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gardenofnoah · 2 years ago

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part one: you’ve been running behind, i’m afraid you’re too late

wc: 5.7K chapter tags: MDNI, dark content (domestic abuse/physical abuse within a romantic relationship (not between reader and shinsou), general violence, nonconsensual quirk use??, graphic descriptions of injuries), ptsd, healing and forgiveness, undefined relationship between reader and shinsou, gn reader (no pronouns), pet names (“angel”, “baby”), probably inaccurate description of shinsou’s quirk idk

Kyoji was good to you. He was older, he was handsome–he exuded a confidence that you’d not yet been privy to. He spoiled you, really–with gifts and dinners and glimpses into a lifestyle that your young naivety latched onto–you liked him for that. You were taken by his charm, and how he always knew exactly what to say.

The very things you adored seemed to turn to sharpened weapons that nicked at your skin. But he was careful not to draw blood until he knew he had you.

You’d met at UA, you in your second year and he in his last. You were inseparable from the start–you hung off his arm like a little trophy he could carry around. What he’d ever done to earn that, you’ve no idea now.

Hitoshi had been weary of him from the start.

“I don’t know, angel,” he told you, sprawled across your extra long twin bed while you did your hair in the little mirror that sat on your desk. “He seems a little…” pausing between words, treading carefully, “off.”

You’d gotten angry with him at that. You told him that he just didn’t like that you were happy and not hanging out with him–that he was only jealous that he couldn’t follow you like a lost puppy anymore. Your words had very clearly wounded him, but he recovered before you could think too much of it–the hurt bleeding back into his practiced indifference.

“Just be careful, okay?” he asked quietly as you all but tossed him out of your dorm. “Call me if you need anything.”

You’d brushed it off, along with everyone else's thinly-veiled warnings, and continued to see Kyoji. Things were going well enough–he graduated and took you with him. There might have been something foreboding about it, but it was fleeting and you didn’t put up a fight–didn’t dig your heels in at all as he was picking up the boxes made up of everything you were before him and loading them into the back of his car. You completed your last year at UA from the bedroom of the apartment you were suddenly sharing–all tall ceilings and chrome appliances. All for show, sparking and without a sign of life–just how Kyoji pictured it. There wasn’t a sign of you anywhere–all of your boxes had ended up in a storage unit not far from UA. They hadn’t even made it the whole drive to the apartment–it hadn’t taken long at all for him to convince you that he could buy you things that were far nicer than what you had in them.

You still saw Hitoshi, but your interactions were rare. If he caught wind that you were on campus for any reason, he’d seek you out–joyfully ignoring the cold shoulder you usually tried to give him. He’d loop an arm around your neck, laughing at the way you bristled at his touch. You pretended not to notice how forced it was–how he raked his eyes over you, searching for something you didn’t want him to see. Both of you caught in a bizarre performance of make believe in front of your other friends, who all regarded you with the same, thinly-veiled apprehension. Scanning for something that wasn’t yet there, but that surely would be. All of you a group of dangling marionettes, creaking clumsily toward the final act.

Kyoji didn’t like Hitoshi. He’d made that clear from the beginning. He thought that your relationship with the purple-haired hero was strange, going so far as to tell you that Hitoshi was “toxic”– someone who was “isolating you from the people who cared for you”. The fact that Hitoshi behaved like he did–mostly aloof, eager to wound with his quick tongue–made it an easy sell, despite him only ever regarding you with a gentle fondness. Kyoji stressed that he was only worried, because clearly Hitoshi had manipulated you into some semblance of friendship with him–one that was surely only transactional to him. It had always been clear, to Kyoji–who was wiser and older and only ever wanted the best for you–so you let him steer you away from Hitoshi. You closed your eyes when he turned you away from your other friends, too–letting him take the wheel. He knew better than you did, you were sure.

Now you know it was bullshit, but you were in love, supposedly–you believed him because you had no reason to doubt him. And he loved you–he told you so, in all of his elaborate, and often very public, displays of affection. Each overblown effort made you uncomfortable, but he’d gone through so much trouble–and made sure you were aware of it. So you let him love you like that, even if it left you feeling a little hollow.

You scoff at the memory, now. Curled up in the corner, locked in your bedroom. Bruised and weak, you reach for your phone on the floor next to you. You scroll until you find his name.

He watches your face pop up on his phone on the coffee table. Half asleep, he reaches to pause the movie he’d been watching, and presses the green button by your name.

“Hi, angel.” he murmurs through a yawn.

“Hitoshi,” you croak, and he’s upright immediately. By your tone, he knows you’re not safe. He curses himself for not catching this sooner–he should have known that things had gotten worse when you stopped answering his texts a few weeks ago. He’d given you space, hoping that time show you what kind of person Kyoji really was, but it’s apparent now that it only served to isolate you further. He’s made up his mind, though–the gears in his brain slip into place automatically, and he won’t let himself feel remorse over what he’s about to do–not yet, anyway. He’ll ask his questions–give you the chance to lie to him, like he knows you will–but he’s already decided. He hopes that you won’t hate him for it.

“What’s going on?”

“Just–” a sharp intake of breath, like it hurts you, “so tired. I’m so tired of this.”

He takes a breath himself–deep and rattling in his chest, pleading with himself to keep a level head. He needs to, or he won’t be able to do this. He just needs to get you out–to get you somewhere safe. He squeezes his eyes shut, and pictures your reality–alone, hurt, and curled into yourself. He feels his pulse pick up, and tries to think of something else.

Questions be damned. He needs to do this now.

He says a quick, silent prayer to whomever is listening. To please let this work. To make you understand–to maybe forgive him, one day.

He steadies himself, and opens his eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

“Um–no, I don’t know, I–”

He’s flooded with pain, all at once. Sharp and radiating, in his eye and over his rib cage, and across his throat in a way that feels suspiciously like–

You were hurt, then.

He’s overwhelmed by the full range of your emotions, too, as intimately as if they were his–shock, at first. He jolts as you startle, like the lights have just flickered out during a heavy storm. He feels the moment the recognition hits you–when you realize what he’s done–and he feels it when you start to fight it.

“Please stop,” it’s a whispered plea that comes from him, into the receiver he keeps up to your ear. He hears your breath hitch.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he says, and he’s moving now–already down the front steps and out the door.

It’s effort, like this–he wasn’t sure if he would even be able to use his quirk over the phone. He’d asked Aizawa about it, who eyed him for a long time before he’d answered simply, “You should really think about it.”

And he has, but he sees no other option. Hitoshi knows, very acutely, that he is hurting you– that he’s not doing a good thing right now. The thought of it turns in his stomach, but he can’t stop. Not until he knows you’re safe.

He envisions your body in his mind. It’s fuzzy, at best–the outline of you is warbled and distorted, but he can do this.

“We’re gonna move now, baby,” he rasps, suddenly fatigued by the exertion of keeping himself moving and keeping you in his grasp. Like a villain, he thinks, and promptly ignores.

He starts to move you and the feeling is nearly blinding–you’re in pain. His own rib cage seizes and it knocks the breath out of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he tries to placate you, even though he knows it’s shallow, “We just need to get you standing. Can you do that for me?”

It’s stupid of him to try to ask anything of you right now, and he hears you echo the sentiment–you’re still fighting him, though not as valiantly as before. He can feel how exhausted you are, and it’s not your injuries that make his chest ache now.

He hurries past a gas station and realizes he’s closer to you than he thought. He hadn’t been paying attention, not really–hadn’t even bothered to disguise himself with more than his black hoodie pulled over his head. He hears voices to his right and realizes that he really didn’t think this through–that he could easily be caught off guard right now, with all of his focus on you. Driving wasn’t an option, though–it was dangerous enough just for him to try to walk and do this.

He catches himself trying to create distance in his mind. To call it this, instead of naming it. Because if he allows himself to recognize what he’s really doing to you, he won’t be able to keep you under his quirk, and he just needs to get you out–

He feels a bump to both knees, and he realizes that he’s gotten you up and moving. He sees the vague outline of your bedroom window, and thanks whatever god is up there that you live on the first floor. Now that he’s closer to you, your body is more in focus. He can manage like this.

He comes to a stop at a street corner, less than a block from your house. He takes a breath in, and focuses again.

“Okay angel,” he says, keeping his voice soft, “we need to get this open. I’m going to be gentle, but it’s still going to hurt.”

It does–immediately. Having to lift the window with one arm to keep the phone to your ear–the only way to keep up the connection–is putting too much strain on the fractures of your ribs. He feels you thrash in his mind, and he almost wishes he could hear your voice, just so you could scream at him. He wishes he could at least give you that.

All at once the pain is cut off and bleeds into something different. Panic, he recognizes. Hitoshi feels the adrenaline spike in your body and realizes he’s run out of time.

He needs to get you out now.

He takes off in a sprint toward the direction of your apartment. His hold on you falters, only for a second, but it makes you stumble. He feels his own fear spike.

“I’m coming,” he tells you, and it comes out like a plea, “I’m right there baby, just hold on–”

He hears the yelling as he rounds the corner. He sees you then, half way out the window, and he knows if he lets go of you now, you won’t make it out.

He feels a bruising pain wrap around his wrist, and he goes cold.

Hitoshi makes it to the window before he knows it and lets you go. He wraps his arms around your middle as you go limp, and when he looks up, he is face to face with the man who did this to you.

Kyoji, who is still crushing your wrist in his hand.

“What the fuck,” Hitoshi grinds out, and it is lethal when it leaves him, “are you doing?”

“What am I do–”

He doesn’t give Kyoji any time to give a real answer before he’s in his head. The fatigue is stifling, but his adrenaline fuels his quirk. The grip on your wrist falls slack. He pulls you the rest of the way out of the window, careful not to aggravate your ribs further. You whimper, not yet fully conscious, as he sets you down gently in the grass.

“Give me one second, angel,” he tells your limp form, brushing your hair back from your eyes.

He takes a step forward, as does Kyoji–rigid and clearly unwilling, but he moves despite himself, because he’s no longer in control. Through the window, Histoshi takes a long look at him, and feels nothing but contempt. He lets it bleed into the connection between them–feels only a white, hot anger coming from the man in his hold, and it makes him smile.

“You won’t make that mistake again.”

He watches from outside himself, then, as he leads Kyoji’s hands through the open window. Hitoshi feels nothing as he slams it down over his fingers. He lets the bastard go right as it connects.

Hitoshi hears the crunch of splintering bone, and only watches as his victim comes back to himself. Feels nothing as he watches him process what has just happened. And then, as a howl of pain breeches the silence, a sick part of him howls back—feeling more than a little justified.

He watches for a second more, and then turns his attention back to you. Still limp in the grass–whether you’re still unconscious or you’re pretending to be, he isn’t sure, but he couldn’t blame you if it was the latter. Hitoshi gathers you in his arms, and you don’t fight him. He wonders if you have any fight left.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, rubbing his cheek against your temple in some vain attempt at comfort as he walks, “I’m so sorry.”

Hitoshi is a nervous wreck.

He fumbles through his own kitchen like he’s never been in it before. He opens cabinets, closes them, and opens them again. He’s opened the fridge at least three times in the last five minutes, like something will be different each time he opens it.

He has no idea what to do with himself.

He comes to a stop, finally, in front of the counter and braces his hands against the cool stone. He lets his head hang and takes in a deep, shuddering breath through his nose. The only thing he can focus on is the knowledge that you are asleep in the next room.

He’d brought you in and set you on his bed, checking to make sure none of your injuries were life threatening. When he was satisfied that they were not, he turned on his heel and all but sprinted out of his room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him. Sleep wasn’t an option for him after that.

“Fuck,” he breathes, knuckles straining in their grip on the countertop. He was nothing if not cowardly.

He nearly comes out of his skin when his phone rings next to him. He spares it a glance, and feels his stomach lurch when he sees who it is. He hits the green button, and it’s not a second after that the voice on the other end lays into him.

“You fuckin’ idiot,” Bakugou seethes, “what did you do?”

Hitoshi has never experienced Bakugou as quiet as he is right now. The silence on the other end of the line stretches and expands like a living thing–it’s suffocating, but he allows it to drag on. He won’t be the one to break it.

He hears Bakugou sigh and lets out a breath of his own.

“The injuries–” he says finally, sounding tired in a way that Hitoshi hasn’t heard in a long time, “are they–”

“Not life threatening,” he grits, hearing the strain in his own voice, “I can take care of them here. But Bakugou–”

“I get it,” Bakugou cuts him off, gruff. For the first time in Hitoshi’s life, the constant of his harsh inflection is a comfort. “Was fuckin’ stupid, and you’re real lucky I was the one to respond. But I get it.”

Hitoshi says nothing. He can’t say anything. Bakugou sighs again, long and resigned.

“I’ll handle it,” he says finally, and Hitoshi can barely breathe, “Just take care of your shit.”

“I will,” he whispers, but Bakugou has already hung up.

He stares at the phone in his hand then, like it might come alive at any second. Now that he knows what he can do with it, he thinks he ought to throw it down and crush it under his heel.

His mind goes back to where it always does–to you. He knows that it’s a vile thing he’s done, and he doesn’t know how he’ll face you now. He just couldn’t stand the way your voice cracked every time you called–he isn’t too proud to admit that he was afraid. He’s responded to so many of these calls, and he knew of the few that heroes didn’t make it there in time–he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you like that. He couldn’t sit and wait for that to happen–that was never an option.

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. He tries to resign himself to what's coming when you wake up. Tries to tell himself that it will still be worth it if you hate him–and he knows that it is, because you’ll be alive. But he will be another man that you can no longer trust, and as much as he deserves that, he can’t stand it.

He swallows thickly, setting the phone down and pushing off the counter. He supposes he could at least make himself useful and get some food ready for you while you slept.

You don’t know how long you’ve been awake, but it feels like far too long.

Every jagged intake of breath rattles an ache through your rib cage. It shouldn’t feel like that, you think, but the thought fizzles out of your mind with the rest of them. It’s enough effort to force your lungs to inflate. You reach out a hand, slowly, ignoring the pain that radiates up your arm when you close your fingers around the sheets beneath you. They’re soft, and they’re not yours. But you knew that.

You don’t have the luxury of survivor’s amnesia. You remember everything.

You won’t cry. You wish you could, and you think it’d do you well–but to cry requires energy that you just don’t have. So you blink your eyes open through the sting, watching the fuzzy outline of the ceiling fan come into focus. It whirls around lazily, and it seems silly that it’s not doing much of any cooling, but you think that maybe Hitoshi couldn’t stand for things to be still when he put you there, so he turned it on.

Hitoshi.

You suck in a breath, gritting your teeth at the flash of pain. You feel it everywhere, and you are catapulted back into the feeling of your limbs moving against your will. It makes you want to curl into yourself, but you have a feeling you’d risk puncturing a lung if you did, so you lay there and let the feeling wash over you, pinning you to the bed.

You might be angry at him–you can’t be sure. You feel what could be anger, broadly, but you have a feeling that it’s true target is beyond Hitoshi, beyond Kyoji, beyond the way you’ve been rendered immobile more times than you care to count. You can’t reach it yet, but it is certainly there.

You know that your injuries are severe, but that they will heal. The physical ones, anyway. You don’t know how to go about healing what lurks beneath the surface–what’s been circling in the dark for years now. You’d reached a point about a month ago, when the verbal abuse became physical–a new place, one without much feeling at all–that had startled you at first. But you found it was better when you allowed yourself to lean into it–the physical pain from a throttled neck or a broken bone paled in comparison to the vast emptiness of the quiet void you could escape into. But the feelings come back, as you lay here, and you yearn for the dark nothing again. You know suddenly that it’s not the broken ribs keeping you here in this bed.

Despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to stop, you push yourself to a sitting position. It takes a while, and you have to twist like one of those wooden snake toys you had as a child. You feel your bones clink off one another similarly, and you breathe out something that sounds to you like a laugh. It’s ridiculous, the whole thing–to be reduced to something so fractured and still feel the need to stand up and keep going. It’s hard for you to see the merit in that right now, but you do it anyway.

Hitoshi nearly comes out of his skin for the second time that day when he sees you standing in the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

He looks at you and he knows he should stop, because he’s not in control of his face right now and he wants to be composed for you. But he is not, and he knows you can see it.

He can’t look away. There’s a bruise that spans from your cheekbone to your eyebrow that he’s fixated on, which feels like the safest place to look right now because he knows if he looks at the one across your throat, he will lose out to the animal growling in his chest. Knows he will walk out the door and not stop at Kyoji’s broken fingers.

He squeezes his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. When he looks at you again, he can’t tell what you're feeling. You are more devoid of emotion than he’s ever seen you, and it scares him. He opens his mouth, because the tension is crushing him.

“I–”

“Overstepped.”

He blinks, unsure if he’s just hallucinated. It isn’t until he watches your mouth move around the words that he’s sure he didn’t.

“You overstepped,” you say again, flatly.

“I know,” and he does. He thinks that’s an understatement. “I’m sorry.”

He watches the corner of your lip curl into something he doesn’t recognize.

“You’re sorry.” You repeat him like you’ve never heard the words before. “What is it that you’re sorry for?”

“I know that I shouldn’t have used my quirk on you,” he says, too quickly, “I just knew that he hurt you and I was–”

“You were what?” the tone of your voice is a warning when you cut him off, “hoping to be the hero that saves the day? You were inside me–did you think that wouldn’t hurt me?”

“No–I know it did,” he hears the plea in his voice and hates it. He knows he has no right to ask you to hear him. Really, he shouldn’t say anything, but he keeps talking anyway. “I know it did, and I’m sorry, I just knew you needed help–”

You cut him off with a bitter laugh, and then a hiss, hands hovering over your abdomen like you’re trying to wave away the pain. He feels it in his own body, quirk or not.

“I never asked for your help, Hitoshi.”

He’s quiet then, feeling the phantom ache spread to his limbs. He knows you didn’t–it’s not often that abuse survivors do. It didn’t matter how close you were to him–you were out on that island alone, all the same.

“Would you have ever?”

You glare at him. You open your mouth and close it just as quickly–he hears your teeth clack together like you’re biting down on what you really want to say. He watches you think about it.

“No.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. He knew the answer, but it’s not any less jarring to hear you say it.

“I didn’t feel like I had a choice,” he whispers, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

You let out a laugh–clipped and indignant. A knife, thrown right at him.

“You didn’t have a choice?” you snarl, and he wants to grab his words out of the air and swallow them, but he knows he’s too late. “You took over my body and you want to talk about choice?”

He can’t say anything. He watches the emotion flood you and knows it’s his doing.

“Jesus Christ,” you laugh, “did you ever consider asking me what I needed, before you did that? Or did you think that being a hero meant you knew better?”

It’s startling, how on the mark you are. The shame lumbers over him like a tidal wave– he’s never asked anyone what they needed, not really. He just acted. He was always just acting, never thinking first. Until now, the former made him a great hero.

“What I really need is for everyone to get their fucking hands off of me and to let me have the control that I deserve to have over my life.”

He can’t look at you, and he knows for that he is a coward. He knows that he has done something so unforgivable and he hates the way he wants to get on the ground and beg for your forgiveness anyway. He knows this is the part where you walk out of his house and never speak to him again. He considers telling you that he’ll call someone to come get you so you don’t have to stay here.

And that thought gives him pause, because there he goes again–deciding what’s best for you.

He wants to stop doing that. He’s been looking at you as a statistic, and that alone breaks his heart, because you are his best friend.

You are his best friend—the love of his life—and you are hurting right now.

So he gathers all of his resolve and meets your eyes. He tries very hard not to flinch away from the anger you pin him with when he asks, “what do you want to do right now?”

Your face twists with an emotion he doesn’t recognize for an instant, and then it’s gone, and there’s that blank, unfeeling look staring back at him. You sigh, and it surprises him when he hears it tremble.

“I–there’s blood. On me.”

“Yeah,” his voice is a whisper, “do you want to shower?”

You sag against the doorframe, like someone’s let go of your strings for the first time. He smothers the urge to go to you and hold you up himself.

“I don’t think I can stand,” you rasp, eyes shut tight.

“Can I run you a bath?” he asks gently, rising to his feet.

You nod tightly, watching him as he approaches you. He stops a foot in front of you, cautious.

“Can I help you to the bathroom?”

You eye him like you think it’s a trap, and it’s a twisted knife in his chest. But he doesn’t waver—he waits. He leaves room for a no.

He bites back the relieved sigh that wants to escape him when you reach for him.

It takes a minute to figure out how to support you without hurting your ribs. You settle for looping your arm through his, and he covers it with his other hand, careful of your wrist. He gets you to the bathroom and sits you on the toilet while he turns on the faucet.

“Hitoshi.”

He almost doesn’t hear you, over the water, but the shake of your voice has him whipping around, posturing to protect–

“Don’t do that again.”

And it’s him, then, who has hurt you– who continues to hurt you. He watches the tears pool in your eyes and feels so, so sick.

“I won’t,” it’s quiet, but he hopes you understand that he means it, “not ever again.”

The water that ripples around your body is tinted pink. You wonder how long you’ll have to watch pieces of you slip down the drain until you’re whole again.

For a while you just sit–the warm water offers some small comfort if you close your eyes and pretend that this is a regular day for you. That you’re not coming apart at your seams. But the temporary lull is interrupted when the water grows cold.

“Hitoshi,” you call, quietly. You have a feeling he’s sitting just outside of the door.

“Mm?” He is.

“The water is cold.”

“Do you need help getting out?”

“No, I–” you struggle a bit, to vocalize what you need, despite so adamantly wanting that not 20 minutes ago. All of your bravado from earlier has slipped down the plumbing with the rest of you. “It’s cold.”

You think you can hear his brain go through the mental gymnastics routine you’ve tasked it with, and you try to feel a little sorry for him, but before you can get too carried away he catches up.

“Can you pull the curtain closed?”

It’s hard, and it hurts, but you manage. “It’s closed.”

You hear him come in and kneel beside the tub. You watch him reach into the water–the water that’s saturated with you–to grab the plug from the drain, and your heart kicks in your chest.

“Hitoshi, the water is all–”

“It’s okay,” he says gently, and you hear the seal break with a little bubble beneath the surface, “It’s alright.”

He lets about half of the water out before he twists the faucet. You feel the water warm up again and you sigh, trying to relax a bit. Hitoshi dips a hand into the tub, moving the warmth around.

When it’s full, he twists the faucet back and moves to stand.

“Do you—” the words taste uncertain when they leave you, “do you think you could sit here with me?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, and it makes you feel a little better. You hear him move to sit next to you–you watch his outline through the curtain. When you look down, the water is clear.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you whisper. Not quite willing to apologize, but still feeling like you should say something.

“Yes, you should have.”

You pause, and when the tears come, you let them. “I’m tired, Hi.”

He lets out a breath at the nickname and you wrap your arms around yourself, needing to feel some sort of comfort.

“I know you are, angel.”

The silence is stretched between you, but it’s permeable this time. He’s trying to extend an olive branch—you decide to let him.

“Will you help me out of here?” you ask quietly.

It takes some maneuvering to get yourself standing, and when you gather the bravery needed to draw back the curtain, Hitoshi is already holding up a towel and looking starkly away from you, the tips of his ears a little red. You’d laugh if you could, but instead you just lean into him and let him wrap the towel around you. It’s warm, and you realize he must have put it in the drier at some point during your bath. The consideration has you stepping out of the tub and further into his arms–wrapping yourself around his middle before you can think better of it. He goes rigid for only a second before you feel his arms around your shoulders, caging your head in and pulling you closer. It’s startling how familiar it feels–how safe it feels, despite what he’s done–and you don’t fight the sob that tears through your throat when he presses his cheek to your temple and runs his fingers through the damp tangles of your hair.

He sways gently, rocking you like he’s consoling an infant. You don’t have it in you to be anything but comforted by it. You let out a broken whimper of his name through your tears.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs as you gather the material of his shirt in your fists, “I know.”

Before either of you know it, weeks have passed. You haven’t mentioned leaving and Hitoshi wouldn’t dream of asking you to go, so you stay. He takes every day as an opportunity to gain your trust.

It’s a fickle thing–he notices every time you flinch away from him when he accidentally brushes against you. He notices how far you sit from him on the couch, and how quiet you’ve been. It hurts tremendously, but he knows it is his fault. He’ll give you all of the time and space you need.

He cooks for you–both because he’s not sure how else to care for you right now, and because he just likes to know that you’re being looked after. He remembers how often he’d call in the middle of your “dinner”–something frozen and microwaved because Kyoji hadn’t bothered to follow through on the plans you’d made and you were left alone. Hitoshi thinks this is the best way he can help you heal–to make sure your body gets all of the vitamins it needs. It’s a small thing, really, but he hopes it means something.

He sees you out of the corner of his eye–leaning against the doorway, watching him. He smiles softly at you before he continues slicing the vegetables he’s picked out.

“What are you making?”

“Soup,” he tells you, sliding the cubed carrots off the edge of the knife and into the broth that boils beneath it, “seemed like a good day for it.”

He hears you hum, a sweet little affirmative that makes him smile again. He pulls a potato from the vegetables in front of him and turns it over a few times in his hands–checking for blemishes and wondering if he should cut it differently than the carrots, to give it some variety–if you’d appreciate the extra effort.

He startles when he feels pressure between his shoulder blades–goes rigid when he realizes it’s your forehead pressed against him.

“Angel?” he croaks, cautious.

“I’m trying, Hi.”

He lets out a breath, setting the knife down in front of him. “I know you are.”

“I just,” you start, pressing a little harder into him to emphasize your frustration, “I don’t want you to think that I’m punishing you–”

“Hey,” he calls to you softly, trying to interrupt whatever self deprecation is happening in your brain, “I don’t think that. I know that it’s going to take some time.”

You sigh, a strained thing, and when you wrap your arms around his middle, he indulges himself in the unbridled relief that comes with the knowledge that you want to forgive him. He looks down at where your hands cross over his abdomen–the bruise on your wrist is nearly faded now. A tiny yellow stain on your skin. He wants to smooth it away with his thumb, but he doesn’t–he keeps the ball in your court and his hands glued flat to the countertop.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” you pause, thinking about it, “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of you, “you want to go find a movie to watch? The food’ll be done soon.”

You hum, untangling yourself from him to do just that. Hitoshi finds that the weight of your absence is far heavier than he expects it to be.

It’s a start. There are undoubtedly things you still need to say and questions that you need answers to. He’ll give them when you’re ready. For now, he reaches to turn up the flame on the stove, stirring the broth with new intention.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

#listen to quietly into letting go by manchester orchestra for the full effect #let me tell you something. i love exploring hurt and accountability in relationships #i just feel like i never get to see that play out in real time. especially now with the whole 'if he breathes the wrong way cut him off'#but idk i think it's important and it helps me heal my own hurts to write it out this way u know??#i just think our inherent humanity is the most precious thing about us #i hold really tightly to the thought that the connections we make are not so fragile that they can't weather a few storms!#even if those storms level our houses in the process! we can come back from that!#i’m not the worst thing i’ve ever done and neither are you!#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x you #mha shinsou fic #shinsou hitoshi fic #mha fic #mha writing #fic: i just sat there quietly

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fisherrprince · 3 years ago

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(thinks about my little space au for more than 2 seconds) auhiuuoghfohhrghOUGH.

#Kh #sprawl au #I like them I like them I like them #my art #you are all SO MURDEROUS… AND STUPID… AND TRYING YOUR BEST… BUT YOU ALSO HAVE PROBLEMS.#I thought about them today and went OAAAABHBGAWAWAHAAAOAAAAAAAAH I GOTTS DRAW SOMETHING #ill tag this 4 the masses as #vanven #WELL……#it’s. ITS….. hm. It’s complicated.#friends? no. lovers? Also no. do they text each other at 2 am. Yes #are they nice texts. …no.#do they eventually heal that insanely shredded and rotting gap between them and agree to try being friends and pirates and break their #respective ties with the people that used them and see each other as similar people and not problems to change. yeah #2 am posting…#every day I have thoughts I have thoughts ask me about my thoughts I have them I h #OH UM #eye gore #have I put the content tags for sprawl anywhere? I think I did. I just don’t want to blindside any newcomers #I’m apparently the only person to ever use the ‘sprawl au’ tag so

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strawberry-nugget · 3 years ago

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𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙄 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 | E. Kirishima/ Reader/ K. Bakugo

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: after weeks of Bakugo distancing himself from you and Kirishima you finally get the chance to talk out what happened the other day, one thing leads to another and...

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, thr*esome, oral (f! and m! receiving), double penetration, fingering, p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, all characters portrayed are over the age of 20

𝘼/𝙉: I'm so sorry this took me so long. I know this is 6.5k with little to no plot but I hope you enjoy this, hehe, thanks for all of the notes and amazing comments on the last one. I'll be reblogging in a few minutes with the tags in those who asked. Also. This is top Kirishima. Top top top top Kirishima.

It's been two weeks now that you and Bakugo exist in different timelines.

He's never home, lost in patrol after patrol, leaving a hot mess behind him in his room, belts, gear, his back up costume messily sprawled across his room -you guess he doesn't have enough time to clean everything up. Still, the rest of the apartment always looks inhabitable, save for the little mess you make in the kitchen when you cook; he never cleans what's supposed to be your task.

You feel yourself growing sadder every day. It's something Kirishima notices and informs you he feels as well, rooted deep in how Bakugo is treating the two of you ever since that night. And the worst part is you can't do anything about it. He doesn't return his phone calls nor does he ever pick up, and by now you've accepted that he purposely avoids being in the house with you. It hurts even more knowing that he and Kirishima see each other at work every day; at least he knows Katsuki is doing okay, though as he reports, he rarely ever talks more than patrol and business.

You only wonder why he acts the way he does, thinking you don't deserve to get ghosted over for what happened. He's your roommate and one of your best friends, whatever made him feel like he has the right to ghost you with such each is not going to go by so easily and you're not willing to wait it out anymore either.

Thus, this Thursday night you call in sick for work and emerge yourself in the bathtub after checking the clock. 7.25pm. It's still an hour until Katsuki is off his shift, which means you have plenty of time to do some self care. Shave your legs, scrub your whole body with your coconut scrub- anything to calm down that put of anxiety that's starting to boil in the pit of your stomach.

You fear for the worst. That Katsuki doesn't want to be your friend anymore, and losing him doesn't sit right with you. Not over just catching him masturbating once.

There's a ton of things you want to say, or ask him. The lingering thought of him liking Kirishima or you digs deep enough into your brain and plants itself there, getting comfortable right next to the thought of him being jealous of your relationship. Could this be it? Could he just be lonely? He never talks about meeting anyone or having sex -that must be it, he's lonely, that's all.

Your bath doesn't last for long because you're nervous and the water runs cold before you have the chance to enjoy yourself. Maybe it's time to start turning the heating on in the apartment and you curse yourself because you have to talk this out with Bakugo as well -fuck its hard to not live on your own when you have to make shared decisions with someone. To your stomach's turbulence dismay you can't get out of talking to Katsuki.

"No, I literally won't tell you where she is Bakugo"

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of the door unlocking and closing again, followed by your boyfriend's familiar voice. You don't make a single movement to exit the bathroom yet- you're frozen, opting to rest on top of the toilet cap until you hear Bakugo's reply, your gut falling into a muddy pit of panic.

"I swear to fucking god if you two are trapping me to talk about it"

Typically of him, he shouts, barking and chewing a few sounds of what he's saying. Kirishima knows he's all bark and no bite though, you're eager to figure out how he'll oppose him.

"She wants to talk to you, you can't just ghost her like that when you live with her" There's a long pause next "and you should have told me that you're in fucking love with her"

"What?" Katsuki exclaims

What?

"You think I'm an idiot? Or that I can't comprehend basic human behavior? I know how people who feel the way you do act"

"What are you even saying Kirishima? That I'm jealous?"

You blink feverously, trying to take in what you're listening to unfold in the other room. You know a part of you has been wishing that this scenario wasn't true.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. You should have told me you liked her in the beginning. I would have never made a move"

They bicker back and forth for a few minutes; Katsuki accusing and Eijiro defending, then switching back and forth before going silent. It's then that you think you should emerge from the bathroom. It feels wrong to not be part of this conversation when you're the reason for their bickering, but at this point the guilt in your stomach is rotting and polluting your insides.

With a sigh, you turn the doorknob and inhale deeply. You tell yourself you can do this. You have to do this, yet your eyes are filled with hot and salty tears as you approach the living room.

Both of them eye you simultaneously, pursed lips and hands crossed over their chests; the only relieving thing about this is that they're sitting next to each other on the couch, their calves slightly touching. You know they'll make up again, they always will, but you're scared you won't be able to be part of that make up. Not with the information that's been poured onto you.

"Hi" You whisper and despite being sure both of them heard you, they make no effort to open their mouths and talk back "I uhm" You clear your throat "I heard what you were ah saying"

"Course ya did" Katsuki growls "course ya fucking did"

"Baku- I-"

"Save it! I'm gonna-" He snaps and makes a move to get off the couch, though Eijiro has other plans; he slams him back down with just a push of his hand

The same hand that's extended to you, overlapping Katsuki's chest, wordlessly asking you to join them on the couch. Your heart warms up slightly. Kirishima always does his best to make you feel included, it's no surprise he's smiling at you when you take a seat next to the blond.

"You're not going anywhere Bakugo. And babe, you can speak now"

Though you smile nervously with your lips, your first word falls silent, in awe of a lung filling sigh. Then by the time you gather some thoughts together your chest is shivering and the tears that you managed to drown before are now threatening to spill from your eyes again.

Kirishima is watching you religiously, pouting as you throw your head to the opposite direction of his to let out a small sob. He tightens the grip of his hand around yours and barely notices Bakugo batting his eyes to that direction.

"Hey, no, don't cry"

"I just don't want to lose Bakugo because of this" you sob and Kirishima shoots a killer gaze at the blond, biting the inside of his lip.

"You're not losing anyone idiot" Bakugo says, clearing his throat, giving Kirishima a strained look as well

"Babe, don't worry, Bakugo and I will be fine, you and Bakugo will be fine"

You sob again, wiping a stream of tears that's falling from your eyes and Kirishima wastes no time on cupping your cheek after bullying Bakugo to do the same. A nice change, you think, two hands reaching out for your face, you could almost get used to this.

"Yeah, you're not losing me" Bakugo tries to soothe, though by Kirishima's demand he adds to his words "I- uhh, I might want you but this has nothing to do with us not being friends"

"Yeah?" You sniffle, looking up

"Yeah"

It's too soft how you're cuddled into their arms instantly, pulled on top of them to sit on both of their laps, held tightly in both of their embraces. You coo into their arms for a while, content when Kirishima kisses your cheek and sobbing faintly when Bakugo rubs your back in circles.

"Do you want a beer baby?" Kirishima asks, softly patting your back and kissing your nape as he leaves you clinging onto Bakugo. You nod into the crook of Bakugo's neck in reply and Kirishima smiles from the other side of the couch.

The sound of the fridge opening is timelines away from what's entering your mind. Is it wrong that you like that cuddle too much? And is it even more wrong that you want more? Bakugo feels nice when you're curling up onto his lap and Kirishima adds warmth and love into everything he's touching, you almost feel your thighs clench at the idea of where your mind's traveling to.

"What if we had a threesome?"

It's so faint when it comes out of your mouth that you're convinced there shouldn't be any loud reaction to it, though you hear the can of beer that's presumably in Kirishima's hand hit the floor, you feel Katsuki's hand freeze on your back. Both of them wonder if they've heard correctly, but never asking you to repeat it.

"A uhm.. Threesome?" Kirishima asks "you'd like that?"

"Yes"

You try to hide your face deeper into Bakugo's neck, but he doesn't seem to approve of it- he pushes you back softly, with a thick hand on your stomach and another still on your back. You feel your face burning as you're forced to face him

"You'd really want a threesome?" You nod and Bakugo gulps "Right now?"

"Mhm" You gulp too, your nose almost nuzzling against his "if- if you want to"

The way you're swamped with attention is overwhelming. From the way Kirishima jumps to the edge of the couch towards you, to the way Bakugo lifts you up and stands on his feet, urging you to do the same as your feet land one by one on the carpet underneath you.

"Fuck okay uh, are you fine with it Bakugo?" The redhead asks, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I am."

Kirishima gulps when he sees Bakugo latch onto you, placing his hand on your shoulder and coughing up slightly "Should we set some rules?"

"Yes" Bakugo coughs as well, though you can feel him getting hard to where your thoughts are meeting his "wanna suggest anything?"

"Great uh, maybe no kissing between the two of you, since she's my girlfriend? And Katsuki you're wearing a condom too. Are these fine?"

Both of you gulp and nod. It's natural for Kirishima to ask this. Sharing you out of the blue can't completely sit right with him; it almost flicks a switch on inside your gut, making you gulp again when you feel him hugging you from behind.

"Safeword?" Bakugo asks

"Red" You reply cooing when your back finally hits your boyfriend's chest.

You don't even have enough time to count down seconds before you're pounded and squished between the two of them. It's a miracle that you somehow manage to convince them to move it to the bedroom.

Even if making a small stop at the hall wasn't in your original plan

Kirishima's hands are everlastingly on your waist pulling your back into his chest. He's nibbling on the nape of your neck, his fingers light as feathers as they're peeling your T-shirt off of you. He almost grunts at your exposed back, leaning down just to place a kiss on each of your shoulders before latching onto your ear

"It's fine baby, it's fine if you're embarrassed okay?" He blows into you then takes a bite of your ear lobe to which you shiver as you snap your head to his face. “what? Are you that excited?"

You gulp, nodding with your eyes shutting, an expression on your face that looks almost painful -Bakugo can't help but palm himself, searching Kirishima's carmine eyes with his, waiting for a sign that he should make a move or retreat. Anything that doesn't involve him getting a front row seat to how your chest bounces as Kirishima runs his hands on your torso from behind.

"Fuck, I-" He says, swallowijg his tongue in the process, just when Kirishima's hands change paths, now wiggling underneath your sweatpants.

"Enjoying the show Bakugo?" Kirishima's smiles and fuck- when did he adopt such an attitude? "Come 'ere"

Bakugo does as he's commanded, guided by Kirishima, as he trails your torso with his hands intertwined with his, squeezing your upper hips, trailing your belly button, eyeing you with doe eyes before launching a kiss to your navel. You writhe and wiggle in Kirishima's embrace- the feeling of another man too new, too strange to take in in less than a few moments, but Eijiro's got you, kissing your nape, your cheek, softly playing with your breasts above your bralette. Whispering his praises with his hands across your body.

"Good girl" You're sure he whispers in your ear "I got you" But all you can feel is Katsuki's breath as he's placing open mouthed kisses across your tummy, over the valley of your chest, your cheek.

Kirishima is overly alert by this, jumping in between the little scene, capturing your lips with his, using a hand to push Bakugo into the kiss as well, pulling him in as lips as smeared against lips, your saliva trailing out of your mouth. You instinctively rub your thighs together to relieve some of the burning sensation between your legs

Soon enough, Bakugo is taking off your pants, rhen his shirt, Kirishima's taking his off too, managing not to let you go all while pushing the three of you into the bedroom. There's nothing but a trail of clothing in the hallway that could suggest what's happening inside the room once the door closes shut; three pairs of sweats, three different t-shirts and maybe the white ghost of hot and heavy breathing.

On the bed, it's way more comfortable. Your arching back is finally resting against the pillowy mattress, Kirishima's smile from upside down soothing and forgiving, you almost melt away while he cups your face and bumps his nose to yours, giggling slightly, before glaring at Bakugo. He guides your head into his lap, still holding your cheeks, still rubbing circles onto your soft face, pouting hard before facing your friend.

"You good babe?" He asks you and you nod again, humming a small reply to him "you too Katsuki?"

"Yeah, fuck yeah, I am" He gulps, pumping himself twice.

"You're not getting in without prep by the way"

You writhe in Kirishima's lap, gooey eyes and mouth open wide as he leans to pry your legs open, trailing his middle finger across your clothes slit. Your chest jumps when you hear him chuckle. You know he's struck the gold vein he's searching for, your panties swimming in a puddle, completely damp from getting your neck attacked only a few minutes ago.

Katsuki marvels a finger across your slit as well, avoiding your clit purposely or flicking it occasionally, moaning every time his finger touches the chilly dampness of your underwear.

Kirishima pries your legs open wider, hooking his middle finger under your panties and pulling them over and slightly to the side, flashing the blond with a glimpse of you -you swear you see him gulp. Hard.

"Want a taste?" Kirishima asks, chuckling, as if Bakugo isn't frothing at the mouth at the mention of the action, as if he isn't diving in between your thighs like a starved man.

He almost rips your panties by pulling them to the side. Your hands link through his platinum hair and you almost whine at how soft it feels, or, about the moaning sounds he makes as he's digging his fingers in the plush skin of your thigh, swinging your leg wider. You slide a little further along, laid completely flat on the bed -head still on Kirishima's lap.

Sweetly, Kirishima captures your inner lips with his fingers and circles them around before making you hump on him, his knuckles bumping with Bakugo's nose when he chuckles again. You almost tear up by the over stimulating pressure Kirishima's fingers provide for you, but you decide to hold it in; not sure hitched breath leaves your mouth until Bakugo takes an experimental lick across your slit.

With a thumb presses to your clit he retreats for a second, just to watch as he sinks his middle finger inside of you and -"oh my fucking god Katsuki"- he's back at it again, licking at you religiously. Softly, like Kirishima always does, patiently. Just like you love it.

It has your back arching, chest bouncing for Kirishima's eyes to enjoy. He decides he won't have you hanging, bouncing and thrashing. With two huge palms he cups your breasts, flicking your nipples, massaging you for just enough time to make your heart burn, then he wiggles a finger to the hood of your clit, applying throbbing pressure.

The knot in your stomach is tight, your vision blurry, you're sure what you think is silent moaning is probably full-on screaming, mewling or pleas of pleasure that you can't comprehend.

Kirishima is smiling at you from above, still wiggling his finger on you left and right in Bakugo's business and you can't help it- you yelp, pushing Bakugo's face deeper into you. It feels good- too good, like your legs are nothing but jello, your stomach and thighs feeling like they've transformed into liquid smooth. You mewl in Kirishima's arms, coiling, desperately eyeing him in hopes that he and Katsuki won't stop what they're doing.

"M so close" You slur when Kirishima takes a hand of yours away from Bakugo's hair, softly turning it upside down, until your palm is met with the wetness of his foreskin, the pulsing slit of his that leaks precum into your hand.

He whines -"ohh"- when you wrap your fingers around him, instantly pumping your hand up and down, your grip firm and steady as you twist your wrist with every bob of your hand.

"Suck me off baby" Kirishima softly commands, rubbing an experimental circle with his tip on your lips, smearing some of his precum around your mouth. You gulp at how carelessly he pumps his base, until he pries your lips open.

You take him eagerly into your mouth, feeling your stomach churn and your thighs freezing in place by Bakugos movements; so long as you're steadily sucking Kirishima's cock into your mouth, he scissors his fingers inside of you.

"You like that?" He moans into you, eyeing Kirishima "you twitched- fuck you're twitching"

"Show me how wet she is"

Kirishima commands and Bakugo complies by taking his fingers away from your heat and shining them into Kirishima's face. You whimper but how good it feels when he moans against you, blinking as you watch your boyfriend take your friend's fingers in his mouth, sucking in eagerly, before popping the digits out of his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva fall faintly onto the valley of your breasts

"Your pussy's s'wet baby, you're dripping all over over Katsuki's hands" Kirishima thrusts in your mouth "you taste so good" then turns his attention to Bakugo "tell 'er, how fucking good she tastes"

Bulky fingers rub on your clit once more and Bakugos hand secures your tummy in place while pinning you down; you feel it then, the inevitable end of what has been building up in your stomach for such a long while and you can't help but scream at the feeling of coming undone. Shaking, struggling to take a breath without popping Kirishima out of your mouth.

"Fucking perfect"

Your vision is white, your head is buzzing and your legs are frozen. You can feel Kirishima fucking into your mouth once, twice and ever so slightly, depending in how relaxed your jaw is as he's moaning. You don't choke when he hits your throat, you simply moan onto him, too blinded by the afterglow of your orgasm to even react to what's about to unfold.

"Fuck- take 'em off- Fuuck" Kirishima says, you notice. Bakugo probably does as he's told; you hear shuffling and grunting, the soft pop of his dick to his stomach. You want to see-

Bakugo, hazed and drenched in you, cups your womanhood with his hand, landing his thumb on your clit and you yelp again, thrassing onto the bed, finally popping Kirishima out of your mouth. He tugs and drags his fingers away- he's opening you up, of course, that's it- and you can't help but roam your eyes all over him. Searching for his cock, wanting to see it dive inevitably into you.

It's unfair that Kirishima has a better view than you do, but at least, you hope he enjoys the view. You buck your hips forward when you feel Katsukis thighs grace against your own. His skin is unbelievably cold, making the hair on your legs and tummy raise; a tear rolls down your cheek then the moment the tip of his cock touches your clit.

"We've got- ah- condoms in the first drawer. On your left" Kirishima says cheerfully, bucking his hips away from your face, kneeling just to place a kiss on your forehead- your nose- your lips, finally bumping the tip of his nose to yours when he sucks your inner lip into his mouth

"You liked that baby?" Kirishima breathes "You liked Bakugo eating you out?"

"Mhm" You nod, not wanting to break away from the kiss, unlike Kirishima

You can hear Katsuki cursing, slamming the drawer shut as he fidgets with the condom. Everything seems slow, from the way his thick fingers can't grasp the tiny edges of the wrapper, to him finding out what's the right side to put it on -he grunts, inevitably- stealing giggles from both you and Kirishima

"Ah man, you're struggling, come 'ere let me help"

Bakugo grunts once again, although this time it's not out of frustration. Kirishima playfully pulls him close, places a kiss on his navel and extends his hand underneath Bakugo's, politely asking for the condom -you know his lips are pressed into a goofy smiley line right now just by the way his body moves.

Kirishima lets your cheek rest on his thigh when he moves to grab Katsuki's cock, to roll the condom on him while twisting his fist on him no more than twice -unfair- before playfully slapping the blond's ass, urging him to climb onto the bed again.

It's then that your hips are jerked and raised towards the blond, huge palms on your hips, pulling you towards him. Nervous touches, unspoken apologies for potentially harsh movements, his eyes are flickering into yours and his lips are all pouty, scrunched, his cheeks plump with embarrassment. He doesn't know if you notice, nor does he think he ever will, but it's killing him -that he's only allowed to line himself up with you under this circumstance.

Whether you notice the hurt in his eyes or not, you don't comment on it, nor do you spare him any worried look. He doesn't even know if he wants you to take pity on this state of his.

No.

No, he doesn't.

He only hopes Kirishima won't get mad when he cups your face tenderly, nor when he traps your face with his other hand caging you away from the redhead thigh -it's for better leverage he'll say if he's asked to- but you melt into his touch.

And his chest burns.

It's worse when he finally pushes into you. His heart won't stop beating hard and fast and he's scared he's going to have a fall. No-no- he shouldn't think about it, if he does think about it, he'll definitely have a fall.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh," You murmur, feeling the voice come from the depths of your chest.

That's the only confirmation he needs to ignite his ego and light it on fire. You feel good, you're sucking him in deeper and your cheek is still melting into his palm. It's more than enough; he ignores Kirishima's gaze and whatever it may carry behind it. It's for his own sanity he reminds himself.

"You're doing so good babe,'' Kirishima asks you, cupping your other cheek. He's smiling- no need to worry about him not having a positive reaction to Bakugo caressing you

(The rules that had been presented to him were simple- wear a condom and no kissing)

"You're taking it so well, isn't she Katsuki?"

"Fuck yeah" He grunts, thrusting harder

"So, so well baby, we'll make sure you get to come first okay?" You ogle your eyes at Kirishima, teary and soft by his words, clapping your lips together and pouting, begging him silently for a kiss. Only to feel the void when his soft lips don't come in contact with yours

"Oh no, no kiss for baby. You're so naughty, wanting me to kiss you when you're getting fucked by our friend"

"What?" You whine, popping on to your left elbow "Eiji- i want my kiss"

"None can do" He smiles and Bakugo snaps his hips into you "unless you earn it"

Your stomach is tied in a knot again, gummy walls tightening around Bakugo, back arching. It's almost painful to watch you sprawled like this underneath him, reacting in peak with the rhythm of his hips, begging him to go faster, harder. At one point, he's losing himself in the speed he's fucking you with, feeling like he's about to combust from inside out is not helping either

-He thinks, he'll be spent for days after this-

It's guttural, the way you feel as Bakugo thrusts inside of you, the way you mewl and twitch and feel your eyes roll to the back of your head. You feel full, so much that you mutter it, slurred and incomprehensibly at Kirishima. It's more than enough for him to rub your chin with his thumb and buck his hips on your face again. You take him eagerly, smiling with your lips when he lands on your tongue. You swirl it around, pump him deeper into your mouth, suck on his tip until he moans in sync with you.

"Bakugoo" He hisses, biting his lip as he's eyeing you "don't chase your own satisfaction! Go slower and rub her clit too" He takes Bakugos hand away from your face, tracing it down your body before landing on your heat, pinching your clit softly making you moan "ah so responsive"

For a while he doesn't move his hand away, focused on guiding Bakugo's fingers on you, teaching him how to make you feel good while he's fucking and you're on fire, gut churning and chest tight, ovestimulated by how good it all feels. You can't even take a proper breath as Kirishima humps deeper into your mouth. He groans too loud when his tip hits your cheek.

You know this is too much for him, you know he can't hold back any longer, but you grab onto his shaft and twirl your grin on his base, bobbing it into your cheek and popping it out before swallowing it again.

And while Bakugo's thrusts are becoming desperate, Kirishima bursts into your mouth, holding your hair softly, pulling you closer to you- closer, closer, until your nose hits his navel, biting on his cheeks and squinting his eyes so he won't shut them, drunk on the view of you overflowing with his come. He only grubs your chin, swiping his thumb on the white trail that's spilling from the corner of your lips, trying his best to smirk at you without taking a breath.

"Swallow it sweetheart -ah- that's right, you're so -fuck- perfect for me"

Your lower stomach is protesting, bursting slowly as Bakugo is thrusting faster into you. His speed, him hitting that spot in your gut repeatedly, creating the perfect feeling of numbness, it's all too much and not enough all at once, you want to cry out- you gush and you writhe as your legs hook around Bakugo's waist.

Your boyfriend retreats from his previous position, smiling as ever, petting Bakugo's blonde hair, massaging your breast, kissing your nipple, then attacking your upper chest, trapping supple skin in between his tongue and teeth, dragging Bakugo along with him. It's what ultimately leads Bakugo over the edge, his tip feeling numb, blood rushing all over his body, he thrusts a few more times before he pulls out, spilling his own satisfaction into the condom, feeling his heart race faster than ever before.

"Your doing sooo good" Kirishima says once more, pecking your lips repeatedly. "Wanna ride me? Or are you tired? "

"Fuck no, lay down"

"That's my girl" He smiles "Katsuki, come here"

Kirishima rubs your wetness up and down, grunting when he finds your clit, grazing it with the back of his hand, whispering about how wet you are, to which you respond by hugging your arms around his neck, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. You only pull back when he lets you coo into him by petting your hair softly.

You're instantly met with Bakugo's eyes blazing into yours from above- it's not intimidating, rather, it's lustful, but you still need some time to pull yourself back, despite the eagerness in his eyes. You must have missed the point where he discarded his condom, or just how thick he actually is, because he's standing hard and proud before you, nervously searching for Kirishima's approval.

Your boyfriend's approval comes with gripping on him and easing him close to you. You take him in both of your hands, relying on Kirishima to keep your torso lifted, focusing on twisting your hand around him in the same way you did for Eijiro. Too bad you almost lose grip when He snaps his hips into you.

You can feel Katsuki's dick twitch into your hands as you pull him down lower, getting your tongue out of your mouth to place kitten lips all over his length. Eijiro mimics you, licking the tip when you're not licking the base, letting you take control when he ceases his movements for a bit, to lift both of you a little higher, so you don't have to bend your neck as much. He strokes some sweaty strands of hair away from your face, he kisses your cheek and Bakugo is already thrusting into your mouth feverously.

"Fuck"

"You're so wet baby, you feel like you could take us both" You yelp, wide eyes as you freeze on the spot "want to take us both?"

"I do" You yelp with tears in your eyes "I do I do, I do I do"

"Oh, look at you being so desperate, want to get -ah- wrecked, don't you?"

"I do Eiji- you cry out

"Then ask Katsuki to take you too, ask him to shove his cock into you while I'm fucking you too, like the greedy little thing you are"

At this point, you think poor Bakugo isn't going to make it to the end of this.

"Katsu" You plead, watery eyes staring into desperate carmine ones "Katsu fuck me while Eiji fucking me too-"

"Say please" Kirishima interrupts, pinching your nipple "or I'm not going to let him"

"Please, pleaseplease, please"

"Fuck yeah" Katsuki replies "ill fucking wreck you" The sounds he's making are supposed to be words, though they're far from being clear and understandable, his veins are pulsing into your mouth. He's too excited for this, so excited that you know he'll never make it to the drawer to reach for a new condom. So Kirishima is doing it for him, hooking the little rubber between his fingers as he's opening the drawer.

"Come on baby, pull back" He taps on your shoulder and places a kiss on your collar bone, thrusting deeper into you this time. The reaction is immediate, you're throwing your head back in seconds and Bakugo whines at the sudden departure of your warm mouth.

Kirishima allows you to kiss his thighs, his tip, his navel, to squeeze the small of his back and his ass before letting you wear the condom onto him.

You lose track of Bakugo until you feel wet kisses being planted on your thighs and ass, the back of your knees. You feel his hand being placed on your thigh, the warmth of his palm as he's soothingly rubbing it up and down your skin, to prepare you, raising his thumb to graze at your crotch occasionally. You whine every time he thumbs your clit, or flicks it when it meets with Kirishima's navel.

"You good? I'll start with my fingers" You choke on the sound of his words and nod frantically. If only you could actually watch him when he delves his middle finger in you along with Eijiro's cock. Still you whine loudly, when another finger joins the first one, slowly scissoring inside of you "fuck you're gonna take it so well aren't you? Kirishima's right. You love this"

"Answer him," Kirishima whispers, teeth biting down in your lobe. He grabs your face, trapping your cheeks between his fingers, turning you in Katsuki's direction, pushing your cheeks together. You swallow when you see the blind focused on watching you stretch.

"I love it

But Eijiro isn't satisfied with how you're trying to make your words get past from your lips

"Say it like you mean it doll, or I won't let your friend put it in"

You eye him dangerously, putting your lips even further before muttering a soft 'fine' -your redhead doesn't make a comment on your little attitude, probably because he's gotten what he's wanted from you- and Katsuki hisses, fisting his cock faster.

"I love it so much Katsuh"

"And Eiji- you mean. It's not only him that's here" Kirishima smirks and this time he pulls out of you, flipping your body so that your back is facing him. One hand comes to your wetness, spreading your lips apart, stretching you wide open "Try again" He lets go just for a moment, to slap your clit loosely. Once. Twice. Never ceasing when you whine. Your hips buck up towards Katsuki.

"Look at how nice I am, I even gave you a full view. Am I not?"

"You are Eiji. You're the best, the best. And I love this so much, I'm going to combust"

"Oh you will?" Katsuki interrupts, grunting when Kirishima pulls his dick closer to you, rubbing the head on your clit until Katsuki gets the hint. You let out a guttural groan at the feeling, tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes from being too overstimulated for so long

"Yes baby, I will, just please"

"M going in-" Katsuki announces, earning a nod from Kirishima "If he won't let you come, then we don't listen to him 'kay?"

Kirishima chuckles at the one and bites the top of your ears dragging his tongue to the base of it- a warning- to not try and agree with what Katsuki's offering. And being obedient definitely pays off when you feel your boyfriend's head poke against your entrance.

It feels splitting and painful all at once; the tears in your eyes are pouring, and none of the caresses you're receiving is helping. You need time to adjust and both men provide that for you. Minutes pass spent with soft kisses. Kirishima sucking your neck and Bakugo kissing your breasts, the three of you making out- anything until you feel like you can get used to them.

And when you do, they go slow, each at their own pace, simultaneously hitting spots that you don't know could or should ever be hit at the same time.

"You good?" Both men ask and you have to gulp that frog that sits at the top of your mouth if you want to talk, but you can't. Your throat is too tight, your eyes are too watery

"Babe"

"Better than I thought I'd be actually"

You get lost in the haze of their hips, their thrusts and you can already feel Katsuki collapsing onto you, chasing his own pit of pleasure when it hits you. Your gut coming undone for the last time has your heart leaping and skipping beats; you hook your arm around Katsuki's neck, jumping up and down from how fast both men are thrusting into you and you bring your face to his, cooling your mouths together.

When he feels you clamp down on him -and Kirishima- he pulls out, rolls the condom off and strokes himself slightly. You whine at the sudden departure of him inside of you but you quickly clamp down on just your boyfriend, before feeling him shifting from underneath you, finally pushing down the small of your back. You take Katsuki into your mouth while Kirishima slaps your ass, thrusting fast and hard into you.

There's no sweet talk right now, authority and intimidation hiding away as satisfaction is being chased. Sloppily and not carefully at all. It's evident in how you're sucking Katsuki off. There's no consistency in your rhythm, you're squirming as Kirishima is slowing down before picking up his pace again, running his hands through your hair affectionately. When he comes, he coats your insides in white ropes of pleasure, riding off his orgasm softly, until he feels himself stop twitching.

By the time he pulls out you've made Katsuki come as well, hearing his high pitched grunts as he lets it all out in your mouth. Although this time you're not overwhelmed with the amount; it's his second round nonetheless.

Katsuki's hands don't cease to take this chance, even if they're awkward and shaking he's grabbing your cheeks squishing them just like Kirishima did a while ago and kisses you, poking his tongue in your mouth, moaning at his own taste, pulling your lips under his teeth.

You know your lips will be bruised by this. And you don't care. Because when he pulls back, Kirishima is kissing you as well, pulling you into his arms, caging you into his chest.

You even smile as tiny, peppery kisses are pressed onto your skin.

"You did so well" Kirishima smiles "you too Katsu, you both were amazing"

Katsuki smiles, popping onto the bed as well, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling himself onto you and Kirishima. He nuzzles his nose at the crook of your neck and for the first time in a while he feels warm, content, calm and collected. Or so you think by the kiss that's planted onto your back by him.

It's tender and soft, mimicking Kirishima's but feeling nothing like your boyfriend's kisses at the same time. You collapse further into Kirishima's chest and he kisses the top of your hair and your cheek, mellowy.

"Wanna take a bath?" He suggests under his breath and both you and Katsuki nod, sinking further in the sheets with heavy eyes. Maybe when your feet won't feel like they'll betray you, you'll get up and have a warm bath, sandwiched between Katsuki and Eijiro, smothered in kisses, lathered in lavender soap, maybe you'll make a cup of chamomile for the three of of you and cuddle between them before you go to sleep.

Until then…

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #Bakugo x reader x Kirishima #bhna #Mha #Bnha fan fiction #Bakugou fan fiction #Kirishima x you

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junowritings · 4 years ago

Note

HELLO, DARLING 💕💕 I'm here to bust in and ask for some sweet, sweet Twst fluff! May I have some Ruggie, Azul, and Deuce reacting to thier fem!s/o protecting them in a fight?? Maybe some dude trying to swing at them and their gf gets in the way and protects them! Pls give me the good, much love and you're amazing 💕💕💕💖💖💖

First request! Thank you so much honey I am always happy to provide some peak content~! I had way too much fun with this and it shows lmao but I hope you enjoy~! 💖 💖 💖

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Ruggie

♡ Ruggie’s used to stepping on a few toes and tails with his antics - he’s a little trickster at heart but it’s all in good fun, he swears! It’s just unfortunate circumstances that perhaps one or two people sometimes get caught in the crossfire of his schemes, never anything too serious, but enough to leave more than a few people grumbling about it by the time things actually get sorted back out. Rarely do things ever actually spiral out of Ruggie’s control, and even if they do, chances are no one stays too mad at him for too long...most of the time. The times they do? They tend to get a bit out of hand.

♡ When a group of students attempt to corner him on the way back to the Savanaclaw dorm, he isn’t even sure what’s got them so heated - they start cussing him out, ranting about how he must think he’s such a wise guy, getting so cocky and not knowing his place. He’s not phased by what they say at all, if anything he’s not fussed in the slightest and would probably make a comment about them coming up with something more original if he could get a word in their bickering. It gets tiring real fast, and Ruggie’s looking for an out before these guys have even finished talking.

♡ Sure, he could use his unique magic in this situation, but given that it would only affect one of them and more than likely piss them off even more in the process, it wouldn’t do much to save his hide right now. Three against one hardly seems like a hard fight, but if Ruggie is even remotely concerned about the odds it doesn’t show for a second, instead - chances are, they’re just gonna yell it out of their system and then storm off so he can go back to what he was doing. Arguably, that just makes them angrier, and soon enough their heated bickering becomes thinly veiled threats, as though they’re trying to rile him up into instigating something - they want a reaction, an excuse to justify starting a fight, but Ruggie’s not naive enough to fall for that trick.

♡ When he doesn’t, one of the students finally snaps, lunging forward and snagging the collar of Ruggie’s uniform, bunching it up until he can feel knuckles pressed against his throat and he has to tilt his head up to avoid the fist curling underneath his chin. As the other hand rears back, the laid-back smile on his face becomes strained, and Ruggie squares the guy with a pointed stare as though waiting to call their bluff on actually taking a swing. He doesn’t get the chance to find out, as in the next moment the hand’s gone from his collar and Ruggie finds himself looking at the back of a blazer as a new voice joins the scene - one that he recognizes.

♡ He can’t see your face from this angle, but he can hear the hostility in your voice as you square up to the three boys, standing to your full height as you curse them out and order them to back up, asking what the hell they thought they were doing to your boyfriend. And just like that, those three hotheads dissolve into cowering pups right before his eyes, all bumbling words and awkward shifting as they try to talk their way out of the situation they’d been caught red handed in. They’re doing a poor job of it, and you’re clearly not buying it as you fold your arms and fix them with a scowl, taking a step forward as you move to completely shield Ruggie from their view.

♡ Ruggie can count the amount of times someone has actively gone out of their way to protect him on one hand, so the situation is as bizarre as it is entertaining. He feels a smug kind of pride at hearing you declare the word ‘boyfriend’, and hearing the anger in your voice is enough to convince him that it’s for the best to let you handle this whole thing. Still, Ruggie just can’t help but peek over your shoulder as you tear those guys a new one, shooting them a shit eating grin and enjoying the way that their expressions twist into grimaces, pissed but unable to do anything less they risk even more of your rage.

♡ All you have to hear is one of them mention ‘putting him in his place’ for your expression to visibly darken, and all three of them know that they’ve messed up at the sight of your face. You barely even have to feign lunging at them to get all three of them to bolt, just about toppling over each other as they flee down the corridor and round the corner, effectively vanishing from your sight. Even then you wait a beat, listening out for their footsteps until you can’t hear them anymore before you allow the tension to fall from your shoulders. Ruggie thinks that’s the perfect time to chime in, resting his head on the shoulder he was peeking over as he snickers.

♡ “Shishishi~! Did you see the way they ran? Talk about spooked!”

♡ You find yourself chuckling along with him as you look at him out of the corner of your eye, watching his expression carefully before you shift around to fully face him. The first words out of your mouth are words of concern, asking him if he’s okay and if they hurt him in any way. He’s quick to brush off any of your worries, giving you a non-committal shrug and assuring you that he’s fine - he’s dealt with way worse confrontations before, so it’s not skin off his hide now that they’ve scampered off.

♡ You’re not entirely convinced, he can see it in your face as you regard him - you seem to want to press the question on those ‘worse confrontations’, but after a moment you seem to drop it. Instead, you reach out and attempt to straighten out his collar and tie, though both are still a wrinkled mess by the time you’re finished; even so, Ruggie seems to appreciate the sentiment, and that lax grin from before is back as he slides out of your grip. He’s still gotta get back to the dorm, but it wouldn’t hurt to have company on the way back, if his new ‘bodyguard’ wants to tag along~

Azul

♡ Azul’s no stranger to people’s ire - he’s gained more than a few enemies over time, having his fair share of scorned patrons cursing his name before he’d even enrolled at Night Raven college. He’s learned quickly to gauge whether someone’s just blowing off steam or if they’re a serious threat, and he learned even quicker how to deal with those situations accordingly; after all, it’s bad business if you’re busy being hounded by clients looking for a bone to pick. He’s got countermeasures in play, and a few backup plans if things become too dicey for his liking, but he’s fortunately rarely had to use them barring one or two troublesome incidents thanks to the Leech twins.

♡ Floyd and Jade have, of course, been a big help in handling these little confrontations whenever they arise, having nipped most of them in the bud before they’ve even had the chance to darken the doors of the Monstro Lounge, so there’s been a relative peace in the place when people are there to have a good time rather than try and start fights.

♡ Things come to a head when someone actually manages to slip through into the Monstro Lounge, and Azul comes out of his office to the sound of someone shouting his name in a tone that sets the precedent that this is not going to be a peaceful interaction. He sees their face before they even turn to face him - expression twisted up in anger and hands balled at their side as they glare daggers at the other patrons, as if trying to discern if the dorm leader is sitting amongst them. Azul recognizes them immediately, and, upon realizing that the twins aren’t present in the lounge, rationalizes that it’s up to him to smooth things over before they end up disturbing the other patrons and causing too much of a disturbance. And so he plasters on his most neutral, unassuming smile, and greets the new ‘client’, watching them whip around to face him as he steps forward to talk to them.

♡ Azul already knows what they want to talk about - of course he does - he’s learned to keep track of every face that passes through those doors and his interactions with them. And yet he allows them to talk, and get what they want off of their chest; talking to them like this isn’t going to get them anywhere, and it appears they’re more in the mood for yelling than they are for actually talking. So he allows them to rant, if only to calm them down enough until he deems them rational enough to listen to what he has to say; and after a moment this seems to actually have done the trick, as the yelling soon quiets down in frustrated grumbling, and the eyes once drawn to the scene from nearby tables begin to return back to what had previously caught their attention. That’s when Azul finally speaks, extending an offer to finish this conversation back inside his office - after all, he’s sure they didn’t come here simply to make a scene when there’s a peaceful resolution to be reached, right?

♡ It’s with that thought in mind that leads Azul to a momentary slip in judgement - turning his back on the troublesome patron and begins to walk back towards his office, expecting them to follow him. Which they do, with a raised fist. He doesn’t hear them storm after him, but what he does hear is the gasps from onlookers as they watch the person in question rear back their hand, fist aiming right for the back of his head. It should have connected - afterall, they were close enough to have landed the hit, but it never comes.

♡ Instead, a sharp shove at his back has Azul’s stumbling, and not a moment later, he’s spinning around to see what’s going on and finds an unexpected sight. The patron’s sprawled out on the floor, cradling their face in both hands and swearing up a storm as they rock back and forth, nursing what looks like a solid hit to the nose. And towering over them is none other than you, blazer discarded and sleeves rolled up to the elbows as you shake off the hit from your hands, winding up your shoulders as you stare daggers down at his would-be attacker. It doesn’t take a genius to discern what’s just happened in the span of just a few moments, but Azul’s suspicions are all but confirmed when you snap at them to just try and punch him again - watch what happens, you dare them.

♡ Anger flashes across the patron’s face, and for a second Azul truly believes that he’s about to watch a brawl break out between this troublemaker and his girlfriend as both make a move to jump the other. Thankfully for all involved, they don’t get the chance to see that show, as not a moment too soon the twins are there to intervene and split it up before any real fight begins. Jade’s hands are on your shoulder, guiding you back gently but firm enough to ensure that he can pull you away from this fight if you try to push the issue; you reluctantly follow him as he backtracks over to where Azul is standing, still grumbling about it under your breath. Floyd, on the other hand, is all too eager to take care of the one still cradling their face, sporting the beginnings of a bloody nose as they’re hoisted up onto their feet and promptly directed to the nearest exit.

♡ Azul makes a note to deal with that person later - though he’s got a sneaking suspicion that the twins are already well on their way to taking care of that in his stead as Jade leaves to rejoin his brother once you’re standing face to face with their dorm leader. For now, he turns his attention to you, watching you huff and rub idly at the hand you’d punched with as the beginnings of an apology tumble from your lips.

♡ You didn’t mean to get involved and cause so much of a scene, but when he’d turned away and you saw the person rearing back to sock him, you were up from your table and swinging without a second thought. You couldn’t just sit there and let him get hurt, what kind of girlfriend would that make you if you did! You’d never let him get hurt as long as you were around - that was okay...right?

♡ The passion behind your voice is enough to convince him that you mean every word, and you can see his expression soften a little as he takes your hand into his own, thumb brushing over the scuffed skin of your knuckles, red marks becoming visible as a testament to the force behind your punch. Your expression twitches with a flash of discomfort - looks like you’d underestimated the force on your hand; Azul’s not surprised, going above and beyond was a penchant of yours that had gotten you this far, and perhaps what had led to you worming your way into his heart in the first place.

♡ At your expression, Azul gives your hand a pat before taking a step back, using the hold to guide you. He certainly doesn’t mind the protective streak - in fact it’s a rather endearing trait, one that deserves proper compensation in return. But the first order of business is getting that hand tended to, and Azul makes that his priority as he leads them to follow him to his office, pleased when you fall into step with him and follow his lead.

Deuce

♡ Honestly, with how much of a protector can be over his friends, Deuce is in desperate need of someone just as willing to square up for him. He takes their safety seriously, even though part of him knows that realistically they can all take care of themselves just fine if anything actually happened. That still doesn’t stop him from wanting to step in whenever things get dicey, especially whenever it comes to you or your friends, and that either becomes a sweet sentiment, or the bane of your existence depending on how many altercations this ends up dragging him into.

♡ Maybe it's because of this that a fight was bound to break out sooner or later, but for what it’s worth, this one wasn’t actually caused because of him - it was because of Grim. That feline had a habit of breaching people’s boundaries, and sure enough it was just a matter of time before things escalated into a fight before anyone even had a chance to figure out what had even happened. Deuce wasn’t around when it happened, but the sound of yelling had caught his attention and led to him looking into the passing hallway trying to figure out what was going on. He recognized some of the voices, he swears it, and sure enough he finds the owner of those voices right in the center of the hallway, a small circle of people getting into each other's faces.

♡ Both sides are yelling, and at the sight of Ace and Grim smack-dab in the middle of the bickering, Deuce finds himself getting in-between them if only to get the one guy waving his hands around away from his friends before someone got slapped. Almost immediately there’s a hand in his face, an accusatory finger jabbed in his direction as all that anger at his friends is now squared directly on him. Deuce feels himself getting angry the more this guy screams into his face, cutting him off every time Deuce tries to get a word in; it’s clear that he’s not going to get any answers from this guy any time soon, so he calls to his friends behind him, ignoring the shout of ‘Hey, don’t ignore me!’ directed at him as he does so.

♡ Deuce looks away for a second, talking to Ace over his shoulder to try and find out what started this whole thing in the first place, when he feels someone grab a fistful of hair and yanks. Pain blossoms through his scalp and he hisses, a hand flying up to snag the wrist of the guy and wrenching it forward, digging his fingers in to force him to let go only for the hand to grip tighter. There’s another sharp tug, and Deuce can see Ace and Grim diving forward to help him from the corner of his eye, their shouts of protest only seeming to anger the guy more as they round in on him.

♡ But someone else gets there first, and just like that the hand is being wrenched from Deuce’s hair and he hears something go sliding across the floor. Turns out it’s the guy, whose expression is a mix of anger and bafflement as he tries desperately to reach for something behind him - no, someone. There’s a hand wound into the back of the guy’s blazer, hoisted up enough that he has to arch to go along with the item of clothing. The guy tries to reach behind him, but every time another hand peeks out from behind him to swat it away with ease, eliciting frustrated whines when the guy realizes he’s stuck.

♡ Deuce’s face must be priceless as he takes in the scene, watching a familiar head duck out from around the guys shoulder and flash him a grin, giving him a thumbs up. He hadn’t even seen you in the crowd, did you jump in when you saw him getting hurt? A part of him feels bad that you’d seen it happen in the first place, but that’s soon quashed when you turn your focus back to the guy who’d swung, who by this point had lost the gumption to keep swinging and was now just waiting for you to release your grip.

♡ You give it a few more seconds for good measure, before you allow your hold to loosen and you step away, still giving the guy a cautious glance as you move to stand in front of Deuce, Ace and Grim in a protective stance. There’s a beat of tenseness, waiting to see if the fight is going to start back up again, but when the group starts backtracking, retreating to who knows where else, it’s clear that at least for now things have been resolved. And with that out of the way, you turn your attention back to the boys, sticking Grim a pointed stare as you huff out that you’re talking to him about this later.

♡ Then you turn your focus over to Deuce, and he immediately straightens up under your attention waiting for some kind of comment about the confrontation, or maybe a warning for him to be more careful. You take his face into your hands, and though confused, he follows along with your movements as you urge him to look down; he doesn’t know what you’re doing until he feels a hand smooth through his hair, easing the tousled hair back into place as you ask him if it still stings. Your tone is soft, and Deuce finds himself flushing as he hurriedly reassures you that it doesn’t hurt - it’s fine, really! You’re not entirely swayed, but the moment is broken when you hear Grim make a gagging noise telling you to stop being so weird. And just like that your attention is back onto Grim again, fully prepared to choke him with that damn bow as Deuce straightens back up, carding a hand through his hair and trying to will away the pink flush beginning to rise to his cheeks.

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baepop · 4 years ago

Text

Muse

You meet a quiet painter that helps you manage your anger.

Word Count: 4.7k

Pairing: You x Taehyung

Genre: Slight fluff, slight angst, Smut

A/N: I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so I had to sit down and write it out this afternoon. I hope you guys like it 🥺

What are you thinking?

The pinkish hue of your cheeks had long subsided now, though the heaving in your chest still remained albeit at a minimal level. The part in your lips prevailed as well, if only to huff the stray hairs falling over your face occasionally.

The rest of your hair was sprawled across the back of his couch like wild seaweed. Your favorite necklace rested in the crook of your collarbone as the dainty chain tickled your sensitive neck. Goosebumps broke out across your arms as they, too, were strewn across the couch. Your pose wasn’t ideal, but you knew it was exactly how he wanted you, so you wouldn’t get up to close the window letting in a cold draft.

His apartment was quaint, a studio on the upper west side that resided above a bodega and a taqueria. You’ve had many opportunities to take it all in, yet somehow there was always something new to discover whenever your eyes wandered.

You pondered if this was all a big metaphor with some grand artistic meaning about how it somehow represented his mental state. How he, such a quiet and minimal person could be happy in such a cluttered apartment on one of the busiest streets in the city was beyond you. You peered at the ostentatious wallpaper juxtaposed with the exposed brick behind him. Paintings lent up against the walls on the ground, stacked against each other, even in the kitchen. Only one word came to mind: loud.

Your eyes eventually came back to him, and when they did, the pink hue returned except this time it was in the form of a blush. He had been eyeing you carefully, waiting to make eye contact with you. When you did, he shot you that lopsided smirk you knew so well before he returned to his canvas. It was his way of telling you to stop moving your head so much.

You leaned your head against the back of the couch again and didn’t move until he finally put his brush down. He stood and backed away from his painting to gain some perspective, deciding if he was truly finished or not.

You’d once heard that paintings are truly never finished, it was just a matter of when the artist was willing to stop. Since then, you’d always wondered when Taehyung would deem it acceptable to put the brush down, when he’d feel that he had done everything he could to capture your essence. You knew there had to be something to it, since every time you’d gaze at the finished product it’d take your breath away.

He was always able to capture your inner feelings with eerie accuracy, which was something that endlessly amazed you.

So many afternoons spent in his apartment, you venting about the latest thing that got your blood to boil while he focused on his artwork. And each time, as you’d emptied your brain of all its toxic contents, he’d make magic happen on the paper.

You watched Taehyung shake his head then return to his seat and pick up the brush again. Some days it was harder for him to decide when to stop.

As you laid naked on the upholstery basking in the afternoon sun that was now filtering in through the window, you began to reminisce about the first time you had posed for him. Your face had been the color of a tomato from complaining about a rude bus driver and your hair was a matted mess after waking up late for work that morning. You didn’t understand how you could possibly be anyone’s muse, especially that day.

You had been in no mood to sit around for hours in a strange apartment, but you had given Taehyung your word after he kindly texted you asking for you to be his model earlier that week. You both happened to take a recreational art class downtown together a year ago when he had tapped you on the shoulder two hours into the lesson and extended his phone to you for your number. You had tagged along with a friend that day to see what their art class was like, and you were glad you did when you saw how cute the shy guy across the room was up close. You were flattered, to say the least, especially when he had later texted asking you to be his personal model. After all, the class had been about learning to paint the human anatomy, so the proposition hadn’t come from left field.

But when the day finally came, you just weren’t in the mood. You showed up and took your clothes off in a huff, taking a seat in front of him and attempting the breathing exercises your anger management counselor had taught you.

As the hours went by, you realized you probably weren’t making such a good model, and your annoyance turned into shame as he moved away from his painting. When you were just about done getting redressed, he turned the easel towards you and took your breath away just like that.

He was an amazing artist, but more than that he was exceptionally observant. What you expected to be a painting of you being petulant and looking anywhere but at him, was instead of a girl that looked very unsure of herself. He’d even used a cool toned palette exclusively to convey those feelings perfectly. You could only look at him in awe, feeling more vulnerable than you had been with your clothes off a minute ago.

After that, he texted you to come over on a weekly basis, and each time you came and did much of the same. You’d take your clothes off and pose anywhere in front of where his easel stood ready and waiting. And each time, he’d reveal a part of you on the paper that you never cared to show anyone.

You were ashamed to admit that you were always angry stepping into his apartment, but each time he turned the easel towards you, a different girl stared back at you. Sometimes she was scared, sometimes she was hopeful.

A few sessions later, you felt as though you could trust Taehyung, partly because he seemed to be in tune with parts of you that you hadn’t even known existed deep under the many levels of anger and hatred that bubbled noisily at your surface. He made you want to express yourself, which was something that was tough for you to do, even with your therapist. But it wasn’t like there was anything else to fill the silence with during those quiet hours anyway. So every week you’d come over expose yourself to him in more ways than one.

You couldn’t exactly call it talking, though.

You’d tell him about what happened that day to make you mad, and sometimes what made you feel particularly murderous. Few times, you’d express something that made you happy, because those really came few and far between. And whenever you did, you felt oddly childlike, as if expressing happiness was somehow attributed to being young while expressing grievances was adult-like. Or maybe it was the way Taehyung’s eyes brightened whenever you talked about something positive. It made you want to look for more things to be happy about, and that in itself, was childlike, you supposed.

But it was all one sided. After a long time of posing for him, you began to wonder if that was the deal: you’d express yourself for him while he’d express himself on paper. You figured it wasn’t a terrible trade, but as time went by you found it increasingly frustrating not to have any reciprocation on the same level. His artwork was always a reflection of you, and it left a huge mystery about who Taehyung really was inside.

Of course, you were never one to accept things as they were if you weren’t content with them, so you slowly learned how to better communicate with someone who was mute.

At first it annoyed you that he’d never answer your questions, no matter how simple or complex they were. Occasionally, if you asked him something that warranted an obvious “yes”, he’d look up from the canvas and smile with his eyes before returning to the task at hand. Those small notions were enough to hold you over until the next question arose. And it wasn’t as if you weren’t being heard, or seen, for that matter. His paintings of you proved quite the opposite.

Your painting sessions became like therapy, in a way. You always felt alleviated after posing for him, and over time, you came to depend on them. What started off as you warily stepping into his place with your bag clutched around your shoulder checking for hidden cameras and other red flags turned into you bursting in with two coffees in your hand already starting a story about your bitch of a boss. Taehyung found your workplace gossip hilarious, though you’d never know why. And overtime, his chuckle was also something you felt was like a small yet precious gift to you, another facet of the elusive painter who was still inspired by your body countless artworks later.

Taehyung and his cluttered studio.

They started off as something you didn’t want but definitely needed. You found it quite a drag to commute to his side of town regularly especially when you were in a foul mood most days. You often kicked yourself for agreeing to go.

Yet these days, it was quite the opposite. You had managed to make some serious headway with your anger management over the past few months, partly thanks to Taehyung for giving you a space to safely and comfortably talk through your turbulent thoughts and emotions. But now, you looked forward to paying him visits, not because you needed to vent, but because you wanted to see him. You wanted to find more peculiar things in his apartment, to notice something else about his personality that you hadn’t before, to be in his calming presence. Because just as he had plenty of time to stare at every inch of your body’s anatomy, you did so too. And boy, did you take advantage.

You had already been compiling a mental list of things about Taehyung you had noticed over time, intimate details that somehow set the cosmic scoreboard even for how intimately he was getting to know your naked body.

For example, he had a crinkle between his eyebrows when he focused on painting a particular part of you that was giving him trouble to grasp. When he was really focused, he’d jut his tongue out a bit and swipe his bottom lip. He often liked to run his fingers through his hair when leaning away from his portrait to gain some perspective. He always pursed his lips before smiling, as if showing amusement was somehow forbidden. And when he gave way to a smirk, it almost always bloomed into the widest boxiest smile you’d ever seen. His hair had more highlights in it than you cared to count, and he had a weird aversion to coasters. Dried rings on countertops all over his apartment served as unquestionable proof of.

You felt like you were finally starting to grasp what kind of person he was, though it still felt as if you were outside looking in. You wanted to know him like he knew you, but you weren’t sure it was possible to be let into someone’s heart that you’d never had a proper conversation with. It proved to be a very difficult thing. But when your efforts came to fruition, the recompence you felt was beyond words.

It was during a particularly shitty day, not because anything made you mad, but because the weather was god awful. Nonstop rain mixed in with cold weather and persistent winds made for a troublesome commute. And because of it, it took way longer to get to Taehyung’s place than normal. When he opened the door for you an hour after your agreed meetup time, his eyebrows shot up in surprise but nonetheless let you in. His hair was damp and his TV was on, two things you’d never seen before.

You had dropped your bag, coat and wet shoes at the door, hugging yourself and rubbing your arms as you walked further in. His heater was on, so you immediately went to go sit by it. You hadn’t realized your teeth were chattering until he brought you a steaming cup of coffee with a sympathetic look to boot. You took it from his hands gratefully and fixed your trembling fingers over the smooth ceramic, blowing the steam away before taking a tentative sip. Mmm, dark roast.

Taehyung looked over at his art supplies, his fingers twitching when his eyes landed on his recently cleaned brush, poised and ready on the lip of the easel. But when he looked back at you, he decided it was probably best not to have you take your clothes off right away. So he brought a blanket over to you and draped it over your shoulders before returning to his seat on the couch. He was watching a horror movie, which made you all the more curious about this strange boy that never talks. What kind of person watches horror movies alone?

The coffee, blanket and heater warmed you up rather quickly, and soon you had removed your socks and your sweater before settling in to watch the climax of the spooky film. You wanted to wait for him to suggest he still wanted to paint you, feeling perfectly content to just hang out like this. For the next half hour, you both took turns glancing at each other but missing eye contact as if this was a game of tag. You started smiling to yourself, wondering why today felt so different when you had already been meeting for months now.

You bit the inside of your cheek in contemplation before decidedly moving to sit next to him on the couch. He moved over to give you plenty of room before returning your smile politely, though there was an amused glint in his eyes that you hadn’t missed before he turned to give the television his undivided attention. You wondered if this sudden electricity between you both was all in your head. It’s not like you could ask him directly, or if you wanted to for that matter. It’d be embarrassing if he hadn’t developed a crush on you over these past few months as you had with him.

Yet as you sat on the same couch you had lounged in for months, you couldn’t help but wonder what if?

You swallowed thickly and your pulse quickened as you realized how close his hand was to you. It laid in between you both, flat against the cushion. You never noticed how pretty his hands were before now, taking in the light vans that ran up his arms stemming from his slender fingers, Your own fingers twitched before you slowly inched your hand forward nand placed it over his. Your eyes flitted towards him, regarding him warily. He had been watching the movie with his head leaning on his palm, and when your skin made contact, his eyes moved sideways, first taking in the intimate gesture then looking at you briefly before turning back to the television in what looked to be a bored expression.

Your bravery crumbled and you began moving your hand away, but he caught it in his before you could get away and then laced your fingers together. Your eyebrows shot up and you tried to hold back the huge smile on your face as you finished watching the movie with your hands joined in between you both. Taehyung couldn’t help but look over at you a few more times and grinning at the blush on your face, finding it cute how shy you were when it came to making a move.

When the movie had ended, you both sat quietly, playing with each other’s fingers, you giggling girlishly and him enjoying the sight of you being so flustered. Eventually the flashing of his phone screen from across the room caught his attention and he dropped your hand, much to your disappointment. You figured that was as much as you were going to get out of him today, so you began stripping as he busied himself typing away. When he returned to you, he was surprised to see you naked and posed, ready to be his muse again. You furrowed your brow and gestured toward the easel to which he shook his head slowly. Ah, I guess he doesn’t want to paint any more today.

“Sorry, I figured we were still doing that. Should I just go and come back next week?” Taehyung thought for a moment then shook his head again, coming to sit by you once more. “Then… what? You want to sit here and hold hands all day?” Taehyung quirked his brow at you, his lips pursing as he held back a smile. “You’re so frustrating sometimes you know.” This time he smiled and scratched the top of his head while looking at the floor, not offering any semblance of what his plans were.

It’d been a while before something miniscule got you worked up and angry like it used to, so you were surprised when the way his eyes seemed to roll away from you caused a switch inside of you to click. You were growing angrier by the second and you couldn’t seem to stop it.

You huffed as you yanked your top from the floor and pulled it on over your head. You reached for your underwear and kicked your legs through the holes as Taehyung sat and watched you with patient eyes.

“I mean, you could text me or something and let me know not to come over next time. I don’t live close by you know.” You huffed as you stood up to get your sweater that still laid serenely by the radiator. You weren’t looking forward to braving the wet and cold just after you had dried and warmed up.

But before you could march over to it, Taehyung firmly took hold of your wrist, causing you to spin on your heel.

“I’m sorry, don’t go.”

You ogled at him, looking at his lips for a while to see if they’d move again. You couldn’t believe he just talked aloud. When they didn’t, you looked up at his eyes in confusion. His expression was urgent, his pupils deep pools of sincerity that you could swim in forever. He was genuinely apologizing, though you felt there was no need. You already knew you were throwing a fit needlessly.

“…I…”

Taehyung slowly smiled, realizing it was your turn to be speechless. He tugged at your wrist, guiding you to sit on his lap. Your heart raced at the newfound proximity. You were now close enough to smell his bodywash which was enough to make your head swim if it wasn’t for the fact that Taehyung just spoke in the most rich and velvety voice you’d ever heard.

“I thought…you were mute.”

“Selective.” Taehyung held your gaze for a minute as his fingers brushed against the soft skin under your wrist, feeling your pulse thump furiously. You looked into his eyes with uneven breath as the realization hit. He was finally letting you in.

Suddenly you were leaning in, craving to experience the full extent of his emotions. And so he met you halfway, molding his soft lips around yours in a deep kiss that made your heart stop altogether.

His large hands took hold of your sides and held you tightly against him as he leaned in to savor your taste. His tongue swiped curiously against your lip so you parted your mouth, allowing him full access to it. You leaned back the more he leaned in, and eventually you were both laying down on the couch with him positioned on top of you, making out intensely. When he broke away panting, his lips were swollen and his eyes full of lusty haze. You didn’t get a chance to take his demeanor in fully, because his lips were back on you again except kissing at the skin of your neck instead, leaving marks along their journey to your collar bone. Each bruise was a paragraph of text written on your paper skin, each lick a compliment he longed to give you since the first time you took your clothes off for him.

It seemed as though for all that he lacked verbally, he more than compensated with touch and emotion.

His hands sneaked underneath your shirt and pulled it off of you before he gazed at your chest. You blushed, because although he’d seen your breasts countless times before, he’d never looked at them the way he was now. You felt like a clay statue he was breathing life into as his lips latched onto your buds, causing your back to lift off of the cushions. He was as good with his mouth as he was with his brush strokes.

You made quick work of his shirt, feeling all too eager to feel his burning skin on yours. His touch was setting you ablaze, and you found the dull ache in between your legs increasingly harder to ignore. You carded your fingers through his hair as he took his pants off impatiently. You’d have taken the opportunity to take your own underwear off, but something told you you’d enjoy it a lot more if he did it for you.

Taehyung leaned back on his heels, his eyes shooting downwards as you opened your legs tentatively. He furrowed his brow in concentration as he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties and slowly peeled them off of you as if he was opening a present. He licked his lips as he spread your legs wide before him, taking in your glistening sex from his vantage point. Suddenly he bit his lip and stood up, disappearing behind the couch momentarily. He returned with a condom and tore into the packet as you both looked at each other eagerly.

Finally, he sat in between your legs again, brushing his thumb against your reddened clit as he licked his lips. You didn’t want to wait for him anymore, so you sat up and took hold of his lips with yours again, guiding him down onto you and wrapping your legs around his waist. When he plunged inside of you, your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He rocked his hips slowly at first and continued peppering your body with kisses and bites. Your nails dug into his back while he balanced himself on his elbows, his hands pushing away the hair from your face. When he kissed your lips again, your tongues swirled wildly, causing him to lose control and pick up the pace. You hissed and moaned, your hips coming up to meet him stroke for stroke.

And as his movements got increasingly rougher and more urgent, you lost yourself in them over and over again because now it was his turn to express himself.

Your sweaty bodies writhed against each other all afternoon, each moan of yours an appreciation of his affection towards you and each grown of his conveying a wordless confession.

Making love to Taehyung was like him having a conversation with your body. He knew all the right places to touch and when. He’d get so wrapped up and passionate during your afternoons spent together that he’d hardly seem like the same quiet man sitting across from you staring at a canvas for hours. He was rough yet gentle, persistent yet patient, truly in keeping with the enigma that he had always been to you.

And now, as you sat on the very same couch you both had made love on the first time and many times afterward, you found yourself eyeing him mischievously. It had been 20 minutes after he decided his painting wasn’t quite finished yet, and you were getting antsy.

He’d caught your look, and though a reaction didn’t register on his face, the growing bulge sitting pretty in between his legs was enough for you.

Your nipples were quickly hardening in the frigid air entering through the open window, though the reason for that wasn’t entirely attributed to the col temperature. Normally you were patient enough to wait until he was done, but today was stressful and you wanted so badly for him to help you relieve some of that stress.

So you didn’t bother holding back your joy when he finally stood up from his spot in the corner and sauntered over to you, giving you a disapproving look. You looked back at him apologetically, though you weren’t sure it translated well as you bit your lip lustfully at his approaching figure. He sighed, flicking one of your hardened nipples roughly. You let out a shaky breath to which he snickered as he pulled his shirt off over his head. This time it was his turn to bite his lips as you purposely spread your legs, giving him a full view of what he was capable of doing to you without so much as touching you.

He growled as he crawled onto the couch, groping your curves and dips as he contemplated how to punish you for being a fidgety model. You awaited eagerly with a shallow breath then squealed as he abruptly scooped you into his arms and off the couch. He brought you over to the windowsill and sat you down before kneeling in front of you and spreading your legs again. Your breath hitched in your throat at the first stroke of his tongue on your clit. Your hands gripped the edge of the windowsill as you scooted closer to the edge to give him better access to you. You made a mental note to interrupt his painting sessions more often.

“A-ah….Taehyung…” You moaned softly as he sucked lightly on your clit. His eyes watched you carefully as his tongue navigated your slick folds expertly. When you threw your head back as his tongue got closer to your entrance, he pushed the wet muscle inside and fucked you with his face, causing you to buck your hips onto him. Your head snapped back down, and your fingers latched onto his hair, guiding him in and out of you as you fucked his face. You were so close to cumming, but you needed a bit more. That’s when Taehyung replaced his tongue with two fingers, plunging them inside you and curling them upwards as he milked the orgasm from you. You hunched over, holding onto his head tightly as you came all over his mouth and fingers.

“Fuck…that was…” You panted and let go of him, allowing him to stand back up as he wiped the side of his mouth with his thumb. He smiled at you brightly, all semblance of disapproval gone from his angelic features. You brough him towards you and kissed him passionately, only then feeling the cold wind licking at your backside. You shivered, so he took your hand and led you off the windowsill.

He embraced you as you wrapped your arms around his midsection, holding you in silence for a few moments. Eventually, he tipped your chin up to stare into your eyes and gauge the rest of your sentence from what your eyes could give away. You looked back at him and smiled, feeling brave enough to ask him something that didn’t have a simple yes or no answer for once.

“What are you thinking?”

Taehyung looked down for a moment then took your hand in his. He brought you over to his easel and placed you in front of today’s painting, looking at your reaction carefully. You had expected to see yourself staring at the center of the page looking horny as ever.

But as you gazed at the painting, you saw a girl who was very much in love.

Your chest tightened and your eyes glistened. Turning towards Taehyung, you looked up at his wary eyes. He held his breath as his thumb stroked your knuckles, conveying more than you had ever expected him to be able to. And for once, you were glad there were no words.

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jadegrey711 · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas Baby

Henry Cavill x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hello everyone I know I’m totally late to the party but I really felt like writing this fluffy mess for our soft boi/daddy Henry Cavill. Plus this song from Chuck Berry gives me such vibes it’s honestly one of my favorite songs so I desperately needed the fluff. I hope you all enjoy it and I wish all of you a merry Christmas and a very happy new year! 😁😁

*NOT MY GIF Credit in the Tags*

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711)

Song Inspiration

Merry Christmas baby - Chuck Berry

The living room was still an absolute mess. It was absolutely covered in a whole multitude of different wrapping paper, clothing boxes still full of tissue paper and of course you and Henry’s presents. But you and Henry would clean all of that up later, because right now you both felt so content in each other’s arms, sprawled out on the couch, while the fire blazed and the tv played “Christmas Vacation” which was a personal favorite of yours. Kal was splayed out on top of all the wrapping like he was king of the Christmas mountains and surrounded by all of his new toys that both Henry and you had spoiled him with.

You looked up at Henry whose gaze was focused on the tv; a smile plastered on his face as he watched Clark Griswold trying to put up his Christmas lights. The pink paper crown on top of his curly locks from the Christmas crackers you both opened earlier was askew and as an added bonus he was wearing a Superman Christmas jumper; the whole image of him sitting there his warmth wrapped around you as you both came down from the Christmas high and just enjoyed the moment and each other made your heart melt. And you found yourself snuggling deeper into Henry’s warmth.

Henry turned his head back to where you were splayed out on his chest and smiled those beautiful laugh lines in his face adding to the sweeping feeling in your chest.

“Did you have a happy Christmas baby?” He purred, his large hand coming up to push your hair behind your ear, and pet the back of your head. Making you let out a purr of your own as you laid your head back down, your cheek pressing against his soft chest.

“Yeah I did.” You sighed. Before pushing back against his hand and looking back up at him and immediately feeling yourself smile just from looking at him. “Did you have a merry Christmas baby?” You repeated his earlier question.

“I had a very merry Christmas baby.” He smiled, and you returned his smile before crawling higher up his chest and giving him a sweet kiss.

“I’m glad to hear that honey.”

“Although from the looks of it I think Kal had an even better Christmas than we did.” He chuckled.

You both looked over to the snoring bear in the middle of the wrapping paper mess, who had a paw draped over a curious George stuffed animal.

“Oh my god. That’s the perfect Christmas card!” You laughed. “I’ve got to take a picture of it.” You said trying to push off of Henry but he grabbed your arms and pulled you back down to his chest with ease.

“He’s not going anywhere anytime soon baby. Take the picture after the movie, I’m too comfy with you right here in my arms.”

You let out a low hum and nestled back down on his chest. “Alright. After the movie.” You smiled, placing a kiss to his chest before turning back to the screen.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” He said softly placing a kiss to your head, before you both let out a loud cackle at the ice from Clark’s gutter shooting into the neighbor’s window.

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tripleaxeldiaz · 4 years ago

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all my stones become your pearls

for @madamewriterofwrongs <3

read on ao3

Buck looks up from his phone with a smile when he hears the truck pull into the driveway. Thank God, he thinks, joints popping as he stands and stretches, feeling slowly coming back into his legs after sitting cross-legged on the lawn for an hour. Eddie hops out of the truck, a smile on his face that makes Buck’s stomach go a little funny, and he can hear Christopher’s voice drifting out of the open door. He’s still talking as Eddie rounds the truck to the backseat and helps him out, grabbing his backpack and lunch box and handing Chris his crutches. The story wraps up just as they reach the front door, and Chris turns his attention towards their visitor.

“Buck!” he shouts, dropping his crutches in favor of wrapping himself around Buck’s legs. Buck scoops him up and spins him around, Chris’ giggles floating through the air. “I didn’t know you were coming over!”

“Yeah, we weren’t expecting to find a stray at our porch when we got home today,” Eddie says with a laugh.

Buck laughs too and shrugs. “Well I have the day off tomorrow, figured tonight would be a good night to eat our weight in takeout and watch superhero movies.” His eyes snap to Eddie’s, suddenly, inexplicably worried that maybe this was not the move. “I mean, if I’m not intruding.”

Eddie shakes his head, smile still warm. “You’re never intruding, Buck. We’re glad you’re here.” He unlocks the door and they pile inside, Chris describing everything he did at school for Buck as he gets his homework set up at the kitchen table.

They fall into a routine, one Buck hadn’t even realized they’d established. Eddie moves around the kitchen, putting away dishes, wiping down counters, getting Chris’ lunch together for tomorrow so he doesn’t have to worry about it later. Buck sits at the table next to Chris as he works, handing him notebooks and folders as he needs them. They both try and help where they can — Eddie with history, Buck with English, and a valiant tag team effort with math.

Later, when they’re piled on the couch, full of Chinese food and watching Thor and Hulk try to escape Sakaar, Buck’s overwhelmed (not for the first time) by how settled he feels at the Diaz house. He’d been drifting for years, from apartment to apartment as leases ran out and rent went up, trying to find some place that felt like a home he didn’t really remember having, not since Maddie left. He thought he found it with Abby, but that warmth quickly evaporated when she left him too, the emptiness filling back in the longer she was away. Even his apartment now, as nice as it is, feels too big and too quiet sometimes.

But here, with Eddie and Chris, he feels unbelievably content. There’s laughter and chatter and a liveliness he hasn’t had outside the firehouse, and it’s good. He feels good here, like he’s accepted, like he’s part of something, like he’s wanted.

There’s still that annoying doubt, though, creeping in the back of his mind, reminding him that none of this is actually his. He might love Eddie and Chris more than most people, but he’s still just a visitor, allowed in for brief moments before he’s sent back to his own house with his own thoughts and not much else.

Not that Eddie’s ever said that. He always insists that Buck is welcome and never intruding, even on days like today, when the quiet is so loud it physically drives him out in search of warmth and comfort and these two, prompting him to show up on the Diaz porch like a lost puppy and pray that they let him in.

They always let him in. They always will let him in. But still. Buck knows he has to leave eventually.

Chris is snoring by the time the credits role, sprawled across both of their laps in his sleep. Eddie carries him to his room as Buck cleans up their dinner, throwing out trash and stacking leftovers in the fridge. It’s about this time, when it’s dark and things are winding down, that Buck feels like he’s overstaying his welcome and taking advantage. There’s usually one more beer or one more non-kid movie, but Buck always feels like he needs to rush through it, get it done and leave so Eddie can have space in his own house, even though all he wants to do is stay and be in that space too.

He hears Eddie coming back down the hallways as he closes the fridge, moving slowly in a subconscious effort to stay a little bit longer. Eddie stops in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes darting around to anywhere but Buck. He’s fidgeting with something in his hand and breathing in an artificially even way that Buck knows means something is up.

Oh. He’s nervous. Eddie’s nervous. What the hell could he be nervous about?

When he finally catches Eddie’s eye, he can practically see the determination settle on his face. He walks into the kitchen, straight at Buck, stopping right in front of him. He takes a deep breath as he grabs Buck’s hand, opens it flat, and places—

“A key?”

Eddie nods. “So you’re not stuck waiting in the grass anymore.”

Buck closes his fingers around the cool, jagged metal, his mind going a mile a minute. It’s too much and exactly what he wants and not enough and what does it mean, does it mean something? Is it a declaration of something or just for convenience, did he force Eddie to do this since he never leaves? Is this good, is this bad, is this anything?

He knows he’s quiet for too long because Eddie starts fidgeting again. “You don’t have to use it,” he says quickly. “I mean, I just figured since you’re here all the time anyway and if you ever beat us home again and want to come in or something, you can. But you don’t have to, not if you don’t want to—”

“I always want to,” Buck says just as quickly, and they both stop and stare at each other for a beat. He’s not sure if that statement ends with be here or be with you or be a part of this or all three, but the small, pleased smile he gets from Eddie lets him know that he understands no matter what.

“Good,” Eddie says. “I— We, Chris and me, always want you to...too.”

Buck smiles and Eddie nods again and that’s that. There’s one more beer and one more movie and for once, Buck lets himself linger.

When he finally gets up to go, he reaches into his pocket for his phone and feels the key again. It sends another jolt of doubt through him, convincing him that as soon as he leaves with it, Eddie’s going to realize he made a mistake and ask for it back. He turns and stops on the front step before Eddie shuts the door.

“Seriously though,” he says as casually as he can. Eddie freezes, the porch light making him glow so beautifully Buck almost loses his words. “Let me know if I start overusing this thing. I don’t want to break any house guest etiquette rules.”

Eddie scrunches his eyebrows, utterly (adorably) confused. “You’re not a guest, Buck. You’re family. And you’re always welcome.” He says it so easily, like it’s a fundamental, unshakable truth, and that’s all it takes for the doubts to get shoved away again. It’s the simplicity that finally lets Buck believe that he’s found a place for himself.

So he uses the key, and he doesn’t feel like he’s overstepping.

He gets to the house before Eddie and Chris, and he doesn’t feel like he’s intruding.

He tells Maddie, “This is Eddie’s house, I’m not really a guest,” and he knows that it’s the truth.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #9-1-1 #9-1-1 fic #9-1-1 fox #just some casual buck feels don't mind me #this is cj's fault yell at her #ficcery

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irwinkitten · 4 years ago

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black cat magic | l.h

notes: look i am alive! things have been hellish but i got this out for the writers collab event that @maluminspace and @h0tsos created! since i had to bow out for the last one, i was determined to do this one and had an idea inspired by this comic strip. despite life being particularly shitty, i still enjoyed this idea. also not using my old tag list because effort to find it all and go through, so my apologies. warnings: none? just injured kitty who gets some love. word count: 2k prompt: Person A finds an injured black cat, and takes it home to take care of it, not knowing the cat is actually a shapeshifter

donate to my ko-fi?

There was a legend from days of old, when warlocks and witches ruled in tandem with the fae and shapeshifters. ‘Should you want to meet your match, then try to befriend, or trap, or catch, the black feline that lives where the grey door is told, to be a secret gateway for jewels and gold. But do not fool the cat with thieves or you shall pay with your misery.’ It was a legend that no one ever learned if it was true, but the house with the grey door was never sold, never had any kind of people live there in the years.

Many attempted to rob it and those who had tried suffered in life with struggles which left them with nothing but misery. Most ignored the black cat with startling blue eyes as it watched the world go by. But not you.

The first day you greeted it, you were slow, knowing better than to trust any kind of animal that could bite or claw you.

It purred once your fingers threaded through its fur, content to let you stay there and pet it.

“Aren’t you a handsome kitty?” You crooned, scratching under the cat’s chin. As it tilted it’s head up, you glanced underneath it to read the tag on it’s collar.

‘Luke’

“Luke, huh? Are your owners in or do you just roam freely?” Not expecting an answer from the cat, you chuckled when he meowed back at you before hopping off the wall and heading to the door.

“See you soon, I’ve got to get back to work.” You weren’t sure why you were reassuring the cat, but you headed back home, with your thoughts drifting to the black cat that had startling blue eyes.

On one of the sunnier days, you chose to bring one of your books with you and you’d found a small hill beside the house that had tall ivy plants hugging the walls. Atop of the hill was a tree that gave you good shade to hide from the heat of the day and as you sat down and studied, it wasn’t much longer until you had a visitor in the form of a black cat.

“Hi there Luke.” You greeted the cat as he came up for fuss. It made you chuckle how he settled himself in your lap, content to sleep whilst you read on, occasionally biting your hand gently when your eyes grew sore.

“You must have a sixth sense or something.” You murmured after tucking the book away, switching to one for pleasure instead.

This time, he maneuvered himself under your hand so that your fingers were running through his belly fur, purring non stop, making you chuckle.

“Maybe I should bring some toys with me for you to play with. You’re more likely to turn my hand into a scratching post should I pet your belly for too long.” You laughed at your own joke, but he simply meowed in return and stayed sprawled across your lap on his back.

Ignoring all instincts that told you to stop petting him, you carried on, surprised at the lack of teeth or claws, and when you next looked up from your book, you found him fast asleep under your ministrations.

“Weird cat.” Was the soft murmur from you as you carried on reading until it started getting dark and you had to make your way back home.

You found yourself returning until the day you found him on the side of the road, the pitiful whines breaking your heart as you realised he’d been run over.

“Oh my poor boy.” You whispered, carefully scooping him up. He seemed to know you were there to help him, claws digging into your shirt as you cradled him. “Let's get you to the vet and make sure that they can help you. If you’re still fighting to hold on, they’re not gonna give up on you.”

The journey to the vets was harsh with his painful meows ringing through your soul. But he behaved as the vet helped him, biting the technician only once when they caught him unawares.

You’d been right in your assumption, however. They weren’t willing to put him down because there was still the chance he would survive. So you made the decision to nurse him back to health.

The first few nights were tiring. They warned you it wasn’t going to be easy, but it was also the most rewarding watching as he snuggled down into the bedding on the first night.

It was weeks of falling in love with the cat, knowing that it wasn’t yours. Despite the owners not seemingly answering, there had been a letter in your post, with money to cover costs and a small thanks of taking care whilst the owner was currently away.

You had wondered how they’d found out, but in the small town, news travelled fast and more often than not, everyone knew everyone, so someone had to have informed the owner.

When he was allowed to walk again, you found yourself with a small black shadow, almost like he wasn’t willing to leave you alone. And this didn’t bother you, but it didn’t help with the heartbreak that you had, knowing you couldn’t keep the furball of joy that was changing your life.

After six months, he simply vanished one evening and you wondered if he’d made his way back home and part of you felt your chest ache, but you knew you couldn’t keep him. He wasn’t yours and you had to remind yourself that constantly as you carried on about your evening and settled into bed.

That was the first night you’d had a strange dream, a man with golden curls and bright blue eyes sat with you under a familiar tree as he talked about an old tale that you’d heard from your great grandparents when you were a small child.

“The lore is as old as the town itself. I wanted to find someone worthy to share everything with.” That pulled your attention, even in your dream state.

“You wanted to? Then wouldn’t that make you like, well over two centuries old?” He laughed and you wondered if it was real or not because it sounded beautiful.

“Three and a half actually. Time has no essence when you’re immortal though.” His lips were curved up into a smile as he shifted so that his head rested in his lap.

The dream felt familiar as you threaded your fingers through this stranger's golden locks.

“But you look so young...” You trailed off in confusion.

“Benefits. I could choose to grow old, but I want to be with someone who I love. Maybe then I’ll grow old. But I’ve waited for so long now, I shouldn’t be bothered waiting any longer.”

You hesitated.

“What’s your name?” This made him chuckle as he turned onto his back, his eyes holding yours as your fingers slowly stopped.

“Luke.” And then you noticed the familiarity of his bright blue eyes.

You woke up with a gasp, glancing at the clock as you did so. The numbers read three am, and without even thinking, you wrapped yourself in your jacket, barely remembering to collect your house keys before stumbling along the streets towards the old house that had sat there for centuries.

The lights were on when you reached the home and you felt uneasy for a second before pushing open the gate. Before you could knock on the door, you heard the meow.

“Luke.” Your voice was quiet as you turned, studying the cat who was sitting underneath a window. You watched as he stood on all fours, turning tail to head around the corner of the house, and in the dark, you could see his bright blue eyes shine against the lights of the house and without thinking, you took a step forward, only to be stopped by the door opening.

Your heart left your chest as the very same man from your dream opened the door, a kind smile on his lips as you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“A spot of tea, perhaps?” His voice was exactly as it had been in your dream, and it had jolted you back into reality as the wind picked up and you shivered. “And maybe an extra blanket?” He sounded amused as he stepped back to let you in, and you felt your skin tingle.

“So you were telling the truth in my dream?” He smiled.

“Lets get your coat off and get some tea for you, love.” You didn’t hesitate to follow, part of your mind concerned, but a larger portion thinking you’d follow him anywhere if he asked.

You both sat in silence whilst he was making the tea and you couldn’t help but stare at him. He was exactly the same in your dream. Part of you wondered if this was real.

“Are you really a cat?” Finally came the question as he set the tea in front of you and you looked away in embarrassment when he laughed.

“Not the first question I expected, but I expected it.” His answer was encouraging as you glanced at him and watched as his entire body began to shrink and then suddenly Luke, the very black cat that had slept in your bed, sat on the table in front of you.

He shifted back and you felt your body slump as your eyes rolled backwards and he lunged forwards to keep you upright.

When you next woke, the scenery was different. You were in a lounge of sorts, the still hot tea, resting on the coffee table.

“That was a lot of you to take at once, I’ll admit. Are you feeling better now?” Luke crouched in front of you and you didn’t stop yourself as you reached out, your fingers touching his face.

His skin felt real and you watched as his eyes fell shut at your touch, a noise of content escaping him.

“Holy shit this is actually happening.” You finally whispered and he smiled, letting your hand drop from his face.

That was when you noticed that you had a warm blanket thrown over you and the comfort that it offered was reminiscent of the nights that Luke the cat had spent curled up with you on the harder days.

“It’s a lot to take in, but I’ve got all the time in the world for you.” His smile was reassuring and you took in a deep breath.

“Reckon I can sleep with Luke the human?” You finally asked and he grinned.

“I think I can do that.”

You could feel the couch shift underneath you and you realised that the back was moving so that it lay flat. Glancing at Luke in surprise, he looked unconcerned as pillows zoomed down the stairs, followed by a heavier quilt and then the couch cushions seemed to meld together and turn soft.

“Magic. Right. I’ll probably have more questions in the morning, but I certainly need more sleep.” You muttered and Luke laughed as he climbed under the covers with you, his arms pulling you against him and suddenly everything felt better, for just a moment.

“Everything that is mine is yours should you so wish it. My things, my home, my heart.” He whispered as you cuddled closer and although it felt like a lot, you also knew in your heart that you weren’t going to let him go.

“I’m happy with just the last one. The rest are bonuses.” You sleepily murmured before succumbing to your dreams once more.

“And that’s why everything I have will be yours, love.” Luke whispered quietly before he too, followed off in the land of dreams.

When you woke the following morning, you knew in your heart that you weren’t to be parted from Luke. So when one day the house suddenly vanished from sight, those that grew up with the lore, silently toasted to the one who had won the sorcerers heart.

@sexgodashton, @loveroflrh, @maluminspace, @h0tsos, @cashtonsangel, @mermaidcashton, @malumsmermaid, @5-secondsofcolor, @devilatmydoor, @lashtonswildflower, @karajaynetoday, @calpops, @rosecolouredash, @goth5sos, @cakesunflower, @calmlftv, @spicycal, @talkfastromance4, @wildflowergrae, @wildmichaelflower, @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles, @superbloomirwin, @superbloomed-c, @ashtonlrwin, @colormekaykay, @thecurlsofgod, @treatallwithkindness, @kiwijulia

#halloween fic event #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings blurbs #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings fic #luke hemmings imagines #luke hemmings fics #5sos blurbs #5sos blurb #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5sos fic #5sos fics #halloween!sos #witch!luke #sorcerer!luke #shapeshifter!luke #new writing #my writing

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babyybitchhhwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Shikaku x Reader 18+

Title: Kiss it Better

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 3830

Warnings/tags: barebacking, begging, older man/younger woman

♥♥♥♥

Shikaku’s body was a menagerie of scars. Some so old that you could just barely make out the pale, jagged pink lines cutting across his skin. Others more recent and darker. They were a stark contrast against his warm complexion, drawing your gaze and making the others seem less noticeable by comparison. You were struck by the sheer number of them; how every inch of his body appeared to be marred with some physical reminder or another of hard won battles just as much as narrow escapes. There were almost too many to count. Surprisingly, though, they did not detract from his undeniable good looks. If anything, they only added to the pretty picture he painted sprawled out underneath you.

Reverentially, you traced the path of what looked to have been a particularly gruesome wound with your fingertip. It was probably a miracle he hadn’t been eviscerated. You wondered how he’d ever survived - not only this attack but all of them combined. Just how many battles had he fought and walked away from? You weren’t so sure you wanted to know the answer to that question.

It’s not as if you could have ever given voice to your curiosity anyway. It wasn’t your place to pry and he was already watching you with a steady interest that made you feel decidedly put on the spot. Like a stagelight had been trained on you and you alone; effectively highlighting your role as the instigator in all this.

He seemed perfectly at ease playing the observer, your audience of one. Content to let you peruse his body at your own leisure. Those sharp, pinpoint eyes that never seemed to miss even the smallest of details tracked the motion of your hand whenever you’d reach out to touch a new scar before flicking back up to your face again, silently gauging your reaction to each one. You weren’t sure what exactly your expression was conveying in that moment but Shikaku drank it all in with unwavering complacency. If he was offended by your keen scrutinization of his scars, he certainly didn’t show it.

Drawing your gaze lower, you followed the lean line of his stomach until he disappeared underneath you. The meat of your thighs seemed especially soft and pliable where they were bracketing his narrow hips, bulging around and molding to the firm shape of him. He was lithe and hard despite his age. Despite his role as Jounin commander which consisted almost entirely of desk work. He must have taken the time to keep up on his own training over the years and with some frequency, and it showed.

You couldn’t help noticing that there were signs of past altercations even this far down on his body, much too below the belt to have been anything but a cheap shot. Who was petty and malicious enough to hurt someone here? A tinge of ire sparked through you as the pad of your finger circled the pock mark blemish that was just shy of his hip bone. It must have hurt like hell getting injured so close to the groin.

Shikaku drew a quiet inhale then and your head came up. Worry that you’d overstepped some unspoken boundary or touched on a nerve that still ached even after the flesh had long since mended itself flooded your thoughts in a sudden rush. You started to issue a hasty apology but, to your surprise, he didn’t look in any way put out. If anything, the crooked smile playing at his mouth only seemed to suggest amusement and the words died in your throat when he brought his hand up to poke at the pale indentation too.

“Shuriken.” He said, finally breaking the silence. “Friendly fire.”

Your brows lifted. “Really?”

Nodding, Shikaku abandoned the pale scar tissue in favor of squeezing your thigh. His palm was rough with thick calluses - yet more proof of his consistent training efforts - and wide enough to give the impression that even the plumpest part of your leg was a mere handful for him. It made you feel small and delicate by way of contrast, like something fragile under his touch, and you shuddered on top of him.

Your reaction did not escape his notice, the curve of his mouth taking on a more sly, knowing edge as he turned his head against the pillow to look at you from a different angle and size you up. “Back when I was still in the academy.” He explained. “Gods, that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Just an accident during shuriken throwing practice though. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over.”

“I wasn’t worrying.” You insisted but you could tell he didn’t buy it. Huffing, you slouched forward and splayed your hands across his chest to cover the dense cluster of crisscrossed lines littering his sternum. “You just have so many ...”

“Do they make you uncomfortable?”

You thought about that for a moment. “No. They make me sad.”

Shikaku pinned you with a wry look of humor. “Whatever for? I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but I don’t like to think about you getting hurt.”

A warm, rumbling chuckle vibrated up through his chest to set your guts on fire, making your loins twist and curl in on themselves. You drew a steadying breath as your fingers flexed and the nails sunk into the smooth meat of his pecs. There was more give than you’d expected. It was the only indication you’d yet found that his hard earned muscle mass, as slight as it was, had begun to deteriorate with the passing of time. You wondered if anyone else had noticed yet. Then, in the same breath, you wondered why that knowledge excited you so much.

“Aren’t you sweet.” He murmured, distracting you from those thoughts when he palmed your rib cage between his hands. A gentle tug was all it took for him to drag you further up his body until you were perched on his stomach rather than his hips. The casual display of strength had your pussy fluttering in eager anticipation, clenching around little more than your own slick as Shikaku threaded his fingers through your hair and pulled you down into a kiss.

His lips were firm but soft against yours, molding to your mouth in a way that seemed to suggest you two had been made to perfectly fit one another. Leaning further into him, you sighed through your nose and kissed him back. You wanted to stay with Shikaku just like this forever. There wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be than tangled up in bed with him. But, as all things must eventually come to an end, that brief exchange ended long before you were ready for it to.

“When you make that face, I feel like I should apologize.” He said against your mouth.

“What face?” You whispered.

“The one you’re making right now.” Shikaku kissed you again; a slow, lingering peck that inspired a shudder down your spine. Eyes that were such a dark shade of brown they looked black - true black - gleamed playfully at you from just a scant few millimeters away while he studied your expression. Taking in your every shallow breath, every minute muscle twitch, and neatly filing it away for later. “I just can’t stand to see you looking so sad because of me. I don’t think ‘sorry’ would actually make you feel any better though.”

You gave your head a small shake, allowing him to cup your face in the cradle of his palms. He was so gentle with you. Tender despite the calluses digging abrasively into your skin. You hadn’t thought a man like Shikaku actually existed until you’d found yourself working under him and subsequently, perhaps even inevitably, writhing under him in blissful ecstasy only a few short months later. It was almost too good to be true. A dream you never wanted to wake from.

“I don’t want your apologies.” You told him quietly.

“What would you have of me then?”

That was a question you didn’t have to stop and think about.

“You. I only want you.”

Leaning up, you pecked at his mouth and then his chin. The coarse hair of his beard tickled slightly as you trailed butterfly kisses along the curve of his jaw and cheek until you could press your lips to the scar slashing across the side of his face. You lingered there for a moment. Feeling the heat of him seeping through his skin and into you before pulling back just enough to speak. “If I could, I would kiss away all your scars. You look very handsome with them. Distinguished. But I wish you’d never gotten hurt in the first place.”

Shikaku turned his head and nuzzled into your hair, making the tip of his nose brush the outer shell of your ear. “That’s what it means to be a shinobi. You get hurt and learn from your mistakes.”

“You’ve made this many?” You asked

“And then some.”

A faint, masculine grunt later, you abruptly found yourself flipped over onto your back. The sudden rush of movement happened too fast for you to comprehend what was happening until you hit the futon with a half stifled gasp. Your eyes widened up at Shikaku as he moved over top of you, sinewy muscles under his skin dancing in a delightful display of subdued strength. With one elbow braced against the mattress, he brought his other hand down to slip under your thigh, grabbing a tight fistfull of doughy soft flesh and hiking your leg up into the air. The faltering groan that tumbled off your tongue sounded needy even to your own ears and you grabbed onto his shoulders with fingers poised like talons.

Shikaku’s mouth curled into a mischievous little smirk, never missing a beat as he settled between your hips. His pelvis slotted to yours seamlessly, almost like you were two pieces of the same puzzle. The unmistakable nudge of his stiff cock at your pussy lips had you arching against him and trying to curl your captured leg around his ribs; writhing in anticipation as much as you were basking in the immovable force he presented above you.

He pressed himself flush to you then and your breasts squished against his chest. The sweat slick friction to your nipples sent livewire sparks shooting throughout your body, setting every nerve ending to vibrate. You drew a haggard breath, mewling softly when he bent your leg higher and hooked your ankle over his shoulder. Effectively locking you into place.

Helpless, all you could do was flex your toes while Shikaku took his time slowly angling his hips back and forth, teasing you with the hard weight between his legs. Gliding it along the puffy slit of your labia and coaxing yet more arousal out of your gushing cunt. Prodding your clit with the ridged glans on every smooth, drawn out stroke. It was maddening and wonderful at the same time. You could feel every bump and vein on the underside of his cock as it drug against you, feel it twitching with the need to sink balls deep into your body. Pulsing with red hot desire. It was enough to drive you wild and you whined softly in the back of your throat.

“Shikaku … please ...”

He groaned encouragingly in response. “Please, what? Use your words, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes against the deep rumble of his voice, so gentle and soft despite the gruff note in his inflection. That alone would have been enough to send you over the edge if you’d allowed it. You could’ve listened to Shikaku speak for hours on end. This wasn’t how you wanted to find your release though and you squirmed, lifting your other leg to throw it over the small of his back and draw him closer. Trying to make him slip inside you.

It was no good though. Shikaku was as stubborn as a mule when he put his mind to it and there likely wasn’t a person alive who could force him to do something he didn’t want. He merely issued another low, carnal chuckle that made your pussy flutter and spasm, grinding his cock against you with more concentrated thrusts. Slipping and sliding through your drenched folds as if he were well and truly fucking you now.

You were entirely at his mercy, so wet for him that it bordered on obscene, and you shook as you threw your head back against the pillows with a half choked sob. “Please! I want you to take me … I need it ...”

“Is that so?” Humming his approval, Shikaku dipped his face down and kissed the tender column of your throat. His beard scratched and tickled, leaving a burning trail in its wake as he worked his way over the line of your jaw and higher still until he could capture your lips again. This exchange was far more heated than the last, more demanding, and you keened into his mouth when the head of his cock bumped your clit with growing insistence.

Trembling, you tore your mouth from his and gasped. “Don’t make me cum like this! I want to feel you inside of me! Please, Shikaku! Please cum inside me!”

He groaned, tense and halting as a shudder rippled down his spine. You could feel every inch of him rolling with it, not unlike the motion of a cresting wave, and your breath hitched as he adjusted the position of your leg over his shoulder. Shikaku shimmied a little lower then and leaned into you with his weight. His cock found your entrance through muscle memory alone, or perhaps instinct, and you tried to arch against him, eager for the sear of penetration. He had you so thoroughly pinned that it was no use though. Your only available option was to cling to him all the more desperately while he impaled you straight down the middle one excruciating fraction at a time. Forcing you to comprehend each inch of him that entered you in daunting slow motion.

You seethed. He had you wound so tight that you weren’t sure how much more of this teasing you could stand. The ache inside you only seemed to double down and grow more intense the further he sunk into your contracting passage, stretching you wide around his girth. It felt good. So good it almost hurt and tears of pleasure welled up along your lash line, blurring your view of Shikaku’s marred face. You tried to blink them away to no avail. He made you feel whole and complete; filling you up and taking you just shy of the breaking point. Reaching deep inside and touching parts of you that no other man had ever even come close to brushing against. It was overwhelming in the best possible way and you sucked in a ragged breath as his hand came up to cradle the side of your face, shaking.

“There you go looking sad again.” He murmured, settling against you at long last with an accompanying grunt and a wet squelch.

“I - I’m not …”

“I know, baby. I know. Shh.” Leaning close, Shikaku kissed the corner of your trembling lips. Those dark, dark irises studied you up close - taking in the flutter of your lashes, the moisture wetting your eyes, the way your brows furrowed and jumped in wonderful agony. You were sure he could see all of you in that moment, right down to your very soul. “You’re still so sensitive even after all this time. What am I ever going to do with you? Hm?”

A hiccuping moan was your only forthcoming response. You couldn’t seem to get your mouth to cooperate but that didn’t appear to bother him and you were grateful for that.

Smiling faintly, Shikaku backed off just enough to push up onto his elbow. His body, beautiful in its imperfection, flexed and roiled above you. The weight of his cock gradually retreated until you were sure he’d slip right out of you before surging forward again on a single, powerful thrust. You jerked at the intense pleasure that spiderwebbed through you, gasping and groaning. Your pussy flexed, squeezing around him in gooey palpitations that made his breath come a little harder. A little faster.

His mouth fell open with a barely audible groan, his expression pinched while he watched your face twist up in ecstasy. It looked like he was holding himself back. There was a bead of sweat forming on his brow, right above the scar gouged into his temple and you lifted a trembling hand to wipe it away. Shikaku readily leaned into the warmth of your palm, his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment.

They opened again when he angled his hips back and locked onto yours as he drove into you on another powerful thrust. He didn’t pause to let you adjust this time; quickly taking on a steady rhythm of long strokes and sharp, pointed jabs that had you seeing stars. It felt like he was punching the air right out of your lungs and your breathless cries rapidly rose to join the deafening noise of skin clapping against skin. The humiliating schlucking sound of your cunt sucking him in deep on every downward lunge seemed loud between your bodies and only added to the lewd cacophony filling the space between you two. It echoed inside your head and seemed to heighten your arousal that much more, sending you barreling blindly towards the edge of oblivion. It was as if he intuitively knew how to hit that spot inside you at just the perfect angle and, as usual, you were powerless to stop it even if you’d wanted to.

“Shi - Shikaku!”

The breath puffing out of him grew more labored, straining against the exertion. “Go on, baby. Let it go. I’ve got you.”

You screwed your eyes shut and curled into him, holding on for dear life as the pressure in your loins rapidly mounted and threatened to suffocate you. Nails digging into long damaged flesh. The tension weighing heavy on all your muscles. Your leg quaking uncontrollably where it was stretched right to the edge of real discomfort over his shoulder. The delicious burn of his cock carving out a space within you one relentless thrust at a time. His sweat damp hips driving into the backs of your thighs with loud, wet smacks. The smell of him, intoxicating and woodsy. It was too much. You could feel the heat of your orgasm bubbling over, reaching critical mass, and your hands flew up to cover your face as you shrieked in delight.

“Let me see you, sweetheart.” Shikaku’s voice rumbled above you. “Don’t hide from me.”

His long fingers curled around your wrist in the next moment, gentle and coaxing. You let him tug that hand away from your flushed cheek, watching as if through a daze when he pressed your knuckles to his chest, but the other slipped back to tangle in your own hair. You could feel his heart pounding out an erratic rhythm against his ribs and he was looking at you like you were the only woman he’d ever known. Like you were the only one that mattered. Your stomach flipped over itself and, just like that, the coil snapped.

Arching so hard that you caught a sharp pop in your lower back, you threw your head against the pillows and wailed. The fingers in your hair clenched, desperate for something to hold onto while you shook with the force of your release. But the tug to your scalp only seemed to highlight the intense bursts of pleasure radiating from your cunt, making you cry out with more fervor.

As you shattered around him, Shikaku slowed to a standstill. Panting and tense with the effort of holding his own release at bay but content to let you ride out the waves of pleasure on his cock. He stayed lodged deep inside your pulpy cunt, just watching you writhe on him and shuddering each time your contracting walls spasmed and squeezed like a vice grip. All the while, you twisted and lurched, realizing in a far off, dreamy sort of way what he was doing but you were too far gone to care. It wasn’t nearly enough to dampen the sharp twangs of ecstasy cascading over your heaving body and you groaned dazedly when you started to come down from the high some moments later.

It took even longer to find your voice and when you finally tried to speak, your voice was thick with the lingering traces of your ograsm. “You never cum when I do …”

A short, breathless laugh rang out through the statically charged air. “I like to make sure you’re satisfied first, that’s all. Is that so wrong?”

You turned your head to regard the far wall, feigning a pout. “Am I one of them?”

“One of what?” He sounded mildly perplexed now and you couldn’t really blame him for not knowing what you were talking about. You felt silly even bringing it up again but you had to know. For your own peace of mind.

“One of your mistakes.”

Carefully taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Shikaku manually turned you back around to look at him. The fond look of exasperation you found peering down at you wasn’t what you’d been expecting - especially not when he was still flushed and sticky from having sex - but it made your heart skip a beat anyway. He was everything you could have ever hoped for and then some.

“You know you’re not. What a silly thing to say.” He muttered, craning his neck down to kiss you again in a lazy, lingering exchange that was as possessive as it was comforting. His lips curled against yours when you enthusiastically returned the gesture, leaning up to meet him, but he was quick to pull back and pin you with a knowing little smirk. “If you don’t think I’m paying you enough attention, all you had to do was say so. We can fix that right now.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You said, trying and failing to wipe the grin off your face.

“Even so,” His expression took on an almost boyish, mischievous edge as he grabbed onto your other ankle and hefted that one up over his shoulder too, effectively bending you in half like a pretzel. “How about we rectify it anyway?”

Your heart thumped wildly inside your chest when the change in position made him feel that much bigger inside you. The glans pressed tight into your spongy inner wall, sending fresh waves of exquisite pressure shooting throughout the sensitized nerves, and you groaned. This was certainly going to be another long, sleepless night and you couldn’t have been any happier about that prospect.

“Please, Shikaku. Please pay attention to me.” You gasped.

“As you wish, princess.”

♥♥♥♥

Link to fic on AO3: Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069682

#naruto #shikaku nara #shikaku x reader #self insert bullshit #my writing

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exosmutfactory · 4 years ago

Text

How I Look On You 004

Chun-hei is stuck between feeling too busy to commit and too young to settle down. And with her bustling book publisher business, bachelors and alike are all swarming around her for a chance at publicity. She’s doing a good job at keeping the men at bay—until Byun Baekhyun, that is. Doesn’t mean he’ll have it easy though.

Tagging: @baeklination coz I think she’d like to be in the know about this 👀 let me know if anyone else would like to be tagged for the last chapter! 💕

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

The Confusion

—

Why are you only good to me

When I'm bad to you?

Why are you only?

Loving you and hating you is in, depending on the day

Tell me why are you only good to me

When I'm bad to you?

—

Opening my eyes to a familiar yet unexpected bedroom is oddly comforting. Or maybe it is because of the smell of cinnamon and the woods after it rains that causes my shoulders to relax under the thick comforter. Until the daze of sleep leaves in wake of a horrendous headache.

I sit up way too soon for the pounding in my head; close to losing the contents of my stomach before squeezing my eyes shut. Even swallowing is hard. I’m never doing this shit again.

With a groan I gingerly reach for the glass of water sitting on top of the nightstand; glancing down at the two pain pills left there before deciding to take them as well. Leaning back against the headboard of the bed, I try to remember the previous night as my headache slowly ebbs away; letting my gaze drift over the room. My whole body stiffening in realization. I saw something I probably shouldn’t, and I... didn’t come here for sex...

No matter how much time goes by before I even get another glimpse of Seoyeon, I can still pin-point her striking colored hair and confident stance anywhere—unless there is a twin she hasn’t told any of us about. Honestly that could be a likely conclusion as well with how tight-lipped she is with “personal” things. Guess shoving her tongue down her bosses throat isn't considered a “personal thing.”

Flinching at the sudden buzz coming from under my back, I flip over the clean white pillow to find my phone. Jihun’s name flashing across the screen. Briefly glancing at the time of 9:30 am I tentatively swipe to accept the call.

“Chun-hei, sorry if I woke you up,” She begins through the speaker; sounding calmer than I expected, “I’m just calling to check in with you.”

I blink, brows furrowing, “It’s okay.”

“Good.” She sighs, making my brows furrow even more. “Um...why are you so accepting of me not showing up to work?”

“I called you last night, you don’t remember?”

Blinking again I check through my call log, finding her name next to the time of 2:30am. “No,” Trying to remember the time through my blurry visions of last night is proving to be difficult, I don’t even know what time I got here...

“Good.” She sighs almost in relief causing an eyebrow raise from me. “You sure are calm about this.”

“Barely,” She grits, frustration slipping through her voice, “I called you after dragging a deadweight Minji back to my apartment just to hear a certain ‘Byun Baekhyun’s’ voice over the line.”

Heat swiftly crawls up my neck to my cheeks, “I-I accidentally gave the cab his address.” I defend with a flaming face. It is way too early to be flustered like this.

“Good,” She replies, sounding satisfied, “You looked like you’d black out at any moment,” I kinda did—“and based off how worried he was, you did.”

“Oops?”

“Yeah, right.” I can hear the rolling of her eyes, “Got to go, the meeting with the board is in 5 minutes and I haven’t finished preparing myself to take on their judging evil ass eyes alone.”

“Ouch.” I wince, a clear image of similar scenarios running through my throbbing head. “Thank you, Jihun,” I utter sincerely, playfully adding, “You know I love you right?”

“Whatever. You better be glad I get paid for this,” She grumbles, but I know she’s smiling.

“You’re the best~” I sing, disconnecting the line. Laying back on the bed, I look up at the white ceiling, trying in vain to remember everything from last night.

“..he likes you..”

Dark brown eyes watching me from across the room.

“Seojun has been far up his own ass since day one..”

Peach colored hair.

“..can’t believe Seoyeon isn’t here.”

Minji is as pale as a ghost.

“—gets all stiff when you mention—”

Wait.

I sit up, eyes wide in realization, Minji. Throwing back the covers, I swing my legs out of bed. Taking a few steps towards the door before the chill of my body registers in my mind. I look down at the long white t-shirt and tight black athletic shorts on my form before carrying on out the room; carefully opening the door and peeking around the corner. The sight that greets me too cute to bear at 9 in the morning.

Baekhyun sprawled out on the couch with wild black hair and eyelashes caressing glowy cheeks. Soft puffs of air escaping his parted yet slightly pouty lips. He is the picture of adorable right now.

I smile to myself before tip-toeing over to the other side of the apartment; finding my dress from the night before freshly washed and ironed. Sat on top of the modest dining table. Gratitude swells in my chest as I slip out of the borrowed clothes; carefully setting the folded pile on the table when something clatters to the floor.

Shooting a wary look over at the still sleeping Baekhyun, I reach under the table for the object; a single bronze key clutched in my palm. My heart racing at the underlined intentions. Pulling on my heels before slipping out of the door, I take one last glance back at him; not even fighting my fond smile.

Sighing softly once the door is shut, I type in a familiar contact while making my way down the stairwell. The 4 flights will be good for my overworking brain; filled to the brim with thoughts of Baekhyun and the company as I bring my ringing phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Minji.” I utter, a little in awe at her sounding so clear this morning. “Are you working today?”

“Yeah,” She sounds less enthusiastic this time; a certain edge to her soft voice.

“Good, I’m just around the block.” I observe, checking the surroundings of Baek’s apartment building fully for once in the daylight. “I’m coming over.”

“I’ll get your usual.” She mumbles, swiftly ending the call.

Taking a deep breath, I tuck my phone back into my pocket, speed walking down the remotely clear pedestrian walkways until I see a familiar sky blue building up ahead. The smell of fresh bread and the soft twinkle of the doorbell overhead bringing fond memories; ones I fear may be a bit painful to reminisce after today.

Minji looks up from helping a lady at the counter, smiling politely at the praises of her hard work and wishing her a good day. We're the only ones left after she leaves; Minji continues to stand there, seemingly lost in thought.

"...Um hey?" I give her an odd look, slowly approaching the counter.

"H-Hi," She mumbles, quickly retreating to the kitchen, "Have a seat. I'll be right back!"

Looking after her warily, I sat down at a booth in the back of the room; lazily watching the people walking past the far window with my chin on my palm as the sounds of running water filled the quiet room.

“Sorry,” She flusters, quickly setting a steaming brown mug and a slice of apple pie on the table before sliding into the opposite seat.

“It’s fine,” I reassured her, patting her hand, trying to ease her nerves. Gingerly cupping the mug in my palms, I gently blow on the ginger lemon tea. “How’s the bakery?” I inquire, quirking a brow with a smile. “Seems to be a real hotspot these days.”

“Business as usual,” She mumbles, tugging at the sleeve of her purple cashmere sweater.

“Hey...” I set down the mug, trying to meet her eye, “You okay?”

She begins to nod, stopping short with a shaky sigh. “N-” She stops, lips trembling. Croaking as tears fill her eyes, “No.”

“Hey hey hey,” I look around, pulling out a packet of tissues and makeup wipes from my purse reserved for moments like these before holding them out to her. She blindly reaches for them, still not meeting my eyes. “Minji… What’s wrong?” I soothe. My unease is growing by the minute.

She mumbles something unidentifiable under her breath and I lean forward, eyeing her worriedly. “What?”

Her head snaps up. “I’m sorry!” She blurts, shiny eyes wide with fear.

“I—” I flinch back at her wail, watching her get progressively more distressed with furrowed brows. “Minji I’m a bit lost here. What are you sorry for?..”

The purple haired woman takes a couple moments to dab at the corner of her smudged eyeliner, sniffling quietly before uttering, “Seoyeon…” She pauses, meeting my eyes for the first time today, “Seoyeon and Seojun are fooling around.”

A moment passes, only the bustling life from beyond the windows filling the silence. “Okay,” I slowly nod, ignoring the itching suspicion beginning to form at the back of my mind. Disappointed but not surprised.

“No,” Minji sniffles, shaking her head. “You don’t understand..”

“It’s okay, Min,” I soothe, putting on a small smile. “Seojun is a part of my past now.” Shrugging nonchalantly, I lean back in my seat, cupping my warm mug in my palms. “What they do is really none of my—”

“—Seoyeon slept with him while you were together.” She drops the ball.

I choke a bit on my tea, setting down the glass harder than intended. “Wha-” I cough leaning forward, fist against my mouth, “What did you just say?”

Minji keeps her teary eyes on the tabletop. The temperature in the room seems to drop a whole 10 degrees as the realization sets in.

“No.” I shake my head, tears brimming my eyes. “No, she wouldn’t…”

“I can’t believe Seoyeon isn’t here.”

“—she gets all stiff when you mention men..”

“—Who? Who?” Seoyeon craned her neck around; trying to catch sight of the man.

“Yah!” Minji whisper shouts, lightly smacking the back of her head. “Leave her be, she needs this..”

No… No. We have been friends since high school, back when she could never find the right concealer for her skin tone and Kim Publishing was but a mere thought…

“You never know,” She replies tossing her freshly dyed red hair, “Maybe you’d learn something if you left your office for once.”

Someone blocks Seojun from view; a woman with peach-colored hair that causes a spark to light up in his dark brown eyes…

“It’s not like her to miss the opportunity.”

Dragging my eyes up from the mug clutched tight in my hands, I meet Minji’s gaze with blurred eyes. “You..” I inhale shakily, clenching my jaw. “You knew.”

Her doe eyes widen, “I—”

“You fucking knew and chose not to say anything!” I explode, not realizing I’ve stood up until I blink, seeing her curled up form cornered against the wall through my red vision. Salty tears steadily streaming down my cheeks. The knocked over coffee mug rolling around it’s spilled contents dripping from the tabletop barely stopping right before toppling over the edge.

“You covered for her.” I conclude in a softer voice, the clues of betrayal burning bright behind my retinas. “You knew this entire time. When were you going to tell me, Minji?” She doesn’t dare to lift her head, my questions firing one after the other. “Who else knows, hmm? Your mom? The media? Jihun?”

“N-No.” She quickly shakes her head as I take in her cowering form, helplessly folding in on herself. “Jihun has no idea.”

“Huh.” I smile, not a trace of humor in my tone. “That makes two of us.”

After another moment’s pause, I reach over to pluck a handful of napkins from the dispenser, dropping them carelessly to soak up the mess on the table. “Thank you for telling me, Minji-ssi.” Sparing her a quick glance, I shuffle through my purse for my wallet, taking a minute to remember the exact amount before slapping the money on her side of the table. “Hope you get all that you want out of life.”

“W-Wait.” I pay her quiet call no heed, already pushing my way out of the clear bakery doors; the crisp, early-winter air biting into the skin of my drying cheeks. Looking up at the light grey sky full of wispy clouds, I brush off my shoulders, making a left turn at the end of the street that leads to the heart of downtown. Because now…. Now.

I have bigger fish to fry.

➽➼►♦⇔♦➽➼►♦⇔♦➽➼►

“Chun-hei.” He grins, comfortably reclined in the leather seat.

I smile. “Good morning, Mr. Shue.”

His eyes light up in expectant glee as I take my seat across from him, smoothing out the pants of my black suit. “To what pleasure do I owe to be graced by your presence this fine morning?”

“Just a quick little check in.” Pulling a blue pen from behind my ear, I tuck away a stubborn lock of hair escaping with the motion. “I believe we had some things to discuss?” I arch a brow, polite smile still on while opening my vanilla folder.

“Oh?” His own smile turns into a greasy smirk; the promise of his victory dancing in his eyes. “Well then. Yes, we do. Have you decided yet?”

“Actually,” I drawl, dragging my eyes back to his, “I’d prefer it if you helped me make one.”

As if on cue, Jihun steps into the room with two interns, each one of them carrying stacks of paper while she holds a recorder in her hands. The single flick of her thumb brings a red dot onto the screen.

“You see, Mr. Shue.” Turning my eyes back to him, I take in the panicked look on his face. “A little birdy told me that you have been making deals with Park’s Publishing.” I emphasize, cointining in a way too chirpy tone, “Behind my back.”

He sits there, forehead breaking out in a cold sweat as I gesture for the interns to set the documents on the long wooden meeting table. Spreading them out on the surface. “Now, if I recall.” Plucking a particular stabled stack of papers out of the two piles, I hold it up for him to see, “Your contract states specifically that any such foul play would mean a lawsuit and an immediate termination of contract.” My tone lowers, looking him dead in the eye. “It’s typed in bold print at the top of the first page, Mr. Shue.”

“I-I-” He stammers, clambering out of his seat while pointing a grubby finger, “You have no proof of anything!”

Not phased by his loud display, I calmly hold my hand out to receive the tablet that a third subordinate brings in; a mere three taps revealing a video of the short, stocky man shaking hands with the Director of Park’s Publishing; the title of exchanged documents clear as day in the HD replay. The book we’ve been working on for over half a year to publish.

Letting the tablet go to sleep, I set my gaze on his shaking form once again. “You will be hearing from my lawyer, Mr. Shue.”

He makes his way around the table in a fit of rage, fingers outstretched just for security to enter the room, swiftly hauling him out by his arms. His face redder than I have ever seen as he shouts obscenities at the top of his lungs down the hallway.

I lean back in my seat with a deep sigh, rubbing my temple and closing my eyes.

“You okay?” Jihun’s voice rings, a hand placed on my shoulder. I make an effort to relax, nodding as my eyes open, “Yeah.” One look at her doubtful expression and I know she can see through me. “Can you...cancel the rest of my meetings for today?” Tentatively, I take a glance at the time on my Rolex before meeting her gaze again.

“I can manage,” She murmurs, giving a slow nod at the apprehensive look on my face. “Go. Before the lunch hour traffic hits.”

Sighing shakily, I push away from the table, brushing invisible dust off my clothes while nodding in acknowledgement to my subordinates; swiftly exiting the room. Rolling my stiff neck with a wince. If only that was the last hassle I have to deal with for the day.

The familiar sight of the tall building up ahead causes my heart to squeeze uncomfortably in my chest, but I continue onward; head held high with every click of my heels on the pavement.

“Ms. Kim,” The guard out front nods in acknowledgement, holding the door open for me as I pass by with a brief greeting; my focus drifting to a certain advertisement posted on the far wall of the apartment complex lobby. The model and the makeup artist. My lips curl up, a bitter smile hidden behind the closing doors of the elevator. What a great pair they make indeed.

Slipping into the apartment is simple enough with the spare key in my hand. The tell-tale signs of moans and squeaking bed frames do not phase me at all as I make my way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, throwing the door open with no remorse. Startling the pair tangled within the bedsheets.

“What the fuck-” Her high pitched complaint stops dead in it’s tracks, covers messily clutched to her chest and eyes widened in alarm in wake of my presence.

“Hi Seoyeon.” That polite smile has found its way back to my lips. The curses spewed from the scrambling brunet under her mere background noise. “Just stopping by to tell you I don’t need your key anymore.” I let it fall with a clatter from my hand onto the dresser stationed within arms reach of the door, stuffing it back into my suit pocket.

“C-Chun-hei...” Her tone of voice is pitiful while her face flushes bright red, disbelieving eyes and shaky pupils glistening in the dim light of the disorganized room.

I look down at her with blank eyes, swiftly spinning on my heel, only managing to take two steps towards the front door before faltering. “Oh!” Snapping my fingers, I face them again with a click of my tongue, smiling in mock relief. “Almost forgot. I left your shoes by the door. Can’t have you leaving a $500 worth pair of heels behind, hmm?”

The nonchalant expression on her features despite the mascara streaking down her cheeks is enough of a response. Directing my gaze to Seojun, I shoot him the same pacifying smile, leaving the place just as quietly as I came.

My gaze lowers to the ground while trudging through the deserted streets, hands shoved deep into my pockets in search of some warmth against the bitter cold air. Maybe I should have taken my car amidst gathering the last traces of Seojeon out of my home, but then again, she isn’t worth the gas money.

Wandering mindlessly brings me back to an all too familiar apartment building, the weight of the remaining key within my pocket seems to grow heavier. Urging me to step into the place I’ve walked by countlessly since this morning. Beckoning me back to the man waiting—is he waiting?

My eyes widen, pace quickening as I bypass the person seated at the front desk in favor of catching the elevator before the doors shut. The ride up to the designated floor full of fidgety hands and impatient foot taps. It feels like ten years have passed before I’m inserting the key into the lock, carefully opening the door with bated breath.

“Chunhei!” Baekhyun rushes over as I force myself to calmly slip out of my annoying heels; his brown eyes wide and hair still messy from sleep. “Are you okay? I woke up and you weren’t-”

Fuck it.

Cupping his cheeks, I smash my lips to his, “I’m okay.” I breathe, pulling up briefly for air. “I just…” Looking at his worried filled face makes me pause, heart racing at the raw emotions in his shining orbs. The longer I gaze into his wide brown eyes, the more the bad feelings of the day wash away, “I need you.”

Baekhyun gulps, holding my gaze as my hands slide down his chest. He catches my wrists before I can slip them under the waistband of his jeans, “Are you sure?”

Looking him over again, I nod, gasping when he roughly tugs me into his embrace. He kisses me as if his life depends on it, so many emotions pouring from his lips as I tangle my hand in his hair; swiftly wrapping my legs around his waist when his hands grab onto my ass. He walks us back to the bedroom, lips curling against my own smiling ones and eyes sparkling with promise.

Maybe.. I want more than the pleasure he gives after all.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

One chapter away from completing this story ooommmggg. Thank for reading, sorry for the long wait! I guess today is an angst filled one hehe♡ ♡ have a great weekend!

#baekhyun angst #baekhyun fluff #bbh-net #baekhyun romance

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merryfortune · 3 years ago

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champagne coloured

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #95 Champagne

Ship: Sully/Sumia

Fandom: Fire Emblem Awakening

Word Count: 1,476

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Proposals

Sumia squealed with laughter as Sully gave the reins a good stir. The horse they shared, a beautiful darling with a free spirit and a champagne coloured coat, gave a buck. Its excitement roused by how Sully commanded it, it huffed and snorted as it continued to race through the countryside.

Sumia’s arms tightened their embrace around Sully’s midsection. She was stocky and warm, it made Sumia smile as she buried her face against Sully’s back, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the ride. She felt the sun on her back and every rock to the horse’s gallop.

No matter the time of day or how frequently she rode, Sumia never got sick or bored of the sensation of riding a horse or pegasus. In tandem, sitting in the saddle behind Sully, she could never tire or grow dull of that. She adored spending time with her beloved, being whisked away over hills and moors that she would not typically explore by herself or with her own mount.

The picnic basket that Sumia had packed rattled and jangled against the saddle. Her stomach growled, too. It felt like they had only been out and adventuring the verdant countryside for a handful of minutes but maybe it had been a lot longer than Sumia had guessed. Enraptured by the fun and excitement truly made it last, Sumia felt. She tapped Sully’s shoulder and Sully turned her head slightly.

“Hankering for lunch, are ya?” sully asked, her voice razed by the wind that they were dashing through.

“I am a little peckish.” Sumia replied.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, there’s a lovely little gully nearby. We’ll set up camp there.” Sully assured her.

Sumia beamed, “I can’t wait to see it then.”

“Heck yeah,” Sully raucously replied, “c’mon boy, giddy up, we’re almost at our rest stop, bud.”

She gave the reins another jostle and then held them back tight to warn her horse not to over exert itself. Sumia felt the pace shift and took the time to lean out over the side of the horse. She watched as more of the landscape became known to her. Clean, trickling creeks and mossy trees on their banks choked and cluttered with all sorts of blooming wildflowers. All whilst under a demure and cloudy blue-grey sky.

Sully had the horse halt up ahead and dismounted with ease - and all without giving Sumia an accidental smack with her leg, too. She tied the reins to a branch and pet the nose of her companion mount, whispering to him that he get his rest whilst she and Sumia had their lunch.

Sumia dismounted next. Her foot tangled with one of the stirrups and so, her awkward dismount ended in a flop. Sully screeched and Sumia whined that she was fine, even though she had face-planted into the soft ground. At least it was soft.

“Are you okay?” Sully asked as she helped Sumia to her feet.

“Y-Yeah,” Sumia brokenly replied as she tried to wipe dirt off her face, “its very cushiony here.” She even bounced on her heel to emphasise.

“Yeah, unexpected benefit of all that good rain we’ve had recently, I s’pose.” Sully replied.

Under the discarded and swatted away muck, Sumia did look fine. No broken nose or anything, not even a busted lip or a little bit of blood. Sully sighed with relief but she decided to unhitch the picnic basket from the saddle instead of Sumia, lest she drop it, too, or worse. Sumia didn’t mind, she appreciated the courtesy and instead pulled the rolled up blanket free from where it had been fixed upon the saddle.

Sumia trotted around inquisitively as she looked for a good spot to unveil the blanket - it was thick and tartan, and was unlikely to get messy anywhere regardless of where it was placed - but she still wanted to choose the best spot. The best spot, she decided, was adjacent to the tree that Sully had affixed their horse to. She sprawled it out and as soon as the fabric settled on the ground, Sully plopped down the picnic basket, popping it open.

“Let’s dig in, eh?” Sully asked.

“Sounds good.” Sumia smiled.

She knelt down softly and perched herself upon the blanket. Sully’s hand fished through the contents of the picnic basket: Sumia had packed them both a verifiable feast. Sandwiches, pies, and fancy looking drinks, too. Sully could hardly choose where to start. However, given that Sumia had chosen a sandwich first, Sully thought to do the same thing.

Sully tucked into mashed egg sandwiches and cold meat sandwiches, too. At least three at a time and ate with much gusto. Sumia could hardly eat her own as she was so entranced by the enthusiasm that Sully had for the food that Sumia had made for them both. All her hard work was most certainly satisfied by watching Sully so eagerly eat. So, not wanting to be left behind in Sully’s crumbs before she charged onto the second course of the dessert pies that Sumia had made, Sumia made some effort to eat at least half as heartily as Sully.

Somewhere in between the sandwiches and pies, they also poured themselves some drinks that Sumia had brewed herself. Cold tea with sparkling water, flavoured with all her favourite berries and fruits. It was all so very delicious, bright and vivacious.

Sumia had done well to pack just enough food between them to leave them more than content. Sully laid down by the empty basket and bottles of drink, staring up at the sky. Though it was murky with clouds, there didn’t seem to be a hint of rain. It was just dim but cosy, only in the way big, thick clouds of white and grey could be. All because here and there, great shafting sunbeams peeked out from behind those blanketing clouds like glimpses of heaven.

Sumia laid down beside Sully as well. She stole a glance at Sully and slowly inched her hand closer to Sully’s. Their pinkie fingers entwined. Sully beamed whilst Sumia felt the pitter-patter of her heartbeat increase. Even Sully’s pinkie finger felt sturdy and tough, just like the rest of her, it was comforting.

“D’you think there’ll be a good harvest this spring?” Sully asked.

“I would hope so. We’ve had a good winter for it.” Sumia replied.

“Yeah, I think so, too.” Sumia agreed. “I reckon I’ll give a hand where needed. Its nice, this peacetime thing.”

“It really is.” Sumia murmured.

“Then, when everything’s done an’ dusted, we’ve put down all the shears and reaped all what we’ve sown, we’ll have more food than we’ll know what to do with, don’t ya think?” Sully asked but her question sounded rhetorical.

Sumia only hummed there, letting Sully continue to speak her stream of consciousness as she admired the sky.

“Since we’ll have so much food, and everyone’ll be so tired, I think having a huge shindig with all the Shepherds would go down a treat.” Sully said.

Sumia shifted her head slightly, her eyes were sparkling, “Just for the occasion of a good harvest?”

“Nah.” Sully replied and she turned her head too, her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “The occasion will be a wedding. Ours. Whaddya think? Sumia, will you do me the absolute honour of being my wife?”

Sumia felt every nerve in her body alight. She propped herself up, reefing her hand from Sully but Sully got up as well. She smiled a cheeky smile whilst her other hand rummaged through a pack at her rear, attached to her belt. She pulled out a little black-purple pouch of velvet and there was only one thing inside of it.

Sully offered the ring to Sumia, “Well?” she prompted her.

“Well, what? Of course, I’m going to say yes, dummy.” Sumia replied, tears of joy already spilling out the side of her eyes as she embraced Sully into the biggest embrace of either of their lives - and hard enough to crack Sully’s spine by the feel of it.

Sully laughed from the bottom of her belly and she hugged Sumia back, keeping a careful hold on the ring. It was just a plain little band of champagne coloured gold. It didn’t have a gem atop it nor did it have any inscriptions. It didn’t need anything like that and neither did Sumia or Sully. The way Sully saw it, it was going to get beaten and scuffed by everything Sumia did with her hands, thereby imbuing it with a lifetime of love better than any jewel could ever signify.

Slowly, Sumia let go and she gave her hand to Sully. Her eyes were soft but determined as she slipped the ring onto Sumia’s finger. It was a perfect fit and Sumia’s thrilled expression was one that Sully would sooner die than forget.

#100ships challenge #femslash #fire emblem awakening #fea #fire emblem #sumia fire emblem #sully fire emblem #sulmia #sully x sumia #sumia x sully

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cinebration · 5 years ago

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Just Like Old Times (Victor Zsasz x Reader) [One-shot]

To celebrate reaching 100+ followers, enjoy this Victor Zsasz content!

Premise: You once worked alongside Victor Zsasz for a mob boss. When he left for Roman Sionis, you stayed behind, loyalty to your mob boss winning out. Until he betrays that loyalty, forcing you to call on an old friend.

Tagged: @strangeaddiction1306 (who gave me the idea!)

You and Victor Zsasz shared an affinity for knives. Well, that’s what he called those little things he used. You, however, had taken the ideology “Walk soft, but carry a big stick” to heart. Instead of little switchblades, you carried a machete.

Your signature style included a knee-length trench coat to hide the machete strapped to your thigh. There was a hole in the right pocket so you could yank it out quickly if need be, but like an old gunslinger, you preferred to swish aside the coat and unsheath the blade with a flourish.

Leonardo Acciai had only employed you as a favor to your mother. Unable to curb your violent tendencies, she had sent you to Leo, believing that if your violence couldn’t be exorcised, it could at least be put to use.

That’s how you became Leo’s butcher at sixteen.

Leo liked to take hands. Cross him, deny him—any poor sucker who got on Leo’s bad side lost a hand at the wrist underneath your machete.

You met Zsasz a few years later when he signed on as extra muscle. His self-cutting ritual of marking kills preceded him and fascinated you. He couldn’t help but like a person who carried steel as long as his forearm.

The two of you were formidable.

When Zsasz left for Roman Sionis, he asked you to join him. You said no. Leo had given you your break. You owed him loyalty.

Until you didn’t.

Leo called you into the warehouse in which he ordered the butchering. Despite the sweltering heat, you still sported your trench coat. The machete felt comfortable on your thigh, reassuring you even as you slowly compartmentalized your emotions. You were a professional. You had to inure yourself to others’ pain.

A young man, head hooded, knelt on his knees before the chopping block.

“You’re late,” Leo groused. In his fifties, his old-man irritation had set in early.

You didn’t bother explaining why. Even if he cared to listen, you preferred to keep quiet. You knew that a quiet woman was reassuring.

But a quiet woman with a machete and dead stare was terrifying.

“Let’s get this over with.” Leo waved a hand at Roberto, one of the two other men in the room.

The hood came off your victim.

Shock stabbed through your stomach.

Your brother stared up at you in terror, eyes wide, broken lip bleeding. “I didn’t do it,” he cried.

Roberto backhanded him. The slap echoed around the space. Leo liked the warehouse not just for its easy-to-hose floors; he loved the acoustics.

“I’ve known you since you were shitting in diapers, Tommy,” Leo said, craggy face creased with disappointment. “Stealing from me is like stealing from family.”

Thomas’s panicked eyes sought yours, pleading. Struggling to keep your emotions in check, you raced through your options.

Leo snapped his fingers. Dragging your feet, you approached, pulling the machete out from its sheath.

Thomas blubbered your name, thrashing against Roberto’s iron grip on his neck. With a snarl, Roberto kneed him in the kidney. You flinched as your brother gasped, wheezing. Roberto seized his arm and forced it onto the block.

“Because you stole from me and disrespected not only me but your family,” Leo declared, “you lose both hands.”

Sobbing, Thomas flailed uselessly against Roberto.

Leo snapped his fingers.

Stepping forward, you stared down at your brother. He was barely nineteen, enrolled in college to get a better, less bloody education than you did. He should never have been anywhere near Leo.

Your jaw clenched.

“Something wrong?”

You glanced aside at Leo, just out of reach. He looked at you patronizingly. There was a reason he had earned a reputation as merciless.

Like granite, your tongue moved. “He’s moving too much. I need Ed to hold his other arm.”

Roberto whistled. “I thought I was fucking cold,” he muttered.

Leo waved a hand at Ed, the other man in the room. Ed seized your brother’s free arm and forced it down onto the block.

Thomas’s sobs assaulted your ears. Your hand tightened on the machete.

Stepping up to the block, you gripped the machete with both hands. Thomas screamed your name.

You swung.

Blood spurted from Roberto and Ed’s exposed throats. Surprised, they let go of Thomas, their hands flying to their necks.

Leo leapt from his chair, hand reaching into his jacket.

Seizing Thomas by the collar, you dragged him to his feet, throwing him behind barrels clustered around a pillar supporting the warehouse roof. Thomas shrieked as you landed beside him.

Bullets pinged off the barrels, concrete raining down onto your heads as they ricocheted off the pillar.

“When I say go, run,” you hissed, pointing to the door through which you had entered earlier.

“I should’ve known,” Leo snarled behind you. “Sooner or later, you were going to bitch up and let your emotions get in the way.”

“Now,” you told Thomas.

Rolling to your left, you heard a bullet whiz over your head. Thomas scrambled in the opposite direction, heading for the door.

Leo spun to shoot him.

You threw the machete with a grunt.

The blade clipped Leo’s shoulder. With a roar, he squeezed off shots wildly. Roberto, bleeding out, weakly lifted up his own gun and fired in your direction.

Using everything as cover, you sprinted to the door, Leo screaming after you. “I’m going to fucking butcher you and your whole fucking family!”

Thomas’s fear crippled him as he ran. You caught up easily, seizing him by the arm and dragging him behind you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cried, gasping.

“Later,” you said. “We have to get Mom.”

It had been a decade since you had felt this afraid, everything out of control.

You did the one thing you could think of.

Parked outside of the Black Mask Club, you hunkered down in your seat, watching the front door and the alley. You waited nearly four hours before the sunlight struck the bleached-silver hair you were looking for.

Slipping out of the car, you crept up behind Zsasz’s as he climbed into the driver’s seat. You opened the passenger door and sat inside.

Zsasz lashed out in reflex, nearly hitting your face. “Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, gaping at you.

“Long time no see.”

“No shit. What the fuck have you been doing?”

“Getting into trouble.”

He grinned. “I like trouble.”

“That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

Gold teeth flashing in the light, he said, “My help?”

“Leo wanted me to take my brother’s hands.”

The glee in his face slipped. “No.”

“I killed Roberto and Ed.”

“But not Leo.”

“He pulled a gun. Couldn’t get to him.” You swallowed thickly. “Can your boss spare you?”

Zsasz hesitated. You leaned back, smothering your hurt. You had been friends, but only because of work. Of course he wouldn’t risk it.

“Nevermind,” you muttered. “I’ll figure something else out. It was good to see you.”

His hand clamped down on your wrist, preventing you from leaving. “What did you have in mind?”

“Leo and Don,” you answered. Don was Leo’s right-hand man, the only person who could take over and pose a threat if Leo died.

Zsasz’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “I fucking hate Don.”

The plan was simple.

Its execution would not be.

This didn’t bother Zsasz in the least, which was part of the reason you recruited him. The other reason was because he was psychotic and trigger happy and ruthless.

“Roman wants this fucker dead anyway,” he said as you both waited for night to fall. “I can ask him for help—”

“No. This has to be dealt with internally.” You glanced out the window of the car. Your jaw ached from grinding your teeth together. “It’s personal.”

“Is Thomas alright?”

You arched an eyebrow. “You remember his name?”

Zsasz nodded, looking anywhere but your face. “Is he safe?”

“Yes. I hid him and my mom.”

“That’s good.”

Sunset painted the sky in gorgeous reds and oranges that you would have barely seen through the Gotham skyline if you had been in the city.

You cleared your throat. “How is it working for Roman Sionis?”

“Amazing,” Zsasz answered immediately. “Look.”

Unbuttoning his shirt, he bared his scarred chest to you. Fingers dancing across his flesh, he pointed out a handful of scars you had never seen before.

“You’ve been busy,” you noted wryly.

“Roman likes to cut off faces.”

“So I’ve heard.” You hadn’t seen Zsasz so ecstatic since the two of you had cleared an entire safe house of men with nothing but knives.

“He gives me a lot of work,” Zsasz continued. “You’d like it.”

You disagreed, but before you could voice it, a car pulled up to the gate of Leo’s sprawling estate. The driver rolled down the window, flashing his ugly mug at the guard. You recognized the profile and balding pate immediately.

“Don,” you muttered.

As much as you compartmentalized your emotions, Zsasz’s excitement was and had always been infectious. It thrummed through you, stoking fires you had forgotten existed during his absence. Zsasz knew how to have fun.

Reaching over your shoulder, he withdrew a submachine gun from the duffel on the backseat. Racking the slide, he peered down the iron sights, gold teeth flashing in the waning light.

“Last resort only,” you reminded him.

His smile widened. “Just like old times.” Cackling, he climbed out of the car.

The problem with paranoid men is that it’s easy to surprise the men they hired, but not the paranoiacs themselves.

With ease, you and Zsasz chopped through Leo’s security, severing carotids and slipping blades between ribs. Your machete bit into throats, running with blood down to your hands, bodies trailing in your wake.

As you converged on Leo’s office, you sheathed the machete and drew the pistol tucked under your arm. Following your cue, Zsasz swung the submachine into his hands.

Down the hallway from the double doors, you gestured to Zsasz. “Spray and pray.”

Gold teeth flashing, Zsasz stepped forward.

The bullets tore through the doors, wood chips flying.

Screams and the thud of heavy bodies filtered over the buzz of the submachine gun.

Sidling up beside the doors, you sliced your hand across your neck. Zsasz released he trigger.

Kicking the mutilated doors open, you sped to the right, Zsasz cutting behind you to the left.

Double-taps to the chests of men still alive.

You swept the room.

No Leo.

An icy chill snaked down your spine.

Pain exploded through your shoulder from behind, slamming you forward. Zsasz spun in your peripherals, shock on his face. You threw yourself behind Leo’s heavy oak desk. Head low, you checked your shoulder. No blood.

Thank God for Kevlar.

Zsasz threw himself beside you, back smacking against the desk drawers. “Are you okay?”

Gritting your teeth, you nodded. Numbness crept down your arm, reaching your trigger finger.

Zsasz withdrew a knife from his boot, made eye contact with you. You nodded.

“You fucking bitch,” Leo shouted. “You really fucking thought—”

Zsasz popped up from behind the desk. The knife flew from his hand.

It buried into Leo’s shoulder.

Leo snarled.

Rising, you squeezed the trigger.

Blood sprayed the opposite wall. Leo went slack, gasping. He looked down at the sucking hole in his chest, staggered.

Shaking, you holstered the pistol and slowly approached his supine form. Leo’s hand limply searched for his gun, panicked eyes watching you.

The machete slid free from its sheath.

Staring down into his face, you hissed, “I wanted you alive for this.”

You brought the machete down onto his neck.

It took several chops for you to hack his head from his neck. Roaring filled your ears. It wasn’t until you staggered back from the decapitated corpse that you realized the roar was your own voice.

Zsasz stared at you, awe on his face. “I like you better like this.”

Without control, you mean, you thought. Struggling to compose yourself, you surveyed the bodies on the floor, searching their faces. You frowned.

“Where’s—”

You pitched forward onto your hands and knees, white-hot pain sucking your breath away in your back. Zsasz slid forward, hand reaching under your arm. Yanking the pistol free, he fired.

Thump.

“Fucking Don,” he snarled.

You coughed. Blood flecked the floor in front of you.

“Shit,” you hissed.

“Fuck.” Zsasz hauled you to your feet, pulling on your shirt to check the vest. “It almost went through.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Zsasz forced you to stare into his dark eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”

“It’s not the worst I’ve suffered.”

He refused to let you go. Giving in, you leaned on him, shuffling forward to Leo’s head. You stared down at the grotesque rictus twisting the man’s features.

“Does your boss like gifts?” you asked.

Zsasz’s teeth gleamed.

Despite his need for cleanliness, Roman was just as excited by the sight of you blood coating you as Zsasz was. Ordering Leo’s head to be placed on a spike, Roman all but kissed you on the mouth.

“You should have brought her to me sooner,” he admonished Zsasz.

Zsasz grinned in response.

“My own lethal eagle.” Roman laughed with excitement.

In the bathroom, you washed the blood from your hands, the water running pink. Zsasz entered the room, the grin still on his face. Helping you out of his shirt, he slid the Kevlar off your torso. Dark bruises were already forming on your back. You would need to wrap your ribs.

“Just like old times,” he said, his hands running over the marks.

“Sionis isn’t Leo,” you muttered, wiggling back into your shirt.

His silence drew your attention. Leaning against the sink, but still in your personal space, Zsasz let the smile slip.

You frowned. “What?”

“I thought about killing Leo before I left,” he confessed. “So you had no reason to stay.”

You didn’t know how to answer. Instead, you said, “You have some new scars to make.”

Zsasz’s voice rumbled low in your ear. “Want to help me make them?”

A smile twitched at the corner of your lips.

Just like old times.

#Victor Zsasz x Reader #Victor Zsasz #bop Zsasz #Victor Zsasz imagine #Zsasz #Zsasz imagine #Chris Messina #Chris Messina imagine #Roman Sionis #Ewan McGregor #birds of prey #bop #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #request

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candied-peach · 5 years ago

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ao3: “since you’ve been gone” rating: T warnings: self harm, suicidal thoughts, intrusive thoughts, sympathetic remus, sympathetic deceit, intrulogical genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending description: Remus isn’t doing so well. (prompt from @ancient-fruity: "I'm feeling angsty Deceit is accepted by the core and he moves to finally have Virgil back. Remus is finally all alone. Someone finds Remus sleeping behind the couch on the core sides living room, hugging a pillow as hard as he can as if it was run away from him. He doesn't want to be alone. He lost his brother, and his two only friends. He's just so lonely.")

My mother, she told me "Don't get in trouble" My father, he told me He knew I would

My brothers, they told me "Don't give a damn" My sister, she told me To do something good

He's alone.

Remus bites his lip hard- harder- not stopping until he feels the skin of his bottom lip split open and spill blood down his chin. It hurts, but he relishes the hurt, rocking back and forth, his arms wrapped around his knees.

He knows Deceit doesn't mean to leave him behind. He would do the same if he could. To be accepted by the others- accepted by Thomas- accepted by Virgil-

It means a lot. And it's important that Deceit be accepted. Thomas needs him.

But he doesn't need Remus.

No matter what Remus said in his song, no matter what Logan spilled about his role, he knows the others don't see him as important or necessary. He's just the gross, unwanted bits of Creativity. The Creativity nobody needs. They need Roman. Thomas needs his brother.

But him? They'd be better off without him at all.

If Deceit was here, he'd stop him. If Deceit was here, Remus wouldn't be sitting in his room in the dark, bumping the back of his head on the wall the harder he rocks, blood running down his chin from his bitten lip. Pain sizzles from his lip, but he ignores it.

He's so lonely. He's so alone. He doesn't like to be alone. It's dark down here, and normally he likes the dark, but this darkness has too much weight to it, too much of something indefinable struggling to writhe in the shadows.

Remus runs a hand through his hair, rumpling the grey-streaked strands. He doesn't think he's washed his hair in days. He can't bring himself to care. If Deceit were here, he would probably make a face and coax Remus to stand up, cajole him into the bathroom with honeyed promises of kraken fights and new cologne drinks.

But Deceit's not here.

He forces himself to his feet anyway, scrubbing off some of the blood with the back of his hand. It gleams dark red on his skin and after a few seconds of resisting the urge, he leans down and licks it. Metal bursts across his tongue and he makes a face.

It's night time. Everyone will be asleep. Perhaps that's what drives him up the rickety staircase, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He ignores everything but that, ignores the tacky feel of the blood drying on his chin and the ache of the bruises pounded into his ribs this morning when he realized he was all alone, ignores how much his knees ache and the gummy feel of his eyelids.

The door at the top is unlocked. Remus regards it with dozy surprise. He thought they would have locked it by now, to keep him out. That's what they want, isn't it? They want him out. They want him alone.

He turns the knob slowly, more than half expecting Morality or Logic to be on the other side, ready to shove him down the stairs. He wonders if he'll fly down them or hit every one on the way down, listening to his bones snap and crunch on every half-rotted step.

Nothing. The living room is empty, only a faint night light glowing by the kitchen. He can't hear anything. The others must all be in their rooms. Must all be sleeping. Remus chews on his bottom lip before the white hot slash of pain reminds him why that's a terrible idea.

Without even realizing he's doing it, he's eased the door shut behind him. His heart pounds in his chest, so hard he almost expects to look down and see his shirt move. He tiptoes behind the sofa, conjuring up a body pillow and curling up on the floor.

Just a few minutes, he promises himself, soaking in the long-held promise of warmth and the residue of friendship that permeates the room. When he closes his eyes extra tight, he can almost see them all sprawled on and around the couch, blankets askew and popcorn tipped over, gesticulating at the TV screen and laughing at the cheesy bits.

Without meaning to, Remus falls fast asleep, holding onto his pillow like it can replace everyone he's ever cared about.

Oh I was hit as a kid I was good but then I quit Everyone that tried to fix me Knows that I can't change a bit I've got no shame, got no pride Only skeletons to hide

"Remus?"

A surprised, familiar voice invades his dreams, making Remus whine low in his throat and curl up tighter around his pillow. That voice shouldn't be anywhere near him anyway. Logic would never come down to the-

"Remus?" Logan repeats. "Why are you on the floor?"

And with a sudden, unpleasant jolt, Remus wakes up and realizes that instead of falling asleep in the musty detritus of his bedroom (he hasn't been motivated to clean since Deceit left), he's sprawled out on the floor in the light sides living room, curled up behind the couch like a pathetic scrap of trash.

"Remus?" Logan says once more, as Remus blinks, getting his bearings. "Are you all right?"

Remus opens his mouth to reply, remembers the tenderness in his bottom lip, and promptly bursts into tears. Alarmed, Logan kneels beside him, one hand hovering over his shoulder like he wants to pat it in comfort, but has no idea what to do.

"What's wrong?" Logan asks. He looks distressed, but not as much as Remus feels. Nothing could equal the tidal wave of Remus's turbulent emotions, crashing over him time and time again.

"I'm sorry," he hiccups. "I just- I didn't mean to fall asleep, I'll go-" He shifts in preparation to stand and now Logan does let his hand land on Remus's shoulder, anchoring him in place.

"You don't have to go," Logan says, serious eyes studying him behind his glasses. "Why were you asleep behind the couch, Remus? You are allowed on the furniture, as far as I am aware." Remus looks down, hugging his pillow tighter to his chest.

"I just- I didn't want to be alone anymore," he confesses, his voice tear-choked. "But- but I am anyway, I've lost my br- well, anyway, I lost Virgil and I lost Deceit and it's just me and there's- there's no one to show my creations anymore or- or hear what it would sound like to fall off a cliff and there's no one to laugh with or hug- not that I need hugs, I don't-" he hastens to assure Logan, though nothing could be farther from the truth.

"You're all alone," Logan breathes, and the truth in his statement hits Remus like a physical blow, making him wince and curl in defensively with his pillow. "Oh, Remus, I- I didn't realize, I'm so sorry-"

"For what?" Remus asks blankly. "It's not your fault. It's just. It's the way it has to be." He shrugs, staring down in his lap. Logan's hand tightens on his shoulder briefly before dropping, taking one of his hands and lacing their fingers together. Logan's skin is warm and Remus clings to it, like the last shivering embers of a dying campfire.

"Why do you say that?" Logan asks, his voice hushed.

"It's simple, isn't it?" Remus asks, cocking his head to one side. "Thomas needs the rest of you. He needs Deceit and Virgil and my brother and you and even Morality." He laughs once, humorlessly. "He doesn't need me. I'm just- just some gross trash man with gross thoughts no one wants to hear about. So I belong down there." He motions toward the door blending into the wall. "I just- I got lonely."

"Remus, Thomas does need you," Logan says slowly. "You said it yourself in the video Thomas did with you. If he wants to explore more mature ideas in his content- and I know that he does- then I'm afraid Roman's work alone will not, as they say, cut it. You aren't just a gross trash man. You take pride in your work. I know you do. And if Virgil and Deceit can learn to work with the rest of us, then I have no doubt that you can, too."

"Roman will never go for it," Remus gloomily assures him. He refuses to acknowledge the tiny blossom of warmth, way down deep in his chest, too deep to cut out. It feels suspiciously like hope.

"What Roman chooses to do is his business," Logan says. "But as for me, I fully believe that you are important to Thomas and you belong with the rest of us."

"You do?" Remus asks. Tears prickle his eyes, making him blink rapidly for a few seconds. Logan nods.

"I do," he confirms, then hesitates. "May I- may I hug you? Is that all right? Or would you prefer not-"

"Please!" Remus all but shouts over him. He quiets immediately after, acutely aware that the rest of the sides are sleeping. "Please," he repeats, softer this time.

He melts into Logan's arms, discarding his pillow to one side. Logan's arms enfold him, pouring everything he's been missing into the hug.

Remus doesn't realize he's crying until he looks down at the damp patch on Logan's shirt.

"Sorry," he apologizes, his voice thick. "I uh, got snot on you."

"It washes out," Logan says. "The others should be awake soon. I think that you should be here to meet them, while we make arrangements to move your room. I-" He pauses. "I don't want you to be alone again. I want you to stay? Will you?"

Remus swallows, his throat achingly dry. That suspiciously bright spark of hope flares to life.

"Yes," he says. His voice doesn't even shake. "Yes, I will."

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @airiervessel @bexxbeauty @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @matthindavick @killjoy-3000 @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @littlestliu

#🍬 txt #sanders sides #intrulogical #romantic intrulogical #sympathetic remus #logan sanders #remus sanders #logan #remus #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #📚#ok to rb #peach writes #self harm tw #long post tw #i forgot to post this lmao

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alpaca-writes · 4 years ago

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Mystics, Chapter 10

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by Lyrem, everything seems to be going well- their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five] [chapter six] [chapter seven] [chapter eight] [chapter nine]

Tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror

CW: misgendering of a nb character, creepy/intimate whump, psychological whump, shipwreck mention.

CHAPTER TEN: GEMINI PT II

Charlotte would not hesitate to speak up when she found herself uncomfortable. Usually.

Shortly after Arch had left for their meeting, Charlotte tidied around. She was left to clean up the discarded rompers around the living room and as she repacked on of the many clothing store bags she had brought home, there was a knock at the front door. She opened it, expecting a politician to be making their rounds or a band group from the high school to be asking for donations. Instead, she found Lyrem, smiling back at her with his unique charm. He was a bit red in the face, possibly from spending too much time in the sun.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, already finding herself with a sickening feeling in her stomach from being near this unholy man.

“Looking for Arch, of course,” he replied, “Are they around?”

Charlotte paused, looking for any sign that the man might be joking with her.

“No, Lyrem. They left a half hour ago to meet with you at Mystics,” She said unamused. “… Like you had asked them to.”

Lyrem lifted a hand to his mouth, realizing something.

“Oh dear. Oh dear…”

“What?” Charlotte asked, becoming impatient.

“Well, I had sent two messages,” Lyrem pulled out his phone, scrolling through their conversations. “One to say that there was a store meeting, and a second telling Arch that I would come by for a chat instead of-

Oh… It seems that I had forgotten to send it.”

Charlotte huffed, rolling her eyes at the old man. “Go find her then!”

“Them.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, them.” She corrected. “You know I’m getting a little tired of you demanding so much out of them. Who runs a store downtown past nine o’clock on a Sunday evening, anyway?”

“Someone who is desperate to stay out of a church I suppose.” Lyrem looked up from his phone. “There, I sent them a message to come back.”

“What? Why? Go out and meet them. They’re probably downtown already!” Speaking sense to this old man was becoming more than a chore.

“I would but to walk that far is not something I can manage anymore. Old bones, you know,” He smiled kindly at Charlotte. “Would you mind if I came in for a sit down?”

Sit in your car, she thought.

He was an old-fashioned sort, obviously craving human connection in the oddest of ways. What Arch saw in him as any sort of mentor, she would never understand. Reluctantly, she nodded, leading him through Arch’s sprawling makeshift bedroom and into the small kitchen where sunlight was still peeking through the trees by the window.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“A glass of water would be lovely.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but smile patronizingly as she handed his glass to him. Tap water. He set it down on the table in front of him.

“Would you like to hear a story while we wait for Arch to arrive?”

Charlotte leaned against the refrigerator with arms folded. She cocked her head at him. She really didn’t care what he had to say or what stories he wanted to tell.

“Sure,” she smiled.

“Ah, wonderful. I love telling this one.

The year was nineteen seventy-two. I had been travelling Europe for several weeks, however, for what particular reason I ventured out there for, I can no longer recall.” He cleared his throat, sipping the water from the glass on the table, taking his time. “I came upon a lovely town on the Grecian coastline. I had found a little place to stay there and enjoyed my time immensely with the local people. I stayed with a family who offered me a small room of their house for only a few pennies a night, and word eventually got around that I was looking for work in the area, seeing as I was too content living there to leave anytime soon.

It was one cloudy morning when a man woke me from a slumber; said that he had a job for me and would pay me quite well if I dared accomplish the task for him. He was in the delivery trade, you see; he would connect like-minded collectors and clients and deliver the items as a third-party investor that would keep both sides happy.”

Charlotte had already lost all interest in the story, resorting to rub the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes.

“The package he had for me to deliver was none other than a statue of Perseus to be signed to a buyer on a remote island several knots out from shore. It was odd to me that he would not do the deed himself since it seemed simple enough, but alas I was not willing to miss my chance to collect on a decent paycheque.

Out on the water, I followed his map. I took the necessary precautions, found my bearings, and yet being out there for an entire day I still could not find the island that this man had spoken of. It was marked clearly on his papers for me, and so I sailed throughout the sea until dusk, searching for it. In the evening of that fateful night, unwilling to turn back as I was quite stubborn; I had encountered a freak cyclone on the water. A fearsome storm that roiled in the abyss of the deepest parts of the sea. The wind and the rain blew so hard into the boat that it felt like I was being shot with thousands of miniscule ice pellets. I couldn’t see a damned thing out there. Water tornadoes threatened to capsize the boat more than once and left me to drown in the torrential depths of the Mediterranean.

Then, I awoke, washed ashore the next morning. The man who had hired me to take the statue out stood over me as I opened my eyes on the rocks. I didn’t feel as though it was something I should have survived, and yet I did. Content with the job I had done for him he presented me with a large envelope containing over six hundred Drachma, and then he simply went on his way. At the time, it was a tremendous amount of money to me. If I could go back now, I think I would have demanded more for the risk it took to my life.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, thankful that the story had come to its end. But then she couldn’t help but wonder aloud.

“What happened to the statue?”

He lifted his gaze to her. “Hm. What about the statue, dear?” He asked.

“Did it break? Did you lose it, and the boat in the storm?”

He shook his head. “Oh no, no. The statue was delivered.”

“You said you washed ashore after the storm”-

“I had done what he had asked of me,” Lyrem explained, drinking more of the water down. “I came to accept that the statue was more valuable in the bottom of the sea, than on the surface of Earth. That must have been what the man also thought. That is what I believe of many things these days as well. Some things, some people, just belong under the ground.”

Charlotte side-eyed him.

“Right,” she said, checking the time on the oven. It had only been fifteen minutes.

Lyrem checked his pocket watch. It was hidden away beneath his jacket, and he clicked it open checking it briefly before folding it away again. He made a humming sound. If Charlotte was familiar with the Spanish Guitar, she might have recognized the tune as Sevilla- Suite Espanola No. 3 as played by his favoured guitarist, Andrs Segov-

“Where are the hell are they?” Charlotte walked across the small house, and peered out the front door, worriedly. “I don’t see her-them coming up the walk. They should be back by now.”

“I’m sure they are being well taken care of,” Lyrem appeared behind her, causing her to jump in place and flip around.

“But, I, myself, seem to also be running out of time.” Lyrem continued hauntingly, looking past the woman, over her shoulder.

“Did you have something you needed to get back to?” Charlotte inquired. “I’m sure Arch can reschedule a meeting with you.”

“Fortunately,” he sniffed, addressing her once again. “that won’t be necessary. I am exactly where I need to be at this moment.”

With lowering brows, Charlotte backed up, keeping her hand on the doorknob.

“What is wrong, Charlotte?” Lyrem tilted his head, in feigned concern.

She couldn’t stop staring at him, frozen in place- wondering if she was being silly, acting crazy, or just reading all correct the signs that told her to run.

She shook her head, heart pounding. He was merely standing there. Maybe a bit close for comfort, but he wasn’t threatening her. Not outright.

“I- I don’t know…” She answered hesitantly. “But… I don’t think I want you anywhere near me… or my child.”

��Arch will always be safe with me. Of that, I can assure you. As for you, though,” Lyrem admitted, caringly. “You won’t have to worry about me being anywhere near you, at all, ever again.”

Charlotte was backed against the door now, turning the knob to the front door, intent on running out.

“I mean it, Charlotte. You are far too disrespectful to be in my company. And I feel bad for Arch. How they put up with you for so long... well, that requires a modicum of patience that I have never once possessed. Never fear, my dear Charlotte. I am doing this for their sake. It really is better this way.” he explained. “That is why I plan to…”

“’Plan to’ what?” Charlotte asked, fear rising in the tremors of her voice.

“Well, I suppose you’ll see when you open the door,” he rushed his words, ushering her to leave as she wished to do.

Charlotte bolted around. The front door opened to a pool of darkness. There was no light, no sound, no nothing. She had yet to step forward. She didn’t say a word and only stared into the beckoning void

“Just remember to breathe,” she was advised in a whisper from behind.

Then, Lyrem pressed a firm hand against her back. Into the darkness Charlotte was shoved forward, until she was utterly gone- swallowed up into the shadows where the light would never reach her.

Lyrem closed the front door. The light from outside returned as he opened it again- the Labyrinth now missing. Cars drove on past, children rode their bikes, chickadees and jays cheeped in the bushes, and the breezes signaled early summer as the aspens trembled along the boulevard. It was the sound of life.

Still, there was no Arch to be found. Not down the street.

Not yet.

A soft purr sounded by Lyrem’s feet, then he felt the warmth of a cat curling around his ankles. He looked down, and picked Maleficent up to hold her close until she was just beneath his chin. Her long gray fur tickled the side of his face.

“Do you want to be a part of my family too?” He asked, looking down at her sweetly. Maleficent purred on, as Lyrem’s index finger stroked the side of her cheek firmly. “I’m sure we can make room for you.”

#whump #mystics #Mystics by Alpaca #Lyrem #Arch #Alpaca OCs #writing blog #whump writing #creative writing #writing #whumpblr #writeblr #poor charlotte #just when everything seemed to be happy again #she gets tossed to the Labyrinth

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coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 4 years ago

Text

Nightmare or Scared To Be Lonely

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @stupidbluegirl

This Passage contains potentially: swearing, violence, blood, angst, whump, fluff and smutty content.

Summary: Kirby addresses a fear that she hasn't felt in a long, long time.

Kirby's POV:

Waking up on the morning of the Twenty-Second, with Roddy's arms wrapped around me was a welcome comfort from what had arisen inside my mind. Thoughts I never dared put to words, I eased myself out of his grasp and did my old morning routine, giving myself a moment to breathe and think through the recent recurring nightmares. It had been at least a year since the last nightmare, twenty years since they started. I thought they had finally stopped, but I was wrong.

Since I was nine, I have had nightmares of being alone in a dark place, usually a forest but sometimes an empty town or city, sometimes even walking through a deep valley. Utterly alone, completely alone, abandoned by everyone except a consistent nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me that I'm not 'normal' enough.

Catching my breath and calming myself down, I look over at Roddy, still asleep on the bed, and I sigh in relief. He's real, he's there, I'm not insane. I look at myself in the mirror, brushing my fingers over the scars on my face and remembering just how I got each of them. I heard a long yawn from the other room as Rod stirred awake, shaking the 'cobwebs' from his mind and I stopped, looking over at him again and smiling in admiration at the rowdy Scot.

"Well, that's a beautiful sight to wake up to," He waved me over, "C'mere baby."

I reached the edge of the bed and Roddy pulled me onto his lap.

"You are so beautiful, don't you ever forget that. I love you, you can tell me anything," He kissed my shoulder, just above the dragon tattoo, "Anything at all."

"Rod" I mumbled, my breathing catching in my throat.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I can tell you anything right, you won't laugh unless it's a joke right?"

"I promise you, I won't laugh at ya."

"What would you do if someone you loved had recurring nightmares?"

"I would try to understand why they keep having them. Why?"

"What would you do if they were scared by them."

"I'd comfort them. What's going on in your head, baby?"

"Rod, I'm scared."

"Why are ya scared?"

"I don't want to be alone. I'm not normal. I'm a fr-"

Rod pulled me into a kiss, pressing his forehead to mine after he pulled away, "You're not a freak. You're my lady and if that makes me a freak for loving you, I don't give a damn. You're stunning and they can all kiss my ass."

"Thank you Roddy, I needed that."

"So, uh, about that Erik guy?"

"What about him?"

"What made you like him?"

"Well, aside from the flaming red hair, the freckles, the green-hazel eyes, the tattoos and his muscles, probably his personality, he made me laugh, he was sweet to me, and he was ballsy enough to wear a kilt and fight in it."

"So, who's better, me or him?" I could hear a twinge of jealousy in his voice.

"Roddy," I whined, "In a different universe, then I'd probably be with him but I'm with you. I will be with you regardless of if this works out or not, for at least the next few years career-wise, and who knows, if this does work out, maybe one day the two of us will have a proper life together. Family. Pets. Kids, maybe. Actually," I stood up and grabbed the keys to my D200, twirling them around my finger for a moment, "I'd actually quite like to have kids one day. That is, of course, if I can have kids."

"Whaddya mean 'if'?"

"Well, I'm a giant, giants have diminished reproductive systems." I muttered out.

"So, uh, hypothetically speaking, if you can have biological kids, if, if ya could, ya know," I looked at his face, his cheeks flush a rosy shade of pink, "Well, if you," he slowed down his words, looking to the ceiling as if asking God above for guidance, "If, you, could, have, bio-log-ical, kids, you, would?"

"Yes Roddy, why was that so hard to ask?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and covered his groin with his other arm, "no reason."

"Jesus, Roddy. If that gets you hot you might end up breeding like a rabbit one of these days."

"With you?" I heard a twinge of optimism in his voice.

"Of course fuckin' not, Jesus, whaddya take me for?" I spluttered out, shocked that he'd even think of me like that, I took a deep breath before explaining myself, "I'm not a very, oh God, uh 'Sexual' being. I don't see the pleasure side of it, I think of sex only through the lens of science."

Rod looked up at me once again, cocking an eyebrow before talking, "Where are ya planning on going?"

"Anywhere with food, wanna come with."

"Actually, before you leave, can I ask you about your family?"

"Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Well, what are they like?"

"Uh, hmm, well, my da's tough, he was raised on a farm and thus is incredibly strong because of his upbringing. My mam on the other hand is like your stereotypical fiery red head when angry but usually she's quiet and peaceful. My da never shuts up, unless he's watching TV, which is when his ears don't work."

Rod's brows knitted together in a confused way, "His ears don't work?"

"As in he shuts everything that isn't the TV out."

"Oh. I see, so your dad shuts the world out when he's watching sports and the like?"

"Exactly, Roddy. Do you want to go get food or not?"

"Well, of course I'm gonna go with ya," he covered his mouth but I could vaguely hear him mumble to himself, "Can't risk other guys trying to get to my lady. No Sir, not her."

I put on my leather jacket, my back to Roddy, unintentionally showing off the Welsh flag painted on the back, once again hearing Rod mumble to himself.

"Where've ya been all my life baby."

"What was that, Roddy?"

"Nothin'," he spluttered out, as if he was shocked that I could hear anything he just said, "Let me drive."

"Rod. It's my D200, I'll drive."

"I know it's your car, but I'm gonna drive us." He said, quickly getting changed into some clean clothes and his usual kilt.

"Why?"

"I wanna treat ya, give you a surprise."

"Ok then, catch." I throw him the keys to the D200 and he catches them in one hand.

We drove out to a small Irish bar and Rod parked nearby.

"This place does the best homecooked fish and chips."

"Oh, really, so they're legit Irish?"

"I think so."

We walked in and the place went silent and I could feel the amount of eyes on the two of us. We got to a small table at the back and ordered full English breakfasts for two.

After a while and several drinks, not one being actually alcoholic, we got up to leave and this meant we had to walk past the main bar.

"Wrestling is fake, you know." one of the drunken idiots slurred out, he had obviously connected the dots of why we looked the way we do.

I bit my lip and tried to control my breathing, Roddy on the other hand…

"What did you say?"

…He was already advancing towards the guy, fists and teeth clenched.

"Rod, we should g-" I stated, trying to keep myself calm.

"NO!" he cut me off, "What did you say?!"

"Wrestlin' is fa-"

Rod's fist silenced the guy with a quick right hook, sending him sprawling on the floor and silencing the rest of the bar patrons.

I dragged Roddy out by wrapping my arms around his midsection and dragging him backwards out of the bar before letting him go.

"That, that fucker."

I got in front of him and pushed him back, away from the bar, "Rod, get in the fucking car before they come out here!" I yelled at him, and holy shit if that didn't set him off.

"I don't give a fuck if they come out here, I'll fucking kill him."

"Rod, let it go."

"No, I will not 'let it go' that fuck needs to be taught a lesson."

"Would you just get in the fucking car?!"

"Would you just fuck off."

"Fine, I will."

I stormed off, Roddy still had the keys to the D200 and I believed I could walk back to the hotel, my mask obscuring my face so people started looking, the fight, the argument and now the fact that people were staring at me. Today can not get any worse.

Oh boy was I wrong, it took two minutes for the rain to start and ten minutes for Rod to pull up in the (or rather, MY) D200. He pulled up and rolled the window down.

"I'm sorry, please get in the car."

"Fuck off, Piper."

"Kirby, baby, get in the car. Please."

I sighed and got in the passenger seat, "Why do you fly off the handle so easily, Rod."

"Why don't you, that fuck was insulting our job, our livelihood."

"Rod," I breathed out a hefty sigh and removed my mask so that my voice wouldn't be muffled, "Rod, I may not have fought the guy but I had to bite my lip and control myself. I had to count to ten in my mind and try not to escalate the situation further. I would have loved to go up to the guy and said 'Hey, the business isn't fake, we do this to feed our kids, but that's the thing Rod. I don't have kids I need to feed, I've been wrestling and working out for so long that I feel like I've forgotten to have a family, or even a life."

The car stopped suddenly and Roddy put his head in his hands, if the car had been any quieter he could have heard the pounding of my heart.

"You're not the only one."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I forgot to have a life. I've been alone and angry at the world for so long that I have forgotten that I'm human, and I need a private life, away from the ring, and for me to have that life, I need someone to share it with. A wife, for example, maybe a couple kids too. Heh, Imagine that, Roderick Piper, family man, forget it."

"Rod?"

"Yeah, Sweetheart?"

"Rod, I don't want to be alone."

"I know, baby."

"Rod?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about storming off earlier. I love you. I don't care how much this makes me sound sappy, but I need you in my life, I need that Scottish fire. Americans are dumb and the British are the British, and well Scots are the fiery, hot blooded warriors that I've grown up knowing but never being around until Erik. God, I just, I want to have a home, Roddy, and a family of my own."

"I wonder what our kids would look like?" He sounded like he had zoned out, but what he was mumbling to himself made me realise he hadn't zoned out, "What would we name them?"

"Rod, what do you think of the name, 'Enfys'?"

"What does that mean?"

"It's Welsh for 'Rainbow'. I'm not suggesting anyone name their child 'rainbow' I just think it sounds pretty."

"Why do Welsh names have to be so weird?"

"I'll walk back to the hotel if you insult my homeland again, boyo."

"All I'm saying is that there's a lot of 'y's and 'u's in Welsh names. Alright, lass."

"Rod, shut up and drive us back to the hotel."

"Make me."

We locked eyes and for a moment I forgot that we had started arguing again, I reached over and stroked Roddy's cheek, now realising that he had gotten himself beaten up again.

"Kirby, don't ge-"

"Why do you always get hurt, Roddy, don't tell me 'don't get upset' when you're beaten and bruised. Rod, drive us back to the hotel so I can patch," my breathing caught in my throat and Rod realised I was about to cry, "Rod, drive us back to the hotel so I can patch you up."

"Anything you say, just, please don't cry."

"Rod, I can't help the fact that seeing the love of my life battered and bruised, my natural instinct as a protective person is to show my sensitive side as I feel like I've failed to keep you safe."

"I failed to keep me safe, after you left I did the idiotic thing and stormed back into the bar, I got myself thrown through a table."

"Roddy, you fucking idiot. I told you it was better to leave without getting yourself hurt. Why didn't you listen?"

"Don't you go pulling the 'I told ya so' technique on me."

"Why not?"

"I've heard it my entire life, that's why."

"Well, maybe if you listened to it once in a whi-"

END OF NIGHTMARE or SCARED TO BE LONELY

#wrestling fic #Lucifarians

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