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meowsgirldrawing · 10 months

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4 Times Solas laughed, Only one time was Fake-

Solas x Male Lavellan

Word Count- 2,977

AO3 Link

Fen’Harel huffed, shuffling closer toward the warmth nearby. His brows furrowed when it decided to move even further away. When two more inches were covered, he finally opened his eyes, forming a rather sleepy glare.

Balin’s smug smirk is what greeted him. “Comfy, vehnan?”

“No actually. Can’t imagine why, however.”

“No? Well then-” Balin hauls himself off the cushioned sleep roll, ducking his head as his hands pull and tug his long hair into a bun. “Too bad, I suppose.” Fen’s tongue lets off a soft click, pressing his cheek into the blanket. He’s not a coward to admit how his eyes slide along the other man’s arms, to his back, and itching further down. His lips shift, a hidden smile along the fabric. For a rogue, those extra training sessions have done an absolute wonder to his love’s already beautiful body-mind quote from yours truly, Fen’Harel.

“Must be too hard to get up..” Balin’s biceps glow as he reaches down and plucks up his tunic, “And join me for some..” He pauses, dragging the shirt down- Fen feels a part of him whine at the loss-

“Yes?” Fen’s position is quickly adjusted, his upper half being lifted by his propped arms.

“Breakfast!” Balin beams at him.

“Just breakfast?”

“Maybe some training too.”

Fen’Harel turns perplexed, he’s faking. Balin’s smirk is never faltering.. “But you’re a blade wielder, and I, a mage?”

Balin shrugs, “Better late than never to practice not getting hit.”

“Ass.”

“I do love yours, yes.”

Fen’s head tosses backward in a groan, “I should’ve said something better.”

“You getting up soon?” Balin’s tossing on his leather.

“No.”

“Suppose you’ll miss the wash-”

Fen hops to it, yanking off the blanket and scurrying up and at ‘em. “On it.”

Balin’s head jerks back in a ringing laugh, shining amusement as his lover scrambles to grab his clothes with the same amount of speed he’s seen on their camping nights near battlefields. His laughter turns harder as the deemed ‘Dread Wolf’ even trips at one point when tugging on his breeches. Fen joins in soon after, almost bumping into him in his hurry.

Mythal didn’t question at all thankfully why Fen’s hair was still a mess when they finally showed up to their morning greetings. Possibly had to do with the large grins on both faces and how the few times they glanced at each other, Fen kept having to stifle his chuckles while Balin bit back his usual smirk in exchange for a more polite one.

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“ Enchanters remind

That time will not unwind.

The dragon's crooked -”

“Fen!”

Said unfortunate owner of that name, glances up, quirking a brow. If he must, he’s grumpily curious about his intruder.

Only no one's there. His forced curiosity turns into a confused glare.

His head swivels around, facing left and right for the person.

“Up here, ya iggit!”

Oh.

His fellow elf prowls in the trees above, hand curled into a steady branch as her legs brace on it’s side. “OI! Get up here, damn it!”

“And why should I do that exactly?” Despite this, his book is marked and set down.

“Balin’s trainin’ the new recruits!”

“And?”

“Thought you'd enjoy the view.”

The book is quickly tossed aside, albeit gently and with care. The elf wishes to see his lover, yes, but not at the impulsive expense of his favorite tales.

And with such grace and watchful actions for those around him or those who can see him, Fen grabs hold of the first branch and soon another, then another. And soon he’s clambered up to the top, pulling himself up to the same one as his comrade.

The blonde elf with such flamboyant braids along her hairline, huffs a lock out of her face before grinning a wide one, “Looksie! The small lad right there?”

“The one in possession of that odd crossbow?” Fen’s head offers a slight tilt, and raised his brow.

She sneakily giggles, patting his arm and nodding, “He’s a wild one! I like him and I’ve only been see'n for a min, y’know? He’s been a loudmouth, callin’ his skills ta be the best ta spar wit and honestly a near ass.”

“And why do you like him exactly?” He thought she detested such people. Ironic considering her outward characteristics but nevertheless; she even took him as a close friend simply because he was just a little more opposite in comparison. Probably helps her even out, knowingly or not.

“Maybe 'cause he’s been the only one wit the gal ta step up towards Buddy down there.”

As if a demonstration was needed, the younger elf throws himself into a stance, putting his crossbow down for the first time for knives instead. Balin only raises an idle brow and his mouth moves.

It’s too far to tell what they’re saying to one another but judging by the dark look that overtakes the youngling’s face, Balin probably said something off.

Or at least damaged his ego.

The young one snarls then shoots forward, blades spinning. Balin grows a deep frown and heavily braces his shield up. They clash with a jarring thud and the smaller elf nearly stumbles, even more so when Balin doesn’t hold back his thrusted arm forward.

Fen watches, completely amused. Balin’s always known not to go entirely easy on trainees, his main goal to keep them ready for anything in the moment. Afterall, no true enemy would go easy, no matter the gender, size, or anything most see as vulnerable. The vulnerability serves only for a weapon for them to grasp. Balin’s hope is to turn that weapon around for the origin’s use.

Soon, but thankfully not quickly enough, Balin brings down the recruit in a swift two-time swing, one that startled the kid and the next that actually knocked the poor boy down.

Both Fen and his friend wince at the thud; the girl beside him purses in a low whistle, “Poor noggin.”

A small thought agrees with her.

It takes longer than usual but about an hour or two later, the session ends and the group disperses. Trainees either run off to continue what Balin has taught, grab a quick snack by the lake nearby from the nice ‘baker’, or - and quite shamefully he might add- slinker off to gather any wounded pride after being wacked down in front of literally everyone in the area’s vicinity. Ahem- the crossbow wielder.

Perhaps he should keep to the odd contraption instead, Fen’s eyes wander back from the youngin’s moving backside.

As Fen’s ready to slip off the tree, preferably to greet his coming love, his friend bats at his arm, grabbing and tugging him to stay.

She’s giggling at his confusion.

The same confusion that is quickly wadded off as she leans closely in, whispering to his ear like a powerful incantation because the same grin she wears appears, more faintly, on his lips a moment later.

Balin’s shoving in his dagger where it belongs, the sheathe on the side of his ribs, when a familiar friend with blonde locks lands in front of him. He jerks back, seconds away from pulling the same dagger back out.

“Ello, Ball!” The sweet elf cries.

“S-”

“Hear me out, yeah? I got sum funne for ya!” She promises, arms crossed innocently behind her back. Balin sees her grin.

His eyes squint sharply, but reluctantly, he drawls, “ What?” He’s already looking at all corners of his eyes. For what? He’s not certain. For him? He’s damn certain.

She goes giggling through, “Okay-okay-okay! So-” A pitched on, “What do you call pointy and falling?”

His face turns into something, telling anyone that he’s used to this, “..I don’t know. A rock?”

“Noooo!” Her grin is still on.

“A pinecone?”

“Hmm..Nope!” Popping on the ‘p’.

“Someone you posed above me and waiting for the third answer so they can drop down and tackle me?”

“.....Nooooo.”

“Then what?”

“A tree?” She says but it comes out a suggestion then answer. Balin crosses his arms, “Is that the answer or is it-?

“An elf!”

And an elf is what he gets coming down on him from the top left.

So not exactly from a tree branch, but from a large boulder as the mountainside provides.

He gets tackled harshly to the ground, arms wrapping around tightly and yanking them both into a roll down the small hill he just came from.

He groans, tucking out his chin as the other is chuckling and wiggling like a snake against him. As Fen's laughter grows, Balin can just barely hear a high-pitched cackle meters behind them and above.

“I thought..” A rock under his shoulder, ouch, “you were the reasonable one..”

He’s not serious in his statement, not at all.

“Reasonable, yes.” Fen’s eyes twinkle with shared mischief, before sitting up properly, straddling the taller one, “ Does not contradict any and all fun, however.”

Balin scoffs, running his hands down on his hips, “Fun in tackling me?”

“Fun in tackling you, yes.”

“Monster.”

“Don’t you know it.” A flash of a grin and Fen leans down, pressing an unusually giddy kiss on his lips. His dreads leak down, seeming to melt into the splayed out, auburn hair on the ground.

Both promptly ignore the forced gagging noises nearby.

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“Vehnan? Are you alright?”

It takes a bit for Fen to respond. The glow of the candle hanging at the top of their bed dances on the walls, adding more burly to Balin’s large shadow. Stretching the shirt over his head, Balin pauses in his adjusting, worryingly expectantly at him.

Fen opens his mouth, pauses, then closes and nods.

The auburn elf doesn’t buy it, not for a second. His sigh is audible, coming close and kneeling on the fabric’s end, “Ir abelas, but I don’t believe you. Not when your brow is so deep right now.”

Fen’s eyes are blank at the ceiling, brows clearly worrying.

“Tell me?” Balin’s feeble but wanting suggestion.

Fen’s eyes darted, flying to his face. Balin stares back with a slight frown, such soft eyes. A deep brown color he can know from miles away if he so had to. There's a tinge of purple haze in them, but the more warm part keeps it at a tinge.

Would he look at him the same? If he knew what he was planning?

“There’s…” Something I want to tell- yes , “There was a grim sight we came across today at our hunt.”

“The one with S-”

“Yes.”

Narrowed eyes happen, but he relents, “There was?”

“Two wolves, mauled by a rather larger one. We found it ravaging through one of the bodies, like it didn’t even care. Or as if it were so hungry, it just-”

“Became a beast to it’s companions?”

“Maybe. Neither situation seems better. Either it was a friend and took out them out in the midst of it’s hunger, or it came across two peacefully going by their natural lives and tore it from them.”

Balin’s body is a comfort beside him. He ignores the unsettling tingling down his back as he leans up and settles into his brown clothing. The other’s arm comes around his shoulders, a kiss to his unpinned hair.

“The sight must have been real grim to have upset you this much.”

More like the simple thought, “I took longer to sleep last night, my head was more vulnerable.”

“Emotional?” He can feel the smirk across his forehead.

Fen sighs, it’s playful, “Perhaps. I could be overthinking too.”

“And that’s more than alright, love. Some of us have those days, don’t think any less.”

Oh, always Balin, ridding of thoughts like that before they become true.

If only it helped with his actual dilemma. But then again, Fen’ Harel knows very well no words can soothe any thought of his in actuality.

He forces his shoulders to relax, “Yes…I take it you have it some days?”

“Remember that one time I got all teary eyed over that bird?”

“The one with the near mustache?”

“Yes, that one.”

“You called it a beautiful specimen, I think I remember that especially after our friend’s kick of an elbow she has.”

Balin's chest rumbles fast, a laugh pouring out, causing him to smile. He buries further.

“ I promise,” Remembering to breathe evenly, “ I promise I’ll always adore you more than a ‘beautiful specimen’ bird.”

“Oh good, “ He drawls, “It is such a dower to be challenged by a bird of all things.”

“Okay, I’m an elf but not that elfy.”

Fen perks up, then slowly drags a finger over his sharp ears, “Really now?”

“Fen, you need to get better comebacks. Pointing only gets you so far.”

“Pointing helps with many things, I assure you.”

“Mhm..” His eyes are like a minx’s. “Like what?” Nearly coos Balin.

“Directions, learning, reading-”

“Those two can be the same-”

“Problem solving-”

“How?”

Fen shrugs, “Making yourself look smarter?” For emphasis, his finger lifts a bit and wags.

Balin scoffs, beating out an airy chuckle. Fen smirks, “And showing off the most significant things, like monuments, crystals of sorts, castles-”

“When are you going to just be in the middle of nowhere, then find an abandoned castle and point at it?”

“You never know, love, possibilities and futures are endless…just like abandoned castle finding.”

“So you bet you could find us an abandoned castle one day?”

Fen purses his lips quickly, tilting his head sidely at his love, “Who suggested it would be for us?”

“Oh,” His brows are comically risen, “ My apologies, I didn’t know you wanted to be alone forever after! My greatest mistake, my lord!”

It’s only all the willpower he has left that keeps his face from growing sullen, making it just soft instead. His hands glide to the spot between Balin’s shoulders and upper chest, inching up.

‘Never.’ Is what he also says, right before leaning in and connecting with his sweet vehnan.

‘Never’ is what he thinks about an hour or two later, laid across the slowly rising and falling chest as he hears snores from above. His eyes looking but not really seeing the strewn-out clothes on the floor.

His nose buries into Balin’s chest, forcing for sleep. ‘Never’

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As Solas takes out the brush, red paint drips until he carefully taps it on the bowl’s edge. He turns, swiftly finding the spot he was working on and sets to it.

Painting has always been a rather favorite of his since his unexpected joining of the Inquisition. While Dorian has his seemingly endless books, Vivienne has her extravagant clothing and designs, Estel has her growing journal collection by the months, the fourth main mage of their dubbed- ‘inner circle’ had greatly prided himself like the others in his founding hobby.

Enough so that when he heard the tower’s doors nearly smack open and voices flooding through, he felt a spike of annoyance at the mis-streak of work.

Splendid, He huffs through his nose, pulling out the scraper.

“Yo! Solas!”

Ah yes, the Inquisitor. Despite her outlandish personality it seems, she does pull through to be a formidable leader in most regards (besides when coming in unannounced.)

He and the other elf don’t necessarily argue, one would say, just clearly have different views on certain matters.

She calls them frenemies, a shroud attempt at labeling

He calls them companions. On the battlefield.

Bellatrix comes in, and he can’t stop the raised brow at her companion in tow. She beams her usual, “Hey, mage-boy! I gotta introduce ya to someone!”

Solas bites back a remark about her technically being a mage too, and turns to her friend.

He’s a young elf himself, fairly tall but if he would be compared to Solas, probably reaches to his nose. Long auburn hair and tan-ish skin that both honestly gives him faint reminders of Estel.

On top of that, he wears a similar outfit to those he’s seen the dalish wear- elvish patterns and symbols, lots of green and brown. Travel gear. Hm.

The younger man is gazing around the room, an easy smile on his lips as Bellatrix does the talking first.

Solas opens his mouth, introduction-

Their eyes connect.

The feeling of his eyes widening, just makes the scenario feel more real.

A deep brown color he can know from miles away if he so had to. There's a tinge of purple haze in them, but the more warm part keeps it at a tinge.

Would he look at him the same? If he knew what he was planning?

“Solas,” Bella raises a brow but continues to clap a hand on the auburn’s shoulder, “This is Estel and mine’s brother, Bailey. He and our other brother, Pippin have promised their-”

But those eyes stayed the same exact color. His face is similar too, though softer from new genetics. He used to be more angle-like, more sharp on the cheekbones. And while he’s clearly a man, they’re just a wee bit softer now.

Bailey.

Balin.

Solas blinks and he’s back to the present.

Bellatrix regards him a boring stare; Bailey tilts his head, softer in his appearance with that easy smile.

“Solas?” God, does the user of that name have to hide his gulp. Bailey’s little laugh rings in his ears, along with his own heartbeat. Rapid. “My sisters have done well in tales of you. Rest assured, all good ones. It’s a rather honor to meet you, actually.”

No. It shouldn’t be.

Solas breathes, offering a chuckle back. His mind hesitates but his body doesn’t when taking the offered handshake, “Yes.”

Bal- Bailey’s grin grows at his smile.

“But truly, it’s an honor to meet our great Inquisitor’s sibling, is it not?” Finishes Solas.

Clearly can’t help it, Bailey chortles as Bellatrix mutters about Solas being a curse.

#lavellan x solas #bi solas #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #Male lavellan x Solas #oc x canon #Oc inserts #Inquisitor Bellatrix #Bellatrix Cirdan #Bailey Lavellan #fen'harel #Dragon age Solas is an egg #A sad eggy #dragon age fanfic

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cowboys-of-tombstone · 2 years

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☆ Next >

Tombstone, Arizona, the silver crowned jewel of the rugged West. This was in a time when mechanical innovation and high fashion clashed with moral decay and what some would describe as tenacious grit. A place where saints and sinners alike could plant their roots in their eternal struggle for survival. Some of the most thriving sinners in this untamed land were from the criminal gang, The Cowboys, and their leader, Curly Bill Brocius. When the late sun was warm and the breeze was gentle, Curly Bill and his posse of equally lethargic outlaws sat on the outside of one of the local establishments. The townsfolk marched everywhere and nowhere, much like ants scuttling across a carcass. As he wiped the sweat that lightly misted his brow, Billy and Ike Clanton arrived with a bunch of beers in their arms. “Just in time.” sighed Frank Stilwell, the first to nab a glass from the brothers. Drinks were passed all around to the half dozen cowboys. “Here’s to some relief in this hellhole.” Tom McLaury cheered while clinking glasses with those close by. “Ain’t that the truth.” Curly Bill agreed, wiping beer from his stauche. The day had gone by much like any other. A few shootouts up and down the main street and a few bar fights blowing up into murders, the usual. There was never a dull moment in Tombstone, except for those who have already seen it all. Billowing smoke pulsed from Frank McLaury’s cigar with his face buried in the Tombstone Epitaph. “Huh. Some poor bastard in Tucson got his train robbed the other night. They think it was a solo job, ‘cause only a couple of gold bars were stolen. But they still don’t know how the slippery son of a bitch even got in.” “Maybe we should take a trip to Tucson and help ourselves to the rest of the train, it's gotta beat what we're doing here." Curly Bill stretched in his chair. “Don’t think so, boss.” Frank shook his head, "Place is crawling with police now that the train’s been compromised." “Well, shit. There goes that, I guess.” Curly Bill figured as such, but damn, was he craving for some fun. Even if it was just a wild goose chase. “Hey! Professor Gillman’s gonna be at The Birdcage in a bit. Why don’t we go see him catch stuff?” Barnes suggested, having already guzzled down his beverage. The group turned to Curly Bill who shrugged and simply said, “Eh, why the hell not?” Truly, they all knew that the cheap entertainment would not cure them of their depressive boredom, but it was better than sitting around and moping about it. The Cowboys rose from their chairs, some gracing the ground with a hearty spit, and began their march. Townsfolk stepped aside in the presence of the pack of jackals. Unblinking stares showered them even if they had no intent for trouble. Some of The Cowboys, such as Billy and Ike, returned the sneers in kind and watched as some averted their gaze. Curly Bill, on the other hand, relished the attention and threw winks and waves lazily. That is until he noticed someone in the crowd facing away from them. Normally, the thought wouldn’t even occur to him, but that person, a woman, caught his sight from her long strawberry blonde hair. A slight breeze blew through the curls, emphasizing their wild wavy nature. She wore a denim blue jumpsuit with bell bottoms that hugged comfortably around her frame. The woman faced their direction, appearing to be lost from the constant turning of her head. Her front revealed that her jumpsuit was unbuttoned halfway to her midsection. Underneath, a blood red blouse complemented her large cherry amber eyes. The wind picked up and she held her cream colored hat with her matching leather gloves as she pulled along a platinum blonde stallion to her next destination. Curly Bill shifted his mustache to one side, curious about the peculiar woman. He wasn’t the only one, as Billy then hollered, “Hey there, gingersnap! You lost or something?” The crowd of onlookers shifted their attention to the lone woman, and she sequentially turned towards the gang. The rest of the boys fell in the trend, and began to whistle and howl. Although the woman was looking in their direction, it seemed rather that she was looking past them before silently pulling her horse away and continuing on. Billy bared his teeth in a snarled smile, readying to catch up with the woman. Suddenly, Curly Bill wrapped his arm around Billy’s chest, “Aw, let her go, son. There'll be plenty of birds at the theater who’d love to sing for ya.” Content with their boss’s optimism, The Cowboys pushed on their way without much further fuss. All the while Curly Bill looked back one more time, only to find the woman and her horse had escaped his view. As expected, Professor Gillman and his performance was less than stellar and was quickly made to dance out of terror of his feet being shot. Disappointingly, The Cowboys left the theater, soon after, out of disgust. “Way to go Barnes!” snipped Tom McLaury, shoving Barnes harshly into the others. Soon the rest joined in and pushed Barnes into a circle and batted him with their hats. “Hey, c’mon fellas! It was just a suggestion!” Barnes pleaded, trying to regain his balance. “Well, if I’m gonna waste some money, it’s gonna be from gambling. You comin’, Ike?” Billy asked, taking a few steps towards one of the many bars surrounding them. “Maybe in a bit, Bill and Ringo wanna stretch their legs and I reckon I’ll join ‘em.” “Suit yourself, what about you, Stilwell?” “Nah, me and the McLaury’s are fixin’ to smoke for a bit with that geezer from Shanghai.” Curly Bill stepped forward and suggested, “Why don’t you just take Barnes and see if you two can win us all a refund? We’ll all catch up with you in a little bit.” With that, the boys went their separate ways while Curly Bill, Johnny Ringo, and Ike set off to see what kind of trouble they could get into. It didn’t take long, however, when a loud pop erupted from one of the establishments. A man floundered out of the building’s batwing doors, gulping for air as he clenched his crimson stained shirt. Another younger man followed, scrambling to the injured one’s side. Last to emerge was the same strawberry blonde woman from earlier, with two pistols drawn. The folks who had been meandering in front of the bar scattered for cover. Curly Bill crossed his arms, waiting for the drama to unfold. He tilted his head to Johnny and whispered, “Who do ya got money on, Juanito?” Johnny rolled his eyes and replied, “The winner, I’d guess.” Curly Bill tsked and nudged Johnny’s elbow, all the while Ike watched somewhat crouched, eyes widened, and mouth slightly agape. The woman carefully kept her sights on both men as the younger of them hissed, “You filthy, cheating bitch!” Suddenly, he reached for his holster, but before he could even draw his gun, the woman blasted both of her pistols; sending him to his knees, then the ground. Hanging on by a single thread of life, the older man feebly reached for his own weapon, and was swiftly met with the same fate as his companion. “What a woman!” gasped Ike, running his fingers through his beard. No sooner after the shoot out ended that ol’ Marshall Fred White waddled onto the scene, pistol at the ready. A crowd began to form around them, obscuring the view for the three cowboys. “I suppose that’s that, then.” Johnny Ringo shrugged. “Yeah, she seems like a good time though.” Curly Bill noted, leading the three away from the scene. “Yeah she does! Did ya see that head shot?!” Ike asked, imitating the woman’s duel wielding posture. “I wonder what’s a woman like her doing around here. You don’t see someone like her all too often.” Johnny Ringo contemplated. “Probably for the same reason as everyone else, to get a piece of this town, that is. But I agree with you, Juanito,” Curly Bill scratched his scalp, “Ya can’t help but wonder what someone like her is all about.” Further intrigue crept into Curly Bill’s mind. This mystery woman was already easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. But to know that she could handle herself the way she did, had his mind ticking away like a swiss watch. “And she was mighty purdy too, I wonder if she smells like good perfume?” Ike mumbled to himself, splashing some water from his canteen onto his face. Johnny’s composure was only lost by the quick dart of his eyes to Ike and then back to what was in front of him. Curly on the other hand, sufficed with a simple, “Shut up, Ike.” Their walk had only just begun, and yet, the shock of the shootout had jump started some liveliness into their spirits. “I’m feeling all red-blooded now, boys,” Curly Bill concluded as he patted his sides, “What say we go and find us some action.” Ike and Ringo nodded in agreement as the trio began to bar hop throughout the main street, having enough bravado between them to fuel a rampaging elephant. Yet, no one was willing to return in kind. Each bar they went to left them with the same disappointing outcome. Normally, the respect and compliance from the rest of the town would have been precisely how they like it, and yet, even a single ounce of push back would’ve been just what the doctor ordered. Before they knew it, the sun had already made its last call. Begrudgingly, their journey eventually landed them back to where Billy and Barnes were currently gambling away their funds. “I don’t know why Bill likes to go to The Oriental.” Johnny Ringo grumbled as the group stalked near the entrance. “That knuckle dragger, Johnny Tyler, makes the joint deader than a funeral home.” “Maybe that’s how Bill likes it.” Ike shrugged, stepping towards the establishment, “I like all the extra space it gives. I don’t need someone breathing down my neck while I’m playing cards.” Inside The Oriental was just as barren as Johnny predicted, to no surprise. The marble statues, brass finish and floral décor was wasted on the presence of the low end, sloppy, sweaty, foul-mouthed dealer and the menagerie that orbited around him. Even Billy and Barnes, dusted as they were from the desert sands, were out of place next to the slobbish boars that sat around them. “Howdy, Milt!” Curly Bill called to The Oriental’s owner and operator. “Evening, Mr. Brocius.” Milt Joyce nodded with a welcoming smile, “What can I get ya?” “I’m just gonna be at the faro table with my boys, we’ll see in a bit.” Curly Bill walked up behind Billy and Barnes and gave them both pats on the shoulder. A sense of stillness and unease washed over the other patrons, despite the supposed friendly demeanor of The Cowboys. “Say, you guys finally made it!” Billy remarked, peeking over his shoulder. “Yeah, a shootout cut our walk short, and none of the bars were quenching our thirst. So we thought we’d drop in and see how you two were doing to help Barnes pay us all back.” Barnes slightly shook his head, “We’ve been breaking about even so far. Not been all that lucky.” “Well, keep at it!” Curly Bill chuckled as he slapped them both on the back. “Hey, Johnny Tyler, set me up for the next round. At this rate they ain’t ever gonna get my money's back!” Ike said as he shoved another patron out of a chair. “Y-yes, sir.” Johnny Tyler stuttered, his usual bravado shot, “Would anybody else wanna join?” Always the hot shot, Johnny Tyler had the appearance and temperament of a bulldog. Rumor had it, he ran a lesser gang in Tombstone. But even he was wise to the fact that his pack was outclassed by The Cowboys in every sense of the word. In their presence, Johnny Tyler made sure that his barks and other overbearing acts were mummed. Johnny Ringo and Curly Bill looked to each other with knowing grins. “Why, Johnny, thank you kindly for the invitation!” Curly Bill answered, pulling up a chair. Things turned around and slowly they began winning their money back. Cigar smoke crept through the room, like the spirit of a serpent, billowing and coiling around the faro table. Despite this, Johnny Tyler showed saintly restraint with his throat scorched and his eyes on the verge of tears. “Hey, Mr. Tyler, are you feelin’ alright?” Barnes asked with heavy smoked breath seeping between the cracks of his bobcat grin. “I-I might have to head home soon, fellas. You'll wanna grab another table in a minute.” Johnny Tyler swallowed the heave back down his mouth. The group laughed and continued to blow noxious rings in his face. Just when Johnny Tyler might’ve been ready to pass out, the front doors swung open. Rhythmic clicking of boots echoed on the hard wooden floor, turning all eyes towards the source. “Good evening, Miss. What can I get for ya?” Milt waved. “Just get me a beer, I’m parched.” It was none other than the strawberry blonde woman, much to the surprise of The Cowboys. Johnny Ringo leaned over to Curly Bill and whispered, “Guess she got off, huh?” Barnes interjected, “From what?” “Ya shoulda seen it, Barnes.” Ike butted in, “She gunned down a couple of fellas down the street for callin’ her a cheater. It was something else!” The woman sauntered over to the bar, leaning on it while Milt served her a beer. Billy contemplated talking to her again, Curly Bill stood in preparation to approach her, as Ike floored it over to her side. “Excuse me!” Ike called out. The woman turned her attention and found Ike unblinkingly staring inches from her face, “I saw what’cha did earlier to those fellas you banged up. I was just wonderin’, ma’am, are you married?” Curly Bill grabbed the back of Ike’s shirt collar and hauled him off, shouting, “Get the hell out of here, Ike!” before sending him off with a kick in the rear. Ike waddled over to the faro table while Barnes and Billy barely contained their laughter. “Oh, shut the hell up, the both of ya!” Ike sneered as he flopped down on an empty chair. “Don’t mind him, we all thought you handled yourself pretty well out there. So what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” Curly Bill probed as he leaned onto the counter. “After you win ten hands in a row at poker, you start to seem a little suspicious to others. Those two men were no different, one swung at me and I shot him. He fell outside and, well, I’m sure you saw the rest.” the woman explained with a warm smile as she gingerly sipped her beer. “And what about Ol’ Fred? What kinda trouble did he put you through?” “You mean the marshal? He didn’t give me no trouble at all. There were more than a few folks who backed up my story. So he let me go without any skin off my back.” The woman continued as she turned to face Curly Bill with one hand holding her chin. “I figured as such, but the real question is, did you actually cheat?” Curly Bill smugly asked as he raised his brows. The woman laughed then tightly smiled, “That’s not part of the story, stranger.” “Then how about we start with your name then, Miss?” Curly Bill leaned in a little closer. “Suzette McCreed, it’s a pleasure, Mr…?” “Curly Bill Brocius. It is a pleasure indeed.” Curly Bill agreed, taking her hand and pecking it. “The leader of The Cowboys graces my presence? If I had known, I would’ve gotten all dolled up just for the occasion.” Suzette said coyly with half lidded eyes. “No need, Ms. McCreed. You look lovely as is.” Curly Bill retorted, earning a cheeky smile with a half cocked brow. “But I must ask, what’s a lady like you doing here?” “Ah, straight to the point, Mr. Brocius?” “Please, call me Curly Bill.” “Of course, Curly Bill. Well, I just got finished with a job back in Tucson. I’m only here to recuperate for a couple of days before I head out.” “And what is your profession?” Suzette briefly scanned the bar before leaning in, “If I may be honest, it wasn’t a wholly professional one.” “Oh?” “Yes, I… take things that people tend to miss, and when they do, I'll be long gone by then.” “I understand now, we come from similar business backgrounds.” “That's a good way to put it.” “So who do you run with, then?” “No one at all. Except for me.” Suzette admitted, downing the last of her glass. Curly Bill titled his head and his smile dropped, “Is that so? How have you been handling yourself?” Suzette leaned into her shoulder with a sly gleam in her eye, “I haven't stolen from The Queen of Britain, but a girl can handle herself well enough.” Curly Bill began to rub his hands together. The Cowboys were always looking for new members and one who was easy on the eyes and an accomplished criminal was always a net bonus. He shifted his gaze towards Suzette and flicked his tongue through his smile, “We could use someone like you. In The Cowboys, we work together to bring in the big haul and we wouldn't mind sharing with ya.” “Do you always offer memberships this quickly?” Suzette softly asked. Curly Bill responded, all the while catching glances of her figure, “Your… attributes aren't something I want to pass up on.” “Ahh, I see.” Suzette couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing full well what the brazen scoundrel was looking for, “Thank you for the offer. But I think I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t know what I'd do if I’m surrounded by handsome men, like yourself, all the time.” She tossed a wink and a smile his way, and rose from her seat. A few crumpled dollars fell onto the bar counter before Suzette made her way out the door. Dang nabbit! It was as if a one-of-a-kind treasure slipped through Curly Bill's fingers. However, he recalled that Suzette had mentioned staying in town for a few days. That might just give him enough time to find a way to convince her to stay. And just maybe, he could also convince her to be a Cowboy… amongst other things. Curly Bill clapped his hands together and felt the blood rush through them. His mind was hard at work scheming a way to meet his ends. Shooting himself off of the bar, he waved to the boys, hollering, “I’m gonna head out, boys. Gonna drop by and see if I can pay the ol’ Chinese geezer a visit for a smoke. I’ll catch up with you all tomorrow!” Out into the moonlight, Curly Bill swayed to a beat in anticipation. It had been a while since he had his mind on a single woman in particular, but he couldn’t help but feel it was with good reason.

Speedpaint Video:

youtube

I wanted to do something with ol’ Curly Bill, since there was no material out there for him. xP I hope you guys enjoy the story as much as I did writing and making the art for it.

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willowwhispersspeakeasy · 2 years

Note

Can I request something horribly, terribly lewd?

Pillowfort and Pillowfight headcanons!

(the, the lewd part was a joke)

but yeah-

May I requuuuust: Leona, Floyd, Rook and Idia?

>:V thank you

twst! pillow fort battle

characters: Leona Kingscholar, Floyd Leech, Rook Hunt, Idia Shroud

warnings: gender neutral mc, fluff

Leona

I mean he won't help you build the fort, but he'll nap with you inside. its a nice little cave all tucked away and he can just drag you inside like his freshly caught prey~

the beastman growled as you tried to wriggle away once again. he placed a hand over your face like the lazy feline he is, only to be met with your teeth on his hand.

it worked to make him let you go, and you giggled scrambling away from him.

"oi herbivore-" he was cut off by a pillow hitting him squarely in the face. you burst out laughing as the beastman slowly removed the pillow, shooting you a glare.

your laughter was cut off by a pillow on the back of your head, causing you to fall forwards into Leona's chest. he growled, locking his arms around you.

"no fair!" you whined. Leona let our a pleased purring sound.

"shut up." he may sound harsh but his hands rubbing up and down your back had you melting into the beastman's chest.

Floyd

hes either gunna not help at all or turn into a wild crazy architect over it. either way its probably gunna be pretty big with lots of blankets and pillows inside. the softest ones he could find.

Floyd was currently wrapped up in a merman burrito. he seemed quite pleased, cocooned in the soft blankets.

you giggled, looking down at the young man as he curled his head onto your lap. his hair fine with a slightly waxy texture, and the young man sighed in contentment when you began playing with his hair.

"damn Shrimpy, this is nice." he cooed, curling his frame around your lap. you pondered for a moment if he missed his merform, and that was why he seemed to want to curl around you like a snake.

"we should go swimming next time." you purr, watching Floyd's eyes light up in excitement.

"oh yeah! that'll be a great second date~" he grins. you pause where you were playing with the mans hair.

"...date?" your confusion was cut off when sharp teeth met the skin of your thigh. "hey!" you yelped in surprise, reaching for the first thing available to arm yourself.

a pillow made contact with Floyd's laughing face, stunning him and tossing him off your lap.

"ooh you wanna fight lil shrimp~"

big mistake.

Rook

ooh lala~ what an adorable idea! hes happy to help you build a fort, and a glorious fort is shall be! Rook is likely to make the front part a little peek window between two cushions, letting him observe any passers by. but the back half is grand like a circus tent or a castle, offering you plenty of space to spread out and relax.

you had begun drifting off into a nap, when a gentle hand slid under your neck. he lifted your head and replaced a pillow down, letting you rest like a doted on royal.

"you musn't fall asleep on the ground Trickster, it will strain your neck." his scolding is soft and playful as you turn and blink your sleepy eyes at the blonde man.

"...okay." you mumble. he coos over you, placing another blanket over you and ushering you to rest. you close your eyes to pretend to nap, but instead you wait.

Rook turns back to the front, watching to see if anyone approaches or wanders past your hidden fort.

moving as quietly as you can you raise yourself and take the pillow he had placed under your head, drawing your arm back you launched it towards Rook.

at such close range, he still managed to duck away in time. rolling sideways you let out a squeal when a pillow made contact with your back, throwing you forwards.

"ah the sting of betrayal!" cried Rook before you arm yourself once more and pounce.

Idia

I mean, he at first said no. after some convincing from Ortho Idia finally agreed. every spare blanket and pillow in Ignihyde had been procured, and a whole room turned into one giant blanket fort.

everything was fine, until you mentioned going to get a snack. Ortho offered to go in your stead since he would be quicker.

now you and Idia were alone, and the housewarden was collapsing in on himself, like he wished the blankets would portal him to another dimension.

you sighed, deciding enough was enough.

"hey Idia," his head shot up at the sound of his name, only to be pet with a flying pillow.

"h-hey!" he scrambles. you grin, rearming yourself again.

"roll for initiative, mother fucker!"

"this isn't dnd-" another pillow hit Idia, this time on his shoulder. he snarls and rips it out of your hands. "fine."

you yelp in glee as a pillow makes contact with your back, a mischievous grin overtaking the young man.

Ortho returns to see the pair of you locked in heated combat. he quickly over powers you both, sending pillows flying at your heads at immense speed.

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uwusenpaiuwu · 3 years

Text

Sleepovers At The Baji Household feat. A Fed-Up Chifuyu

Summary: Chifuyu just wants to sleep, man, but Baji wants to be a jealous crackhead at 2 AM.

Pairing: Sano Manjiro | Mikey x Male Reader

Note(s): I had a little free time and wrote this. So, please enjoy! ALSO, to the anon that sent me a request a few days ago, I saw it and have it filed on my to-do list!!! I will definitely get to it as soon as I get a break in my schedule :)

"Chifuyu, ya wanna see some real discrimination?"

No. No, Chifuyu does not want to see what Baji means by 'real discrimination.'

Does he tell him that, though?

Yes, actually, because it's 2 in the fucking morning and, as much as he respects the other boy, he wouldn't put it past himself to smother him with a pillow after having his dream of cuddling with a sea of puppies suddenly destroyed.

Unfortunately for his sanity, Baji either doesn't hear him or, more likely than not, doesn't give a fuck, because he's already flopping onto his belly and whipping out his phone to do God knows what.

The dial tone that sounds from the speaker a few seconds later makes Chifuyu cringe, especially since it's only ever been a calm silence fit for a good night's sleep prior to Baji bulldozing through it with his absurd question. (At the very least, he's thankful that the latter has half a mind to keep the brightness on the lowest setting, otherwise, Chifuyu would have had to fight.)

On the far end of the row of carefully-laid futons, you shift in your sleep, eyebrows furrowing together at the noise. Rotating onto your side, you unconsciously reach for Baji, and just when he thinks you're being cute and trying to cuddle him, you smack him in the head.

Baji doesn't flinch, instead, takes his pillow and shoves it in your grasp to keep your unconscious self occupied, so that he can focus on getting through to the person who reuses to pick up (understandably so).

Releasing a frustrated groan after being redirected to voice mail for the fifth time, he dials the number again, muttering an impatient, "Pick up already."

Chifuyu feels sorry for the poor soul on the other end. He would've blocked someone following the first call, because again, it's-

The blond has to squint his eyes up at the digital clock on Baji's nightstand, which confirms that it's already 2:22 A.M, further solidifying the fact that he shouldn't be awake right now. And this also applies to the ever persistent first division captain, who insists on bothering who Chifuyu soon discovers is Mikey from the contact ID that flashes across the screen.

Why Baji is so keen on bothering him is a question he doesn't have the mental capacity to ponder over. The most energy he'll expend is to listen in when the call miraculously connects.

"What...?" comes a muffled voice from the receiver, tone laced in an irked grogginess birthed from a slumber rudely interrupted.

There's an absurdly loud, almost angry, roar of Mikey's name, one that has Chifuyu curling in on himself in a futile attempt to escape a sound that should be illegal at this hour.

But you know what else should be illegal?

The fucking whiplash Chifuyu gets when Baji's deep voice takes an abrupt 180°, switching from its normal gruffness to a squeaky, ear-piercing shrill as he screams, "I love you, love you, love you! Do you love me, too, Mikey-kyun~♡?!"

The room is dead silent.

Not a word. Not a murmur. Not a breath.

Just pure, unadulterated silence as both Chifuyu and Mikey process the words that hang in the air, permeating it with a goosebumps-inducing eeriness from having heard such a...a girly, overtly cutesy screech from Baji.

Then-

"What the fuck? He hung on me!"

Chifuyu opens his mouth, thinks better of reacting to the cursed scene he had the misfortune of bearing witness to, and promptly closes it.

Other people may have sleep paralysis demons.

But Chifuyu?

Chifuyu has Baji.

With both hands partially raised in prayer, he begs for the shenanigans to be over and done with.

They are not.

While his eyes remain closed in a last ditch effort to convince himself that it's all a bad dream, he hears a lot of grumbling happening on your side of the room, courtesy of Baji, who's scrambling around in search of...something. One quick peek reveals him fiddling with a phone - yours, to be exact, as evidenced by the distinctive phone charm of your favorite anime character hanging from it.

"(Y/n), wake up for a second," he hears him whisper. It takes a bit of prompting, until he's able to successfully rouse you enough from sleep to elicit any kind of response, which is, essentially, nothing short of an incoherent, slurred mess. Although, Chifuyu is pretty damn certain he heard you call Baji a 'dickhead' for the trouble.

Unperturbed, he continues shaking your limp form, coaxing you into wakefulness with, "Repeat what I tell you, and I'll let you go back to asleep. Deal?"

You squint your eyes at him, only able to make out a vague outline of his visage in the lightless room. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die," he automatically responds with the same phrase he's become accustomed to saying whenever you two made a promise, something done purely out of habit, formed when the two of you were just kids and he wanted to get you to do something absolutely ridiculous either for him or with him. And just 'cause he knows you're more susceptible to complying if he does it, he also interlocks his pinky with yours.

"...Fine."

The approval is his cue to proceed, and it's as he's putting the phone on speaker that he turns back to a regretfully wide awake Chifuyu, mouthing a wordless, 'Watch.'

The phone rings, loud and clear, precisely once and only once.

"(Y/n), what's wrong?" It's important to note that even though Mikey still sounds tired as hell, his tone is much lighter, much happier really, than when it was Baji, which is an offense in itself to the said teen that's off to the side, attentively listening to the conversation unfold.

Then, it strikes Chifuyu, what Baji is trying to do, and fuck does it give him an instant headache.

Meanwhile, your mouth morphs into the dopiest of smiles with the pleasant surprise of hearing your boyfriend's voice, chest instantly overtaken by a warm fuzziness that never fails to make an appearance whenever he's involved. Sappy, you know, but it's true!

A light but firm nudge to your shoulder reminds you of your mission. It's too bad that, teetering along the edge of sleep as you are, the words Baji whispers are barely repeated correctly.

The initial phrase from before, the one Baji greeted Mikey with, is shortened to a simple, "You wuv I...?"

But, without missing a beat, you receive Mikey's confident reply of, "Mhm... I wuv you a lot."

There's a sleepy giggle then - a fucking giggle - before your voices drop to sweet whispers that the third and fourth wheels can't fully comprehend from where they are.

"Where the fuck was my 'I wuv you,' huh?!" Baji whisper-shouts, considerate of your conversation even when ranting and raving. "Shit, I would've taken a simple 'I love you,' too! I've known that bastard way longer than (Y/n), and this is what I get?!"

Okay. Toman's president answers his boyfriend's late night calls faster than he does anyone else's and openly expresses his love for him. So what? Chifuyu wouldn't exactly call it 'discrimination,' per se. 'Favoritism,' maybe if you wanna stretch it, but using as strong a word as discrimination, especially taking into account you two are dating; it's normal? Nah.

"You wanna say 'bye' to them? Mm. Baji and Chifuyu." A pause. "Fuyu, Mikey says 'bye.'"

"Bye, Mikey-kun."

The other person in the room waits, and waits, and waits, and when it's clear that there is no intention to address his presence whatsoever, Baji turns to Chifuyu with an almost scandalized expression, making wild gesticulations with his hands, clearly distressed. "See?!"

Blank blue eyes stare back at him, unblinking. Honestly, it's a common occurrence - Baji spiraling in a nonsensical rage - so it's easy for Chifuyu to block out the muted, jealousy-driven temper tantrum as he takes his pillow in both hands, raises it as high as he can, and-

Sigh.

-lets it flop right back onto his face.

He can't suffocate Baji. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Couldn't. After all, they're best buds, meaning he has an obligation to put up with shit like this once in a while. (Plus, he'd probably get his ass kicked before he succeeds anyway. Totally not worth the beating.)

"Did you hear? Mikey said he wuvs me," he hears you drawl dreamily as soon as you hang up, sounding very close to clocking back out for the night.

"Yeah, yeah. Cute shit. Happy for ya, dude," Baji huffs. Thankfully, he sounds like he's in a similar state to yours, if the yawn that follows his sarcastic comment is anything to go by.

"...He soooo ignored you."

That warrants a punishing punch to the arm, dulled only slightly by the combination of the thick quilt you're swaddled in and the raven-haired boy's fatigue.

"I'll fucking throw you out right now, (Y/n). Don't test me."

"You won't."

"I will."

"Won't."

"Will."

The conversation gradually dies down shortly after, the exhaustion that took its sweet time getting to both of you having reached its peak with the help of the childish bickering. It takes 10 minutes, maybe 15, before two sets of light snores fill the room.

Finally.

Let it be known that there is a lesson to be learned from tonight's events. Really, there is. Y'know, something along the lines of 'Don't agree to a sleepover with Baji, if you plan on actually sleeping,' or whatever.

Alas, Chifuyu's consciousness fades before he realizes what it is.

~~~

"Mikey, be honest. Who do you love more? Me or-?"

"(Y/n)."

"But-"

(Y/n)."

"I-"

"(Y/n)."

Baji is only momentarily discouraged, sharp eyes glaring at the blond that lays his head on your lap after hi-fiving you. He didn't want to do this, but he's left with no choice.

"(Y/n) or Babu?"

From the way Mikey stiffens up, refusing to look at either him or you in the eyes, Baji knows he has him right where he wants him, has him torn between a cute face or a sweet ride.

"Oi! Don't pretend to be asleep! Answer the damn question! OI!"

(After hours of serious contemplation - even though you told him it doesn't particularly matter - it's revealed that, of course, Mikey loves you more. Babu just happens to trail behind as a very close second.)

#mikey x male reader #mikey x reader #sano manjiro x male reader #sano manjiro x reader #sano manjirou x male reader #sano manjirou x reader #sano manjiro #sano manjirou #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x reader #baji keisuke #chifuyu matsuno

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izkaya · 3 years

Text

fuwa-fuwa. (kid!bkdk)

A first kiss is an awfully important thing.

At least, that’s what Izuku Midoriya’s always been raised to hear. First kisses were meant to be given to the people that you loved. They were meant to be something you measure, give away at your discretion with very heavy importance. They say your first kiss is something that should be remembered for the rest of your life.

“Pah!” the blonde boy next to Izuku exclaims with indignation and a fair amount of self-importance for any four year old to possess. “That’s wrong! My momma says that kisses can be just for the people you like.”

“But Kacchan… isn’t that the same thing?” the other boy wonders aloud.

“No, you idiot.” Katsuki grumbles. “You can only love a few people in the world! ‘Like’ is one step below that. I love my dad, but I only like my mom.”

“Oh...” Deku says, plain and simple. “So then you can give your first kiss to anyone you like?”

The boy sitting beside him under the large apple tree behind their school nods. “I think it’s stupid that all the other kids keep worryin’ ‘bout it. What’s so special about squishin’ your faces together? It looks gross, so maybe that’s why you should only give it to someone you think deserves it.”

For a moment, both of them are quiet. The fresh spring air runs its windy fingers through Deku’s wild curls, and they settle their backs into the rough bark of the tree. Parents and their kids meander on the soft grass beneath their feet as school ends for the week. A dragonfly lands on Katsuki’s bright blue backpack while the boy in question looks at the sunset in the distance.

“Well…” the freckled boy begins. “Kacchan’s the best, so I think I’ll give Kacchan my first kiss.”

The other boy splutters. “Huh?! Why?! Did ya not hear anythin’ I just said?”

“I did! You said that Aunt Miichan said to give it to people you like, an’ I like you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend!”

Katsuki growls and pushes Deku’s face away from him, all bark and no bite. He flushes a very pretty red and ignores the weird fluttery feeling in his belly. “Stupid Deku! That’s not how it works!”

“Eh?” Deku exclaims, still trying to scoot over to the blond boy. Small, warm, and freckled hands make their way to pull at his shirt. “But Kacchan deserves it! I like and love Kacchan!”

“Yeah, but not like that, moron!”

Izuku halts, pulling his hands back and returning to his seated position from earlier on the grass in front of his friend. A small part of Katsuki’s brain misses the way his fingers gently brush against his hair, but he quickly tamps it down. “Does Kacchan not want to kiss me..?”

Green eyes begin to water and stupid, little Deku looks away with a small pout. The little boy stands up, and Katsuki’s heart makes those weird thump-thump-thump noises that only ever happen when the green-haired boy does something stupid. He vaguely recalls his dad describing the sensation as fuwa-fuwa, especially whenever his mom presses gross lovey-dovey smooches to his stubbly cheek.

Yeah, Deku made him feel pretty damn fuwa-fuwa.

“N-no…” he stutters out, eventually. “Stupid nerd! It’s not like kissing is hard or anything!”

The damn crybaby’s face instantly lights up. “So Kacchan kiss?”

Katsuki is stubborn. He’s a hard-headed little toddler, and more than a handful for both of his parents. It hasn’t been that long since he started school either, but teachers have already told him plenty of times that he has quite the mouth and ego on him. Still, that iron-resolve crumbles in the face of watery, bright green eyes.

He grumbles, brushing grass off of his light blue shorts to also stand up because like hell was he ever going to be looking up to that annoying idiot. “Fine… Just don’t--oomf!”

A quick and sudden weight presses down on his lips mid-sentence, a small chu! and child-like screeches pealing off into the cool wind of spring. Katsuki blinks once, twice, before registering the bashful but mischievous way Deku giggles at him with his hands behind his back innocently. That was…

That was Katsuki’s first kiss! And he didn’t even initiate it!

Not one to be outdone, he grabs the strap of Izuku’s overalls and pulls him closer, planting a loud smack of his lips against the boy’s freckled cheek. By the time he was pulling away, Katsuki had realized what he’d done and scrambled back with a stifled “eep!” and flushed cheeks. He puts a hand over his mouth and glares at Deku.

The other boy has a hand pressed to his cheek and a wide-eyed stare aimed right at Katsuki’s red ones. He snorts once, before breaking into a bout of giggles, squeaking laughter shaking something loose and new in the blond boy’s little rugrat heart. Unable to control the feeling that creeps up in his chest (damn Katsuki’s papa and that stupid fuwa-fuwa!)--he brings Deku into a headlock and playfully wrestles him as they soak in the light of their happy childhoods.

“Dumb Deku! That’s why you have to warn people first!”

Little Kacchan didn’t have to say it--but they both knew that out of everyone, Deku was the only one who deserved to have his first kiss too.

#bakudeku #bkdk #deku #dynamight #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #midoriya izuku #kacchan #katsudeku #decchan #dkbk #dekubaku #bkdk drabble #izk's writing

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harrysgloves · 3 years

Text

Three to tango

story summary: You, Harry, and Florence have a good time in your makeup trailer.

warnings: Language // THIS IS P*RN WITH LIKE ZERO PLOT // Threesome // w|w // spitting // oral (female receiving) // i have no idea what a production company is so don't come for me.

a/n: Brushing off the metaphorical cobwebs and finally getting back into writing! Woo-hoo! Ending could have been better but... meh. Also, I'm posting from mobile. If it looks weird, blame Tumblr ✌😍

REQUESTED: by @iwannaholdyoutight- and @hazgoldenstyles

And also by all these people... sorry it took so long.. 😁

>>><<<

"Stop movin'." You grumbled for the millionth time that morning. Your focus on covering up all these damn tattoos that you loved had become one of the worst things you had to do almost every morning.

"It tickles." He whined as the makeup brush ran over the inside of his arm. He instantly flinched away from the brush the moment it glided against a particularly sensitive spot.

"Harry!" You groaned, your eyes closed in frustration when he shot you the most adorable puppy eyes.

"'M sorry, kitten." He cooed, his lower lip pouted out when you sighed loudly, grabby hands tried to enclose around your waist before you smacked them away.

"H, I gotta get this done or you're gonna miss set time."

"Wanna kiss." Those big green eyes flashed up to you from his spot in your makeup chair and you knew there was no way you could say no.

"One kiss." You clarified, knowing damn well he'd use kissing you as a distraction from being tickled again.

He nodded eagerly before leaning slightly up to your level. Your eyes narrowed, still not sure you could trust that he wasn't going to divert your attention but his lips.

God, his fucking lips.

They looked so memorizing. The light sheen of chapstick he'd applied earlier was still lingering across the plush pink cushions. His tongue wetting them, taunting you to come closer, and it worked.

You were so naive to think he wouldn't do this.

You squeaked as his hands gripped the fleshy curve of your hips. His lips twitched up into a smile against your own when he pulled you forward onto his lap as quickly as he could.

You knew you should have tried to protest a bit more. You should have attempted to keep him on track but when his thigh pressed against your clothed core, you knew you were done for. His tongue licked into your mouth as his hand got a firm grip on the round flesh of your ass.

"I see what you two do in here." That sweet voice floated through the thickening air in your makeup trailer as she opened the door. Your eyes lazily blinked open to see your smug boyfriend smile wide across his face.

Whatever snarky come back that was sitting on the tip of your tongue was quickly choked down to the back of your throat when you looked up to see her wearing that.

Who knew a robe could turn you on so much?

"Damn." Harry finally commented after your not so subtle shifting of your hips against his thigh. Now he completely understood why you'd suddenly gone silent.

"Shut up." She mumbled under her breath. Her cheeks flamed red from your shameless stares.

"You look great, baby." You smiled brightly, your hand extended out for her to take. "Mhm." Harry's quick agreement had both you and Flor rolling your eyes, but a small smile formed at the corner of her lips.

"Wait til you see what he's got to wear." She smiled brightly, her silky soft hand wrapped tightly in yours as she walked towards the both of you.

"Better hurry up then," you practically jumped off Harry's lap, his lust filled eyes quickly turned fearfully as your eager hands reached for your set of brushes. "Hold him down for me."

"Gonna pay for this later, sweetheart." Harry grumbled as Florence's hand held down his arm.

"Sort of counting on that, Harold. Now, be a good boy and hold still."

>>>

The rest of your day had been absolute torture. Your core ached, your underwear were beyond ruined, and you couldn't wait another minute for the both of them to finally be off set.

Instead, the both of them casually took their time, leisurely hanging around to talk to other cast and crew while you were basically jumping out of your skin to get them back into the privacy of your trailer.

After 30 minutes of them both shooting you sweet smiles and well disguised sultry eyes, you'd had enough. Your feet carried you as quickly across the lot to your haven, your fist clenched in your hand almost as tightly as your core.

You were dripping and the both of them knew you were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourself.

It started out innocent enough, Harry's tattoos needed to be touched-up about a million times with the edge of his suit rubbing away the makeup there. You had been practically drooling over the both of them all day but when he saw your legs tighten together, he could help but lay it on thick. His hand rested on the small of your back as he circled around you, nose pressed almost completely against your ear as he whispered a raspy thank you.

Florence was just as bad and she wasn't ever the instigator out of the three of you. She couldn't help it when she heard a soft whimper leave your lips when she brushed a few hairs off your forehead when you were redoing her makeup after lunch.

She smiled sweetly, too sweetly, before those plush lips pressed tightly against your own. Her hand laced around your jaw to pull you tighter into her kiss.

She pulled away from you before you were even close to being done. "Only fair that I get to makeout with you in this chair if Harry gets to do it all the time."

You felt like you could combust from how turned on you were and you were done waiting for them to do something about it.

You practically slammed the door to your trailer behind you, making sure to lock it before laying yourself out across your couch that sat in the corner of your room.

If they weren't going to do something about it, you would. Your hands fumbled around with the pesky pants that covered your legs, until you were finally free enough to touch where you needed.

The sigh of relief, shuddering feeling that ran through your body from the contact you were craving only lasted a moment before you heard a metal key fumbling around with the locks on your door.

"Couldn't wait for us?" Harry chuckled, his keys to your trailer thrown on your table top.

"You two were taking forever!" You glared at him through your open legs.

"Told you she couldn't wait any longer." Florence giggled as she pushed her way past Harry. Her hands on her hips but a smile danced on the corner of her lips.

"Are you two going to help me here or?" You were cocky, impatient, and your fingers weren't anywhere near as good as theirs was.

"Might just watch." Harry shrugged with a smug smile as he plopped down on the end of the couch. The furniture was barely big enough for the three of you to sit normally. His hands moved your legs to lay over top of his own. Your eyes could have shot daggers through him as he loosened his tie, his legs spread wide enough that your hand bumped his thigh with every slow circle around your clit.

"Baby." You whined, your pleading eyes flashing towards Flor. Who was already wearing nothing but a smile, her robe abandoned on the floor, and if you weren't so insanely turned on you would have turned to stick your tongue out to Harry. Gloating that at least one of them was nice enough to help you.

Having sex with them always seemed to be frenzied, blurs of quick paced moments that seemed to fly by.

Her thighs rested on either side of you as Harry peeled away the drenched lacy fabric between your legs.

Her tongue dominating your own as she pulled down your top enough to free your breast. Her hands pinching and kneading across them as your back arched further off the couch.

You could hear Harry mumbling out a slur of curses, followed by the sound of his zipper. Your legs were bumped up and down in time with his strokes along his swollen cock.

"Soaking my leg, kitten." He groaned at the sight of your cunt soaking the thin material of his brown suit.

"Thought you were just gonna watch." Florence chuckled, her perfectly pouty lips swollen from how hard she'd been kissing you. The edges of them barely touching your own as she talked to Harry.

"Was gonna but she's so fuckin' wet, Flor." His voice was deeper than usual, gravelly, slow, "Bet I could jus'...."

Your jaw fell open, your back arched off the couch when his fingers filled you. A wild moan ripped from your lungs when he curled them just right.

You could already feel the cord tightening in your lower stomach. You had been so wound up all day long from looking at them you were practically ready to snap within seconds.

"Awe, poor thing's already about to cum." Florence cooed, her hand around the back of your neck, teasing your jaw with the edge of her nose.

You always loved hated how well they could read you. How their teasing words made your face burn and your pussy flood with need.

When she was harshly shifted down further into your chest, her own sweet sounding moan falling from her lips, you couldn't help your own snide remark, "who's the one going to cum too quickly now?"

She probably would have snapped right back at you but she couldn't utter out anything more than whimpers. You knew the feeling, Harry's tongue had a way of doing that, making you both shut up and he had proudly used it on more than one occasion to get you two to stop bickering about dumb stuff.

Your hand laced through her blonde locks, her lips attached to your neck whenever she could control her mouth long enough to kiss your sweet spots. Your nipples peaked at the contact of her breast against your own, Harry's hand still pumped lazily against your sweet spot, his thumb running tight circles around your clit, and while it wasn't enough, you weren't complaining. You weren't ever sure how he managed to focus on eating one of you out while fingering the other when you knew damn well he was about to combust himself.

You knew she was close when her breathing became erratic, her chest heaving against yours. Her whole body shaking as her orgasm washed across her, her panting barely broke when you felt his warm tongue slipping through your folds.

You moaned at the feeling, your hips instantly shifted downwards, craving every bit of contact you could get from him.

You could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers with every thick swipe of his tongue across your clit. Your eyes barely staying open when soft kisses were pressed lazily against your neck.

Such a contrast to the harsh grasp of Harry's free hand digging into your one thigh. His gruts and groans were only muffled by the deafening sound of your soaking core.

Florence perked up her head from your chest, carefully turning herself completely around. Her legs on either side of your head as she draped herself across you to watch Harry at work.

Her sweet honey only inches from your face and fuck did you want a taste. You wet your lips, hands pushing her thighs down but she wouldn't budge.

Your huff of protest was quickly choked down when Harry's tongue ran tight circles around your clit.

"Gonna share?" That sweet voice asking that innocent question about broke you. Your walls clenched tightly trying to not get Harry to stop his fingers from slipping out of you, almost crying when they did anyway.

"Course, baby."

You squeaked, your legs pushed backwards by your thighs, your body almost folded in half.

"Fuck, you got her soaking the couch."

You were suddenly very appreciative about the fact neither one of them could see the embarrassment burning through your face. Your forehead pressed to Florence's leg as you whined, not wanting them to point how just how turned on you were.

You heard two simultaneous shushing sounds before your lower lips were pulled apart, the cool air licked across your slick, only making you whine louder.

When you heard and felt Harry's spilt against your core you thought you were done for. Lip tucked so tightly between your teeth you could taste the faintest hint of metallic against your tongue.

Then the softest kitten lick had you losing your mind, her tongue collecting all of his saliva on your clit before swirling around your entrance.

"Fuck," you cried, your nails digging crest moons into the flesh of Florence's thighs. "please, just fuck me already!"

"Don't think she can take anymore teasing Flor." Harry chuckled, yeah, chuckled, from between your thighs.

"But I was having fun." She pouted, her tongue stopping its mesmerizing movements.

"Can 'ave fun with her after." Harry said as he started to shed the layers of his suit.

"I'm literally right here!" You complained, your huff of annoyance jammed down your throat when Harry pulled up by your legs. Your face now exposed to his smirking, mischief filled eyes.

"We know, baby," he cooed, almost too sweetly, something about the look behind his eyes made your pussy flutter but your mind anxious about how sore you'd be tomorrow. "Ass up for me."

You eagerly nodded your head, trying to roll over in your place before the tsking clicks of his tongue stopped your movements.

"Like this." He said, pulling you off the couch. Your knees on the hard linoleum floor, your elbows resting on the seat of cushion in front of you. Giving Flor just enough space to sit pretty right in front of you.

Your arms instinctively circling around her thighs, pulling her core down to mouth. Her moans filled the small space around you. Vibrating off the walls with an echo.

"Should 'ave done this in 'ere before." Harry mumbled more to himself than to either one of you as his tip teased your entrance. Your hips swayed instantly at the contact, slowly backing up the little bit you could to feel him slip inside of you.

He hissed, his fingers gripped the round flesh of your ass tightly before he surged forward, stuffing you to the brim with his cock.

"I ruin this pussy 'most everyday and you're still so fuckin' tight." He gritted out through his teeth, your walls clenched down around him at his words.

"Guess you're not fucking her good enough then."

Your eyes widened in disbelief belief, disconnecting from her core so your mouth could gape in shock.

Did she hate you being able to walk?

"That so?"

"'S what I said."

"Kitten," You squeaked when you were lifted by your shoulder, your back against Harry's chest. His hands snaked under your shirt just long enough to rip it off. "you can thank Flor tomorrow for why you won't be able to sit."

"She'll probably be thanking me." The blonde rolled her eyes playfully teasing but enjoying the fact she was getting under his skin.

"Need me to stop, just tap my leg," his deep voice husked into your ear. Your hand tapping his leg, showing him you understood, before you were hurled back in front of Florence's core by the back of your head. "good girl, now lick."

You had Harry go hard on you before but when he sheathed himself fully inside of you in one go, you knew you were really going to be in for it.

Your tongue tried to desperately get Flor off as fast as you could, your fingers slamming into her sweet spot, as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You had a hard time knowing where to focus. Her addictive taste or his marksman worthy precision thrusts into your g-spot.

Your body felt like warm liquid was being pumped through your veins. Both of them gripping onto you at different ends, his hips grinding against your ass as he sat balls deep in your pussy. Her hips dragging against your mouth, fucking herself against your face.

The sound of their collective moans slicked through the sticky, sex filled, air around you. Your mind lost in that space of non-thinking as your body moved back and forth between the two of them.

"Gonna cum all over my cock, sweetheart?" Your walls tightened around him as her fingers dug deeper into the back of your head. Her own cord snapping only moments before your own.

The white burning light washing through your body followed by the familiar gush of fullness in your lower tummy.

"Holy shit," Florence breathed out, her arm dropped across her forehead.

"Why haven't we done that here before?" Harry asked through short breaths.

"'S company property." You mumbled against the couch, your head buried into the soft material as your legs gave out to lay on the heaven-like cold floor below you. "We literally just said fuck you to New Line Cinema."

You heard chuckling from either side of you, both of them still slightly out of breath.

"Hope we don't work with them again then."

#harry styles x reader #florence pugh x reader #harry styles x florence pugh x reader #harry styles x you #Florence pugh x you #Florence pugh x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #florence pugh fanfic #florence pugh fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #mine #writing #threes company #three to tango #in the middle

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dark-elf-writes · 11 months

Note

Just imagine a very nice, "calm" Hogwarts around Christmas...

And all the sudden nearly TWO DOZEN Japanese Pro Heroes (plus one first year-aged child?) are breaking into Hogwarts. It is a beautiful mental image, particularly if literally anyone tries to stop Hizashi and/or Shouta from getting to Harry.

Harry looks like a ghost of the child he had been in September.All bright smiles and excited chatter long since stolen from him with only bags under his eyes and head tipped down like he hasn’t done in years left in their wake. The twins and Ron are shooting him worried looks. Percy is seated on his other side speaking with a soft voice as he tries to cajole him into eating something. Anything. The older Weasley has bags under his eyes too. Like he’s been staying up late. Like he’s been dealing with the nightmares. Even a few of the professors shoot them worried looks though none of them try to get closer. They’re vaguely sure the Weasley boys will hex them if they try.

There’s a lot rumble in the stones that almost none of them seem to notice. Like a far off storm. But Harry’s head shoots up, his eyes going wide behind his glasses as he twists at the single table the great hall has been reduced to now that everyone has returned home for the holidays. Nearly tumbling off the bench if Percy and Ron didn’t grab him, steady him.

A second later the doors fly open, and both Weasley’s loose their grip as Harry lunges forward with a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob.

He trips halfway across the room, but strong arms greet him before cold hard stone can. And Harry is crying in truth now as he presses close to the person holding him and chants something like a prayer.

“Yama!”

The blonde who is holding the child hums low enough that the sound is felt and not heard. Still loud enough that the dishes on the table rattle. Their hands are gentle as they comb through Harry’s tangled curls their green eyes, just as bright and damning as Lily’s would have been has she found her child in such s state, narrow at the center of the table. At Dumbledore who has gone a rather interesting shade of gray as he sees the army waiting for him.

A scarred young man stops by Harry and the blonde, putting his body between the two of them and the rest of the room. Embers and frost spread from his feet.

A young woman with purple hair and a scowl on her face not softened by the makeup on her cheeks, stops at the blondes left. A rumbling comes from where her earlobe is plugged into a speaker at her wrist. Quiet for now but full of promise should things turn sour.

A tall hero unlike anyone the wizards have ever seen takes the blonde’s right a host of kneezles and crups and even a few thestrals behind them seemingly awaiting orders.

Protecting Harry. Guarding him from a perceived threat.

It’s Percy who finds his feet and his voice first, tugging his younger brothers up and behind him even as his eyes narrow at a man with wild black curls standing aloft with burning red eyes that hardly even glance in his direction.

“You never wrote back,” the prefect hissed, accusation dripping from each word. “He wrote to all of you and you never wrote back.”

The man didn’t blink. The green haired hero at his side wreathed in green lightning did. Black tender is writhed around their hands as they turned back on the adults at the table.

“You were intercepting his mail?” They growled, voice many and one. At their side the sound of explosions came from a rather angry looking blond.

“Surely there has been a misunderstanding—“ Dumbledore started

The man with the red eyes cut him off, deceptively calm and. Never. Blinking. “Misunderstanding? You kidnapped my son.”

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes died as he was left perhaps for the first time speechless.

#the elf talks #mha #bnha #harry potter

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katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

WARNINGS: 18+ DUB CON/ NON CON? WEREWOLF BAKUGOU, THIS IS PURE FILTH JUST PURE SMUT

You were never the best at running, especially not through the woods. So it is no surprise your heel snaps off causing you to trip over a small log. Your pelvis bone connects with the thick trunk, brushing your hip as your dress threatens to expose your underwear.

A howl is heard in the distance paired with something moving through the brush at an ungodly speed, gaining on you much faster than you thought.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself, panting as branches seem to reach out. Their sharp, splintered claws grabbing at you and only catching your body con dress. Tearing it piece by piece, you are unsure if your faux bunny ears are still atop your head.It was unfathomable how wrong tonight had gone and how quickly.

But then again it was Halloween and a full moon at that. They say the full moon has the power to make people act crazy and especially so on a blue moon. Which made your panicked mind wander to the rumors about this town and what happens every blue moon. There were whispers of the older families having dark secrets. Fairy tales of beasts and mating but a second full moon in a month was so rare those murmurs and scoffs were supposed to be just that, rumors, stories.

Not actual werewolves who couldn't control their urges during this magical event. The blue moon either filling them with unchecked rage or undeniable lust should they not take the necessary precautions. Although no one would say what exactly those precautions are.

Your first hint about the rumors being true should have been the local news station. You thought it a Halloween prank when they advised women ages of 20 to 30 to remain indoors for tonight, to lock their windows and doors. To adorn their throats in silver to protect them from unwanted bonding. You had rolled your eyes as you got ready for your daily college classes, jumping into your black skinny jeans and blood red sweater.

Your second hint should have been the absence of your good friend Kirishima. He always walked you to your English class since his history course was in the same building but this morning he was a no show. He didn't even respond to your texts last night asking if he wanted to go to a Halloween party with you.

Your final hint should have been when the normally aloof, irritable and "untouchable of the big three" lab partner you had for biology growled in your direction. This would be the first thing he had said all semester.

"Don't go out tonight, got it extra?" His voice is clipped and he is acting strange, his left hand gripping onto his right forearm so harshly a bruise was beginning to bloom. You chalk it up to nerves for the upcoming exams.

"Oh is someone gonna bite me like the news anchor said?" You giggle, turning your focus back on your work only for the professor to cancel class early. You pack your things as Bakugou sits rigid, still. He fixes you a harsh glare before he stands, pulling the strap of your purse causing you to become a little off balance. His eyes dance over your frame, over your exposed neck but you do not notice, barely see his canines elongate as he snarls.

"You'll wish that's all that they did."

Looking back you wish you had noticed it before, then maybe you wouldn't be in the situation you were in now.

You burst through the trees and find yourself in a clearing. Here you would a sitting duck to whatever the hell was chasing you. Still not believing your eyes and you crossed paths with a giant wolf. Fur golden in the moon light and eyes a haunting, gut wrenching familiar red. It wasn't too long after that did it give chase.

The howl behind you is too close for comfort as you barely have time to jump into a patch of briars and thick prickly bushes that sit on the edge of a creek. By some odd instinct you grab onto the ice cold mud and smear your arms and part of your neck with it, clenching your jaw so your teeth do not chatter.

Suddenly a large beast bursts into the clearing, wet nose sniffing at the air and ground before it shifts in the clearing under the moonlight. It is a haunting sight. Bones snap and grind as features twist into grotesque angels until it finally forms into that handsome familiar face. The ash blonde fur retreats until it is only on the top of his head, faded beneath while the top looks finger brushed and wild. He is shirtless and his pants are torn from the calf down, the only beastly feature he keeps is the glow of his blood red eyes. You swallow, biting your lip to stop from shaking; this is not the Bakugou you knew. Not that you knew him that well in the first place but there was some power in having a crush. You had learned his mannerisms in the first year here at University, somehow always in a class with him, with one of the three legendary "heartthrobs" of the school. He was as hot headed as the rumors said and he was just as handsome if not more so. Itching for a fight and yet oddly quiet when in close proximity to you. An action you took to mean he either hated you or didn't even know you existed.

So it's safe to say you're unfamiliar with this manic, wolfish grin.

Feral incarnate.

He sniffs the air.

"Where are you little ooooonnne?" He calls cruelly, "I can smell you."

His body goes through the motions of tensing and relaxing, another howl breaks through the eerie silence but this time much farther away. Bakugou's ears perk, his grin twisting in such a way it screams malice, unbridled rage and yet excitement.

"You must be in your mortal heat. Guess I'm not the only one who can smell it. Didn't I tell you not to go out tonight?" His voice is dark, haunting as the wind catches down from you, carrying your scent away from him.

"I knew your dumb ass would ignore me, I took a precaution to that and yet you didn't even bring your fucking purse?!"

Your purse?

Is that how that red cloth and weird silver dollar got into the bottom of your purse?

Bakugou shifts his weight, giving his back to you as he prepares for something coming that you cannot hear. In the meantime you allow your eyes to study his physic, following his scarred back, broad shoulders all the way down to his deadly hands. One of his palms is burned in the shape of a perfect circle, you swallow thickly. The sound causes his ears to twitch and look over his shoulder, making eye contact with you through the brush.

But he does not have time to react as a black furred beast with glowing ruby eyes jumps into the clearing. Sniffing the air wildly before baring his teeth towards Bakugou. The beast huffs and growls before finally shifting into his human form, a cold sweat settles in your bones.

"Where the fuck is she?" You have never heard your friend use a tone so dark as Eijiro continues to pace, keeping his eyes glued to Bakugou.

"Fuck off Kirishima, shes mine."

"I don't see a bonding mark on her yet." Its more a feral growl than anything, "You said you didn't waste your time on mortals."

"I fucking changed my mind. And you know why, her smell is…" He inhales deeply, testing to see how much of you can be sensed. The most he can tell is that you're close by but he cannot pinpoint you, he fights to keep his eyes from falling over his shoulders to see you.

He's dying to know how you masked your scent without with an Alpha's pheromones or a silver piece. But that would have to wait, at least if he wanted to ensure it was his seed that stuffed you. He bites his lip, the thought sends a shiver down his spine. First he had to deal with Kirishima then he could take his time making you his.

"Well you know how it is don't ya? Didn't know you were such a pervert, Eiji. Is that why you walked her to class? Hoping she'd make you her boyfriend or some sappy shit?" Bakugou taunts, head tilting in mock question, "Guess you can't hold back anymore can you? Dreaming about giving her your knot?"

Kirishima bares his teeth, fighting the urge to buck at another Alpha, especially one he knows he will have to fight with full force. He opens his sharp toothed mouth to retort but yet another beast finds it's way into the clearing coming from the opposite of Kirishima but to the right of Bakugou.

The beast looks wild, heterochromatic eyes glisten beneath the full moon as white and red fur clash all the way down his spine. A collar around his throat catches the light as a broken chain drags across the ground, there are shackles around his wrists and ankles as well. Bakugou smirks, adrenaline fueling his excitement over what is about to be a damn good fight.

"You watchin little slut? Look at what your scent can do." He changes his stance into that of a fight, "You've got two normally non aggressive Aplahs ready to get their asses handed to them and for fucking what?"

The three of them shift their eyes and bodies this way and that before Bakugou licks his teeth.

"God I can't wait to bury my face in that soaked pussy." He lunges, transforming mid leap into a hauntingly powerful wolf. His teeth are exposed, lip curled up in a snarl as his targets Kirishima first. Kirishima barely shape shifts in time, pearly white teeth sink deep into his shoulder before gnashing at his throat. Deafening growls and yowling surround the clearing. Kirishima attempts to kick Bakugou off of him as they tumble closer to who you assume is Todoroki who bares his teeth. He launches himself at the other Alphas. His teeth find purchase in Bakugou's shoulder, blood staining white and blonde fur a like. There is no yelp or howl, just a stomach churning growl before Bakugou turns his attention towards the two toned wolf. Snapping his jaw as he attempts to get a grip on the chained wolf who dodges. Bakugou's teeth gleam with dripping crimson, a snarl of warning before he propels himself towards Todoroki. Sharp teeth bite at two toned fur as Shoto bares his teeth, growling, snapping his jaw at his opponent. Kirishima begins to get to his feet, limping as he avoid putting weight onto one of his front legs, crimson drips down onto the chilled dirt. He keeps his ruby red eyes on the two dancing wolves.

Bakugou strikes faster than Todoroki can dodge, and angry teeth clamp down at Todoroki's throat. The collar snaps from the force before Bakugou sinks his fangs deep into Todoroki's throat.

An ear ringing yelp is heard as blood pools into Bakugou's stained muzzle, white fur marred in crimson as Todoroki begins to sway. As the hot head's jaw is locked onto tender flesh, Kirishima attacks. Biting at the nape of Bakugou's neck and yanking him from Todoroki with force, tossing him with ease. The light colored wolf flies into trees snapping the thick oaks as if they were twigs. Buying some time for the two injured wolves, any other alpha would have seen this as a win, knowing the two from rival families would retreat to lick their wounds.

But Bakugou was no normal alpha. This gut clenching fight taught you as much. Todoroki struggles to keep consciousness, his throat dripping an insane amount of blood. He falls to his side huffing almost wheezing before he shifts back into human form, shackles shrinking to readjust to his wrists. Kirishima whines nudging at the unconscious, possibly dead man. All the while crimson red eyes peer through the unsettled dust before soaring through the air, landing on top of the black wolf. Pinning his back onto the ground as dark paws claw at bared teeth. Trying desperately to keep him at bay but with one fucked front paw it is a futile attempt. Quickly Bakugou overpowers him, sinking his teeth too deep into his friend's throat and keeping his muzzle there until the whining and yelping stops. Until he too shifts back to his human form.

You fight to keep your own whimpering in, still hidden in the brush while you hoped, prayed that he somehow got disoriented. That he forgot where you were.

His head snaps towards you, mouth dripping saliva and thick red blood. His eyes glow as his stalks closer. He stops just before the underbrush shifting back into that devilishly handsome face. He is soaked in blood, scratches line his face and chest. He wipes at his mouth but not once does his fist wipe away the cocky smile he holds.

He scares you but what scares you most is how your body is reacting to such a gruesome sight. A muscular man dripping in sticky red, droplets tracing the outline of his abs and a smile of triumph as two people lie wounded, possibly dead behind him. It made your pussy throb, the strength, the raw need and want to win and for what? For you, for your essence and the promise of a futile womb.

He can smell your fear as he yanks you from the bushes and thorns.

"Don't worry, it's not my blood." He grins, pulling you closer to him as you try to push away. Just like you're trying to push away these odd feelings that swirl in your chest, in your stomach; of a weird pride and arousal. It was of no use, like pushing dead weight up a forty five degree hill, this too was a losing battle.

"K..kirishima." Your eyes are glued to his unmoving body, causing a deep rage to form in Bakugou's chest. He grips your chin forcing you to look at him his other hand goes straight for your sex, cupping the underwear allowing his fingers to swipe over the damp fabric.

"Don't you ever say his fucking name while you're wet for me. Got it?" His fingers are causing divots in your cheeks as you whimper from his contrasting touch. Harsh grip, soft strokes. As if reading your mind he takes a deep breath, not meaning to inhale so much of you.

"They ain't dead, you're worth the trouble. But not that much trouble. Now focus on me." He let's go of you, drinking you in smirking when he sees your costume. Or what's left of it anyway.

Thick irony that you would choose to be a bunny of all nights. He fingers the fake ears with earnest.

"Fitting." He purrs before taking both of his hands to the front collar of your dress, ripping the fabric from your torso. He growls audibly mumbling to himself "Much better." As you stand with your tits exposed, your lacy underwear catching his attention beneath fishnet tights. He bites his bottom lip, pulling you to him as he buries his face into your tits. Nipping sucking and biting as he eases your buckling legs towards the ground.

"Fuuuuck." He groans, pressing his cheek harshly against yours, trying to scent you as best he can without claiming you fully. It's hard, fuck is it hard. It always has been, since his first class with you.

You weren't a beta nor an omega. Hell you were of no wolf relation and yet you reeked, oozed of pheromones that drove him and apparently the others mad. He had tried to protect you, he really had, scenting a piece of an old t-shirt and even burning himself on silver.

He wanted you, he needed you, his cock ached for you. Weeping now at your arousal making his canines ache with an even greater pain.

But you were fucking mortal and he was betrothed. Technically all three of the aplahs in that clearing were betrothed to omegas. It was evident your smell seduced them as well.

He brings himself to your shoulder, biting hard enough to draw blood, claws, stuck halfway between human and wolf, rake down your back and ass making ribbons of the flesh. Still you moan and he occasionally swallows those whole as he kisses you. Letting you taste copper as his tongue placates yours, he subconsciously secretes soothing and lustful hormones and they are strong enough to make even you high. His hand finds your nipple and when you arch into him he loses his shit. Breaking the kiss to sniff you, nosing and biting until he finds that sweet spot. He opens his mouth, salivating at the thought as his teeth and cock beg for relief. He freezes, squeezing you to him for a moment. The action causes your ribs to creak in protest and yet you feel warm, safe.

His mouth hovers over your pulse point, the salty sweet taste of you, breaths away from the exact spot he would need to sink his aching teeth into to make you his.

In a quick motion and a test of will he shoves you onto your back, ripping at the fabric between your thighs after he forces your legs open. You do nothing to stop him, not that could.

Not that you would.

He slips his tongue between your folds and licks up, swirling the wet muscle when you buck against him. He hooks his arms around your legs gaining control over your hips and eats.

See Bakugou is a glutton and he will not stop until he is satisfied. It would be a gift and a curse for you.

He works his mouth against you thoroughly as the coil in your stomach snaps over and over again. Your hand fisting his hair as you cry out in hoarse gasps, legs shaking around his head, thighs squeezing his skull as he coaxes another high from you.

Your entire body is shaking, worn out already from however long he sucked, nipped and lapped at your core. Finally he seemed to come up for air but only to watch your sex convulse. He looks up to you causing your heart to skip a beat. His hair is that much more wild, his intense gaze glowing red in the low light and his face glistens with your slick.

"Fuck!" You cry out, letting your head fall back into the ground.

"What's wrong bunny? Can't handle a little head?" He shoves two fingers deeply into you making a come here motion. You ride another body quaking high as he tries to stretch you to accommodate him. His breathing becomes frantic, as he chases a smell you're emitting. Thrusting harshly into you as his other hand abusesyour clit until that deliciously addicting smell he's chasing crescendos. Your scream echoes in the woods as clear liquid shoots over Bakugou's forearms, all the while you held fluttering eye contact, practically melting in his hands. His fangs grow and he cannot hold himself back any longer. He shoves his pants all the way down, even off of his ankles as he sinks his lengthy girth into you in a snap of his hips. A mixture of pain and pleasure shoot through you like a live wire as you begin to mewl, needing him to move.

"More, more." You whine, tears prick your eyes as he smiles a deadly smirk.

"You're such a talkative cock sleeve. You want my knot that bad? Then take it." He thrusts into you setting a deep harsh pace. Alternating between quick succession and slow deep throats. Biting at the skin of your chest and shoulders, torturing you in such a way.

Punishing you for being mortal.

"Why?" It's a guttural growl as your mind is lost on another plane, "Why do you have to be mortal?"

He emphasizes each word with a thrust of his hips earning him a lovely raspy moan from you.

"I want to...to fucking mark you. Make you mine. The thought of any other alpha or even fucking human touching you…." His thoughts have him chasing two very dangerous highs, snapping his hips so he comes closer to your throat.

"Please...please Bakugou." You whimpering encourages him.

He breathes you in, tasting you without even a flicker of his tongue. Your arousal, your damp hair sticking to the column of your throat, the faint scent of your shampoo.

Somehow he reigns himself in again. Teeth elongated enough they almost scrape your skin. His breath comes out hot and heavy as you squirm beneath him for friction, wanting nothing more than to be filled. If he does this, if he makes you his mate, it would surely complicate everything.

"You have to tell me you want it." He's panting, vulnerable as he looks at you, your heart shatters from the look. Deafening reason and logic as it screams how badly you want to be his and he yours.

"Not just because it feels fucking good right now." His voice is husky, rasped as he fights the weight of his instincts, "Not because I'm fucking hot or a novelty to you mortals. If I mark you, you'll always feel something for me and vice versa. We'll be tethered and attracted to one another even if we fucking hate each other."

Slowly you nod, again he grabs onto your chin, sliding it down to your throat as he squeezes.

"This isn't some good acid trip, this isnt some fucking dream. You'll have to meet the elders. You'll have to deal with my ruts." Again he's panting, shaking from holding himself back, having half a mind to just kill you. Still you do not move away from his touch.

"My jealousy. My rage. My need for territory control. I'll come home dripping in blood. I'll kill other Alpahs." He breathes your name in such a way you clench around him. He growls from the sensation. You struggle to speak beneath his grip, head floating but some how in the right spot.

"I...I can handle it. Mark me Bakugou Katsuki. Fucking make me yours, fill me use me. Just…" He stares into your eyes until he can no longer take it. Pounding into you in a harsh pace, finally giving in

"You'll take my knot like a good slut won't you?" His eyes watch you nod before they fall to your breasts. Watching them bounce from the force of his thrusts. His hips turn sloppy as your high builds again. You claw at his back and his smells your high as he tries to time it right. He sinks his teeth into your throat, keeping it just a hair above a marking.

You feel a growing pressure as his tip stretches you even more until he finally sinks his teeth into you with a grown. His thrusts stuttering as hot ropes paint your walls. Your cunt flutters around it as all you can do is become limp in his grip. His arms are fully around you, his mouth still to your throat as he slowly eases up. His body giving off a bonding hormone so strong that even your moral senses can pick up on. It you drown in a high scented in spice caramel and heat. He pants heavily, his arms shaking as he kisses you fiercely, teeth bumping into yours before he pulls back.

Weakly you claw at him to hold him as he whispers praises. He lifts you, pulling you towards his chest to keep you safe as you begin to drift. His mouth is pressed to your ear and you can hear the cocky smile in his voice.

"Get some rest while you still can mate." His hand snakes around to your stomach, his fingers lightly caressing the skin.

"We aren't done until you're carrying my pups."

Tags

@katsukisprincess @avellanagamer100 @bakugotrashpanda my number one fan

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha au #dub con #non con #werewolf bakugou #werewolf bakugo #alpha bakugou #bnha alpha

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ellieohno · 3 years

Note

Uh, excuse me, but I certainly remember a Lawrusso high school reunion wip! Where’s that one, babe??

omg babe, you're so right!! how could I have left that one out?? okay, so, this is a 90s au, literally their 10 year high school reunion and the first person Johnny runs into is Ali. The story continues on after the reunion but it starts there.

Johnny’s at the bar, trying not to chug the shit beer that was placed on front of him, eyes trailing around the bar-and-restaurant the fucking prom committee or whoever had chosen for the reunion. It was some hip place not far from the high school that wasn’t exactly swanky but way more put together than the bars Johnny frequented these days. Honestly, he’s a little shocked they hadn’t just decided to hold the damn thing at the Encino Country Club and be done with it.

He recognized a few of the people milling about the large space, certainly not as many as he should, but whatever. Everyone had ditched him practically the moment they got here and Johnny was not pouting by the bar, he just didn’t see why he even needed to fucking be here if he was going to be alone is all.

High school reunions were for fucking squares. What did he need to see these people for? If they hadn’t kept in touch over the ten years since they graduated, then clearly they weren’t important.

Of course, it’s then that Johnny catches sight of honeyed blonde hair and a smirky smile that could only ever belong to one person and takes that thought back. Ali saunters up to him, smiling genuinely as she approached and Johnny feels himself smile right back.

“Hey, Mills.”

Her smile brightens at his affectionate tone as she comes beside him to lean against the bar. “Hi, Johnny.” She looks him over, shaking her head before turning to the bartender and ordering a drink, then looking back up at him. “How are you? It’s been a long time.”

And it has. Johnny hasn’t seen Ali since graduation. He spent the summer moping around and hadn’t managed to really see anybody before they all went off to college - the Cobras excluded. It’s literally been ten years since he’s seen her and that's fucking wild to think about. She looks the same, he decides, just a little more womanly, but definitely not old.

He nods, a small smile still tucked into the corner of his lips. “Yeah, it has been.” He shrugs, a casual little thing. “But I’ve been good, can’t really complain. How about you - you went to med school, right?”

The bartender places Ali’s gin and tonic in front of her and she accepts it with a grateful smile before turning back to smirk at Johnny over the rim of her glass. “Damn right. That’s Doctor Mills to you.”

Johnny tips his beer bottle to clink her glass, it pulls a sparkly laugh from her chest - the kind that use to make his heart swell back when they had dated. It still makes him smile now, because Ali is beautiful and familiar, and even though they’d ended on a bad note, she would always be someone special to him.

“That mean I can call you for a prescription whenever I pull my back?” Johnny joked, killing his beer and signaling the bartender for another.

Ali rolled her eyes playfully. “Sure, I’ll mail you an icepack from Colorado.”

“Colorado?” Johnny accepted the fresh beer and took a sip. “Isn’t that where rich people go to ski?”

“Say it with a little more disdain, would you.” Ali shook her head, a jokey smile curling around her lips. “And this coming from the guy who drove a fucking Avanti in high school.”

“I drive a Firebird now.”

Johnny grabbed the little bowl of fancy nuts and tugged it between them, popping a few in his mouth as Ali raised a curious brow. “Whatever happened to that car?”

“Sid took it back when I moved out.”

“Asshole.”

Johnny snorted and smiled wide. “Yeah.” He took a sip of his beer, eyeing Ali beside him in her trendy pantsuit and obviously bare fingers. “So, is there a Mr. Doctor Mills back in Colorado? Or did you just leave him to flounder out on the dance floor?”

Ali chuckled, sipping at her drink a lot slower than Johnny but that wasn’t exactly surprising. “No husband, just a boyfriend. He’s a doctor too. We both work at the same hospital and couldn’t get the time off, so I came alone.”

“Sucks for him.” Johnny says and realizes only after that it may have come across too flirty.

“What about you?” Ali asks, looking up at him all genuine and interested. “There a Mrs. Johnny Lawrence hiding somewhere around here?”

Johnny let out laugh that petered out into a nervous sort of chuckle, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he looked out over the crowd of their former peers. “Uh, no. No Missus, that’s for sure.”

"Oh." Her brows quirked in curiosity and Johnny took a deep pull of his beer. "You just keep glancing around like you’re looking for someone, I just assumed that you brought somebody.”

“I mean, I did come with someone.” Johnny smirked.

Ali rolled her eyes playfully, leaning into Johnny’s teasing. “Of course you did. Who is it?”

Johnny stared down at her, curbing a smile. “Daniel LaRusso.”

Ali blinked, then her brows furrowed as her brain caught up to what he just said. Johnny just sipped his beer as he smirked down at her. She must have thought he was fucking with her because Ali reached out and smacked his shoulder, “That’s not funny, Johnny. You can’t joke about stuff like that now.”

“I’m not joking.” Johnny admitted, still smiling. “Daniel’s my boyfriend. We live together.”

“Shut up.” Ali’s voice got all high as she stared up at him with her mouth hanging open. Johnny shook his head and she pushed at his shoulder again. “When the hell did that happen?”

Johnny laughed at her reaction and shrugged, “Uh, like, two years after we graduated?”

“No, no, no.” She shook her hand in front of them. “I need a timeline, I need a full breakdown and details. Tell me everything.” At Johnny’s salacious raised eyebrow, Ali rolled her eyes. “Okay, not everything.”

He laughed and wished Daniel was over here to witness their shared ex-girlfriend having a little stroke over the new information. But, it was fine, he'd recount the story to him later when they were in bed.

#lawrusso #ellie answers #high school reunion fic anyone??

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 10:

“Hey, Bakugou.” You greet easily, waving at him. “Can you believe it?”

“Jesus- what the hell are you on about now?”

“Nothing. Just, this marks the third time I’ve seen you without injury. Good on you buddy, setting a personal record and everything.”

He huffs, pushing off the wall. Bakugou is without his costume, clad in just normal sweats. The sight makes you feel a little bad- it was obviously his day off, but there he was working. Sacrificing his time for you.

“Fuck you.” He grumbles, without any bite. “Seriously. Fuck you.”

“C’mon, grumpy, don’t get so huffy.” You say playfully. “I was mostly joking, but I did mean it. I think I like you a whole lot better when there’s no blood involved.”

He starts to smile, just for a second, before he quickly evens his expression. It’s like he’s trying to hide the fact that it was there at all, quickly spinning around and starting off at a brisk pace.

“Woah, slow down, no need to run, speedy. I’ll take it back if you’re so allergic to me being nice.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond, but he does slow down. Just minutely. Hardly even at all if you really think about it, but hey, at least you’re not basically running after him anymore.

“What’s got you so cheery, hah?” He asks after a beat, making an intentional point not to make eye contact. “It’s late- you’re not tired again?”

His tone catches you off-guard, something accusatory underneath that has you scrunching your nose. You’re not exactly sure what he’s getting at, but you can read his prickly tone for what it is- Bakugou is making fun of you.

“No. I’m actually not tired, thank you very much.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night.”

“You know, that sentence from anyone else would offend me- but from you?” You scoff, squinting your eyes at him. “Well, I’m sure it was meant as an insult, not an insinutation; so I’ll refrain from calling you a pig. For now.”

“Call me anything and see where it gets ya, leech.”

“What’re you gonna do? Fight me?”

“Please, it wouldn’t be a fight.” He snorts, kicking at a rock in the road. It flies down the alley, all the way past the streetlamp’s glow. “See? I’d slaughter you.”

“Yes! Probably!" You say in faux exasperation. "But it’s because you have way more practice at slaughtering people! I don’t know why you’re bragging about that- that’s totally not something normal people brag about!”

You throw your hands up, gesturing wildly, and Bakugou just sort of watches you. Doesn’t really react other than to evade one of your errant hands. You just barely miss him, the tips of your fingers clipping the fabric of his sweatshirt.

“What- nothing? You’ve got nothing to say about that? Course you don’t- because you’re proud of slaughtering people. Is that it? Huh?”

“I’m proud of winning.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Close enough.” He shrugs. “'Sides, it’s not my fault I wasn’t listenin’. Ya said so many damn words to me.”

“That’s so rude! You-“

Seeing his smile, you cut yourself off half-way. It should hardly even count as a smile, really, it’s much more of a smirk- something entirely self-indulgent and dripping with arrogance. You’re not sure if you wanna punch him in the mouth or giggle.

“You jerk. You’re messing with me!” On impulse, you knock your shoulders into his. Bakugou doesn’t flinch- nor does he budge whatsoever. “You’re just being mean on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Course.”

“Why? Just, I don’t know, be nice?”

“Fuck that. No thanks.”

“You incredibly rude- you know that?”

“And you’re fuckin’ annoying.” He retorts, knocking his shoulders into yours. Bakugou smirks when you stumble. “See- I’d murder you in a fight.”

“No one was debating that!”

He just bites his lip, throwing his head back. It’s like Bakugou is trying to hide his smile; exposing the strong column of his throat to you, pale skin gone 10 shades of gold under the streetlamp.

It steals the breath from your lungs- how devastatingly beautiful he can be. You have to tear your eyes away.

“Hey, Bakugou, it’s your day off right?”

He eyes you a little strangely. “Yes? Why?”

“Geez- Don’t be so suspicious.” You laugh. “I only asked because I was curious.”

“The hell you have to be curious about?”

“Just what you’d be doing right now otherwise- you know, if you weren’t stuck walking me-“

“‘m not stuck. Wouldn’t do this if I didn’t need to.”

“Yeah, but still.” You take a breath. “What I mean, is that, I’m sorry if this is burdening you. I know this probably isn’t what you wanted to do on your day off.”

He eyes you, sniffing for a moment while he juts his chin out. “Eh- it’s fine. Walking this far outta my way is good excercise anywa-“

“This far? Oh my god- are you serious? Where do you live?”

“Far enough.”

“Bakugou.” You say sternly, staring him down. You’re well aware he’s not a man who’s easily scolded into revealing the truth, but damn if you weren’t going die trying. “Seriously- how far?”

“Fuck’s it matter to you for?”

“Because it just does! Now, c’mon really, I’m gonna feel like, super bad if you say you’ve gotta take a train her-“

“No train, so quit bitching.” He scans the street for a moment, before turning back to look at you. “Not that far. Half an hour, maybe, if I was running.”

“If you were running? What about walkin-“

“Not walking so it doesn’t matter.”

“It does!”

“It fuckin’ doesn’t-“

Then he’s standing ram-rod straight, slapping an open palm over your stomach and pushing you back. You’re flying back into the shadows, back slamming against the brick wall. Gasping, air knocked clean out of your lungs, it’s all you can do to keep your eyes open and watch him leave.

Bakugou hardly even looks back before he’s soaring past the end of the alley, explosions igniting under his palms. There’s no one, all is quiet, silent and tense and then- bam.

A mottled mass of muscles and pulsating flesh barrels through the building beside Bakugou. Debris rains down onto the street, down onto the exact spot you were standing moments ago. The flying detrius knocks Bakugou off course, and the blonde hardly dodges before the creature is slinging fists his way.

“Shouldn’t’a been makin’ such a scene!” Bakugou is all smirks and haughty confidence, seamlessly twisting and dodging the creature’s strikes. “Gave yourself away- I’ve got you now!”

Even breathless and winded, you can’t help but stare. Bakugou truly is something else- a terrifying bullet in the air, bordering on frenetic as he dodges. He’s so fast you’re worried he’ll catch fire. There’s a reckless sort of smile on his face, stretching his lips back around canines you’re sure are sharper than before. He’s throws his left palm out, explosion recoil throwing him just past the creature’s next attack. It’s enough of an opening for Bakugou to surge in, flashbang fingertips making contact with the beast’s abdomen.

“Really, that’s all?” He challenges, grinning like mad when the beast flies back from the impact. “No strategy at all? That’s not gonna fuckin’ work!”

And then he looks back at you, just for a singular moment, while the beast is bent over from his previous blow. The sight nearly knocks the air out of your lungs all over again.

Bakugou is terrifying. Manic and bloodthirsty and feverish almost, chest heaving with every labored breath. There’s something wild in his eyes, coloring his features in blood that hasn’t even been spilled yet. It’s intimidating and scary and overwhelming, but he’s dazzling too. A crazed smile, so blinding and brilliant, that it leaves an after-image long after he’s blasted away again.

Something snaps in you then, and you’re diving behind the nearest dumpster. It’s a little gross and cramped, but you hear plaster cracking around you, and suddenly it’s not so bad anymore. Your eyes are wide, watching the battle- and even when hidden it still feels too close.

Your heart is trapped in your throat, a battering ram even as you try to catch your breath. Everything is loud, and chaotic, and you’ve never been this close to a real battle before. It scares you. You clasp your hands around your ears, trying to block out the gargling and explosions. It’s not enough, your breath still picking up as explosion impact rattles the asphalt beneath your feet.

“You’re done!” You hear him shout, and suddenly the air goes white and hot, and bright.

You screw your eyes shut, and bite back a scream as an explosion rattles every surrounding window. The sound swallows everything, and the light show is even worse. Even through your eyelids it’s blazing. Bright enough to have you diving to the ground and tucking your head between your knees.

Then it’s quiet. Complete silence other than the ringing in your ears. You hear impact, a warbled groan, and then the sound of his voice.

“You fucker.” He roars. “I’m fuckin’ busy, you weak bitch, can’t ya fuckin’ see that?”

Another thud. Another groan.

“All this shit for some cash? Just get a job, you fuckin’ loser. Like the goddamn rest of us.”

You peak your head over the dumpster, and see Bakugou standing tall over the collapsed body. You’re not entirely sure how the villian’s quirk operates, but the mass of flesh is deflating by the second, leaving behind a skinny mess of bones and sinew.

“A front, hah? Pathetic.” Bakugou sneers, grinding his teeth before he snaps. “On your fuckin’ feet weakling- ‘m taking you in.”

Bakugou hauls the skinny man to his feet, trapping rail-thin arms tight to the man’s back. It’s only then that you choose to emerge, staggering slighty on your shaking legs. It’s like you’ve got tremors- your body practically bowled over by the sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“H-help- I didn’t-“ The skinny man starts, before Bakugou is sending a knee into the base of his spine.

“Don’t speak to her, you shit-stain.” Bakugou curls his lip. “Shut the hell up.”

You’re not really sure what to do then- caught between wanting to high-tail it in the complete opposite direction, and surging towards Bakugou. Because, if you weren’t certain before, you definitely were now; Bakugou knew what he was doing. And if worst ever came to worst, he’d stay true to all his threats. Nobody was getting to you while he was around.

“Follow. C’mon.” Bakugou nods towards the end of the street. “Police station. You know where it is. Let’s get the hell to it already.”

You just start walking- almost on autopilot. There’s a weird fuzz settling in your brain, the adrenaline seeping and leaving nothing but exhaustion behind. It’s disorienting because you weren’t even part of the fight- Bakugou had shoved you back long before you could have ever been in any real danger.

You’re not sure how he knew- how he could have possibly predicted the villain coming through the wall, but even still, you’re gratetful. Because you’re not hurt, only frazzled where you would’ve been massacred without him there.

Bakugou waits for you to pass him by, and only once you’re a good few steps ahead, does he start shoving his prisoner forward. The walk is tense and silent, the only noise being the occasional pained groan from the skinny man. There’s an undeniable air of intimidation coming from Bakugou, rolling off his skin and permeating every spare inch of air. It only adds more stress to an already harrowing situation.

The police station lies just where you remembered it, but you’ve never been this close before. You’d only seen it down the end of the street as you passed by- only through the fuzzy haze of exhaustion after your shift ended. Now there’s nothing hazy about it- just a stark white building and big glass doors. Big glass doors that Bakugou is surging through, prisoner in tow, and ordering you to stay behind.

When he’s through the door, it’s like your heart finally starts to catch up. You can feel it’s thud slow against you ribs, no longer jumping at every slight sound. You eyelids feel heavy, further weighed down by the headache you feel coming on. You lean against the wall of the station, bending slightly at the waist as you ground the heels of your palm against your temple.

“All good?” You hear his voice some time later, Bakugou’s footsteps heavy as he approaches. “You get hurt?”

“No- ‘m fine.” You chew your cheek, straightening as you look up at him. “I think.”

He studies you for a moment, red eyes flitting across your face. Bakugou grimaces. “You’re shaking.”

“Yeah. Was scared.”

“It’s fine now.” He huffs, frustration lacing his features. Bakugou clenches his hand, releases, and repeats twice over before he speaks again. “Got ‘em already, so you can chill the hell out now. Alright?”

“Yeah- yeah sure.”

You try to agree, but your voice doesn’t sound right when it leaves your throat. It’s a little too hoarse, empty of almost all inflection. You’re not particularly pleased with it and Bakugou is even less so.

“You need a few minutes or something?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, like even asking the question pains him. “Need to call somebody?”

Bakugou looks incredibly uncomfortable- eyes shifting around wildly and refusing to settle. All of his battlefield-confidence, even that self-assured smirk seems to have disappeared entirely. He huffs a pained breath and leans back against the wall next to you. His shoulders are just barely touching yours, voice pinched and tense when he speaks.

“I know it’s loud- but it’s over now. Now you just go home, and you sleep. Nothing is gonna happen to you.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Bakugou tilts his head skyward. He grinds his teeth, once, twice, and smooths out his grimace. “And I’ll fuckin’ be there so don’t go spiraling about it, alright? You’re safe now.”

You nod, rolling your lips together for a moment. He’s not meeting your eyes, not even attempting to, but you can’t help but stare. Can’t help but track all the lines of his face; the way his nose slopes, and the set of his eyebrows. He doesn’t look like before. Not crazed, or manic, or brutal. He’s just Bakugou. Maybe a little grumpy, but mostly just uncomfortable- exactly the way you’ve come to know him.

Something in you settles at bit at that.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let's go." You kick off the wall, putting one foot in front of the other. "I'm more than ready to be home."

Bakugou just watches you, and you can see him reach a hand out before immediately dropping it. His lip curls up in disgust- and that just confuses you. You wonder where the Bakugou from a few minutes ago went; the one who seemed so entirely sure of himself.

"Faster." He says, overtaking you in one long stride. "Stallin' around at night is never a good idea."

You suppose he's right, but you never would've believed him before.

Prior to tonight, you had never been a part of a villain attack. You hadn't even seen a villain on anything other than TV re-runs. Your neighborhood was quiet, the streets never holding any danger, even at night. Now, though, every shadow seems suspicious, every sound a precursor for something far worse. Your well aware you just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time that night, but that didn't make the reality any easier to handle. If Bakugou hadn't been there, if he hadn't show up dead on your balcony months ago, then you would've been gravely injured by all that falling debris.

The thought makes you feel weak all over again. Has your fingers curling in your gloves- itchy and uncomfortable and helpless.

You're quiet as you walk, caught up in a million spiraling thoughts. Bakugou doesn't seem keen on conversation either, keeping a few paces ahead and scanning for other danger. Occasionally he'll turn back, check to make sure you're following, and all you can really offer is a nod and a shaky sort of smile. It doesn't satisfy him at all- you can see that every time he sets his jaw.

"Oi- Leech." He snaps in front of your eyes, waving his hand back and forth. "It's- stop lookin' like that already. All freaked the fuck out. You look ridiculous."

His haughty tone as your blood warming, fingers clenching at your sides as you walk. You're not sure what reaction he's after, but all you can really think to do is get angry.

"I am freaked out! You were there! You saw that guy! He was huge!" You snap, squinting your eyes and waving your hands around. "If you weren't- I- what am I supposed to do when that shit happens? Huh? I can't fight, and even if I could I wouldn't, so what am I supposed to-"

"Nothing." He interrupts. "You do nothing, and you hide. Like you did."

"Yes, because you pushed me! If you hadn't I would've been crushed by all that- and how on Earth did you even know he was coming?"

"Vibrations. In the ground." He squints at you, a little confused. "Did you not-"

"No!"

"Damn," He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "You really couldn't feel that? Jesus, you really are clueless. No wonder you were so freaked out."

In that moment, you're a little sure you could strangle him. All his skill you'd seen earlier suddenly didn't matter at all, and you were sure you could take him down with nothing but rage alone.

He- vibrations? You didn't feel anything! You felt nothing and even if you had, you would've assumed it was an earthquake. No one except for him and his battle-addled brain would've ever assumed it was a villain of all things!

"Calm down," He seems to be fighting a smile, lip twitching up. "You look fuckin' ridiculous right now. 'm not scared of you, leech."

"You should be! I'm about to strangle you right now-"

"For what?"

"For- for- I don't know! You just make me so angry with your 'Oh, you didn't feel that?' bullshit!" You tilt your voice lower, coating it in gravel to mimic him. "Of course I didn't feel anything! I'm not like you- I don't have freaky super-human instincts and explosions and I can't just go fight somebody!"

True to his word, your outburst doesn't seem to scare him. If anything if seems to pull the smile from him more, lips pulling back into a grin even he has no chance of hiding.

"There she is." He stuffs his hands in his pockets, falling back a little to walk right beside you. "Thought you'd gone into shock or somethin'."

"So you- on purpose?"

"Said that shit about vibrations? Yeah." His smile turns wolfish, all sharp canines and pink gums. "There were no fuckin' vibrations, idiot. I heard the plaster cracking."

In that moment you're the surest you've ever been- you were going to murder Bakugou Katsuki.

"You dick!"

Your hands are out before you can stop them, shoving forcefully at his side. He just looks at you, rolling his eyes, and then decides to let you tip him sideways off the curb. It's the worst kind of victory- a pity one that he let you have.

"Chill out, already." He laughs. "Only said shit so you'd stop bein' all miserable. You should be fuckin' thankin' me."

"I'm not thanking you!"

He steps forward, one long stride eclipsing you entirely. Then he spins, facing you with another crooked grin, and you're digging your heels into the cement to avoid crashing directly into his chest.

"I said-" He starts, hands in his pockets and leaning forward until he's practically towering over you. "You should be thanking me."

His voice is low, sly and challenging as he grins. He looks positively predatory- but attractive too. The worst kind that leaves your heart stuttering in your chest for almost no discernable reason.

"G-get away from me." You fluster, taking a step back. "I'm not thanking you."

He shrugs, falling back to a safe distance. You don't miss it though- the way his grin goes just a little wider, entirely satisfied. He won, and he knows it.

"Suit yourself, then leech." He says, voice light. "If ya wanna mouth off so much, then 'm not fuckin' saving you next time."

He says the words, but you're almost entirely sure he doesn't mean them. Not with the way he is now- beaming and pleased under the moonlight. You wonder if he always gets like this; so happy just after a victory. It's the kind of sight that almost makes the entire ordeal worth it. Almost.

You walk through the doors of your apartment, shuddering a long sigh of relief. The walls feel safe, security and peace etched into familiar walls. Even with Bakugou stomping behind you, the serenity isn't disturbed all that much. He's still in his rare good mood apparently, and he doesn't even grumble whatsoever.

Truth be told, you're still a little shaken, but the interior of your apartment puts you at ease. Even if you don't feel nearly as infallible as before, home is a good feeling- it always is.

"You know- you know that you just got unlucky, right?" Bakugou seems to struggle for a moment, kicking the door shut behind him. "It's- that's- shit like that doesn't usually happen here."

You're not sure where his sentiment is headed, and he must see it on your face. He flares his nostrils, sighing something long-suffering and dramatic.

"I'm sayin'- that wasn't part of anything else. It was just the one idiot, so it's not any more dangerous here than it used to be. 'm sayin' don't waste your time worryin' about that shit."

Something in you warms a bit- just a fraction. You're not sure how he knew, how he always seems to know just what you're thinking, but at this moment you don't care to find out. There are some comforts better left experienced instead of studied- and you figure this might be one of them.

You smile, something soft and fond. "I take it back- I will thank you. So thank you. I'm sure I'd be a lot worse off if you weren't around."

You watch him fluster, watch him itch in his skin and shift his weight around. Eventually he settles on turning his back, moving towards your fridge as he speaks.

"Probably. You froze up completely- woulda been piss poor job performance to let you get killed." He's swinging the fridge door open, and the white light just makes it more apparent- his cheeks are pink. "Got ice packs in here somewhere?"

"I-Ice packs?"

"Yeah. Knuckles are gonna bruise up if I don't ice 'em."

You look a little closer then, at his fingers curled around the handle of your fridge. His knuckles are a little swollen, bruised up and red where the skin had split. It doesn't look too bad, much less serious than any other injury he'd come to you with, but that doesn't change the itching in your own fingers. You want to help him- now more than ever it seems.

"Shit- sorry." You breathe out, nearing a little to get a closer look. "I was so freaked I didn't even think about asking- are you okay? You're okay, right? Nothing else, no bones or blood or-"

"Calm down. 'm fine."

You look at him again, squinting for eyes for a moment. He just rolls his own, extending his arms out and flipping them. He was telling the truth- there's only one other scratch on him, and even that was already scabbed over. The only issue were his knuckles- and that sets you at ease.

"You want me to wrap them for you?" You ask, looking up at him. "Oh wait- actually, you'd probably want to do that yourself, huh? Since you're not on the brink of death this time and actual-"

"You do it."

"Huh?"

"I said- you do it." He won't meet your eyes, turning back to your fridge and opening it up once more. He makes himself right at home, grabbing one of the water bottles off the shelf without asking. "Did it all the other times, so you do it. Don't think you're gonna get away with cuttin' corners on me."

"I didn't mean it like that. I just meant, that I know you find it annoying when I'm all fussy so I just-"

"Shut up already. You continuing to run your mouth is the only thing that's annoying me right now."

You're about to retort, something offended and assuredly juvenile, but you decide against it. That night had been filled with far too much conflict for your liking, and you weren't about to incite more of it. If he wanted you to wrap his knuckles, then you'd wrap his knuckles. You figured it's the least you could do for him.

Turning your back on him, you start for the bathroom, and the first aid kit inside. A part of you considers just permanently moving the kit into the kitchen, but that sort of seems like you're just inviting more misfortune. You keep hoping that one day you'll stop having to patch Bakugou up at all, but from the looks of it, that isn't likely. Not even a little bit considering his obvious bloodlust.

"You wanna-" You start, walking back into the kitchen. You're shocked into stillness by the sight of him searching through your cupboards. "Um, what exactly are you doing?"

"Hungry."

"Okay, caveman, I just- you're not seriously trying to cook right now are you?" You near him, hands hovering in the air. You're sure he wouldn't appreciate it, but a large part of you just wants to grab at his shoulders and shove him away from everything. "Stop that- lemme get you fixed up first. Then I can call for something. I'm not gonna let you exert yourself any more than you already have."

Bakugou seems a little perturbed by that, whipping his head around until you can see wild red eyes. You almost sigh; what you wouldn't give for him to just chill out for once.

"I'm not saying you can't cook. You probably could, I don't know." You near a little more, dropping the first aid kit onto the countertop. "I'm saying, you've already done enough today, and you deserve to take it easy. So let me help you by wrapping your hands up. That's all."

Bakugou's in the midst of another internal struggle, before he visibly forgoes it. His shoulder's drop and the tension leaks until he's settling into one of your dining chairs. He sets his hands out on the table, clearing his throat at you until you kick into motion.

At this point, cleaning up his hands is practically a daily chore. You've gone through the motions more than enough times to be adjusted, but even still, his hands still freak you out a little. You'd never seen anyone who radiated so much heat- even just being next to him was like sitting in front of an open flame.

Your fingers are gentle, skidding over his hands with feather-light touches. He seems to slump in his chair, eventually just laying his head on the outstretched arm you weren't actively working on. He watches you closely the entire time though, red eyes burning holes into the side of your head.

"Do it again." He says. "Too loose. Do it again."

You're half-way through wrapping his right hand, only a small amount of bandage left. Not only would you have to do the bandage over entirely, but you'd have to unwrap it completely first.

"You always say that," You mutter, exasperation coloring your voice. "What makes it so much better the second time around, huh? I do it the exact same."

"It's just better. Takes longer."

You're not really sure what he means by that, and Bakugou doesn't look all that thrilled that he said the words at all. He jumps in his chair, cheeks gone pink as he digs his face into the skin of his arm. He's hiding.

It strikes you as even but odd, but you shrug off the strangeness all the same. You're getting far too used to his particular brand of bizarre.

"All better now?" You goad, patting the bandage after you've finished re-wrapping. "Everything feel nice and perfect for Prince Bakugou?"

He lifts his head. "You're not funny."

"You always say that too. But it's okay, I know one day you'll finally come around and appreciate me."

He just laughs under his breath, but he smiles too. Grins something tiny and small that he hides in his shoulder.

You start finishing up his other hand, and Bakugou doesn't say anything otherwise. He just sits, resting his head on his arm, and watching you intently. He's all calm and even breathing, chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. You'd thought him adrenaline-crazed earlier, but it seemed he was coming off of that high rapidly. You could feel the exhaustion too- almost lulled by your movements just as much as he was.

You start gathering away all of your materials, and he doesn't even move. Just sits in perfect stillness at your table.

"I- I didn't accidentally touch you right? That's not why you're like that?" You ask, smothering a yawn. "Super exhausted, I mean."

He shakes his head. "Nah. Normal tired. Didn't fuck up this time, leech."

You don't have it in you to respond, hardly even rolling your eyes at his remark. His jabs don't hold much bite anymore- you begin to wonder if he's actually getting nicer or if you're just growing a ridiculous tolerance.

You brush off the thought, pushing away from your table and rising from the chair. "You still hungry?"

"Yeah. Wanna sleep first though so don't worry about it."

"Okay; well, I'm definitely going to so-"

"I said don't." He supplies evenly, finally sitting up in his seat. "It's fine. 'm not fuckin' starvin' or anything."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

His insistence sells you, but you're not sure if it's because you actually believe him or because you just want to. Either way, you figure it doesn't matter much in the end, not to the way your limbs are quickly bowing to exhaustion. You feel the fatigue settling in, and you'd like to blame that for your next actions.

"C'mon then, sleep time, I guess." You say.

Then you cross the kitchen, passing behind him, dropping your hand on his shoulder. You hardly let it sit, just running your thumb over his shirt once, twice, and then continuing on your way.

He takes several seconds to finally follow you into the living room. Enough to have you looking back in confusion, unable to understand why he looked so very stunted where he still sat.

"Jesus, you're annoying." He finally grumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

His steps are loud as he crosses the room, stopping just a few inches in front of you. He grabs at your arm, raising your wrist himself and plucking the glove off in one fluid grab. It if wasn't so sudden an action- so ridiculous and fast and borderline violent, you might have even been flustered.

As it was though, he just grabbed your wrist before you could really register it.

Familiar warmth floods your veins. The same burning, slow heat that makes it;s way through each vein and artery. You think maybe your knuckles ache a little bit too, but it's too hard to tell through your quickly increasing sleep fog.

Bakugou lets you go pretty quick, falling back on your couch in almost the same moment.

"Better?" You ask, mirth warming your words. "Had to do it yourself because I was taking too long?"

"No, 'cause you pissed me off."

"Doing what?"

"You know what you're fuckin' doing."

Then he's grabbing the blanket, settling it over himself gracelessly while he flops over. He's face-first into the cushions now, effectively ending the conversation in much the way he typically does- by refusing to engage entirely.

You just roll your eyes a litItle fondly, still not even beginning to understand.

/-/

ooooo boy i am so sorry y'all for this late uPDATe,,, pls i usually update my fics way faster than this but sometimes life rlly just do be happenin lmaoooooo

n e wayz, ty for reading and supporting my work!! y'all are the absolute best i could ever ask for!!!

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou bnha #bakugou mha #bakugou x reader #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x self insert #bakugou x you #bakugou fic #bnha fic #mha fic #bakugou imagine

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battybatzgirl · 3 years

Text

Hey Mr. Sandman, You Missed a Spot

AO3

Summary:

It's not that Hunter doesn't ever sleep, Eda's come to realize. It was that he falls asleep sporadically, most of the time in really weird places.

Or: 5 times Eda catches Hunter taking a nap

Part 1 of the Finders Keepers Series

---

Here’s the thing about Eda: she loves naps. Eda likes to be cozy, so usually, that equated to curling up under a blanket, lazing around, and falling asleep. The Owl Beast shared that sentiment, the creature that lived within her constantly wanting to nest. Those animalistic instincts were weird, but when you lived in a house with a demon who also liked to bury himself under a pile of stuffed animals, you kind of got used to it.

Here’s the thing about Hunter: he doesn’t sleep.

The kid has been living with them for only about two weeks, officially replacing Eda as Public Enemy Numero Uno in the eyes of the Emperor. When he’d showed up on Hooty’s doorstep, all bloody and barely conscious, Eda thought it was some kind of cosmic trick. The Powers That Be had to be pulling her leg because this was the second time the leader of the Emperor’s Coven had shown up to the Owl House with nowhere else to go.

Luz had been ecstatic to welcome him in, apparently excited to finally fulfill her dreams of becoming a middle child in their weird little found family. King was less thrilled, but eventually warmed up to the idea of Hunter staying with them as long as he taught King his secrets on how to command an army.

Hunter himself even seemed unnerved at the thought of living with them. He tried to leave a few times when he was still wounded, but his little bird palisman (Rascal, she’s heard him say) effectively herded him back into the house by continuously dive-bombing him and nipping at his ears. And after Belos put out a wanted poster for the kid, making him the Isles’ number one most wanted traitor, leaving wasn’t really an option. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

So eventually, Hunter begrudgingly accepted that yeah, he lived in the Owl House now.

And alright, Eda isn’t heartless. The kid was lost, wounded, and an enemy of the Emperor. She can work with that.

Getting to know him has been a challenge, though. Hunter has a lot of weird quirks. He holds himself so seriously that Eda has a hard time remembering that he’s a teenager and not a fully grown middle-aged man. He hardly ever smiles. He’s jumpy, practically jolting out of his skin every time you walk into the same room. He’s clearly Going Through Some Shit, as Eda so eloquently calls it, remembering how Lily went through the same thing when she slowly broke free of Belos’s freaky subjugation.

But still. The kid doesn’t sleep.

Eda first notices it around day four of his residence. She’s up early to go to the market, stepping into the living room and nearly transforming into her Harpy Form out of pure shock when she sees a figure messing with her bookshelf in the back of the room. Wide maroon eyes lock on hers from across the room and she feels the feathers that sprung to her skin recede.

“Titan, kid,” she breaths, “You nearly killed me. What are you doing up? It’s Saturday, you should be sleeping in.”

“Um…I did sleep in,” Hunter responds, as if it’s obvious.

Eda feels a frown tug at her lips, “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

The kid just shrugs a little lamely, and Eda feels a twinge of concern in her chest. (And ugh, feeling concerned for a guy who dangled you over the Boiling Sea is certainly weird.) If this was sleeping in for him, he couldn’t have rested more than five hours.

She steps closer, taking a second look at what he’s doing. Half the books are spread out on the floor, the other half stacked neatly back on the shelves in some kind of order.

He notices her looking, “I, uh, took the liberty of reorganizing your bookshelf. Or organizing it, since it didn’t really seem to have a system.” The kid ducks his head, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “I- I can put it back the way it was if you want, or organize them in a different way.”

That’s another thing about Hunter: he always has to be doing something. Being useful. Without direction, he crumples. It was always, What do you want me to do now, Miss Clawthorne this and I completed this task, Miss Clawthorne, what’s next that. His brain operated on a transactional level—I do this thing for you, you do this thing for me. And since Eda was housing him, he felt like he had to constantly be doing things for her. Constantly proving himself worthy to be here, repaying her. Hunter couldn’t seem to wrap his head around that she didn’t want him to do anything except stay comfortable.

Eda has thought up a hundred different little tasks for him to do in just his first four days. She’s running out of odd jobs to give him, and if she has to keep telling him what to do she’s going to start pulling out her hair.

“You’re fine, kid,” she says. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’ if it makes ya happy. But you shouldn’t be up this early. You should at least take a nap later.”

Hunter tilts his head. “But that wouldn’t be accomplishing anything.”

“You don’t hafta be working all the time,” Eda stresses. “It’s okay to sit around and just exist once and a while. Actually, I think that should be your priority. Take a nap, relax, go cloud watching, take a walk—any or all of the above.”

“That sounds like doing nothing.”

“That’s because it is doing nothing.”

His face hardens, taking on that soldier-like seriousness that encompasses his entire demeanor. “Being lazy can’t be a priority.”

“Don’t think of it like that, then,” Eda almost snaps, wishing for a nice hot mug of apple blood. It was too damn early to deal with the repercussions of Belos’s all-work-no-play mindset. “Think of it as acting your age. Did you ever get to take naps as a kid in the Emperor’s Coven? Is relaxing just a foreign concept to you?”

He doesn’t answer, staring at her with those bagged eyes and guarded expression, and Eda throws up her hands in defeat.

She leaves then, her patience running too thin to continue arguing with him. She doubts he’ll actually go back to sleep. He probably goes back to doing whatever he was doing with that bookshelf. Eda makes a mental note to tell King to knock all the books off, just so Hunter can reorganize it later. Just for something for him to keep him occupied.

Eda doesn’t even notice the first time it happens. It was one of Luz’s friends, Gus, who pointed it out.

The kids were gathered at her home after school, spread out on the floor of the living room along with various pillows and blankets. Luz found some card game she knew buried somewhere in the piles of human trash Eda has laying around, and the girl has been spending the better part of an hour trying to explain how it works.

“So the Wild Card doesn’t make you turn into a wild animal?” Willow questions, holding up a black card with looks like a colorful pie chart on it.

“Nope!” Luz says cheerfully. “It just becomes any color you want it to be to go with the rest of your hand.”

“But the card doesn’t actually change color?” Amity asks.

“No, it only represents the color,” Luz clarifies, and Eda has to admit, her girl has a ton of patience. She’s been quietly watching from her place on the couch, half-listening to their conversation, half-reading the Isles’ latest edition of You Gossipy Witch, a tabloid where a writer is speculating about her true form. Apparently, some people think she was raised by feral, wild owls on some far away barrier island, and has come to reside in Bonesborough just because she ran out of mutant rats to eat.

Weird.

But entertaining!

Gus holds up one of his cards, “So are blank cards bad, or—"

King jumps over his shoulder, landing on the deck of cards in the middle of their little circle and making them fly everywhere. “I have taken dominion over ALL YOUR CARDS. All of you must grovel for a taste of my wealth!”

“Actually, the point of the game is to get rid of all your cards,” Luz reminds him gently. “That way, when you get down to one card, you shout Uno! And you win! If no one else makes you draw anymore, that is.”

King deflates a little, apparently put off by the idea of less is more. “Oh.” Luz smiles and pats him on the head, and he brightens up. “Okay, let’s play, because I wanna make all of you draw as many cards as possible! You'll drown in your cards! Choke on them, even!”

As they start gathering up the cards that King threw everywhere, Gus lets out a little gasp. “You guys—is Hunter asleep?”

That immediately draws Eda’s attention away from the magazine. Her eyes flicker to the blond witch, laying on his stomach just on the edge of their group. He was still having a hard time socializing, especially with Amity, but Luz was determined to include him in all friendship activities. She said wanted to teach him how to be a kid, and hell, if anyone could knock some seriousness out of that boy it would be Luz.

Hunter is indeed asleep—his face is mushed into the forearms pillowed under his head, and his red palisman has weaseled its way to nestle in between the crook of his elbow. His breath comes out in soft little sighs, and Eda feels something in her melt.

“Awwww, he looks so peaceful,” Luz croons, mushing her palms against her cheeks. Amity’s already scooched past her, snapping photos on her scroll. Eda can’t blame her. She knows a good blackmail opportunity when she sees one.

Eda’s off the couch and catches King mid-pounce. “Whoa there, none of that buddy.”

“But Edaaaa,” the demon whines, his little arms and legs flailing in mid-air. “I have to conquer him when he least expects it!”

“Ehhh, let the kid sleep. Save your conquests for when he’s awake and can put up a fight.” Eda sets him down in his place in the circle, and the kids all glance at each other before turning back to the cards.

She notices that they’re more mindful to keep their tones softer, probably to not disturb the sleeping boy. And when Hunter wakes himself up about half an hour later, they don’t mention it, seamlessly integrating him back into their game.

The second time it happens, Raine is walking Eda home. It’s early in the evening, and the pair just got done with a fabulous date—a picnic with apple blood and sweet (and stolen) baked goods? Titan, take Eda now, she’s found her perfect match.

She’s still riding that high, not noticing Raine stopping until they tug on their clasped hands. “Hey, who’s that? Is he okay?”

Eda follows where they’re pointing their finger. It’s Hunter, slumped against the base of an oak tree, fast asleep. His chin is tipped forward and a book open on his chest, and even more strangely, there’s a small pile of leaves on his lap.

“Oh, that’s just my—” Eda stops herself, the word catching in her throat. Hunter was a child in her care, yes, but he wasn’t quite her kid. Not like Luz or King. The blond witch was still too jumpy, baring his teeth and snarling at anything that tried to get close to him.

He calls her Miss Clawthorne, for Titan’s sake.

“—Hunter,” Eda finishes lamely.

Raine raises an eyebrow. “Your Hunter?”

“He’s uhhh, one of Luz’s friends who just so happens to be living with us. Not a big thing.”

Raine shoots her a deadpan look but strides forward anyway, kneeling next to the sleeping blond. They keep their voice to a low murmur, “Should we wake him? That can’t be comfortable for his neck. He’ll probably be sore later.”

“Eh, let him rest. This is more sleep than he usually gets.” Eda steps closer, kneeling down on his other side. It’s the side that has his scar, the slightly raised red tissue standing out even more so than usual now that he wasn’t constantly moving. She’s almost asked him how he got it, but he’s clearly sensitive about the subject. She’s seen the similar marks on his arms, and something tells her there are a whole lot more scars that he’s hiding.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who gave them to him.

Still, it’s hard to ignore just how young he looks. When he’s stripped of all of his snappy comebacks, quick defenses, and that guarded demeanor Belos forced onto him, he’s reduced to exactly what he should be:

A kid.

“Oh!” Raine startles in surprise. Eda looks up to see the cardinal palisman fluttering down from above them, carrying a few leaves in its beak. It hops down onto Hunter’s lap and deposits the leaves in the little growing pile on his leg.

A smile worms its way onto Eda’s face. She runs a finger across the little bird’s head, “Trying to keep him warm, huh?” The bird lets out a trilling note of confirmation. She lets the bird be, turning back to Raine, “I think Rascal’s got this covered. If he hasn’t come in before nightfall I’ll come out and get ‘em.”

The bard casts one last glance down at the sleeping boy before they stand. “Y’know, he kind of reminds me of someone.”

“Oh yeah?” Eda weaves her arm through Raine’s as the pair reassumes their walk.

“Yeah,” Raine hums. “He kind of has the same build as someone I met when I was held hostage in the Emperor’s palace. The Golden Guard. Did you hear that he ran away from the palace? There've been rumors that the Emperor himself is tearing apart the Right Arm looking for him.”

“Uh, about that...”

Raine stops, turning to look at her square in the face. Eda gives them a sheepish, toothy grin.

“Oh my god,” Raine says. “You adopted the Golden Guard?”

“Hey now, adopted is a very strong word—”

The bard cuts her off with a delighted laugh. “How am I not surprised?” Eda feels heat rise to her face, but can’t help but return Raine’s infectious smile. “Only you, Eda. Only you.”

The third time it happens, Eda’s passing through the upstairs hallway, intent on curling up into her nest for an afternoon nap of her own. She hears a shuffling noise as she passes by the glorified storage closet that they gave Hunter as a room, and can’t resist a peek inside.

What she finds is definitely…not what she was expecting. Hunter is laying flat on his back on the floor, his feet elevated on the little cot they’d given him. Yeesh, that couldn’t be comfortable. Soft snores woosh past his open lips, his face turned toward a crystal ball that’s playing some cartoon he must have been watching before he fell asleep.

His body is nearly covered in stuffed animals.

“King,” Eda hisses. The horned perpetrator is in the middle of dumping his entire army onto the blond witch’s chest, pinning down his arms with plushies. “What did I tell you about burying people alive?”

The demon pauses from where he’s been slowly arranging his army over Hunter’s sleeping form. “He’s got plenty of room to breathe! I didn’t cover his face,” King protests. “Can’t subjugate someone who’s dead.”

“No subjugating—” your brother, she almost says, “—Hunter.”

King squints at her, but then grumbles and starts slowly taking the stuffed animals off the boy’s body. Crisis averted, Eda slips back out into the hall, mind swirling. That was the second time she’d almost referred to Hunter as hers in passing. The feeling is too raw to speak out loud yet, but there’s a growing warmth in her as she watches Hunter acclimate to his surroundings in the Owl House. With every day that goes by, he’s more comfortable around her, around Luz and King and Hooty, and he’s starting to come out of his shell. He’s growing softer, less quick to snarl, becoming more Hunter and less Golden Guard.

Unconsciously, Eda’s started viewing him as part of their little family. Two weeks ago, that thought would have made her uncomfortable. Now, she welcomes it with open arms.

Ugh, she’s getting so soft.

The fourth time it happens is when Eda’s flying home from visiting Lilith. She’s only been gone for the day, and is hoping that leaving Luz in charge hasn’t led to any freak fires, the resurrection of the dead, or other various natural disasters. Unfortunately, even her most responsible kid is pretty reckless, so Eda’s expectations are set pretty low.

It’s probably sometime around 2 a.m. when she makes it home sweet home. She swoops in close, intent on landing on the front door but stilling mid-air when she sees something on the roof of the tower. Even from up here, it’s not hard to distinguish the form of a looming body.

Eda’s heart leaps into her throat and she takes Owlbert down into a dive. Her body is tense when she lands, her staff already aimed toward the person lurking by the edge of the roof. “Alright listen bucko, you better step back or—wait.” She sees what looks like a lump of feathers sitting on top of the person’s head, and Eda squints in the darkness. She quickly pulls out a light glyph, sending the tiny ball of sun forward.

“Hunter?!” Eda’s tense posture relaxes. The kid doesn’t answer, and it takes her a beat to figure out why. He’s dead asleep, slumped precariously over the telescope they use for stargazing. Eda has no idea how he’s even standing at all. Kid probably had a ton of practice of falling asleep on his feet during long, boring meetings with the Emperor.

“Wakey, wakey.” She places her hand on his shoulder, gently, but he wakes up with a full-body jerk, startling the palisman on top of his head. The cardinal chirps once in irritation, fluttering to rest on Eda’s shoulder instead.

Hunter’s eyes are wild for a moment until he seems to register where he is and who he’s with. He relaxes then, letting out a yawn so huge it would put any lion to shame. “…Eda?”

“The one and only,” Eda says, ignoring how her heart squeezes at the kid finally calling her by her name. “Wanna tell me why you’re up here in the middle of the night?”

“Waitin’ for you,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. His eyelids drop and he sways dangerously on his feet. “Wanted to… t’make sure y’got home safe.”

The warmth in her chest expands and eclipses her entire body in that fuzzy feeling she gets whenever one of her kids does something particularly adorable. Thank Titan it’s dark and Hunter is too out of it to notice the smile that spreads across her face. If he was fully awake, Eda gets the feeling that A) he probably never would have admitted that he was worried about her, and B) would have snapped at her for smiling at him like that. “Well, I’m home now, so let’s get you to bed before you topple over.”

Eda wraps her arm around his waist and nudges him along, practically carrying him back downstairs, their palismen following close behind. She doesn’t mind. Someone had to make sure he didn’t fall off the roof.

“Night, kid,” she says, tucking him under the blankets on his cot. Hunter doesn’t respond, already having slipped back into unconsciousness. And if she brushes his bangs tenderly out of his face, no one ever has to be the wiser.

The fifth time it happens, Eda’s gotten used to it. It's not that Hunter doesn’t sleep, she’s come to realize. He just falls asleep in weird places. Why, she has no idea, but honestly, the kid looked so tired all the time, she wasn’t going to question it. They had bigger things to worry about.

The Day of Unity is just around the corner, and Belos has become more irritating than ever.

Eda hadn’t even thought that was possible for him, but apparently, it was. The scouts around Bonesborough have tripled, their captains leading more and more raids, butting into shops to check everyone’s papers, and invading random districts.

Oddly, Belos’s priorities seem to have shifted. He’s still sending out grunts to round up any wild witches, but the guards have been playing a weird sort of hide-and-seek, going beyond just patrolling the marketplaces to actually tearing into people’s homes. From what she’s heard, the guards never take anything, just searching the place top-to-bottom before leaving empty-handed and moving on to the next house.

Belos was looking for something.

And unfortunately, Eda’s got a pretty good idea of what he’s after.

Said thing just so happens to be slumped across from her at the kitchen table, dead to the world. It’s late into the night, and most of the kids have already gone to sleep. Too on edge to lie down, Eda’s been keeping herself busy by concocting more potions while the late-night news plays on her crystal ball in the background.

Hunter, striving to be helpful, volunteered to stay up and help.

It wasn’t long before the kid slowly started to nod off, face supported by his palm as his eyelids started to droop. He’d been in the middle of mixing two ingredients—highly flammable ingredients, mind you—and Eda plucked the vials out of his lax grip just in time. Honestly, it was a miracle the kid never killed himself in the Emperor’s Coven with how randomly he falls asleep.

He probably never got the chance to sleep at all, a voice reminds her. She remembers how dead-exhausted Lily was during her first few days at the Owl House. It was probably safe to assume that the Emperor had a habit of running the head of his Coven into the ground.

Hunter has been picking up on Belos’s tightening grip, too. He’s been getting quieter, more reserved. He’s come to the same conclusion that Eda has: the Emperor was tearing apart the whole of the Isles to get him back.

Why, though, is anyone’s guess. Hunter has long since explained that his uncle always said that the Titan had big plans for him, and it probably has something to do with the Day of Unity, but beyond that, the Emperor had always kept him in the dark. Luz has a crazy theory involving clones and blood magic, but that sounds like it’s a plot point straight out of one of her Azura books. King thinks Belos wants his artificial staff back, and Hooty predicts the Emperor is just sad because all his Coven leaders are leaving him to join Hooty’s superior best friends club.

Whatever the reason, Eda’s made it pretty clear that she’s not gonna bend to Belos’s intimidation tactics and turn him over. That smarmy gold jerk could set the whole Isles on fire and Eda still wouldn’t hand him over. Hunter’s part of the Bad Girl’s Coven now, and Belos can just suck it. And she’s not afraid to say that to his stupid face, either.

So when the cauldron at the end of the table that holds the scrying potion suddenly begins bubbling on its own, Eda may very well get her chance.

She’s up on her feet in an instant, dashing to the other end of the table just as the steam rising off the potion begins to warp into a familiar figure.

“Edalyn,” Belos greets, his voice sharp like a dagger. “I do hope I’m not interrupting your evening, but I needed a word with you.”

Ugh, scrying potions weren’t supposed to work both ways! Belos was too damn powerful. He could probably peer into their lives as much as they could peer into his.

“Sorry, but now’s a bad time,” Eda shoots back. “Why don’t you hang up and call back literally never?”

“It’s come to my attention that you have something of mine,” the masked man continues smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’d ever so appreciate it if you gave it back.”

Eda’s lip curls back, feeling the itch of feathers poking out of her joints. She wants to shift into her harpy form and leap through the potion to claw out his eyes. “Sorry, Belos,” she says, dripping smug bravado, “We wild witches operate solely under the laws of finders keepers. Your kid? Mine now.”

Eda expects that the Emperor would very much like to vaporize her. “Make your threats wisely, Owl Lady. You have no idea what you’re up against. Everything will be easier for you and your little friends if you just hand the boy back over to me.”

“Fat chance.” Eda throws back her shoulders and shoots him a sharp grin. “Sounds to me like you’re threatening one of my kids, and we weirdos stick together. Going after one of us is basically asking for all of us to bring you down. Remember how well that went last time? How my human cracked your mask and publicly humiliated you during your big let’s-turn-Eda-to-stone ceremony?”

The Emperor looks as though he has some choice words to say, but Eda doesn’t care. Hunter is her kid now. She glowers at him through that mist, voice lowering in with deadly promise. “You’ll have to drag him back to your Coven over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” sneers Belos.

“Try me, antler boy.” Then Eda whacks the cauldron and sends it tipping over the edge of the table. The connection is immediately severed as the potion goes splattering over the hardwood, and the resounding CLANG of the bowl makes Hunter shoot violently out of sleep.

“Huh?! Whassit—Eda? What happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine, kid,” she says, swallowing down the rage that’s still bubbling hot in her throat. “’S alright, just got a little clumsy and knocked over a cauldron. Sorry for waking you.”

“Sorry for falling asleep,” Hunter responds. He grabs a towel and hurries to clean up the oozing purple goo.

Eda waves him off, “Eh, I don’t mind. You kids need your rest. Growing bodies and all that.”

Hunter still hesitates, looking at her for a beat too long as if double-checking to make sure she wasn’t really upset. Eda holds back a sigh, a twinge of pity flickering through her that he’d even have to look at her like that in the first place. All the damage from Belos couldn’t be wrapped up in a month, she supposed.

She snatches up the cauldron, still dripping with the ruined potion. Peachy. She’ll have to call Lilith to get her scrying potion recipe. Though maybe not having this in the house was a good idea. Eda doesn’t want to risk His Royal Highness dropping in on any more unexpected house calls.

“Eda?”

She looks up at Hunter. The kid chewing on his bottom lip, wringing the half-soiled towel between scarred hands.

“I just…I wanted to say thank you,” Hunter says shyly. “I know having me here hasn’t exactly been easy—not only because of the fugitive thing, but because I’m…” He flounders for a moment, and Eda can only pretend to know what’s going through his mind right now. “…me,” he finishes finally. “You’ve been so kind and patient with me, it’s so much more than I deserve, and no matter what happens next—”

“Hey, no.” Eda cuts him off with a swift and gentle beratement. She sets the cauldron on the table and crowds closer to him, curling one hand around his cheek. The kid automatically leans into the touch, and Eda can’t help but wonder how Belos could have ever hurt a child who was as sweet as this one.

“You may be one bratty little shit, but you’re my bratty little shit. And Mama says you deserve all the smothering that comes with being a child of the Owl Lady.”

Then, to prove her point, she swoops down and quickly places feather-light kisses on the tip of his nose, forehead, and his scar, until Hunter squawks and shoves her away. He’s practically glowing, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Gross,” he snaps, rubbing furiously at his face. “I’m never helping you with your potions ever again.”

“I’ll accept your terms. Now get upstairs, it’s way past your bedtime.”

“I don’t have a bedtime, I’m not a baby.” Hunter sticks out his tongue but obeys, slipping out of the kitchen and disappearing into the rest of the house. Eda shakes her head as she watches him go.

Kids. What could ya do with ‘em?

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lucemferto · 3 years

Text

I wrote that Wilbur scene I talked about yesterday. I don't know if I captured any of the characters' voices, but I tried. It's around 1,800 words.

Sorry to spoil the surprise, but this scene has a twist!

„I’m not joining you.“

Wilbur’s eyes grew narrow. His cold gaze lingered on Tommy’s face. The boy’s expression was resolute; unwavering.

But there was this slight twitch in the left corner of his mouth. Just the faintest quiver in his lips. A weakness to be exploited.

“This burger van …” Tommy hesitated “… it’s just history repeating itself. It will end with us hurting people again …”

“’With us hurting people’?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow.

As he stepped closer, all the determination that Tommy had projected seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye. Wilbur gave him a wide smile – a thinly-veiled threat behind the appearance of affability.

“Tommy, we never hurt anyone! L’Manburg was a grand old time, Tommy, don’t you remember? Me as president; you as—”

“Maybe it wasn’t, Wilbur.”

Wilbur’s smile faltered. A glower displaced his once outwardly cheery disposition.

“You’re not making sense.”

“I’m not making sense?!” Tommy raised his voice, a blustering anger flaring up and painting over the insecurities that had been so apparent just moments before. “The presidency killed you, Wilbur! And it almost killed Tubbo! I can’t let that—”

“Tubbo?!” A hoarse laugh escaped Wilbur’s throat; more like the angry bellowing of a rabid dog. “Why the fuck should we care about Tubbo?! He betrayed us, Tommy!”

“T-That’s not true!”

Wilbur stepped closer; Tommy took a step back – but the walls of the van were already pressed up against his back. The older man was towering over him, casting him in shadow. A wild and manic energy was glinting in his eyes, bloodshot and red like sundown soon giving way to a dark night.

“He fucking teamed with the enemy, Tommy! What else would you call that?!”

“He still cares—”

Wilbur’s hand shot forward. Like the maw of an angry serpent, it closed itself around Tommy’s throat. All colour drained from the boy’s face – his complexion like that of a corpse.

“Don’t you fucking get it, Tommy?!” Little droplets of spittle rained on Tommy’s skin as Wilbur’s face inched ever closer to his. “Tubbo doesn’t care; he never cared! You were just a fucking tool to him, Tommy! Someone he could use and throw away once you were no longer useful!”

Wilbur’s dirty fingernails burrowed themselves into Tommy’s neck – soon trails of red were trickling down into the boy’s shirt.

“I’m the only who cares, Tommy! I’m the only one who ever cared about you!”

“Wilbur! Y-you’re hurting me!”

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy! I don’t ca—”

“STOP!”

The scene halted; as though time had frozen. A figure emerged from the darkness of the burger van.

It was Wilbur.

Though he and the Wilbur currently choking Tommy looked almost identical upon first glance, there were some striking differences: Gleaming red eyes contrasted against tired brown ones; demonic intensity against a dull exhaustion. The first Wilbur seemed almost unnaturally tall and imposing as he towered over Tommy; the second Wilbur carried himself smaller, more guarded.

“I d-don’t …” For a moment the voice of the second Wilbur seemed to falter; but soon he snapped back to a more confident bearing; all insecurity obscured behind a steadfast façade. “No more!”

A deafening silence fell upon the van. Then, slowly, as though unattached from his neck, Tommy’s head turned to Wilbur. Brilliant blue gave way to a searing crimson; fear to a wide, sharp-teethed grin.

“Whaaaat? You don’t enjoy the little play I put on just for you? And I thought you’d be impressed with all the cool ghost shit I can do now.”

With a sickening ratch, two horns ripped through Tommy’s temples. Shadow swallowed his blond locks, transforming them into dark, slicked back hair. Murky, unkempt facial hair sprout from his skin as his once lively complexion grew grey and translucent. Smokey tendrils enshrouded the red and white T-Shirt, before it emerged as a black business suit, the bloodred tie serving as the only blotch of colour.

The ghost of Schlatt had appeared before Wilbur.

“Guess it hit a little too close to home, huh?”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. While the illusionary Tommy had disappeared upon Glatt’s arrival, the facsimile of himself was still standing there. Frozen in eternal wrath.

Wilbur’s mouth grew thin. “I wouldn’t do that to Tommy. I would never hurt him.”

Feigned shock contorted Glatt’s mouth into a darkly comical expression. “That’s not what he told me.”

Wilbur felt something icy sting in his chest “What?”

Glatt nodded. “Yeah, it was the strangest thing. I was in my gym doing reps, snorting creatine, you know how it goes, when suddenly I hear some … some whining.”

Wilbur immediately took notice. He knew what Glatt was talking about. The lump in his throat felt like it would soon suffocate him.

Glatt didn’t seem to notice.

“The sound of some low-T beta just letting it all out. And when I go take a look, who else should I find but—"

“Tommy …”

“Don’t interrupt me. Anyway, when I turn the corner, I see this real pathetic mess just sitting on the floor, sobbing. I told him to shut the fuck up, because he was throwing me off my game. But he just wouldn’t stop, so good guy that I am – you remember how great I am with kids!”

“You never were.”

“Oh no, I was! That Tubbo-kid, he had it good in Manberg.”

Wilbur flinched – whether it was because of the bastardized name of the country he had once loved and loathed or because Glatt’s words woke some memories in him that he’d soon rather forget; he did not know.

“You had him executed.”

Glatt nodded, a wistful smile curling his ashen lips. “Good times, good times. Anyway, the little ghost-brat … he tells me his name is Gommy.”

Glatt let out a harsh, bellowing laugh. Wilbur could not share his amusement. He had almost forgotten how much he hated Schlatt’s sneering.

The ghost still had not managed to fully compose himself. “Gommy, that’s such a dumb name! Gommy … you wanna know what a good name is?”

“Is it—?”

“GLATT!”

The sound came out like a bile-filled belch. Wilbur closed his eyes in exasperation; his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I figured … Does this story have a point or are you just here to waste my time?”

Glatt frowned. “What, am I not good enough company for you?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

For the first time in their conversation, Glatt’s face grew more serious. His red stare tore into Wilbur; almost drilled into his mind. Wilbur answered the ghost’s stare with what he hoped was a cold, unreadable expression.

But he knew that in Schlatt’s presence, there were no masks to wear. No intent to hide. That ram was the only man that could strip him bare.

Finally, Wilbur had to break eye contact. With a sound of exasperation, he spat out: “Get to the point!”

“‘Get to the point’” The false Wilbur moved his lips, but it was Glatt’s mocking voice that emerged from behind them. “Man, I liked it more when you were a little ghost bitch. You used to come to my gym actually; did some reps. Annoying accent, but damn, what a cute ass.”

Wilbur’s jaw tensed. He had enough of this.

“I’m leaving.”

With a few long strides he had reached the exit of the van. The cold, fresh night air was beckoning him; away from the smell of cigarettes and alcohol.

Then that obnoxious voice called after him again: “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Ghost-boy didn’t have the nicest things to say about you …”

Wilbur froze. His hand was on the door handle, ready to release him from this dark, stuffy room. It would be so easy to just leave; to rid himself of this headache. He did not need to stay.

“… You’re lying.”

A wide grin stretched Glatt’s thin lips – Wilbur couldn’t see it; but he could hear it in that tone of his.

“I’m the one who’s lying? No, no, no, I’m merely recounting what 'Gommy' told me.”

Wilbur turned around. Glatt’s smug smirk was even more unbearable than he had imagined.

“You know, after he was done bawling his eyes out and blubbering like a little bitch –“

Glatt’s face shifted into warped replica of Tommy’s – big shimmering eyes and a little doll like mouth quivering with exaggerated sorrow: “‘D-D-Dweam, D-Dweam, h-h-he’— Anyway, he told me that while my cabinet was having a grand old time over in Manberg, you were being very mean to him.”

Wilbur shook his head. “I-I’ve changed. I apologized!”

Tommy-Glatt let out another bellowing laugh. It cut through Wilbur like a knife through a paper door.

“You think an apology could make this better!”

Wilbur jumped back. The fake Wilbur began to move once more. With a thundering roar, his fist made contact with the fake Tommy’s temple. A loud thud; Tommy impacted with the floor of the van. But before he could get up, the fake Wilbur began kicking him in the stomach; screaming obscenities and curses.

It wasn’t Wilbur’s voice – it was so clearly Glatt’s poor imitation of his accent. With each kick, Glatt-Tommy’s eyes bulged out of his skull; not like a person, but like a grotesque cartoon. It was a farcical display.

But Wilbur – the real Wilbur – was paralyzed. His mind was clouded with memories and nightmares; fears bloated and distorted by thirteen years of isolation

“That’s not … that’s not what happened!”

Schlatt’s piercing, high-pitched cackling erupted out of Tommy’s mouth once more.

“Boy, Limbo really did a number on you!”

With a jump Glatt-Tommy was up on his feet again – his nose bloody and broken, his skin coloured black and blue; his hateful grin revealing multiple missing teeth.

“Not that you were all that together beforehand – ‘Tommy, let’s be the bad guys!’ ‘No, Wilbur don’t blow up Manberg. If you blow up Manberg, I’m gonna piss my pants—’ ‘Shut up, Tommy!’”

“I never hit him!” Wilbur’s panicked exclamation interrupted the smear show. “I never hit him!”

Glatt-Tommy shook his head; the satisfied grin not leaving his face. “That’s not what he told me! And what’s worse, when that green guy – Dream, I think his name was? – while he was using Tommy as his own personal punching bag, your ghost was off in the woods jerking off or something. And now you're calling Dream your hero!”

Wilbur felt as all colour drained from his face. The van around him began to spin; darkness and alcohol and cigarette smoke choking even the last ounce of the outside air he could smell.

“I-I …”

Slowly the façade of Tommy began to melt once more. Slowly, deliberately. A nightmarish display. Glatt’s and Tommy’s voices spoke in unison; their echo a cacophony in Wilbur’s ears.

“Face it, loverboy. You will always be a bad guy. No number of apologies will change that. He will never forgive you.”

#cw violence #dream smp #dsmp #dsmpblr #dreamsmp #dream smp writing #wilbur soot #dsmp wilbur #c!wilbur #tommyinnit #dsmp tommy #c!tommy #jschlatt #schlatt #c!jschlatt #c!schlatt #glatt #dsmp glatt

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clandonnachaidh · 3 years

Text

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch6)

AO3

“Mind ye’ve got that meeting this afternoon?” Ian reminded him for the thousandth time as they all sat at the breakfast table and Jamie fought the urge not to roll his eyes, already mildly annoyed at the fact that his bowl of porridge wasn’t quite right. He should’ve made it himself without backing down when Jenny had insisted on doing it for him, that way it would’ve been thick enough to plaster a wall with, just how he liked it. But his sister would never surrender the spurtle, working it through the oats and milk until they became creamy and setting a large bowl of sugar on the table, much to Jamie’s distaste. Thick enough to clart a wall and with enough salt to make your eyes water, that was exactly how he’d had it since he was a bairn, their mother taking hers in the same way. Only Jenny and their father had preferred that their breakfast be covered in sugar and the sweetness of the Scottish strawberries that grew wild on Lallybroch estate.

“Aye, I ken fine well enough,” Jamie grunted without turning his eyes towards Ian who was trying to encourage a spoonful into Wee Ian’s mouth. “Whit was the name of the estate again?”

“’Tis the only estate in Tomich but did I no’ tell ye? He’s changed the meeting to the golf club.”

It had been his idea to begin with but now Jamie was uncertain about how their drunken plan was taking shape. After one too many whiskies of a night, he and Ian had been sprawled in front of the fire as they chastised the blend that they were imbibing, arrogantly announcing that the two of them could do much better. Jamie hadn’t thought anything of it as he’d stumbled to his bed and let sleep take him but a few days later he found himself mending a fence post in the back field as Ian continued his musing about Broch Mordha putting its stamp on the world as a new destination for a premier whisky distillery and the two of them, its innovative creators.

Jamie grunted as he rose to his feet and deposited his bowl into the deep sink, letting the tap run to soak the dish and refusing to turn his body to take in the picture perfect family scene that was sat at the kitchen table.

“Mr Dunsany—“

“He’s a Lord, is he no’?”

“Is there a reason yer being a particularly crabbit arse this morning, brother?” Jenny’s voice was dripping with irritation, not wanting her nice family breakfast to be ruined by the interminable grey cloud that had been brewing over Jamie’s head for the past few weeks.

“Jen, leave him be.”

“I will not. He’s been a moanin’ greetin’ face since he came back from that bloody reunion and ’tis hell time he snapped out of it,” she said a little louder to ensure that Jamie heard the emphasis that she placed on the insult as it flew from her mouth.

This caused him to turn on his heel and level his sister with a careful eye.

“I’m sorry, Janet, but sometimes I think ye forget that there is a world outside of Lallybroch. Life can be a damn sight more complicated than poppin’ out weans and tending tae chickens, ye ken.”

If her temper didn’t hit the roof, her eyebrows certainly made a good go of it. Silently, her fingers curled tightly around the spoon, stilling herself against the pull of Wee Ian’s chubby little hand that was fisted in the material of her shirt, demanding attention.

“I ken that fine well, James. But ye canna jus’ come home every time ye see her and sulk like a wee bairn that doesna get what he wants. Grow up a wee bit, aye?”

At the end of her parting shot, Jamie felt the anger licking at the sides of his throat. The rage that he’d been directing towards himself was now begging to be let loose on someone else, someone that would bite back and Christ, Jenny would do just that. It had been this way since he’d come home, the frustration melting into a sullenness that had punctured the idyllic bubble that the family lived in at Lallybroch. In his worst thoughts, he resented both his sister and his best friend and the happiness that they shared. Jamie loved them to their bones, of course he did, but after leaving Oxford with yet another memory of how he’d let Claire slip through his fingers, the last thing he wanted to see was the very evident love between Jenny and Ian and their three children.

And so he found himself, in a suit that was a bit tight across his shoulders but he’d purchased anyway in a department store on the Inverness High Street, shaking hands with Lord William Dunsany in the bar of a golf club that he’d never seen fit to frequent himself. Jamie tried his hardest not to let the glances from the club members get to him as they walked around the lounge with an understated belonging the he’d never feel himself. He made sure that he gave a strong handshake, looking the shorter man straight in the eye and made the informed decision to swap from his usual Scots to his best Received Pronunciation, assuming that Lord Dunsany was one of those people who claimed to be a ’Scotchman’ but was as English as they come with the age old story of inheriting Scottish land as a birthright. Jamie had realised, however, that the man certainly knew his whisky and would make a not-half-bad business partner with himself and Ian if he managed to convince him to part with some cash.

Jamie was fuzzy on the details of how’d they’d come to the agreement but two hours and four whiskies later, he found himself once more shaking hands with Dunsany. The Lord would foot the seed money in exchange for a fairly sizeable but not unfair amount of the business and as a personal favour, Jamie would escort his eldest daughter around Edinburgh the following evening.

“She’s up here with me to get away from some nonsense that’s gone on at home but she’s been cooped up in her hotel for days while her mother tries to organise a townhouse for her. I just want her to get out and see the city. Who better to show her around than a native?”

Late next afternoon, his slight hangover thankfully having subsided after a coffee and a square sausage roll, Jamie stepped off of the train and onto the platform of Waverley Station in the heart of Edinburgh.

The tang of the breweries immediately filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply as the ever present sound of bagpipes floated down from the upper level of the street. While Lallybroch where was his heart lived, and he loved the humour and familiarity of Glasgow, Edinburgh held a special place in his heart. He never got tired of grabbing a coffee and walking the length of George Street in the sun, the castle bursting into view if he turned his eyes to the east.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made his way towards the hotel that Dunsany had insisted on to putting him up in, the same one as his daughter just to make things simple. Although Jamie had spent many a morning diving into the spectacular breakfasts put on at one of his favourite places in Edinburgh, The Huxley, he had never imagined staying at The Caledonian that loomed over the small establishment just metres from its door.

Jamie didn’t quite know what to do as the doorman who was wearing a bloody top hat opened the door to the hotel for him so he settled on giving the man a polite smile, resisting an absurd urge to give him some type of formal bow. He had been in nice hotels before but nothing like this with its polished marble floor and a huge vases of fresh cut flowers on most surfaces that he could see.

“Mr Fraser, we have you in the Robert Louis Stevenson Suite for two nights. Here is your room key and it also includes the number for the Concierge, should you have any need. We have a table booked in the Peacock Alley bar for you and Miss Dunsany at 6pm this evening and I would be happy to make any dinner reservations you would like to make, within or outwith the hotel. Michael can get the rest of your bags from the car,” a neat blonde woman smiled at him from the reception desk as she inclined her head to the bellboy hovering at a polite distance over Jamie’s right shoulder.

“It’s nae bother, lass, I’ve only got the one bag,” Jamie muttered with a hint of embarrassment as he pulled the bag from the floor and swiped the keycards from the desk, smiling back at her. “Thank ye.”

When he stepped through the door that bore the name of one of Scotland’s most beloved authors, his growing Imposter Syndrome ramped up a few notches. Crossing the floor towards the window, Jamie was greeted by a beautiful view of the castle as it loomed over the city. He didn’t quite know how to act, having never been in such a large and clearly expensive hotel room. In fact, it wasn’t even a room, the woman at the desk had called it a suite.

Flicking through the TV channels for a little while, settling on the new show about Billy Connolly’s upbringing in Scotland, his fingers lazily scratched at the bare patch of skin just above his belt buckle. Something about being in a different city and having some time to himself made him feel lighter than he had in weeks and he gave himself permission to laugh at a particularly lewd joke that spilled from The Big Yin’s mouth on the TV.

Jamie’s phone, lying face up on the mattress beside his left shoulder, startled him as it gave a firm buzz. Sitting up, he opened the latest message from Geneva, telling him that she wanted to go out for dinner somewhere nice tonight. He was under no illusion as to the fact that when someone like Geneva Dunsany used the words ‘somewhere nice’, she was actually saying ‘somewhere expensive’. But thankfully, Jamie knew just the place and sent her a reply saying that he had it in hand before phoning down to the reception and having the helpful woman book a table at a restaurant he knew would be impressive enough but not so posh that he would feel out of his depth by eating there.

Although they’d messaged back and forth that afternoon, he hadn’t bothered to enlarge the tiny picture next to her name at the top of the screen. Toying with his phone, Jamie resolved that he had to know what the lass looked like, not wanting to have to shuffle embarrassingly around the bar trying to figure out who he was there to meet.

Her picture brought to its full size, he looked at her for the first time and tried was pleasantly surprised. She was clearly beautiful. Dark hair that flowed in loose waves over bare shoulders, her skin a beautiful olive brown from a summer tanning on a beach somewhere. She was looking at the camera dead on with a surety that came from a privileged upbringing, her face painted perfectly and a twist of the lips that couldn’t really be called a smile, as if she didn’t want to be seen to be having fun. She looked like every posh girl that Jamie had met in his life, every girl at university who would air kiss their friends on both cheeks while their manicured hands clutched at bags that cost more than his first car.

Suppressing a groan at the thought of spending a weekend with a person who no doubt came from an entirely separate world than the one he’d grown up in, Jamie divested himself of his socks as he plodded, bare feet on plush carpet, through to the bathroom to take a shower and clean himself up ahead of his evening.

Later, he sat at the bar, his fingers playing with the patterns on the cut crystal glass that housed his double whisky, he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.

“James Fraser?”

His stomach dropped into the floor.

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind at what hearing his name fall from the lips of an Englishwoman would do to him. He felt an absurd wave of revulsion swipe through him in an instant and he took a quick drink before turning on his stool to face her, swallowing the bile that had risen up in his throat.

“Och, lass, nobody really calls me James. Ye can call me Mac. ’Tis another one of my family names,” he tried to sound light and not as if the sounds of his name leaving her lips felt like the flesh on his back had been ripped open to the bone.

There was a reluctance in her eyes and he immediately knew that she was uncomfortable so he did his best to send her his most charming smile, gesturing for her to sit and then signalling to the bartender.

“What would ye like tae drink?”

“Martini, if you would, extra dry, extra dirty,” she ordered confidently as the bartender nodded and turned to begin preparing it for her.

With her chin in the air, she asked, “So, my father said you were a business associate?”

“Aye, I suppose I am now. My brother-in-law and myself wish to start our own whisky company. Your father has kindly offered to help.”

“My father isn’t generally in the habit of helping out of kindness.”

“Aye, well, hopefully he trusts that we ken what we’re doing. Or that we’ll figure it out at the very least,” Jamie tried to joke but she gave him nothing. There was something cold in her demeanour that he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight against for the whole evening.

After watching the martini disappear down Geneva’s throat in record time, he offered her an arm as they left the hotel and were hit by the cool air of Edinburgh in the evening. As soon as Jamie took the first step towards Princes Street, Geneva halted.

“We’re walking?”

“’Tis no’ far, only ten minutes or so. We have time before our reservation,” he replied, gently tugging on the arm that she’d looped through his so that she would begin to walk with him. Her feet stayed firmly planted on the concrete.

“These are £500 shoes, I’m not walking anywhere.”

“Lass, Edinburgh is a city tae get lost in. If we get a taxi we’ll just be looking at the sides of buses and traffic lights. Yer father asked me tae show ye the city,” letting her arm slip from his, Jamie took a step forward and gestured towards the castle, atmospherically lit from beneath now that the sun had gone down. He turned back to her with a kind smile and held out his hand. “Let me, aye?”

Reluctantly, she acquiesced and let him lead her away from the hotel. Jamie’s skin tingled at the contact and he realised that he hadn’t touched a woman apart from Jenny since the university reunion with Claire. He flexed his fingers experimentally and felt something swell in the pit of his stomach when Geneva tightened her grip in response.

The two of them made small talk as they walked through Princes Street gardens and up towards the restaurant, Geneva seeming happy enough with the venue that he’d chosen. He’d heard good things about The Witchery before and as they sat down at a table covered in a pristine white cloth, surrounded by painted dark wood on the walls and ceilings, he noticed how pretty Geneva looked in the candlelight. Only a fool would try to argue that she wasn’t beautiful. But there was a coldness to her that hadn’t warmed yet and so he kept on being as charming as he could, hoping that another glass of wine might bring down the steely demeanour that she seemed to hold on to for dear life.

Oxford had been full of girls like Geneva Dunsany. Wealthy, privileged and confident. After four years of university, Jamie had perfected the art of tuning out their inane conversation about which exotic place they’d spent their summer, who’s guestlist they’d been placed on for the weekend and what they were planning on wearing. So he knew how to respond to her constant stream of speech, nodding and agreeing in the right places and sending dazzling smiles across the table when he felt like rolling his eyes. Though somehow, he found that he didn’t actually dislike Geneva Dunsany. Something in her eyes, or maybe it was the way she chose her words, showed Jamie that the poor little rich girl personality was an act. Underneath the mask, she felt the same way that he did—unfathomably sad.

Something inside of him felt sorry for her, recognising the pain that he knew all too well in another. And while he didn’t particularly care for the woman, Jamie decided to be kind to her. He leaned closer across the table and started to respond to her stories with anecdotes of his own. With the help of another two martinis, she began to blossom in his company and the two shared a relatively pleasant evening together.

When they reached the hotel elevator, Jamie had nothing on his mind other than stripping off his constricting shirt and sleeping off the whisky cloud that was hanging somewhere around his temples.

“What’s on the agenda now, then?” Geneva asked as they stood side by side.

“Shower then bed, I think.”

“Sounds good to me,” she all but whispered, Jamie’s head twisting to see the dark look of seduction that was painted on her face. “Mind if I join you?”

He didn’t say no.

It was shocking how easily he slipped into the worst version of himself. There had been a few nights in the past where he’d spent too much time and money in the pub in Broch Mordha and woken up the morning with some woman curled around him at whatever bed and breakfast they’d invited him back to. He only ever slept with women who were in the area for the moment, never anyone who he’d run into again. It was always when he was half gone with drink, his body acting solely on blind need that he succumbed to his baser instincts.

The doors of the elevator opened and Geneva walked in purposefully, turning to look at him with an alluring smile. Jamie walked in beside her and pressed the number for her floor.

They found pleasure in each other’s bodies but it was skin deep at best. A simple matter of scratching an itch that they both clearly had and had resolved to using the other to sate that particular need. There were no delicate touches or gazes held for any real length of time. Jamie set himself to work, making sure that she got hers before followed suit. It was perfunctory. Pleasant. And when they both uttered their subdued sounds of fulfilment, Geneva immediately rolled away from him, shielding herself once more.

“Do ye want me to go?” Jamie’s voice broke through the dark silence of the room.

Her response was barely a whisper, “Please.”

He dressed quickly, roughly, and scrambled around in the dark for his phone that had fallen from his pocket. Geneva was lying as still as a statue but Jamie could hear the odd sniff from her and realised that she had begun to cry. After dithering between his options, his inherent gentlemanliness won out.

“Is there anything I can do?”

There was no response for a few seconds and he took that as his answer, beginning to move towards the door of the room when a single word stopped his hand from turning the doorknob.

“Stay.”

Keeping his eye on her as though she was a frightened animal that might bolt at any provocation, he slowly began to undress. When she moved over slightly to give him room to get under the covers, he did just that and felt a strange sense of kinship as she wrapped her body around his. Jamie held her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. The sound of her gentle breathing was the only thing filling the room until his phone suddenly pinged with a notification.

Facebook Congratulate Claire Beauchamp on their engagement!

Before he could stop himself, he opened the app and looked at the posed photograph of the two of them, her left ring finger showing off an almost comically large diamond ring.

After telling our friends and family, we are so happy to announce that we are engaged! We thank everyone so far for their kind words and well wishes. From the future Mr and Mrs Frank Randall.

Every muscle on his body was thrumming with energy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what the energy was made from. Rage? Fear? Utter desolation? Whatever it was, it was coiling its way around his ribs, holding him in stasis and holding him hostage as he experienced it.

He wasn’t even considered a friend anymore, seeing as he hadn’t been given the privilege of a private message, having to find out through fucking Facebook. She had clearly changed in her time in Boston, the Claire he knew would never have given up her name and become Mrs Frank Randall. Randall-Beauchamp at the very least, for Christs sake.

Tasting the rare metallic nature of blood in his mouth, Jamie realised that he was biting the inside of his cheek. He felt the need to get up and do something, anything to expel the energy that was going to burst out of him if he didn’t channel it into something. But he was stilled by the feel of Geneva’s naked body against his and a rush of guilt tried to swallow him whole.

How dare he question Claire’s life, assume to know her situation all the while he was in bed with another woman. Reminding himself for the hundredth time that Claire had made her choice and it wasn’t him, he swallowed his pride and went to send her a message, even though he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

He shouldn’t have had that final whisky.

Jamie: Just seen the news. Congratulations to you and yours.

A blatant lie but what was he supposed to say?

To his surprise, her reply was almost immediate.

Claire: Thank you!

Short and to the point. Two words that would shut down any further conversation, a feigned attempt at excitement and gratitude that he prided himself on being able to see through.

He knew that he would have been one of many to send the same sentiment that day but he had kidded himself that his text would receive a more personalised response. Maybe all she thought of him was a copy and paste response as she planted her phone down screen first on the sofa before climbing into the arms of her future husband.

In an attempt to hold the tears at bay, Jamie curled an arm around Geneva’s prone body, bringing up his hands to his arm and pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars.

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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