#he needs a firmer hand than Day had grown used to having with him before the memory loss | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daaydreamy · 2 years ago

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reward

summary: y/n and harry have a little friend over.

warnings: coarse language, smut, f/m/m threesome, praise kink, masturbation (m receiving), edging, orgasm denial, protected sex, oral (f receiving), overstimulation

pairings: harry styles x fem!reader x male

•••

“He’s coming over next week, Saturday.”

“N-next week?”

It was about 10:30 in the morning and both Harry and Y/N were in the kitchen. Y/N had woken up a bit earlier than Harry, so she took it as a chance to make breakfast while he was asleep so he didn’t have to wait. She was making pancakes, looking down at the pancake and watching intently, waiting for the batter to start bubbling. She also had a container of strawberries next to her that she wanted to put on top of the pancakes along with a bottle of maple syrup.

“Is that a problem?” She glanced at him, before flipping the pancake she had cooking in the pan.

“No.” Harry replied softly, looking down at the plate of pancakes that were already cooked. He picked at the hem of his shirt, toying with the loose strand of thread that hung from the fabric.

Leo was a good friend of theirs.

“You can’t touch yourself.” She added on, making Harry’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. Her tone was calm, her whole demeanor was calm, unlike Harry who was now flustered and unsure if he could hold on for that long. One week? He was probably being dramatic or something but Y/N liked to tease, she liked to rile him up until he was about to explode into a million pieces, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to get through the week with her teasing touches.

“But-”

“Do you want strawberries on your pancakes? I’ll cut them up.”

She was now looking at him, already holding the small knife she was going to use to cut the strawberries in half. He knew she could see his flushed, pink cheeks, and he wished he could hide his face, but he couldn’t. So he stood there, as flustered as he could ever be, unable to answer her.

“Hello?” She chuckled softly as she looked at Harry, who seemed like he had spaced out.

“Y-yes, please.”

SATURDAY, 9:56 A.M.

Harry wasn’t going to get through this week.

The day had just started and Y/N was already teasing him, making him moan and gasp softly as they laid in bed beside each other. He was still groggy and sleepy, but the pleasure she was giving him had already registered in his brain, and he couldn’t fall asleep now. He could only chase the pleasure. She was palming him over the shorts he wore to bed and eventually pressed her hand firmer onto him, making him whimper softly before starting to rut into her hand a little needily.

His hair was still a mess, some of it covering his face since he had grown it out quite a bit. His eyes were still closed. His brows were furrowed a little. His lips were still parted but they had moans slipping past them now, soft ones that only Y/N could hear. His arm was tucked under his pillow, his hand gripping the pillowcase a little. His other arm was draped over Y/N’s waist to keep her close, his hand resting on her lower back.

“Open your eyes for me, H.” She said softly and Harry complied, opening his eyes slowly and blinking the blurriness away to be able to see her clearly. She was looking at him, a small smile playing on her lips. His brows furrowed even further, a soft groan leaving his throat when she gripped him gently over the fabric of his shorts. He looked down at where her hand was, watching as she slowly slipped it past the waistband.

“God.” He breathed when she pulled her hand out again, making her chuckle softly. She instead continued to touch him over his shorts, not giving him the friction he needed. He closed his eyes again, his moans getting a bit louder and breathy as time went on. He wasn’t getting what he needed though, and he knew he wasn’t going to get it, so he thought it’d be best to savor this while it lasted.

“Does it feel good?” She asked him softly, her lips brushing his. He only nodded in reply, pressing his forehead to hers. He was grinding against her hand a little since she stopped moving it, whimpering softly and nearly pathetically because of how needy he had already gotten.

“Yeah.”

Then she stopped.

Harry whined, he whined because she took her hand away. It made her chuckle softly and she leaned in, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. He pressed his lips firmer against hers though, wanting to make it last longer and to make it deeper, which she indulged in for a little while, but she eventually pulled away.

“Whining already?”

“C’mon…”

She folded her lips into a line, watching as his eyes opened again. He gave her his best pleading look, resisting the urge to pout.

“Breakfast.” Was all she said and Harry chuckled softly, letting his eyes fall shut once more.

SUNDAY, 8:32 P.M.

This was fairly easy.

Harry managed to get through the entirety of yesterday despite how much of a tease Y/N was. It was now the next day and they were cuddling on the couch, watching a show on the TV. It wasn’t that late yet, so they could manage to watch another episode without it being so late already. They were sharing a blanket and had finished a bowl of popcorn together, the bowl now just sitting on the small coffee table in front of them.

But, Y/N’s hand started to move. She placed it on his thigh and her fingers were digging into his soft inner thigh a little. Harry tried to ignore it, keeping his attention focused on the show playing on the TV, but she moved her hand even more. He shifted and she stopped for a little, only to continue a few seconds after. She knew he was already frustrated due to everything she had already done earlier in the day but she wanted more, she wanted to have him begging when Leo comes over. She wanted to have him so desperate to the point that he would do anything to get what he needed.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

But she was doing something. She was touching him now, subtly, whilst still watching the TV calmly.

She wasn’t a sadist, it just seemed too exciting to watch Harry grow more and more desperate as each day passes. She was like that, she liked to drag things out for as long as she could.

Maybe it wasn’t so easy.

MONDAY, 11:47 A.M.

Leo, Y/N, Leo, Y/N.

Harry glanced down at his phone as he recorded him touching himself, before tilting his head back and closing his eyes to be able to picture the filthiest of things on the backs of his eyelids. He was thinking of Leo and Y/N and what they could potentially do to him once Leo finally comes over. He couldn’t get it out of his head, he wanted it now, but the hours could not go by any faster. It was only the third day and he was already frustrated, so eager.

He was imagining himself getting fucked stupid in his head, getting fucked so hard he could barely even speak. He gripped the sheets a little with his other hand, speeding up his strokes a little whilst letting out breathy moans and whines. He was getting lost in his thoughts now, drowning in the pleasure he had been waiting for Y/N to give him.

•••

Y/N glanced at her phone when she saw her screen light up, smiling a little because it was a notification from Harry. She was currently at work and he always liked to text her from time to time, checking in with her and asking when she’d be home (he was always a bit impatient). But the smile on her face quickly faded when she saw that he sent her a video of him touching himself, despite the fact that she told him he couldn’t until Leo was here.

She got up, looking around as she headed to the bathroom. She went into one of the stalls and locked it, leaning back against the door. She opened his message again, seeing that he texted her a sweet “miss you” after he sent the video. She turned down the volume and watched the video, watching as he needily fucked up into his hand and stuck his fingers into his mouth to muffle his moans.

That night ended with Harry crying.

TUESDAY, 7:21 A.M.

Harry was dreaming.

He was moving a lot in his sleep, making soft little sounds as he dreamed. Y/N was still sound asleep beside him, laying on her side with her back facing him, hand tucked under her pillow as she slept peacefully. She was calm, soft puffs of air slipping past her lips, but Harry was starting to mumble things quietly, even whimpering a little. She had always been a heavy sleeper so she surely wasn’t going to wake up from this. Good for her.

“You’re such a good boy, hm? Always so perfect and lovely.” Y/N smiled, looking down at Harry as she hovered over him. She sat on the tops of his thighs, her hands on his chest, while Harry had his hands on her hips as he looked up at her. He was so excited already, panting softly from anticipation. He just wanted her, really. He just wanted her touch, her words, her.

“What do you want? I’ll give you anything, baby.”

“Fuck me ‘til I’m crying?”

She chuckled softly, sitting up a little bit more upright.

“So eager already.” She said to herself, looking down at Harry’s cock that was still in the tight confines of his boxers. She ran her index finger along his bulge, hearing him take a sharp inhale, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips at that. She snuck her nail into the waistband of his boxers, pulling it down a little to reveal his tip that was already leaking precum, running the pad of her finger against it.

Harry whimpered softly at that, wetting his dry lips with his tongue. She glanced up at his face, seeing that his eyes were now closed and his brows were furrowed a little. His fingers were digging into her hips a little now, his nails leaving small little indents.

“Do you want me to f-”

A soft gasp left Harry’s lips when he suddenly woke up, immediately feeling the heat running through his entire body. He gulped dryly and turned his head to the side a bit to look at Y/N, seeing that she was still sound asleep, before looking down at his sweatpants.

Fuck.

WEDNESDAY, 8:04 A.M.

Harry woke up with a gasp, immediately feeling the heat running through his entire body. He groaned softly as he brought his hands up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, a quiet whimper falling from his lips when he tried to move but was unsuccessful.

He wasn’t dreaming this time.

When he looked down, Y/N was in between his legs, sucking him off and working him up with her tongue. He was completely hard at this point and she was amused by it. She knew he was awake now, so she looked up at him, looking right into his still sort of sleepy eyes, noticing his pink cheeks. She chuckled softly before continuing what she had been doing before, darting her tongue out to lick over his tip, listening to the soft gasp he let out from that.

“Y/N.” He said in a slightly whiny tone, his voice still rough and gruff. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back against the pillows, blindly placing his hand on the back of her head. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, moaning softly as she ran her tongue over all the right spots.

“What’s wrong?” She asked him, stroking him slowly as she looked back up at his face again.

•••

“Wh-where are you going?”

“I’m gonna be late for work, H.”

“But-”

“I’m gonna take a shower then I’m leaving, okay? Be good for me.”

THURSDAY, 10:21 A.M.

Harry was getting himself off.

He was in the shower and Y/N had just left for work. The cool water falling down on his skin was nice and refreshing, but his hand on his cock felt way more amazing. His head was tilted back a little as he gave himself slow, steady strokes, soft moans and gasps slipping past his lips ever so often. It was good. Sue him for not being able to hold out for seven days, fine, he didn’t care. He just wanted an orgasm, really, especially after all of Y/N’s torture.

But… there was this thought in his head, telling him that he should save all the pleasure for when Leo came over. It just wouldn’t leave his pretty head. It was seriously making him contemplate whether he should keep going or not, and the thought in his head was slowly winning. It sounded amazing to save all of this for that day, but coming right now also sounded amazing, so he was conflicted. He wasn’t sure what Leo and Y/N had planned for Saturday and of course he was excited and getting off right now seemed like it would ruin the surprise.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his cock, tilting his head to the side a little whilst folding his lips into a line.

“Fine.” He mumbled under his breath, taking his hand off and going on with his shower, trying to ignore the dull throb.

FRIDAY, 5:09 P.M.

Leo was coming tomorrow.

Fireworks! Boom! Fireworks!

That was stupid, but fireworks were going off in Harry’s pretty little head. He was very, very excited for tomorrow. After denying himself an orgasm yesterday (which took a lot of self-control, mind you) it felt like he deserved this, just ignoring the fact that he touched himself last Monday. He had forgotten about that, honestly, he had been on his best behavior ever since. He just wanted touch, someone else’s touch, not his own. He wanted to feel good, like, actually feel good.

Plus, Leo was pretty hot, if he could say so himself. But him and Y/N? Dear god.

SATURDAY, 7:00 P.M.

“Hi, Leo.”

“Hi.” He smiled brightly, he was relaxed, but anticipation and excitement was definitely coursing through his veins. Thoughts were bouncing around his head, his mind creating more and more of them and he tried his best not to get lost. Y/N looked just as relaxed as he did, but Harry seemed like he couldn’t stand still. He was toying with the hem of his T-shirt, fingers picking at the fabric mindlessly. He seemed antsy, impatient.

•••

This was Harry’s reward.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Y/N, watching how her face twisted and contorted from pleasure. The sounds she was letting out were truly addicting and he wished he could tuck them into some place in his head and listen to them whenever he wanted to. His eyes ran all over her naked body, simply not able to help himself, indulging her body. God, the way she tasted too, she tasted heavenly. He was licking into her so eagerly, desperate to have more, more, and more.

She would even grip his hair and rock herself against his tongue, using him to get herself off, and she’d throw her head back and whine and moan so prettily. She played with her breasts, adding to the pleasure and stimulation she was already receiving. She loved Harry’s mouth and how he used it. He was getting all the right spots and was pressing on all of her buttons, making her head go all fuzzy and insides all twisted. It made her feel hot, it made her feel hot all over her body, sweat starting to break out from her skin.

Meanwhile, Leo was giving Harry slow, deep thrusts, sometimes leaning over a little bit to kiss and bite Y/N’s shoulder softly. His nails were digging into Harry’s thighs, leaving crescent moon-shaped marks on his skin as a reminder that his hands were there. Sometimes he would even have to hold his legs open because he’d try to close them, fucking into him harsher whenever he did.

“Fuck…” Y/N drawled out, tilting her head back and letting her hips move back and forth as Harry held his tongue out, simply letting her whilst he watched. He moaned softly against her, truly satisfied from all the feelings he could feel in his body right now.

“I’m gonna come.” She said breathlessly, “God.” She then said through gritted teeth, mouth falling open in a silent moan as orgasmic waves of pleasure washed over her body, eyes fluttering shut from the euphoric feeling. Her grip on Harry’s hair was tight and he was moaning against her, only making it even better. She sank her front teeth into her lower lip, whimpering softly as she rode out her orgasm, letting Harry lick up everything she was giving him.

She eventually got off of his face, chuckling softly when she saw her arousal and his spit smeared all over his lips and chin, making his skin glisten. He was panting, chest rising and falling rapidly, and he whined pitifully because he hadn’t gotten any stimulation on his cock whatsoever since they started. It was hard and leaking precum steadily against his stomach, aching for some kind of touch, especially after waiting for so long.

“Do you wanna come now, Harry?”

“Please.”

“You can touch yourself, make yourself come.”

Since he had been good.

•••

Harry gagged softly around Leo’s cock when he hit the back of his throat, tears gathering in his eyes as he looked up at Leo. He focused on breathing out of his nose, exhaling harshly as he tried to blink the tears away. His cheeks were so flushed in such a pretty pink color and Leo brought a hand up, placing it on his warm cheek, his thumb stroking it back and forth. He decided to start off slow at first, being gentle with him.

Leo tangled his hand in Harry’s hair as he turned his head to look at Y/N, leaning in to press his lips against hers. He immediately melted against her, sighing into her mouth and letting her slip her tongue past his lips. The kiss quickly turned into something hot and filthy, moaning into each other’s mouths as they pleasured themselves. Their tongues were sliding against each other’s, allowing the other to taste them however much they wanted.

“Fuck me.” Y/N said breathily after pulling away from the kiss, fucking herself against Harry’s cock over and over. She looked down at him, seeing that he had closed his eyes and allowed the tears in them to fall down his soft cheeks, sucking Leo off as best as he could, eager to get him off. Leo looked back down against Harry as well, starting to stroke his cheek once more. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips when Harry opened his eyes again, moaning filthily against his cock.

“Such a good boy.” He murmured softly, gently thrusting forward enough, pushing his cock into Harry’s mouth deep enough to make him choke softly, staying there for a few seconds. Harry could do nothing else but take it, new, fresh tears filling up his eyes. Leo groaned softly when Harry swallowed around him, pulling out of his mouth after a little while to let him breathe.

•••

Harry buried his face in Y/N’s thigh as Leo continued to fuck him hard and fast from behind, whimpering softly as his body jolted with each thrust. His lips stayed parted, sighs and whines that he couldn’t control tumbling from his lips. He let out a quick yelp when he felt a spank land onto his skin, only arching his back down further, meaning he was pushing back against Leo. He liked quick bites of pain like that, just like how he liked when Y/N pulled and gripped his hair.

Y/N gently threaded her fingers through Harry’s hair once more, making him look up at her. The fucked out look on his face pulled an amused reaction out of her, her fingers brushing the hairs stuck to his face away.

“Is this what you wanted, hm?”

“Yeah.” He gulped and closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. He whimpered when Leo thrusted hard, pushing him forward against Y/N’s stomach, before continuing to fuck him over and over again.

“‘M gonna come.” He panted out, unsure whether he liked the softness of Y/N’s touch or the roughness of Leo’s. Leo wasn’t even touching him at all, his hands gripping his hips tightly.

“You can come, baby.”

Since he had been good.

a/n: this took me so long to finish LMFAO idk why but finally here’s a oneshot!!! hope it’s okay :-) feedback is always appreciated, thank u sm for reading 🫂

🏷: @crow-but-make-it-pigeon, @nomnomingjuno, @planetflos, @harrycanyonmoonn, @bxtchboy69, @sweet-as-lilacs, @s8tellite, @lyricalniall, @venusincleo (couldn’t tag you!), @bxbun111, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @ambrosia-bloom, @goldenhrry, @cinnamongirlrry, @manifestrry, @drewandenyasfirstborn, @sad1esgf, @taylorsreputationsversion, @violetsandfluff, @purplefishingline, @a-strange-familiar, @moonlightbea-33 (couldn’t tag you!), @famedrs-blog, @coochiesteak, @blahblahblah-888 (couldn’t tag you!)

#sub!harry #subrry #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x you #sub!harry x dom!reader #dom!reader #dom!y/n #writing

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hyogonokitsune · 4 years ago

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blush -- suna rintarou x reader

here’s some soft suna smut, go fetch!

edit: here’s pt 2 and pt 3

virginity loss, slight praise kink, oral (f receiving), whoops! rintarou has feelings

4700 words

You were not quite sure how you all ended up on this topic, but it didn’t surprise you one bit that Atsumu was the one to bring it up.

“So how old were ya when ya lost it?” he asked with a grin on his face.

Suna glanced up at the sky as he thought about his answer. “Fourteen, I guess.”

“Ugh, man! You beat me!” Atsumu groaned in annoyance. “I was fifteen.” It was slight, but you caught Suna giving him a self-satisfied smirk. Atsumu turned to his brother next. “What about you, ‘Samu? I don’t think I ever asked.”

“Pfft, like hell I’d ever tell you,” was the only response he gave.

The four of you were walking through Inarizaki’s dark campus together after the team’s evening practice. It was early autumn, and although the days were still warm, the temperature at night was beginning to dip lower and lower. You shivered as a crisp breeze blew past, digging your hands further into your jacket pockets.

“What about you, y/n?” Atsumu asked, peering down at you. “How old were ya?”

You had hoped he’d forgotten about you, but now that he had directly asked you could feel your cheeks reddening slightly. “I, uh, I haven’t done it yet,” you answered sheepishly.

“What, seriously?! You’re a virgin?” Atsumu’s eyes widened in surprise, but they quickly squinched shut when Osamu smacked him on the back of the head.

“Yell it a bit louder, why don’t ya? I don’t think everyone on campus heard you, dumbass.”

“Ouch, sorry,” Atsumu muttered in apology, but your blush had already deepened. “I’m just a little shocked to learn that our precious manager is a virgin.”

“It’s not really that big of a deal, honestly,” Suna said, his voice low. It was a little unusual to hear him defend anyone, but you were grateful for it all the same.

“Ya know, y/n, if ya ever wanna lose your virginity, I’d be happy to help out,” Atsumu said, giving you a salacious smirk. You rolled your eyes at his offer, a small laugh escaping from your lips as you flicked him on the side of his head.

The path split then, and Suna turned left to continue on by himself to the campus dorms. He waved goodnight to the three of you, and you noticed that his eyes lingered on you for half a second too long before he turned away.

Click, click, click

Your thumb pressed repeatedly on the end of your pen as you stared hard at the words in front of you.

“Hey, knock it off.” You looked up at the sound of Suna’s voice, his irritation plain on his face. “It’s annoying.”

The two of you were sitting on the floor of his room, Suna propped up against his bed and you leaning against the opposite wall. Loose sheets of paper and an open textbook were on the floor between you as you both studied for an exam the next day.

“Sorry, I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you muttered, turning your attention back to Suna’s notebook on your lap. You were reading through it, checking that there wasn’t anything he had written down that you had missed in class. In truth, you were finding it hard to concentrate on the notes, as something else was nagging at your thoughts. You hadn’t been able to shake the conversation you’d had the other night, and despite Atsumu’s suggestion, he wasn’t the one you had been thinking about since then.

You had heard rumors around campus, and stories from some of the girls in your classes. At first it had made you a little uncomfortable to know such personal details about someone you had to see every day, especially since he wasn’t aware that you knew, but over time you gradually got used to it, and you were beginning to wonder about what it might be like to experience that firsthand. You were sure that it wouldn’t get out. After all, those rumors that you had heard had come from the girls themselves, never him; if you didn’t tell anyone, no one would ever have to know about it. Besides, after two and a half years spent on the same team, you two had grown rather close. There were few people that you could trust more than him, and, in your opinion at least, that was the most important factor influencing your decision.

You just had to think of a way to tell him.

Suna’s low voice cut through the silence in the room. “Maaan, I’m beat. What time is it?” he asked, stretching his arms over his head.

You glanced at your watch, sighing a bit when you saw how late it was. “Half past ten.”

“Fuck.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I think we’ve crammed as much as we possibly can for tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you replied as you stood up. The two of you started tidying up his room, and you gathered your books and pens into your bag.

“You want me to walk you to the bus stop?”

“No, I’ll be alright.”

“’Kay.”

You had your hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, but you found yourself unable to turn it.

“Suna?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, and when he turned to look at you, you felt an unexpected surge of confidence well up inside. If you didn’t tell him now, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to.

Dropping your hand from the doorknob, you angled your shoulders to face him head on, willing yourself to look him in the eye. “I want you to take my virginity.”

There was a slight widening of his eyes, almost imperceptible, but you caught it before his face fell back into its usual indifferent mask. There was a moment or two of silence, and you tried to keep yourself from panicking; maybe he was just trying to gauge how serious you were.

Eventually he spoke, the corner of his lip quirking up into a cheeky grin. “You sure you don’t want Atsumu to be the one?”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling. “I think I’d rather die, if I’m being honest.”

Suna laughed then, short but genuine, and you felt the tension ease from your shoulders. “I’ll do it, if that’s really what you want.”

You gave him a quick nod, hand reaching towards the door again.

“Come back here tomorrow.”

You knocked twice on Suna’s door and it opened almost immediately. He must have just recently gotten out of the shower because his hair was still damp, a droplet of water clinging to a lock of hair next to his cheek as he stared down at you.

“I was half-expecting you not to show up,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked as you squeezed past him to step into the room; he offered no response.

You dropped your bag and blazer onto his desk chair, and when you turned around Suna had moved into the center of the room, within arm’s reach.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” There was an uncharacteristic note of concern in his voice that made your heart melt.

You gave a slight nod, a small smile on your face. “I’m sure.”

Those two words were all he needed.

Suna closed the gap between you in one step. His left hand came to rest on your waist, his right moving up to cup your cheek as he leaned down to place his lips on yours. His kiss was unexpectedly soft, and you couldn’t stop a tiny gasp from escaping you in surprise. This wasn’t a Suna that you were familiar with; this was a Suna that was unbelievably tender with his touch, but you could feel a more passionate side simmering just beneath the surface by the way that his fingers ever so slowly applied pressure to your waist.

Unconsciously, your hands moved first to his shoulders, then to the back of his head, where your fingers buried themselves in his damp hair. Your touch encouraged him to draw you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist to press you against his body. His kisses were becoming firmer now, deeper, more urgent, his tongue slipping past your lips to brush against yours.

A feeling of warmth was in your chest now, spreading down throughout your body, and with it came a sudden feeling of uncertainty. Suna broke away from you and stepped back to sit on the edge of his bed, and the sight of him there suddenly stole away all the confidence you had felt earlier.

“Come here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound of it made your legs feel weak, but you forced yourself to step towards him. His hands moved to your hips, intending to pull you closer, but you put your palms on his shoulders to brace yourself.

“Wait a minute,” you said, a little breathless.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” Your voice trailed off and you swallowed hard. “I’m just a little nervous.”

You were embarrassed to admit it, but to your surprise Suna smiled, and the gentleness on his face was reassuring. “Yeah, I think it’s normal to be a little nervous.” One of his hands left your hip to move to your elbow. His fingers dragged lightly down your forearm and wrapped around your wrist, so that he could lift your hand and press it against his chest. “I’m a little nervous, too.” You could feel his heart against your palm, beating a little faster and harder than normal. The proof of his own anxiety made all of your apprehensions disappear, and you leaned down to kiss him. Before he could deepen it, you broke away again.

“Suna?”

“Hmm?”

“Could we turn the light off?”

“Of course,” he grinned, leaning over to switch off the lamp on his bedside table.

The room became dark, but the sun had only recently dipped below the horizon and your eyes quickly adjusted to the cold blue light coming in through the window. Suna’s body was outlined against the bed, his features hazy in the dim lighting, but his eyes were clear as he gazed up at you, imploring you to come closer.

He guided you down onto his lap, one of his hands on each of your thighs to place them at his sides. His kisses were needier now, almost hungry in the way that his mouth moved against yours. His hands slid up to rest on your hips once more, and when he slowly tugged them closer, dragging you over his hardening cock, you couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up from your chest. You could feel him grinning against your lips, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed, not when the feeling of his body under your hands was causing that heat to grow in your core.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Suna asked, his voice breathy and low. A blush crept up your face at his words, the tone of them so much more intimate than anything you’d heard before. You grinded against him again, causing him to moan lightly into your mouth.

Your hands slid down to press against his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. He paused kissing you just long enough to take his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor before grabbing your waist and drawing you in even closer. Tentatively, you brought your hands back to his chest. The heat of his skin, the pounding of his heart, his heavy breaths emboldened you, prompting you to explore more of his body. Your fingers traveled lightly over his chest, across his collarbones, onto his shoulders, across the back of his neck, down to his shoulder blades; every place you touched gave way to growing desire.

Suna’s hands wandered up your stomach and over your breasts to undo the buttons of your blouse, but he couldn’t undo them fast enough for you; you suddenly couldn’t stand another moment with the fabric between you, you needed to feel your skin pressed up against his now. Your fingers moved to the bottom of your blouse and quickly worked their way upwards, meeting his in the middle before tearing the shirt from your body.

His eyes roamed over you and he whispered something that you couldn’t quite hear. Before you could say anything, his head moved to your neck, pressing hot kisses into your skin, down the column of your throat and over your collarbones. The top of his head tickled under your chin, making you giggle; his lips left your shoulder with a wet sound as he turned his face up to look at you, but you dug your nails into his arms and whimpered at the loss of his touch.

“Please don’t stop,” you breathed.

Suna gripped you tightly around your waist to lift you off of him and shift you so you were lying down on the bed, his body leaning over you. Pulling one of your legs up so that he could position himself between them, he resumed kissing your neck, his warm breath tickling your ear. His hands worked their way down your sides, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake, to come to rest at the waistband of your skirt. He lifted his head to kiss you on the lips briefly before carefully tugging your skirt down over your hips and off your legs. His eyes lingered on your purple lace panties, moved up to your matching bra, and finally to meet your own gaze.

“These are cute,” he said with a smirk, one finger lifting up the band of your panties and letting it snap against your skin.

“Shut up,” you groaned, covering your blushing face with your arm.

“Did you match these just for me?” he teased.

“I said shut up, Rintarou!”

You heard a sharp intake of breath, and lowered your arm to see that the look on his face had shifted into completely unconstrained desire. He kissed you then, tongue forcing its way into your mouth, greedily swallowing your moans. You could feel yourself getting wetter as he pressed his cock in-between your legs; the sensation was becoming almost too much to bear.

Suna pulled away suddenly, and a thin strand of saliva briefly connected your mouths, glinting in the low light. “Hey, do you want me to wear a condom?” he asked, rubbing his thumb slowly over your bottom lip.

“Oh!” You were lying in his bed half naked, and his tongue had just been in your mouth, but for some reason that question made you feel shy all of a sudden. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I’m, uh… I’m on the pill,” you told him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. He only nodded once before leaning in to kiss you again.

One of his hands slowly slid up your side to your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple through the fabric of your bra. When he broke the kiss to move his lips to your neck, you leaned forward slightly to unhook your bra, tossing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes. Suna sucked in a breath at the sight of you, gazing at you almost reverently before placing his lips back on your throat, letting his hand blindly fondle your breast. Moving slowly, he made his way down your throat and over your collarbones, planting sloppy kisses every few inches, until his tongue was swirling small circles around your nipple, feeling it grow harder at his touch. At the same time, his other hand was pressing into your hip, fingers digging insistently into the soft flesh. That hand now started moving down over the outside of your thigh, pausing almost at the knee before running back up along the inside.

You gasped when he touched your clothed pussy for the first time, his fingers brushing against your clit through the fabric. You would have felt embarrassed at the wetness you felt seeping through your panties, but the feeling of having him touch you in so many places was too good for you to care. He was rubbing circles around your clit, causing a knot to form deep in your stomach. You reached with both hands into his hair, gripping the back of his head tightly as a pitiful whimper escaped you.

“Oh, Rintarou…”

“What is it, baby?” He leaned forward to plant a kiss on your cheek, his hand still working slowly between your legs. “What do you need?”

Another pitiful sound left your mouth and your nails dug into his shoulders. He sat up straight, his free hand coming to rest on your leg as his other continued to draw soft moans out of you.

A new feeling had settled in your chest, a need that you had never experienced before. It wasn’t enough to have him simply touch you; you needed to feel him inside of you.

“Rin, please,” you practically begged him, reaching towards the waistband of his sweatpants.

He gently pushed your hands away, a low chuckle rising in his throat. “You’re not ready yet, baby,” he told you in a soft voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Groaning, you fell back into the pillow, your breath coming out harder as he started kissing the inside of your thigh, slowly, painfully slowly, moving closer to where the heat was pooling between your legs. Both of his hands now hooked under your thighs to rest on top of your hip bones, pinning you in place. He kept his eyes on your face as his tongue ran almost lazily over your panties.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head tilting back and eyes squeezing shut.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice. He was still licking you agonizingly slowly, relishing the way you squirmed around him. “Do you want me to taste you, baby?”

“Mm hmm,” you answered, a little too quickly in your eagerness to have him touch more of you. He moved one of his hands to hook a finger under your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your glistening pussy.

His mouth was on your bare clit now, and the sensation was overwhelming. It was different from all the times you had pleasured yourself; this was warm and wet and achingly soft, and it was causing the coil in your stomach to rapidly tighten. He hummed lightly, the vibrations running over your clit and causing you to practically scream. When he lifted his face away from you, you nearly cried. He slid your panties down your legs and tossed them on the floor, leaving you completely bare before him.

Suna leaned back down, tongue running up and down your folds, swirling around your clit, kissing all over your pussy. Every single contact made your back arch, made your hands grip the sheets a little more tightly. He traced a finger along the edge of your pussy, gathering up the wetness before slowly pressing it into you. You clenched around him as his finger curled up to press into the soft spot within you, the spot that made your breath catch in your throat. You opened your eyes to look down at him; his mouth and finger were still at work on your pussy, but his gaze was trained on your face, sage-colored eyes glinting in the dark.

The coil in your stomach finally snapped, your orgasm falling over you in waves of intense pleasure. Your toes curled, legs tensed up around his head, hands reached down to wind into his soft hair.

“Rin-Rintarou!”

Suna kept his face pressed into your pussy, sucking gently on your clit as you came around his finger. The overstimulation was becoming too much, and your breath was coming out in labored sobs.

“Rin, p-please, stop!”

Immediately, he pulled away, crawling over your body to kiss you hard on the mouth. “I like the way you taste, cutie,” he sighed into your ear, nuzzling at your neck. “And I love the way you moan for me.”

You were panting, still coming down from your high. Suna’s hand came up to caress your face, thumb rubbing gently over your cheekbones. He waited for your breathing to even out before sitting up to remove his pants. You couldn’t help but stare at the way his cock looked; you had no reference point, but you were pretty sure he was above average.

He lazily stroked his cock with one hand as he shifted your legs with the other, positioning himself close to your entrance. He dragged the head over your pussy, coating it with the wetness there.

Suna was looking straight at you again. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Yes,” you told him. He leaned down to plant one more kiss on your lips, before slowly pressing his cock into you.

All the time he spent pleasuring you already ensured that you were relaxed enough to take him, but even so, he went slow. He sank in a few inches before pausing, allowing you to adjust to his size as he peppered your face with kisses, before giving you some more. It took a full minute before he completely joined his hips to yours, a soft groan escaping his lips.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asked, his voice impossibly soft.

“Yeah.” You gave him a small smile, hands running up the backs of his arms to rest on his shoulder blades. It felt so incredibly good to finally have him inside you, to fill you up completely. There had been a slight pressure when he first entered you, but that was subsiding now, and you could fully enjoy the way his cock stretched you out.

Suna pulled his hips away from you, his cock dragging slowly along your sensitive walls. The loss of him drew a soft whimper out of you, turning into a moan when he pushed back in. His pace was unhurried at first, but with each breathy sigh you made he increased his speed, pulling out a little further each time.

“Rin, oh, oh…”

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he moaned, lips capturing yours in a wet kiss. “You feel so good, baby.”

He bent down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth with just enough pressure to make your spine arch, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly to let him know that you wanted more.

“Rin, I-I… oh god-”

He straightened back up so he could look into your face, his thumb and forefinger continuing to play with your nipple. “Does that feel good?” he asked in a low voice. You nodded, eyes squeezed tight against the pleasure, and another soft whimper left your throat. “You’re taking my cock so well, baby,” he murmured; you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten at his praise. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, please, please…”

He quickened his pace even more, hips snapping into yours hard enough now to apply deliciously pleasant friction to your clit. You couldn’t have stopped the sounds leaving your mouth even if you wanted to; every thrust of his cock made you come undone a little more. The pleasure radiated throughout your entire body, making you feel slightly lightheaded.

Suna placed both hands on the backs of your knees and lifted them, pressing your legs towards your chest. The new angle of your hips allowed his cock to press into that spot inside you that made your breath burn in your lungs. The feeling was unbelievable; you had never felt pleasure like this before.

Your eyes snapped open. Suna was staring down, watching his cock sink repeatedly into your dripping wet pussy. When your hand gave his shoulder a small squeeze he looked up, eyes locking with yours. His face was etched with determination, all of his efforts going towards making you feel good. His cheeks were flushed pink, and his eyes contained something that you couldn’t quite place.

“Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” His voice was husky, gaze burning with desire.

“Yes, Rin, please don’t stop,” you breathed out between gasps.

He kept his pace consistent, hitting that sweet spot over and over and over again. Your nails were digging into his back, leaving tiny crescent-shaped indentations in his skin. The knot in your stomach was tightening, tightening, tightening—

“Rintarou!” you cried out as the second orgasm overtook you, breath catching in your chest. Your legs trembled under Suna’s hands as he kept fucking you through it, groaning as your pussy clenched around him.

He could feel himself getting closer. He slowed his pace, leaning over to press hard kisses into your neck as you came down from your high. When your breathing started to even out, his lips moved up over your jaw and to your mouth. You kissed him greedily, hands moving to entwine themselves in his hair.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he asked, voice slightly hoarse. He was still moving against you, cock pumping slowly in and out of your pussy.

“Ah… oh,” was all you could manage to squeak out.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled his nose against your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. “Where, baby?”

“Inside… I want you to cum inside me,” you whispered.

With a groan, Suna started thrusting into you harder again. The wetness between your legs was audible with each stroke of his cock, and the sound of it only made him come closer to the edge. The sensation against your clit was pushing you into overstimulation, tears springing up in the corners of your eyes from the sheer pleasure. You reached down with one hand to grasp at his thigh, nails digging into the muscles working to join him to you, desperately trying to pull him closer, closer.

“God, I’m so close…” he murmured, face held so near to yours that your noses bumped each time he pounded into you.

“Oh, you feel so good,” you moaned.

“Can you say my name, baby?” His voice was hardly above a whisper.

“Rin,” you sighed, and his hips snapped into you almost urgently. “Please cum, Rin, I want you to cum for me…”

He buried his face in your neck, groaning deeply as he came. “Fuck.” You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, hot cum spurting deep into your pussy.

He was still for a moment, breathing hard against your skin, before slowly pulling out and rolling over to lie beside you. You felt some of his cum drip out of you, blushing at the sensation. The two of you were silent for a while, your panting breaths the only sounds in the room.

“How was that?” Suna asked eventually, turning onto his side to face you. You suddenly found yourself unable to look at him, pressing your face instead into the crook of his neck and humming contentedly. He chuckled softly and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” he asked, an uncharacteristic note of concern in his voice.

“Not at all,” you told him. “I liked it.”

You fell silent again. With your body pressed up against his, you could feel the beat of his heart, slowly steadying from its rapid pace. His skin was so warm, and you didn’t even mind the slight sheen of sweat covering both your bodies. You took a breath, inhaling his scent; you couldn’t describe what he smelled like, you just knew that he smelled good.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you must have been lying there for at least a quarter hour. You lifted your head to look at him and saw that his eyes were closed. Did he fall asleep?

“Rin?” you asked tentatively.

“Hmm?” His response was a low rumble in his chest; you could feel the vibrations against your palm. His eyes were still closed.

“Why were you nervous before?” You wriggled in his arms a bit, trying to get a better view of his face. “I mean, it wasn’t your first time.”

He opened his eyes, only to glance at you briefly before turning his head to look up at the ceiling. “It was my first time with you,” he mumbled, so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

With your hand still on his chest you could feel when his heart started beating faster. Peering at his face in the dark, you could have sworn you saw Suna Rintarou blush.

➣ masterlist

#sorry this is almost 5000 words sfbsgbgsk i got carried away #suna just makes me feel 🥺🤧🥵🥵#suna rintarou #suna rintarou smut #suna smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna #niakasi writing

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imagines-hoarder · 4 years ago

Text

House Warming - Bucky Barnes

Summary: Hopping through some standout moments in making Bucky's apartment a place worth coming home to. (This definitely could have been a headcanon but I refuse to do headcanons at this time.)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.6 k

Warnings: fluff with a lil angst

A/N: I have finished all the assignments left for my degree and decided to sit down and write today. This is probably trash but idc because it has been written and therefore I may as well release it. It's been a while since I've written and years since I've truly tried dipping my foot into a different fandom, but I figured I'd give it ago. Please don't forget to leave comments, I love interacting with y'all. Thank you @bwbatta for the dividers! xoxox

Masterlist

It all started with a damn candle. A ‘sandalwood & vanilla orchid’ candle tucked away in a reused cyan jar.

“I found it at the art market down the street last weekend,” you said as you placed it in the corner of the living room window. “You know we have to support local business.”

“And I shouldn’t assume this is your way of telling me my place smells, right?” Bucky quipped from the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He’d just gotten back from a 12-day mission with Sam, and the last thing he had on his to-do list was to buy candles.

The smile grew firmer as you put yourself into his arms. “Complete opposite, actually. I bought it cause I thought it smelled just like you.” You hid your face within his chest, and he thanked the stars that you couldn’t see the warmth rising in his cheeks. His barren apartment felt a little bigger with a candle in the windowsill.

From there it became decorative pillows… and a couch to hold them. The small living room had quickly become a mess by the time you both had brought it up to his fourth-floor apartment, furniture wrap and packing peanuts strewn everywhere.

“I still don’t know why you needed to buy a sofa this big,” Bucky grumbled as he leaned over the back of the beige three-seater, looking down at your splayed out across its cushions.

“Don’t get me wrong, babe. I love the transient bachelor look you’ve got going on here, but you need more furniture than an armchair,” you mumbled between heavy breaths as you tried to regain control from maneuvering the couch into the apartment.

“And the pillows?” A laugh fell from your lips as you watched him look at the indigo cushions with a remarkable amount of disdain. Who buys pillows made just to look nice on a couch?

“They add character.”

“I didn’t think character was an area we were lacking in. Transient bachelor, remember?” He walked around the couch and shifted you over so he could lay beside you. You instinctively curled into him as you both closed your eyes. For a second the place felt like home. “I also don't know how you plan for us both to fit on this couch every day along with the pillows.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You looked up from his chest with a mischievous glint that made his heart skip. “It’s a pullout bed too. I’m sure it’ll be firm enough even for you.”

The home improvements didn’t stop there, but Bucky refused to admit how much he enjoyed them.

He liked having a place and person to come home to. After you had bought neutral bedding for his room, you’d spent an evening putting together ‘his and hers’ trestle bookcases for either side of the bed. He’d try to keep up his crabbish demeanor as you argued that ‘you needed a place to set your books for when you slept over,’ and a side table could no longer contain the small collection you had spilling over. Even still, he couldn’t find it in himself to banter much about the minor changes you made to make the place feel lived in.

And God, did he love living with you around. Between missions, his continued therapy, and trying to find his place in a world that had tripled in opportunity since his youth, he knew that he never had to question who he was and where he fit in when he walked through that door. You still occasionally slept at your own apartment when he was away, but he could always count on you being asleep in his bed by the time he came home.

One toothbrush in a glass became two, and from there, hand creams, face masks, and cotton pads cluttered the bathroom counter, packed away in their clear containers. You had made sure to keep lavender bath salts on hand for the late-night baths you took together when he woke up in a panic, unable to close his eyes again for fear of falling back into a nightmare.

It took time and working through plenty of hesitation before Bucky could progress from sleeping on the pull-out sofa to the bed, but ever since, you found your nights attended by restlessness whenever you weren’t wrapped in his arms.

Once your lease was up and you had a lengthy conversation about your inability to rest without him, you quickly filled the apartment with brown boxes. Bucky had been no less than astounded by how much you fit into them. From then on, no nook or cranny was without a vase or shelf.

“How many mugs does one house need,” Bucky asked skeptically while he continued to carefully pull them from their paper wrappings.

“Oh, come on! They’re fun!” You exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his waist as you took the Charlie Brown mug from his metal palm. “Plus, we go through enough coffee around here to justify some extra mugs.”

After you put the mug into the lowest shelf of the cabinet, you busied yourself with filing away the spices one cabinet over. No matter how much he tried, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from you, lost in your own world as you chipped away at unpacking your belongings, making yours his, and vice versa. The domesticity in the little things you did was something he could get used to, and he wanted to return the feeling of normalcy as much as he could. He was far from the average boyfriend, but you remind him that could be a good thing. You never wanted to be average, but in these small moments, as you both did what normal couples do, he felt that he could create a new normal with you.

“So your Christmas gift came in already, and it’s too big to hide.” Your awkward tone carried over the phone as he exited a station ten minutes away from the apartment. Even though his neck ached and the cold nipped at the top of his ears, he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a breathy laugh.

“I thought you said you were good at this gift-giving thing, doll,” he teased you as he maneuvered his way to your shared apartment.

“Oh, don’t you fret, baby. I am the best gift-giver in all of New York City. I just slightly miscalculated how big this thing was and have realized it won’t fit into our closet.”

He tsked with a smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

“Hey, you gave me my Christmas gift a week ago.”

“Yeah, that’s because I didn’t know if I’d be back before Christmas.”

“Well, you will be, and I’m glad you are,” your voice softened lovingly as he pulled out his keys to the front of the building.

Bucky had gotten used to your love, but he’d vow to never take it for granted. All the pain he’d endured had somehow led him to you, the person who didn’t see his broken pieces as a burden or a project but as a potential to be whatever he desired.

When he hung up the call and unlocked the apartment, his brows furrowed into one; the apartment was pitch black. It was only when he heard your soft footstep walking towards the entrance that his face relaxed.

Before he could even kiss you, you had your palms firmly placed over his eyes. “No peeking; your gift is in the living room.”

The uncertainty in what you could have got him made his stomach clench. “Is it an animal?”

You slowly dragged him through the front hallway, making sure to avoid crashing into the entryway storage table. “I’m sorry to say it’s not alive.”

“Is it a nice welcome-home spread with candles, fruit, and the pullout bed all set up?”

He could feel your eyes roll to completion. “Easy there, sergeant. That’s for later.” You pulled him down to sit on the couch, and he kept his eyes closed as you pulled your palms away, moving to turn on a lamp. “Okay, Buck. open up.”

When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing nestled against the wall; when he did recognize it, he could only form two words “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit indeed.”

He was quick to stand up and cross the room, eager to get a good look at the walnut centerpiece. “Does it work?”

You scoffed as you moved to kiss his cheek. “What kind of girlfriend would get her ancient boyfriend a broken phonograph console?”

He didn’t even attempt to answer as he bent down to wrap his arms around you, his lips eager to find yours. “A fucking Magnavox radio and phonograph,” he mumbled against your lips.

“A working Magnavox radio and phonograph, you mean.” When you pulled away and saw that his face held a glow reserved only for special occasions, you knew you had made the right choice. “I’ve got some records wrapped up if you want to open those now too.”

You yelped in surprise as he picked you up and made his way towards your bedroom. “I’ve got something else I’d like to unwrap first.”

Bucky Barnes had grown up in a period when the average family could seldom afford nice things or much of anything at all. The Great Depression has resulted in the slogan ‘Make it do or Do without,” being ingrained into what memories he still had, and 'doing without' had become commonplace for the Barnes household.

That’s why every gadget and gizmo you added to your household left him in awe. For much of his life, including the decades he spent as a weapon for Hydra, he hadn’t been allowed to call anything his own; he was still getting used to living so plentifully, both in love and in life. But now, he could barely move and he thought it had all been taken away from him.

The attack was supposed to have been contained, at least three miles away from the apartment. Anything less, and he would have made you visit your family upstate instead of just suggesting it. By the time Sam had told him that there’d been some confirmed damage within a block of the apartment, Bucky was already on his way home. He couldn’t think of anything but the worse: you trapped in a collapsing apartment building or pulling up to find no building there at all.

He felt his lungs fill with air again as he pulled up to your building, completely intact regardless of the severe damage less than a five-minute walk away. It felt like both seconds and hours between when he parked his outside and unlocked the front door.

“He doesn’t have his phone on him, mom. How am I supposed to…” you trailed off from your call as he walked into the living room, turning your head away from the Breaking News report you’d been glued to for the last hour. “Wait, I’ll call you back. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you back.” Your eyes never left his as he walked over to you, hanging up the phone with worry in your eyes. “Buck, are you oka-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he pulled you off of the couch and into his arms. His grip was less reserved than he usually kept, but he made sure not to hurt you, eager to keep you in his arms, where he knew you were safe. A single tear fell from the corner of his eyes as he realized the real possibility that he could have lost you if you lived even 5 minutes closer to the attack. You stayed like that for a while, gathered tightly in his arms as you both settled onto the floor You didn’t push him to verbalize his fear; you already understood it. And it took this occurrence for him to realize he never wanted to experience this feeling again.

Bucky was quiet for the rest of the evening, and while it worried you, his fear had been evident enough not to require questioning. The city-wide cleanup had lasted all hours of the night; for the first time in all the years you had lived in the city, the sounds of the whirring of vehicles clearing debris off the street had been too close to ignore. The sun was rising before a single word was said between you and Bucky, tangled together on the sofa as the first ray of light made itself known.

“You’ve spent so much time piecing this place together, doll.” His voice was raspy. You know he hates when you see him cry, but his pain was always evident in his voice. “And it could have been all wiped away in seconds.” You let a heavy silence settle between you as you traced a pattern into his shoulder. He couldn’t bear to say it, but you knew what he meant: You could have been gone within seconds. “I just… I don’t ever want to feel like this again.”

You’d both gone through so much to make your relationship work. Nearly normal was as close as you would ever attain to being an average couple. The distance, the days without contact, and the ever-present fear that anything could pull you away from one another was something that had taken time to work through.

You looked around the living room and saw the place you had built together. There were photos and books scattered on any flat surface, a leftover mug half-filled with cold tea, and a record left out on the phonograph. The apartment looked like what love felt like; a messy combination of everything you and Bucky. But this apartment could not contain everything that ‘home’ was; only Bucky could do that.

The words fell from your mouth before you could restrain them. “Maybe we should move.”

Your eyes found each other, and you both sat in silence, though it felt lighter, invigorated with the new proposition.

Before he even responded, you could see tension dissolve from his shoulders. “Where do you want to move?”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead, only being able to provide him with a shrug. “I don’t know… maybe upstate, maybe somewhere else.”

“Your mom would like you being Upstate.”

“My mom would love us living next door too, but I don’t see that in the cards anytime soon.” You got a ghost of a smile for that.

“We could probably afford a house if we moved out there,” he said as he moved his lips to meet your forehead.

“Buck, I’d move anywhere with you. As long as we have each other, then we have all we need to rebuild this place.”

He pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head, and you swore you felt his chest flutter. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna look for some places, bigger ones too.” He tilted your head up to find your eyes, and you were sure that all of the love you carried for each other was incredibly visible at that moment. “You have made this apartment something worth coming home to. Now let me give you a house to make a home.” Your skin tingled with adoration as you pulled him as close as possible, burying your face into his neck.

You didn’t want to let go. You wanted to lay in this room, in this bed, and in this moment until the end of time, but you knew that something bigger and better was on the horizon for you and Bucky.

“All I heard is that you’re buying me a house.” His laugh was music to your ears.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff

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aimfor-theheart · 4 years ago

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COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

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besanii · 3 years ago

Text

shattered mirrors 73

[ set after #69 ]

He’s stumbling forward before he even realises he’s moving, knocking into the low desk with his foot and almost falling over if not for Lan Wangji’s steady hand around his elbow. His limbs feel like lead and his body moves as though wading upstream against a rushing river. His ears are ringing, his vision spotting at the edges, but through all of that he sees the person before him.

“A-Xian.” A sob bubbles up inside his throat at the sound of his name in her voice. “A-Xian.”

She too is stumbling towards him, arms outstretched and tears in her eyes. He wants desperately to fall into her arms, to bury himself in her embrace and let her warmth wrap around him and wash away the horrors of the last fourteen years. Pretend as though he is still Wei Ying, the ward of Yunmeng, her brother in all but name and blood, the little boy who had grown up as her second shadow.

Instead, he sinks to his knees at her feet and presses his forehead to the floor. Lan Wangji follows him to the floor, hovering protectively around him

“Your guilty subject pays respects to Gongzhu-dianxia,” he says. “I humbly beg Dianxia’s forgiveness for failing my duty to Yunmeng Jiang.”

There. He’s said it. The words that had been eating away at him all these years, the constant shadow of guilt lingering in the corner of his mind. His family had been tasked with the protection of Yunmeng and its royal family, it had been their job to gather intelligence and wield it in their defence.

He’d failed. And Yunmeng had fallen.

A strangled noise leaves Jiang Yanli’s throat.

“A-Xian, no,” she says. “No, A-Xian, there is nothing to forgive. Please, get up—”

She reaches for his hands, tugging at them to make him stand, but he remains resolutely prostrate.

“Gongzhu-dianxia, this guilty subject does not dare.”

Her hands tighten around his almost painfully for a moment before she sighs, her whole body sagging with the movement.

“You did everything you could,” she tells him. When he goes to deny it, she squeezes his hand again. “Look at me.” He reluctantly raises his head and sees her looking back at him with a tremble in the firm line of her mouth. “A-Xian, I would be dead—or perhaps worse—if not for you. You saved me.”

He presses his lips together in a hard line, his breath heavy through his nose as he struggles to keep the tears at bay.

“I could have done more,” he whispers. “I could have—”

“You did everything you could,” she repeats firmly. “A-Xian, there was nothing more you could have done. Not under those circumstances.”

A raw, wounded noise tears itself from his throat, through his tightly closed lips.

“I should have realised the reports were false,” he argues, hands twisting in the fabric of his robes. “I should have verified them personally, I—”

She takes his face between her hands, shocking him into silence.

There are new lines on her face, around her eyes and mouth, that hadn’t been there before; she’s older, he realises, and has had to fend for herself for many years. The Jiang Yanli before him now glows with health and vigour, dressed in the thick, coarse garments of the northern border tribes rather than the silks of the capital—a far cry from the sheltered princess from Yunmeng she had been in their youth. Her hands, still so small against his cheek, are rough and callused from hard labour.

“A-Xian, you did everything you could,” she repeats firmly. “It is in the past. Do not blame yourself any longer. Alright?”

He closes his eyes with a shuddering sigh.

And then he’s falling forward into Jiang Yanli’s waiting arms with an aborted cry, clutching at the back of her heavy cloak desperately. Her scent is different—the lotus blossoms replaced by something earthier and less floral—and the arms she wraps around him are stronger, the hug firmer than what he remembers. But the way her fingers run through his hair, the warmth of her body, the way she envelopes him in her embrace despite the difference in stature—there is no mistaking it. He would know it anywhere.

“Jiejie.” He’s repeating himself, over and over again, the way he has not done since they were children and it was still allowed. This is not a dream. “Jiejie, jiejie, jiejie—”

“A-Xian.” Jiang Yanli laughs, her voice thick with tears. “Oh, A-Xian, I’m so glad you’re alive. I’ve missed you so.”

He’s missed her too. There are no words to describe how much he’s missed her. So he just holds her tighter, buries his face in her shoulder as they sink to their knees in the middle of the study floor. He’s dimly aware of movement around them—the servants, perhaps, or Lan Wangji, stepping away to give them some privacy—but he doesn’t acknowledge them, overwhelmed by the fact that Jiang Yanli is here, in his arms, safe and sound after so many years.

“Fourteen years…” She pulls away, running her hands over his hair and face as she does, drinking in the sight of him. “A-Xian, you’ve lost weight.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.” He leans into the hand resting on his cheek. “You look good, Jiejie. You haven’t changed at all.”

It’s her turn to shake her head, falling so easily into their familiar banter as she admonishes him for lying.

“Nonsense. Look at me.” She sits back on her heels and raises her arms to show off the travel-worn garb beneath her heavy cloak. “I’m just a humble farmer’s wife now.”

At the word ‘wife’, Wei Wuxian is suddenly reminded they are not alone. His attention is drawn to the doorway where Jin Zixuan stands with his arm around a boy of no more than ten. Gone are the fine, embroidered silks and gilded jewels signature to the Crown Prince of Lanling. Instead, both are dressed in the same thick, northern-style robes as Jiang Yanli, both with the same broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin and matching vermilion marks between their brows. Jin Zixuan offers him a nod when their eyes meet.

“Wei Wuxian, it’s been a while.” After a moment, he hastily corrects himself and bows. “My apologies, I did not mean any disrespect. Jin Zixuan greets Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei.”

“Taizi—Jin-gongzi.” Wei Wuxian corrects himself quickly, returning his greeting with a short bow. “There is no need for such formality. It is good to see you all well.”

He is surprised to find he means it sincerely; there was no such goodwill the last time they had crossed paths, young and foolhardy as they were. But those days are long past. Gone is the spoilt young prince who had spurned the woman he regarded as a sister, buried beneath the cold ashes of a war that took everything from them in one fell swoop. This Jin Zixuan is a husband, a father, who had done the unthinkable—renouncing his claim to the throne of Lanling to search for Jiang Yanli without knowing whether or not she was even alive—and had been rewarded for his devotion.

Jiang Cheng, ah, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian thinks. I think even you would hold a bit of respect for him now.

Jin Zixuan’s eyes shift to Lan Wangji, standing silently behind Wei Wuxian, and offers a deeper bow, which Lan Wangji returns with an incline of his head. Jiang Yanli follows suit from where she is still on her knees with Wei Wuxian, bowing low at the waist.

“Jiang Yanli greets Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei,” she echoes. “Thank you for taking care of A-Xian. Yunmeng owes you a great debt.”

Before either of them can react to dispute her claim, she turns to beckon the boy—her son, Wei Wuxian’s heart leaps with realisation—closer with one hand, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of the other. She draws the boy closer, turns him to face both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji with a warm smile and a comforting hand on his back. The boy looks up at them with something akin to awe in his eyes.

“A-Ling, come and pay respects to Wangye and Wangfei,” she tells him. “They are our family’s benefactors. Without their help, we would not be here today, so we must repay this debt however we can.”

“Yes, A-Niang.” Jin Ling steps away from his mother, squaring his little shoulders in a way that reminds Wei Wuxian of his father when they had first met, trying to put on an air of importance despite his small stature; he clasps his fingers in front of his chest and performs a textbook-perfect bow from the waist. “Jin Ling pays respects to Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei.”

Wei Wuxian looks back at Lan Wangji, helpless in the face of their collective insistence, and sees the corner of Lan Wangji’s lips twitch. He sighs in defeat.

“Jin-xiao-gongzi,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Your mother’s family took me in when my parents passed, kept the roof over my head and the clothes on my back. Without them, I would not be here today. Whatever debt there is between us, let us wipe the slate clean now and start anew.”

He sees Lan Wangji incline his head in agreement, eyes soft as he holds out a hand to help him to his feet. His arm is warm and steady around his waist, his hand firm in his, holding him upright as he works to calm the storm of emotions warring within his chest. Finally, he gives the hand in his a brief squeeze and turns back to their guests with a bright smile.

“Now, let’s dispense with all this formality,” he says. “You must be tired from your journey—you must stay with us, here in Hanguang Manor. In fact, I insist upon it.”

Jiang Yanli exchanges a quick look with her husband.

“We do not wish to—” Wei Wuxian clears his throat pointedly, and Jiang Yanli falters mid-sentence, pauses and acquiesces with an amused sigh. “Then it would be impolite of us to decline such a generous offer.”

Translations

Gongzhu-dianxia (公主殿下) - Your Highness, the Princess

wangfei (王妃) - consort to the Duke, his legitimate wife/spouse

Notes

Approximately a billion years later!!!!

WWX called JYL jiejie as a child, before they got older and it was inappropriate to do so, after which he sometimes called her shijie in private, but mostly addressed her as Gongzhu-dianxia in public.

Any errors or inconsistencies will...be addressed at some point. It’s been a while and I need to revisit some things to remind myself what’s happened >_>

buy me a ko-fi!

more shattered mirrors fic | verse

#mdzs #wangxian #my writing #shattered mirrors fic #shattered mirrors au #lan wangji #wei wuxian #王爷机 X 花魁羡 #jiang yanli #jin zixuan #jin ling #🥢#wei wuxian arc #this got long #and i gave up trying to make it coherent #my brain is not working after the second pfizer dose

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like-rain-or-confetti · 4 years ago

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Request: Trio (Caius Volturi x Reader x Athenodora Volturi)

You should have considered yourself lucky. This should have been heaven to you. Yet as the days went on, you began to notice more and more tiny details that no longer made it perfect.

Caius and Athenodora married long before you or many of the generations before you existed. That didn't bother you. You knew the pair were thousands of years old. Whilst you weren't married to them or necessarily expecting a marriage you couldn't help but notice just how enthralled the two were with each other and left you on the outside to get what ever is left of their love. It had came up many times. All of such conversations ended with the same assurance that wasn't the case. You tried to make that comforting to you but it wasn't. It simply felt like it was a lie, something to keep you content for the time being.

After some time the feeling never left and you began to distance yourself from the two. You didn't see either of them as often and were able to make up an excuse several times when the two requested your presence. They hadn't pushed it yet but you knew you'd have to get more creative eventually.

On this particular day, you couldn't avoid Athenodora. Not amount of trying to get out of it subtly was working. Thankfully, you hadn't seen Caius and it was only Athenodora. She was a lot easier to avoid than Caius. You entered the room and Sulpicia left almost immediately to her own quarters. "Hi," You said softly, barely making eye contact with her. "Where would you want this?" It was more books from the library seeing as the wives weren't allowed to go down their on their own. "Over there is fine." Athenodora said with a smile, pointing to the table at the far wall of the room between the windows. You silently cursed hoping you could have just make another excuse but them somewhere closer and hurry off. Going to the other side of the room meant it wouldn't be so easy leaving. You nodded, briskly walking to the table and placing the books down on the table.

You paused, just how were you going to get out of this situation? You stared down at the books. You had no idea what you were going to say. "Are you alright?" You heard Athenodora ask from behind you. "Yes." You said quickly. "I was just thinking about what the receptionist had said to me before, I think I better head down and see what she needs." Just as you finished the sentence you stiffened feeling hands on your waist from behind. "What are you doing?" You asked, a little too hurriedly than you had liked. "Hoping to get at least get some of your time." Athenodora answered. "It's been weeks since I've probably had your company." Her grip got a little firmer. "I'm sorry, I've just been busy recently-." "Why are you lying to me?" Your heart nearly came out of your throat, your eyes wide. You knew it was a crappy lie. Athenodora continued. "We caught on after the first few times. You're avoiding us." Just like that it had gotten worse. "Can you let go please?" You asked. "Can I get some answers?" She responded but released her hold on you. You moved to make space between you both. "I can't do this right now." You said, eyes to the floor. "We're worried, (Y/N). Tell me what's wrong and we can fix it." Athenodora said as though lightly pleading. You shook your head. Hurrying towards the door as Athenodora moved towards you. "(Y/N), stop." Athenodora said sharply and you froze in place. That really did work on you every time. "Give me a hug, please." She asked softer. You were silent for a moment. "If I do, will you let me leave?" Her jaw twisted, hurt in her eyes. "Yes." She said stiffly. You quickly moved towards her before hugging her. She hugged you to her tightly, enjoying the moment that had become so rare. You loved Athenodora just as you did Caius hit you felt at this point giving such acts of affection was a betrayal to yourself. "Just tell me something." She whispered quietly. "Even just one sentence. Please, tell me." "I think I'm his toy and I think I'm your toy too." You said quietly before forcibly breaking yourself out of her hold. You barely caught her look of hurt once again before quickly taking your leave.

Barely two hours later, Caius stormed into your room. "You upset her." He seethed. It was clear he was absolutely livid with you. "It wasn't my intention." You said lowly, your back to him, looking down at something on your desk. "Look at me!" Caius demanded. You closed your eyes but turned to look at him. "You've hurt her. You've hurt me." He said icily. "I can't help how I feel. I apologise that my feelings hurt you. It's why I kept to myself in the first place. Athenodora asked." "Do not make excuses for yourself!" Caius snapped. "You do not get to say such a thing and then walk away. You do not get to be so cold towards Athenodora!" You had nothing to say to that. You had done your best with the situation, tried to protect them both. "You're coming with me, now! We're going through this again!" Caius demanded. "I don't want to do this right now." You said rigidly. "I didn't want to deal with this again. I didn't want to find my wife upset. We don't want to lose you or upset you but here we are! None of us want to do this but we are so come!" Caius left no room to argue...as usual.

Athenodora looked up as Caius entered the room, you one step behind him and looking very uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I upset you. It wasn't my intention." You said to her quietly. She stepped forward. "You both know I'm sorry, so can we go past the punishing me part so I can leave?" "No." Caius said sharply. "That. That right there is the problem. You think you're here to be punished for this. You couldn't be more wrong. Something is wrong and we're getting to the bottom of it." He pointed a finger at you. "There is something wrong that is making you cold and distant. We gave you time and space after you avoided us the first three times and clearly it has done nothing but grown. We don't recognise this side of you (Y/N) and quite frankly, we don't like it either." "And I don't get a say in this? This is you two giving me space? Demanding I bear my heart and soul to you so you can scream at me?" You responded coldly, seemingly proving their point. "We don't want to punish you, (Y/N)." Athenodora tried. "We want to help. Something has changed and that's alright, just let us help you through it." "Why?" You asked quizzically. "I hurt your feelings, Caius' too and the first thing that happened was Caius' stormed into my room and demanded I have this conversation." "We think whatever this is, you're holding onto it so that you don't hurt anyone but it's hurting you and by extension that hurts us. We just want to help." Athenodora said softly. "So you've already decided what this is before I even came into it. You two have discussed this without me..." You scoffed. "...and you wonder why I feel the way I do." The room was silent for a moment. "Which is what?" Caius' eyes narrowed on you. Athenodora looked to Caius and you felt a flash of fear. You had said too much.

You slowly shook your head looking down. "No, say it. We want to hear you say it. Stop clinging onto it and say what is clearly consuming you!" Caius demanded. Your eyes got darker and darker. The two noticed as whatever was going through your head started to overwhelm you. "You can tell us. Sweetheart, we want to help." Athenodora tried. "Stop it!" You said quickly, covering your face. "Say it, (Y/N). You have a nasty habit of bottling things up to the point we need to pry it out of you. Which is exactly what we're doing now. It's time." Caius said, moving closer. "Do you not love us anymore?" Athenodora guessed, trying to help you. "No, that's not it!" You said, behind your hands. "This is ridiculous! This isn't healthy how-" Your outburst interrupted Caius. "I still feel like a hobby!" You cried out. "I feel that you two are each other's priority and I get what's left. I'm just an extension of your relationship!" Your eyes widened. You had said it. Out loud. The two looked taken aback. "Oh, damn it!" You cried out, sinking to your knees. Athenodora was quick to catch you, lowering to the ground with you. She pulled you against her as you curled up into a ball. Her arms wrapping over your back. "What-" Caius began but Athenodora cut him off. "Give them a minute." She said to him, voice firm but her hold on you comforting.

This wasn't new to Caius and Athenodora. It had bothered you for a long time but never to this extent. They had hoped that with time, you could move past it. It was known you bottled up your emotions and the pair tried to get you break the habit but sometimes you'd rather destroy yourself than tell them what you were feeling. They loved you too much to let that happen. It pained them to see that you rarely felt better when you told them. You felt guilty, caring about their feelings more than your own.

Athenodora mumbled to you quietly that everything was okay. That you were alone. They were here. In silence, Caius cast his anger aside. After all he wasn't really angry at you. He was angry at the situation. That he couldn't take that feeling of guilt away. He moved forward when he heard you apologise. Athenodora continued to tell you it was alright. He didn't want your apology, you didn't need to apologise.

He moved behind you, joining you both on the floor. "You're alright." He said to you quietly, winding his arms around your waist, his chin on top of your shoulder. "Tell us more." Athenodora said quietly into your ear. "You pay more attention to each other. It's you two against the world and then me. I don't feel equal. I-I’m sorry!" "(Y/N), look at me." Caius began, both himself and Athenodora moving you to face him. Your back against Athenodora's chest. "I love you just as much as I love Athenodora. I would not lie to you. I may have married Athenodora but in our eyes your are our spouse just as much. We love you and you make us feel complete." He cradled your face in his hands. "We couldn't live without you with us. It would destroy us. Even if you don't believe me...just remember it. Until you do, until we prove it to you." Caius' tone was soft and gentle. It was exceptionally rare for him to speak to you like that, or anyone for that matter but after a moment of staring into your eyes he pressed his lips to yours. The action surprised you. Regardless you returned the kiss. "Give it time, alright?" Athenodora responded. "Let us show you." Slowly, you nodded.

#request #twilight #volturi #the volturi #reader #caius volturi #athenodora volturi #oneshot #one shot

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silv3rswirls · 4 years ago

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Let Her Go

Anon asks: Good evening. I wanted to request an undefined relationship between v and reader. Lots of angst pls! Sad or happy ending, doesn’t matter. Thank you sm

Pairing: Kim Taehyung/reader

Summary: When you ask Taehyung what exactly the two of you are he doesn’t answer. You try to keep playing along, but sometimes it’s best to let things go.

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 2.6k

”What are we?”

The question had slipped out in a moment of weakness. You were lying in bed as Taehyung picked your clothes up from the floor. He was already partially dressed while you waited for him to hand yours over. “What?” Taehyung had looked at you, caught off guard. The question of what exactly the two of you e\were had never come up until now.

“What are we?” You repeated, staring up at the ceiling, “are we like a couple or friends with benefits, or...I don’t know.”

“Friends, of course.” Taehyung laughed sitting down beside you and tossing your clothes to you.

“Friends who hook up?”

“Yeah…”

“And have been hooking up for almost a year now?”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you. Taehyung shifted a bit restlessly. The two of you had been in some weird, undefined space regarding your relationship with one another. You had started as friends, but things changed about a year ago. Taehyung had just gotten back from touring and the two of you had been celebrating, catching up, and just making up for the lost time. You still weren’t exactly sure how the two of you managed to fall into bed together, but you did. It happened and the two of you just never talked about it. The thing was that after that night you seemed to end up in Taehyung’s bed quite often. You supposed you hadn’t thought much of it at first, you were single and so was he and it didn’t really affect the friendship. But now, as months went by you found yourself wondering just what this was. Sometimes he treated you like a girlfriend and other times just like friends. It was confusing. Were you allowed to meet other guys? Did Taehyung talk to other girls? Or was it an unspoken rule that the two of you were together?

“Is something wrong?” Taehyung asked quietly, pulling you out of your thoughts. He sat there staring at you with a small tilt to his head.

“This all is just confusing for me.” You admit.

“What’s confusing? We just hook up sometimes, no strings attached right?”

You bit your lip, your heart hurting to hear him say that. Maybe at first, you had been all for no strings attached, but no it seemed that your heartstrings had very much attached themselves to him. Who could blame you though? Taehyung was the perfect guy and sleeping with someone for months on end had to do something to the heart, right? “So, none of the past few months have meant anything to you?” You asked, sitting up to grab your shirt and pull it over your head.

“I mean…” Taehyung seemed a bit lost for words, watching you with furrowed brows as he thought about what to say. “Why are you bringing this up?”

“Do you really just want me to say it?” You asked, getting up to pull your pants on. “We’ve been playing some game for almost a year now. Is it really that surprising that I would want more?”

“It’s just...I thought we both knew that this was just sex.”

“It was, but...I just thought you would feel more...it really never meant anything to you?” Taehyung seemed nervous to answer. “Taehyung, I don’t think you realize this but I like you. Not just as a friend, but I think I really like you. I-I want to be more than just hook up buddies or friends.” He didn’t answer you, but the look that came to his face was enough to tell you he wasn’t on the same page. Your face grew hot in embarrassment.

“It’s just sex Y/n, I want it to stay that way.”

Your heart dropped, he sounded so sincere in his delivery. You swallowed the lump in your throat. You couldn’t believe it, you had thought he wouldn’t have been so detached, that maybe he kept calling you because he had some kind of feelings for you. “So what? That first night you just came back from tour all needy and think: oh, there’s Y/n she’s easy? Oh, this is easy, I can just keep doing this?” You asked, hurt clear in your tone. “You never thought that maybe it was a bad idea?”

“You could’ve said no” Taehyung defended, “you went along with things too.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I just thought you were a little more compassionate than this.” You grabbed your phone from the bedside table, “I need to go.” You muttered, hurrying out of the room to grab your bag and slip your shoes back on.

“Y/n, wait,” Taehyhung called, following to the front door. “Y/n-”

“Tae, I just really need to be alone right now.”

“Okay...do you want me to call you a car or?”

“I don’t need your help.” You slipped out of the front door, hurrying down the hall to the elevator. You went home, falling onto your bed with a heavy sigh, unsure what was going to become of your relationship with Taehyung.

A few days went by and you didn’t hear from Taehyung, which wasn’t abnormal due to idol life. You weren’t sure if you were grateful for this or not. You were tired of the weird relationship the two of you had formed over the past year, but deep down you missed him. You wished you hadn’t developed feelings for him, that you could be content with what he wanted, but you know you couldn’t handle it anymore. He was your friend, you loved him, and you knew he cared about you. But every time the night ended in his bed you couldn’t help the odd mix of feelings it gave you. It was just confusing. Sometimes he would hold your hand and dote on you like a girlfriend, while other days it felt like you were just one of the guys. Sometimes he’d give you such heated looks and kiss you with passion, but other nights his embrace felt cold and loveless. You weren’t sure if he was doing it on purpose, you hoped he wasn’t. The idea of him using you up for sex and affection hurt, you wanted to believe he wasn’t capable of doing something like that.

Still, you wondered.

Today you decided to get out of your apartment, tired of sulking around over the confusion over Taehyung. You met up with a friend at a small cafe nearby, decided to talk it out with her. “You should have seen his face” you groaned, “he looked like a deer in headlights, didn’t know what to say.”

“All you asked was what the two of you were, it’s not that hard of a question.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s a grown man, shouldn’t be playing games like this with you.” You hummed, not even completely sure if he knew he was playing a game. “Has he called you since?”

You hummed with a shake of your head, “it’s not uncommon for him to MIA, you know how idol life can be.”

“What if he calls you?”

You paused, staring down into your drink. You hadn’t really thought of what you would do if he did contact you. “I guess...try to talk to him again?”

“I think you need to be firmer in your approach.” Your friend commented, “make him realize how you feel and how awful he’s treating you.”

“It’s not that bad” you protested.

“I mean” She frowned, “how do you feel when he tells you to come over and hook up? You said you never stay the night, he always kicks you out.”

“It’s not the best feeling…” You sighed. In the beginning, you would stay with him through the night, cuddling and laughing like old friends. But recently he’s been colder, more distant. “I guess I feel used” you admit, “he’s just been acting colder lately. At first, it felt like we were friends just having fun, but now it feels like using me to fulfill his needs and then just shoos me away.”

“Tell him that!” She exclaimed.

“I don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose-”

“Ah, Y/n! I doubt all of this is just one huge accident. He’s a big boy, he knows what he’s doing. If he calls you again tell him how this is making you feel and break it off if he can’t get serious over you.” She ordered, “you deserve better. I don’t care how hot he is.” You smiled with a small laugh. It wasn’t just that Taehyung was hot. He was perfect. Talented, funny, adorable- everything you could ever want. At least, when he wasn’t treating you like a shameful one-night stand.

You went home that afternoon, contemplating your friend’s advice over and over again until your phone lit up with a new notification. It was Taehyung with a simple message asking you to come over. You debated for a minute but decided to go over. You didn’t bother getting ready, no makeup, and nothing fancy to wear. You just wanted to talk.

Before you knew it you found yourself at Taehyung’s apartment, sitting on the sofa beside him watching a movie. He had tried to grab you a few times, wanting to pull you in to cuddle, but you brushed him off. It wasn’t easy though, not when he gave you such a pleading look and little pout. In any other circumstance, you would’ve been happy to. “Y/n” Taehyung frowned, “are you still upset from the other night?”

“A little.” You sighed, “Tae can we talk about this?”

“We already did...I like what we have now.” He smiled as his hand came to rest on your knee.

“I don’t Taehyung” you frowned and pulled away, “it’s killing me.”

Taehyung scrunched his nose, “you never had a problem before, why now?”

“Because you’ve changed.”

“Changed? I haven’t-” “You have! You treat me like I’m only around to fulfill your needs. Don’t you know how that makes me feel?” Your voice wavered, “At first things seemed okay, but...but really I just feel used and like I’m nothing to you. You won’t even sit down and talk it out with me!”

“Y/n-”

“No Taehyung! I can’t do this anymore, I don’t want to. Either we’re together or we’re not. I’m not playing games anymore.” He stared at you with wide eyes, obviously not expecting such a blow-up from you. You stared hard at him, eyes burning into him as he fidgeted with an answer. “Do you want to be in a relationship with me, or not?” You breathed, calmer than before.

“I...I don’t want to date you Y/n.” He admits with eyes full of guilt as he glances up at you. You bit the inside of your cheek, your heart pounding against your chest.

“So you just want to use me?”

“Don’t make it sound so bad Y/n, you know I wouldn’t-”

“But you are.” You tell him, turning to grab your phone and leave.

“Y/n, if you don’t want to do this anymore then, what are we now?”

You look down, biting back your tears. “I can’t be friends with you Tae, I’m sorry.” You grab your coat, “we’re nothing.”

Weeks went by and you didn't hear a single one of Taehyung's calls. He tried to call a lot in the beginning, but as the days went by he found himself stopping. It was hard not to though, He wanted to talk to you again. When you had left that night he had spent a long time thinking about his actions the past year. He had never thought of himself as using you, nor did he think he was hurting you. He liked how things were, it was easy.

Today he was at the dorm, lounging on the sofa staring at the television. He glanced up when Jimin walked in, stopping at the sight of his best friend moping around. “Taehyung, are you okay?” He asked, sitting down beside him. “You’ve been acting really off lately.”

Taehyung hummed, “Y/n and I” he began, unsure of what to say. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“Oh,” Jimin nodded. He had known about Taehyung's time with you since the first time it happened. “Can I ask why?”

“She wanted more from me, but I- I don’t know, I told her I liked how things were. Didn’t want them to change.”

“Is that really what you want?”

“I think so…” Jimin nodded, “Is it what you want or are you just too scared to have anything more?” Jimin presses, “you seemed really comfortable with what you and Y/n had- happy too, why wouldn't you want to try for more with her?”

Taehyung shook his head, “I don’t know Jimin. I just don’t think a relationship would work right now. We’re so busy; I don’t know if the relationship would be a very good one. Put just having the casual thing worked out so well, it was easy.”

Jimin frowned, moving over to let Taehyung rest his head on his shoulder. “I understand Tae, but why be so upset if you don’t want a relationship with her?”

“I miss her.” He admitted, “she said she can’t be friends with me. But I just want things to go back to what they were.”

“You still want her attention.” Jimin sighed, “Taehyung, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t hold her back from finding happiness with someone else, you have to let her go.”

“It’s hard” Taehyung whispered, “I don’t want to.”

It was hard, but Taehyung learns to stop clinging on to you. He knows you’ll be happier without him around to confuse you, and he wants you to be happy. But he still feels lonely at times. His nights were always empty when he was alone. Without you to come over and talk with him, watch movies, or do anything, he found himself missing you the most. You were easy to talk to and caring. You didn’t mind his busy life, in fact, you had adapted pretty well to it. He thinks about the year the two of you spent together a lot. You gave him a shoulder to lean on, someone to feel close to. You gave him peace among the stress, you made him feel happy. Had he really taken all of that for granted back then? He was stupid, he shouldn’t have just said goodbye to you like that.

When he looked back on the time you spent together he grew sick of all the ways he had led you on. He had been selfish, only wanting things to go his way. Deep down he had known, he just couldn’t admit it to himself. He hadn’t been able to tell you that there was no hope for more at the time. He could understand how you felt like he was just using you for his own desire and satisfaction. The whole thing still left such a bitter taste in his mouth. It was unfair how he let things play out and he wished he could turn back time and fix it.

It’s been months now. He hasn’t called you at all, letting you move on. But tonight he was sitting in the hotel room, coming down from the high of their recent concert. He’s curled up on his bed and staring out the window quietly. He thinks about you, he misses you. With a small burst of energy, he sat up and grabbed for his phone. Your number was still saved in his phone, so he dialed it and waited for your answer.

You didn’t answer and Taehyung sighed, a heavy feeling sat in his chest.

He shouldn’t have let you go.

#bts #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts fanfic #kim taehyung #bts v #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung angst #kim taehyung x reader #bts taehyung x reader #bts v x reader

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theshireisburning-so-mordoritis · 4 years ago

Text

Fire Calls To Fire

A Love Of Venom And Claws - Chapter 4

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

Word Count: 7.3K

Warnings: 18+. Male and female masturbation. Brief sexual harassment. Protective Oberyn. Sexual tension.

A/N: Oof things are spicing up.

You rise at dawn the following day after your altercation with the Viper. Eyes burning - weary from lack of sleep and covers strewn disastrously across your bed from your fitful tossing and turning.

You'd all but fled to your room once Sansa had decided she'd had enough of the gardens. Only able to take a true full breath once the heavy door slammed closed behind you and you knew your were safe from prying eyes.

Or more accurately, safe from the weighted gaze of a certain dark eyed Prince.

How do you go from holding a knife to someone's throat to almost kissing them in the span of a few minutes?

Confusion doesn't even begin to explain what you're feeling. Your emotions are a tangled mess - volatile and burning bright. You'd flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as you desperately tried to make sense of the chaos in your head that even now continues to baffle you.

You've never felt like this with anyone. This burning need to rise to his own hatred, to give into the violent urges he inspires within you.

The first part is easily explainable of course.

the Dornish Prince is like a poisonous thorn in your side and it had felt almost good to unleash that rage upon him. Seeing the way his eyes had grown wide when you'd pounced at him had pride singing in your veins.

Iin that moment you knew he saw you as more than how everyone else sees you.

You weren't just a lady of your house but a warrior - one just as much as any man and you had wanted him to feel the threat of your presence like he has made you feel his since the night of the banquet.

Normally you'd play for peace, you would use the diplomacy you were taught to ensure a beneficial outcome for your house. But there's a part of you that doesn't want that. It wants to meet him blow for blow instead and stoke the fire in his eyes as you do so.

Those eyes have haunted you through your sleepless night, the way they glowed with fury or grew molten with desire. You could still hear his rough voice in your ear - low with the promise of making you scream and a treacherous shiver slips along your spine.

His mouth had been millimetres from yours. You'd felt the hot fan of his breath against your lips and craved the collision. Even now as you bathe for the coming day your legs feel weak with just the memory of the all consuming need you'd experienced in that moment.

It leaves you burning still. Body aflame even as you float in the water, thoughts rampent of strong hands gripping your skin and sealing you against a firm chest whilst his mouth plunders your own. You imagine all the ways he'd make good on his promise - wicked praise growled against your throat as your legs wind around narrow hips and press him further into you.

You gasp when your fingers brush through your folds - head falling back as they ghost over the swollen flesh of your clit before the strokes become firmer. The image of the prince taking you bursts behind your closed lids - lips parted and dark eyes heavy lidded with pleasure - a strong hand gripping your jaw to make sure you're eyes are on him as he slams into you.

Shaky moans spill from your lips as pressure gathers in your core - a fierce energy rippling through you whilst the taunting rasp of his voice curls around your ear. Coaxes you to give in.

What other reason could he have for trying to kiss you? How foolish have you been to even consider there was any.

A sudden thought cuts through your haze. Drowns it in ice. You snatch your hand away from between your thighs, disgust filtering through your mounting frustration.

This is what he wants. He is playing with you and you are losing.

He's trying to get in your head - attempting to confuse you in making you yearn for something that wars with your other, less kind feelings towards him. Whether to humiliate you or lower your defences around him so it's easier for him to strike, you don't know.

Knowing what you do of Oberyn it's probably both.

You recall his threats to your family - the disdain upon realising who you are and his scheming to send away an innocent girl simply to gain leverage. You allow your anger to bleed through you, drawing it around you like armour as you step out of the tub and go to prepare yourself for the day.

You're going to put a stop this sly little game of Oberyn's. It's time he learns exactly what happens when you try and play a Lannister for a fool.

The sun glitters off of the gentle waves lapping at the docks as you take your place by your family's side to bid farewell to your sweet, little cousin.

And nuch to your annoyance you aren't the only ones in attendance.

Oberyn and Ellaria stand only a short distance away speaking with the crew mean't to escort Myrcella. You can hear that smooth voice reminding the men to be gentle and kind with the Princess - to make sure she is well looked after and comfortable for the girl is sure to be nervous journeying towards her new life.

It is only with gritted teeth and clenched fists that you don't march up to him and slap the charming smile off of his ridiculously handsome face.

It infuriates you to witness the way he parades around the docks like he hasn't a care in the world when you must wrap your anger around you tightly to shield away the memories of his lips a hairs width from yours.

You wonder the repurcussions that would follow knocking the Prince of Dorne into the ocean. Surely your Uncle would probably combust with rage but you'd almost consider it worth the risk.

How dare he show his face here when he's the reason for a child being sepearted from her family, it's like pouring salt into an open wound and you don't doubt for a second that that is exactly his reason for being here.

He must feel the pointed rage of your glare because you see the way his broad back stiffens briefly - head turning to look over his shoulder before you snap your gaze away and heat flickers over your skin from the close call.

The two of you have avoided eye contact from the moment you stepped onto the docks and you must admit you are keen to keep it that way. Unsure of how your chaotic emotional state will react to being under the gaze of those eyes that glow golden in the midday sun.

The dornish keep their distance when Myrcella sweeps forward to embrace her family one by one and you are begrudgingly greatful for small mercies. The last thing you need is for him to see you as soft.

Which is the only way you can be described as you cradle the girl protectively to your chest. The place behind your nose burns - eyes stinging with salt - and your voice appears far more brittle than you would like when you tell her not to be afraid. That you'll be coming to check up on her now and again.

You stand and watch the ship sail away until it's a small shape on the horizon. Your hand finding it's way in Cersei's and you squeeze as she sniffles quietly but never one lowers her face or drops the proud lift of her chin. You admire her in that moment. Her love for children truly makes her stronger than most and it seems she's passed that unshakeable strength to her daughter.

You swallow thicklu when she beams up at you and assures you that you needn't worry - that this will just be like the adventures that you have gone on yourself and fed her imagination with. Giving her a watery smile, you gently kiss her head before she slips from your arms and into her mother's.

A few tears spill down your cheeks and you turn away to collect yourself - hastily swiping them away with your sleeves - unaware of the fractionally softening stare of the prince upon you as he watches the family he despises show a surprising amount of humanity.

Jamie and Tyrion have long since left whilst you watched the ship draw further away and you had all but forgotten your less desirable company. Expecting him to have disappeared the moment the ship set sail but apparently proving you wrong is something Oberyn Martell just cannot resist.

You grow rigid as he and Ellaria approach, your hand involuntarily clenching around Cersei's and she looks to you knowingly.

"Your grace, I assure you that your daughter will be treat with the utmost respect and care as if she is one of our own. I know it's hard to be so far away from our children but you have nothing to fear."

Ellaria smiles at you as she stands before you and you try your best to return it as warmly as you can. There's something about her presence that puts you at ease and the last thing you want is to be rude when she has done nothing to deserve your ire.

Her companion on the other hand, well, you cannot stamp down quick enough the fury that streaks through your chest when he speaks softly to your cousin.

You try to keep your words buried beneath your tongue. Gods you really do. But you can't help feeling like this is another part of his game, gloating over his victory to your very faces.

"Is that why you had to remind your men to kind to her? Because she's so safe?" You spit. Blood roaring in your ears when his eyes snap to yours for the first time since you left him in the gardens.

You catch the dilating of his pupils and the frustrated clench of his jaw and you suppose he's fighting to remain unfazed against your accusation. Clueless to the fact that he's instead fighting against his instincts to dominate that smart mouth - cursing his imagination for conjuring up a more satisfying way to channel your feral energy other than you sniping at him.

Oberyn grits his teeth to tempers his urges, spearing you with an aggravated look as he responds silkily. His voice, warm honey drizzled over steel.

"Unlike some parts of the world we don't harm children in Dorne my lady. I was only doing what anyone who has an ounce of honour would do when welcoming another's Princess into their family."

"Forgive my cousin, she means no disrespect. She is just rather protective of her family as I'm sure you both can understand." She laughs airily and you narrow your eyes as Oberyn smirks wickedly.

Your lip curls into a snarl at the insinuation and you begin to take a threatening step forward. One that you find restrained by Cersei as she grips your hand tighter and keeps you firmly sealed to her side.

The look she gives you is baffling. An easy smile spread across her lips as she silently tells you to let it go and you almost choke on your disbelief when she turns to the Prince and Ellaria and speaks warmly.

"So I've seen."

Again you consider if kicking his ass into the sea to wipe the smug look of his face is worth bringing your uncle's wrath upon yourself. It definitely would be, you decide.

However you remain silent instead, glaring steady holes into his head as Cersei thanks them both for ensuring her daughter's comfort and safety before she claims the need to steal you away for important business.

"So about the ball tonight." She smirks, linking her arm through yours and drawing you in close as if discussing a conspiracy.

You allow her to lead you away, smiling politely towards Ellaria and turning your back on the man that seems determined to never give you a moments peace.

Your frustrations from the previous night and your unsatisfying morning only mixes with the irritation you feel now. Your mood darkening swiftly once more and you quirk a disbelieving eyebrow as Cercei turns to you cheerfully.

"It was that silly little tart's idea. Some pathetic tradition that supposedly blesses marriages with happiness in Highgarden." She mocks scathingly and though your slightly taken aback by her venom you snort at the absurdity a ball will have any bearing on the outcome of a marriage.

"This is your important business?" You tease, rolling your eyes. "I thought we didn't really bother with things like that, too fanciful for such a serious and honourable house like ours."

"Anyway." She continues breezily. "Do you have a gown for it?"

You groan miserably, another event where you'll be forced into one of those horrendous contraptions your cousin somehow wears daily without any issue.

"Suppose I can dig one of the many out that my mother packed for me." You grumble, glaring at her half heartedly when she laughs at your surly face.

"No need sweetling, I had one made especially for you." She grins deviously when you stare at her in surprise. "And don't worry it's perfect for you, I know you feel suffocated in most gowns so I made sure this one is quite… breathable."

You frown slightly, murmuring a bewildered thank you. Sure you and Cersei have become slightly closer after recieving the news of Myrcella being sent away but for her to have a gown made especially for you, it's safe to say you're somewhat confused.

"Plus I'm sure it will definitely catch the eye of a certain rugged Prince." She remarks slyly and you swear on all the gods that your heart ends up somewhere at your feet as you choke on air.

"You've got to be joking Cersei." You sputter incredulously, warmth bleeding from your body. "He's an enemy of our house, I would never."

Cersie stops and turns to face you, regarding you with a knowing gleam in her bright eyes as she pushes back a lock of hair that the wind blows across your face.

"Men always want what they can't have my darling, there's no harm in asserting the power that gives you." She tells you with a ruthless smile. "And should you choose to indulge in more, well, we all have our dark secrets don't we."

You stand staring at the dress laid out for you, touching the flowing fabric in silent awe. You have to hand it to Cersei, it's absolutely stunning. A strong, vibrant red (of course) with a plunging neckline and slits that will reveal a slither of your upper arms whilst leaving your lower arms free.

You're confused though when you take a seat at your dressing table - resigned to your hair's fate of being forced into some ridiculously complicated style when your handmaiden surprises you instead. All they do is fuss a little with the way your hair naturally falls and then leave it like that.

It's drastically different from the gowns you are expected to wear and you're enamoured with it. A ripple of satisfaction breaking over your body when you eventually slip it over your skin. The material slides down your figure like water, draping elegantly over your frame and cinching at your waist with a matching belt.

You look regal as you survey your reflection in the mirror. Powerful.

"Her grace mentioned you prefered a more natural style than what is typically done here." They whisper when your eyes meet theirs.

Well isn't your cousin just full of surprises today.

She's never made this much effort to ensure your comfort at these events so why now? You shake your head. Surely you're just being paranoid - looking for ulterior motives where there is none. A habit you seem to have picked up lately thanks to a certain Dornishman.

With tour daggers strapped securely to your thighs once the handmaiden leaves your rooms, you step infront of the mirror once more. Watching the way your reflection sucks in a deep breath whilst you pray for a more uneventful night than the one's you've had to endure since meeting the prince.

The ball is in full swing.

Music echoing through the walls of the keep - the loud buzz of chatter and laughter whilst others twirl around the lavishly decorated hall in nauseating circles.

Oberyn takes a sip of bitter wine from the goblet that hangs from his lithe fingers - surveying the crowd of guests with keen eyes hidden beneath a veil of disinterest.

His gaze flickers to the high table at the far end of the room, seating the King and his wretched family alongside the Queen to be and a few members of hers. The Tyrell's seem to be enjoying the fesitivities. Grinning with one another and clapping with glee as the dancers pass the table in a flurry.

But the Lannister's - he observes with a contempt - are clearly above such merriment. Glaring eyes and scowled lips adorn their faces as they sneer at the people beneath them.

Unbidden he ponders on the fact that she also seems thankful to have you - thinking of the way you'd been so gentle with her in the gardens. Your stance by her side had been one of care and protection and he quickly disregards the notion that there is more to you than he is allowing himself to see.

He feels the hatred in his gut flare up the longer he stares, only lessening a fraction when his eyes land upon the poor Stark girl who is smiling lightly at something her husband is saying.

At least he treats her kindly, Oberyn thinks. It is a small mercy for the hell she has found herself in.

An easy feat when your spite - your venom - are still very much alive in his mind from your confrontation at the docks. That is your true nature, he tells himself.

But despite it he can't help wondering if you will make an appearance tonight. If you'll be able to resist going toe to toe with him again if you do. Your seat at the table currently remains mockingly empty and he berates himself for the exquisite tingle of anticipation he feels.

It seems he has underestimated you.

That whilst he had considered you an enemy by blood, he had failed to anticipate you being much more of a threat. A danger to his plans with the way you appear willing and ready to fight him at every turn.

Or had he maybe just underestimated how far you'd be able to burrow beneath his skin?

He despises the way you act so high and mighty. Looking down on him like he is the evil in this city - like he is the one who must be scrutinised and treated with disdain when much greater villains wonder these halls unchecked.

"There is a reason you and her always at each others throats, my stubborn prince, and it is not the bad blood you both hide behind." Ellaria admonishes when he'd opened his mouth to argue. "You are both eerily similar and her fire calls to yours. Until you both accept that you will probably never find peace in one another's presence."

He has never met a more infurating woman in all his years of travelling. You're prideful, self-righteous and unpredictable.

Exactly like yourself, Ellaria had pointed out the night he seethed to her about you drawing a weapon on him. Smirking as he'd stared at her in speechless outrage before she'd simply shrugged and waved her hand, welcoming him to try and deny it.

He'd scoffed at that. Peace with one of them. He couldn't even imagine it, seven hells, he hasn't felt peace from the second he stepped foot in this vile city.

You have haunted his every moment since he met you - the feel of your body against his now all he can imagine when he tries to find pleasure in others.

Your voice lingering in his head when he fucks his hand to the memory of your needy moan and your lips almost brushing his. Letting his mind wander to all the ways he would have had you if not for the interruption.

Finally, your eyes are all he can see when his own slip closed, unable to escape you even in sleep. It feels like he's slowly slipping into madness and there's nothing he can do to stop it. He hates you for it.

There's never been a situation he can't fuck or fight his way out of but you are new territory. He doesn't know how to navigate the playing field here.

He cannot kill you, for it would surely start a war that he's not prepared to incite over just you. And he refuses to dirty himself with the non-violent option. Even if the thought of you writhing beneath the weight of his body, his name spilling past your lips as you fell apart for him, made him harder than he'd ever been in his life.

He's leaning to whisper a teasing joke into Ellaria's ear - chuckling as she fends off yet another wide eyed boy attempting to woo her with a dance when a brilliant flash of red causes the words to turn to dust in his throat.

You.

You're striding towards your family's table, the skirt of your dress billowing in your wake and your hair, free and unrestrained.

He feels like he's watching a goddess among men. A wild and ethereal creature that has appeared from another realm to walk upon lesser beings, capable of capturing the hearts of any man or woman in the hopes of being graced with the glorious smile that curves your lips.

There's a pull in his stomach when your eyes narrow briefly before you throw him a taunting smirk and raise your goblet in mock salute. A low growl slipping from his throat as you wink at him over the rim of your cup whilst sipping your wine and he licks his lips slowly.

A fierce power exudes from you - head held high as you walk among the whispers and the stares until you reach your family. Even when you take your seat Oberyn finds he cannot cease the trail of his eyes over every inch of you.

You look nothing short of divine - a roaring flame amidst an ashen wasteland - and the voice in his head that rages about enemies and vengeance quiets considerably when your gaze tears through the crowd to capture his.

You're tormenting him - goading him possibly after his insults at the docks and though he's surprised by your brazenness to provoke him in a crowded room he can't deny the hungry part of him that practically purrs at the challenge.

"You're staring." Ellaria's deadpan voice startles him whilst he's preocupied with glaring at you every now and again. Growing impatient for that wicked gaze to be back on his whilst you studiously ignore him in favour of laughing with Sansa.

He brushes away the surprise on his face from being caught - rearranging his expression into one of false innocence with a quirk of his eyebrow and a calm shrug as he turns to meet her amused expression.

"I am not staring at anyone, dear one." He lies smoothly. "I am merely watching these dull activities waiting for the moment we can leave and find some real entertainment."

No, you are watching her." Ellaria shoots back, snickering as she catches the subtle clench of his jaw that he tries to hide behind an unconvincing scoff. "Just like you watched her that first night and again at the brothel. You have looked nowhere else from the very moment she entered this hall tonight, you, my dear friend, are just too stubborn to admit she has buried her way beneath your skin in a way no one else ever has."

"She is a Lannister, they all get under my skin." Oberyn argues with a roll of his eyes.

"She is different, don't tell me that you haven't seen it, I know you aren't that blind of a fool."

He opens his mouth but at the last moment decides to ignore the comment entirely. Crossing his arms with a petulant huff and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that one of the most intuitive people he knows, may in fact be on to something.

"Oberyn."

His name is spoken sharply and his head snaps around to demand she drops the subject. He's bleeding irritation - his temper rising quickly - but he hesitates as he realises she is no longer interest in provoking him.

Instead, her worried frown is trained at something over his shoulder.

In the time it had taken for Ellaria to confront him you had stepped away from your table to join the crowd and he sees clearly that it's not only his interest you have captured tonight.

That itself is not the problem, the issue that he takes is that even across the distance between them he can sense how uncomfortable you are under that attention.

You had successfully slipped from the grasp of many men hopeful for a dance but there is one, unfortunately interested in much more than dancing, who refuses to let you leave.

Except you can't use them, he realises. To pull a weapon out at a celebration like this, even in your defence, will result in a heavy punishment for you and he seethes at the thought you are subjected to this vermin's will unless you are able to free yourself and escape or someone else intervenes.

Rage errupts in Oberyn's blood - brutal and searing - as his furious gaze lands on the hand that grips your upper arm, the other one that unwantedly strokes your cheek.

Your body language screams defensive - your figure twisted as you try and lean away and your free hand twitching at your side to where he knows you've probably got your daggers hidden.

Oberyn is behind you in the blink of an eye, eyes glowing with a hellish fury as he stares the man down.

He's moving towards you before he can even consider the concequences. People backing away nervously from the murderous aura that surrounds him whilst he shoves down the urge snap your assailant's neck the moment it's in reaching distance.

"If the lady does not wish for your company then maybe you should move along and find someone more willing to stomach it, if such a feat is possible." He says lowly, tone dripping with a lethal promise should the man refuse.

His hands clench when the fingers around your arm tighten - drawing a pained noise from you before they slowly let go. His eyes never leaving the man's twisted face, even as you take a miniscule step back into his chest.

"What are you going to do if I don't you filthy barbarian?" He sneers before jerking his chin towards where Ellaria stands worriedly. "Slither back to your whore, this sweet little cunt is spoken for."

He can feel your fractured breathing. The small shivers that ripple through you as your rigid body sags slightly back against his own. It's almost impossible to resist the need that wells in his chest to turn you in his arms and check that you're alright. Finding it easier when the man fumes at the interruption and spits in his direction.

Oberyn steps around you gracefully, a deadly smirk upon his lips when he leans in close and watches the coward's bravado falter rapidly.

"Call my dear friend a whore again and I will relieve you off your tiny, pitiful cock and stuff it down your throat with my knife." He croons darkly. "Touch the lady behind me again, or even so much as breathe near her and I will either distract everyone so she can slice you apart herself, she's very talented with daggers so I've heard, or I will pledge my own services to her on this one occasion for the simple joy of sending you screaming to the depths of the seven hells."

Any colour that had previously been in the man's wretched face has drained entirely, he looks almost green as Oberyn rears back and fixes him with the most charmingly radiant smile.

"Decisions, decisions." He laughs menacingly. "Choose wisely."

Watching with dark satisfaction as the man sputters and scurries away, the relieved breath bursting from your lips has him turning to you quickly.

Worried eyes trace over every inch of you, lingering on the small spark of fear that still haunts your own and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs - the awful sensation in his stomach that comes with seeing you afraid.

This could be a problem.

The time will come when he takes his revenge upon your house and he can't falter when you attempt to fight him all because the sight of you scared apparently makes him uneasy.

He shakes the thought away. Reasons that this is different.

He cannot stand the kind of fear that people like that man cause. He despises men that see women as no more than vessels of pleasure to abuse and to see someone attempt that infront of him never fails to send him into a fit of rage.

That is why he loathes the look of fear in your eyes in this moment, he convinces himself, no other reason.

You shouldn't be looking so small when only moments before you had looked like you could rule the world.

Your shoulders shouldn't be hunched - hands stroking your arms for a semblance of comfort - when moments before they had been proudly set back whilst your arms swung carefree at your sides.

"May I have this dance little lion." He grins wildly even as you snort and roll your eyes.

He cannot stand to see someone that shines as bright and fearless as you, dimmed by the stain of this place and the vermin that inhabits it.

And so he does something that surprises you both - flashing you his most devilish smile and bowing extravagantly as he offers you his hand with a flourish.

"After that spectacle I don't suppose I have a choice do I." You snip and his cheeky grin widens at the steady return of that all too familiar fire in your eyes.

"You always have a choice but it would be considered terrible manners to refuse a Prince." Oberyn winks at you and you groan as he jerks his chin lightly, causing you to look over your shoulder to where your Uncle's cold, penetrating stare is watching you both closely.

Oberyn swallows harshly before leading you to where other pairs are dancing - accutely aware of the multiple eyes set upon you both. The whispers whilst his heart begins to beat strangely in his chest from the moment he pulls you into his arms and you look up at him with a wide, curious gaze.

"What did I do that the gods decided to punish me with you." You grumble half-heartedly and he chuckles.

There's a beat of silence - a moment of hesitation as you worry your lip between your teeth before finally slipping your hand into his still outstretched palm. It blindsides him. How much he likes the way your hand feels in his. How small and soft it appears cupped in his own. How well it fits - like it belongs there.

He hears your sharp intake of breath at the contact and the fact that the simple touch has not left you unaffected either, soothes him somewhat.

At least he isn't alone in this madness.

You are stiff in his embrace at first and he slides a soothing hand down the length of your back and along your side, entranced with the way you arch ever so slightly when his fingertips graze the bare skin of your ribs.

"Relax little lion." He murmurs, dark eyes burning into yours. "You're safe."

Your gaze flickers over his face, scrutinizing his features for any signs dishonesty and nodding briefly when you find none. You rest a careful hand on his shoulder and allow him to take the lead, a respectful distance between your bodies to begin with.

Oberyn moves across the floor as fluidly as he moves in battle - spinning you away from his body and drawing you back in closer with an ease that clearly delights you and fills him with an odd sense of pride.

Each time the space between you lessens - shrinking until there is nothing left except your heated bodies pressed together and your sweet breath mingling with his as he lets himself get lost.

Your faces are never more than a few inches apart and he nearly growls upon seeing your pupils dilated - brushed with a curious hunger - his gaze dropping to your tempting mouth whilst your dress whips around you both in a vibrant burst of colour.

He's mesmerized by you in this moment. The way your eyes shine brighter than any star and your soft, full mouth has parted into a sparkling grin - your chest rising quickly with the way the two of you whirl in dizzying movements.

The music becomes louder in his ears, the murmurs of the people around him fading away until all that is left is you. Your warmth in his hands - the sweet scent of you wrapping around him and clouding his senses whilst your body presses closer into him.

You are a flame come to life. Yours and Oberyn's clothes blending together in a clash of red and orange and the movements of your gown like it has a life all of it's own. He stares into your eyes and in that moment he's positive the heat between you will spark and burn the red keep to the ground with everyone in it.

It's suffocating.

The desire that claws from low in his belly right up into his throat as he unknowingly grips you tighter until your rapid inhales and exhales cause the others chest to move with your own.

As he turns he makes the mistake of lifting his head and meeting the eyes of Ellaria - a satisfied, knowing gleam in her gaze as she grins slyly at him.

Oberyn suddenly feels the reality of the situation slam down on him - a painful gripping in his chest as he realises yet again he's allowed himself to be lost in your charms. He should of just ensured your safety and left you to go back to your family.

Instead the heat from your skin is now searing him to the bone. He feels like you're hooking into flesh - burrowing so deep into the tender parts of him that it would physically pain him to remove you.

Wait. Had you planned this?

He doesn't doubt that what happened with that man was genuine - your fear was to real. But everything after? Had you seen an opportunity to exploit that part of him that remained soft and ruthelessly took it?

Was that why Tywin was watching with such keen interest? Curious to witness if your little act would wrap the Red Viper around your finger.

"I err- I just wanted to thank you for coming to my defence before." You murmur softly. "Not many would have."

He had almost fallen for it.

You were playing a game that he had been completely unequipped for.

His body grows more tense as his mind races and he looks at you suspiciously when you clear your throat and gaze nervously up at his face.

His brows furrow into a deep frown - carefully watching your face that appears to be the most open he's ever seen it. Yet with the addition of your abrubt politeness, his suspicions grow tenfold.

"We don't have to speak of it my lady." He says forcefully. "It doesn't change anything between us."

Distrustful eyes watch you closely as you draw back and blink in confusion. He sees the way your own grow guarded - hesitant when you notice the dark shadow over his handsome features.

"I didn't say it did, I just thought-" You begin but he cuts you off with a mocking laugh.

"Thought what little one? That because I had to step in where everyone else, including your noble, precious family, had ignored your problem that the bad blood between us is suddenly erased? Don't be so naive." He spits.

He almost stumbles with the vehemence that you shove him away from you. Your features blaze with fury and hurt - hands trembling as they clench to fists at your side before you turn on your heel and stride through the crowd towards the doors. Dodging out the way of Ellaria's outstretched hand when she reaches for you.

She turns her infuriated gaze on Oberyn when you slip past and shakes her head with overwhelming disappointment that only enrages him further. How is she so clueless to your innocent act? You're running away as if he's hurt some non existent part of you that gives a damn about what he thinks.

Surely it is yet another scheme you and your uncle have planned to draw him in. He will not fall for it or for your charms any further - jaw set as he stalks after you with the intention of pulling the truth from you so Ellaria would finally give him some peace on the matter.

Oberyn follows quickly, long legs devouring the distance between you both as his eyes catch the flutter of your dress before you sharply round a corner.

He moves with such a single minded focus that he doesn't realise you've been aware of him giving chase. It doesn't occur to him that you would hide beyond the corner to wait, the only thing stopping him from crashing into you being the firm shove to his chest as you press him into the wall.

"Why are you following me? Is this some game for your amusement, driving me utterly insane with moments of decency before treating me like I'm a plague upon the world?" You demand angrily, fisting your hands into his tunic and struggling with that insatiable urge to slap him across the face when he smirks at you lazily.

"You don't seem opposed to games when you're the one playing them. Also this isn't quite as intimidating as you think without your dagger at my neck." He purrs tauntingly and a feral snarl builds in your chest.

"If you refuse to leave me alone my prince, I'll have no problem reacquainting you with it."

"Promises, promises sweet girl. Only moments ago you were thanking me so kindly and now you want to hold a weapon to my throat? You really are just as treacherous as the rest of your repulsive house aren't you."

His words are biting, mean't to incense you further but he's not sure if it's in the hopes you'll reveal your true intentions or to relish the intoxicating in the way you light up magnificently in your anger.

You rear back whether to grab for your dagger or with the intention of hitting him he doesn't know, but he doesn't give you the chance to do either, surging forward and grabbing your arms as he spins you and cages you in against the wall.

Your breath leaves you in a whoosh as you back up into the cool stone, a sharp contrast to the undiluted rage that burns through you as Oberyn grins wickedly and leans his face down close to yours.

"You have threatened me on multiple occasions now little lion." His voice rumbles deeply through his chest, dropping lower as his nose nudges yours. "Anyone else would be long dead."

He watches the effects of his threat play across your face with intense interest, your eyes widening before they fill with a taunting gleam and your lips curve steadily into a humourless smile.

"Then why am I not dead, oh fearsome warrior?"

"Because unlike some, I have honour and I do believe I said I would not harm you. Though continue these little games of yours and you will not like what happens." He warns, eyeing you ravenously as you lunge forward and force him to take a step back.

"I am not playing any games with you, you arrogant pain in the ass!" And as for your little threat? Oh yes, what was it you said would happen? You'll make me scream?" You cackle sarcastically. "Tell me, how many have screamed for you that were not paid to do so."

He's stepping back into you in the blindingly fast, his chest brushing against yours and his eyes turning black as you lick your lips and study him warily.

He wants nothing more than to hear your screams, feeling himself grow hard at the thought of you begging and pleading for more beneath his body. To see that proud, stubborn tilt of your chin crumble as tears of pleasure spill from your eyes whilst his name spills from your lips.

"Is that what you want sweet girl? For me to make you scream? There's no need to hide behind petty insults, you only have to ask." He smirks arrogantly and you scoff in disgust.

"Promises, promises Oberyn." You mock. "I'd like to see you try."

You move to shove past him but his hand snaps out and latches on to your wrist causing you to spin and face him with a furious insult ready to bury into him. You falter however as your wide eyes drink in the vicious hunger pouring from him in waves. It's like time stops, you stare at each other for a few seconds and then somebody moves and chaos erupts.

You both violently crash into one another and he has no idea whether he yanked you to him or you leapt forward, nor does he care as your mouth finally collides with his in a messy display of ecstasy. Your lips are sweeter than anything he's ever tasted, quickly becoming addicted to the feel of them beneath his own and the sounds of the small moans he pulls from your throat.

The kiss is almost savage in nature, anger too prevalent in both of you for it to be anything but passionately bruising. Oberyn's lips rove over yours demandingly as his arm snakes around your waist to haul you into his chest but you move quicker, pushing him against the wall and following without hesitation as your fingers stroke the neatly trimmed beard along his sharp jaw.

A possessive growl rips from his throat as he revels in the feel of your fingers on his skin and you respond to him with a hunger that threatens to consume him entirely, grinning as he sinks his teeth into your plump lower lip.

He groans raggedly when your fingers plunge into his thick hair and tug hard on the strands, sliding his tongue over the bite to soothe the sharp sting and swallowing your needy whine before delving past your lips to tangle his tongue with yours in desperate battle for dominance.

Pleasure is coursing through every fibre of his being as you attack him with an equal fervor, his mind blank to everything except you and he grabs a fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck to anchor you to him and deepen the kiss further. He's losing control of himself fast and a small part of his brain screams that you're more dangerous than he had thought but gods he can't find it in him to care when you brush against the hard length of him straining his pants.

His hips buck against you involuntarily and you gasp against his mouth, pushing closer until you suddenly freeze and tear yourself from his arms, staggering backwards as you stare at him in horror. It takes him a moment to catch his breath and clear the lust addled haze in his mind before he realises why you look so distressed.

He's been so sure he'll cross a line with you by means of killing you and starting a war before he can get Tywin's confession that he never truly considered the thought that he would cross a completely different line all together.

Strangely he doesn't feel disgusted with himself yet, disturbed definitely and maybe even slightly concerned as he observes your trembling form whilst you stare at him. Oberyn makes to move towards you when you begin muttering to yourself but stops sharply as you hold your hands up and back away.

"This never happened." You whisper harshly and before he can say anything you're turning away and hurrying down the hallway, running from him yet again.

He releases an explosive breath as he allows his head to fall back against the smooth stone, the feel of you still tingling on his lips and he curses angrily. What the hell was he thinking, kissing the woman he is sure would rather see him dead and vice versa?

How the fuck is he supposed to get you out of his mind now that he knows how you taste and the sounds you make?

It's already replaying through his head, causing him to grimace in frustration. Reminding himself of who you are doesn't carry the same weight it usually does in this moment with your pleasurable sighs lingering in his ears, his mood only growing darker when he realises he still has to face Ellaria's inquisition and the remainder of the evening with the Lannister's hawkish glares surely fixed upon him.

"Fuck." He seethes.

Wait, you said it yourself it never happened, that's fine by him, he can pretend like he can't still feel the warm press of your body agaisnt his own.

He has far more important things to concern himself with after all, thinking of Elia and her children, allowing the deep seated rage and thirst to avenge them wraps around him until your voice in his head falls to barely a whisper and the desire you struck within him is no more than a memory he'll desperately try to lock away.

He is here for justice for his family and no Lannister, not even you, will stand in his way.

Taglist: @autumnleaves1991-blog @thelindalorian @ecuadorlady @readsalot73 @weirdowithnobeardo @wigwitch @linkpk88 @manndo @phoenixhalliwell @godohammers @qhbr2013 @poppunkdee @wonderlandgabby @ayamenimthiriel @thesadvampire @sarahjkl82-blog @gingerbreadandpaper @eternallyvenus @acourtofsnakes @bbuckysbeardd @rpcvliz @tiffanyblew

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #a love of venom and claws #lannister reader

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ficforce · 4 years ago

Text

Handle With Care

Shinmon Benimaru x F!Reader

SFW

No set timeline

Established relationship

The weather was particularly hot and on days like this, the Town was quieter during the afternoon. People were content to stay in the shade to drink and talk, even the children were willing to wait for the sun to move a little in the sky to cool things down before they played again. Y/N hummed softly to herself as she continued to knit a new blanket for the Guardhouse’s supply. It was an unfortunate fact that sometimes people’s homes got destroyed when someone turned Infernal but the Hikeshi always did their best to provide for their people.

She looked up when a shadow crossed over her and smiled at the man stood in her light, a bored-looking expression on his face, “You’re in my light, Benimaru.” She pat the space beside her on the raised walkway of her friend’s home and the Captain dropped down beside her, “I was going to come home as soon as I finished this blanket, my friend came back early so I wasn’t stuck babysitting all day.” Y/N watched as Benimaru picked up the corner of the blanket to take a closer look at her handy work, “Were you passing by or looking for me?”

“Looking.” Benimaru next picked up one of her needles and gave a small grunt as he accidentally dropped it onto the ground where it seemed to simply vanish, “…Shit. Sorry, Y/N.” He knew she hated when he messed with her tools, he glanced at her face and her soft sigh felt as bad as being told off, “I’ll make sure to pick some new ones up.”

Shaking her head, she finished off the row and put everything down on her lap, “It’s okay, they were getting a little blunt for needlework.” Benimaru watched her reach to the side and hold up her flask, the outside was cracked and the handle broken, “Could you get me a new one of these?”

He blinked at it in silence; wasn’t that one only a few weeks old?

Then he realised that she probably hadn’t had enough to drink, he’d watched her prepare the tea the previous night so that it would be perfect for icing but it seemed her effort had gone to waste.

“Sure,” it was then his crimson gaze caught sight of the tea stain on her favourite yukata, “Did you drop it all over yourself?”

“I was drinking it and then someone walked into me… it was just an accident.” She didn’t dare tell him that the guy who walked into her called her a klutz and gave her a shove - it wasn’t worth the man being beaten to a pulp over a flask and her clothing.

“Tch, they could have offered to replace it for you” He sat up straighter, “Who was it?” he knew Y/N was too kind to make a fuss; she was always letting things like this slide even when it wasn’t her fault. Benimaru wished she would get mad sometimes, she wasn’t weak in the slightest and nor was she shy. She was just too damn nice.

It meant that, sometimes, she was taken advantage of.

He had hoped that maybe it would stop once they became an official couple but it was just the same. “Benimaru, It’s okay, it was just an accident.” She reached over to stroke his cheek and he huffed, “Did you fix the bar you broke last night? I went and apologised for the mess this morning, the owner was still sweeping up glass.”

“Y/N?!” The man she has walked into rushed to help her up and began apologising for knocking her down, explaining that he had been wrestling with two of the other guys there. “We were just messing - you okay?”

“It wouldn’t have happened if that guy hadn’t have touched you…” She should have been firmer in telling the drunk to get lost but she had asked so nicely the man laughed and grabbed her again. “You’re too forgiving, Y/N. If I didn’t know you could handle it I would worry all the time.” Benimaru leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, “I’ll get you a new flask whilst I’m out with Konro. The Twins found something suspicious so we’re gonna check it out.”

Once the hottest part of the day was over, Asakusa bloomed back into life and Y/N headed to the butcher to pick up something a little special - the Hikeshi had been working flat out and she figured they deserved a little something. Not all of the Hikeshi lived in the guardhouse; some of them had their own homes and families. They only stayed on the nightshifts, if there was a party or if Benimaru had totalled their house. Most of the time everyone liked to meet in the evening and share a meal; this often included wives, girlfriends and children. Dinner was often loud and fun but it meant the kitchen was always busy during the day.

Removing her shoes at the genkan and stepping up into the main room Y/N walked straight into another body. She let out a surprised yelp and fell backwards onto the floor.

The other laughed, “Not if he’s gotta refer to that cripple, Konro. If you can’t fight then just die, ya know!”

Smiling at the three grown men who looked like scolded kids, she shook her head, “It was an accident, don’t worry about it, okay?” Her elbow throbbed a little but it wasn’t worth mentioning, “I’m going to get changed then help out with dinner. You three make sure you don’t hurt each other.”

“Y/N, you’re too nice! Waka woulda kicked our asses.”

“You can have a free hit, we’re men, we can take it!”

Y/N waved them off, “You’ll have to do far worse than knock me down to get a reaction, boys.” It wasn’t that she wasn’t annoyed or that she didn’t want to knock their heads together - she just didn’t like to lose her temper over small things. Maybe she was too forgiving and maybe she was a bit of a doormat but she had people who liked or loved her to get mad on her behalf.

Placing the shopping down at the doorway of her shared room with Benimaru, Y/N removed her yukata and tossed it into the laundry basket before pulling out a fresh one from the drawers. She liked the colour of this one; she also liked that the twins had picked it especially for her to do chores in. It wasn’t like she had to help out around the Guardhouse but she liked doing it… she couldn’t slack just because her lover was the Captain.

Grabbing the shopping on her way toward the kitchen she hummed quietly to herself, grabbing the sliding door to enter she paused when she heard her name from the other side.

“Do you think she’ll notice?”

Another male voice scoffed at that, “Even if she does she’ll not do anything, she’s such a wet blanket - why’s Shinmon even with her?”

“Maybe she’s just a really good lay?” It was only two voices, surprising as the kitchen should have been busier but she recognised the voices as two of the new recruits. They didn’t know her… they had no right to be talking about her this way.

She had heard it before, people made fun of her, they tried to take advantage of her too but she could usually ignore it. Once she got in there she knew they’d be too cowardly to say it to her face.

“She suits him, Shinmon is pretty pathetic - sure he’s strong but he’s not cut out to lead.”

Y/N’s hands were shaking as anger coiled low in her belly, her usual calm demeanour cracking as they mocked the people she loved most. They could say what they wanted about her but that was her family and she couldn’t just ignore that. “Well, the poison I picked up should be enough to see the Lieutenant and kids off. Just gotta hope if weakens Shinmon enough for us to handle him - then we get the old gang back together and take the town. Fucking Hikeshi think they run the place.”

Her eyes widened as she heard their plan, her mind going blank as she dropped the bag she had been carrying and slid open the door to the kitchen.

x - -

Hinata and Hikage both sneezed at the same time and Hikage complained loudly, “Someone’s talking about us!” Hinata nodded and then they both let out a surprised squeal as the ground shook slightly. Running to Konro, they each grabbed his pant leg and looked up at the smoke rising in the distance.

“An Infernal?” Konro looked at Benimaru whilst placing his hands on the girls, “…The alarm isn’t sounding though.” They were already on their way back from investigating what they had thought was a White Clad hideout but turned out to be a secret club for a bunch of kids playing ‘gangs’.

“Not an infernal.” Benimaru answered and squinted at the sky, “There’s a lot of heat and I didn’t hear any explosions…”

“Y/N!” Konro yelled as he got through the crowd and started shouting orders to have everyone moved back, “You’re gonna hurt someone! The fire is already spreading out of control!” She didn’t seem to be able to hear him and he knew she’d never forgive herself for causing this much destruction, “We’ll fix it, Y/N, just stop!”

Benimaru and Konro seemed to realise at the same moment what was happening and Benimaru called up one of his matoi, “What set her off?”

From above it was easier to see that a large crowd had formed outside the Guardhouse, smoke billowed off the burning blue flag that hung by the entrance and he could see part of the wall of the Guardhouse was blown out into the street.

There were a few Hikeshi trying to stamp out the sea of blue flames before they jumped from house to house and in the middle was Y/N.

Benimaru hopped off the matoi once he was close enough to the ground, standing between her and two cowering men, “Y/N.” He hadn’t seen her like this before, he had heard she could get angry but he had never once witnessed it; the bottom of her yukata was burning from the intensity of her ability and her eyes blazed. The way her face contorted in rage was so different from her usual calm expression, all of her anger was on the men behind him, “Whatever they did I’ll handle it - you need to cool down before you get hurt!”

Her ability had one of the highest temperatures on record, she had burnt him on occasion and Benimaru knew that she could burn out fast, he could see her chest heaving already as her oxygen ran low. “Y/N!”

Benimaru approached her after getting a few of his guys to grab the two battered men Y/N wanted to cremate, he reached for her shoulder and just before he could touch her he felt a sharp pain in his stomach and stumbled back a few feet.

She sent two tendrils of flame towards the men behind Konro, they skirted past Benimaru and Konro to catch the clothing of her targets. They screamed in fear as their clothing burnt and the heat started to break through their resistance, the Hikeshi holding them let go immediately. Her hand raised to deliver the finishing blow - she’d lost her senses. All she wanted was for the two men to vanish, to stop existing so that they could never hurt her family again.

“Enough!” Strong arms wrapped around her, Benimaru’s clothing began to smoke within seconds - her yukata was turning to scraps the longer she used her ability, “Stop,” he said into her ear, “This isn’t you, this isn’t my sweet girl - you gotta stop.” He didn’t want to knock her out but he also didn’t want her getting tephrosis.

He was hugging her too tightly for her to finish her attack and instead she increased the heat around her to force him to let go; the buildings on fire nearby lit up more violently than before. “Let me go! They were going to kill you! They were going to poison your food! They didn’t care that they’d kill Konro and the girls too!”

“And you’re gonna burn down the town to punish two cowards.” He felt her stiffen and then her body relaxed against him, the air around her began to cool rapidly and the fires on the buildings began to shrink. “We’re safe, you kept us safe but this is enough.”

“B-Beni…” The man didn’t say anything as she hid her face in his neck and clutched at his coat, “I’m sorry, I… I just- I can’t lose-!”

“I know,” He murmured. Earlier he had wished she would get angry more often but not like this. Not to the point of destroying property and losing her mind, “It’s done… leave the destroying to me from now on.”

“I’m sorry…” She whispered, “I thought I was better than this.” Y/N really thought she had a handle on her anger; it had been years since she had reacted like this. She had lost her family as a child, her mother had infernalised and killed her father before she could be put to rest. Y/N had been angry afterwards, hating that people could burst into flames, hating that the Hikeshi couldn’t get there in time to save what she had left; when her ability came in she could hardly control it and caused fires whenever she got angry. It had taken nearly killing another family to make her stop and change.

To start forgiving people and letting things slide. “D-did I hurt anyone?”

“No one important.” Benimaru picked her up into his arms and turned his head to catch Konro’s gaze, “They were gonna poison us, I’ll leave them to you, Konro.” The Lieutenant nodded and Benimaru headed inside to look after Y/N.

The twins ran after the couple to help, grabbing Benimaru’s clothing whilst occasionally glancing back, Asakusa didn’t treat traitors well and the hearing how they planned to use poison didn’t go down particularly well. “Konro looks real mad.” Hinata giggled.

“They shouldn’t have made Y/N angry first.”

#fire force #shinmon benimaru #enen no shouboutai #enn enn no shouboutai #reader

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omgjasminesimone · 4 years ago

Text

Life Goes On

Dakota x MC

Word Count: ~2,300

Now with Follow-Up, The Moments in Between

She doesn’t want to say anything, but eventually she has to. After all, they’re Prom Royalty tonight. There’s no way their absence from the Edenbrook Prom hasn’t been noticed by now.

“Should we head back down there?” Sage asks quietly, breaking the comfortable silence between the pair.

Dakota’s index finger momentarily pauses in its absent-minded tracing of stars, hearts, and what Sage surmises must be ghosts, based on the wavy lines at the bottom, on her bare back. He restarts the invisible drawings on her hip before he finally replies. “Honestly, I just want to stay up here with my incredible girlfriend. Let’s never leave this bed.”

Sage smiles, lifting her head from where it was tucked under his chin. “That offer would be much more appealing if this was a Queen instead of a hospital bed.”

Dakota laughs, and Sage smiles at her unending ability to make him do that, further entwining her legs with his. She’s no longer worried about what the other prom attendees are thinking about their absence as the teens fall into another comfortable silence.

“That was amazing, Teach.” Dakota eventually says, his lips pressed gently against her forehead. “Thanks for taking that one off my bucket list.”

Sage looks up at him, placing a quick peck to his lips. “I was more than happy to help you get the full Senior Prom Night experience.” She admits when she pulls away.

Dakota smiles at her, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Her brow furrows. “What?”

“….This is probably the worst time to bring this up…..” Dakota begins before trailing off as he looks at her uncertainly.

“What, Dakota? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

His eyes dart to their scattered clothes on the sterile hospital floor before he’s able to meet her sincere gaze. “Can we….talk about death for a second?” Dakota asks.

His penetrating brown eyes bore into her own, and she can only nod.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking about death, a lot.” He begins.

“Why? Are you not feeling well? Do you need to go back to the ICU? Dakota! Why did you go to prom and risk your immune system if you weren’t feeling well?!” Sage asks frantically. She reaches down to the ground for her discarded dress. “I’m gonna find the oncologist…” She mutters distractedly.

“Hey, hey!” He firmly grips her shoulder, his grip firmer than it has been for months now. That calms her a little, and she lets him roll her back over to face him. “Slow down a minute, Sage. I feel…fine. It’s just, …who knows how I’ll feel tomorrow? Or the next day. And we haven’t really talked much about this, so…I don’t know…no time like the present?”

The frantic beating of her heart calms further at his assurances that he doesn’t feel unwell. “Okay, let’s talk about it.” She says, even though that’s the last thing she wants to talk about as she lies naked in his arms.

“Okay. First off, I just want you to know I’m okay with dying. I had 19 good years, that’s more than a lot of people get. I have family and friends who love me.” He pauses here, leaning forward to place a lingering kiss to her lips. “I have you. That’s a pretty fulfilling life right there.”

“Dakota…” Sage whispers, voice already breaking.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m going to be okay. No matter what happens. But….I worry about what happens to everyone else after I’m gone.” Dakota admits.

“That’s so like you. Concerned about everyone else. You’re such a good person, Dakota.” The kind of person who should live to old age, the kind of person who makes the world a better place. Life can be so unfair, but Sage keeps that thought to herself.

“I can’t help but worry. A lot of marriages don’t survive the loss of a child, you know. My parents’ whole lives revolve around me. They upended everything to move to Boston to get me the best medical care. They left their friends, and family. I just…..don’t want them to stop living if I do. Does that make sense?”

Sage nods, intertwining her fingers with his under the thin hospital blanket.

“If I’m gone, will you check on them for me? Not, like, all the time or anything. But just….stop by to visit if you’re in town? I think it would help them, to see you achieve all the life landmarks I don’t get to. Graduating college, getting your first real job,…getting married….” Dakota trails off as tears well in her eyes. “Teach…..”

Sage shakes her head. “I’m okay.” Dakota looks unconvinced, so she forces a smile. “I promise I’m okay. And of course I’d visit, and call when I’m out of town.”

“Thank you.” He says with so much gratitude Sage almost bursts into tears immediately. “Alright, so the other people I worry about are Lennox and Mateo. We’ve been the three musketeers for so long, it wouldn’t be the same with just two. So, I’m gonna need you to keep the gang together.”

“Of course I’d still talk to your best friends Dakota. You don’t even have to ask that.” Sage admonishes.

“They’re your friends too now. Don’t forget that. And as their friend…..please don’t let them wallow in survivor’s guilt, okay? I don’t want them to feel guilty for getting to live in case I don’t. I’m honestly so happy that they’re better, that they’re healthy. Don’t let them forget that, alright?”

“Alright.” Sage parrots miserably. She didn’t know this conversation would be so hard. And if just talking about it is this hard, she can’t imagine actually living it. There’s no way she’s strong enough to do that.

“Okay, so that just leaves one more person I’m a little worried about.” Dakota continues. He brushes away a tear that’s sliding down her face toward his pillow. “You, Teach.”

“If you’re so worried, then don’t leave me.” Sage tries to joke, but now she’s full-on sobbing so it falls flat.

Dakota smiles softly anyway though, pressing another lingering kiss to her lips. She tries not to think about how many kisses, how much time, they have left. “I’m going to try my absolute hardest not to, beautiful…..but if I do….I want you to move on. I want you to get married, and have babies, and live your life to the absolute fullest. And I don’t want you to feel guilty about it for even a second, do you hear me?”

“How can you ask me to do that? Of course I would feel guilty. When I think about walking down the aisle, it’s you I’m picturing standing beside the priest. And when I think about starting a family, I picture a little girl with your eyes, or a baby boy with your smile. I can promise you I’ll settle for someone else if that’s what you want to hear, but I’m always going to love you. Present tense. Forever. And some guy would just have to settle for being second best. That wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Dakota smiles sadly. “You’re young. Right now, everything feels like it’s the end of the world. But ten years from now? You’ll barely remember me, Teach. Life goes on. You’ll love again. I know it. And I want you to.”

“You’re not forgettable Dakota. You’re extraordinary. You changed me, and even if you’re not here, even if life goes on, you’ll go on with me. I’ll think about you every day.” Sage swears.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sage.” Dakota says, tone full of forced levity.

“I’m not.” Sage insists.

“That is something I worry about, you know. Something most people who are dying worry about. Being forgotten. Just…ceasing to exist, disappearing off the face of the Earth.” Dakota admits.

“That’s not going to happen to you. Me, your parents, Lennox, Mateo? We wouldn’t let you just…fade away. We love you. I love you. Present tense. Remember?”

Dakota smiles, and as usual, her heart flutters. “I love you too Sage. So much.”

“…can we talk about something happy now? I think I cried off all my makeup.” Sage rubs under her eyes, and that’s definitely smeared mascara coating her fingers.

“One more thing. I want to ask you for a favor.” Dakota adds.

“Name it.”

“Will you name your first born after me? A namesake, so I’m not forgotten?” Dakota asks. Sage can’t tell whether or not he’s joking.

“You don’t think my hypothetical baby daddy would have a problem with me naming our child after my late boyfriend? The love of my life who I still wouldn’t be over?” Sage counters.

Dakota shoots her an almost offended look. “Sage, you’re telling me a grown man, who is your husband, not baby daddy, in this scenario, is going to be threatened by your long dead high school boyfriend? You can do better.”

Sage laughs, and Dakota can’t help but join in.

Eventually their laughter dies down, and they just stare at each other lovingly in the dim light of the hospital room. “Alright, when you put it like that, I guess I can promise to name my firstborn after you.” Sage eventually promises.

Dakota lifts his pinky, and Sage rolls her eyes, but she pinky promises him anyway.

“Thank you. Now, we can get dressed and get back to prom before your mom comes looking for you.” Dakota concludes.

….

…

10 years later

Sage wakes to the shrill cry of her newborn through the baby monitor. She rubs at her eyes sleepily as she searches for her slippers in the dark bedroom. Her husband starts to stir. “I’ve got him.” Sage offers, and her husband dozes off again with a soft mutter of thanks.

Sage makes her way down the hall and reaches into her son’s crib. “What’s wrong Dakota? Hungry? Need a new diaper? Just want attention and hate when mommy gets a good night of sleep?” Sage asks, yawning as she comes to the end of her question.

She shrugs one arm out of her nightgown and raises her son to her breast. He happily latches on, sipping greedily. “Ah, hungry.” Sage quips, gently running her free hand over the newborn’s mostly bald head.

Once he’s fed, Sage gently deposits Dakota back in his crib. She’s just started to swaddle him in his blanket when she’s startled by a pair of warm arms wrapping around her from behind. As her surprise abates, she leans back into her husband’s embrace. “I told you I had him.”

“I know. But I got lonely without you.” He admits, pressing a kiss to her neck.

Sage tssks. “So needy. You’re so used to having all my attention, but now you have to share with little Dakota here.”

Her husband reaches one arm into the crib, and the infant happily grips his father’s index finger. “If I have to share you, I’m glad it’s with DJ here.”

Sage’s brow furrows. “DJ?”

“Dakota Junior, or DJ. It’s going to get confusing having two Dakotas around here, so he needs a nickname.”

“What’s wrong with Little Dakota?” Sage asks.

“Babe, I doubt he’s gonna like being called ‘Little’ once he’s past ten.” Dakota insists.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you made me promise to name my first born after you.” Sage teases.

“Hey, we both know I wasn’t expecting to be around.” Dakota retorts playfully.

Sage turns away to face Dakota, smiling as she drapes her arms around his neck. “Well, you can’t predict a medical miracle. Cancer didn’t stand a chance against you.”

“Don’t jinx me.” Dakota complains, but he’s obviously not that upset because he plants a kiss to her forehead.

“Babe, you’re more likely to get struck by lightning then get cancer again after ten years of remission.” Sage insists.

“Still, better safe than sorry.” Dakota insists.

Sage rolls her eyes, but she obediently turns around and softly taps her fist against the wooden railing of their son’s crib, ‘knocking on wood’. Dakota can be so superstitious, but his many endearing qualities outweigh her annoyance with his superstitious ways.

The new parents both stare into the crib, watching the baby coo and gurgle. “He’s really something isn’t he?” Dakota breathes out softly.

“A miracle.” Sage adds.

“I could watch him all night.” Dakota insists.

“But you shouldn’t, because you have a big day tomorrow.” Sage reminds him.

“You mean we have a big day tomorrow.” Dakota corrects.

“It’s your movie. I’m just going to help with the casting.”

“It’s our movie. I’d never be able to tell our love story without my muse.”

Sage smiles, rising up on her tip toes to press a gentle kiss to her husband’s lips. “A romance for the ages.” She whispers against his lips when she pulls away, just barely.

Dakota nods, tangling his fingers through her’s. “You’re everything to me. When I was sick, when things got hard, you gave me something to fight for.” Dakota insists softly.

Sage smiles, she never gets tired of hearing that. “I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you.” Dakota insists. He tugs her towards the door. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

Sage hesitates, looking into the crib. “I know they say we shouldn’t start bed sharing until Little Dakota is older……but how can anyone expect me to be away from him all night?”

Dakota smiles fondly. “Well, they let us take him home from the hospital, so we’re in charge now.” He makes his way over to the crib, resuming the swaddling.

“That’s too loose Dakota. Here, let me show you.” Sage demonstrates her perfect swaddling technique for her husband.

Dakota scoops up his little namesake when she’s done. “Got it. Thanks, Teach.”

….

…

A/N: With Every Heartbeat made me sad, so I choose to live in this Alternate Universe where Dakota Winchester makes a full recovery and he and Sage get the happy ending they deserve.

#with every heartbeat #weh #dakota winchester #dakota x mc #choices fanfiction

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twstoric · 4 years ago

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it’s all i know

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: If you don't mind, a happier follow up for Missed Connections (since I keep seeing sad unrequited, I wanted a little fluff to make up for it</3) I was hoping, when Vil , Jamil, Leona finally confess that they missed their chance and lament to the reader, the reader whips out the "No u" card and confesses they never let go and it's a happy end-

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: jamil viper x gn!reader, leona kingscholar x gn!reader, vil schoenheit x gn!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: the simple answer is “yes”

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): none!

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 1.5k (total)

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: this was!! very fun and i’m such a sucker for fluff but?? my hands slipped and have a bittersweet one in return whoopsー

𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙

Jamil Viper

His silence, if only just the beginning, is suffocating. Not looking into the deep ends of murky water where it’s visible through the clear surface and you can see the crumbling facade Jamil wears. Passing that small barrier and plunging in deep to get closer to him, your fingers tremble when you reach out to him.

“You think I’m lying, Jamil?” The words questioned with enough hurt to ripple the surface; Jamil stays silent when you give him a small smile. “I’m not,” you breath, nodding as if trying to convince yourself before you shake your head rigorously. “I’m not lying.” The statement is whispered this time; reaffirmed with a force Jamil hasn’t heard since…

He stays silent if only for another moment before his hand meets yours, clasping your fingers between his palm as if he’s touching a sacred relic. “It would only hurt us if you force yourself.” He settles on saying and you can’t help the small laugh passing your lips. Always so insistent on following habits to protect himself, isn’t he..?

“No,” you sniff, blinking tears away and something warm spreads in your chest. “You’re hurting yourself by putting up with it.” Jamil watches in awe as your eyes brighten, lashes coated with tears as you gesture with your free hands as if joking with him. “This. This whole lying and everything else. So Jamil…” your voice cracks as you squeeze his hand and Jamil squeezes back on instinct. “Let’s stop, yeah? No more lying.”

It’s a different type of silence when you see the way Jamil sucks in a breath. He stares at your entwined hands as if struck awe by such a display. The type of silence where you just.. know. There’s no need for words to describe it, no need for charming looks to convey itーjust this; the small touch of holding onto someone.

Someone you know will catch you in return.

“No more lies,” he murmurs, repeating the words and looking so dumbstruck as if he’s not familiar with the concept. When Jamil looks at you, his cheeks are warm and you see the glitter in his lashes as he tugs you closer, lips pulled in an uncontained smile. “No more lies.” He agrees, much firmer as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you close.

You laugh, voice hoarse but you can't contain the noise of happiness as you’re falling and falling and just knowing that, whatever stars aligned to bless you, Jamil is willing to catch you. You hold onto his hoodie, tugging at the material and Jamil peers down at you curiously, eyes suspiciously red and, as if it’s all you can do, you smile. There’s no more walls between you and you see the same feelings reflected back at you when you look at Jamil. “Yeah?”

He smiles, swiping a thumb over your cheek when he cups your face. “Yeah.”

No more lies.

Leona Kingscholar

“You’re not.. You’re kidding, right?”

You gape, feeling as though a slap is much better than those words. But past the sentence of a blunt accusation, the look of confusion on Leona’s face makes you hesitant. You know Leona. In every way that he tries to hide himself from the worldーyou know him.

To believe in something is a luxury of choice and Leona, listening to your reply, chose to not believe.

“Why do you think I’m lying?” His ears twitch at the words as if the question is an enemy in front of him. He doesn’t come up with an immediate reply because truly, what is he supposed to say to that? What other words is he supposed to say to answer an otherwise simple question?

It feels like it’s happening all over again. That day your words started with a question and Leona shuts down. The result was feeling as though your mere existence had been a dream during all those times but you’re here now. In front of him and like a replay of that day, you ask him a question.

“What other reason is there?” He scowls, voice rough and you tense. “Holding onto something like.. loving me is too good to be true, isn’t it? Now’s the perfect time for you to have payback, don’t you think? Come one. Reject me. Spit in my face how you don’t want to see me anymore and how much you hate me. Tell me how’s it feel to be rejected and going through that painーcome on, say it..!”

The building heat in his stomach dissipates when you touch his face. He flinches but as if your touch roots him in place, he doesn’t move away when you look at him. The fury in your eyes isn’t there, instead, a look of hurt and confusion when you frown at him. “You’re getting too worked up don’t you think?” You chuckle and Leona’s lips part uselessly when your eyes water. “Where did the cool and composed Leona go? Did you get lost when I wasn’t here? I thought for sure that Ruggie would at least get you back on track.”

Leona places his hand on top of yours, watching the way you’re smiling pathetically in the midst of an incoming breakdown. He.. misses the way you would be stubborn with him at times. “Don’t joke with me.” Unlike before, he sounds tired, drained of all his life when he sags towards you but not allowing himself to get too close.

“I can’t promise that things will be smooth sailing from here but..” you offer a wry smile, shrugging one shoulder and blinking the tears away. “We can at least try. Just try. That alone is more than enough.”

For the first, split second, that you don’t understand the flicker of emotion in Leona’s eyes, he finally lets himself touch you; pulling you close and hugging you to him. With you, there's no need for words but in the small bubble where you’re vulnerable in each other’s arms, Leona makes a promise with himself.

For you, he’s willing to try.

Vil Schoenheit

The flicker of a frown tugs the corners of his lips before he’s blinking at you curiously as if choosing to ignore your words. Despite the brief switch, you can see the worry eating up at himーhis fingers twitch just the slightest when he crosses his arms and he’s not looking at you. “I’m sorry,” he starts first, eyes flickering to the side and he’s openly clutching his uniform when he crosses his hands over his chest. “I can’t.. I don’t understand why you would choose to…”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You know, some.. answers are just a lot more obvious than others.”

Vil tilts his head down, blond locks of hair falling to frame his face and silently, Vil reaches out to your hand. You let him hold onto you, his fingers curling around your digits as if studying the complicated traces of skin. Something almost.. raw and honest envelops your chest when Vil smiles; small and timid as he curls his pinky with yours.

“You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you,” he murmurs, distracting himself with the way your pinkies fit together. The curl of his finger around yours is loose, as if he’s afraid tightening his hold will shatter something delicate in his hands. “Choosing to hold onto something that would only hurt you. Aren’t you afraid of hurting?”

You blink, not expecting the words and you take a moment to answer. “I am,” you nod and Vil’s eyes flicker down. “But I could say the same to you, can’t I? You chose to embrace your feelings for me with the risk of me not feeling the same anymore.” Almost like reaffirming a crumbling surface, you let the flow of delicate emotions well up in your chest when you curl your pinky to Vil’s; making a promise. “It’s easy to love all things that would hurt you. But where would the reward be without a little pain, right?”

You relish in the small, wet laugh Vil lets out; disbelieving if anything else but sounding like the melody of rain finally drenching your dried up spirit. Looking past all that time you didn’t spend with him, hearing his voice.. his laugh, his smile, all that is Vil Schoenheitーmissing him is more than whatever pain lingers in your chest.

“Ah, haven’t you grown wiser?” He teases and you feel the curl of your promise returned before Vil clasps your hands together. The high arch of his cheekbones dusts with a faint colour of warmth when he smiles and you breath a small laugh when Vil leans his forehead to yours. “Beauty and love takes effort but…” he breathes, a look in his eyes beyond an emotion you can comprehend. “When it comes to you, I suppose effort isn’t needed,”

The touch of his fingertips to our cheeks is light before you’re being held like a precious gemstone; polished perfectly by your own care and to an extent, Vil’s. He smiles, nose brushing against yours when he leans closer.

“After all, loving you comes naturally.”

#jamil viper #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #scarabia #savanaclaw #pomefiore #twst x reader #twst fluff #twst imagines #twisted wonderland #request #gn!reader #twst scenarios #jamil x reader #leona x reader #vil x reader

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eirikaanemo · 3 years ago

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Summoning the Wind: The Finale

Part One: The Meeting, Part Two: Together

Venti x GN!Reader

1.8k Words

Warnings: Kissing at the end, tournament fighting, Demon Summoning™

Despite the surprising, sudden revelation and reveal, Venti and you continue working towards your goal. Demon tournaments are not things to be taken lightly. They are difficult and it takes a lot of preparation to be ready. And while there is no permanent harm done to the demon, if you’re not careful it can hurt you.

Strengthening your bond, sparring endlessly against whatever demons your teachers and classmates summon, and running through strategy after strategy are just a few of the things the two of you do to prepare. You practice dual battles, and strike up some contracts with some other demons as well. Soon all of you are working together as a team, efficient and effective. If you’re doing this, you’re going all in.

Your first fight is terrifying, especially with you being unable to use Venti as a failsafe. He was strictly around for emotional support, hidden under your hat. The two of you had agreed that he would only be fighting in the higher tournaments. It just wouldn’t be fair for you to use him to blast your way through the competition. Everyone deserves a fair fight. And you weren’t holding back, per say, just only using the amount of force that was needed.

Appraising opponents becomes second nature and you develop the ability to calculate the right amount of force to use fairly easily. But you always err on the side of extra force. You are in this to win it, after all. So despite your fear and nervousness, your first tournament goes very well and you are the undisputed winner.

You continue your rise to the top, taking things one tournament at a time. School wide, area wide, national, and area international tournaments all come and go with you winning all of them. The fights became easy, instinctive almost, but you continued training. Resting on your laurels leads to losing after all, and that’s not what you’re here to do.

Suddenly the time comes. It’s time for the ultimate demon tournament to take place. This is what you’ve been working towards all this time. And your contracted demons are just as excited as you are, Venti most of all.

Venti hasn’t gotten many opportunities to fight himself, though he has helped in one or two in his human form recently. So far, you and those at your school are the only ones that know of his true identity. Your school administration had effectively put a gag order on the information to protect your privacy, and you are very grateful for it. But the time is coming for you to reveal yourselves to the world, here at the World Ultimate Demon Cup tournament.

The fights are hard, even the beginning ones. From the very beginning you are given a run for your money. If you hadn’t spent so long training and preparing for this day you would not have survived past the first match. You were forced to use so much mana that it would have knocked you out if you hadn’t steadily increased your reserves as time went on.

But in the end, you won the match. Then the next one. Then the next. And suddenly you are at the semi-finals. It’s just you, two tier two demons, and Venti left to finish it. Thankfully, your tier two demons and Venti’s human form were enough to get you to the final match. This is it. This is your moment.

Your opponent laughs as you step your way onto the field. “Haha, really,” they crow. “You made it this far with your two-bit tier two demons? I’m surprised! You must certainly be something. But do not doubt, I will crush you under the heel of my foot!” You roll your eyes at their arrogance.

“We’ll see about that,” you reply. He snorts and both of you summon your demon partners onto the field. His is obviously a tier one demon. It is a geo-type sphinx, three times your height and probably weighing more than you could possibly imagine. In comparison, Venti in his little sprite form is completely dwarfed.

“Is that a wind sprite?” Your opponent asks, anger creeping into their voice and onto their face. “Are you kidding me? You think you can take out my summoning partner with a wind sprite! Rude! Brikelda, get rid of it and force them to summon a real opponent.” You smirk as Venti agily dodges the sphinx’s every attempt.

It takes a while, but the sphinx, Brikelda, eventually lands a hit. A hit that almost hit Venti out of bounds. But just before he crosses the line he changes into his Archon form in a flash. Using his wings he easily changes his trajectory to keep himself within bounds. The audience gasps as the announcers proclaim their awe. “And here, folks, you have the honor of seeing an Archon in action!” “It’s sure something, isn’t it, Dave?” “It sure is, Jose! It looks like this will be a lot more interesting than it first seemed!”

Your opponent lets loose with a wild cackle. “This will be more interesting than I thought! But don’t underestimate us! We’ve worked too hard to lose here!” Even with Venti’s archon form, Brikelda the sphinx gave you a hard battle. She fought until the bitter end. But, in the end, Venti is an Archon for a reason. And his strong partnership with you has made him even stronger. He’s in top form and it shows.

The battle is long, but with one last Wind’s Grande Ode, Venti successfully launches her out of bounds. Bouncing off the magical shield guarding the audience, she crumples to the ground and unsummons herself. After a moment of silence, the crowd bursts into cheers and applause. You startle at first at the loud noise, but smile and wave in victory.

Venti soars down from the sky to high five you. Hearing footsteps, you turn around to see your opponent. They are sombre and calmer than you’ve ever seen them. Extending their hand, they hold it toward you. “Good fight,” they say. “You are an opponent worth losing to. I’m glad that it was you. I wish you luck for the future.” You reach out, take their hand, and shake it.

“Thank you for such a great fight,” you thank them in return. “You really made me earn my win. You and Brikelda are a great team.” With a final smile the three of you leave the stage, them one way and Venti and you the other. Thankfully your prep room isn’t too far away, you don’t think you can keep holding your peace for long.

As soon as the door to your prep room is closed you let out something between a cheer and a shriek of victory. “We did it!” You proclaim at Venti. “I can’t believe we did it!” You run over to him and pull him into a tight hug. “Thank you, Venti,” you whisper. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You feel him smile with amusement, excitement, fondness, and… something else you can’t quite place, as he pulls you closer. He’s been feeling that emotion more and more recently, but you’re not sure what it is. The few times he’s let it bleed over the bond it’s been a warm, soft feeling in your heart. If you had to put a name to it, objectively, you would call it love.

But that couldn’t be it. He’s a demon, an Archon even, and you’re just a human. It isn’t possible that he could love you like that. Yet the thought never really left your mind. And your own feelings that you’ve been careful to keep to yourself all this time, refused to let it go. Because oh how much you love his laugh. You love his songs. You love his eyes. You love him, despite all his flaws.

So you can’t help but relish in the moment. He’s larger in this form, tall enough that your head rests over his heart and his arms wrap around you comfortingly, strong and firm in their grip. His heart is beating quickly, and picks up even more after he presses a quick kiss to the top of your head. Your own heartbeat picks up, and seems to beat in time with his.

You can feel your face and ears go warm as you let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. He loosens his arms to let you pull away some to look at him. His soft gaze rests on you as he takes in the sight of you in his arms. The earlier fights had drained your mana enough that it showed in your disheveled appearance, but you still looked just as wonderful to him as ever.

“I have something I need to tell you,” he admits. “I’ve tried to keep it to myself, but it’s slipped through our bond a couple of times so you probably know what I’m talking about. I’m going to say it anyway, just to get it out in the open. Over all this time we’ve come to know each other, I’ve become very fond of you. And not just as a friend.

“It started out as just a close friendship but my feelings for you never stayed there. They grew every time I saw you working to improve yourself, to 'become more worthy of having him as a summoning partner' as you would say when you thought I couldn’t hear. They grew every time you didn’t treat me and the others as any less than you or other humans. And now they’ve grown too much for me to stay silent about them.

“I love you, romantically, not platonically. You’ve come to mean the world to me. I’ve never felt so close to anyone before and have never felt more understood than when I’ve been around you. And I-” He pauses for a moment to swallow. “Can I kiss you?”

The question is quiet, vulnerable almost. His hand comes to cup your face, thumb tracing your lower lip as he looks into your eyes pleadingly. Your heart melts, and you smile. “Yes, please,” You practically beg as you reach up to cup his cheeks too, guiding them down towards yours.

Your first kiss is soft and slow as the two of you get comfortable kissing each other. The next is a little firmer, and the next even more so. You find yourself pinned against the wall with him having pulled away for a moment to let you catch your breath. He’s about to lean in for another kiss when you’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

“We need you at the podium in two minutes,” the person on the other side tells you before hurrying off to other places. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before bursting into action. He helps you freshen up and the two of you race to the award ceremony. As the two of you run he winks and adds one more comment to make you blush. “I guess we’ll just have to finish later~”

#eirika writes #venti #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin impact x reader #demon summoning au

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matbaerzal · 4 years ago

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Love Notes | B. Boeser

Summary: Brock surprises you with a weekend camping trip. He sets up a scavenger hunt with clues for you to find out where he is waiting for you. A/N: I got this idea way back in June when I was out camping, and I finally put my mind into finishing it. let me know what you think 💕 Warnings: FLUFF, like one swear, gossip girl references & camping... Words: 3,5K Copyright © @matbaerzal 2020 All Rights Reserved Tagging: @powerblais because the photo is a screenshot of her gif 😅 & @tkachukme @captainkreider @yeeehaw-hockey @tysojost @puckbitchesgetmoney @canadianheaters @shirarihena

Coming home from work on a Friday during the off-season you’d grown used to having Brock welcome you home, Coolie and Milo following after. So when you open the door and find the house empty you can’t help the frown that takes over your face. Though, as you see one of his perfectly folded notes on the fridge door, a smile takes over.

Brock liked leaving you little notes, he’d been doing that ever since you were in elementary school. Back then they were filled with stupid jokes or questions that could’ve definitely waited until after class. Now, they were filled with words of love and adoration. Regardless, they had always made you smile. You’d known him forever, you grew up on the same street, went to the same school and your parents had always been really close.

You walk over, putting your bag on the kitchen counter, before unclipping the note from the magnet on the fridge. You unfold it, scanning the paper quickly. It’s a bit lengthier than his usual notes, so you sit down on the island whilst you read the first sentence.

I hope you had a good day at work, sorry I’m not there to hug you and kiss you.

You smile to yourself, leaning your chin on the palm of your hand before reading the rest

But, I thought we could go camping this weekend. I’m already there, probably just finished setting up the tent by the time you read this. Before you join us there are a couple of things I need you to pick up for us. Each clue will bring you to a new location where you’ll find a new note.

Your first clue: The first time we kissed

Love, Brock x

This was new to you, not Brock surprising you with a weekend getaway, but the scavenger hunt. You bit your lip in excitement, reading the note again as your mind drifts off to when you first kissed - to figure out what his clue could mean.

You and Brock had a lot of almost-kisses as you were growing up. But, your first actual kiss happened when you were sixteen years old.

“All you ever do is watch gossip girl” he rolls his eyes, you poke your tongue out at him. “You’re free to watch it with me,” you say. Before you know it he’s laying his whole weight on top of you, and you can’t help but laugh in surprise.

“What are you doing?” you say through your laugh, and he has the audacity to shush you. “Brock?” you try to push him off of you, his weight crushing you, but he doesn’t budge, “will you calm down? I’m trying to watch,” he says, pointing at the TV.

“You’re the absolute worst” you gape at him. He finally looks at you with a smile, and he’s a lot closer than you thought, though he doesn’t seem to mind. You feel your heart beating against your chest as his eyes scan your face.

Like so many times before, your eyes drift down to his lips, and you feel his breath across your face. Like so many times before, you think you might actually kiss him - but at the sound of the end titles of an episode you’re hit with your reality.

You can’t kiss Brock - he’s your best friend. You don’t want to risk losing that for some silly crush.

You clear your throat, turning your head away from him, struggling to reach the remote so you can play the next episode. You don’t notice the defeated look in Brock's eyes as he adjusts his body, so only half his weight is on you, making it easier for you to reach the remote.

The two of you watch a few more episodes, but all you can focus on is him. You’re painfully aware of his hand and how it’s on your waist - his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth over the fabric of your hoodie. Though, even through the layers, you feel it - and it’s torture. His actions are so sweet but you know he means nothing by them, that he’s just mindlessly doing it.

“Hey, this show’s actually good,” he speaks up, making your focus shift to his voice instead.

“You’ve been laying here for 4 episodes, and you’re only just now realizing that?” you laugh.

“Well, in my defence, I wasn’t really focusing on the show”

“Oh? What were you focusing on, then?”

“What I always focus on,” he says matter of factly, confusing you further.

“And that is-?”

“You.”

A breath hitches in your throat, and you suddenly notice how his arm has tightened around you - as if you’d drift away if he didn’t hold you close.

“I always focus on you” he confirms with a low voice, but it feels loud to you, and his words make you dizzy.

He lets his hold of you go a little when you try to turn in his arms. It’s only when you face him again that you notice the deep breaths he’s taking, and the nervous look on his face. You’re close again, like before, and the same thought comes back.

His lips are parted, and they just look so soft and you wonder what it would feel like to just-

Suddenly you don’t have to wonder anymore as he presses his lips against yours. The kiss is cautious at first, but as you melt against him, it grows firmer. Your fingers thread through his hair like you’ve done this a thousand times before - like it’s what you’re meant to do.

Anything else around you disappears as the two of you stay wrapped up in each other. The conversation about what it all means is a worry for another time - though, you’re not really worried about it anymore.

You touch your lips, remembering how his lips felt against yours then - how they still feel. Going over the moment again you try to figure out where his next clue might be. Then, you remembered how he’d bought you a box set of all the gossip girl seasons, and you wonder if he might have hidden it in the box.

Sure enough, when you take out the DVD covers, you find a note stuck to one of them.

Your second clue: The first note I gave you.

This time, you know exactly where to go as soon as you read the clue. Setting the note down on the counter next to the first one before going to the bedroom to get changed for the trip.

Your parents always told you, that at first, you found Brock annoying, all he wanted to do was shoot rubber disks at the wall by his garage - and even though he was polite and invited you to join, you could think of a million things that would be more fun.

Eventually, you grew bored of having to find other things to do, so you decided to take Brock up on his offer - only to discover that it wasn’t as easy as it looked. So instead, you decided put up targets on the asphalt in front of his garage for him to try and hit. Your teddybear, Cuddles, got the worst of it.

You were both 6 when Brock gave you his first note. It was more of a drawing really, of him hitting you right in the stomach with a puck. But the letters written with blue crayon unmistakably spelled out “I’m sorry”.

After getting changed and packing a few essentials, you grabbed your car keys along with the note and drove over to his parents’ house. You’ve barely made it out of your car before his mom comes out to greet you. “Hey honey,” she says rushing over to you, “Hi Laurie,” you lean into her hug. “Hey Duke,” you say, seeing him standing in the doorway over her shoulder.

“We’ve got something for you” she sings, her whole body language telling you there’s something she’s keeping from you. But you don’t press for it as you reach the doorway. Laurie goes into the house as you give Duke a hug. She reappears in a second with a sleeping bag in her hands. “Here you go, have fun camping” she sings, “thank you” you smile, giving them both one more hug before going back to your car.

With a million thoughts running through your head you get back in the driver seat, finding the note tucked into the side of the sleeping back before throwing it in the backseat. Before you unfold it you look back at Laurie and Duke, the same secretive smiles on each of their faces as they wave at you before closing the door. Before you overthink and look into things that might just be your imagination running wild, you unfold the paper.

Your third clue: Our first date

Though you shared your first kiss when you were sixteen, you didn’t have your first actual date until you were eighteen - according to Brock, anyways. See, after you kissed, the two of you just started dating, you didn’t need to go on “dates”, because you knew each other so well already.

And every time you went to the movies together or went to the lake - you didn’t really consider that to be dates, because you’d done all that before even when you were just friends. And while you weren’t too fussy on what was a date and what wasn’t, Brock had been insistent on one evening, in particular, being your first date.

You were out for dinner, just the two of you, celebrating the draft and him being selected by the Canucks. It wasn’t until the desserts came that he realized - “this is our first date”.

“What? We’ve been on plenty of dates” you laugh at him.

He doesn’t exactly disagree, but you know he’s about to contradict your words anyway.

“We’ve never dressed up and went out to a fancy restaurant before though,” he points out.

“True, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t been on a date before”

“Ok, so name the last time we went on a date, then” he challenges with a smile.

“Well, last Wednesday-”

“Being on the lake with my parents doesn’t count as a date” he argues.

You laugh, holding your hands up giving up the argument, “if you want this to be our first date, then - this, is our first date” you smile softly at him. He raises his glass, and you clink yours against it, “you’d think we’d be running out of firsts by now” you muse.

“Oh no, my love. We have a lifetime of firsts ahead of us”

It hits you then, just how well you and Brock know each other. No one else would have been able to answer that question but the two of you. Even if you asked your mom what she thought yours and Brock’s first date was, she’d just joke and say the first day you met - back when you were kids.

Well, there’s one other person that knows of that detail - the owner of the restaurant you went to, Nora. You and Brock had been there many many times by now and she would always come over and chat for a little while whenever you were there. After the two of you we’re old enough to drink she’d given you both some wine on the house - laughing as you both pretended to like the taste, just to be polite.

You could already see her as you parked your car across the road from the restaurant. You practically skip across the road after looking both ways.

Nora perks up when she sees you - the look she gives you reminds you of the way Laurie and Duke had looked at you earlier. As she hugs you and ushers you over to the counter you don’t have time to look into it too much. She disappears into the kitchen momentarily, coming back with a take away bag for you. You see the folded note attached to it instantly.

“Your favourite,” she winks, and you can smell the sweet chocolate chip cookies without even taking a peek at them. After you’ve taken the bag from her she looks around to see if anyones looking before bending down and getting a bottle of wine, quickly putting that into a bag as well.

“Nora, you don’t have to-” you start, only to be interrupted, “I know, but you know I can’t help myself” handing the wine over to your reluctant hand.

“Thank you” you smile at her.

“Anything for my favorite couple” she brushes it off.

You give her another hug before you walk out, skipping across the road to get back to your car. Once you’re back in your seat you remove the note from the bag, setting it down in the passenger seat along with the wine.

You bite your lip as you unfold the note, your eyes scanning the handwritten letters with wonder.

Your final clue: The first time I told you I love you

You picture the scene vividly in your mind, not having to think twice before putting the car in drive. You’d been to the small secluded clearing by the lake countless times with Brock, and shared many treasured moments with him there.

If you had to have guessed where the scavenger hunt would end up, it would be your first guess, and you loved him for being so predictable even in his adventures. As you drive down the familiar roads you think back to that moment, years ago, when you first uttered those words to each other back when you were seventeen.

You and Brock jumped at the chance to go camping together the first week of summer. Packing his car full of essentials, and only essentials. Because, according to Brock, a bunch blankets and pillows, fairy lights and s’mores were all under that category.

He’d found the spot a couple weeks ago when he was hiking, and he instantly thought of you when he saw it. The walk wasn’t too long, and Brock carried most of your stuff anyways - you almost had to fight him for the few items you were carrying.

You sighed out after everything was finally set up, sneaking your arms around Brocks waist as his arm slung across your shoulders. Then, you went for a swim, staying in the water until your skin turned pruney.

After that, Brock got started on the fire as you set up your chairs right next to each other, and got all your snacks ready. When your stomachs were filled you fell into a comfortable silence, and you fished out a book from your bag that Brock had given you a little while ago. With your head leaned on his shoulder, you opened the book for the first time.

A surprised chuckle leaves you as a familiar looking piece of paper falls into your lap.

“I’m sitting right next to you, you know,” you say, showing him the folded note. “Well, it’s been in there since I gave it to you,” he says matter-of-factly, “not my fault you didn’t open the book until now”.

You unfold the note carefully with a small smile on your face, shaking your head at him. You do a double take as you take in the words he’s written down for you.

Three words, eight letters

You look up at him, a breath catching in your throat when you meet his eyes, “Brock-”

“I love you” he cuts you off. The way it leaves his lips is effortless, and it makes you completely melt. You’re torn between wanting to wipe the smirk off his face and kissing him. You decide on the latter, grabbing his cheek - leading his lips to yours.

You don’t kiss him for long, quickly realizing you didn’t say the words back to him, and they all but stumble out of your lips “I love you too”.

Your car pulls up next to his and you breathe in deeply when you step out, double checking that you have everything before you make your way over to the start of the path. Your steps are hurried, eager to see him, to wrap your arms around him - to kiss him.

You see the hints of the sun setting through the trees, and you know you’ll just about make it to see the colors change.

You hear the water before you see anything and as a twig snaps under your foot you hear Coolie and Milo bark out for you. Coolie comes running up to you, and you kneel down to greet him before letting him lead the last of the way to Brock.

As the site comes to view you instantly feel relaxed. There’s a soft breeze, warm against your skin. The sun reflecting on the tiny waves in the water, the clouds have turned light pink as sunset comes near.

Your breath is taken away from you as you look over at Brock, he’s hung up what seems like hundreds of fairy lights in the trees by the tent. You’re barely able to look away from the scene as Milo comes up to you. You look at Brock in awe as you crouch down to pet Milo, giving him a short kiss before standing up to walk over to Brock.

“What’s all this for?” you say as you approach him. He doesn’t answer as he takes your items out of your hands, setting them down before kissing you deeply, making your mind go blank for a moment, getting lost in the kiss.

“Hi,” he finally says - you’re not able to get a read on the look on his face.

“Hey” you laugh, confusion still evident in your voice, looking at the scene again as if to make sure it was real.

Then, he takes your hand, biting his lip as he plays with your fingers, he almost seems out of breath now that you study him closer. He takes a deep breath before a smile takes over his face as he speaks.

“I’ve been searching for the perfect moment, for the perfect way to do this. Because you deserve the world - and more. This idea popped into my head months ago, and fuck- waiting till the season to be over and then waiting for both our schedules to clear has been near torture”

He huffs out a laugh before continuing, “but, I wanted everything to be perfect, even though I almost slipped up a couple times - like the time I was practicing what to say as you were sleeping and I thought I woke you up. You’re my world, and I couldn’t imagine my life without you-”

The way he says your name then, is unlike any time before. It’s not like how he says it in the morning or when he’s about to give you something that reminded him of you. It’s almost like when he’s telling you he loves you, but it’s so much more than that.

Your heart beats a mile a minute as you predict what he’s about to say, but nothing could’ve ever prepared you for what he does next. He takes a small velvet box out from his pocket as he gets down on one knee in front of you.

“Will you marry me?” his voice breaks a little as he takes in your glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill from his own as he opens the box to reveal the ring.

“No way-” you cry, the words stumbling out of your mouth. You can’t believe it, how lucky you are to have this man in your life and here he is, asking if he can spend the rest of his life with you.

A laugh leaves his lips at your words, because although you’d said “no way” your whole body was screaming “YES!”. A hand covering your quivering lips, a tear falling down your cheek as you nod. He stands up wrapping his arms around your waist, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you nuzzle into his neck.

Your feet lift off the ground as he spins you around, a joyful laugh leaving both your lips. He carefully sets your feet back on the ground and your hands slide to thread through his hair, urging his lips to yours.

“Yes- yes of course, I’ll marry you” you murmur, he nudges his nose against yours - leaving another kiss to your lips. Then his hand slides up your arm, gently taking your hand again, leaving it to rest on his chest. His other hand, still grasping the box comes between your bodies as he takes the ring out before grasping your hand again.

A breath catches in your throat as he slides the ring onto your finger, your free hand caressing his cheek, wiping the stray tear away.

You’d spent the day reminiscing over your past with Brock and now your mind travels to the future. Looking forward to spending it with him, and knowing that you’d have each other through the good and the bad - like you’d always had, like you always will.

#brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey rpf #op:w #love notes fic

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years ago

Note

For the kink ask - a/b/o?

I love your style and would really like to read your take on it (the pairing doesn't matter to me, though if you feel Eskel for this, I wouldn't be opposed 👀)

If it's not your thing that's of course alright too, then I'm just sending some love ❤

Thanks for the prompt, anon! 💖 I took this and ran, but I had a lot of fun with it. I have a feeling this isn’t exactly what you were thinking but I’m not personally into the a/b/o dynamics, so I messed around with it a bit and present to you: Eskel goes into heat during the full moon, when Geralt finds out he’s more than happy to get him through it. cw for dry sex, come as lube, and a whole lot of self-shame surrounding Eskel’s heat

After so many years on the path, time sort of ceases to exist. Most Witchers have some sense of time (the seasons continue to pass and their memories keep them from forgetting much) but Eskel has always been particularly fastidious about paying attention to the time of year, the time of the month. Unlike most of his brothers, he can tell you exactly how far away they are from the next full moon at any given time. When they were kids, it was an amusing trick for the other boys; they would all make guesses and whoever was the closest to Eskel's prediction would be able to hand off his chores to someone else. For them, it was a game, but for Eskel it was a necessity, knowing when the next full moon would come so he could seclude himself for the night.

No one else knows what happens to him during a full moon - if they did, they'd probably suspect some sort of lycanthropy and who knows what would happen to him then. But it's not like that. Eskel doesn't transform in the light of the full moon (although some days, he would prefer that), but suffers through unending, unquenchable lust. By the time most of the other boys were only starting to discover sexuality, Eskel had already been sneaking out of the keep at night to keep his secret from being found out.

And he got very good at it. For years, he managed to keep his secret and his sneaking around secret even from his closest friends. Which is why, a few weeks before they're supposed to be setting out on their own for the first time, Eskel is relieved. He no longer has to worry about lying or sneaking around or keeping things from his peers and advisors. Just a few more weeks and he'll be free. But, like everything in his life so far, it's not as easy as that. Two nights before he's due to leave Kaer Morhen, the moon is full.

Eskel works himself up to it, preparing his escape in advance as he does more frequently these days. The once-clumsy boys who grew up with are now strong men with proper control of their senses and escaping is not so simple as it once was. But he makes it out of the keep without any trouble. He's had to use axii on another boy more than once and he feels terrible about it even now, so getting out clean is the most favourable option. But once he gets off the grounds, he has a bigger problem facing him.

Over the years, Eskel has tried everything. At first, he tried ignoring it all night, but when that proved maddening, he'd give in to every whim but that was exhausting and painful after a couple of hours. His newest method seems to work the best: staving it off for as long as possible and then, once he's made himself come, sleep for as long as he can manage before the need creeps up on him again. It doesn't always work and a lot of the time, his own hand isn't enough to satisfy the need, but it's better than his other options.

Tonight is bad. Bad enough that he doesn't think he'll make it to the watchtower before giving in, but he grits his teeth and pushes forward. The longer he holds out, the better the night will be for him.

He makes it up to the watchtower and settles himself on the ground, leaning back against the wall with his hands clenched at his sides. His cock is already hard and aching, pressed firmly against the front of his trousers, and he refuses to look down, but he can feel the wet patch forming in the cloth.

Even after all these years, it's embarrassing to be like this. His entire life he's been trained to have control over every aspect of his body and yet, he still can't control this. His only solace is that no one has ever found out about it and he doesn't have to bear the humiliation of anyone seeing him like this.

Then, of course, that too fails. He doesn't hear the footfalls until it's too late to hide.

Eskel's breath catches and he's so overcome with terror that for a moment, he's totally numb to the need coursing through him. All he has time to do is pull his knees up before he catches a scent on the breeze.

Fuck. Geralt. Why does it have to be Geralt?

Of all the pupils and all the mentors in the keep, the very last person he wants to know about this is Geralt. As long as Eskel can remember, he's been closer to Geralt than anyone; they were friends from the day they arrived, but Eskel had grown overly fond of Geralt over the years. If there was ever anyone he might tell about his situation, it's Geralt, but Eskel's feelings for the other man get in the way every time. He doesn't anticipate anything ever happening between them, but he knows Geralt finding out would ensure nothing ever does.

A million things run through his head at once, but he knows it's already too late. If Geralt followed his scent, there's no way he could avoid noticing the arousal wound through it and Eskel knows he smells different during the moon than he does any other time. He should tell Geralt to leave him alone, tell him to turn back before he gets too close, but his voice isn't cooperating.

Feeling lost and hopeless, Eskel drops his head to his knees and grits his teeth. Having an audience isn't going to deter the feelings and he's hit by an overwhelming wave of humiliation as he imagines having to get through this while someone watches. Realistically, he knows Geralt wouldn't, that he would give him space, but he also knows that if Geralt knows something is wrong, he won't just leave him alone. Normally, it's one of the things he loves most about Geralt, his absolute devotion and protection of those he cares about, but tonight it's not working in Eskel's favour.

He's so caught up in pushing back the arousal, that Eskel doesn't realize when Geralt is sitting right in front of him. He's speaking, but Eskel can't understand through the blood rushing in his ears. It's not until Geralt touches him that Eskel's focus snaps into place and it takes all his strength to keep from shoving Geralt back against the ground.

"Go away," he rumbles and Geralt does exactly the opposite.

"What's wrong?"

"Geralt, just go." The ache is getting stronger now and Eskel is sorely tempted to rub himself off through his trousers. He thinks he could do it without Geralt catching on too quickly, but the longer he thinks about it, the stronger the feeling gets and he chokes on a moan as he shifts and his trousers rub against his sensitive cock. It's almost enough for him to come just like that, but he manages to hold back, some horrible combination of shame and disgust holding him back.

"Eskel-"

"Go," he says but his voice shakes and it's so hard to keep himself steady.

The thought of asking Geralt for help worms his way into his mind and he's so overwhelmed fighting against that and the urge to touch and the scalding humiliation burning up the back of his neck. Before Eskel can stop him, Geralt crawls forward, kneeling before Eskel.

"Tell me what you need," he breathes and Eskel is so tired of fighting. He whimpers and he doesn't want to ask for help, doesn't want to show weakness in front of another witcher, but he whines out a desperate please and Geralt doesn't hesitate.

"Let's get you out of this," he whispers, leaning in to tug Eskel's shirt up over his head. Immediately, the cold stone feels good against his back, but then Geralt is pressing between his legs and another rush of heat sears through him. "Come on, Es, let me get you out of these clothes."

Reluctantly, Eskel slips down, allowing Geralt the space he needs to tug his trousers down over his hips. He hisses as the cold air hits his cock, but there's a spike of arousal from Geralt and everything else is forgotten. Eskel reaches for him instinctively and Geralt settles next to him, pressing up against his side.

"Can I?" Geralt asks and when Eskel nods, he slides a hand down his stomach. Eskel is already thrusting up to meet him before Geralt even touches his cock. He hates himself for it, but Geralt just hums softly, winding his fingers around the base of him like it’s nothing.

Geralt barely even has to do anything because Eskel can't keep himself from thrusting up against him, grinding into the tunnel of Geralt's fist. He comes too quickly, spilling all over Geralt's hand and his own stomach and he's barely over the rush of his orgasm before the shame sets in again.

"Hey," Geralt huffs, "don't you dare." He presses right up against his side, pressing his nose into Eskel's neck. "You always helped me," he whispers, "let me help you."

Eskel's erection hasn't subsided in the slightest and he nearly cries out when Geralt touches him again. Geralt is slow and gentle and Eskel has to hold back from fucking up against him hard. It does feel better than on his own hand, but it's still not going to get him through the night; already, even the stroke of Geralt's hand is feeling less and less satisfying.

Eskel squirms under Geralt's touch, desperate for a firmer touch, for something more but he fights against it. He knows he has to slow this down because he knows how he inevitably winds up and he can't ask Geralt for that and he doesn't want Geralt seeing him do it to himself. He gets a hand around Geralt's wrist, trying to keep him from moving too quickly and when Geralt shifts, his cock presses into Eskel's hip and he's hard. Geralt squeezes around the head of Eskel's cock reflexively and that's all it takes to push Eskel over the edge again.

He throws an arm over his face, but when he comes down this time, Geralt moves his arm, looking down at him. His eyes are dark and Eskel can smell the lust rolling off of him now, but Eskel knows well enough that it's just a natural reaction. Geralt wouldn't want him in any other situation. But Geralt's chest is heaving and he looks so fucking nervous, looking anywhere but at Eskel's eyes.

"Can I-" he whispers, "I just- could I... kiss you?"

"Why?"

Geralt looks taken aback. "Because I... want to?"

Eskel opens his mouth to ask why again, but Geralt shifts to straddle his hips and he's struck dumb. He nods and Geralt leans down over him, barely brushing his lips against Eskel's before kissing him properly. Immediately, Eskel draws him closer, wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck and pulling him down to him. He doesn't have the strength to hold back, pushing his tongue between Geralt's lips and rocking up against him. If Geralt is hesitant, he doesn't show it.

He presses against him, rolling his hips in low, languid motions and while Eskel is currently in favour of quick, harsh movements, he finds himself lost in the movement of Geralt's body against his own. He arches off the ground, grasps at Geralt's neck and shoulders, moaning desperately into his mouth. He's never had someone with him for this, never even considered finding his release in someone else and for the first time in years it feels good.

Geralt shoves a hand between them without breaking the kiss, shoving at his trousers until he can pull his own cock free. He shifts to align himself with Eskel, using his hand as a guide to keep them pressed together as he rocks his hips a little harder. His breath is hot against Eskel's skin and the little gasps and moans that drop from his lips are almost enough to make Eskel think he could want this too.

Then, as Eskel is arching against him, Geralt's thumb slips up under the head of his cock and Eskel comes with a shout, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead to Geralt's. He's only vaguely aware of Geralt grunting and then he collapses onto his chest.

Geralt has a hand wrapped around his side, brushing his thumb against Eskel's skin and it's the only thing that keeps him from getting up and running away immediately. Because a friendly hand is one thing but this was... more. He can hear his own pulse rise and he tries to slow it, evidently not quickly enough. Geralt nuzzles under his jaw, shushing him.

"'M not gonna go anywhere," he mumbles. "You didn't ever leave me."

Geralt shifts to the side and curls up around Eskel, running a soothing hand up his leg. It proves more than Eskel's hypersensitive body can handle and it's only a few minutes before he's hard again. He holds out as long as he can, focusing on Geralt's soft touches instead of the want coursing through him, but it's not enough to keep it at bay.

He smells more than feels when his cock leaks against his skin and he groans knowing that Geralt can smell it too.

"Fuck," Geralt mumbles, "it really is bad, isn't it?"

Eskel just groans in response but Geralt is already moving, rising to his knees again and kissing Eskel's chest. He's disgusting; sweaty and covered in dried come, but Geralt seems unconcerned as he makes his way down to the smear of pre-come above Eskel’s hip. He wraps his lips around the head of Eskel's cock and that's the end of coherent thought. All Eskel can even think about is the wet heat of Geralt's mouth around him, sucking hard and sinking down on him. He runs his fingers through Geralt's hair, gripping and tugging when his cock hits the back of Geralt's throat.

He comes startlingly quickly like this and Geralt follows almost immediately, jerking himself between Eskel's thighs.

The next hour passes in much the same way. Eskel holds out as long as he possibly can, but Geralt catches it every time. He licks and sucks and strokes and even gets his fingers into him and it's good. It's the best he's ever had if he's honest, but inevitably, it's not good enough. He's not oblivious to his body's needs, but usually fingering himself is enough to get him through the remainder of the night.

Geralt has three fingers in him and his mouth around Eskel's cock when he sighs and withdraws, sitting back up and running his hands up Eskel's thighs.

"It's not helping anymore, is it?"

Eskel groans and shakes his head, dropping it back against the ground. He stares up at the crumbled floor above him and wonders if he can hold out till morning, but Geralt is already moving. He shifts up close and he's naked now, bare skin pressed right against Eskel's and it's overwhelming and not enough. He can feel Geralt's cock against his hip and he's still hard, but Eskel doesn't have the energy to help him out. He shuts his eyes with a groan and he's contemplating sending Geralt back to the keep rather than face the alternative, but Geralt interrupts his thoughts with a kiss to his hip.

"It's okay," he whispers, "we'll figure it out."

Eskel knows they won't. He knows at this point there are only two things that will get them through the remaining hour or so until dawn. He's never tried fucking someone or letting someone fuck him, but he knows nothing else is going to work. If Geralt can't get him off, it's the only option. He can't say it though, so he just grumbles and shifts to try and get comfortable.

"I could... if you want you could fuck me?" Geralt offers.

Eskel lets out a helpless laugh. He lifts himself as well as he can manage and offers a hopeless grin at Geralt.

"I'm exhausted," he huffs, "I can barely sit up." It's not strictly a no, but it's not a yes either and he waits for Geralt's response. Geralt doesn't say anything, but he crawls up over him so he's straddling Eskel's hips.

"What if you didn't have to do anything?" Geralt takes himself in hand, stroking his cock where Eskel can't help but watch him. His own cock twitches with genuine arousal and Geralt rocks back against him.

"Geralt," Eskel chokes and Geralt just leans down over him, nuzzling into his neck.

"It's okay," he whispers, "I want to. I- I've thought about it before." That certainly catches Eskel's attention.

"What?"

"I-" Geralt ducks his head and Eskel can see just the fainted dusting of red across his cheeks. "I think about you sometimes."

"Not like this, though."

"No," Geralt admits, "but I thought about touching you."

"Yeah?" Eskel encourages. His cock twitches again and he wants to reach down and stroke himself off before the feeling goes away again, but he has a better idea. "Tell me." His hands slip up to Geralt's hips, pressing him back onto his cock and he groans as the head catches against Geralt's rim.

"Oh," Geralt groans and he sits back a little harder. It doesn't make any sense to fuck him; Eskel's already prepped and ready and he's going to ache tomorrow as it is. They don't have oil and he doesn't want to hurt him, but Geralt seems determined.

"I touched myself," Geralt breathes, "thinking about you. Imagining your hands on me, holding me, pressing me into-" he cuts himself off and his eyes snap up to Eskel's, but his scent flares hot and lusty. Pressing me into the bed. And gods, Eskel thinks, they may only have two days left, but he'll be damned if he doesn't find time to fuck Geralt into whatever surface he can find after this. Now, though, is not the time.

"I will," he promises, "I'll fuck you anywhere, any way you want me to, but you gotta do something for me first."

“Anything.”

“I need you to fuck me.”

"Eskel-"

"We don't have any oil and you already did such a damned good job of making sure I'm ready." Geralt preens at the praise and Eskel gets a hand around the back of his neck, tugging him into a slow kiss.

His whole body aches for release, but he lets himself linger, brutally aware of the time they've wasted. Geralt is the one to draw back, shifting to sit between Eskel's legs. Just the heat of his body, the way Geralt pushes his thighs apart sends shivers up his spine. That's a good sign, he thinks.

Geralt slips a finger inside him, then two, ensuring he's ready. Eskel appreciates the effort but it doesn't matter much either way. Geralt slicks his cock with the come still cooling on Eskel's chest and it's not ideal, but it makes some difference as he pushes into him. Geralt is cautious, but he keeps himself steady and the first proper thrust has Eskel's entire body lighting up.

Oh, this is what he's been missing all these years. The painful ache fades until he's left with nothing but his own want for Geralt, pure and real. He's still exhausted, but he musters up the strength to haul Geralt down against him, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him.

"Fuck," he breathes, "fuck, Geralt, you feel-" he's cut off by his own moan as Geralt thrusts sharply into him and Eskel's limbs shake. He doesn't try to talk again, but when Geralt kisses him, soft and sweet, despite the pistoning of his hips, Eskel thinks he understands anyway.

This time takes longer, but when he comes, it's with one hand around his cock and the other over Geralt's shoulder. Please, he hears and it takes a moment to realize it came from him. He doesn't plead, doesn't ask for anything during sex, but then again, nothing about this is normal. Geralt follows moments later, collapsing onto his chest and pressing soft, exhausted kisses along his collar bone. For the first time possibly ever, Eskel feels satisfied after a full moon.

Dawn finds them huddled together amongst soiled clothes and loose bits of stone. Geralt is lying almost entirely on top of him, but Eskel is warm and content. He doesn't dare move, lest his muscles scream of overuse, but there's no need to move anyway; he's through it for another cycle and, he suspects, the future will be easier. He runs his fingers through Geralt's hair with a soft smile on his face and watches in silence as the sun climbs up over the mountains.

kink prompts

#geralt x eskel #in heat #v spicy #bottom eskel #prompt fic #rex writes #anonymous #lmk if i should add tags #i'm terrible at tagging for tumblr

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