#hand clasped so tight over his mouth that his knuckles are turning white

[ervotica]

pairing; dark!rafe cameron x crybaby!reader warnings; DARK (18+ only) use of coke (rafe & r), coercion into using drugs, mean!rafe (if y'all want a part two lemme know ! there will be smut ;)

You're holed up in the kitchen when Rafe finds you; legs bouncing, fingers flexing where you grip the cold counter. The colour bleeds from your knuckles slowly, discomfort licking up your spine from sitting on the hard surface for too long.

"Don't start," he gripes meanly before you've so much as looked at him, circling your wrist in his looped fingers and tugging you out of your seat. You shriek, steadying yourself against his hot chest- so hot that it radiates off of him in waves, ebbing and flowing. When your eyes flit upwards, looking at him through thick lashes, you see his irises have been almost entirely engulfed by blown-out pupils.

"I didn't do anything," you protest, brows drawing tight in the divot of your forehead, pushing out a crease that Rafe sighs at and smooths over with his thumb.

"You've been twitchy since we got here," he points out, turning to pile a mound of coke onto his pinky finger. His head dips and he plugs one nostril and sniffs, rubbing the burning sensation away for a few seconds after.

You cringe, shoulders rolling and hunching in on yourself as you shy away from him.

"Get over yourself, you prissy bitch," he mithers, rolling his eyes at your anxious dramatics.

You're immediately sniffling, pushing down the tears that tickle at your waterline and threaten to spill onto your balmy cheeks.

"I'm going home," you snap through the lump in your throat. "You suck."

He laughs, a harsh sound that bites at your tender heart despite his thumb plugging the tears that threaten to descend past your clogged lashline.

"Okay, okay," he concedes, barely stifling another chuckle as he clasps the back of your head and presses you to his chest. You gasp, pushing yourself into the flesh of his shoulder, whining. "C'mere, I got something' that'll make you feel better."

"What?" you gurgle as he dips his head to press a wet kiss to the crown of your head.

"Sit." His fingers curl around your ribcage and lift you back onto the granite before he's turning to fish the baggie back out of the pocket of his slacks.

"Rafe," you whine.

"Shh, shh," he murmurs, licking his pinky and dipping into the bag to coat it in the white powder. You cower as he crowds you, muscled chest pressed to yours as he uses his free hand to pry your jaw open. He rubs it slowly into your gums, massaging the muscle despite your petulant complaining.

"Rafe!" you squeal when he pulls away, a string of spit stretching and bowing between your pouting bottom lip and his finger.

His lips quirk up at the corners at your bratty fussing, tipping his head down to lick and suckle at your mouth. His saliva clings to your tongue when your lips part for him instinctually.

"Easy, kid," he purls, pearly white teeth grazing your chin when he deters from your lips. "You'll feel better in a sec."

Your pulse thrums to life beneath your skin, a faint buzzing that has your nerve endings standing straight.

"Yeah," he croons, amusement laced into his every word. "Feelin' it?"

"Mm," you hum, grappling for purchase against his button down shirt. He smacks wet lips to your jaw and hooks an arm round your middle, forcing you upright and into his side. "Let's go back out now, yeah?"

You wobble, shoulder digging into his ribcage as you walk wrapped under his tricep.

"Attagirl. I'll let you give me a blowie later 'f you're good."

[indigoflorals]

sisters keeper - r.c

rafe cameron x reader

your step brother is the only guy good enough for you

warnings: mild cnc, if this upsets you, do not read. unprotected sex, breeding kink, choking,

"Look at me,"

Rafe's cologne flooded your nostrils, overtaking your senses. It was a familiar scent, one you had grown accustomed to since your mother had married Ward Cameron. Rafe was everywhere, especially so on hot summers home from college.

Turning around, you were faced with your step brother standing in your bedroom. You placed the blouse in your hand on your bed and folded your arms, "Listen Rafe," you sighed, watching the way his eyes followed you, "I just want this summer to be normal."

The blank expression on his face turned to an almost amused one. "Normal?" He teased, "How is fucking that homeless pogue normal?"

Your brows furrowed in shock, "Don't say tha-"

"In fact," Rafe stepped forward, pinning you to step back against your dresser, "You should be grateful I'm so protective of you. Wouldn't want you falling back in with the wrong crowd."

You gasped as his hand came to your throat, testing his grip in light squeezes. "So obedient," He whispered, smirking at how fast you had melted for him, "Look so pretty." Rafe stepped froward to press his body against yours, grabbing a handful of your ass as he leaned into you. You whined as he released your throat, continuing to massage your ass.

"Tell me baby," He purred into your ear, pushing at the waistband of your shorts, "Did you fuck anyone while I was gone?" You finally felt the wetness that had been growing, and you needed attention.

You sucked in a breath as Rafe shoved your shorts and panties down, cupping your soaking pussy. "Tell me," He looked to you, eyes serious and still, "Tell me or we'll stop here."

"No!" You blurted out, desperate for his touch. You didn't care if your parents could hear. In that moment, you needed him. "Good girl," He smirked before pulling his hand away. You cried, but he shushed you, "Turn around, and bend over for me baby, ass up for me. Let me see that pretty pussy."

You spun around, hands gripping your dresser so tight you were sure your knuckles were white. Your stomach flipped in anticipation as you listed to him undo his belt from behind you."Spread your legs for me baby, nice and wide," Rafe whispered, stepping in between your legs. You could feel the heat of his cock before as pressed against your pussy, thick and heavy. "Now be a good girl and take my dick."

You felt him pull back and line himself up with your entrance. He pushed his tip in first, experimentally. You clasped a hand over your mouth, and he smirked, shoving the rest inside in one thrust. "So tight baby," He gripped your ass, rocking into you, "Good thing that pogue didnt ruin the best thing you have."

You whimpered, feeling your building pleasure despite his treatment. You slid a hand to your clit, using a finger to rub fast circles.

"Awe," Rafe panted, trying to ignore the feeling of your walls squeezing him, "Is the slut gonna cum? Gonna have to admit she likes this?"

"I do," You cried, gasping in surprise as your orgasm washed over you, "Feels so good Rafe. Love it so much." Your muscles relaxed, and Rafe wrapped an arm around your chest to hold you against his body. His pace quicken, and his rhythm was sloppier. "Gonna fill you up, get you pregnant." He kissed your neck, and slid his free hand to your clit. You felt your pussy begin to flutter again, and immediately Rafe grunted in your ear, rocking his hips. "Such a good girl. Taking all my cum."

Your pussy was warm, and your clit sore, you stood up, feeling liquid run down your thigh, "Shit." You turned for your bathroom, and Rafe slapped you on the ass.

"Come out ready for round two."

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

12 — IN SOME SAD WAY, I ALREADY KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad.

<- previous part | next part ->

“A written statement from the General himself.”

You mindlessly nod, eyes unfocused and ears ringing as you sit at the conference table, Laswell at the head with the paper in hand. Her brows are furrowed, and one of her hands rests at her hip as she reads over the paper’s contents once more.

Everything feels numb. Like your entire body’s been reset, and nothing makes sense – as if your very existence has been muffled.

Price and Ghost sit at the table, too, sharing looks with each other. The Sergeants are out training rookies – and a small, minute part of you is grateful. You don’t want them to see you so…

Whatever you are. Numb, cold, unfeeling. Any adjective that fits.

“Shepherd traded her,” Price seethes, knuckles whitening on the tight grip he has around his pack of cigars. 

“But why?” Laswell asks, exasperated, pacing at the front of the conference room. The overhead beams have been left off, so the frosted window is the only source of light. It allows a soft, gentle glow from the moon to fill the room, and it helps with your racing mind.

“We need to find him,” Ghost demands, voice gruff and icy. Thinly veiled anger – you recognise the tone all too well. 

“This gives us evidence to push the search further,” Laswell cuts in, her footfalls pausing as she searches the scrawled handwriting for something. “And it opens up a new trail. Why did Graves want you? And what did Shepherd deem worthy of trading his star soldier?”

Your leg’s bouncing, the soft tap tap tap of your foot against the linoleum floor sounding more like a ticking time bomb than anything.

When you look up from the table, your eyes instantly clash with a pair of dark brown. Ghost.

He’s watching you – something hidden behind his gaze that you can’t unpack. Not now, at least, with your mind racing at a million thoughts per hour. With your body feeling as sensitive as a live wire. Every breath feels manual, a feat in and of itself.

You break your eye contact with him suddenly, weary, looking to the window instead. The moon isn’t so complicated; doesn’t hold so many layers of darkness, both in colour and soul.

There’s nothing like the feeling of moonlight against your skin, the brush of nightly breezes against your chilled skin.

“Sweetheart –” Your attention instantly goes to Price, whose hands are clasped on the table, gaze heavy where it sits on you, “Do you know anything at all that could help us. Any leads.”

You go to open your mouth, but everything feels wrong, your stomach sinking and hands trembling and vision going blurry.

Without any thought, or reason, you abruptly stand, slightly shaky on your feet. You swallow, once, a difficult movement against your barren throat. Scratchy and harsh.

“I – I’m sorry, I need a moment,” you manage to mutter out, taking a step back in a shadow of defence.

Brows furrow, a question’s asked – you don’t hear, don’t see, because all you can do is turn and bolt out of the room, shouldering the door open and heading down the hospital light-white corridor, the white burning your vision.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your chest heaving, the echoing sound of your boots against the floor a distant soundtrack.

“Fuck,” you mutter, palms coming up to rub harshly at your face as you slow, unsure. You just need space, a moment to yourself, a place to break apart with no one as your witness.

A slightly ajar closet to your left seems like your best bet.

Heading for it, you push in, the stale scent of cleaning products hitting your nose. It’s difficult to find any part of you that cares in the slightest.

The door closes, and you just stand, for a moment, your head resting against the wood. Every breath rattles your bones, like your core is falling apart at its seams. Another breath. Two more.

Except it’s getting harder, with every breath, to fill your lungs. They come out harried, shallow and not unlike slices of a knife against your windpipe. They tear from your mouth like coughs.

Your back hits the wall, and you slide down, until you’re sat on the floor, head sat between your bent knees as the first tears finally fall down your cheeks. Hiccups leave your chapped lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your shoulders shake.

You haven’t allowed yourself to break down like this in... Gods, you can’t even remember. All you know is that it hurts, at your very core, but it’s also kind of freeing.

It’s as if your world is closing in around you; your breaths doing nothing to quell that intense sense of suffocation, cruel in the grasp your fear has around your throat. Nothing makes sense – everything hurts, your tears leave lines of heat down your cheeks –

The door creaks open.

Heart stuttering in your chest, you look up from your balled up frame with blurry vision, to see who your intruder is. Did Gaz or Soap leave the rookies early? Did Price or Laswell get worried and come check on you?

“Sweetheart.”

The tall, threatening frame of the man fills out the small crack of the door in a way that has your breath catching for a whole other reason.

“Ghost?” You find yourself asking, your voice threatening a whine with the state you’re in. 

He steps in, the scent of blood and some cologne filling the space as he does. You wipe at your bloodshot eyes, curling in closer.

“If you want to kill me, this is probably your best bet,” you bite, posturing, an attempt of goading so your image isn’t completely ruined. The idea isn’t completely unfound, either – he very well could pull out his gun and shoot you clean through the head.

He shakes his head, closing the door – allowing pitch black to envelop you both.

“You’re too cheeky for your own good,” he mutters, and despite all of your notions of the man, he slides into a sitting position next to you.

If you could stabilise your breaths, you would, if for no other fact than your own embarrassment. Your body still trembles, and small hiccups still leave your lips with every shaky breath.

His presence is warm against yours, and when he moves, the fabric of his uniform brushes against your own.

“Why are you here?” You find yourself asking, a whisper under your breath. Just loud enough for him to hear, for him to hear the fragile undertone. The risk you’re taking, sitting beside him in this state. 

He looses a breath – easy, soft. Unlike everything you know about the hulking man. “I understand.”

You can’t help the uneasy chuckle that leaves your lips. “You understand? Mister been-conspiring-against-me-since-day-one?”

“I understand what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one you trust there to hold you, too.”

You look to him, but in the darkness, it’s more of an instinctual act than anything. 

“Didn’t realise you were a poet, Lieutenant,” you chide, voice breaking slightly around the syllables. He doesn’t comment; a small mercy.

He shrugs, brushing against you as he does. “Not a poet. Just a soldier.”

“And an asshole,” you hum, and you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you when he elbows you in the dip of your waist. You elbow him back, unthinkingly, freely.

Silence fills in the gaps, except for the background noise of your shaky, tight breathing, and the bounce of your knees.

That is, until the man beside you breaks it.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” Ghost says, easily. You loosen your posture, just slightly, brows furrowed when you turn your head towards him once more.

“What are you on about?” You ask, incredulous. He shrugs. Nods.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” he continues, despite the confusion that is surely emanating off of you. “She said nothing.”

You let out a shocked, lost bark of a laugh at that, turning your body around so you’re facing him in the enclosed space. “Was that a dad joke?”

“I found out why my dog’s such a bad dancer,” Ghost starts once more, continuing despite your elongated groan. Seems to relish in your dismay.

“And why’s that?” You entertain him, despite the anxiety in your gut, the words left unsaid burning your tongue.

“She’s got two left feet.”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head – but the corners of your lips pull into a cheesy grin, and your breaths are lighter. Easier, natural, less harsh against your dry throat. “Do you even have a dog?” You ask.

“Her name’s Riley. She’s my family,” he says, earnestly, and your heart shatters just a bit more.

“What breed is she?”

“German Shepherd. Used to work in the military, till a mission gone wrong left her too scared to work in the field. Saved ‘er from the pound.”

How can this man be the same one who threatened your life? Who – who had made it very clear how little he trusted you, and was generally such a jerk? A complete asshole, of whom you had no qualms hating?

“She’d like you,” he adds, and you blink, “Always did like girls more than guys. Strong ones, at that.”

“You think I’m strong?”

You can tell he rolls his eyes, even without being able to see it. “I’ll bring ‘er in, when this is all said and done.”

“When this is all said and done, we’ll probably never see each other again. Small mercies, hey?” Your tone takes on a joking lilt.

He doesn’t laugh.

And it hits you, then. How fragile this very situation is. How unimportant, in the real scheme of things, your relationship with the 141 is. When Graves and Shepherd have been dealt with, where do you fit in? What purpose will you have?

You don’t, can’t, truly fit in with them. They’re already so interconnected, memories spent together that you’ll never understand, connections you have no place in joining.

Oh, what a stab in the gut that is.

“I can get Johnny or Kyle if you want,” Ghost offers, but you find yourself answering just this side of too soon.

“No.”

You realise, as you sit here beside him, that he is all you need. Soap and Gaz would’ve tried to ramble or make a move on you, Price would’ve tried to embrace you. Ghost just sits, and waits, his presence speaking a thousand words. He’s your anchor, right now.

“What does a bee use to brush its hair?” Ghost breaks the quiet, once more, his words steady and grating with the low timbre of his voice.

You exhale, but go along with it anyways. “I haven’t a clue.”

“A honeycomb.”

You scoff, but the smile on your face doesn’t waver – your cheeks hurting from the way it tugs on the muscles of your tired face. “That was awful, Lt.”

“Johnny laughed at that one,” he replies, head tilted to rest his skull against the wall. His arms rest on the bends of his knees.

“That’s cause he feels bad for you,” you hum, satisfaction weighing on your words.

Ghost elbows you once more, a bit too hard, but you find the movement grounding more than harmful. Like a way for your body to come back to itself, and register the world around you. No need for self-destruction or derealisation.

“They really like you, y’know,” he murmurs, and your breath pauses in your chest. “The Sergeants. Won’t shut up about you when you’re gone.”

“Well, if you’re gonna hate me, some support is nice,” you retort, and he huffs a low breath. Pauses, like he’s thinking something over. Weighing the risk and reward of his next statement.

“I don’t,” he rolls his tongue in his mouth, “I don’t hate you.”

“You’ve had me fooled,” you retort, the cool wall against your cheek a steady reminder of the world. “The whole threatening to kill me thing, and all.”

“If it means protecting Johnny, Kyle – even Price, I’d do it. Still will,” he says, the last statement bordering on a warning. “If you’ve somehow fooled us all, then I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

You swallow. Scratch at the skin of your wrist.

“I just need to figure this shit out,” you admit, looking to the roof for answers. “Once Shadow Company’s been taken down, and Shepherd’s dealt with, everything can go back to normal. This’ll just be a blip in time.”

“The Sergeants aren’t going to let you go,” Ghost warns, an edge to his words. “What are you gonna do, anyways? Live in the countryside?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, picking at your fingernails. “I’ll figure it out when it comes to it. We’ve got bigger things on our plate.”

With his shoulder pressed against your own, you let your body relax, your breaths finally even. No tears on the verge of falling down your cheeks – and no fear lacing your veins with a thick coat of adrenaline.

However, that short-lived relief is quickly replaced with the all too familiar crash.

Your head pounds, and your limbs suddenly feel heavy. Your eyelids threaten to close, even though you don’t feel the need to sleep.

“Tired?” Ghost asks, low and soft, careful not to startle you. So at odds with the idea you had of him.

Without meaning to, you lean further against him, using his frame to hold your own up. He doesn’t comment on it. “I’m – just need a minute,” you murmur.

His hand moves to rest at the side of your head, pulling you in so your temple rests against his shoulder. It’s warm, comforting – a parallel to the man of which you thought you hated.

Rest comes easy, at the side of one of the men who wants to kill you.

*

When you come to, it’s with the feeling of fingers brushing through your hair, and the scent of cajun.

The gentle mid-morning light filters into the room, casting light through your closed eyes, the faraway sound of bullets being fired an odd comfort. Soft sizzling, too, can be heard, as well as the chopping of a knife against a board.

“That smells bloody divine, Si,” a familiar, Scottish voice calls, quietened by what you can only suspect is due to your ‘sleeping’. “Ya’d be a bonnie housewife.”

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost replies, stern, even with the undercurrent of humour in his voice. 

The fingers in your hair continue to card through your strands, pausing to massage at your scalp every now and then. The movements have you melting further into Soap’s lap.

“Ken the other two are goin’ at it?” Johnny chides, and even without vision, you can see the goading smile on his face.

“I ken you should shut your face,” Ghost retorts, the sound of chopping finally coming to a pause. “And, no, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“Rude.”

Fluttering your eyes open, you let out a small huff of air, stretching your tense muscles. They feel sore with lethargy, and stiff from the position you fell asleep in.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” Johnny smirks, looking down at where your head sits in his lap.

When you look towards the kitchen, it's to find Ghost, flipper in hand as he stands by the stove, a glass bowl filled with salad to his side. One thing in particular has you looking twice.

“A bit promiscuous, don't you think, Lieutenant?”

Ghost's eyes narrow, but Soap lets out a pleased chuckle. “Like a lad seein’ an ankle, aye?”

Instead of gloves, the pale skin of his hands is shown for the first time, patterns of ink decorating the back of his hands. The small hint of a sleeve has you desperate to see the full thing.

“You're both fuckin’ ridiculous,” Ghost scoffs, starting to swap the contents of the pan into the salad bowl.

As you move to sit up, Soap’s hands fall to your waist, pulling you so your back presses against his chest. His thumbs trace circles into the skin where your shirt rides up, but it’s more out of instinct than anything else.

“What’d you make us?” You ask, rubbing at your weary, sleepy eyes as you deflate against Soap.

“Cajun chicken ‘nd salad,” Ghost quips, serving up a plate for each of you. It smells nothing short of delicious, and you sit up straighter against the Sergeant.

“Lt and Gaz are our personal chefs,” Soap chimes, squeezing you tighter against him. “Bloody perfect at it.”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but comes over with two plates, setting them on the coffee table in front of both you and Soap. It’s a small space, next to the personal kitchen, but it’s nice. Intimate.

The first mouthful of salad is like heaven on your tongue, and you look up at Ghost with wide eyes as you swallow. “This is amazing.”

“You’d better eat it all then,” he jerks his chin towards your plate, grabbing his own before sitting on the chair to your left. Soap, still with his chest to your back, shovels his food into his mouth like a man starved.

It’s quiet, for a few moments, just the three of you enjoying your food.

“What’s the next step?” Johnny asks, around a mouthful. You elbow him in the side, and he feigns hurt. He swallows, before continuing, “Aye mean, what’re we gonna do? What lead do we follow?”

“I think,” you work your jaw around the words, thinking, “I think if we get to the root, we can bring down the whole tree.”

You scan the two men, and it’s Ghost who understands your words first.

“Shepherd. You think we should take him out first,” Ghost leans back in his seat, studying you with calculating, chocolate brown eyes. They shine in the midday light.

Nodding, you swallow around some lettuce, before continuing, looking between the two. 

“If we can find Shepherd, and learn why everything’s happened the way it has,” you rub at your face, “Then we can bring it all crumbling down. Like dominoes.”

“He’s MIA,” Soap furrows his brows, placing his empty plate on the coffee table. “We’ve tried finding the twat – he’s gone.”

You shrug, a plan forming in your mind like the final pieces of a puzzle connecting. A small, pleased smile spreads on your lips, before you’re moving off of the couch, ready to head to Price’s office.

“Where’s you going?” Ghost queries, leaning forward, elbows resting on his spread knees.

You tilt your head.

“Power in numbers, right?” Heading for the corridor, you open the door, before turning back to look at the two men one more time.

“I know two soldiers who’ve been waiting for a call.”

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[sourlemonsprout]

𝐵𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

Alphonse x Seth x SugarBoo (gn!reader)

Word Count: 1,913

°°••….••°°°°••….••°°°°••….••°°

This little town absolutely loved to throw festivals, no matter the occasion - whether it was Christmas, Beer, Halloween, Music, Summer Solstice, or Spring, the locals poured their heart and soul into it. You appreciate how much spirit and enthusiasm they can pack into a celebration. After your delicious display of baked sweets at the annual Christmas festival a few years ago, the townsfolk practically begged you to cater at every event, and this time around was no different. If you could bake the treats the morning of to ensure they were as fresh as possible, you would. Unfortunately, there was too much to do in too little time, so you settled on the night before. Everything was going smooth as buttercream until you reached the new recipe you decided to try out. You wanted to step up the game and try something fancy, and what better way to go than Canelés de Bordeau, a small French pastry with a custard center and a thick caramelized crust. You'd acquired the special copper molds years ago, yet you'd never tried to make them until tonight, and it was starting to seem like you'd bit off more than you could chew. 

"fuck fuck fuck fuck!" you yell slamming the oven door closed, hands pulling at the top of your hair as you walk in circles around the kitchen. The angered outburst and slight smell of burning sugar had caught the attention of the pink and brown-haired boys sitting in the next room over watching a movie.   

"Boo?" Alphonse called from the couch. Seth shot Al a concerned glance as he paused the TV before they gingerly crept toward the kitchen. You felt the boy's eyes on you from the doorway, but didn't look their way. Your movement stopped, jaw tight and fists clasped in a white-knuckled grip, your hands practically shaking. Al ran up beside you and rubbed the sides of your arms.

"Hey, hey! Baby! It's ok." he bent at the knees slightly to look you in the eyes. 

"Let's just breathe for a moment, yeah?" He helped guide your breathing by inhaling deeply through his mouth and out his nose until you seemed physically calmer. Seth peaked in the oven and quickly understood what the outburst was about. The custard was bubbling over their little trays, the edges starting to burn. He didn't know much about baking, but based on their state and your reaction, he knew this meant they were unsalvageable, so he turned off the oven and removed the tray. 

"Talk to us, what's goin' on?" 

"I wanted to try something special and it's completely ruined." you pout. 

"Well Sugar, you already have two fantastic-lookin' treats, I'm sure everyone would be just fine with this." Seth tried. 

"Yeah! And you know everyone is going to love whatever you hand out," Alphonse added, but it was no use you were fixated on these Canelés. 

"I always have at least three items." you protest. 

"What do you want to do?" Seth questioned, moving a little closer to you two. Your mind was consumed by anger and scattered thoughts, making it difficult to focus. Alphonse scanned your face as you thought, seeing that this wasn't helpful, he threw out an option, hoping this would alleviate decision-making stress. 

"Do you want to go to the store and pick up something pre-made to hand out tomorrow?" he proposed softly. You shot him a cold glare that could kill. 

"Ok, ok." he threw his hands up. 

"They're looking forward to my baking. They specifically requested my catering again." you expound. As you continued to mumble about the quality of store-bought goods, Alphonse looked across the kitchen. The countertop was littered with ingredients and the sink was on the brim of overflowing with dirty dishes. He glanced over at the clock, which read 10:09 pm. 

"Ok, well, it's gettin' late, do you want to try and make another batch?" he questioned. 

"I don't have enough eggs or butter to make another batch," you state.

The kitchen was uncomfortably silent for a few moments, the smell of burnt defeat loomed in the air above you three. 

"Gimme a list Sugar, I'll head out and grab whatever you need," Seth spoke up. 

"Yeah, and while he's out, I'll help clean up the kitchen!" Al said eagerly. The heavy frustration that lingered in your chest finally fizzled out, and a tired fuzziness settling in your system took its place. Your face turns into a downward smile and despite your best efforts, you can't stop the tears that are flowing down your cheeks. 

"Oh Boo," Al chuckles, scooping you into a bear hug.

"You know we're here for you," Seth joins the hug, wrapping his arms tightly around the both of you. 

"I love you guys so much," you sniffle into their chests. 

"Okok," Al says, gently pulling you away from his chest, a hand slides down to the small of your back as he tilts his head to look at your tear-stained face. 

"Why don't you go take a hot shower to relax babe, it's going to be a minute before everything is ready for you," he said placing a smooch on your forehead. 

"mmk," you sniff, handing your apron to Al before shuffling your way upstairs. 

"I still need that list..." Seth mumbled as he watched you disappear.

"That's alright man, we can look at the recipe and figure out what they need," Al said, cracking knuckles. 

Seth knew he'd have to find a convenience store to pick up all the necessary ingredients, given grocery stores would be closing at this time of the night. He finally found a 7-Eleven and pulled into the parking lot. As he stood next to his bike rubbing his hands together and blowing into them to regain warmth, he mentally reviewed the list he and Al had made. 

Fuck, why do all convenience stores have to have such bright lights? He thought as he entered the shop squinting. He made quick work and gathered everything on his checklist. Just as he was about to check out, a neon sign caught his eye toward the back of the store. He wandered over to the refrigerated display cases. I'll never understand why they enjoy this stuff, it's just battery acid in a fancy can. He thought to himself as he picked up your favorite energy drink. 

You sat on the floor of your shower, enjoying the steaming water pouring over your back as your muscles relaxed. How incredibly lucky were you to have two amazing people taking care of you? As the warm water eventually ran out, you reluctantly stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel. You tiptoed out of the bathroom and made your way to your room to slip into some comfy clothes. You let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of the soft fabric against your skin. The mere thought of putting on jeans again made you feel suffocated and discouraged as if you were about to embark on a daunting task. As you rubbed the towel through your hair one last time, you heard the faint sound of the front door opening, followed by the crinkling of bags. Now that the red cloud of frustration wasn't blinding your every thought, you were able to reflect upon the disappointing batch of custardy treats. Descending the stairs slowly, you carefully pondered every detail before devising a new plan that you hoped would result in a perfectly crafted batch of delicious treats. As you rounded the corner back to the kitchen, which was now sparkling clean, Seth caught your eyes and held up your favorite energy drink with a big toothy grin. 

"I got this for ya since I figured you'd be stayin' up pretty late." 

This man truly knew the way to your heart. 

You walked over to where he stood and took the can before cupping the side of his face and placing a big kiss on his cheek. 

"Aw look at you tryin' to score brownie points," Al smirked. 

The evening drew on, and the boys did the best they could to stay awake with you as you baked the night away. Eventually, Al had to tap out and go to bed, not before promising to help package all the goodies the next morning. Seth was not too far behind, he was practically half-asleep at the kitchen table when you told him you had it all handled, and that he should go to bed. Exhaustion started to prick at your mind, the effects of your caffeinated beverage were wearing off as the last few minutes of the oven's timer ticked down. 

As you pulled out the tray filled with perfectly baked Canelés, a tremendous wave of relief and satisfaction washed over you. The feeling only intensified as you cautiously removed each pastry from its molds, revealing a beautiful amber caramel coating. They looked as if they had just come from a French bakery. You lazily cleaned a few items around the counter before calling it quits, there'd be time tomorrow to deal with this mess. Grateful to finally be done, you dragged yourself to bed and collapsed in between your boys, nuzzling your face in between Seth's shoulder and draping an arm over his side. Just as you were about to drift off, you felt Alphonse slide up behind you, your back now flush against his chest as he rubbed your arm sleepily. 

"m'love you Boo..." he whispered against your neck before falling back into a deep sleep. 

Hours later, you woke up and reached out, expecting to find someone by your side, but the bed was completely empty. Confused, you sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess of sleep. Panic started to rise in your chest as you checked your phone to see that the festivities were starting in fifteen minutes. Despite your time constraint, you couldn't help but spend the extra minute to throw together a cute outfit, before running downstairs. You were slightly out of breath when you reached the festival, which was set up around the heart of town, near Al's shop. Your pace crawled to a halt as you spotted Seth standing beside a table with his back to you. The boys had chosen a charming tablecloth that complemented the decor of the foldout table. They'd packaged and arranged the three batches of baked goodies, aligning them neatly for folks to grab them and go. You snuck up behind him and slipped your arms around his waist, resting your chip on his shoulder. 

"Well hey there sleepin' beauty, or should I say baking beauty?" he chuckled at his own joke, to which you roll your eyes. You turn to the sound of another familiar voice,

"How'd you sleep Boo?" Alphonse asked, handing you an iced caramel latte, your favorite. 

"Oooo! I'm definitely gonna need this," you say happily taking the coffee from your boyfriend. 

"Look who's trying to score brownie points now," Seth mumbled sassily. 

"Honestly, I slept pretty good!" You say, taking a quick sip, 

"Seth's snoring is like the perfect white noise, it lulls me right to sleep," you giggle. 

"You guys are seriously the best," You set your latte down and then wrap your arms around each of them, pulling them close to give them a little kiss.

"I couldn't have done this without you." 

°°••….••°°°°••….••°°°°••….••°°

The End <3

[didhewinkback]

a something old ode to slane

---

“Ow. Ow. Owowow - H.”

“Hmm?” He asks, peeling his eyes away from the stage for a second to look at you before focusing right back to where Mitch was about to walk out, completely oblivious to how hard he was squeezing your hand, sweaty palm holding yours in a death grip, knee nervously bouncing up and down. 

“Squeezing the shit out of my hand.”

“Oh.” he says, looking down at your hands, his knuckles having gone white in their tight grip, laughing sheepishly as he lets go, squeezing your knee before clasping his hands together tightly, leaning forward on his elbows. “Sorry. Nervous.” 

“He’s gonna be great.”

“I know he is, I just -” he shakes his head, eyes not wavering from the stage. “Just need him to get out there already.”

“Mhm.” you say, watching the way his eyes keep darting from backstage to center stage to the crowd and back. “It’s like… you know he’s gonna smash it, and that he was absolutely born for this, but still in these few moments before he walks out your brain is running through a million and two things that can go wrong, so you just need him to hit that first note so you can take the first real breath you’ve taken in the last hour?”

He freezes a moment before he shakes his head with a laugh, grin growing on his face as he looks over at you, eyes crinkling when they lock with yours.

“Been around this block a few times before, have ya?”

“Broken quite a few hands in my day.” you say as he snorts. “Roxy still insists I permanently bruised her knuckles before that first Coachella weekend.”

“That was a good show.” 

“It was. Did think I was gonna vom when you took that 45 minute run from the top of the stairs to the mic, though.” 

“Think it was more like 15 seconds.”

“According to you.” you say as he huffs a laugh.

“Couldn’t have done those shows without you, you know. Any of these shows really... Like this one is gonna be mental.” he says, shaking his head in disbelief as he looks out at the crowd before turning back towards you, soft smile on his face. “No better feeling than knowing you’re out there watching me.” 

“One of my favorite places to be.” 

“One of?” he asks indignantly. “What are your other favorite places then?”

“Quite like being with you after a show,” you say, leaning in closer, smiling as his grin grows. 

“Speaking of Coachella….” 

You smirk at each other, both instantly remembering the afterparty from the second weekend, the two of you flying high on the energy and emotions of those two weeks ending with a bang (literally) with you riding him wearing nothing but his pink vest he wore on stage hours before. 

“And Nashville. And Tokyo. And Berlin. And Buenos Aires -”

“Can’t wait to add Slane to the list.” he muses as he leans in closer. “Keep talking like this and you’re gonna rile me up.” 

“Trying to distract you, is it working?”

“Little too well I think,” he says, eyes dropping to your mouth before looking back up at you. “Wanna distract me some more after their set?”

“Don’t you have a show to get ready for?”

“Could count as my cardio warmup.” 

“Oh my god -”

“Y’know, the owners did invite me here. Bet they’d let me fuck you in the castle -” 

You honk out a laugh, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him in as he nudges his nose against your cheek.

“Planning on giving me the royal treatment, are you?”

“Yeah, love.” he says, giggling against your skin. “Something like that.”

He plants a lingering kiss to your cheek, humming before he drags his lips in a line across your jaw. He pulls back to look at you, eyes grazing over your features.

“C’mon baby.” he says, nudging his nose against yours. “Give me a kiss.” 

You scratch your nails against his scalp as his breath mingles with yours, tilting your head just so - 

The roar of the crowd makes you both freeze in place, Mitch’s movement on stage catching the corner of your eye. Harry’s eyes dart to the stage and then back to you and then back to the stage. 

“I’ll have to distract you later.” 

“‘S that a promise?” he asks and you nod, kissing him quickly before pulling away as you both turn back to face the stage. 

You can see the nerves settle back in him, his shoulders practically tensing up to his ears, laser focused once again as Mitch and Sarah get set up. You slide your hand onto his thigh, palm facing up. 

“Squeeze away, babe.” you say, “It’ll help.”

He takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before holding tight, barely breathing as his eyes are locked to where Mitch stands center stage. Beside you, you can hear him take a shaky breath and you know he’s having that once in a lifetime experience of watching someone you love stand on the biggest stage they’ve ever stood on, just them and the songs they’ve written and a microphone. 

And you get it. 

You really do.

---

[obxone]

Final Goodbye

Edited-ish. ~2.6k words

Warning: smut (do not engage if you are underage!)

It is stupid for you to be here, and you know that, but you have to see him. A final goodbye after everything that has happened. You lift your trembling hand to knock on the open camper door. At the first knock of your knuckles, Barry looks up from where he sits on a bed, and Rafe’s head lifts from where it rests against a cabinet. His jaw is bruised, and his eyes are flat and dull. He looks disheveled and tired.

“Well, look who it is,” Barry muses, his dark eyes raking over you.

“Rafe?” You ask, hands clasping in front of you. If he turned you away, then you would have to leave, but from the look on his face, you know you are staying.

He closes his eyes, hands fisting before they press against the wooden paneled wall. “Barry.”

Barry grumbles, annoyed with Rafe’s request for him to leave before he stands and shoves past you before shaking his head. “My fucking house.”

You exhale and climb the steps into the camper, staying near the door as you watch him. Rafe is a wounded animal, and he is scared. You can see it in his eyes. He moves forward and reaches past you to pull the door shut.

“Why are you here?” He asks, the length of his body still crowding yours. “It’s not safe.”

You swallow. “I had to see you.” You clear your throat before exhaling. “At least one more time.”

He nods, his fingers brushing your hand that hangs by your side. “You know?”

“I assumed Ward would not let them take you.”

His lips are in a tight line before he closes his eyes. His forehead falls to yours, breaths mixing. “I was planning so much for us.”

“I know,” you whisper, hand moving up to cup his face. “I know, Baby.”

His eyes are glassy, and his other hand fists the skirt of your dress. “I didn’t mean to do that, you know.”

“I know.”

He sniffs, and his lips brush your cheek. “I failed us.”

You nod, tears welling in your eyes before you kiss him. He hesitates, his hand fisting your skirt so tightly his knuckles are white and his breathing ragged.

“Are you sure?”

You are silent, looking at one another before you kiss him again. He kisses you back. His other hand fisting your hair as he kisses you like this is his last time to taste you. Because it is, when you leave Barry’s camper and Rafe’s arms, you will never return, and he will be gone by tomorrow, a wanted man.

He spins you to pin your body against the floor-to-ceiling wooden cabinets. Slowly Rafe’s hand trails down your neck and chest to slip beneath the skirt of your dress. His fingers brush against your skin. Goosebumps are left in the wake of his touch. You groan when his hand moves between your legs to touch you through your lace underwear.

“Please,” you gasp against his mouth. “Please, Rafe.”

He groans, burying his face in your neck to kiss and mark your skin as his fingers push your underwear to the side and he sinks two fingers into you. You moan, head falling back as he pumps in and out of you. You were drenched and desperate for him.

“Rafe!” You whine as he ghosts over you so deep that you can feel it to your toes.

“You are so fucking wet for me.”

You bite your lip, looking down to watch his hand work you as he holds your skirt up and to the side. “It feels so good, Baby.”

“Fuck!” He groans into your skin as you take a third. Your hips move with his touch, and you ache for all of him. “So fucking hot.”

“All yours,” you pant, gripping his shoulders and pushing up on your toes as his thumb circles your clit. “Rafe!”

“I know, Baby, I know.”

You bite your lip to keep from crying out as he curls his fingers inside you. Rafe shudders against you, feeling your walls squeeze him in desperation. The small confines of the camper grow hot before you orgasm from Rafe’s touch. Your body trembles, and the cry of his name from your lips nearly drives him mad. His lips are on yours, desperate as he nips your bottom lip.

“Please don’t go yet,” he begs. The hard press of him against your thigh makes you shiver.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You murmur back, cupping his face. “I’m yours, okay? All yours, forever.”

He does not call you on the lie of forever and instead hooks his hand around your thigh, pulling your hips against his. His body presses yours against the cabinets. The harsh corners of the wood biting into your skin has you crying out. He nips at your neck before he begins to lift your dress. You reach down in a messy rush to undo the ties so he can lift it over your head. The cotton material crumples on the floor, and his hands drag over your torso. You tug his striped shirt up and over his head. It joins your dress on the floor in a heap. Both of you undress before you lower yourself into the bed, and he climbs over you. His mouth is greedy for you before trialing down to your neck.

You moan, back arching, and his hands grip your hips harshly enough to leave bruises. His mouth is on your breasts, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, and your arms cradle his head. His blue eyes locked on your face as you pant and mewl for him, all of him.

You watch him trail his lips lower. Your skin is damp, overheated from his touch and the stale air of the camper. Rafe’s hands push you back into the bed before he shoulders his way between your legs.

“Oh god!” You cry out when he makes contact, hands shaking, and you tangle your fingers in his hair and scratch his back. Rafe works you expertly, wasting no time to have you losing yourself to him. He knows your body like the back of his hand and has you whining as he works your clit. “Rafe!”

Your legs fall apart, and your toes curl from his tongue touching you. Your nails bite into his shoulder as he dips into you over and over. He hums at the sweet taste of you. His fingers work over your clit until you orgasm again. Your eyes squeeze shut, thighs clamping around his head, and you cry out so loud anyone nearby likely hears you.

“Turn around,” he pants. “On your knees.”

You do as he says, back arching when his hand skims up the length of your back to fist in your hair, and he sinks into you. You cry out and jerk forward when he bottoms out abruptly. Your walls squeeze him while he fucks into you. The bed is unforgiving beneath your knees, the mattress thin and cheap, but the feel of Rafe touching you washes the pain from your mind.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he murmurs, lips brushing the back of your neck. “My girl.”

You nod, closing your eyes and trying not to scream his name like you burn to do. His arm snakes around your waist to pull you up on your knees. His mouth attaching to your neck, and his fingers find their way between your legs again.

“Rafe… hmm- I-I’m so close.”

He smirks against your throat, nipping the skin to leave a mark, and you fall apart at the feel of his teeth on you, along with everything else. You cry out his name again, and he slowly lowers you into the bed.

You lay on your back, looking at him and gasping for air. Your body tingles, and it feels like you are on cloud nine.

“One more, Baby,” Rafe murmurs, pressing into you. You groan, head tipping back when he sinks into you. “That’s it, Baby, you’re doing so good.”

“I can’t,” you whine, hands gripping his shoulders. Nails digging into the muscle there because he ignores your whining and begins to move.

He smiles, pecking your lips. “You can. You can for me.”

His hand cups your face, thumb tracing your jaw and over your bottom lip as he rolls his hips into yours at a much slower pace. You gasp, feeling every inch of him. Your toes curl against the sheets, and you nip the pad of his thumb.

Your eyes flutter shut, and you lose yourself to Rafe.

“Eyes on me.”

Your eyes snap open, and he groans low in his chest. His hand grips your thigh, pulling your leg up around his hips, and he sinks deeper into you. Bodies pressing together until you both climax together. His face nuzzles into your neck, and he groans out your name.

Post orgasmic haze settles, and you feel tingles from your head to your toes. Your heart races, and your thoughts become muddled as he presses you against the mattress. Your lips brush before you kiss him, arm hooked around his shoulder to hold him against you.

“I’m going to be so lost without you,” you murmur against his mouth. Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, and you wish with all you might you could keep him safe and sheltered. To heal that broken boy inside of him. “I’m so sorry, Rafe. I’m sorry.”

He shushes you with kisses across your face and mouth. “We’ll be okay, Baby.”

You nod. It is a lie that brings neither of you comfort. His hands tangle with yours, and the weight of the gold ring on your hand that he had gifted you after one year makes your heart feel like it is being ripped to shreds.

You need to leave. You need to get dressed and walk away from him as you promised yourself you would. But the naked press of his body against yours and the false bubble around you two feels too good to leave.

You close your eyes, resting with the weight of him still on top of you.

“Don’t go yet, okay?” He begs, lips brushing between your breasts. His head rests on your chest, ear placed right over your heartbeat. He can hear the spiked rate as he begs you not to leave him yet. “One more, okay?”

“One more,” you agree, closing your eyes, and you cry for him and you. You love him, despite his disregard for your friends and killing Sheriff Peterkin. “One more night.”

---

You wake to Rafe pressing into you. The tip of his cock slides through your folds. His breath on your neck, no doubt littered with love bites, and he enters you. You groan, sensitive from the hours of waking up to his body around yours as he fucked into you over and over between brief periods of sleep or rest with whispers about a future that will never happen. The sun is rising. You both know this is the last time.

“Rafe,” you whisper with desperation.

“I love you, Baby.”

“I love you too,” you rush out before pulling his mouth to yours. He presses into your back, guiding you onto your stomach as he continues to lazily roll his hips.

“So fucking beautiful.” He murmurs, hands lifting your hips off the bed. The sound of his body falling against you fills the camper, and your body trembles in anticipation of another orgasm.

“More,” you plead, closing your eyes and slipping your hand between your legs. You gasp, jerking back to meet his thrusts as you touch your clit.

Rafe groans your name, and your walls squeeze him, pushing him closer to the edge of bliss.

He pulls completely out of you, and you whine, face buried in the pillows. Your body aches for him all over again.

“Roll over, Princess; I want to see your pretty face.”

You do as you are told, rolling onto your back before you pull him into you again. He presses against you and sinks back into you. Your breath mixes, faces barely an inch from the others, as you stare at one another, drinking the other in. Your hips arch and roll along with his movements. Hands clasped against the mattress.

Tears well in your eyes because the morning sun slowly illuminating the camper tells you that this is truly the last time you will feel him like this.

“Don’t cry, Baby, don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” you whimper before kissing him. “I love you.”

His eyes close, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you so fucking much.”

It does not take long. Both of you are so sensitive to the other. And he holds you close as you try to catch your breath together. His body is hot and sweaty against yours.

Your fingers trace his palm, feeling the lines and dips. You trace your initial against the heart of his palm.

“It is over too soon.”

He frowns, brushing his lips across your temple. A few more moments of silence and bodies pressed together pass before you both leave the mussed sheets to get dressed. Rafe steps out of the camper first, and you follow, keeping your hand clasped with his. You notice Barry emerging from the trailer porch. A smirk on his face, and you roll your eyes, turning to Rafe.

“Is he helping you?”

“Yes.”

You exhale, nuzzling your face in his chest. “Be careful with him. I don’t trust him.”

Rafe cups your face. His fingers are gentle, and his thumb skates across the apple of your cheek. “Be careful going home.”

You look at Barry when he nears, and Rafe presses his lips to your shoulder. “Take care of him.”

He nods his head once. “I will, Princess. Don’t you worry.”

“If you don’t, I will find you and kill you myself.”

Barry smirks before licking his lips. “Careful, Mrs. Country Club.”

Rafe’s head lifts, and he glowers at Barry, but he ignores it. His dark eyes fixated on you as you challenge him back. Barry shakes his head, eventually looking away, and you turn to look at Rafe. Your chest pressed to him, and you cup his face.

“Promise me that you will be careful.”

He kisses you, hands warm on your face until he ends it. A quiet moment of your both taking each other in before he answers you. “I promise.”

“If they catch you,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut. “Please don’t fight them. Please don’t get yourself killed.”

He is silent, holding you one last second before releasing you. He does not promise that he will not because he knows he would rather die than go to jail. You step back, exhaling to try and keep the tears at bay.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

You turn and start to walk away; you can feel his eyes burning into your back. You glance back and immediately drop your shoulders when tears well in your eyes. You cannot do it; you cannot walk away from him. You rush back into his arms, and he clings to you. His mouth is on yours, and you sigh into him.

All too soon, he is ending the kiss, but his grip on your waist lingers. “You need to go home, Baby. Go straight home, all right?”

You nod, kissing him over and over until he gently pushes you away, but his lips chase you despite his attempt to separate you. You squeeze your eyes shut, memorizing the feel of his touch, the feel of his lips, and the burn in your heart as you say goodbye.

“Goodbye, Rafe.”

[sprnklersplashes]

Q with Jdronica 🫶🏻

Here's the thing with JD getting sick; he likes to power through it. Pretend he doesn't feel it, keep calm and carry on, insist that his immune system is as unbreakable as the rest of him,

Here's the other thing about JD being sick; Veronica sees right through it. It's been two years, after all. She knows him like the back of her hand. If he thinks he can still bullshit her when she has explored every inch of his body... he's nowhere near as smart as he thinks he is.

Especially when she comes over on Saturday morning to see him hunched over the kitchen sink with his hands clasped behind his neck. She lingers in the doorway, watching as he scrunches his face, buries his fingers in his hair. The pained breath lingers in the air, twisting Veronica's heart in ways she didn't expect.

Her steps are light as she crosses the kitchen, cushioned by the maroon rug Claire bought at a yard sale last spring. She clears her throat just before approaching him, the sound as tentative as her steps. It still makes him jump, and he turns at a speed that makes Veronica wince.

He blinks twice, swallows thickly. Then, he gives his best approximation of an "everytning's normal" smile.

"Ronnie," he says. He runs a shaky hand through his hair. "Didn't know you were coming over."

"What's up?" she asks him instead of replying. She watches as he straightens up, inhales slowly through his teeth. One hand is wrapped tightly around the kitchen counter, the knuckles white as if he's holding everything in that one hand.

"I'm f-"

"Jason, if you say 'I'm fine', I'll smack you so hard," she tells him. His mouth opens, the closes without a sound, eyes widening slightly before he leans back into the counter. Guilt prickles in her chest as she notices the pallour of his cheeks, how he doubles over slightly against the pain in his stomach. She brushes her fingers against his, silently, softly, whispering "I'm sorry" without words. It works; a tiny hint of a smile flickers on his face.

"I may or may not have food poisoning," he sighs. "That's the conclusion I've come to anyway. That or I'm pregnant."

"Oh I use a condom and you're on the pill." He barks a laugh at that, although it's quickly undermined by a pained whimper. Logic tells her that it's fine, that it's just a bad stomach and in 24 hours she'll be laughing with him about it. But another part of her, the part that's bundled up with him, feels like that's too far away.

"Okay buckaroo." She presses a kiss to his hair and grabs the glass of water on the counter. "Couch. Now."

"Veronica, I'm-"

"What did I say about the F word?" she asks. She glances him over again and grabs crackers from the cupboard. Then she turns, raises her eyebrow and gestures with the glass. "Coach. Now."

"Yes ma'am," JD mumbles. He trails Veronica into the living room, dragging his hand over his face as he goes. Despite his attempts at putting up a fight, he all but collapses onto the couch, knees pulled to his chest in an attempt to make the pain stop. As she places the water and crackers on the table beside him, she sees him biting the skin on his thumb, face tight so it doesn't show how much pain he's in.

It's a classic JD thing. Sometimes she wonders if he's aware she's doing it.

"Sorry I ruined your Saturday," he says weakly. Veronica just shrugs and curls up next to him, so close that his sock-clad feet tickle her legs.

"I didn't have anywhere else to be," she tells him. "Just remember that if you puke, do not do it on me. I like this skirt."

"I bought you that skirt."

Veronica sighs, hiding her grin in her hand. Something settles in her chest, warm and gentle and peaceful. God, she loves this boy. She's going to spend the rest of her life with this boy.

For now though, she just scratches his back and watches him sip water.

"Yeah. You did." JD chuckles, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the couch.

"I've got good taste."

(Definitely spending the rest of her life with him)

"Yeah. You do."

tip me on ko-fi (completely optional)

[fevers-and-emeto-oh-my]

So the other day I finished RE8 and I liked Ethan after 7, but now I'm totally enamored with him. Obsessions with lethan, winterfield and lethanfield unlocked

To celebrate have the opening of a fic about Ethan and Leon bonding over their food aversions/disordered eating habits after the Horrors (I have SO MANY headcanons about this) TW disordered eating

Chris is getting annoyed with him. To his credit, he’s doing a great job hiding it; seems to be putting a lot of effort into keeping his voice even, his face smooth. But Ethan can tell. It’s in the hard set of Chris’s jaw, the tightness around his mouth, the white knuckles of his hands. He sits across from Ethan at the small dining table and leans back in his chair, then forward, clasping and unclasping his hands, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “What?” Ethan finally asks. “Say it.” Chris sighs. He leans forward, settling his hands in his lap and frowning. “You aren’t eating your breakfast.” Of course. Ethan should have suspected this would be the issue. He shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. There are cut-up strawberries in the corner of his tray. He stabs one and pops it into his mouth, trying to be nonchalant about it.  Chris looks at him like he knows exactly what Ethan’s doing; trying to divert. Trying to prove not eating is simply a choice to be undone at will. Ethan bites down on the strawberry. It’s perfectly ripe, delectably sweet. For a moment, it’s nothing but a berry. Then it shifts over his tongue, insides like slippery mush, and all he can picture is the rotten, maggot-riddled food of the Bakers. The perfectly pristine plates of Romania. Who knows what hides inside of it? What he actually has in his mouth? He gags. He’s painfully aware of Chris staring at him as he attempts to swallow, but his throat catches on another gag and he has to give in and spit it out. Then he stares at his tray, almost feverishly desperate to prove that he *can* eat. There’s scrambled eggs (anything could be writhing in those, his mind supplies), buttered toast (who’s to say the butter isn’t laced with some kind of parasite?), a cup of vanilla yogurt (too viscous, too liquidy).  He grabs his glass of orange juice and takes a few deep swallows. “Not hungry.” “Ethan…” his name is stretched, said in that lolling disappointed way that tells him he’s in for a lecture. “The nurses told me you’re not eating enough, if you eat anything at all. There has to be something more here than just not being hungry.” “I’m *not* hungry,” Ethan says, and it’s not a lie, not really. “None of it is…appealing. Appetizing.” Chris’s face softens a little. The annoyance fades, and he seems concerned instead. Ethan thinks maybe that’s worse.  “I’m a good cook, you know,” Chris says. “If the problem is that you don’t want anything they give you, I can fix that. I’ll make you anything you want.” Ethan frowns. It’s a generous offer; a far cry from the Chris Redfield who was hostile to him at every turn in Romania. He thinks about it, he really does.  “There’s…nothing I want,” he finally says, and it’s the truth. Chris sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. He gets up from the table and there’s a worn, weary set to his shoulders that suddenly makes Ethan feel intensely guilty. “Alright, Ethan. Alright,” he says, probably unaware that the exact words echo in Ethan’s mind, ringing alarm bells of chaos and despair and pain and a missing daughter.  He doesn’t say anything else until he’s in the doorway of Ethan’s room. Then he looks over his shoulder and offers Ethan a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have a friend who’ll understand. He’ll come talk to you.” Then he’s gone.

[gale-dekarios]

Bouncing Baby Bloodsucker

Astarion and Tav had no reason to suspect that the undead would be able to reproduce. Turns out they were wrong. They approach Shadowheart with one question on their minds: will a baby vampire kill a human parent?

Trans Male!Tav/Astarion whoopsy-daisy into becoming dads.

Rated: M

Read me on [AO3]

“Well yes,” Shadowheart snipped, “that’s usually what happens when you have unprotected sex.”

“Between the living, yes, but the undead shouldn’t be able to-- right?” Tav asked, pitching forward in his seat. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Astarion that his hands had been held loosely over his protruding stomach ever since he began to suspect that the morning sickness, skipped periods, and extra weight was more than a rough patch in his health.

Shadowheart folded her arms, raising a brow, “I’m hardly an expert. Why didn’t you go to a normal doctor?”

“What a good idea Shadowheart! I’m sure any local doctor will act completely reasonably when they find out that a foul creature of the night left a surprise vamplet inside him. Should we break out the good torches and pitchforks?”

Despite his shortness, Astarion’s knuckles were held tight against his sides, reaching a shade of white that was truly alarming given his natural paleness, and he was pretty sure he was shaking to boot. The guilt; -- at not knowing better, at not taking precautions, of putting a bloodsucking demon with an unknown depth of hunger into his beloved partner, endangering them from the inside in a way he couldn’t begin to help with, -- wracked through his body in fresh waves as his thoughts spiralled like a madman’s.

“Shadowheart,” Tav pleaded, grabbing one of her hands in his, “We need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

She sighed, face screwing in concentration. “Fine. Hold on.”

She rose from her chair, marching across the room to pull some writing paper and an ink pen out from an old drawer, the pen scratching against the page disturbing an otherwise silent room.

Tav gave Astarion a weak smile, who in turn couldn’t muster one of his own. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Astarion mouthed to him, but it only made Tav’s brow furrow. He reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling it out of its fist, rubbing his thumb across his aching knuckles as he held it gently in his palms. The kindness of the gesture had Astarion’s stomach in uncomfortable knots. He couldn’t have told you how many people he had had sex with over the centuries, but the idea that his biology had only chosen to kick in now felt like a cruel joke the world was playing on him. Or rather, he really, really hoped his biology had only chosen to kick in now. The alternative was too ghastly to imagine.

“Alright, hopefully we’ll hear back soon.” Shadowheart broke the silence. She held the paper in clasped hands and muttered a few arcane words over it, the letter bursting into blinding divine radiance before disappearing from sight. She sat back down, levelling Tav with a sympathetic stare. “Are you alright? You look sick.” (Astarion tensed.)

“I don’t know how I am, it’s just… all so much. I’ve barely slept since we realised that I might be-- I think I’m too exhausted for it to have truly sank in yet.”

“I should take you back home,” Astarion said, his voice cracking at the end.

“You’re also free to sleep here for a while, if you like.”

Tav nodded, pulling his hand away from Astarion’s, and with it the little reassurance he had. “Thank you Shadowheart, really. I know all of this really isn’t your thing.”

“No, it’s not, but your little interloping tadpole is hardly the first daunting task we’ve dealt with together. At least this one doesn’t make a meal of your brain.” The joke fell flat as the unspoken sentiment filled a glaring hole in the conversation. A meal of his brain, perhaps not, but a vampire foetus to a living father hardly spells good news. Shadowheart sighed to herself softly, “The bedsit is through there, make yourself at home.”

Tav nodded and stood, leaning down to kiss his partner's cheek gently, before leaving the room silently, their absence haunting the chair next to Astarion. He crossed his legs, hands buried deep into the crook of his elbows as he and Shadowheart began a staring competition.

Loathe as he was to, he broke first. “Well?” He said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Is he going to die?”

“We won’t know for certain until we hear back.” Shadowheart answered truthfully, “But it’s not looking good. He seems to have the markers of a regular pregnancy for now, but it’s likely because the thing doesn’t have teeth to bite yet.”

Astarion flinched. “We didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“But it did.” Shadowheart snapped, before tempering her rage, blowing a short breath out. “Listen, I don’t think you’d do anything to intentionally hurt him, not anymore. But the truth is that the living and the dead are incompatible. It just doesn’t work. The living are always going to end up dead, or the dead are destroyed so the living might continue.”

Astarion shook his head. “No, we’ve been through far too much now to just give up anytime there’s a bump in the road. We’ll figure this out and be more careful from now on.”

“Astarion.” Shadowheart warned. “Depending on what we hear back, there might not be a ‘from now on’, do you understand that? You spent so long luring people back for Cazador, why did it never occur to you that this could be possible?”

“Do you think I should have asked before or after torture sessions?” he snapped in return. “There was hardly a guidebook he handed out when he turned us, and the welcoming committee -- my darling siblings -- didn’t know any more than me either.”

Shadowheart straightened up, “Your siblings.”

“Yes, what about them?”

“You have six of them. And seven thousand more victims roaming the Underdark.”

“If they survived, yes.”

“Well surely you can’t be the first that this has happened to. If it’s true that Cazador never mentioned it was possible to you, they wouldn’t know either. Do you think you could find some of them? Ask around to see if anybody down there has had the same problem as you?”

Astarion’s brow creased in distaste. “Even if I could find some of them, for a lot of them I’m the last person they want to see, especially heralding a new breed of vampire.”

“This is hardly about you now is it?” Shadowheart shot back.

He grimaced. “Fine. I’ll travel to the Underdark at sundown tomorrow.”

“At this point it’s the least you could do.”

The room fell silent. Unable to retort, his wit replaced with worry, he stewed. Astarion knew he had done many terrible things in his life, and even more in his death, but he feared this might have been the worst.

A few hours passed of little note. Unmoving, his mind raced, and a cup of untouched water stood equally still on the table before him, the subject of his steady gaze. With his flawless skin and rigid posture, he could have passed for a statue. Shadowheart had left to do something earlier, Astarion wasn’t really listening, his ears roaring with stolen blood. And so he was alone. With the cup. Fuck.

It clatters against the wall violently and Astarion’s chest heaves with effort, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

A moment later, a sleep disturbed face peeks through the doorway.

“Astarion!” Tav gasped.

"I'm sorry, I woke you up. Gods. I just--" He struggled to find the words.

"Are you okay?"

“Am I okay? No, I'm not okay. I spent centuries being tortured by Cazador and the first good thing I have after getting out, of being free, I ruin it with this disgusting body of mine. I have countless victims, destroyed by this,” he spits, gesturing wildly at himself, “and yet I couldn’t be done, could I? I had to claim just one more. So no, Tav, I have to say, I am not fucking okay.”

Tav’s face paled as they swallowed visibly. “I’m not a prop."

“What?” Astarion asked incredulously.

“I said I’m not a prop, Astarion.” He put his hands on his hips, the way he did before he was about to make a point. “You didn’t do anything to me, we had sex together, and I’m not destroyed just because I have a piece of you inside of me. I don’t want you to think of me like that. I’m better than that. You’re better than that.” He gripped Astarion's forearms. “Do you understand? I don’t know what any of this means for me, for us, and I’m not going to lie to you, I am terrified. But I need you to be terrified with me, not terrified for me, and that requires us to be on the same page with this. We fucked up, we’re scared, and we’ll figure it out. Together. As equally responsible participants. Okay?”

“I just feel like I should have known.”

“As should I.”

His tears fell over. “I am scared.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know.”

“What now?”

“We wait for Shadowheart to get back to us with more information. We know nothing, we’re just guessing based on our worst fears. When we know, we’ll know.”

“That’s incredibly unhelpful.”

“... I know.”

“What if--”

The door creaked open and Shadowheart stood in the doorframe, surveying the scene with an icy stare, something rectangular in her hands.

“You washed my walls. How kind of you both.”

“Sorry, Shadowheart.” Tav said, letting his hands drop.

“Gale got back to us,” she waved the rectangle at them.

Astarion spluttered, “It was Gale you wrote to?!”

“Yes. If you want information, who better to ask than the former wizarding prodigy without a social life to speak of?”

“Oh Gods, everyone’s going to know,” Tav moaned, rubbing his brow.

“Gale doesn’t shut up when you get him going, but he does know I can hurt him very, very badly. Excellent motivator, don’t you think?”

“What did he say?” Astarion asked reluctantly.

“See for yourself.” She handed the rectangle to Tav, which he could now make out was a loose letter tied to a dusty mauve tome.

He took it, opening the letter with shaking hands. He felt Astarion immediately press against his back, reading over his shoulder.

This should do it Shadowheart, will write you properly soon.

Dearest Tav and Astarion --

I believe some congratulations are in order! It’s no easy task to prepare for a new member of the family, but even more so with the kind you have cooking away. Should you find yourselves in need of a break, please remember Uncle Gale in his Waterdeep tower.

The good news is that the children of vampires -- known as dhampirs -- can lead a perfectly normal life. They can sustain themselves both on blood and regular food, they possess strange talents such as walking across vertical surfaces, and their physical appearances are as varied as any humanoid race, although it is likely they’ll possess some vampiric qualities--, i.e, elongated canines, red, or glowing eyes, ashen skin, the like -- but hardly the monsters their vampire parents are portrayed to be -- no offence Astarion.

I’ve sent along a tome I possess on the matter, please do take good care of it. I’ve bookmarked the relevant pages. From what I’ve read, there is no cause for alarm, although the (fascinating!) gestation period may not be as expected dear friends, so please pay close attention to Chapter 18, section 3. The bad news is that there’s no training guide on how to look after these children. You have a big challenge ahead of you both! But I’m sure between the two of you, as wonderful as you are for each other, you will figure out, like any parents, how to move forward with your new little family unit.

Please visit sometime, it would be wonderful to see you both, and I am unfortunately currently unable to disrupt my teaching schedule to make the trip to Baldur’s Gate. Perhaps with a little one on the way, one of you will accept my offer to introduce you to that fine Waterhavdian jeweller that I’ve mentioned previously?

P.S. Gale makes a fine middle name, don’t you think?

Yours Faithfully,

Prof. Gale Dekarios

“Wait a moment,” Astarion said, “Does this mean--?”

Tav whipped around to face him, eyes wide, grasping the letter like a lifeline, “We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.”

“We’re okay!”

He launched at Astarion, arms curling around the back of his neck, and he caught his waist, hauling him up into a hug.

“I can’t believe it,” Tav gasped as Astarion let him down, still in a close embrace. “We--! Oh. We have a lot to talk about. Do we want a baby?”

Astarion spluttered. “I--”

“I mean, babies are big responsibilities. And we’re hardly the most stable people in the world.” He gripped his own head. “The amount of weapons we have at home. We’d need to babyproof the blades. Can you babyproof a mace?”

“We’d need to get jobs. Real jobs, I mean. We couldn’t be on the move all the time.”

“And the cost. Babies are expensive little creatures. And the time. They need so much attention.”

“Exactly. It’s a horrible idea.”

“Terrible. We wouldn’t be able to cope. We should definitely do the responsible thing here and get rid of them.”

“Right.”

“We’re in agreement. Take that for incompatible you horrible little cleric.” Astarion sneered.

“What?”

“I didn't have to help!”

The screams pierce the house, the walls shaking as two toddlers whirled around their legs like miniature steel watchers, destroying everything in their path.

“Aren’t they precious?” Petras cooed, looking after his blond-haired son who was currently smashing his tiny fists at the wall as he tried to remember how to walk up it.

“Our little darling, perhaps, but your little demon seems to have the brains of his father,” Astarion curled his lip.

As Astarion spoke, their daughter, a bright-eyed little girl, growing more beautiful with each passing day, shoved an ink pen up her nose. He shot her a withering glare, the toddler blissfully unaware of the social disaster she had just created for him. She was lucky he thought the world of her, or he might have pinned her to the ceiling, out of the way.

“Clearly,” Petras scoffed.

“Thanks again for your help Petras, we both appreciate it. We really have no idea what we’re doing here.” Tav spoke up.

Petras nodded, “It’s a bit macabre to put such a little one into a coffin, but it really is the best way to make sure they don’t start running across the ceilings at night, and our Eric had grown out of his months ago. Do you have that soothing salve recipe I gave you?”

“Yes! Thank you.”

“She’ll be getting her fangs in soon. They’ll push out the teeth that are already there and it’ll hurt, and not only that, but when they do grow in, they’re sharp, so you’ll need to get her some caps until you can teach her to keep them out of the way. It’s not pretty, but she’ll be okay.”

“Daddy!” a little voice yelled insistently, and three heads snapped round. Their little girl ran to Astarion, “Stuck.” She pointed to her nose, the black pen protruding from the nostril.

“Oh for the love of--” Astarion hooked under her arms to pull her up onto his hip. “Okay, let’s see. Tilt your head back. Okay. One, two, three.” He pulled the pen, grimacing at the disgusting thing -- and the pen was pretty gross too. “Don’t put anything up your nose. Please?”

“Down!” She demanded.

“Darling.”

“Dooooown!!!”

He let the wriggling toddler out of his arms, placing the pen gingerly off to the side as Petras suppressed a laugh.

“I must say, fatherhood suits you Astarion.”

“Shut up,” he growled.

“Anyway, I need to go, sunrise soon. We’re teaching Eric to be diurnal, but he still seems to prefer the night. I don’t mind it, means I can spend more time with him.”

“That we can agree on,” Astarion said. “I miss her during the day.”

Tav pulled his arm through his comfortingly. “I told you we’ll figure it out.”

“I know.”

“If you do find anything out about that cure thing, send word yeah? I know a couple hundred people that’d want to get their hands on that.”

“Naturally.”

“Right. Eric!” He called, and Eric’s small eyes went wide as he heard his dad speak the dreaded words, “Time to go.”

Blink. Blink. Havoc. Screaming. A sharp nip into the meat of Petras’s arm. (‘Where are your teething caps?!')

Finally, they were alone, standing in a loose embrace as they watched their daughter roam the living room with the rapt attention of a dedicated jungle explorer.

“Why did it have to be Petras?” Astarion moaned flatly.

“We should be grateful. He does all the hard work and we steal the results. Too bad he’s an idiot.”

Astarion snorts, pressing his cheek on top of Tav’s head.

[banjjakz]

➡ Tell the truth.

Faced with the physical manifestation of your oshi in all his soggy, forlorn morbidity, you are unable to suppress the truth inside of you. The full weight of your arduous passion bursts forth, and you spill your guts, raw and bare, on the island of grimy tile which separates the two of you.

“I—I’ve waited for so long to meet you, Yuuta-san!” Eyes brimming with tears, you draw ever nearer, hands clasped underneath your chin in ill-contained glee. “It’s me – I’m ‘princess-okkotsu’! From the beginning, I’ve always cheered you on. I will always cheer you on! Until I die! Even after I die! Yuuta-san’s happiness is my only purpose in life!”

Before you can embarrass yourself with any further rambling, you fold at the waist, arms glued to your sides, eyes shut tight in some toxic mixture of mortification and arousal at your proximity.

Silence. One beat.

Two beats.

Fearfully, you peak up at him. Shouldn’t he be kicking you out by now? Or expressing gratitude at your undying devotion?

Yuuta stands there, still unmoving, but this time with something close to amusement rippling through his slight frame. His shoulders shake minutely – a detail you wouldn’t be able to identify without years of hyperfixation underneath your belt.

He is not immediately repulsed by your display, which is encouraging! In fact, his beautiful, wilted petals of his bloodless lips are parting at the seam, heralding the arrival of an eagerly-awaited-for reply—

But you will never be able to hear his response.

A large, imposing figure materializes behind Yuuta. Wide shoulders standing taller by at least a head and a half crack, muscles rippling underneath a pornographically tight black T-shirt. And somehow, somewhere, a spark of recognition ignites at the base of your skull. You feel like you’ve seen the dastardly, brutal-looking scar that spears straight through his grimly grinning mouth…

Ah! The security guard!

Oh, fuck.

“Aww. What a touching story. Wanna tell me the rest outside, sweetheart?”

It’s like he moves faster than the words fall from his lips. One moment, he’s behind Yuuta, menacingly cracking his knuckles; and the next, he’s got you locked in his iron-grip, bodily hauling you out of the dressing room. The last view you get of your beloved is the cold shock in his haunting eyes, the unusually (!) pale hue of his distressed face.

It doesn’t even occur to you to fight back… after all, you’ve said what you’ve always wanted to say. Now, Yuuta finally knows your face, your voice, the way your pupils quiver as you profess your eternal love. Even if you die – or worse, are blacklisted for future ShinShow events – imprinted in Yuuta’s brain forevermore is the memory of your passionate confession.

This revelation is enough to console you as you spend your last moments in the dark, back alley behind the venue, at the complete mercy of the unhinged security guard. Expecting to be turned loose with a stiff warning, you are horribly surprised to realize that he has no intention of letting you escape.

A sharp pain blooms in your abdomen—and then your leg, and then your other leg, and then your shoulder. The white-hot agony is so intense it forces you to your knees, a lowly criminal waiting for final execution.

As your consciousness fades into black, the transition into a weightless, bodyless space is cushioned by the memory of Yuuta’s slight amusement at your chaotic antics. I

f you had to do it all over again, you would die a hundred more deaths just to see that ghost of a smile.

[MAY YOU REST IN PEACE.]

➡ try again?

[fieldofdaisiies]

gwyn x balthazar | 2,9k words | warnings: slight NSFW content| masterlist

Gwyn's head lolls to the side, a giggle parting her lips. "Hey," she mumbles, every hair on her body standing on end, chills breaking out and wetness once again gathering between her thighs. His touch, the feel of his lips on her skin, are already so stimulating. 

"Hey," Balthazar whispers, voice breathy as his tongue flicks against her clit. A low growl rumbles through him. Just like the previous day he devours and worships his priestess, making her tumble over the edge with ease that only the males in the books she read possessed. 

But neither of them is sated after the first round this morning. 

Her hips fall open, a silent invitation for more that Balthazar happily accepts. He lines the tip of his cock up with her entrance and then grins, eyes not once leaving hers. "Your are so beautiful."

"And all yours." Gwyn lifts her hips, making him slide into her. His head falls back, eyes closing, because this feeling…he has never felt anything like that before. 

The young Illyrian thrusts into the priestess a few time, hips perfectly meeting hers every time. His hand clasps her breast, his lips trail over the exposed column of her neck until he pulls the lobe of her ear between his teeth. "Nothing has ever felt like you, Gwyneth. You are everything to me." 

It is not long after that Balthazar gathers her into his arms, sits back on his heels and lets her bounce on his hips. 

"Ride me, my little water-nymph." His voice is breathless, the command in it yet crystal clear. 

Gwyn adjusts herself a little, legs around him, hands on his broad shoulders, his hands grabbing her butt, helping her ride him. 

A low moan leaves Gwyn, her mind already entering a state of pure satisfaction. He is right — nothing feels like him. Nothing feels like this. Balthazar is everything and he is hers. And he makes her feel alive. She can breathe. Finally she can breathe and live and laugh and enjoy all the pleasures life has to offer. 

Her breasts, the sensitive peaks, brush against his chest, the fine dusting of hair in his skin oddly stimulating. She pushes harder against him, wanting to feel him everywhere. Each roll of her hips is met with one of his thrusts.

And then his majestic wings flare behind his back, revealing the thin membrane with the small veins trailing up and down the inside. 

Gwyn's attention is momentarily stolen by them, but soon returns to her lover's mouth, the words leaving him. 

"Wings—Fuck!" Balthazar throws his head back, twitching inside of her. "Touch my wings."

Gwyn is breathless, visions clouded by desire. She meets his lips in an open-mouthed kiss. "Where?" 

"The vein leading up to the talon." Balthazar can barely form a coherent sentence, his thoughts are all over the place, but he needs her to do this. Wants her to be the only female to ever touch his wings. Gwyn complies, her own desire to touch his most precious possession — his wings— so strong. 

At first she softly brushes her fingers over the thin membrane, then a little harder, until she is rubbing her fingers over it. Balthazar's growl reverberates through Gwyn and fuels some deep primal part of her that makes her see stars. She is close, release already gathering in her lower abdomen. 

They Illyrian keeps her on top of him the whole time, even when he shifts to lie back down on the bed, guiding her with him. 

Gwyn's nails dig into his chest, knuckles turning white from how tight she holds on when she comes with a cry, limps spasming when he lets her ride out her hight, following her just a moment later with a shout and a groan. "Fucking luckiest male alive," he breaths when he simultaneously folds Gwyn into his strong arm, making her lie down on his chest and brings a hand up to wipe his palm over his forehead. 

"I've hardly ever felt as safe as I feel with you." Gwyn kisses his chest. "When I am with you, I feel like I can conquer the whole world. I know you are keeping me safe, protected, alive. All my worries, my fears vanish into nothingness when you hold my hand, when you look into my eyes." 

A single salty tear falls onto Balthazar's damp skin, and he pulls the blanket over the two of them. 

"I feel like no one can ever harm me again. That whenever I feel alone, I am not alone. I know I have you. I know you are here when I need you, when I need someone to hold me."

Balthazar kisses the top of her head. He does not say anything, lets her speak. 

"I was so scared of…" Gwyn's throat constricts, drying out. She shudders but she does not let the memories take control of her happiness once again. She has grown. She is stronger now. She is in Balthazar's arms and she is safe. 

"I was so scared of males and that fear is not fully gone, I am still wary of males, but with you by my side I know I no longer have to be afraid. I no longer have to live in fear. I can enjoy and experience things now."

Tipping her head back she meets his gaze. Balthazar has been looking at her the whole time. 

"You never have to be afraid again." He holds her gaze. "But not because I am in your life. You are so strong, stronger than you think. And you are very capable of protecting yourself. No male will ever harm you again, but that not only because of me. Because you possess strength you don't know about. You are incredible." He kisses the top of her head again. "But that does not mean that I will ever leave your side. I will always be there for you, keep you safe, protected, warm."

He smiles, eyes full of warmth and affection. "And with you in my life, I feel just as empowered as you. I know that I can do it, becoming a camp lord and everything."

Gwyn rolls over, so she can place her hands on his chest, her chin resting on top of them. 

"Of course, because I have Corrian and Thena and Emerie, as my advisors." He smiles, a hint of pride in his eyes. "But also because I have you. I know you are here for me, support me with my ideas and also tell me when I am talking…complete bullshit." 

Gwyn's grin mirrors Balthazar's. "You are my smart little River-nymph and your opinion matters to me more than anyone else's."

"Balthazar." Gwyn blushes. "You and your words…."

He chuckles, the sound rich and deep, his chest rumbling. "What about them?"

"They make me feel things and get me all flustered."

Purely male pride washes over his face. "Good." His hand slides down beneath the bed sheet and he gently slaps Gwyn's backside, waiting for her reaction, not wanting to cross a line where she might not feel comfortable anymore. But the only thing flashing in her eyes is desire and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. So, Balthazar squeezes her backside and grins. "And sometimes my words make you quite wet." He himself has to laugh at that. 

"You really do have a dirty mouth." Gwyn pushes up onto her hands and kisses his lips. "And I love it so much."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Balthazar pecks Gwyn's lips. "You are distracting me, Gwyneth." He smiles amusedly and gives his head a little shake. 

Gwyn veils her face in innocence, pouting her lips a little. "I would never," she dramatically expresses and folds a hand over her heart. And yet she rolls her hips the slightest bit, feeling the hard ridge of his arousal press into her. 

"Of course not," Balthazar mumbles and looks over her shoulder, at the paper he was currently scanning over and trying to fill out. "I need to write this down, my love."

Gwyn leans back, eyes widened a little, blocking his vision. "My love?" She grins, from one ear to the other. "I like that. I love that!" 

Her lips find his in a quick, but nevertheless deep kiss, arms wrapping around his neck when she hugs him afterwards. "And in addition…you could write on me." She presses a small kiss to his neck. "With your lips. And your tongue."

Not much writing is done in the moments, or hours after. Their bodies come together on the desk at first, then on the chair and even on the slightly dusty ground. The need and desire within their bodies enhanced by the bond that connects their souls is just too strong, too overwhelming, to not give in to it. They continue until they are partly sated, and some actual work is getting done. Balthazar wants to prepare some papers for Gwyn to bring along to Velaris. He has been a bit distracted lately, and so he hasn't done much work and that needs to be fixed and finished now. 

Gwyn is helping him, of course she is, sorting through documents, bringing them into an alphabetical order just like she does with the books in the library. From time to time, Balthazar finds himself distracted and can only admire her, the determined expression on her face, concentration shining in her eyes. She is is nibbling on her lower lip, fingers trailing over words and phrases Balthazar cannot make out written on the paper. Balthazar marvels at her beauty once again. Her beautiful teal eyes, like sunshine dancing on the ocean, her hair like spun copper, and the dusting of freckles all over her face. She is so beautiful, and she is truly his. 

Gwyn inhales deeply, lifts her head and finds Balthazar looking at her. She doesn't know what it is, but something in the way he looks at her makes her cheeks fill with warmth and colour and she smiles. "I thought we were working?"

"I am trying to, but a lovely River-nymph decided to come into my office…and she is now distracting me greatly." He can only grin. 

"I am trying to help you," Gwyn answers and fakes a pout, yet soon her own mouth turns into a smile. 

"Devlon truly noted down everything, huh?" She lifts the piece of parchment, waving it through the air before handing it to Balthazar. Written in faded ink are food rations of centuries ago. He wasn't alive back then — it was probably when Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel were young. Or even before that. 

Balthazar huffs. "I hope I can manage to run this camp like he did." He tosses the parchment away and leans back in the chair, hands crossed behind his neck, gaze directed towards the ceiling. Doubt still comes in waves, worries flowing along in the stream of uncertainty. It has all become less, mostly thanks to Gwyn, his sister and his best friend, but these thoughts still haven't vanished completely. 

"Did you like Devlon?" Gwyn gets up from her stool so she can stand in front of Balthazar. Her eyes trail over his whole body, trying to see if his body language gives him away. He sits in a sprawl, his strong thighs so inviting to sit down on top of them, but now it does not feel right in this moment. They are having a serious conversation, and she wants Balthazar to be very honest with her, and also answer the questions she is about to ask, and already did honestly. 

It is something he has to reflect on. For himself. 

Balthazar shrugs, not really knowing what to say. "I think I liked him."

Gwyn braces a hand on the table and raises a brow. "Did you really?"

Slowly, Balthazar nods, but his eyes and his demeanour give him away. He lowers his arms and braces his hands on his thighs, gaze not once leaving Gwyn. A flicker of doubt passes over his face.

"What did you think of Devlon? Do you think he was a good camp lord? Was he a good person? Or was he simply a good camp lord?"

That truly makes Balthazar ponder. He has never, not once, thought about it that way. He liked Devlon, looked up to him, but maybe he just liked his role as a leader, because he was a good leader. But was he a good person?

"He allowed wings to be clipped, didn't he?" Gwyn pushes, wanting to challenge Balthazar's thoughts a little. She is tenacious and she won't let go now. 

He shakes his head. "No, no, he did not." Balthazar swallows. 

"He was fair, and just. But he wasn't a good male. He saw women as beings meant to be servants and he did not let them train."

Gwyn nods. "You don't want to be like someone like that. You don't want to run the camp like him."

"You don't understand, Gwyneth." Balthazar leans forward, wanting to reach for Gwyn's hand but she moves it away and it sends a pang of hurt through Balthazar. "I did not mean it like that. I—"

"I know how you meant it, Balthazar." Gwyn's lips are pressed in a thin line and she takes a step closer to him. "You feel like you have to prove yourself amongst the Illyrian brutes up here. But you are no brute, you are good in your soul and heart and you are exactly what this camp needs. You will bring change, a revolution, and you will make this camp stronger than any other camp." 

She moves to stand between his thighs, hands braced on his shoulders. "You don't have to be like him to be great. You already are. And I know you doubt yourself, and this is very natural, but I know you can do this. And deep inside your heart, you know this too."

Bending down, Gwyn leans her forehead against Balthazar's. "I believe in you. Your sister does. Your best friend does. Rhysand does. Cassian. Azriel. Nesta. Emerie. We all do."

She wraps her arms around the Illyrian's shoulders and kisses the top of his head. "This camp will flourish and become the best place all the Illyrians can only hope for."

Balthazar squeezes Gwyn to him and sighs. "Once more I come to the realisation that I truly don't deserve you in my life." He kisses her cleavage and then tips his head back to look at her. 

"Thank you. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for challenging my thoughts. Thank you for all of it."

Gwyn cradles his face in her hands. "You never have to thank me for speaking the truth. But I truly believe that…you came into my life for a reason. I came into yours for a reason."

Balthazar nods, his eyes glazing. He searches her gaze. "You saved my life back then, Gwyneth. And you are still doing so, making me feel alive and good."

A tear slips out of the corner of Gwyn's eye and lands on Balthazar's face. She draws in a deep inhale, exhales and then parts her lips. "I know you keep saying that I saved you, that I was your saviour, but you are my salvation, Balthazar."

The lips meet in a teary, but passionate kiss full of hurt and love. Both their tears wet the other's tears, their lips don't part for a long time, both of them pouring every emotion and every ounce of love they feel for the other into the kiss. 

It is Mor who knocks on the door that makes them part and signals Gwyn that it is time to leave. Obviously not immediately, they still have time to say goodbye. 

"Do you really have to leave already?" Balthazar's arms wrap tighter around Gwyn and she leans down to kiss him again. "I do, I need to join the other priestesses again and you have a lot of work to do here." She kisses him again and Balthazar lets one hand slide lower, cupping her butt for a small moment. 

"But how do deal with not being with you? Alone, at night?" He raises a brow, mischief obvious in his sparkling eyes. 

"Maybe you can use your imagination…and your hand." Gwyn grins and is not at all prepared for the tall male to stand up and lift her into the desk behind her, spreading her legs so he can move in closer, kiss her deeper, his hands on her face, tongue meeting hers with every stroke, teeth clashing. "It won't feel anything like you." He nips at her jaw. "I already told you, nothing feels like you."

Parting hurts, but after many more kisses, I love yous and good byes, Gwyn truly closes the door behind her, taking one last look at Balthazar who is waving at her through the window. Then the cool air wraps around her. But she is not alone. Mor is already waiting for her, ready to winnow her back to Velaris. In all honesty, Gwyn does not know if Mor was with Emerie, or for how long she had been here, but she knows that she will question her now, on their way home, her heart already swelling with happiness about Emerie's and Mor's no longer so secret relationship. 

tag list: @a-frog-with-a-laptop @brekkershadowsinger @moonlightazriel @callmeblaire @headcanonheadcase @waternymphia @autumndreaming7 @devilsfoodcake22 @readercacau @sv0430 @bubybubsters @cyntia-ktn

[moonslittlestar]

Reminiscing

“You made a pact with a Devil?!” Hunter's voice shook in anger, his fist clenched tight by his side. Wyll has never seen him so mad before, as teens both boys were fairly level headed and any anger that tried to raise in them was swiftly taken out on training dummies in the courtyard.

“I..” Wyll’s eyes drifted to the ground, his weight shifting from one leg to the other, “What else was I to do? Let that beast destroy the city?! Kill thousands of innocents?! What would you have me do?” He finally barked back.

The air around them stirred, the moon was high in the sky and the river beside the bank they sat on glistened under its light. Behind them, the distant sound of a crackling fire and muffled snores from the others that traveled with them. It was late, and the glasses of wine were almost empty.

Hunter examined Wyll's face; he'd aged, they both had… there were new scars that weren't there before, and the bags under his eyes told tales of many sleepless nights. Despite all his differences, he was still Wyll, the same Wyll he'd trained for 6 years with, fought side by side during a great many battles, the same Wyll that stood by his side when everything went to shit with his twin sister Willow and the same Wyll that he once believed could be his soulmate… “I… don't know” Hunter sighed, finally replying after a paused silence; what could Wyll have done?

“Hunter, the city was going to be torn apart. I did what I had to to keep Baldur's Gate safe” Wyll's voice was soft, calm and reassuring, “I don't regret my choices.”

“You left, for me?” Wyll asked, confused. “What of your sister?” Wyll couldn't help but feel guilty; Hunter had joined the Flaming Fists as a young boy, his dream to one day get to a place where he'd be able to help fix the system and help his sister. For so many years Wyll had watched Hunter push himself to the point of exhaustion just to become the best. They'd spar in the training grounds every night, helping each other with their swordsmanship. Those days where Hunter would collapse mid session, it was all for Willow. Leaving couldn't have been an easy choice for him to make. Wyll joined Hunter in emptying his cup in a swift swig.

Hunter gulped down the last of his arabellan dry and wiped his hand over his lips, his eyes focused on Wyll's fingers around the neck of his chalice. “I left the Fists.” His voice was flat and tired, like all emotion had been drained from him.

“But your dream? I don't understand? You were so close to becoming a Marshal?”

“After the battle… things became… weird?” Hunter paused again, “You vanished Wyll. No one would tell me if you were alive or dead!” His voice cracked. Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a tear back, “How can someone go from being so admired by everyone to suddenly no one acknowledging they ever existed?” The words were bitter in his mouth, his knuckles turned white. Wyll sat beside him unable to say anything to console his friend, instead he eyed the last of the wine in his chalice as he rocked it back and forth. “I demanded answers, that upset your father… said I was ‘overstepping’ and ‘meddling where I shouldn't’… So… I left…” Hunter unclenched his fist and wiggled his fingers before taking it in his other hand and rubbing his knuckles, “to look for you…” his voice trailed off, the tips of his pointed ears turning red.

“Shortly after you disappeared, I started hearing rumors that she'd joined the Temple of Bhaal…” Hunter's voice was small, a sadness etched into his words from the weight of guilt and failure. “I was a fool to think I could save her…” he continued, so quietly that he may as well have been talking to himself.

“You can't blame yourself for her path,” Wyll tried to reassure Hunter, placing his hand gently on Hunter's cold, clasped fingers, and squeezed. Wyll's touch was warm and welcomed; under his hand Hunter's fingers ached. “It's a little late now, I know, but for what it's worth; I am sorry. I should have taken you with me.” Wyll scanned Hunter's face, who's eyes refused to meet him. “That I do regret.” Wyll's hand still gently placed over Hunter's, “After I made the pact, I was forced to leave. I tried to explain things to my father but, well you know how stubborn he can be.” Wyll chuckled to himself, “I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,” he smiled slightly as he rubbed one of his new found horns with his free hand. “You stopped me doing a terrible thing today,” he sighed, looking behind them to the campsite of sleeping bodies. “To think I was such a fool! Mizora said I'd be fighting demons, fiends and the heartless, not innocent Tieflings!”

“There was no way for you to know, if it wasn't for these damn tadpoles…” Hunter thought back on the vision they shared with Karlach. A moment of silence washed over them as they contemplated the outcome of the day. Karlach’s life had been spared but at a cost; Wyll's horns curved around his head, a visible reminder of his actions.

“More wine?” Hunter asked, breaking the silence that floated around them, Wyll nodded and handed Hunter his cup. “You make quite the handsome devil,” Hunter giggled as he walked back over with two topped up chalices.

“I can't tell if you're joking or being serious.” Wyll took the chalice from Hunter, their fingers softly brushing past each other as the cup was passed between them. Hunter smiled to himself and returned to his spot next to Wyll, “Have I ever lied to you?” He smirked, “Actually on second thought don't answer that!”

“I do recall a time where you insisted that the clear liquid in your flask was water… oh and that time you said that that one feral cat just happened to follow you into the dorms… and what about the time-”

“Ok, ok! Sheesh” Hunter laughed, “Do you really need to remember such trivial things?” Wyll chuckled lightly.

“It's good to see you again, would have been nicer under better circumstances though” Wyll's smile was soft and sincere.

[sweetchcolate]

ambivalence

fandom: sugar apple fairy tale word count: 2182

A/N: slight canon divergence from cour 2 episode 11: instead of trying to get rid of Anne, Rafael decides to lock her up until she makes him the quality sculpture he wants.

I wanted to explore his character a bit after seeing his reaction to Anne giving the other fairies beautiful sugar candy. I think he does want connections, wants to be accepted, but is too consumed by his hurt and anger at humans and fairies to ever open up or allow himself to be vulnerable.

Enjoy!

——–

The sight of that slip of a girl mingling with the warrior fairies, gifting them with such delicate silver sulgar sculptures, refused to leave his mind. They haunted him. They mocked him.

How dare they.

How dare she.

Rafael dragged the human back to her room and threw her inside, slamming the door behind them. The sharp sound, like that of a blow, echoed in the empty room, the walls shook, and her little makeshift workstation rattled.

“You will make me a worthy sugar sculpture,” he ordered, voice deadly flat and even despite the swell of impatiencehurtfrustration raging inside of him like a wild beast trying to claw its way out. He clenched a fist tight, the pain grounding him, relieving some of the tension. “And you will not leave this room until you do.”

The girl gaped at him, mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. She stood slowly, posture radiating hesitation and fear — good, he already had enough of Shall disrespecting him, he wouldn’t tolerate it from a human  — before nodding.

The clink of her tools and the howling wind outside were the only sound between them as the girl kneaded, dyed, and shaped silver sugar. At some point she’d sat down, her rhythm slowing as she chanced glances at him from the corner of her eyes.

She’d thought herself subtle, but Rafael had decades of experience with humans: he could read the change in their mood or train of thought from even the most minute of gestures, and it was clear the girl’s mind was not on sugar crafting anymore.

“Out with it,” he ground out, features contorting into a scowl. This was far from how he usually acted, but something inside him wouldn’t stop moving, restless, unbalanced, a sea battered by the storm, and he didn’t have the patience or energy to pretend otherwise.

The girl jumped, not having expected him to speak. She glanced at him, curled in on herself as if she were one wrong word away from incurring his wrath.

(She was).

“I was just wondering… why you wanted fief pieces…” she said in a small voice.

He sneered. “That is none of your business.”

“But it is!” she exclaimed, looking shocked for a second at her own outburst before schooling her features into something more determinate, defiant. She gripped the front of her dress, knuckles turning white. “I can’t… how do you expect me to make a good sugar sculpture if I don’t know why it’s so important to you!”

What nonsense. Only humans would care about such sentimental and trivial things.

“It doesn’t matter. Make me a beautiful piece: nothing more, nothing less.”

“It does matter!” the girl insisted and Rafael ground his teeth, holding himself back: he wouldn’t loose patience over this slip of a human. “Hugh made those fief pieces for Noah: they meant something to him, reminded him of someone precious to him. They had a purpose and that’s why they came out so pretty!

“But those fief pieces don’t mean anything to you, so of course I can’t make them like you want! They’ll lack something!”

“Are you done.”

The girl looked taken aback at the vehemence in his tone.

“Meaning? A purpose?” He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, looming over the girl and caging her between his body and the table. To her credit, she met him head on, mouth set in a firm line, hands clasped primly, a bead of cold sweat betraying her nervousness. He might have been impressed at her composure under other circumstances, but the lack of fight, the lack of an outlet for his pent-up feelings only made him angrier. “That’s absurd. That’s useless. I am the future fairy king, and if I require a beautiful sugar piece, then you will. make. it.”

They stared at each other in tense silence, barely breathing, the flames of the hearth flickering. It was a long while before the girl’s shoulders fell and she looked down, murmuring, “You really can’t give me anything to go by, huh?”

He did not deign her with an answer, merely straightening and watching as she started to knead silver sugar again.

Incompetent girl! How hard could it be to produce one good silver sugar sculpture, one as enticing as that viscount’s? How had she had managed to make such pretty pieces for those common fairies, yet struggled to make him one?

What did the others possess that he lacked?

No. That was a wrong way of thinking. He was the future fairy king, not some defective second-rate fairy! He would overthrow humanity, impose on them the same violence they subjected him his people to, and if the girl failed to understand his importance, his brilliance, then he had no need of her.

There were plenty of other silver sugar masters around.

Once she was gone, he’d be able to dedicate himself to winning Shall over. Without the girl around, Rafael was sure his brother would be more prone to hearing him out instead of favoring the little human, even if that process might take years. Then, Shall, their diamond sibling, and he would take the world back from mankind, a solid and undefeatable trifecta.

Until then, he’d carry the burden of their responsibility, their fate, alone.

The girl spoke up, interrupting his train of thought. “You said earlier… that you were to become fairy king, right?”

“And what of it?”

She kept on working, not even looking his way as she answered. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you hang around with the other fairies.”

Rafael scoffed, crossing his arms. As if someone of his standing would mingle with common warrior and worker fairies. “I am a unique existence.”

She stopped to look at him, brows slanted, mouth downturned, and eyes filled with a glint he couldn’t name. That wasn’t the expression of fear or respect that a future fairy king deserved, and he hated it, hated how it seemed to see through him.

“But they’re your people, aren’t they? If you’re going to lead them, shouldn’t you be with them? Learn about them?”

“Do you see your king meddling with his kind?” he retorted, sharpness on his tongue, the storm inside of him picking up in intensity once more. “I need not conform to your human standards.”

“Why keep their wings then? Lusul told me you’d fight for their freedom, but you’re the one enslaving them!”

“A human like you has no say in fairy business!” he yelled, the earlier impatiencehurtfrustration rearing its head back. It was one thing to have Shall question his reasoning and uncover his true feelings, but he would not allow this human girl to add to the injury. “As fairy king, I will rule over all fairies. I will command them, and they will follow whether they like it or not.”

“That’s just being a tyrant!”

“And what of it.” Stifled feelings were leaking out of him like steam. “Fairies and humans, they’re all the same. Self-centered worms, ready to sell you out at the slightest inconvenience. They rip out your wing, your heart, as one would pluck a flower and then use it to torture you for their own twisted pleasure!”

“That’s—”

“Untrue? Not all of them?” A dark laugh left him before he could hold it back, a bitter acid sound. “I’ve been on this earth longer than you will ever be, human girl. I’ve seen it all.”

His outburst had its intended effect: it got both the girl and the storm that had been raging inside of him, plaguing him since his talk with Shall, to keep quiet. Restless energy now spent, the strong waves of anger and frustration left way for an ache, a heaviness he had rarely experienced.

He felt drained.

“Finish your work,” Rafael said, voice flat, empty. Only he knew how close it came to cracking.

When he was sure the girl was focused on her task, he allowed himself to lean against the wall. His limbs were heavy as lead and he allowed gravity to drag him to the hard ground, head lolling back. He closed his eyes and sighed, a breathless exhale swallowed by the winter air.

Images he’d ignored in his anger and indignation flashed behind his eyelids: the girl speaking with the warrior fairies, a smile on their faces and laughter in their voice; Shall standing in front of her to protect her; Mythril Lid Pod squabbling with Shall; Noah clinging to the girl—

Again. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. Why was he thinking of this again? Why did these images refuse to leave him?

He was above such menial things, wasn’t he? He had no desire for relationships, not after humans had enslaved him and fairies shunned him. All he needed was Shall and his diamond sibling, precious stone fairies handpicked by the late king himself to keep him company.

That’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it, he thought to himself.

He needed them.

Needed someone.

But force was the only language he spoke, the only reliable method he’d found to keep people by his side, as humans had taught him. He kept Shall through blackmail and manipulation, held onto the diamond fairy’s stone waiting for the day of their birth, and owned the common fairies’ wings.

All for the sake of becoming fairy king, as foreordained by Riselva. All for the sake of control, never to be under someone’s thumb again.

And if he failed, he would have nothing.

“It’s done.”

He managed to crack an eye open despite his fatigue to glance at the silver sugar master.

“What is.”

“The sculpture you wanted me to make. It’s done.” She gestured towards the piece on the table.

Ah, right. That was how this whole mess had started, wasn’t it? Those common fairies had been worthy beautiful pieces and the girl’s kindness, while he was afforded none. Funny, how the same thought that had enraged and hurt him so now left him indifferent.

He came to stand by her, eyeing the result of her work. He first took note of the piece’s gentle glow, like that of snowflakes glittering in the sunlight, the silver sugar so clear it was almost see-through. It reminded him of the purest of ice.

It was also the best piece she’d made for him.

She’d depicted two individuals wearing a flower crown and sitting next to each other, close enough to balance the book they were reading between their thighs. In such proximity, their arms touched, hair mixing, and the relaxed line of their shoulders as well as the gentle smile on their faces spoke of intimacy and serenity.

He spun the sculpture around, only to find two long thin fairy wings protruding from one of the characters’ back.

He closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose. He didn’t have any energy left in him to be mad, to scream, to laugh his indignation. Instead, he asked “What did you depict?” and waited for the girl to explain herself.

She took a moment to answer, as if sensing that her next words needed to be carefully chosen. “A fairy and a human,” she replied at last, steady, firm, but also gentle. There was none of the fear or misery he was used to hearing from her, nor any of the reverence the other fairies addressed him with. “Spending time together. I wanted to portray a peaceful moment between them.”

“This isn’t a fief piece.”

“You asked for a worthy sugar sculpture. I think this… is the best I can come up with in this situation, knowing what little I do about you.”

This slip of a girl… she was so vexing. She knew nothing, and yet she knew too much at the same time. How had she made something that catered to her — oh, he knew she cared for those common fairies, for Shall. He knew she believed in human-fairy harmony — but to him as well?

Was he that transparent? That was the only way to explain how two different people from two different species had read his heart twice in the same day with such accuracy.

He couldn’t stand it.

Such vulnerability was terrifying.

“It will do,” he told her, sucking in a breath to even his voice. “Leave.”

The girl hesitated, casting a glance between him and the sugar sculpture, before running out. Alone, the fire in the hearth slowly dying behind him, he spent long quiet moments staring at the sugar piece, taking in its glow, the sheerness of the fairy’s wings or the tenderness in the characters’ smiles.

He considered many scenarios: breaking off one of the wings, consuming only the human figure, breaking the sculpture into a thousand pieces. Each idea flashed briefly in his mind, just as quickly cast aside. It wouldn’t do to damage a sculpture of such quality for petty reasons — no, he would keep it and draw on it when he needed to.

Rafael took the sugar piece back to his chambers.

He locked it out of sight.

[jowritesthingss]

at a point of breaking

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): n/a

Rating: General Audiences

Content Warning(s): arguing mention (nothing explicit), shouting mention (again, nothing explicit), panic/anxiety attacks (not explicitly mentioned)

Length: 950 words

Brief Summary: so we all know that canonically Janus can silence the others, right? let’s make that angsty, shall we?

TS Masterlist + AO3 Links

*

Janus, even after all of the other sides warily begin to accept him, still silences the others from time to time. it’s a part of his job. he just...does it. he takes no pride in it, but he accepts it, even embraces it sometimes.

it’s not to deliberately cause lies of omission or withhold the truth. certainly Janus enjoys a fair amount of chaos, but he doesn’t ever intend to hurt the others. he just does his job as he sees fit and, regardless of whether the others like it or not, this means that the silencing is a part of his role as self-preservation and denial.

it’s a part of his role to thanklessly protect people—to protect the other sides, to protect Thomas.

(to protect himself)

-

so when the sides start arguing—when the words someone is saying are angry, harmful, incendiary. when someone is about to hurt someone else unnecessarily. when someone is scared to acknowledge the truth just yet. when someone isn’t ready to acknowledge the truth just yet—that’s when Janus comes in.

when Logan’s logic will only make Virgil more anxious. when Virgil starts to overthink and suppress Remus. when Remus is about to say something that will make Patton cry. when Patton is about to lead Roman onto an unrealistic tangent. when Roman’s daydreaming is overpowering Logan’s logic.

(...and yes, admittedly when Janus doesn’t want to lose a debate, if he’s in a particularly bratty mood that day.)

there is much about himself that Thomas isn’t ready to know, much that Thomas isn’t ready to face. he must be able to take care of himself in certain aspects before he can hope to conquer other issues, so the responsibility falls onto Janus to delicately (and sometimes not-so-delicately) tug him onto that path.

and there are all sorts of occasions in which Janus’ ability is useful, really. so while he does take care not to overuse it, sometimes to keep people from fighting and needlessly causing damage, Janus has to whip out his little party trick and silence one of the others.

(always one of the others. never Thomas, never himself. he’s never tried either, isn’t sure either would actually work, frankly.)

-

but.

-

at a point of breaking, during an overemotional conflict, the script flips. something changes.

the others are arguing and they’re so so loud, and Janus is so so hurt.

they’re all just...they’re arguing and they’re loud and they aren’t listening to him and god, he finally knows how Logan felt that one time, so unresistant to Janus smoothly yanking him out-of-frame and impersonating him. he finally knows how Virgil felt when he left the dark sides, how Remus felt when he broke out, desperate for Thomas to see and know and hear him.

Janus wants to shout, to scream, to silence them all just to get them to be quiet and listen to him, listen to each other, just listen. but he isn’t so powerful, and his acceptance by the others is still so new, still so fragile. he isn’t in the habit of deceiving himself—theirs is mutual acceptance, perhaps acquaintance, certainly not friendship. his doubt of them lingers easier in his head, twisting and tangling truths and lies until they look and sound and feel and are the same.

revealing his name wasn’t exactly easy, but in retrospect the act was nothing like the level of vulnerability he knows he needs to display now. only—only he’s used to keeping to himself and licking his own wounds. he isn’t used to playing this social game. he isn’t used to actively helping, isn’t used to caring about whether any of it makes him look the villain. and it’s still so difficult to ignore the tiny voice whispering for him to just ignore the conflict, to just sink out already.

(not his problem, is it? he didn’t start the argument this time.)

-

so at first it’s simplest to give in to the self-silencing terror of telling the truth. at first it’s almost a comfort to suck in the words and keep them trapped firm under his tongue.

and yet—telling the truth hurts, but holding onto the truth hurts just as much, god, it hurts.

and then the arguing and the yelling and the shouting and the hurting all goes on, it goes on and on and on, and Janus doesn’t know what to do.

he doesn’t know if he should scream out the truth to them all, if he should just whisper it beneath the shouting, if he should just swallow it back down where it came from. he doesn’t know what he should do, doesn’t even know what he wants to do. but regardless of what he wants, the words are bubbling and frothing in his throat, pushing closer and closer to the tip of his tongue, clamoring to be let out whether he likes it or not.

the others’ voices crescendo upwards as the words in his throat rise up like bile.

(closer and closer and closerclosercloser—)

they’re getting up in each others’ faces now, cameras and assigned spots forgotten, and Thomas is finally giving up on any attempt to salvage anything of whatever this had been—

—and so, so scared that the truth is going to slip out otherwise, Janus finally waves his hand.

-

the other sides freeze when they see him make that all-too-familiar motion. they and Thomas glance warily amongst themselves to see who his target will be this time...only to have their confused glances return to Janus upon seeing no hands covering any mouths.

and then they see. oh, they see. they listen.

(too little, too late—)

for Janus has silenced himself.

Fin

*

this started as what was supposed to be a quick li’l tumblr post and...well, it spiralled, as you can see. it’s a weird mix between fic and textpost, and I think I quite like it. lemme know what you think!! (ALSO if you wanna write anything based upon this concept, please feel welcome to! I’d love to see other interpretations of this idea!)

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

[milliesdiary]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃 — 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; you were born from adultry and look the part. as a result, a child calls you a bastard and your partner reacts accordingly!

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; rhaenyra, daemon, alicent, jace, aemond, aegon

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; established relationship, violence, fluff. female reader. imagine y’all are on a walk outside the palace or something LMAO

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; i know aemond, alicent, and aegon have negative views toward “bastards,” but they fell in love with you anyway. sorry i dont make the rules <3

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐑𝐀

the second the words come from that child’s mouth, rhaenyra’s head is whipping around at the speed of light. she almost doesn’t know what to say at first, the words still processing in her head — but then an anger strong as a tempest builds inside of her. dealing with such things with her boys has certainly amped something up in her; the second that word is mentioned and she’s automatically in fight mode. “that is a vile accusation,” she spits, her voice waspish and rich with ill-concealed anger. “go. now.” the white sheet of her silver hair alone is enough to have the kid reconsidering their actions and send them running. no one dares insult the princess: not face-to-face at least. the second they’re gone, rhaenyra is turning toward you and clasps your cheeks in her hands, her eyes shining with that stubborn charm you love: “pay them no mind. you are like anyone else in this house,” she assures, drawing you into a tight, almost motherly hug. “true-born.” 

𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍

daemon has never been one for following rules, so him choosing to be in a courtship with you would not be out of the norm; his love does not know titles or traditions. when you’re called a bastard, daemon fucking laughs; not at your expense, but at the idea that a child thought they had the right to speak on such a thing, let alone levy such insults at a woman. you glance over at him, but he doesn’t return the look, only staring the kid down with those sharp eyes of his. not a single word has to come from his mouth and you know what he’s thinking: say it. you can’t imagine being on the receiving end of his cold stare — and it’s apparently excruciating, considering the child mutters out a ‘sorry’ and practically sprints away. they’re gone now, but daemon knows the words aren’t; you’ll probably think about them the rest of the day. he’s not one to pry though, so he merely grabs you by the hand and tilts his head down to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “it’s refreshing, isn’t it?” his voice rumbles, tone snarky. he raises his head slowly with a quirk of his lips. “not having children who are cunts.” 

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

a hypocrite, no doubt: berating rhaenyra’s sons for being bastards and yet falling in love with one herself. she understands it better now, what it means to accept someone born from adultery; it’s something she’d do for you, at least. so once a child catches sight of you and calls you such, her brows are knitting together and she’s swiveling in that direction. the only thing she can do is just stand in pure surprise and shock, especially upon noticing it was a kid who spoke it. the child doesn’t do anything else (probably just now realizing that you’re with the Queen), and disappears rather quickly out of fear. the moment they’re gone, alicent is immediately looking at you and trying to analyze your expression. her hands quickly find themselves upon your shoulders and she lines her face up to yours so you meet her eyes. “listen to me. people will try to impress on you that you’re a mistake. you must reject this counsel. what happened in the past doesn’t matter,” she promises, nodding her head as she says it. alicent’s hand comes to rest on your cheek and she gives a sympathetic, sweet smile — one that she always wore when she was 15, and one she only wears for you now. “you are mine, and i am yours.”

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐄

the child didn't just breach the line between mockery and outright bullying; no, they stripped it away completely. jace knows exactly what it is like to be harassed for being different. the moment the word comes out, jace is spinning on a heel toward the assailant; he thinks twice about making a scene, because he’s been called it so many times and he should be used to it by now — but then he realizes that the child is talking about you. almost instantly, a brutal heat settles in the pit of his stomach. perhaps its ser harwin’s temper, or maybe his mother’s; wherever it comes from, it’s red-hot and searing, much like the flames that burst from the mouth of the dragon he rides. “what did you just say?!” jace automatically challenges, taking a step toward the child. his voice is deeper when he’s angry, matching the way his dark brows frame his narrowed eyes. a mix of a sneer and a frown is on his lips, and if that wasn’t telling enough, his hands are balled into fists. rest assured that if the kid continued, they would be getting a boot to the chest; jace has a younger brother and knows not to go overboard, but also knows that something like this can’t go unchecked. once the child admits defeat, jace is letting out a scoff and rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ward off his anger. “don’t let anyone say that to you,” he says, trying to scold: instead, his words come out less stern and more soft. “we are not bastards. we belong in our families.” jace just stares at you with those pretty eyes of his, waiting for you to nod before he gives a strained smile and leads you along. expect him to hold a grudge against that kid forever. 

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃

aemond has always had a sense of duty that aegon does not; he resents his nephews to the extreme for being bastards. but when it comes to you... well, perhaps there is an exception (he’s a giant hypocrite, thank you very much). similar to jace, aemond is instantly on the kid’s case. as awful as it may be, he has no qualms with hurting a child. “do my ears betray me?” he questions sharply, staring the kid down with that eye of his, lips slightly quirked. he’s livid, but he conceals it fairly well — the only telling part of his anger is how tense his jaw has become from clenching his teeth. if the child did not realize that he was talking to the secret lover of the prince, he sure does now. aemond slides his dagger out of its hidden holster on his hip, and when the child’s eyes widen, he almost lets out a breathy chuckle; he swallows it deep down and decides on a warning: “say it again and i will have your tongue.” the moment the child is gone (and thoroughly terrified), aemond takes in your almost shocked expression. “it was a jest,” he concludes coolly as he sheathes the dagger; you know it was anything but. a smirk graces his lips as he takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb: "though considering the circumstances,” he whispers, “i would count him lucky, my lady.”

𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍

like his mother and aemond, aegon certainly has favoritism when it comes to someone being a “bastard.” he would laugh hysterically if it was directed at his nephews. if it were you though? his woman? it’s another story. quick to anger, aegon’s face screws up the moment the child taunts you. he can be lazy and sullen, yes, choosing alcohol over confrontation any day and drowning in cups — but if someone said that shit to you? he’s suddenly very responsive. impulsively, aegon slaps the child across the face. not only is he upset, but he’s slow to forgive, so don’t expect him to feel bad. he winds back around after, not even giving the kid a second glance when they start to cry. “what? he’ll be fine,” aegon murmurs upon seeing your expression of surprise. he lets out a derisive snort and grabs you protectively by the wrist, pulling you along; no one shall lay a single insult on anything (or in this case, anyone) that aegon claims his own. “if i had it my way, that little shit’s parents would be searching the seven hells for him.” then, after shooting you a vengeful grin, he leans in to whisper hotly into your ear. “when i’m king, i’ll be sure they are the first to go.” 

[tteokdoroki]

BUT WHEN HE LOVES ME. | K.BAKUGOU.

ʚ♡ɞ SYNOPSIS: relationships are never easy. some are meant to last, blossoming into white weddings and white picket fences with a loud dog barking in the front yard. some part ways, love carried in their hearts as they walk separate paths. some are doomed from the start, breaking like glass from the slightest touch. and katsuki bakugou’s? well, his was never meant to last.

ʚ♡ɞ PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

ʚ♡ɞ WC: 14.8K.

ʚ♡ɞ RATED: mature, 18+, mdni.

ʚ♡ɞ GENRE: pro hero!au, angst, fluff + smut.

ʚ♡ɞ CW please read !   heavy!angst, toxic!relationships, mentions of violence, arguments, cheating, bakugou is a really bad boyfriend, heavy smut, literally 7K words of it sdhbfb,  ( characters aged up to mid-twenties ), heavy!body worship, heavy!cumplay, daddy!kink, dacryphilia!kink, praise!kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), oral sex ( female receiving ), handjobs, tummy bulges, choking, spitting, mindbreak. reader is picked up during the smut scene.

ʚ♡ɞ A/N: hello everyone!! good evening, today i present to you one of my favourite fics i’ve ever written, i’ve been meaning to write some angst for a while + this is my contribution for the bakugou prompt collab from the BNHAREM server! my prompt was ‘it wasn’t supposed to end this way’ (and yes i did base this off that one tiktok audio). please check out everyone’s works here ( thank you emme for the masterlist )

ʚ♡ɞ special special thanks to @bakugous-trauma​ and @doinmybesthere for beta reading some!

ʚ♡ɞ masterlist | requests | kofi

— “I HATE ALL MEN.” 

from your seat in the cafe, you can watch the world go by. children running down busy streets with flustered parents in tow, businessmen and women and people chasing their trains with worried expressions— late for whatever boring meeting they have to waste the hours of the day on. you note the number of couples that walk by too, you look for the quirk in the corner of their mouths to see if they’re really smiling, the tight clasp of their hands so hard that their knuckles turn white. 

your hand warms on the clothes table, feeling empty and alone, even when you’re surrounded by many of the people you love.

katsuki’s friends are like family to you. they, mina, kirishima and ochako had all attended high school with one another— but mina you had known from freshman year of college, she decided to keep her options open despite being a pro hero in the making. when your boyfriend, katsuki, had told you he wanted you to meet his group of friends ( surprisingly enough, he still had them, ) and you hadn’t realised the world was so small.

you liked katsuki’s friends, and they loved you— treating you as if you were one of their own, much to your boyfriend’s chargen. so once a month, the four of you met up for brunch to catch up as your lives moved on and the world continued to spin on its own. 

to occupy your empty hand, you grasp at your silverware fork and twirl it around your basil pasta— mina had picked somewhere new to try, claiming she felt like treating herself over the success of graduating alongside her new fling. you couldn’t order your usual, but she’d told you the green stuff was always your best bet for a fancy, up-market place like this. 

“sooo, what’s she like?” you hear ochako coo to your right, leaning forward on her elbows with a dreamy twinkle to her chestnut eyes. the wistful tone to her voice pulls you from your lonesome thoughts about the dreary world and you shove your fork into your mouth to avoid conversation. 

mina grins brightly to your left, hands clasped together as she swoons. “i think she's the one, i might be in love with her!” 

“you say that about all the girls,” kirishima scoffs over a sip of some expensive looking cocktail— it was fruity, he always had a thing for the sweeter drinks in which you shared. after ashido, you’d consider the redhead your second closest friend, his bright eyes and kind smile were always quick to put you at ease. you felt safe with kirishima, and over the years he had helped you understand bakugou in ways you couldn’t in the early stages of your relationship. 

bakugou was a fire you couldn’t tame, not a droplet of water could control the havoc he wreaked. not even you. 

you slump and reach over to swipe eijirou’s drink as mina whines and gushes over her new love. romance talks never did you any good. “what?” she whines, brushing through the pink curls on the back of her neck— seemingly bashful. it must be love, you think, you’ve never seen her like this so it must be true. “i didn’t sleep with her til after graduation!” 

“now,” you wash down your pasta with what kirishima allows you to take and grimace as you tip the glass to your old time friend. “that’s a first for you,” there’s a teasing lilt to the tone of your voice, one that makes mina slap her hands down on the table in protest, the gesture followed by the rattling of expensive silverware. the esteemed guests of whatever the hell this place was called, shift their unimpressed gazes over to your rowdy crew and you shrink in your place, suddenly feeling shy.

“moving swiftly on,” mina comments, a burst of laughter teetering on the tip of her tongue.

ochako joins the other girl in her chuckling fit, replacing the cool atmosphere with a light happiness. “izuku and i are moving in with one another,” she comments while trying to suppress her laughter and you pretend it doesn’t hurt. to see two of your longest friends happy and in healthy relationships, with no one to relate to your struggles. it wasn’t easy to admit to yourself that you and bakugou were struggling to stay afloat— and you attended these brunches with the hopes of forgetting all the pain that you left at home with your significant other. 

but the love was everywhere— in the air, at your table choking you from the inside out. you were filled with a queasy mix of jealousy and hatred, one that you couldn’t shake even with more forkfuls of the pasta mina had recommended. you murmur a quiet congrats along with the rest of your friends, smile not quite reaching your eyes that flicker around the table in order to avoid sympathetic stares from those that know your pain. 

they all know what’s really going on with your relationship, they’re just too kind to say.

“kaminari’s as dorky as ever,” eijirou adds to the conversation swiftly to delay all attention landing on you. he knows and gives you enough time to push away the monster green with jealousy who sits contently in the base of your rib cage and toys with your precious heart. katsuki had called the sharp toothed redhead and his boyfriend ( denki kaminari ), the condiment duo. a complete pair of idiots destined for one another as he’d put it. 

your heart hurts because you so badly want that for yourself, to be seen as the couple who were made for one another and to never be apart, to share goofy smiles like you used to and tell jokes that only the two of you understand— but as the table of your most loved and dear friends shift their attention to you, you know that the ideals of kirishima and kaminari’s relationship is far from reach. 

taking a deep breath, you look to your expectant friends and allow a moment to pass. seconds tick by without a word from you, mina’s cool hand filling the empty space of your own so with your free one, you make a mad dash for your fork and scarf down another mouthful of four star rated basil pasta.

“hey, don’t do that,” eijirou scolds your bad habits, sensing your hesitation  while your eyes flutter shut and your mind tunes out the dark grey of the world outside— the basil tastes bitter, aligning with your mood for the entirety of the brunch. shaded with the colour of your jealousy too.

hesitating, you let kirishima pull the remainders of your food from in front of you, so you don’t pull another stuffing stunt again.  “katsuki and i…” you swallow, keeping your eyes closed as so not to see the hopeful expressions of your friends. “katsuki and i, we had another fight.” 

“really? what’s with this guy?” kaminari chooses this exact moment to return from his escapade to the bathroom, huffing through his nose at annoyance while he immediately finds his seat next to his boyfriend. his amber gaze lights up at the sight of your food next to kirishima however, and he dives right in, much to your display. “ooh! is this that new basil shiz? heard it’s to freakin’ die for babe, you order for me?” the blonde, a shade or two darker than your lover, sounds giddier the more he talks about the food, making you relent to kirishima’s apologetic smile, offering the food to his lover.

but you know that he only looks so apologetic since you keep taking hits. first you lose bakugou and now you’re freaking over priced lunch.

“god, i hate men,” kaminari snides.

“what was it about?” ochako asks quickly as your face twists with a pang of hurt. sympathy lines her sweet voice.

“just about his work, he’s always working late—“ you conjure up the excuse for your boyfriend quickly, wanting to drop the subject before the pink princess beside you cuts in.

before speaking, she gives your hand a squeeze, but your grip still feels empty, like it’s missing something. “think he’s cheating on you?” 

“he wouldn’t,” you try to laugh it off, stop the emotional lump in your throat from growing and keep down the bile of word vomit from spewing across the table— there’s so many things falling apart, ruining what you share with their high school classmate. but these are bakugou’s people, the only ones he has left from those days or bothered to stick around long enough to stand his foul attitude and the weird way that he shows love. no matter how much your failing relationship may hurt you and cause fresh wounds, you couldn’t dare taint the view his friends have of katsuki. “‘m sure he’s on the verge of proposing… there was a small box in his sock draw…” 

this time, you finally look up and meet the stares of the people you love. mina looks like she needs another drink, ochako looks nervous, eijirou looks upset for you and kaminari? he’s only gone and scarfed down your comfort food, brow quirked as he wipes his mouth...next words giving you a reality check. “really yn?” he mumbles over a mouthful of pasta, earning an elbow to his ribs. “what? we were all thinking it!” 

“you don’t think i’m worthy of lord dynamight’s ring?” you try to joke, gulping down the rest of kirishima’s drink and sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck in an attempt to soothe the embarrassed heat forming there. 

ochako puts a calming hand on your shoulder, but it only adds to the lame resentment you feel towards her and her happy, bubbly relationship with izuku midoriya. “it’s not that...it’s just we just think bakugou isn’t worthy of you.” she says gently, rubbing your shoulder slightly. this was a conversation you’d all had before at many brunches. your friends, his friends had been trying to talk you out of leaving bakugou for months— they all knew it wasn’t working, that it was draining the life out of you to keep up a smile and the facade of a blooming, rose tinted romance. 

but you couldn’t leave bakugou, you couldn’t let your friends hate him the way you hated yourself for staying. you deserved better but bakugou deserved to have genuine love and support around him. you wouldn’t let that be taken away because the spark you had, began to fade. 

“he’s a good guy, you guys are meant to be his friends!” you whisper and pull away from ashido’s and uraraka’s respective grips, chewing nervously on the chapped skin of your lips. 

“but—” kirishima hums and looks you dead in the eye— he was probably the closest to your boyfriend out of everyone at the table yet the most adamant for your break up. you suppose he hated seeing two people he loved fall out of love. “but...is he good enough for you?” 

the conversation falls flat from there as you spot a waiter from behind kirishima’s mop of ruby red locks, your boyfriend unfortunately in tow. you couldn’t miss the familiar blonde tuft of hair peeking out from underneath his black snapback— ruby eyes burning into yours even though he wears a mask. your friends follow suit with the flatline of everyone’s words when katsuki takes a seat with you all, throwing down his belongings against the table and pressing a brash kiss to your cheek. 

you feel tension rise to the ceiling of the room, smiling only just. “what the fuck did i miss?” bakugou growls, yanking away mina’s food and causing a pout to pull at her lips for the nth time today. 

get it together, you think as talk flitters through the group once again. taking katsuki’s hand in yours, the emptiness in your hand dissipates with his calloused one in yours. it’s stupid how much excitement you get from being near the man that you love after so long, after the emotional tourment your relationship puts you through. 

but you love him, you always will. 

“nothing, we were just about to have dessert.”

— “BUT WHEN HE LOVES ME, I FEEL LIKE I’M FLOATING.” 

fights with katsuki bakugou are nothing but explosive.

how could they not be with a man built so high with pride and a quirk that could shake the heavens? they were always so big, brutal and brash— traits that if you squinted, you could find laid bare in the DNA of the man that you loved.

vulgar words and harsh insults you’d tell each other you didn’t mean the very next day, laid out bare for all to see. accidents, mistakes thrown in your face like dashes of piping hot water, leaving burning reminders against your skin. there’s shrapnel everywhere, piercing your flesh and adding littering scars to what’s left of you after you both fall apart every single time. 

this fight had been katsuki’s fault, or so you liked to think. 

you had a reason to be mad, livid even, especially with the careless way your boyfriend treated his life. between the early mornings where you woke up in a cold bed to the late nights where bakugou would limp through your front door with bleeders the size of your fist leaking through his hero costume, dislocated joints and tired, red eyes as dark as his blood— you couldn’t take it. not anymore. 

it was hard not to miss the nights where katsuki would come home with flowers of your favourite kind instead of blossoming bruises, wine instead of open wounds. you wanted him back, was that too much to ask for? to be able to look at your partner and see the warmth of love written in the tiny brown flecks of his eyes— the ones you could only see if you were really looking at him. to be able to hold him and not feel him flinch under your delicate touch from loose and poor stitches, to be able to hold his hand and not worry about the scars of split knuckles. 

“i just want you to be safe,” you tell him the night prior, patching up a slice to his side as he bled crimson roses into your porcelain bathtub. it wouldn’t stain, there was bleach in the cupboard under the sink for situations like this. your voice warbles, breath hitching with every grunt from bakugou as the needle and thread passes through honeyed skin. “you keep getting hurt like this and it scares me.” 

tears start to build up behind the waterline of your eyes and you turn away from katsuki to grab some more gauze from the cabinet. an excuse not to let him see you cry, for he’d throw it right back into your face like battery acid.  “don’t start this shit again, babe.” he says cooly, his own special way of taming the flames before they spread.

“it...it would be nice for you to come home with a box of chocolates and some take out instead of a knee deep wound every once in a while, don’t you think?” beginning to shake from hurt or fear, you can’t tell, you slam the box of gauze down against the sink. you manage to find katsuki’s gaze in the mirror, but he doesn’t look at you— nostrils flared with annoyance. “don’t i deserve that, katsuki? to have you safe?” 

he’d scoffed and you’d finally whirled around, both of your chests beginning to heave from the impending explosion. you both sit in the crowded and tiled room like a ticking time bomb. 

“s’my fuckin’ job to keep the people out there safe, yn. if y’weren’t quirkless, you’d do the same fuckin’ thing.” your boyfriend sneers, a smirk on his face since he knows that it’s hurt you. and there it was, the words that came swinging down on your heart like a jackhammer, stopping its beating in place. sadistic, cruel and calculated— bakugou jabs at you with coordinated attacks in ways that he knows will win him this fight.

you ignore the painful sting that comes along with the reminder that yourself and katsuki will never be equals, he a pro hero and you his quirkless girlfriend. he above and you below. laughing the feeling away, you throw your hands up in defeat— having half a mind to throw the box at bakugou just to make him feel what you do. “it always comes back down to that, doesn’t it?” you spit and bakugou shrugs his shoulders, checking over his own remaining wounds and pulling parts of shrapnel from them with nonchalance to what you say. “i’m always just your pathetic quirkless girlfriend whenever i ask you to look out for yourself, because i can’t stop you from working until you die every single night. i’m worthless and quirkless because i ask you to come home in one piece so i don’t have to keep fixing you—“ 

“i don’t need you to fuckin’ fix me. ‘m not broken so quit acting like i need your shitty help. i don’t fuckin’ need you.” 

bakugou is never rational when he’s like this, saying whatever he can to keep you teary eyed and upset so you’ll shut up. it’s times like this where you hate that you’re so in love with him, that you’ll wait for the fight to blow over just to hold him again, to press rewind and start the record from the beginning. 

“right, of course.” you say weakly, looking anywhere but him. 

the pair of you go to bed angry that night, no words exchanged and no lingering touches. katsuki still struggles to sleep as he always has— plagued by nightmares from his days on the field, some as far back as his time at  U.A. the sports festival, when he was kidnapped. the blonde shuffles amongst the shared sheets, clawing desperately at the small strings of good sleep that are slipping from between his scarred fingers.

usually you would comfort him, roll over from your side into his dip in the bed— wrap your arms around his firm torso and let your hands rest on his warm chest, feel the lively beat of his heart beneath marked flesh. let your own body relax at the comforting thought that your boy was alive and well and safe. that was the only time katsuki bakugou would let you hold the vulnerable sides of him and his guard would fall away. 

but tonight you lay mad beside your boyfriend, holding in your gentle cries as the argument replays in your head.

because no matter how much you loved him, you would always be katsuki bakugou’s quirkless girlfriend— it would never be enough for your late night hugs to keep him safe.

bakugou never likes to leave you after a fight. something about his overprotective nature of you and his lack of communication skills always led to this.

no matter how infuriated he is with you and vice versa, he never ever leaves your side. it could be anywhere between two days to a week, filled with awkward silences and hands that brush against each other when reaching for the coffee pot— quickly pulled away from one another followed by quiet grumbles of ‘good morning,’. into the silent  space of your apartment becomes mounted with an unbearable tension while bakugou broods and attempts to string his emotionally retentive words into a poor attempt at saying sorry. 

it usually stays this way until one of you apologises, katsuki through small actions— needy kisses and the sight of his muscled and shirtless back cooking a slightly less spicy version of your favourite food in your kitchen after work... and yourself through gripping his fingers and kissing a small ‘sorry’ into the corner of his mouth. 

and after all this, the shattered glass of your fragile and delicate relationship becomes glued together, sitting at a breaking point before your next fight.

but he sits next to you the day after your fight, an arms length away from you on the shitty couch your mother had gifted you as a housewarming present when you both first moved in with each other. it was old and from your childhood home, the missing spots of blue nylon material patched up with anything your mother could find. bakugou hated it, called it an eyesore in the middle of your apartment but he let you keep it because it made you smile, because it was soft against his back when he laid with you on movie nights. 

despite being only a breath’s width apart, you still miss the heat of katsuki’s body against your own— craving to curl up against him like you used to. even still, the blonde pro hero remains as intense as ever, staring blankly at the saturday morning news report flashing on TV, letting his presence flood your living room and burn every corner. 

neither of you say a word as the reporter recounts an incident downtown, an armed robbery with the assailants gunned down and around thirteen injured including some heroes. out of the corner of your eye, you see bakugou’s thigh twitch as if he’s desperate to get out onto the scene, despite the fact that today is his only day off for the next week. 

you rip your gaze from him and rest your head lazily on the palm of your hand, elbow on the arm of your couch. “that could have been you, y’know?” you tell him absentmindedly, anxiety settling in the column of your throat. it could, have been him— you’re not wrong. if your boyfriend had been on duty today— he could have gotten himself hurt way worse than you can handle, he could have even died, god forbid that even happened. but they were all possibilities you were forced to think about every time he stepped out of your creaky red painted door and left for work as a hero. 

everyday you’re forced to think about the infinite number of ways bakugou could die on the job and it’s been killing you slowly from the inside out for years. a black necrosis eating away at the tissues of your heart until it’s beating affection for pro hero dynamight starts to slow.

“i know.” bakugou tells you weakly, voice hoarse from sleep and not having spoken to you since last night. you don’t look, but you can feel the burning gaze of his on your left cheek for the first time in more than eight hours. his stare is hard and unmoving, but you don’t dare to budge on meeting it.

“you could have died,” you continue, picking at the sleeves of katsuki’s sweater that you wear. the news report continues; confirming izuku midoriya as one of the heroes injured on scene but thankfully stable, bullet just grazing his thigh. your body sags in relief at the fact that your friend is still alive. “you could die anywhere and i wouldn’t know, i wouldn’t see until it was written in big block letters for everyone else to see. but what about me, katsuki? what happens to me when you die? because i don’t have a quirk and you’re just—“ 

bakugou finally turns his body towards you, pulling your arm that rests on the couch cushion  until you’re collapsed in his arms and your noses are just barely brushing. “i know, baby...fuck,” he uses his freehand to brush through bed head blonde locks, letting it run over his face before using it to tilt your chin up towards him. “i know, ‘m sorry. you know that right? you know that i’m sorry…”

eyes closing, you nod and let him hold you— tuning out the noise from the report and listening for katsuki’s breathing, his heartbeat, the proof that he still lives. “i know…” 

“then you gotta know that, ‘m only ever fighting you like this, ‘cause ‘m tryna keep you safe,” you feel him nod with you, a sigh of relief passing from between his lips as he presses foreheads together. “fuck, baby i just want you safe. out there ‘m fighting the bigger guys to keep them out ‘n keep you away from harm.” 

you laugh breathlessly, wetly as katsuki finally holds you and gives you the soft affection that you’ve been craving. “you’re such an idiot, katsuki,” you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips and twitches at the corners of your mouth— especially when feeling your lover mirror the expression on his own. you let your sweater paw covered hands snake around the back of his neck, twisting in the baby blonde hairs at it’s nape before leaning up and finally, finally pressing a kiss against his lips. 

the hand that held up your chin slips to cup the back of your head— pulling you harder against him and letting his tongue trace the seams of your lips. he tells you he loves you without saying, you feel it spread throughout your body like a warm wave crashing on a white sandy beach, you feel it in your lungs and how they burn for oxygen despite how bakugou grips your waist to tug you onto his lap and kiss you harder than ever before. you feel it everywhere he touches, the skin where your sweater has ridden up, your bare thighs, your neck, your face. every inch of you. 

you love him, you love him and he loves you— more than anything and more than there are words. “fuckin’ love you,” he grunts between smooches to your raw lips, tugging them with his pearly whites, tongue sliding over yours.

you giggle. “i know,”

“say it back baby, wanna hear you say it.” he huffs, pinching your side.

“i love you back,” you manage, between even more fits of laughter— separating from bakugou to run a hand through his sun kissed locks. “i love you,” 

bakugou smiles, genuine and big with his eyes bright and teeth on display. 

“i know.” 

— “ WHEN HE CALLS ME PRETTY  I, FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY.” 

katsuki bakugou tastes like burnt oak and whisky. 

it wasn’t one of his favourites, the whisky... but he’d been stuck on it since the night he met your father and they stayed against your childhood swingset in your back garden talking about katsuki’s plans for you both. he’d gotten your father’s approval that night. and yet, there’s salt on his tongue from the margarita you drank back at the restaurant on date night— two completely different drinks swirling together in perfect harmony. 

just like yourself. just like him. 

the pair of you stumble right through the front door, toeing off smart pointed shoes and uncomfortable high heels required for the dress code at the upscale restaurant katsuki had booked with all that pro hero money. the dinner was nice, the tiny portions and rare ingredients had been a right treat but you’d been eyeing something different for dessert. 

katsuki seemed to share the same idea, heated red stare never leaving your own— his large and built body cornering you in the booth that he’d paid for. you know that he’d planned that, judging by the sheer amount of privacy you had in the dim lit restaurant. god, you looked so delectable, so pretty— you’d gone all out in a pretty dress, skirt short, colours of his hero’s costume, lips painted red—so it was only a matter of time before bakugou’s hand slipped up the material and grasped at your doughy thighs.

pulled them apart under the dinner table, pressed white hot fingers against your thin lace panties and rubbed smooth circles into your clit— while both of you sipped your respective drinks and asked the wait staff for another basket of breadsticks. 

so that’s how you end up here, pressed up against the entryway table in the entryway— your legs hooked around the slender waist of your boyfriend, gasping for air at the feel of his sharp canines stamping their desperate way up your throat and marking it as his own, making sure that you and everyone else to see you in the coming days knows exactly who you belong to. with every bite comes a vicious bark from bakugou, hooded eyes mapping out every unmarked area of your skin— painting it with bruises that form beneath the surface, soothing it with laps of his heavy, wet tongue over each inflamed area. 

squeezing his waist tighter, you use your legs to drag bakugou’s lean form closer to yours— relishing in the way his body hangs heavily over yours. the antics from back at the restaurant sparked a fire deep within your lower belly, started an itch in your cunt that only the great katsuki bakugou can scratch. just having him like this, wandering hands and pointed teeth all up against you made you so incredibly needy. all for him, only ever for him. 

“y’fuckin’ eager t’night, baby…” katsuki tells you, voice thick with a slur and eyes dark, teasing and honed in on you underneath him. the temperature surrounding your bodies rises, especially with how closely pressed you are to one another—perfectly slotted together like it was meant to be. “what’s got you s’worked up? surely you can’t be losin’ your mind over a couple fingers, hm?” 

an attempt to rub your plush thighs together while having them wrapped around katsuki only pulls a gluttonous grunt from the man— his eyes fluttering shut as you accidentally press against his clothed hard on—trapping him close to the heat of your core. “don’ need to tease katsuki, you did enough of that at the restaurant,” you sigh, losing all control of your body and pushing up against the man again. you can practically feel his cock twitch through the thin linen dress pants that he wears, black in colour that you want off but bakugou won’t go down without a fight, not before clamping down on your neck once more.

“wasn’t teasin’ princess, ’barely took a fuckin’ finger back there,” he easily finds more of the spots that make your back arch off of the entryway table and your pretty pussy clench around nothing but hot air, lapping and sucking at them until your eyes are crossing and you’re gagging on your metaphorical competitive words. with rising hands, you force your fingers into bakugou’s blonde roots in an attempt to bring him back to your lips— not having tasted them since you walked through that door. everything is too hot, which you can’t tell if it’s because of the alcohol or because of katsuki’s quirk, your patience is wearing far too thin and you miss the taste of him on your tongue as if you hadn’t loved each other like this for months. 

which you hadn’t. 

you whine in defeat, still tugging at soft blonde hair and lifting your hips to meet the impressive girth of your lover— but it’s not enough, you need him to give you all that you’d been missing through the bitterness of the last few months. “whas the matter? what’s the matter baby?” bakugou coos, kissing where your jaw meets your neck, tongue lolling over your pulse point. 

“need a kiss katsuki,” you huff, body reacting to the tenderness in his voice despite the contrasting roughness to his scarred and explosive hands that push the straps off your pretty dress off of your shoulders and pinch and pull at your sides and your tits. “aren’t ya gonna kiss me?”

your hands still in bakugou’s hair, his head lifting from your neck to look over your darling face— smudged ruby painted lips and bright doe eyes. fuck. ‘course he was gonna kiss you. especially when you looked at him like that. 

“s’that all you want, sweet girl? for your suki to kiss you?” with every question, the mocking lilt to katsuki’s tone rises and rises, earning warm pools of slick through your panties and onto his precious dress pants as you grind and grab at him— all for a kiss, all for him to press up against you as you sit prettily on the entryway table. you nod your head way too eagerly, pulling a sleazy chuckle from your man as he watches you pout and squirm. he debates on torturing you for a moment more, before leaning down and pressing your foreheads together once more. “c’mere baby, c’mon gimme a kiss, give suki a kiss.” 

you jump up excitedly but the large and marred hand belonging to bakugou encases the swell of your thigh and pins you down to the cool wood surface. he pinches you there once and you know to stay still, letting him swoop down and press his chapped lips against yours in a chaste kiss. for a second your body tingles with release and a pleasurable heat flashes through you with the taste of the whisky in his mouth— but as soon as katsuki came, he’s gone again— leaning over your now sweat slicked body with a daring smirk. 

“no, no, no,” the unimpressed whimpers pour from between your smudged lips, barely distracting from your now teary eyes. “wanted a kiss suki, you promised…” 

bakugou hums, cocking his head down at you innocently. “what? you complaining’ baby? after the pretty night i gave you?” he continues teasing you, mocking you while you succumb to your needy stature— he knows that you like it when he manipulates you like this, takes advantage of your fuzzy baby brain just to get some dick in your leaky pussy. he’s always so good at taking care of you when you’re high off of lust and alcohol alone, you missed the way he took care of you and let yourself indulge in all of him tonight. “didn’t make any promises to kiss ya either, yer jus a dumb lil baby aren’cha? makin’ things up— maybe y’had a little too much t’drink…”

you try to shake your head, but katsuki’s already caught you by your chin— pads of his fingers beginning to sink into your chubby cheeks as he angles your head from side to side, as if he’s inspecting you for the supposed lie you’ve told. meanwhile his other hand slides up what he holds of your thigh, reaching for your lace panties beneath the material of your short skirt— but the material is so tight around your curves it restricts his movement. 

“‘m not drunk suki— not that drunk, just please gimme a proper kiss, please, please…” your tears fall unwillingly down the apples of your cheeks from the way katsuki holds you— he doesn’t look like he’s going to budge, so you open your mouth to speak, to beg again only for bakugou to delve deep into your awaiting mouth. his lips mouth with an air of roughness this time around, giving you want you really want and he matches the pace of his kisses with the movement of his hips— slotting his dick against your now puffy folds, more defined as a result of the way you drool into your undies. 

you're so desperate for a little more than just a little roughness to your kiss, nipping at bakugou’s lower lip enough to draw blood in an attempt to pry open his mouth and get that bitter taste of whiskey once again. you force your way into his mouth, tongue twisting with the pink of his own and uncovering the warm and bitter flavours of his whisky from earlier. this kiss is much dirtier than before, spit swapped as your hands roam the rest of bakugou’s body— pushing at his fancy shirt and tearing through the buttons that keep it anchored over his well sculpted chest. 

the grinding doesn’t stop either, even as bakugou cups your throat to keep you pinned against the wall behind you— head hitting the mirror with a light thud, glass vase with a fresh set of your favourite flowers falling from the entryway table and hitting the floor to your left. you both start to move with more vigour, the oxygen leaving your brain to make room for the overwhelming thoughts of your boyfriend who hangs above you. 

your lungs burn with brightly coloured lust, in shades of fiery orange and red— the walls around you, trapping in the heat of you pressed against katsuki. it’s not enough to have his mouth on yours and his hand with cool rings locked around your throat, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to move any faster— withholding kisses and debauched touches from your starved body. so you take matters into your own hands, literally, fingers scrambling for the belt that keeps you away from bakugou’s dick. 

“slow down baby, you’re gonna rip through my pants with how fuckin’ needy you are,” katsuki tries to tell you with taunting voice but he choked on the tail end of his words when you finally break through his belt and half heartedly shove down his pants— stained with the nectar that dribbles from your destitute pussy. you grasp at his firm cock from over flimsy boxers, mouth practically watering as you get closer and closer to your goal. 

the pair of you share a hungry moan when you set katsuki free, his heavy girth hard and slapping against his tummy— only visible between his open shirt. beads of clear precum ooze from his sore red tip and you lean forward to spit against it, rubbing your palm over bakugou’s cockhead and shaft to create a lubricating mix of the fluids. a whimper, although small, bubbles on the seams of katsuki’s lips as his tongue darts out to wet them— his large body shuddering wholly as you finally take the weight of his cock into your hand, feeling for the prominent vein on its underside and reaching further into down to grasp at his heavy balls. 

“baby—“ he warns you, tip leaking hotly against your soft hands as you explore him. 

you look up at bakugou with big, innocent eyes, breathing heatedly into his mouth when he begins to collapse against you with every stroke of his cock. “missed how you feel, just wanna touch you suki, can i? please?” you ask him, even though he’d already nodding his head yes and whispering the ghost of praises against your cupid’s bow— wet from the sloppy kisses he gave. 

“fuck yes you can sweet girl, gotta finish what we started don’t we? make a mess of this cock ‘n i’ll—fuck— fucking ruin, that precious pussy of yers, yeah?” you know that he’s mindlessly babbling, beginning to leisurely thrust into your sticky closed fist— acting as a flesh light for his pleasure. “you’ve been s’good for me tonight, lettin’ me play with ya pretty clit ‘n mark you up, now y’givin me a handjob? dunno what i did to deserve you baby,” 

your heart flutters against your rib cage at the small slur of praise from your boyfriend, clit throbbing and cunt twitching all for some nice words nice words uttered from cherry bitten lips. “mmh,” you mumble, high pitched and desperate, “s’all for you katsuki, just wanna make you feel good,” 

he howls from deep within his chest, volume just above the raunchy slapping, damp sounds of your hand jerking his dick— squeezing occasionally to pull surprised moans from katsuki as he shakes above you and fucks your closed fist like it was your tight, pulsating cunt wrapped around him. a colourful ray of curses fill the air and you watch the show unfold between your bodies, saliva pooling on your tongue at the sight of bakugou languidly thrusting into your hand— a reminder for what’s to come later on in the night. 

you don’t dare to let up the pace of your hand, speeding up with every pull of katsuki’s hips away from your fucking heavenly grip— fat droplets of his precum hitting the floor with crude slaps from just how much he’s leaking, allowing your palm to glide up and down his shaft in smooth motions, bringing him closer to cloud nine. bakugou’s mind turns fuzzy and hazy, it shows in his face and the bliss that lines vermillion orbs— they flutter shut with every fervorous pant he lets out— your breath mingling together. 

his cheeks flush a shade to rival is enchanting ruby red eyes, strings of salvia joining the roof of his mouth to his strawberry tongue as katsuki throws his head back to let out alluring moans, like music to your ear. his adams apple bobs, tiny mutters of ‘fuck,’ and ‘shit, right there’ follow, and god he looks so beautiful like this, his fat cock in your hand and a line of sweat dotting his hairline. you want to commit the image to memory and let it burn in the back of your brain. 

“you’re gonna make me cum,” despite the fact that the word’s on the tip of his tongue are seethed in your direction, bakugou doesn’t let up up on the jump of his hips to meet your hand— letting you tug at his cock and fondle his breeders balls to orgasm. “y’don’t get my cum till ‘m inside you baby, you don’t get my cum…oh fuck, oh fuck yeah…” he chants even though he doesn’t stop, eyes snapping open to lock on yours. “greedy girl, just gonna keep jerkin’ me off to get what you want? told you ‘m not cummin’ till i get inside that needy lil’ hole of—“ 

“uhuh, just gimme your cum suki,” you cut him off with cheeky swipe of your thumb over his tip, coaxing the pro hero towards his high— you repeat the action as he shudders above you, swiping up more of his arousal before releasing him and lifting your hand to your mouth. you suck your tainted thumb between your lips, moaning lowly at the salty taste of your boyfriend against it and keep your gaze locked on his. 

“fuckin hell baby,” bakugou says, following your movements as he lets you spit on his cock once again, the glob running down his painfully hard shaft before you squeeze your messy head around him once more and piston it at an unforgiving pace. “fuck—fuck, you better fuckin’ stop, you better fuckin’ stop— holy shit, don’t fuckin’ stop fuckin’ this cock—!” 

you don’t stop despite his contradicting words, guiding katsuki through the messy terrains of his high as white hot light flashes behind his hazy eyes and a colourful stream of cursed tumbles from between his lips. his head drops heavily to your shoulder, the pace of his hips stumbling as he releases ropes of thick cum stain your hand, adding to the sheen that glazes it. you grin pridefully at the washy, imperfect mewls that come from your boyfriend while his hips start to slow and he pushes more of his white cum onto the floor beneath you both. 

“you came so much, katsuki,” you observe sweetly, letting him go once more to lick the remains of his release from your hand. bakugou doesn’t say a word as he comes back down, breathing heavily into your neck— still shaking. so you don’t expect his hands to forcefully grab your wrists, nails digging into the skin there as he pushes them above your head with a strong grip, your hands cooling against the mirror behind you. “suki—“ 

“daddy oughtta punish ya fer the stunt you just pulled pretty girl,” bakugou tells you breathily, steeling his voice although his face remains soft and wanting for you. “makin’ me cum over ya like some desperate fuckin’ dog. was gonna make you pay baby…but i just wanna get a taste of that sweet fuckin’ pussy, ‘cause i know s’been leakin for daddy this whole fuckin’ time…” 

you’re too delirious to deny bakugou’s claim, most obviously because it’s true. you’re sure that if he looked now your panties would be so soaked through that he could see the puffiness of your pussy and the way your clit pulsates, hanging onto every dirty word that drips from katsuki’s lips like liquid gold. that very same pair of lips is on you quickly, capturing your mouth in slow, sinful and sloppy kisses— spit trailing down your chin as his hands move to the sweetheart neckline of your dress that lies under your cold breasts exposed to the air, lacking attention. 

you don’t complain though, not about the lack of stimulation to your rock hard nipples— no, but the way katsuki tears right through your dress to easily get rid of the tight material restricting access to the treasure between your thighs. “my dress!” you shriek, body fully exposed to the hungry blood diamond orbs. “i bought that for you, dummy!” you pout.

“who the fuck cares? i’ll getcha a new one,” katsuki mumbles, sinking to his knees in front of you and your seat on the entryway table. he mouths over your thighs, pressing wet kisses to the tops of them where they swell and covering them in a clear gloss of his saliva. “don’cha want my tongue in you baby? can’t do shit like that with stupid dresses in my fuckin’ way…” slowly but surely, katsuki spreads your legs— kissing a path  from the little bow on the waistband of your underwear, right down to wear your clit would be. he bumps his nose against the sensitive nub, staring up at you to watch you twitch and grouse avidly— your own legs spreading apart even more. your hands, that hadn’t moved from above your head almost slip from their place, but with a quick spank to your unused sex, they jolt right back up. “hands where i can fuckin’ see them, baby girl.” 

“yes daddy,” you sigh, your entire body trembling with unadulterated excitement. for the first time in a while, you’re about to have crazy, passionate sex with the man who’s touch you thought you’d lost, your juices practically flow at the thought. 

pressing his lips to your juicy cunt, bakugou’s nose inhaled the saccharine scent of your sex at the same time— making you spasm in place. “that’s daddy’s good girl,” he hums into you shortly before pressing is tongue flat against your ruined panties, using the tip to trace a path up the length of your lower lips— just to get a taste and to pull a reaction right out of you. instinctively, your hips jump up from the entryway table, nudging katsuki’s tongue right down to your awaiting hole. you’re so fucking needy for anything, going so long without being touched or groped since you got back from the restaurant— the way he’d flicked your clit earlier in the booth had left you on the edge the entire time.

“oh-ho-ho, y’fuckin’ liked that, didn’t ya?” bakugou slurs, using the tip of his tongue to trace your hole— pushing it in along with the fabric of your underwear before sucking on the wet patch you’ve created just by gushing out streams of arousal. he tastes you through the lace barrier, listening out for your small gripes as your scent replaces all oxygen in the air and you expel hormones from his quaint little action. 

you nod in agreement, down to katsuki, hips bucking up for a while before he clamps them down to the oak wood table beneath your ass. “please…” 

katsuki tuts, spitting onto your puffy pussy lips from over the material as he pulls the waistband back and snaps it against your clenching tummy. “whaddya need princess? my tongue?” he asks lazily, flicking the tip of his tongue against your bud. you nod again but dumbly, unable to form enough words to tell him what you want. bakugou wastes no time from there, the hands on your hips snaking around to your ass, tearing through your panties from behind and yanking you towards his unruly mouth. 

he latches onto the entirety of your soaked slit, pink muscle finally breaching your tight entrance— curling immediately inside of your velvet walls to map out their ridges like he’s done so many times before. it feels so good to finally be worshipped like this again, the rough patch yourself and katsuki had been going through meant nothing but quiet quickies between shifts or on nights where neither of you could sleep. you had no choice but to miss this, the moments where either of you were overpowered by a sheer burning desire to become one, to fuck until your neighbours had complaints or the whole street had woken up. whether it’s pure passion or alcohol, you don’t care, just having katsuki between your thighs, suckling and slurping on your sex like his life depended on it— it’s  enough to make you lose your mind.

for the pro hero, having you clamp down on his tongue like it was his cock on those nights where he’d have you take him over and over, makes his hard on twitch to life. being the reason for your euphoria and amorous cries, caused dopamine to crackle across his brain— caused him to get addicted to the way you sound when getting fucked by him. it was like a high for bakugou.

you gush and gush, waves of arousal staining katsuki’s rose tinted cheeks— he could spend all of eternity working on pleasing you from between doughy thighs, sending you into sensory overload from each swipe of his hot tongue against your overstimulated clit. it’s all so obscene and messy, you’re sure there’s a pool of your own nectar sitting underneath you, a mix of your own fluids and your boyfriend’s spit running down your slit and to your ass. 

“feels so fucking good baby,” you keen over the sounds of your creamy cunt and bakugou cleaning you up, groaning sharply at your sweet-like-honey taste. you feel you might short circuit from how good your hero boyfriend makes you feel— owning your pussy as he thrusts is tongue in and out of your abused hole, never slowing down and only ever speeding up until your eyes cross and you can count the number of stars floating across your vision. 

you trap the pink muscle inside of you, let it wriggle about in search for your g-spot until bakugou lets up on your hips, allowing you rug aggressively into his awaiting face and smear a glaze of arousal over his chin. he keeps you plugged full with his tongue, letting you ride it as if it were his fat dick, held in place for you to use as your heart desires. 

“oh fuck baby, you’re so pretty when yer ridin’ my fuckin’ tongue like that,” bakugou says, catching his breath only after he pulls away from the heat of your throbbing mound. there he goes again, filling you with adoring praise that makes you feel so loved and so turned on all at once two fingers replace the roll of his tongue, rubbing fast and calculated circles along your nub until your thighs start to quiver around his head. “god, this pussy’s so good, love it baby. can’t believe s’all fuckin’ mine.” 

your body remains unsteady and shaky with nothing to hold onto, you practically squeal at the knot forming in your lower belly— the pressure there indicating an impending orgasm. “wanna cum daddy, can i cum? lemme cum—please, lemme...lemme cum…” you start to chant, losing your mind when your lover uses both tongue and finger to get you to heaven’s gates. “holy shit—katsuki!” 

“go ahead, can feel y’ready creamin’ on my tongue pretty girl…” bakugou says into your clamping cunt, laughing heartily as the dam finally breaks and your release washes over you. you convulse in your place, eyes rolling far back into your head as your arousal hits the floor with crude slap— merging with what katsuki left. he fails to stop either, slipping a single finger inside your hole and hitting your g-spot until your vision goes black and you’re begging him to stop. you feel as if you’re floating, tripping into orgasm chanting his name like a mantra.

“mnno—baby please, daddy— can’t, can’t—“ you wriggle; losing consciousness as a second orgasm takes control and takes you to cloud nine once again— syrupy cunt pouring cum like a river, the very sight enchanting bakugou. 

by the time you come to, katsuki is already standing up and making even more space between your soaked thighs to slip is cock into your raw and abused pussy. “daddy’s gonna fuck you now, kay sweet girl?” bakugou asks you, voice rough but the hand on your face, the one he uses to make you look at him is soft, domineering and gentle.

“mmkay daddy, wan’ your cock please,” you say sleepily, happy to be handled however your boyfriend wants. he takes to using two of his digits to press his shaft against your slick folds, riddled with the remainders of your precious orgasms. he glides through your folds with ease, sticky sounds dancing between your sexes as it tells the song of your passionate night. your ass is sore from being seated on the entryway table for so long, but all feelings are replaced by the new euphoria katsuki’s shaft creates just by brushing up against your overstimulated clit.

he spanks your breasts, letting the mound bounce before sharp teeth latch onto the other— grazing against your nipples to give them the attention they’d missed out on during your earlier sex crazed frenzy. “how d’ya want me baby?” katsuki whispers against the soft flesh, painting it in bruising shades. “wanna make you feel s’fuckin’ good,”

he pushes his dick through your swollen pussy lips until his tip hits your tummy, smearing globs of precum against it. you both shudder, relishing in the slick feeling of you grinding against one another bare. “don’ care,” you manage to find it in you to reply, cheekily dropping a hand  into mussed blonde locks to pull him into a chaste kiss. your brain is completely foggy, moments away from breaking and all you can think about is the taste of whiskey and salt in your mouth and the way katsuki heats you up from the inside out.  “jus want you,” 

those words seem to be all the permission katsuki needs to finally fuck you after so long, he pushes you by the shoulder to lean back against the cool painted wall— adjusting the position of your legs around his body until they’re hiked up high over his broad shoulders, ankles locking behind his head. you’re folded in two by the time he’s finished positioning you, cock drawn back from your tummy so his bright red tip, leaking feverishly with precum once more can be tapped against your sticky pussy— ground into your clit and teased into your puckering entrance ever so slightly. 

“want you too baby, s’fuckin’ badly,” bakugou murmurs lovingly against your lips, eyes closed and forehead pressed tholeo yours as he finally eases his tip past your entrance— stretching open your unused  from his thickness. he pushes in easily, thanks to your previous releases, and you’re so fucking warm and tight he thinks it might kill him.  the way you accept every inch of bakugou’s cock reminds him of how perfectly made you are for him— how he’ll never get another pussy, another girl like you in this life or the next. 

you’ll always be his pretty girl, and he’ll always have an insatiable need for you— to love you and protect you, no matter how much of an ass he is. 

“do i not fuck you enough, how the fuck are you so fuckin’ tight? must all be for me,” your cunt accepts bakugou into its soaked canal, walls spasming around him rhythmically before he’s even start to thrust. you ooze thick, viscous nectar while your core blossoms for him like your favourite flower but he presses on, until bakugou’s reached the hilt, fully sheathed inside of you. 

lifting your hips to lock him into your heat, selfishly, you add. “my pussy belongs to daddy, can’t be fucked open by anyone else but you,” the pair of you stay like that, revelling in your connected bodies and pressing light kisses to one another’s faces to prepare for what’s next. the alcohol in your system is well flushed out by all kinds of hormones and pheromones by the time katsuki pulls back his hips and slowly draws his cock out of the comfort of your ribbed walls— the only thing keeping you drunk is the way he stretches you out around him, pussy changing to accommodate his size and the pure love you have for katsuki bakugou in this very moment. 

leaning his large body over you, the blonde’s hands wander across your own as if memorising  every perfect detail about you— the light scar on your inner thigh because you hit a table corner when you first moved in together, the stretch marks, the beauty spots on your tummy and shoulders. bakugou presses a kiss to your sternum before looking up at you with big, loving eyes— eventually practiced and capable hands end up settling on the curve of your peachy ass, gripping it and moulding it as katsuki slowly pulls you back onto his cock. 

“hold on t’me baby,” he tells you lowly, face shoved back into your neck as if he doesn’t trust himself to not blow a load if you look at him. breath fanning warmly against the junction between your neck and shoulders, he continues. “ready?”

“oh god...please, please…” you feel like you’re going to cry, he’s right there— he’s all over you and all you want is to feel him where you need him the most. to have him take you again until all there is, is his scent on your body to match the love bites he left.

katsuki wraps an arm around your shoulders, large palm gripping the back of your head as he finally thrusts into your awaiting, gummy walls and meets the hilt. he pulls back, barely leaving the warmth of your pussy as he sets a slow and deep tone to the movement of his hips. “shh sweet girl, i’ve gotcha, kay?” he coos to you, followed by a seraphic moan that sends your sex into a series of flutters around him. “daddy promised to—fuck, make y’feel good…”

the edge of the hero’s words have a slight tremble to them, from where lewd sticky sounds echo in the entryway of your apartment— katsuki’s hips slowly rocking into you while a sheen of sweat sweeps over your joined bodies. he slips in and out of you so easily, forcing your cunt to accommodate for the sheer size of him. no matter how many times katsuki had fucked you, no matter which way, you always lived for the burn his dick created as it pushed its way into your puckered hole— moulded you into the perfect fuckhole for him to use.

“ohmygod—fuckin’ shit,” bakugou whines salaciously, using his grip on your ass to move you back and forth on his cock— matching the pace of his hips jutting in and out of your pathetically creamy sex. with every pull of his shaft out of you, your hips chase him to swallow him back up, keep him locked in your cunt until his tip that spews and smears clear precum against every ridge of your insides. 

hearing the man you love break above you fills you with a brilliant, bright and hot essence of delirious devoir— as he pulls away from your neck, vermillion eyes screwed shut you can see that sweat drips from his brow, which is furrowed in concentration, focused on bringing you to euphoria. bakugou’s honey skin shines under the dim lighting, flushed with only a light pink from his exertion, chocolate abs contracting with every stroke of his cock and rut of his hips into you. hair matted to his forehead, his arms flex, dragging you to meet his hips, skin smacking and breath mingling with the sex lingering in the air. 

bakugou is so fucking beautiful, you might mistake him for a mirage. if you were a desert, his sun and his golden sand, then he was an oasis— a forbidden drink of cool water, a vision of divine light. 

and you’re so lucky you get to be the only one who sees him like this, watch him break as he pumps you so full of everything he has to give you— see the vulnerability in his eyes as he slowly opens them to watch you mirror his darling expression. “you—you’re so pretty when you f-fuck me suki,” you tell him through earnest and teary hiccups, punctuated by his fervid driving hips, prodding harshly at your pleasure spot. 

katsuki tilts his head and swoops down to assault your bruised lips, famishedly tugging them between his sharp canines and running his tongue over the site of attack. you can taste yourself spread across them, laced with the saliva in his mouth before he spews it into your own— almost choking you while the grip he has  on your shoulders lifts you to meet him halfway. “yeah baby?” your boyfriend whispers lecherously against your temperate and impassioned mouth, as if he’s telling you a dangerous secret. “well daddy thinks yer the pretty one here, split open on my fat cock. y’so fuckin’ gorgeous, when ‘m fuckin’ you, when ‘m holdin’ you— daddy loves you so, so much baby,”

bakugou reminds you of his title, but there’s not a hint of anger or disappointment written across his perfect, chiseled features. there’s no hesitation in his thrusts as he pounds into you, hitting your g-spot and causing constellations to dot your vision. he doesn’t stop loving you, making love to you even if you’ve slipped up just a little. and it feels like bakugou never left, as he takes you like this on the entryway table— rocking it with the sheer force of his barbarous bombardment on your raw and sluice sex. it feels like home with him inside you, his dick basking in your slippery warmth. it feels like love again. 

tears start to brew in your eyes once again, clumping in your eyelashes and gathering on the hot apples of your cheeks as you become overwhelmed with admiration and love— heart thumping against your rib cage. “love you daddy, s’much, please don’t ever stop,” you beg, not bothering the clarify the fact you’re asking katsuki bakugou to never stop loving you, to never leave you high and dry nor empty...physically and emotionally.

because then you don’t know what you’d do if bakugou stopped holding you like this, stopped slotting his body against yours and claiming every inch of it as his, with every swipe of his tongue, every plunge of his cock into plush walls, every kiss and bite and touch. you’re sure that you’d go insane without him. you don’t dare to think of anyone else making love to him the way you do, because you’ve given him the key to your heart and he’s tossed it away, some place dark of his to keep. 

you don’t want this to be the last time, you don’t want the night to end. all you need is this moment in time, the first moment in many months where you can feel the flame in your heart burning the same heat as bakugou’s when he takes you. your hand brushes through his hair lovingly, your eyes sparkle with fresh sets of tears while your boyfriend’s intensity waves over you in scorching waves, soothing scratches and scars your relationship has given you over the last few months. tonight gives you hope that what’s broken can be fixed, that you still hold his heart like he does yours. 

“you’re mine, katsuki,” you writhe underneath him, stomach twisted in delightful knots— the tip of his heavy shaft tournenting your poor g-spot and his heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass, arousal running between your cheeks. “you’re mine, mine ‘n i love you, want you like this forever…” choked and greedy, your words come out in high pitched sighs, earning a deep keening groan from the man who pistons in and out of you. 

“‘m yours, huh?” katsuki replies, capturing your raptured gaze— blood ruby eyes lined with sobriety that dances amongst their dark brown flecks. he couldn’t be drunk now, he wasn’t. high as a kite only on the taste of your skin and the way you looked so in love with him stuffed full of dick and messed up with different layers of sweat, his precum and your releases. “damn right i am, ain’t no one gonna claim this pussy like i do, ain’t no one gonna fuck you like i do...ain’t no one—fuck baby, don’t clamp down on me like that— ain’t no one gonna love you like i do…” he growls possessivly, adoringly, gripping you by the ass and hauling you up into to his arms. 

you collapse forward, arms wrapping around bakugou’s neck to steady yourself as he pierces you on his length making it hit the deepest parts of your insides, practically splitting you wide open. your cunt throbs and your throat contracts in unison, a silent scream tearing right from it. “ohmygod! katsuki—“ 

“hold on tight f’me sweet girl, trust me, kay?” the pro hero murmurs into your ear in a candied voice, shaky from the new position and the way he’s lined up inside you so deep. he now holds you over his shaft in his arms, they flex as he slowly begins to lift you up and down on him by pure strength. his knees bend in order for him to bottom out inside you and churn up your syrupy insides. “god, y’feel so fuckin’ good like this, could cum like this baby...d’ya want that?” 

tucking your face into his strong neck, you pacify your flowing tears by pressing light kisses to his honeyed skin— sucking on him for the caramel taste that lingers there. “yes please, want all of you...never haf’ta ask,” you sob erogenously, all of your emotions and searing hankering for katsuki overwhelming your tired and fucked out body. 

you feel weak in his arms, trying your best to roll your hips back down on bakugou’s as he thrusts upwards and directly into your gummy pleasure spot— dragging you by the ankle to your third high. “don’t cry for me baby, already told you ‘m yours. don’t gotta worry ‘bout me goin’ anywhere,” bakugou nips at your earlobe, tracing his tongue stickily along your jawline until it reaches your cheeks and swipes away the stinging tears from your flustered face. “you’re fuckin’ mine, i love you. don’t worry about anything except how good i make you feel. fuck you’re so pretty, wrapped around my cock, cryin’ like this. so pretty, always,” 

the both of you start to lose it together, katsuki’s thrusts becoming impatient and feverish, juices from your pussy flowing down two sets of legs like niagara falls. a thick strand swings between your bodies where his cock plugs your spasming hole, the warm and opaque string finding purchase against your shiny and slick inner thighs. no one could do that to you except for him, no one could ever make you this wet and you weren’t prepared to let that go. 

“daddy—katsuki...can’t...c-can’t, i can’t,” you whinge in full volume, the squelching of your sexes so loud it could wake the neighbours. head shaking, you clamp down against your boyfriend and circle your hips, no matter how hard you try to prolong the night, your body can’t stop chasing the burning high and the white light— you need him to cum, to paint you with all that is him, all of his essence. it hurts so good, you want it so bad. “‘m so close, so fuckin’ close… need you to cum with me, i can’t hold it any longer…” 

bakugou isn’t fairing too good either, his grip on your thighs to manhandle you in a pace to his liking is starting to stutter and become languid— but still, he manages to reach over the swell of your upper thigh and burn shapes into your puffy clit. “whaddya need baby—fuck, just tell me ‘n i’ll fuckin’ give you to world, just wanna cum with you,” he says beginning to write his name; casting his signature over the most intimate part of your body to confirm that his heart and his desire belong to you. “yer gettin’ so tight,” 

lifting your head, with watery eyes you grab his cheeks and smile lazily, alternating the squeezes your sex gives to his cock. “need you to say you love me, suki…”

katsuki smiles, lustful and yet genuine, leaning forward until he’s hunched over you, still in his grip while he fucks shaft, swollen and red and about to burst in and out of your slick hole— wet skin smacking hard and fast against yours at an insatiable speed. 

“i fucking love you, my sweet fucking girl,” 

that’s all it takes for the flood gates to open and for the damn to break— you cup his cheeks and kiss him, tongues slotting against one another perfectly, nostrils flaring with struggling attempts to intake air and bakugou’s hips fail to slow, dragging so fucking deliciously against your inner walls as his seed spills into you, flooding your womb to the brim with so much potent white that you can feel your tummy bulge and see most of it run down your slit and between your ass cheeks, landing on the floor in a puddle with the rest of your prior orgasms. 

bakugou becomes blinded by bright lights and the sight of your pretty cunt swallowing his cock despite how much cum you’ve taken, his entire shaft covered in a thick layer of milky white as he continues to shove it into you, “fuck me baby, fuck me..” he gripes, tone whiny and high pitched while you cum for him, spewing your release against his thighs and abdomen, ruining your own. you cum so hard you feel the blood rush in your ears and the world around you falls away. your nails dig crescent moons into your boyfriend’s shoulders, you absolutely fucking lose it and burst into pleasure filled tears.

“suki—katsuki, baby, ‘m cummin’, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, don’t you ever stop,“ you babble brainlessly, your mind breaking even as his thrusts slow and the treasure between your thighs is coated with cum. bakugou presses down on your g-spot one last time, catapulting you straight into another orgasm and causing your chest to heave. you squirt hard, clear liquid ejaculating from your sex and covering you both in another messy layer of release— the force is so hard that you manage to push bakugou’s dick out of your contracting hole, he can’t bare to stay away from you for long however, sliding it right between your abused and dilated pussy lips. 

“shit pretty girl, did so good for me, feel so good ‘n you’re still fuckin’ cumming,” katsuki bumps your clit from time to time, watching you jolt in his secure and safe arms while you both collapse to the floor in a mess of souse and tired limbs. the aftershocks of your orgasms pulse through your exhausted body and you curl into your boyfriend, still crying. “shhh, s’okay, daddy’s got you baby, pretty baby— ‘m so proud of you,” 

you sniffle, twitching in katsuki’s embrace. “love you suki, so much,” 

he presses kisses to your hairline, whispering praises with each one and brushes the tears away from your arms. “fuckin’ love you too gorgeous, now let’s getcha up. need you to pee so ya don’t get sick, kay?” 

you nod and bakugou doesn’t make you stand on your own, hauling you back up into his arms and leaving your messy pile of cum and clothes to deal with later. he’s so good to you, you’re so lucky— you can’t help but think when he bathes you and rubs balm into your bruises and sore areas. maybe this didn’t have to end, maybe you’d both be okay after this night and it could go back to the way things were. 

at least that’s what you hope. it feels right to think like that, especially when you curl into his chest and his arm swings lazily over your waist in bed that night and he whispers. “you’re mine forever too,” 

— “EVEN AS WE FADE, EVENTUALLY.” 

you wish you hadn’t gotten your hopes up. 

you wish that you weren’t so naive to think that a few good nights with bakugou could change what was months in the making. you wish that you weren’t so quick to fall for his charms and sweet gestures, the way his lips muttered i love yous and the way his hips would meet yours in the dead of the night, stardust and praise s scattered across your skin along with midnight blue bruises painted by him, along with various other shades.

you fucking wish that you weren’t so foolish to believe that cheap glue and false positives could hold together the broken relationship you tried so desperately to save. the pieces were too small, there was too much and crystal always shatters so beautifully anyways. your mother had taught you that.

you thought that you could last, you thought you had a chance but just like your friends had told you time and time again, you were too good a girl for a man like katsuki bakugou. you were too good to be stuck in an awful place like this. you deserved better and it was bitter to even think that you were the one to beg him to stay, to keep him tied down and in the end it was you to be the one that needed to cut yourself free.

you had the chance to escape. there were no such things as red strings of fate, so you knew realistically that you weren’t tied down. no matter how much you tried to believe bakugou was perfect for you, it was childish to even think so. besides, even if they were, yours was sure to have faded completely. you just couldn’t see yourself staying with him anymore.

it rains on the day you decide to finally do it. 

mina had helped you set up an apartment in her building on the other side of town, she had been so kind throughout the whole thing, held you while you cried and emptied her favourite bottle of pink gin until there were no tears left. the movers had been in and out of your shared place with bakugou all day, you hadn’t the time to buy boxes but kirishima and the guys he recommended had come with some. 

in that time you realised how much of the stuff in your home wasn’t yours— how you lived in a space belonging to someone you barely knew. it was all so surreal, you couldn’t bare yourself to move or to leave when the movers had packed up most of your things and were ready to go. you could leave— you had the time to before bakugou got back from whatever meeting he had, along with his post work run. you could have gone without a word.

but as much as you deserved better, deserved a new life, you knew that you deserved an explanation too.

the door handle wriggles and forceful steps sound from your entryway, but you can’t bring yourself to look up from the very thing that ended it all. that broke your rose tinted window and caused the glass to all come crashing down on top of you— reopening closed wounds. 

bakugou calls your name almost immediately, tearing your gaze from the colourful page. “what the hell is going on? why are there movers outside? where the fuck are they taking our shit?” the blonde bombards you with questions, anger frothing on his tongue as he rips out his head phones and unzips his grey hoodie— hot from rage. 

“her stuff,” kirishima answers for you when your tnroat goes dry and you can’t seem to think— because how the fuck do you talk to the man who broke your heart? your boyfriend notes the box his friend carries as he emerges from your bedroom, it’s probably the last one filled with your clothes, not a single article of his in sight. “i’ll be waiting for you outside,” the redhead adds with a nod in your direction, and you hum, weakly.

he leaves and then it’s just you and bakugou and everything you’ve been waiting to say.

“yn,” you grimace when he calls you by your first name, the gravity of the situation finally daunting on him. you don’t do things like this, in the spur of the moment. you’ve always been the planner of this relationship and the weight in the air tells him something is wrong. “what the fuck is going on? i come home ‘n there’s movers outside, our fuckin’ apartment is empty and fuckin’ kirishima is here?” 

you can’t stand the sound of his voice right now, you can’t believe it was something that once soothed you. that would calm you down within a second of whispering sweet nothings into your ear. so you say nothing, picking up the magazine that sits on your coffee table, freshly printed and brand new— you roll it up and almost gag at the scent of printer ink that brushes past your nostrils. one you’re done, you stand from your seat on your mother’s couch, you’d be taking it with you, and toss the magazine with all your might, hitting the blonde square in the chest.

“yn, why aren’t you fucking answering me? what is this shit?” his usually warm running blood turns freezing cold when he looks at you, reaching down with one hand to swipe up the magazine. he sees how lifeless you look, how dull and colourless your eyes are but he still avoids looking at the paper in his hands.

you swallow, looking away with a sniff and crossing your arms over your chest. the sweater you wear isn’t his, but one of kaminari’s instead. bakugou’s chest starts to hurt. “just read it, bakugou.” 

you don’t call him by a pet name, you don’t call him by his first name. you don’t even let your gaze trail back to the man you’ve loved for so many years. so anxiety sparks in his bloodstream and expels into the cool air of your emptier-than-usual apartment and katsuki bakugou finally looks at the damn magazine crumpling in his hands.

and sprawled across the front page in big angry red letters, an obvious picture to match is “PRO HERO: KATSUKI BAKUGOU— CHEATER?” along with a photo of him caught in a lip lock with your close friend ochako uraraka.

bakugou’s world stills. “where did you get this?” 

“so this picture is real? it’s not a PR stunt?” you answer katsuki’s question with a question, watching his red eyes dart across the page. you’re not a fool, you’d studied the picture for hours on end since the first time you saw it, you were with him long enough to know that the way he cupped ochako’s cheeks was the same way he held you before every kiss you’d ever shared for years. you can tell just from one look at the photo that there was love in his eyes when looked at her. 

and from the way his face falls, you can tell that your suspicions are far from wrong. 

you wish harder than ever, harder than the rainfall that you didn’t believe in soulmates. that you’d listened to your friends and to your mother. 

“baby, please—“ 

bakugou clams up, fear settling on his cursedly beautiful features. he takes two steps towards you, desperate to pull you into his arms and fill your head will more pretty lies just to keep you sedated and by his side— but you shake your head, throat hoarse from holding back tears. “no, no.” you tell yourself, more so than him, to stop yourself from forgiving him yet again. “i trusted you, i gave you so many chances to fix what we had and i trusted you to every single fucking time bakugou.” you take a deep breath to steady yourself, the world spinning as you start to grow queasy. “i loved you so much that i broke myself in two, i sat embarrassed by my friends because i was so in love with you, i believed you would change for me…” 

stupid heart, stupid love, stupid you. bakugou doesn’t say anything more, sits there and takes everything you throw at him because he knows what he did was wrong, beyond wrong. he knows that he fucked up. “‘m sorry, you know that i am, it didn’t mean anything,” he tries to defend himself, knowing his words will fall on death ears.

pausing your ramblings, you laugh shortly despite your watery red eyes and the knife of betrayal in your chest that stops you from breathing. you can’t think clearly, you can’t stand still and you know as you pace that bakugou is a smear in your mind where your heart has been ruined. “sorry isn’t going to fix it this time, you cheated on me bakugou, you cheated on me with someone we both called a friend—“ you throw your hands up, shaking your head in dismay, looking up at the ceiling to blink back your heavy tears and hide them from him. the last thing you need is finding the strength to break up with  katsuki bakugou only for him to see you as weak. “ochako…” you hum, through trembling lips. “her? really? how could you do that me, to deku? we’re two good people—“ 

“don’t you think i know that? fuck, i never meant to hurt you, i didn’t want to hurt you but holy shit i did and fuck—“ bakugou says, scrambling to find his words— running a hand through his damp locks with his chest pounding, realising the weight of his actions only now. he looks up at you, red eyes frenzied and panicked. “fuckfuckfuck, does deku know?” 

you sit down, just so tired. hearing that someone who meant the world to you, who was your everything and then some admit that he willing hurt you and broke you—puts a heavy weight on your shoulders. you don’t know where to go from here, what to do, just that he’s ruined you. “of course izuku knows, he’s the one who...who showed me the paper,” you whisper, biting your lip to gather yourself. you could leave now, knowing what did you did— but for some reason you wait to see if anything katsuki says could fix this. you wait for him like you always do. “ochako’s PR agent sent the magazine to their address, he opened it thinking it was their wedding magazine. their wedding magazine, bakugou. they were happy, we were happy—“ 

he shakes his head, slamming a fist down on the coffee table as he kneels opposite you. “we were lonely—“ bakugou shouts, pain filling the room easily just like his presence does. 

“you were lonely? i was the one who sat here waiting for you to come home every night, the one who patched you up, the one who loved you no matter what kind of shit you gave me or put me through, fuck you katsuki, honestly fuck you.” you start to shout through your sobs, hurting your vocal chords and you’re so loud you can see the movers flinch outside. “i loved you...doesn’t that mean anything to you?” 

he pinches the bridge of his nose and for the first time since you started dating, you see bakugou start to cry. “of course it did,” he hiccups lowly, barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know him like you did. “fuck, yn, i loved you so much but so did she,” katsuki doesn’t dare speak ochako’s name in fear of setting you off and making you leave without a chance to explain himself. “she understood me, what it was like to be a hero and have everyone rely on you for your quirk where you fuckin’ nagged me for it.” 

“it always comes back down to the fact that i’m quirkless, you can never get over that. you never could since you went pro,” you scoff, licking your top lip to get rid of salty tears. the pro hero whispers an apology but you ignore it. “you say she loved you...how long were you together?”

there’s a beat of silence before the blonde answers you. “months,” 

you cringe. “how many?” 

“yn—” 

“did you love her?” 

“yn don’t fuckin’ do this—“ 

“did you love her, bakugou? hell, did you sleep with her too?” 

he chokes back a sob, looking away from you and pressing his palms together. “yes i slept with ochako, and yes i loved her, fuck but i loved you more—“ 

“that’s selfish,” you tell him directly, breathing shakily and willing yourself not to cry more than you already have in front of him. kirishima was sure to get an earful of it later. you feel sick to the stomach knowing that while he used you, held you, fucked you— he was doing the same to someone else.  “you don’t love in the day and her at night. that’s so fucking selfish. i should have listened all those times when your friends told me to leave you, i should have listened, but i wanted you so bad, i wanted to marry you and when i saw that ring in your sock draw, i thought you wanted me too.” 

you share a look with him, hoping that his eyes will reveal the truth to you just as they always had because if you could see in that ruby abyss that he wanted to marry you— just maybe, maybe you could stay. but then katsuki’s eyes twitch and you uncover the betrayal and the lies woven in with the dark flecks of his eyes and your stomach drops, your heart stops beating and time stands still.

“that ring wasn’t for me, was it?” you ask.

you shrink back when bakugou makes a reach for you, his chest heaving and pain on his face that probably mirrors yours. you back up on the couch, breaking into millions of tiny crystalline pieces as if the pro hero had dropped a sledge hammer on top of you. katsuki bakugou was never going to marry you, he was going to marry her. ochako uraraka. you see it all, it seeps from his pores and fills the room, which is suddenly too hot, you scratch at your arms, scrambling to stand up and gather your phone with your coat. 

you need to get out.

“baby, baby please— please listen to me—“ katsuki starts to beg as you gather yourself together, speeding things up as your heart breaks in your chest and you burst into loud, noticeable tears. “baby don’t leave, please don’t go, just listen…” he babbles and reaches out to grab you, his world practically ends when you flinch back. “you weren’t supposed to find out like this, it wasn’t supposed to end this way...”

“don’t. dont touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t you ever come near me again, you…” you stumble over the words in your head but keep them steady as you speak, shrugging your coat and hood on, ripping your body away from bakugou’s. “you fucking prick.” 

so you leave it all behind, running out of the apartment into the rain as it washes off all the memories you hold of you and katsuki together. you dash down the street and wave to the movers truck, signalling that they can leave— bakugou hot on your trail. in three short strides you reach kirishima’s car, tears swimming with the rain that sticks to your clothes and jump into the passengers side. 

kirishima jumps, throwing his phone into the cubby and looks to you while you buckle yourself in. “woah—hey! slow down,” eijirou tells you, reaching over to fix your seatbelt while you fumble with it, delaying your breakdown even more. “what happened? are you okay?” 

“no, just—“ you shake your head, drowning out bakugou’s cries for you in the street, catching him standing soaked in the rare view mirror. “please just drive, eiji,”  you whisper brokenly to your red haired friend, who nods and sets the car into drive— setting route for his place with kaminari instead of your new home. the movers will know where to go, they have your address and keys too.

slumping in your seat, you check the mirror one last time to see katsuki on his knees, on the floor in the rain— his form growing smaller and smaller the further you get from him.

you sniff turning off your phone to avoid any texts from him. “he’ll catch a cold,” you say to no one in particular, even though eijirou looks to you worridley. “not that… i should care anymore.” 

and you shouldn’t, katsuki bakugou isn’t your responsibility anymore. 

he only was when he loved you, really.