want to fool around?”

It’s not like her to be this direct and his face is a mix of surprise and fascination. “Uh, yes, please?”

Dulsissia takes a hold of his shoulders and jumps up to wrap her legs around his waist, which she knows will cause him to automatically reach out and take a hold of her hips to hold her up. He does. That frees her to lift one leg, get the bottom of her foot against the wall behind him and give it a firm push. Davarax makes another surprised sound as her act makes him stumble towards the bed with her. Oh, the sweet man... He has no idea what is about to hit him...

Later, while he’s lying on his back in bed, still trying to catch his breath with a slightly shell-shocked expression on his face, his body covered with nothing but sweat and a flimsy sheet, Davarax watches her as she gets up and puts on a robe.

“You have to be hungry after fixing the ship. I’ll get you something. You stay and rest and I’ll bring it here. I think we have more of those spicy noodles you like so much.” Dulsissia adjusts the robe and tightens the belt before heading for the door.

“Dulcy, wait…” Davarax eases himself up his elbows, looking hilariously dishevelled with his dark hair poking up at every angle. “What… what did I do? What did I do to be blessed with this?”

Dulsissia glances back at him with a grin before she merely slips out the door.

“Dulcy, tell me.” Davarax whines, but when there is no answer, she hears him flop back down and start mumbling to himself; “I gotta know so I can do it again. And again. And again.”

But Dulsissia knows she doesn’t have to tell him, because he will do it again and again anyway. Being an amazing father is in his nature and he will continue to bring out the best in those children without being motivated by anything but love.

Which is why they all, her included, love him.

[nagito-kissmaeda]

A Lapse In Judgement - Part 5

CHAPTER ONE: A Dangrous Present CHAPTER TWO: A Past Forgotten CHAPTER THREE: A Foreshadowing CHAPTER FOUR: One Possible Conclusion CHAPTER FIVE: Untethered

Komaeda Nagito x Ultimate Empath!Reader

Summary: Just a normal day at Hope's Peak Contains: she/her pronouns, gitches, blood and gore, rejection Read on AO3

“So. Are you doing it today?” Koizumi asks, giving you a knowing smirk from her desk. It is a good ten minutes into lunchtime and the afternoon sun is cascading in through the open window. It’s a beautiful day, and you would usually be outside if you didnt have more important matters to attend to.

You are halfway through sealing a very fancy envelope with a collection of decorative stickers, but you still manage to shoot Koizumi a glare. Pointedly staring at her left cheekbone instead of into her eyes.

She laughs, “hey, no need to get all feisty with me. I’ve just seen you toiling away at that letter for over a week now, I’m glad you’ve finally finished it.”

You hum, peeling a sunflower shaped sticker from a sticker sheet and affixing it over the back flap of the envelope, “I had a lot of things to say, and I’m not a very good writer.”

“You sure as hell aren’t!” Another voice scoffs from behind you, and you turn to see Saionji sitting on her desk, swinging her feet back and forth. She clears her throat, “An except: my cheeks burn, my stomach twists! ” Her interpretation of your work is offensively overacted, she clutches her chest and bats her eyes, “ When your eyes lock with mine my heart flutters, when your lips form the syllables of my name I-“

Koizumi throws a pencil at her, you are eternally grateful.

“You memorised it?” You hiss, clutching the envelope protectively

“Yeah, duh.” Saionji rolls her eyes, “I read it over your shoulder like three days ago, it was so funny I had to write it down.” She smirks, “I already showed it to a buncha people.”

“Ugh, what the hell , Saionji?” You exclaim, pressing more stickers to the front of the envelope as angrily as someone can manage, “it’s very personal!”

Koizumi sighs, “yeah Hiyoko. That was pretty insensitive of you.”

You hear the beginnings of some classic Saionji fake tears, but force yourself to ignore it. Popping the cap off of a sharpie and inking a name on the front of your envelope. You try to write as neatly as possible, but it’s hard when your hands are shaking.

“So. Who’s it for?” Saionji asks, over her crying fit already. She leans in to take a peak and you hide the name with your forearm, glaring at her again, “What are you so embarrassed about? Is it someone gross?!”

You don’t answer, your glare grows deeper, but Saionji ignores it.

“Oh yuck! Is it Souda? Is it Hanamura?????”

Koizumi clicks her tongue, but a playful smile tugs at her lips, “yeah if it’s Hanamura we might have to disown you.”

“It’s not Hanamura.” You mutter, resting your chin on the palm of your hand, “just stop trying to guess. It’s only making me more nervous.”

Sitting up from her desk, Koizumi comes over and rubs your arm encouragingly, “hey, I’m sure whoever it is will say yes. You’re great, and your talent is really cool.”

You avert your eyes, “my talent isn’t cool, everyone thinks I’m weird.”

“Yeah, iunno, Koizumi-chan.” Saionji says, “I get shivers up my spine whenever she looks at me with her creepy eyes.”

You gesture weakly in Saionji’s direction, “see? People don’t like having their emotions read, it’s invasive and gross.”

“Hey.” Koizumi starts, giving you a soft smile, “look at me.”

Your gaze is intently focussed on her right eyebrow when you say, “I am looking at you.”

She laughs, “ No , look at me.” She points to her eyes, “right here.”

You swallow. Since starting high school you made a valiant effort to avoid using your talent, people always thought you were weird and creepy, it was hard to make friends, “Come on.” She says, placing her hand over yours, “You can trust me.” you take a shaky breath, and meet her eyes.

Protectiveness, warmth, friendship

You feel yourself soften a little, and Koizumi smiles, “okay. You get it now? We’re your friends. Hiyoko and I are going down to the cafeteria, you stay up here and do whatever you need to.” She stands upright and heads to the door, Saionji falling into step beside her, “let us know how it goes.”

Saionji sticks her tongue out, but does follow it up with a quick, “good luck!” before following Koizumi out of the classroom.

Now that you are alone, your heart starts to race. The envelope feels heavy and almost frightening in your hands. This crush of yours has lasted almost a year now, and this is going to be your first attempt to actually do something about it, you’ve never done anything like this before in your life.

You take a deep breath, and pull yourself up from your desk. Knees wobbling as you head over to the desk of Nagito Komaeda, and slip the envelope inside. Saionji would have teased you relentlessly if she knew it was him the love letter was for, but people think you are weird, and people think he is weird. Being the two weird kids in class meant that you spent a lot of time together, group projects that no one wanted to chance his luck with, or that no one wanted to spend multiple classes avoiding your line of sight during. He liked your talent, he trusted you to be respectful and careful of his feelings. Also his hair looked soft.

The letter asked him to meet the sender around the back of the gym after last period. It did not mention you by name. Until then, you were just going to spend the rest of your day completely normally. So you gave Komaeda’s desk one final look and headed back out of the classroom to go meet Koizumi in the cafeteria.

“Oh! Hey!”

You look down the hallway and see Hajime Hinata jogging up to you. You don’t know him particularly well, he sits at the front of the class at the desk by the window. The front row has five desks, the others only have four, Hinata’s desk is out of line with the rest of them. Like it was an afterthought.

“Hello.” You reply, keeping your gaze focussed on his nose instead of his eyes, “How are you?”

He gives you an awkward smile and rubs the back of his neck with a hand. You notice that his uniform looks weird on him, but you can’t place why. It fits, but it looks like it is moving and shifting on his body in ways that are unnatural, you don’t point it out, “I left my lunch in my desk. I’m coming back to get it.”

“Ah.” You say, “do you want me to wait for you?”

Before he has time to answer, you see a familiar figure coming down the hall and you instinctively grab Hinata by the wrist and tug him down to hide behind a row of lockers. You are too distracted, and don’t notice that Hinata’s uniform is black now instead of brown.

“What are you doing?!” Hinata hisses. You cup a hand over his mouth and hold completely still as Komaeda walks past the two of you and into the classroom. You notice that his vest is stained with what looks like gravy, luck related incident, you assume.

Once Komaeda isn’t visible anymore, you let go of Hinata and scramble over to the doorway. Peering around the corner as subtly as you can. He’s taken off his blazer and hung it over the back of his chair, and is in the middle of working his vest up over his head.

Hinata comes up behind you, peering around the corner as well, “What is Komaeda doing?”

“I think he has a spare vest in his desk.” You whisper, “you need to be quiet.”

Your heart is racing in your chest, and your fingers tighten around the doorframe. Komaeda lifts the top of his desk, and his brow furrows when he sees the letter. Gently picking it up and turning it around in his hand. At one point he looks around the room and you have to duck behind the door to make sure he doesn’t notice you. You can barely breathe.

“Wait. What did he just grab?” Hinata asks you, as the two of you lean back out. You don’t reply.

“Oh my god…” Hinata hisses playfully, “someone left a love letter in Komaeda’s desk?”

You’re still focussed on Komaeda’s long fingers as they slowly tear open the envelope, you see your sunflower sticker fluttering down to the ground. Biting your lip, hands shaking, trying to gauge any response.

“Oh my god!” Hinata hisses much less playfully, “ you left a love letter in Komaeda’s desk?!”

“Shh!!” You say, motioning for Hinata to zip it, “I’m watching.”

Komaeda’s eyes are wide as he starts reading, you can see his hands are trembling. Something you’ve written halfway down the page shocks him, he has to go back and read it again to confirm he understood it properly.

“Hmm...that was probably the bit I wrote about how nice his hands are.” You whine nervously, “oh god , I’ve made myself seem like a creep haven’t I?” You whisper, turning back to look at Hinata.

“Komaeda is not the sort to get creeped out.” Hinata mumbles, “I didn’t even know you liked him.”

Your other hand wraps around the doorframe as you lean out a little more, trying to get a better view of Komaeda’s face, “that’s the point of a secret.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell him. You know your talent would answer the question for you if you used it right?”

You huff, “I don’t want to use it. I want to be normal .”

“Ļ̴͕̳̮̏̊̌͝͠ͅi̷͕͋̇̿̈́͐̉̈̒̆͂̆͘̚͜͝k̵̨̹͍̩͂̎͑̔̏͂́̽͛͋̓͝e̶̦̣͎͕̦͈͉͖͆́̈́̈́̋̓̊̕ ̵̛̛̛̟̩̺͉͛̄̉̈́͗̃m̷̢̢͖͇̣̞̱̮̱͕̥͂̌ĕ̷̺̝?̶̡̞̬̲͕̜̩̪̫̥̙̦̮͇̉̈̈́͘̚͝”

You freeze, so does Komaeda. The whole school comes to a standstill, “what do you mean, like you?”

When you turn to look at Hinata again, he is gone. You blink your eyes, maybe he just ran off? Either way, your attention was brought back into the classroom by a gentle gasp.

Komaeda has a hand clapped over his mouth, chest heaving as he finishes reading the letter.

Your heart is racing, your knees are starting to hurt from crouching around the corner. You wonder if he knows that it was you

It was you

It wa̷̢̨̖̪̥̹̤̼̭͚͈͑͆͑͆͐̈̆̂̒̍̿́͝͝s you

It was you

It waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaā̵̡̪̦̰͚̭̩̼͎̪͈͋͛͗̃̕͜͝͝ͅạ̵̭͎̥̱͎̹̭̺̰͎̈́͐̒̕a̴̹̜̟̺̞̓͆͒͗͝ä̵̟̼̟̥͎͔̯̯̜́̌̈́̿a̵̹͖͍̙͇̘͍͕͙̅̅͊̌̈́̒̃ạ̴̢̗͉̘̰͉̺̹͍͛͐̆̊͐͘͘͝ͅä̶̡̮͔̹̩̪́̊͒̉̉̕̕͠ă̶̻̓̍̌̚ḁ̵̢̢̢̧̞̱̥̠͕͚̉̋a̴̠͇̻͉̘̐̿͆̄̀̈̀̅̋̅a̷̢̰̙̦̮̘̲̓͝ͅͅa̷̝͖̜̋̈͛̈́̐͌̾̓̃͘s̷̰̻̼̲͓̮̺͌̑̓̃͒̋̏͆̐͌̌̐ ̵̧̙̹̬̞̦̝̓͗͊͌͠ỹ̷̯̯̃́̃̎͋̈́̏̎o̸̩͉͍̗̯̠̙̬̱̩͔̾̅̊̂̾̿̍̌̓̌͘͝u̶̻̳̪̪̻͕̜͜

“Are you alright?” Sensei Yukizome asks.

You blink. Your eyes feel heavy, your brain feels like static. You’re back in class, sitting at your desk. The rest of 77-B has gone quiet, they’re all watching you intently, “I’m...fine.”

Yukizome cocks her head to the side, brows pulled tight with confusion, “Your head hit the desk pretty hard. Are you sure Tsumiki-san doesnt need to have a look at you?”

Not matter how many times you blink, the world never seems to fully come back into focus. You feel sick to your stomach, “What are we doing again?”

“You’re meant to be writing outlines for your practical exams. Descriptions of your strengths and weaknesses, that sort of thing.” She is starting to look very concerned.

You swallow and look down at your page. It’s completely blank, you haven't written anything this whole time, “I havent started…”

When you look over towards the window, your eyes lock on Hinata. He is wearing a white shirt with a green tie. His uniform is completely gone

(Why ạ̴̢̗͉̘̰͉̺̹͍͛͐̆̊͐͘͘͝ͅre there five desks in the front ro̸̩͉͍̗̯̠̙̬̱̩͔̾̅̊̂̾̿̍̌̓̌͘͝w? Why does our clạ̴̢̗͉̘̰͉̺̹͍͛͐̆̊͐͘͘͝ͅss have an odd number of students when no other do̸̩͉͍̗̯̠̙̬̱̩͔̾̅̊̂̾̿̍̌̓̌͘͝es?)

Your head is pounding, and you can feel a distant tether to someone you cannot see or hear. Aching like a phantom limb. You stand up.

“Something is definitely wrong” Yukizome says, backpeddling from your desk when you suddenly shoot up, “Do you want someone to take you to the sick bay?”

You shake your head, “I’m just going to stand by the window for a second. I’m just feeling a little dizzy.”

She nods slowly, “Alright, but if you don't start feeling better, let me know and i'll call your parents, okay?”

“Sure…”

As you walk over to the window, something makes you glance at Hinata’s paper. Something unspooling the memories in the back of your mind whispers, s̵o̵m̴e̶t̵h̵i̴n̸g̸ ̸i̷s̶ ̵n̴o̸t̸ ̵r̷i̵g̴h̸t̵.̵  

Hinata’s paper, which should be a detailed explanation of his talent. Is incomprehensible. A series of jumbled letters and numbers blurring and shifting on the page, like trying to read a book in a dream. Dread seeps inside you, and it becomes a full tidal wave when you look up at the window, and see Hinata is now standing outside. You whirl around and see only the empty space where an extra fifth desk once was, the Hinata inside the classroom is gone.

Ḧ̷̢͓̰̤́̍ḭ̵͎̋̈́̒n̸̩͎͋͐̃̊̑a̸̧͉̻̩͙͗̔̓̚ț̵͎̫͑̈́ḁ̴̛̫̞̫̒ ̴̡͇͙̄̒͛̋w̷̡̮͈̍a̴̧̘͙͌s̷͍̫̫͑̊ ̴̭͎͙̆͑̀͑ņ̷̩̈̌e̸̢̡̧͕͍͆̋̋͊̈v̷̳̼̎̌͐͘ȩ̸̙̱̮͆̂r̸͙̭͔͊̂̈́͘ ̴̧̗̣̠͚̉̏̈́͝͝ẗ̵͍̪́h̵̢̤̏̉ȩ̸̩͔r̴̮͐ē̵̘̰̼̕

Heaving a shaky breath you turn back to the window. You freeze. Eyes locked on the figure lurking down by the tree in the garden, he stands completely still, staring up at you with red eyes that you can feel nothing behind. A maw of darkness chews on you from all sides as your stomach tightens. You’re going to throw up.

The person. (Hinata?) his eyes don’t turn from yours.

nothing nothing nothing nothing

N̸̡̬͕͓̪̝̙̙͙̊͑̎̎̔̎̒͋́͑͜ͅǫ̶̛̗̺̖͊͊͝t̶̼̩̣͔͎̭̜̦͓̂͌͌̓̎͐͆́͜͝ͅḫ̵̢̞̙̯̳͍̼̜̥̰̝̉̈́̀͊͆͐̌͘i̸̡̤͌̓̔̐̂̈́̔̆̇̇̎͌̇ň̴̝̬͔̞̓̔́͛̋́̐̓̾̾͘̕͠ġ̴̢̲̩̼̠͓̗̭̯͍̱̔̈́ ̷̡̳͕͓̗̳͍̣̯̘͚͓̼̠̉̎ń̴͙͚̯̪̤̼̳̹̮̓͛̅̍́̔͒̐̑̏͜͝ó̶̢̪̋͐͋̋͑͐̃̐̀̃͝ͅt̶̢͉̺͕͉̥̽̈́͝h̴̨̨̟̣͇͙̖̉̀i̴̠̲͊͗̌͊̚͘͝ͅn̷̹͒͌͂̕ͅg̷̨͓͔͓͔̹̜̻̙̺͆̽̂͐ ̶̧̛̦̯͍͆͂̈̇̂̇̿͑̐̋n̸̨̧̧͇̼̖̗̗̦͑͆̈́̐̅̓͒̽͂̃̕͝o̴̧̳͎͕̟͒͗̈́̅͑̓́͛͝ẗ̷̨̧̛͍̬͕̫̬̻̰͓̳͗h̷͈̹̻̰̪͍͖͎̿̈́̀͌͌̊̕͜i̵̧̛̫̊̒̈͑̆̈́͘n̷̯̱̓͊̀ģ̶̧̫͇̦̰͕͈̖͓̃͘ ̵̢̨̡̪̪̯͈̾͆̿̃ͅn̵̢̞͚̠̩̦͙͈̰̻̱̩͗͜͜ơ̷̡̲̯̇̽̐t̵͚͓́̓̈́̊̏͌͑̐̋͐̅̈́͘h̶̢̗͈̖͉̪͚͔̏̽̈́i̴̡͍̜͇̗̬̩̺͎͈̐͐n̶̛͕̪̂̽̌̒̃̾̿͌̽g̴̗̲̰͈̜̳̮͙͓̼͍̒̅̂̐͗͋͛͗͜

and just before you bend forward and hurl all over your shoes. His eyes blink once . Bored.

There are stories being told behind your closed eyelids. Stories of death and pain. Your eyes are fluttering and spinning but they wont open, you can't open them. Your talent makes you sick, it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts-

“Ah, good. You’re awake”

Komaeda is sitting in a plastic chair to your right. You are covered from your feet to your collarbones in an itchy blanket. The room smells like hand sanitizer.

“Oh.” You whisper, “I’m in the sick bay?”

“Yes. You lost consciousness by the window.” He laughs nervously, “I carried you over. I figured that studying for the practical exam isn't really something I need to worry about. It’s all going to come down to my luck anyway.”

You nod slowly. Still trying to slot the pieces together in your head. What made you pass out again? Dehydration?

The world is swirling, Komaeda reaches a hand out as if to steady you. His face is little more than a blur and you try to grab his hand as a way to ground yourself as the bed below you feels intangible, “Hey…” He whispers, “are you…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus only on the sound of your breathing. When you open your eyes again, Komaeda is still there, but everything else is gone.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his hair is longer and more unruly, the bags under his eyes are deep and purple. The sky behind his head is a shock of red and smoke, “Your hands are shaking.”

When your eyes snap down to where your hands are gripping his. Bile crawls up your throat, your breath is coming quick and sharp. This doesn't make sense, why is this happening? Your head spins and twists and your heart is beating a rapid tattoo in your chest. The hand that should be gripping Komaeda’s, is instead gripping the limp wrist of a woman's hand, a sickening mixture of purple and black blotting its once pale flesh, red fingernails resting on your wrist. Your other hand is gripping a needle and thread, shaking as you are halfway through tugging a length of fishing line through the bleeding stump of Komaeda’s left forearm.

You shriek and scramble backwards, head colliding with what is once again the wall of the school infirmary. Komaeda pulls his hand back, it is his hand again.

“Ah, sorry. I shouldn't have tried to touch you.” He laughs goodnaturedly, “Even someone who confesses their love to me is too disgusted by my filth. I should have known better.” he smiles, “This is why i must decline your affections, you see, for me to dirty you with my touch. It would be a waste.”

You want to comfort him, to pull him into your arms and tell him that his touch does the opposite of disgusting you, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The sound of your heart beating in your ears is thunderous, you can still smell the rotting flesh of the dead woman's hand, still feel the sting of smoke in your eyes.

S̵̟̥̒̕͝o̵̧̯̔͛m̸̢̛͙̈́̋͛͜e̵̛̲͍̰̿̆͜ţ̶̰͐̈͆ͅh̴̟͐̕ḯ̶͓̤̏͝n̶͔͈̼̙͆̑͂̉g̵̩̖̔͊̊ ̸̢͚̆̐ͅi̶̻̋̔̕͝s̶̢̍̚ ̷̧͚̀͌ẁ̵̛̭̬̘̕͝r̶͎̖͈̋̓o̴̯̹̒̈͗̚n̴͙̲̂̽͘g̸͖͍̽̈́ ̷̫̘̠̾̊w̸͎̻̾i̷̳̮̫͊̏̇t̵̛͇̚h̴̤͙͆͗̍ ̷̨͚̹͇̃y̸̲̦̓̉́o̸͚͋̓͊͝ủ̶̹͖̈́.̵͖̔̔͋͘

Then. A realisation.

“Wait. Confess their love to you?”

“The note you left.” His head cocks to the side, “Did you forget? You had written so many kind things about me, I can't even believe half of them.” He sighs and his eyes attempt to meet yours. You stare at his shoulder instead, “I would not want you to waste your affections on me. You can do infinitely better.”

“Are you...rejecting me?”

Komaeda gives you a sad smile. The walls of the sick bay flicker and turn to static behind his head, “Please don’t misunderstand. You are wonderful, that you even confessed to me at all is...outstanding, you have so much to give and you shouldn't waste your love on someone who

is ğ̸̰̫͍̰̥̌̊̌̃͊̾͘͝͠͠o̴̰̊i̷̩͙͖͓͒͐̽̑́̈́̑͝ͅn̷̢̡̼̼̩̘̪͍̼̻̖̙̓̆̂̄̒͊g̸̛̤̼̲͐̏̌͐͊̽͗̀̄̐̓ ̶͎͑͒̋̐͗͂͘͝t̶̨̢͔̝̥̼̤̥̜͎̗͋̑̽̏̍̈͂̎̏͊̚ͅǫ̷̧̻̗̭̜̟̜͎̪̠̭͙͊̈́͛̊̔͘ ̷̳̇̿̀̑̂̂̉̄̓͘͜͝͠d̶̟͎̯͆̏̓̾̿̎̾́͗̓͒͘͠i̴͚̥͕̫͉͇̳̤̍̂͜ͅễ̴̡̛͇̭̤͎̙̙͓̟̞̖̘̓̎͆̀̋̐̕ ̴̥̜̦̬̩̟̪̼̮͔͆͋̋͋̉͜͠ḑ̸̙̙͍͑̅͋̽ỉ̶̛͈͓͚̻͋̅̒e̸̢̧̤̦͚̖̩͗͆͌̾́͂̃̉̊̐̾́͝͝ͅ ̸̧̜̬̲͚̽ͅd̸̛̛̲͊́̔̆̈́̍́̊͊͗̚̕ḯ̶̢̡̗͕̳̭͇̗̫̤͎̮͖̝̃̔̈́̈́̕͘͘͜e̴̪̥̲̖͓̬̹̗̙̽͗̍͑̋̏̆̄̑̆̿̕̚͘͝ ̵͓͓̦̽͒̐́̀̎̇͠d̴̡͋̍̅̽̍̌̄̏͑̈́̃͗̚͘i̴͖̠͈̾̀͂̄̕͘͘͝ę̶̞͐̑̍͒̎̽͗̿̑̇̅͘͝ ̴̪̝̬̂͌̎͗̚d̴̡̛̘͖̊̈́̾͊̌̆͂͛̐̓̏͝i̵̡̩͈̮͇͉͎̯̍̓͌ͅe̸̖͎̥̦̞̺̗͚̍ͅ ̵͍̬̳̞̰͖͍͕̫̥̝̑̋̂͝d̷͇̭͎̯̻͈̜̝̜̗̗͂̋͌͊̀͘ĩ̷̮̰̂̌́͂͗̐̅̕͘̚͝ȩ̸̢̰͓͎̪̤̦̼̣̭̲̫͔͐̍̀͗̈́̾̈̚̕̕ ̷͉͔͈͔͙̖̟̣͙̭͊̅̐̓̈́͛̇̓̾͑̈́́d̶͓̲͍͉̱͕̼̰̥͖͍̥̱͓̂́͑͛͗̈̈̎̍͊̇̿͋̔͠i̵̡͎̠͑̏̈́̿̇̚͝ę̴͇̬͈̫͈͚͓̰̥̝̣̫̑͆͋͑͛̈́͐̓̕̚͜ͅ ̵͉͈̿̈́͛͌̈́͆̓̒d̷͇́̇̂͛i̸̳͎̳̲̙̎͐̐̾͊̔́̈́̉͂̈̕ȇ̸̟̰͂̈́̂̚͜ ̴̝̣͓͕̤͚͕͈͍̻̐̈́̀͆͒͗̋̽͋͠d̸̡̼͈̘̮̪͉̭̯͎͍̪͚̋͛͛̃̀̔̌ͅi̷͚̖̥̫̲͉̩̒͂̓̈́̓̚ẻ̵̡̨̹̞̮̗̦̄͑͐̑̔͆̚ ̷̜̰̖̦̓̽̏͂̓̈́̊͘͠d̸̛̜̞̫͎͕͙͈͋͌̋͌̓i̴̟̱̲͉̟͔̇̑̅̔̃̽̑̑͑͐è̴͍̱̫̱̮͌̆͗̿͆̽̃̋ͅ”

His mouth is still moving like he is speaking real words. But all you can hear is that one word repeated over and over and over. Your heart is racing, you have no idea what is happening. Komaeda is just talking like nothing is wrong, the world is turning to glass out of the corner of your eyes. Breaking and reforming again behind your eyelids.

Komaeda disappears, like he was just erased from existence and you suddenly realise that you are crying. One of the tears catches on your finger, and shimmers in ways that are unnatural. What is happening to you?

There’s a creaking noise on the other side of the room and you scramble backwards on the sick bed as the boy who looks like Hinata comes in through the door. He makes no move to approach you, he stands stiffly by the doorway and watches .

You wipe the tears from your face with the back of your hand, “who are you?! What have you done with Hinata?”

“I have done nothing to Hinata. His fracturing was yours and yours alone.” He says. His voice is familiar. It digs its claws deep inside of you.

“His... fracturing? ” A sob hiccups in your throat, “What are you talking about?”

The boy doesn’t answer.

“Can you please leave me alone? ” You sniffle, wiping away more tears, “I’m having a hard enough day as it is.”

“If it brings you comfort, you will ask Komaeda many more times.” The strange boy says, staring off into the middle distance, “he will say yes on the sixth.”

“Wha- He will…?” You whisper, “How do you know?”

His eyes turn to you and you get a crawling feeling under your skin, like he is looking straight through you, “This world is fabricated, but much of it is based in reality.”

“I...what?” You blink up at him, confused, “fabricated? What are you talking about?”

“A defense mechanism. All in your mind.”

You laugh nervously, “this isn’t a very funny joke…”

“I do not joke.” He continues staring, you refuse to meet his eyes, “use your talent. If you are too afraid to believe me.”

You swallow, “I...I can’t .”

“No. You won’t ” he sighs, disappointed, “a waste of potential, predictable. Boring.”

“Fine. If this world isn’t real, how are you here?” You say, “I doubt I would create someone just to ruin my own illusion.”

“I am not from here. I have been sent to help.” His eyes are empty, his expression unchanging, “Your world is crumbling, and you need to leave it.”

“Nothing is crumbling . What is wrong with you?”

“Your denial is wasting our time. Your mind is trying to make assurances where it should not, trying to put together the pieces of three different puzzles all at once and they just don’t fit.” He takes a few steps forward, eyes still boring into you, “This ideal world you have created is not sustainable, cherry picking the good parts of three separate lives does not result in stability. If you don’t leave here, the walls will collapse around you, and you will die in the rubble.” He reaches a hand out to you, “come with me. We’ll untangle the mess of your memories, then tell me how you feel about staying.”

You are hesitant when you take his hand. The moment feels significant, like a leap into the void. You are surprised at how warm his hand is, for some reason you had expected it to be cold. He doesn't lead you anywhere like you were anticipating, instead he presses his other hand on top of yours and closes his eyes.

The smell hits you like a wall. People always say that scent has a strong connection to memory and a fondness you have never known breathes life into your lungs. It smells like autumn, bitter winds and pumpkin spice. Sandalwood, a hint of cinnamon apple and…

“Komaeda?”

His eyes turn to you, his face tight with nervousness.

“Are you okay?”

He giggles nervously, the sound echoing in the empty classroom, “Oh, me? I’m fine! My concern is what will happen to you if someone walks in and sees us like this.”

When Komaeda says like this , he means sitting together on the windowsill. Not exactly scandalous, but his own perpetual self-loathing has morphed it into something downright sinful.

There’s a brisk wind dancing through the autumn leaves outside the window. Red and orange trapezing through the sky. Komaeda has a thick green scarf wrapped around his neck and his nose is turning pink in the cold. He looks adorable.

Your mouth pulls into a firm line and you clutch your hands together in your lap, “You know i'm not trying to hide you from anyone, right?”

“And that is very kind of you. I’m sure no one would judge you poorly for hiding our relationship.” He smiles warmly, “I am human garbage, after all.”

“Komaeda, I want to tell people.” You say, rotating in place to face him more directly, “You think i confessed my feelings for you six times as a joke?”

“I did consider that at first, but the more i think about it…” He averts his eyes, cheeks turning a little pink, “It does seem like your feelings are...genuine. No matter how misguided.”

You huff and leap up from the windowsill, facing Komaeda with your hands on your hips, “You want proof that i'm not ashamed of you? Fine. I’ll do it!”

“Huh?” Komaeda breathes, “You’ll do what ?”

It is with great purpose that you cross the room over to the blackboard. Grabbing a stick of chalk and writing in big looping letters, Nagito Komaeda and I are DATING , underneath you sign it with your name. You are not about to let this be misconstrued. Komaeda is more important to you than the opinions of your classmates, you are willing to let Saionji tease you for months to come if it means he understands just how much you care. You gesture at the blackboard, “Do you get it now?”

He’s just staring at you, one hand cupped over his mouth, eyes glimmering with the beginnings of tears, and something much warmer underneath, “But...but class is going to start again in 10 minutes and everyone will-”

You cut him off, walking back over to the windowsill and cupping his face in both of your hands. Brushing an errant tear away with your thumb, you smile, “I know . That’s kind of the point.”

He gives you a watery smile, reaching his hand up to interlock his fingers with yours where they rest on your cheek. He is shaking, but it's a good kind of nervous, you can feel it behind his eyes, “I don’t deserve you…”

You laugh and press your lips to his tear stained cheek, “Yes you do.”

Then, almost as quickly as it began. The memory fades, behind Komaeda’s head you watch the sun set and rise over and over, faster and faster. Yellow, orange, blue and then purple keeps crossing Komaeda’s face like someone is tipping over a bucket of paint. He’s still smiling up at you, a hopeful expression frozen in time and you realise with horror that you can no longer feel his skin under your hands.

“No…” you whisper, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair only to find it intangible. A sob cuts loose from your throat.

“A good memory.” A voice says from behind you. That boy who looks like Hinata is standing in the doorway. His hair seems longer and darker, the tips are kissing his jawline. You’d almost forgotten he existed, “I decided it best to start simple. Your mind would not have handled something more intense.”

The sun is still rotating outside the window, light cascading through the classroom and then fading into darkness every few seconds. Like a subway train passing by a station.

“Is this the future?” You ask, voice wavering.

“No. It is the past.” He doesn't give you the time to ask anymore questions, though he can tell that you want to, “The next memory will be difficult. I will not ask if you are ready, because you will not be.”

[cheeriecherry]

Space Between [8/9] [Aizawa Shouta x Reader x Yamada Hizashi]

EraserMic x f!Reader

Part 8/9

Warnings: mentions of panic attacks, some fluff, no beta we die like men

It’s dark. So dark that you can’t see your hand in front of your face, or your breath in the air as it heaves from your lungs. The cold is all encompassing, and the damp chills your bones and makes them ache.

Where are you?

Water drips from a leaking pipe somewhere off to the side. You feel like you should know the place, but the name escapes you. A basement? A warehouse?

Where are you?

“Tell me who you work for boy, and who you brought with you.”

You whip towards the sound of the voice, a shiver crawling down your spine. You’d know that cruel, grating lilt anywhere...but if she was here, did that mean you were…? No, you couldn’t be back there. It was too dark, too silent, to empty…

“I’m not working for anyone! I’m loyal to-”

A slap cracks in the quiet, cutting sharp into your ears. You take a hesitant step towards the flurry of sound, then another, and soon you’re sprinting through the darkness.

A little piece of you knows you’re not getting anywhere.

“I’ll give you one more chance, hero scum. Give me the name of your partner, and I’ll let you live.”

Your foot catches on something unseen, and you topple forwards, colliding heavy with the wet ground. Your palms sting against the grainy floor, and your breathing is thick and laboured.

You look up to try and something, anything, in the pitch black.

“I...don’t...have one…”

You gasp and fling yourself away from the sudden and intrusive gurgling voice in your ear. So close, but so broken and distorted. You squeeze your eyes shut and fold your hands over your ears in preparation. You know what happens next. You know, and you don’t want to see, don’t want to hear it. Not again.

Just give her my name, you beg silently, wishing more than anything that the outcome of the situation would be different this time. Just give her my name!

A gun cocks, loud and violating, despite your covered ears.

A cold, violent laugh.

“Then you die alone.”

You gasp awake to the sound of a gunshot ringing in your mind. You’re covered in a cool sheen of sweat, trembling like an earthquake. You glance frantically around the room, looking for any signs of danger, and only when you find none does your heart begin to slow. You sit up.

Outside the window, the sky is lightening. The sun hasn’t risen yet, leaving the dawn greenish and undisturbed.

Shouta appears in the doorway, and you regard each other silently. He clearly hadn’t expected you to be awake at this hour, but everything in your panicked expression tells him why you are. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, half-dressed.

“Nightmare?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. Still, you nod weakly.

“You were talking in your sleep,” he says quietly, as unthreatening as he can manage, “in English. Something about your name.”

That’s all it takes for you to burst out crying, tears exploding forth and pained wails breaking from your chest. Shouta moves towards you slowly and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug.

“My name,” you weep, leaning heavily against him, “why didn’t the stupid kid just give her my name?!”

Your boyfriend rubs soothing circles into your back, not truly knowing how to answer you.

“She made him give everything else! Why wouldn’t he give my name?! I was right there! I could have helped! I could have fought! He’d still be alive-”

You cry harder into his shirt, and remain tucked in Shouta’s embrace for several minutes. Your sobs eventually turn to snotty sniffles, though neither of you pay any mind to the mess you’re making on his shirt.

“He...he didn’t even give me the option to try and save him. If my cover had been blown, then I…”

“Would probably be dead, too.” Shouta’s voice is low and pained, as if merely speaking the words caused him distress.

You peek up at him through wet lashes. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says, “Up until a few days ago, you were in no shape to fight Akuma and win. If you’d stood up back then, your partner would still be dead, and you’d be beside him, and every bastard you’ve put behind bars would still be out there.”

“But how do you know?” your voice crackles, fresh tears springing up. “How do you know I couldn’t have saved him?”

“How do you know you could have?”

You’re both quiet for several beats, before you sigh deeply and set your head back on his shoulder.

“I...don’t.”

You stay like that for another couple minutes, listening closely to the beat of his heart and the steady thrum of his breathing. And once your anxiety begins to settle, you start to squirm.

“You’re gonna be late for work, Sho.”

He pushes the hair off your face, and lays a tender kiss on your forehead. “The kids will understand.”

You grumble a little, and offer him a tired smile. “Thank you. But really, I think I’m okay now. It’s easier getting through this when you or Hizashi are around.”

Shouta looks like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he knows coddling you will only make you mad. You’ve come far enough, trusting him to see you during a vulnerable moment. He wasn’t going to push it further.

“Promise you’ll call me if you start feeling less okay.”

You roll your eyes lightheartedly. “Yes, dad.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. Me or Hizashi. We’ll talk with you through whatever’s causing you problems.”

You avert your gaze from his, inklings of guilt creeping into your heart. “You’re not my therapists,” you tell him softly, “You shouldn’t have to talk me through anything. It’s not your job to deal with all my fucked up shit.”

“But we do love you.” He reaches down and takes your face in his hands, thumbs gently stroking over your damp cheeks. “We’ll support you however you need, no matter what. We want to be there for you, okay?”

You lean into his touch for a couple seconds, letting your eyes fall shut.

“Alright,” you relent, “if something happens, I’ll call one of you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He leans forward and kisses you, then stands to continue dressing. You watch him as he moves around the room, collecting his various accessories and pouches, pointing things out to him whenever he can’t find it.

He’s out of the house a few minutes later, leaving you with a warm goodbye and a tight hug. Hizashi had gone even earlier, which now left you completely alone in the house.

It seemed more spacious than it usually did, now that you’re on your own. No background din of partners moving around, no sounds of quiet conversation, or television music. Your chest dully aches as you flop back onto the bed and pull the blankets over your body.

You didn’t particularly want to go back to sleep, but you could feel the tiredness still in your limbs, and the heaviness behind your eyes. On top of that, your therapist had suggested you try some breathing exercises when trying to fall asleep, and you’d yet to try them out. Even if you didn’t pass back out, it might still be enough to allow you to lay there with your eyes shut.

Lo and behold, not thirty seconds after you start measuring your breaths, you begin to drift off.

----

The next time you wake, it’s nearly one in the afternoon. You feel surprisingly rested with the extra couple of hours, but you’re even more amazed with the lack of recurring nightmares. Plain, decent rests were few and far between.

Feeling revived, you’re able to look at your earlier dream more logically. It’s obvious now that your past is still haunting you, and that you’re even further stressed about the events to come. Your confrontation with Akuma is less than a week away, and you can finally see how much it’s weighing on you.

You’ve been trying your best to remain optimistic, to prepare yourself mentally for the oncoming fight, but you’re just so...tired. All the time. Exhausted down to your very core. You know that therapy will help you in the long run, and that’s what you’re planning for, but you know it’ll be months until you start feeling the affects.

You might not even have months left to live.

You sigh deeply, wishing your negative thoughts would leave you alone. Your phone sits on the bedside table beside you, silently taunting you. You could call one of your boyfriends...but did this count as a stressful time; dealing with the very hard truth?

Probably not.

And you don’t want to feel like a burden, like you need help with every tiny thing.

You could get through this on your own, you decide. You had an appointment in three hours, so if you could make it that long, you’d be okay.

But...maybe you’d leave a little earlier than usual. Getting out of the house would probably be good for you, so maybe you’d stop to get a coffee before your session...

Your heart warms at the thought of a warm drink and a snack, so you roll out of bed and start going about your day. No more moping around, you tell yourself. You were going to hold your head high, and hope your mood gets the memo.

----

It’s a nice afternoon for a walk. Not too hot, not too cold, sunny with white fluffy clouds dotted around, and a light breeze. You sip at the drink in your hand, letting the sweet taste soothe you from the inside out. You weren’t entirely sure whereabouts you were, having been wandering the city aimlessly for the past half hour.

Oddly enough, it didn’t bother you. Most often, you liked to know your exact location, to know which way you could run if you needed to. But today, despite your earlier panic, you feel...good. Light. You can’t describe the sudden onslaught of positivity, but you know it’s there. Maybe because Shouta and Hizashi are just a phonecall away, maybe it’s because you’re taking the time to care for yourself, maybe it’s-

You nearly jump out of your skin when a car alarm starts blaring beside you. Anyone around you would probably chuckle at your actions, and you take a second to smile at yourself.

A shop owner must have seen your distress, because he nods apologetically at you as he rushes out of his store to turn the alarm off. He looks tired and spread thin, not unlike your own reflection, and you pause momentarily to watch him walk back into the shop.

You glance over the flyers pasted to the windows, and an odd tremor crawls up your spine.

You try for a moment to chalk it up to your regular anxiety returning, flaring up from your spook a few moments ago...but something in the back of your mind tells you otherwise, some intricately honed survival sense that you’d obtained from years of being under threat.

You look a little closer at the papers in the window.

Most of them are outdated; old advertisements for food deals and community events, images of a couple lost pets. But there’s one sheet at the very center of the mess that catches your eye.

The paper is so pink it’s nearly blinding in the sunlight, but you’re still able to read the details. A charity event at the shop where it’s posted, one day only, when proceeds from every order will be donated to local food banks.

Usually something like that would have you scribbling the date down to participate...but this one freezes your heart to ice and sends another peculiar tremble through your body.

It’s dated for next week. The very day Akuma is meant to attack.

You skitter back a few steps and look up at the store’s sign, fear beginning to roil around in your gut.

Chicken shop. Cartoon chicken mascot.

This is wrong, you think. She’s not meant to attack until next week.

You hurry along from the shop, nearly running as you try to get out of the immediate area. You cut and dive around various slower-paced people, paying them no mind as they scold you for your rudeness.

But no matter how quickly you run, you can’t shake the feeling of impending danger.

You duck into a small nook beside a larger building, a building you’re fairly certain is the radio station from Oracle’s vision, and pull out your phone.

You feel so stupid, while the phone rings and you wait for Shouta to pick up. Oracle has said they couldn’t confirm the date for sure, but you’d pitted everything on them being right. They’d even warned you to be careful about where you go, until the event happened, but you hadn’t listened.

“Shit,” your curse, when you get put through to your boyfriend’s voicemail, bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other.

“Shouta, listen to me,” you tell the recording, “We got the date wrong. I was stupid. I wasn’t careful enough, and I’m downtown. I don’t think this is my mind playing tricks on me, not this time. It feels different. I think Akuma-”

Your breath freezes in your lungs when something cold and pliable wraps around your throat, and a warm body presses against your back. You try to squirm away, but more icy tar wraps around your extremities, holding you in place.

“Hello, little mouse,” Akuma coos, sickly sweet in your ear, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Your phone falls out of your hand, landing on the sidewalk with a wet splat. It feels disgusting as Akuma’s tendrils wire and snake around your body, soaking through your clothes and into your skin. Your vision is already beginning to fade, and your breath is laboured as the air is choked out of your lungs.

“Your little partner resisted his death, but I have a feeling you won’t make the same mistake.”

The final thought you have is one of Shouta and Hizashi, holding you close with warmth and affection.

Then the world goes black.

[gossamer-sky]

Can I ask for B, C and D for Arthur, Isaac and Mozart pretty please? 🖤

Of course! 💖

Arthur

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- The size difference between your hands and his always sends a little thrill through him

- Even just twining your fingers together will put a smile on his face

- Often brushes kisses over the back of your hand or your palm

- Looks down and smiles so so soft and gets a little red over it

- You die inside omg

- He can’t help it, he just loves you

- Also loves the way he can make you scream with just his fingers and there’s the Arthur we all know and love

- When you drag your nails down his back in the heat of the moment, it never fails to make him shudder and groan

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- The man has no sense of propriety and will put his fingers to good use at the worst times

- Very often when you’re supposed to be working, or when you’re positive he didn’t lock the door behind him

- He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest though; will just give you an assured grin and slide his fingers under your waistband

- You’ll try hard to continue with...whatever you were doing before, but he’s a bastard and knows exactly where to touch you

- Rubs you from behind as you hang your head and moan

- When you come, he shoves his fingers inside to feel your body spasming

- After, he licks them clean and hums with satisfaction

- Winks before sauntering off

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- Listen, he’s a lot of things but pure is not one of them

- You occupy all of his waking and sleeping thoughts and he strokes himself imagining what it would be like to touch you every night

- So he chooses an obvious spot to jerk off, knowing there’s a chance you’ll walk in on him

- He settles in, and then puts on a show

- Quickly gets riled up, heat rising rapidly as he imagines you

- He hears footsteps approach the open doorway and then just stop, the sweet scent of your blood confirming your identity

- His eyes are closed but he can feel you watching; the thought too overwhelming and all at once he comes

- Groan wrenched from his throat, louder than he intended

- Not loud enough to cover your answering moan though

- When he opens his eyes you’ve already rushed away to your bedroom, but he grins to himself anyway

Isaac

B = Body part

- The hollow under your ear is his favourite spot on you

- You sigh gently whenever he brushes his nose there, filling him with such adoration that he thinks his chest might burst

- It’s a lovely spot to hide his burning cheeks as well

- If he stays there for long enough, you’ll reach up to stoke his hair he could die a happy man right then

- He likes his hips, likes watching your fingers spread across his pelvic bones when you go down on him

- Or after sex, you tend to stroke that area and it makes him shiver

- (Deep down the real reason is because of how he makes you cry his name out when he pounds you the way you like, so loud that every resident of the mansion hears it)

C = Cum

- Holy shit he gets so shy about this

- Eyes fly open wide when he sees his come on you for the first time

- When he eats you out, his face glistens; he loves it but is dying inside oh my god he’s so flushed

- If you really want to make his head explode, lick along his jaw when your slick is still all over his face

- Then give him a dirty kiss

- “I want to taste myself in your mouth”

- Wowowow he maybe nearly comes in his pants over that

D = Dirty secret

- Obsessed with coming inside you

- Like, more than is actually appropriate and he’s so embarrassed by it

- Unfortunately for him, you’re both mid-fuck when this secret makes itself known

- Your head is thrown back, chest heaving and his heart is already in his throat watching you bounce on him

- You gasp out, “I can’t wait to feel you dripping out of me, Isaac”

- Oh shit

- He’s gone

- Literally instantly comes, and you’re a little shocked at first?

- His face flares so red that you’re actually worried for a moment

- Buries his face in his hands and won’t come out until you convince him that you like it too, you wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t want it

- Then you grind against him until he’s ready to go again

- You drag his hand down so he can feel his come sliding down your thighs

- Proceeds to add more to the mess

Mozart

B = Body part

- He likes and dislikes his eyes

- Thinks they give him an ethereal glow

- He doesn’t love that they’re so emotive, but he’s trained himself quite well; he’s very sure that he only gives off a frightening aura now

- He’s lying to himself

- You like his eyes too, because of how they show his feelings

- It’s difficult to suss out at first, but once you learn to translate his sharp words with the truth his eyes project

- Then it quickly becomes your favourite thing to tease him and watch how the windows to his soul betray his mouth

- You fuck with intense eye contact, and can tell he’s going to fall apart before he actually does just from the look in those violet depths

C = Cum

- Is in near constant disbelief at how eagerly you drink him down

- Did not expect that

- Is so shocked the first time you do it that he just watches you for long moments in absolute astonishment

- Before reaching down to press his thumb on your lower lip

- He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and it takes a few minutes longer for his tongue to start forming piercing words

- You simply smirk; knowing you’ve shocked him and relishing in it, blurting out

- “Yum”

- He actually blushes damn it

D = Dirty secret

- Yes, he has jerked off at the piano

- No, he will not ever talk about it

- He was maybe a lot a little drunk

- And riding the high of finishing a work that he actually felt proud of

- It’s ridiculous but the keys were so smooth under his fingertips and before he knew it he was reaching down

- It’s over fast, in an unsteady blur

- He comes on the floor between his shoes, panting like he’s run a marathon

- Cheek pressed to the cool ivory

- He’s fucking mortified about it tbh, but it was so good

ABC list/rules here

Already requested character/letters here

Request here