#in this chill that sucks the breath out of my lungs. in the freezing cold that makes my head ache and steals my consciousness

[caffeinatedopossum]

I can't believe I survived the worst days of my life and I still can't help but return to that place everytime I close my eyes. It's not the same exact place, it's just the same place from a new vantage point. But it still leaves me with this sense of longing- not to go back but to finally leave

[sophrosynesworld]

When The Rain Falls

Realistically, Katsuki would suffer from PTSD. (Most of the characters would)

Trigger Warning(s): descriptions of PTSD, major spoilers from season 7, violence/choking (not spicy, just painful.), mention of underage drinking.

Reader is called Claira as their quirk is similar to clairvoyance. I didn't really edit this. Lmk if it sucks haha.

I jolt awake, disoriented by the sharp crack of thunder reverberating through the dorms. My body feels like it's been hit by a truck, remnants of last night's drinking spree still lingering in my system.

Go to him.

I sit up slowly, my head pounding. Then I hear it—a low, guttural sound that sends chills down my spine. Reaching over to the lamp, I click the chain, illuminating my room with a soft yellow light. Tingles spread through my body as my quirk activates, clearly desperate about something.

Rain pelts the windows, a relentless downpour that blurs the outside world. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as the cold floorboards meet my bare feet. With a deep breath, I push myself up and listen for the sound again.

Go to him.

I stand in the middle of my room, straining to catch any hint of danger. Through the steady rhythm of the rain, I hear it—a muffled cry, raw and tormented. My heart races as I realize it's coming from next door.

Pressing my ear against the wall, I can hear him more clearly now. He's begging, a soft voice cracking with pain and fear.

"No… not again… please."

My feet move quickly as I throw a sweater over my tank top before rushing out of the room, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. Only a few students have moved back onto campus so far, many of our classmates still relaxing with their families.

I knock rapidly on the door, but without a response, I jiggle the doorknob—it's locked. Determined, I shake it harder, then step back and glance around, making sure no one else is in the hallway. I retrieve my student ID from my room before slipping it into the crack of the door, forcing it to separate the lock and wiggling it for a moment, the door softly opens with a click.

I peer into a clean room, freezing once I see him. A familiar blonde is huddled in the corner of the room, knees drawn to his chest, trembling.

"Bakugo," I call out to him, but he doesn't respond. The thunder crashes again, and he flinches, a strangled noise escaping his throat.

His breaths come in ragged gasps, his eyes squeezed shut, trapped in the grip of something. My bare feet carry me across the room, the hardwood chilling my knees as I kneel by his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Bakugo, hey," I whisper, shaking him gently. "Are you okay?"

Katsuki's eyes snap open, wild and unfocused. His survival instincts take over, forcing his hand forward and catching me across the face, knocking me down onto the floor. I scramble to my feet, adrenaline surging through my veins.

"Bakugo, stop! It's me!" I shout, dodging another swing. But he's too far gone, his eyes seeing enemies where there are none. He lunges at me, and I barely slip out of his grasp, sweat slicking his entire body.

I counter with a swift kick to his thigh, hoping to knock some sense into him. He grunts, staggering back a step, but then comes at me again, relentless. We trade blows, my heart pounding as I try to defend myself without hurting him too much.

Suddenly, he tackles me to the ground, his weight pinning me down. I struggle, but he's too strong. His face hovers inches from mine, and I can see the torment in his eyes.

"Bakugo, stop it!" I attempt to choke out, my voice cracking. My hands wrap around his, trying to pry his fingers off of my neck. Spots of black form in my vision.

His expression shifts, confusion flickering in his gaze. Slowly, reality seeps back in. He blinks, his grip on me loosening. "Claira?" he calls out hoarsely, recognition dawning. "Why are you in my room?"

I breathe a sigh of relief, my body trembling from the exertion. "I just knew," I cough, my voice gentle despite the lingering pain. "I had to be with you."

Bakugo's eyes widen in horror realization sets in. Quickly, his body scrambles off mine, backing away as if I'm on fire. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Oh god," Crimson eyes are locked onto his hands, wide in fear. "I am so sorry Claria. I'm so sorry." Sobs break out again, tears pouring down his face.

"It's okay," I assure him, sitting up and rubbing my neck. "You're okay now. We're both okay."

"I-I can't… I can't do this," Suki stammers, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he struggles to breathe.

"It's just a storm," I reassure him gently, though we both know it's more than that. The storm, the thunder. "You didn't mean to hurt me." I crawl on the floor towards him.

His eyes are wide and wild, searching my body rapidly for my next move. I reach out, my hand finally resting on his shoulder. He tenses but doesn't pull away. "Bakugo, look at me." Slowly, his gaze meets mine. "You're not alone. I'm here."

The room is dim, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning. I sit down beside him, our shoulders touching. "You don't have to talk about it," I say quietly. "Just let me be here with you."

For a long time, we sit in silence, the storm raging outside. Gradually, his breathing steadies, the tension in his body easing just a fraction. He leans into me, just enough to feel the warmth of my presence.

"I hate this," he mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else—vulnerability.

"I know," I whisper. "You don't have to face it alone."

Another crack of thunder, and he flinches again, but this time, he doesn't pull away. I wrap my arm around him, holding him close, hoping that my presence can offer some semblance of comfort.

"The fight," Bakugo begins, his voice barely above a whisper. "The fight with Shigaraki. The rain… it was pouring, just like this. I couldn't see anything. It was chaos."

I stay silent, letting him speak at his own pace.

"He… he was too powerful. I thought we had a chance, but it was a slaughter." His voice breaks, and I can feel the raw pain in his words. "I tried, but… I failed."

"It wasn't your fault," my voice reassures him softly. "You did everything you could."

"I keep seeing his face," he continues, his voice trembling. "Every time it rains, I hear his taunts. I see the moment … I died."

I tighten my grip, my heart aching for him. "He can't hurt you again. We won the war."

As the storm rages on outside, we sit in the dim light, finding solace in each other's presence. The past may haunt him, but I won't let it consume him.

He looks at me, a flicker of light in his eyes. "I told you to stop using your quirk on me."

I roll my eyes, knocking my shoulder into him slightly. "I told you, it doesn't work like that."

Bakugo sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Still. I hate that you have to see me weak."

"You are not weak," I scold him. "Strength is surviving."

He doesn't respond for a moment, but his eyes soften a bit. "I'm glad it was you and not Shitty Hair that found me… I guess."

"We can keep this our little secret if you want." I whisper, squeezing his hand. "I've been taking sleeping pills. You're not the only one having trouble adjusting."

Another rumble of thunder shakes the room, and I see his eyes harden once again. Gently, I help him to his feet and guide him to his bed. He hesitates for a moment, but then climbs in, curling up under the covers. I pull the blanket up to his chin, tucking him in with a tenderness I didn't know I possessed.

Just as I'm about to leave, he grabs my wrist, his touch warm and slightly trembling. "Stay," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Please."

I nod, unable to refuse him. "Okay," I whisper back.

I climb into bed beside him, the mattress dipping under our combined weight. We lie there in the flashing light, the storm raging outside. Bakugo turns to face me, his eyes searching mine for something.

I wrap my arms around him, feeling his body relax against mine. His head rests on my shoulder, and I can feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing as he begins to calm down.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this," he whispers, "I'd understand if you left."

"Never," I reply softly, stroking his hair. "Not now, not ever."

Authors Note: PTSD comes in many forms and not all people diagnosed have violent outbursts. I made the decision as an author to mirror Katsuki's triggers and reactions similar to soldiers who return home from war.

[dracoxmalereader]

In Every Universe

Draco x Male Reader

Context: My normal Huff!Reader during 5th year <3 I imagine it's very close to winter break, but I guess it could also be read as taking place right after.

Summary: Things have been tense since Draco's made a habit of putting his position in Umbridge's good graces above you, but maybe not all's lost.

Word Count: 877

Dewy grass smushes under you, wetting your fingers and the backs of your pants as you both sit down with a thump. 

The moon hangs high, clouds reflecting off the dark water of the great lake. Wooden bridges cut through the stillness alongside the muddy seaweed that floats just under the surface. Slushy, freezing air bites at your nose. You sniffle.

Even if Draco had guaranteed you impunity on account of his place in Umbridge’s squad, a prickling static of anxiety jabs at the inside of your chest. You’re hesitant to be out here.

Tension settles over the atmosphere between you. Your chilly knuckles lock together under a temperamental sky. Fixing your gaze on the pillows of gray that roll to cover the stars, you try in vain to lose yourself in the humid winter breeze.

Draco lets out a sigh before falling backwards, cringing at the mud that meets his back, but settling nonetheless. A cold puff of air clouds from his nostrils. You watch it disperse before you follow, laying beside him

“About time we got an hour or two to ourselves,” He says. “‘Course we could have more if you still came to quidditch.” 

The snark in his tone isn’t lost on you. “Draco.” You groan, a warning.

He rolls his eyes. Your grip on each other’s hands loosens, and he traces gentle shapes on the expanse of your palm, shapes you can barely feel through the bandage. His eyebrows draw inwards, fingers stilling over the fabric.

The concern you’ve been aching for pulls at his features; too little too late. Nerves pang in the back of your throat. You’re already strung tight.

“What’s this from?” He asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” You can’t help the retaliation that oozes around your words. “It’s not like it matters.”

Draco sighs again. “Don’t be like this.” 

“It’s whatever, really.” You assert. 

His forehead wrinkles, expression morphing to something more peeved than worried. It’s hard to wrench your gaze away from the sneer that his face cinches into. 

“Let’s not argue, yeah?” You audibly swallow as you say it, taking a shaky breath. The cold burns your throat. “Let’s just… watch the sky or something.”

Draco huffs and rolls his eyes. He shimmies in place, but doesn’t reply. Awkward silence swells before it ebbs into the icy whistles of the wind. Conflict drains into the muddy, chilled grass below you.

Watching the stars pass the two of you by, your usual playfulness creeps back into the atmosphere. You squeeze his hand in your own once, twice, then you’re raising an arm to point his attention to the constellations.

“There’s Draco.” You tell him.

“Don’t suppose that one’s Y/N, do you?” He points his own finger at the spoonish belt of stars in the valley of his namesake.

For the first time in a while, a genuine laugh filters out of you. “I thought you told me that one’s Ursa Minor.”

“It’s overdue for a name change." 

You turn your head to look at him, cheeks aching with the force of your grin, only to find him already staring. Your eyes meet, and he’s smirking at you. It’s as if you’re the only two people in the world.

Butterflies swarm in the pit of your stomach. You suck in more of the winter around you. Frost nips at the insides of your lungs, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind. You lick your lips and open your mouth to speak. It takes you a moment to find your words. 

“Do you think we’re together in every universe?”

Draco’s expression hardens, clearly thinking. The swarm of butterflies in your stomach slowly glacier over and succumb to frostbite. Your own smile falls with it, focus flickering around his face.

His tongue juts out to dampen the blow. Pressure compresses your organs and it feels like there's no room for them in your body.

After a tense breath, he answers. “No.”

“Oh.” Your throat bobs around a thick swallow. 

Weather be damned, warmth boils in the back of your eyes. Your brows pull in. Fingers loosen until your hand is slipping away from his. Draco doesn’t give you a chance to turn away before he’s grabbing it back, holding it tighter than he has in weeks. He leans up to look you in the eye.

“But,” He starts on a gasp, “We’re together in this one, and isn’t this the only universe that matters anyway?”

He says it like it’s built on the back of a last breath. It pierces through the goosebumps on your skin to sink in further, melting into your bones. Your face heats up.

A gust of air sends his hair swooping in an unkempt direction. Somewhere in the lake, a fish or mermaid sends ripples to the surface. A chuckle crawls out under the roof of your mouth.

You squeeze his hand like your life depends on it. In some other universe, there’s no winter chattering your teeth. In some other universe, there’s no bandage on your hand. Maybe there’s one with no Dolores Umbridge at all. 

But, you suppose, watching Draco angrily fix his hair and curse the wind under his breath: this is the only universe that matters anyway, isn’t it?

My most heavily edited cover to date, I swear I didn't mean to make it as twilight-esque as it turned out. TT blame the color filter on my laptop.

I solidly believe I should have waited until after the eclipse to write and edit this stuff because the pictures I took of the sun would body on a cover. I'll attach them to my next one probably.

Tags: @nowayisthistakenyet @gayaristocrat @siuspider @dracoshusband @skrunklespoingo @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog @we2222 @ashton-laufeyson @solas-things @mqzze @itsfitzroyy @dolly-dollar @pinkb4t @daybreakmistakes @ronaldweasleyhowdareyou

[nonbinarybrainstorm]

Can I request for tfa swindle and a GN human reader who made a deal with him,,,, nsfw oneshot please!

What're they buying? It doesn't matter.

Additional content: oral, anal, size difference

They wait in the dim light of the alleyway, the hood of their hoodie pulled over their head to obscure their features as their eyes flick over the street barren of all life except for the occasional car passing by. As the minutes tick by, they become more and more nervous with a hand clutching the wad of cash in their front pocket with a vice grip.

“So you came after all…”

The smooth voice sends a jolt of electricity up their spine and they whirl around, their heart beating out of their chest as their eyes land on a man dressed to the nines in a gold-colored silk suit and what looks like a million in ice on his fingers. Purple eyes that seem to almost shine in the hazy light of the street lamps look over the heavy frames of gold-gilded sunglasses. His very aura oozes sleaze as he leans back on his similarly colored jeep which is oddly clunky compared to the man but likely filled with all manner of contraband.

“Y-yeah, I’m here… It’s Swindle, right?”

He tucks his thumbs in his pockets and nods.

  “Do you have it?” they manage to stutter out as their eyes flick around nervously, still not sure how he managed to sneak up on them in a jeep of all things.

Swindle pulls out the simple USB from his pocket, such a little, innocuous thing but it’s the answer to all their problems, “You good for it?”

Slowly, they slide the slim wad of cash so that it just peeks out for him to get a good view of it.

His eyebrows flick up, clearly amused, thankfully amused instead of annoyed by them and he huffs a soft chuckle, “All the way out, if you wouldn’t mind…”

They slip it out into plain view only to hold their breath as he steps over to them with a casual swagger like this is just a regular Tuesday for him, it probably is… He reaches out and they do their best not to flinch as he thumbs the bills and clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he pulls away.

“Not enough,” Swindle sighs, grinning to reveal teeth with gold-tipped canines when they gawk at him.

“Not enough?? This is five gr-,” they cut themself off and lean in closer to hiss, “This is five grand just like we agreed.”

“Circumstances change, sweetheart,” he shrugs, “These files were a might harder to snag than expected, one of my guys got hurt and needed some patching up; that’s just how the business goes sometimes…”

They grimace and glance at their phone to see the time and sigh, “Hypothetically, how much more are we talking here?”

The dealer sucks a breath in through his teeth and they swear he’s enjoying this, “Oh, a measly five-hundo ought to do it.”

“Five hundred?!”

“Oh come on, if anything I’m giving you a discount… gunshot wounds don’t come cheap, you see,” Swindle grins like the Devil himself, sliding into their space like oil on paper.

“I can’t just come up with that right here right now. Can’t I owe you, or something?” cold sweat begins to run down the back of their neck.

His grin smooths out into something flat and lifeless, sending a chill through them, “You can’t call one of your buddies or something?”

They stare at him for a long moment, terrified as they remind themself he might be armed as their thoughts freeze and they can’t think of any way to get what he’s asking for. Seeing this, he sighs and moves away to turn back to his gaudy jeep, waving to them over his shoulder.

“Well, that’s too bad, I was rather looking forward to this payday…”

They tense, breath caught in their lungs as the USB quickly slips away from them and everything they were hoping to find along with it.

“W-wait!”

Swindle stops in his tracks and glances back at them, those purple eyes glaring into their soul.

“I… Can I pay… some other way?”

His lips part softly, momentarily speechless, and then he scoffs, “You don’t know what you’re offering, sweetheart.”

“Look, I get that I might not be your type but I’m desperate here, okay?” they step a bit closer, not brave enough to cross the full divide.

He sighs and then to their astonishment, flickers out of existence before the jeep starts to move on its own, its pieces shifting and whirring out of places with the soft hiss of pistons breaking up the strange buzz of different mechanisms. Before them suddenly stands a being, an entity the likes of wish they’d never seen before with glowing, purple lights for eyes set in a metallic face atop a boxy yet sleek body that was clearly once in the shape of a jeep. They stare at Swindle with their mouth open wide in shock. With that same voice, albeit more modulated now, he chuckles and leans down to carefully close their mouth with a broad, metal digit.

“You sure about this now?”

They swallow and whisper, “If you’re open to it… sir.”

“Ha! You know what? I like you…” he pulls back, propping himself up on a nearby wall, “...and I guess you’re an alright height for it.”

They blink and watch Swindle get to his knees, motioning for them to come closer with the slow curl of his fingers and a smirk on that metallic face. At his beckoning, they approach him, caught in a daze by his alien form and getting almost… excited. 

He tilts their chin up gently, “How about this? You do a good job and hand over that five-k afterward and we’ll call it even.”

They swallow and nod only to gasp as, suddenly, the metal plates at his crotch move apart to reveal a thing made of metal and mesh that pushes out of its housing segment by segment with lights that flash all along it. For a moment, they’re mesmerized by the pulsing thing that’s quickly broken by the alien dealer pulling them forward so their face is just a breath away.

“Well,” he looks them over with a cocky grin, “get to it.”

Steadying themself, they reach out tentatively, running a hand up the length of what they can only describe as a robo-penis, surprised to find that it’s warm to the touch and more malleable than they expected. They slowly run their hand up and down over the mesh and strips of light that seem to make it twitch every time their fingers run over them so they pay more attention to those, bringing up their other hand so they can rub his cock along both sides, their fingers barely tapping together. Leaning forward, they lick the head to be met with a zap of static that makes them gasp in surprise, pulling away for a second before moving back in, lapping at the head as they stroke him. They close their mouth over the head of his dick and press their tongue into the divet there, finding that he just tastes of metal and ozone which isn’t too bad in their opinion.

Heat begins to pool between their legs as they continue to lick and stroke him, the feeling of Swindle’s spike firm yet pliable between their hands as something electric makes it feel like it's gently buzzing against their tongue. Their cheeks flush with embarrassment, hardly believing they’re getting excited from sucking on an alien robot’s cock but even just that thought makes them shudder ever so slightly. There’s a smell similar to over-heating electronics and they open their eyes to glances up and they go still in surprise at the sight of his eyes flaring bright as he bites his hand hard, staring down right at them.

“Hm?” they hum curiously, keeping their mouth on him as they feel him shiver, his plates clanking together softly.

“I didn’t tell you to stop…”

They shut their eyes again at that, sucking a bit on the head of his cock as they squeeze a bit while stroking him, pulling their lips off of him with a pop before running their tongue along the strips of light. A hand lands on their head, petting them gently as they continue their work, urging them on. Panting, they lap at him while thumbing that divet in the head of his dick until their hands are pulled away, making them look up at Swindle with a gulp.

“I think there’s been enough foreplay,” he vents out and they can feel the heated air wash over them as he cradles them and pulls down their pants, “Let’s get to the good part…”

They shiver as he paws at their ass, spreading their cheeks so he can rub over their entrance.

“W-wait, but I thought you just…” they cut themself off with a moan as he gently presses a bit into them.

“Relax, sweetheart.”

He works them slowly, spreading them open with a surprising amount of care until they’re a mewling mess in his hands held just a few feet from the ground. They moan in protest as he pulls his finger away only to yelp as they feel him press his metallic cock against their entrance.

“Just breathe…”

Nodding, they grip his arms as he slowly pushes into them, making them shake at the sheer pressure as he slips into them segment by segment until they feel fuller than they ever thought possible. Their head lolls back as their legs twitch, overwhelmed by the sensation of his massive dick pulsing inside of them, that same strange charge feeling like it’s connecting directly to their nerves, making them go haywire. Swindle stays still inside them for a long moment with the sound of fans buzzing in the air, covering up their weak, little moans until something… gushes. The squeak as something warm and slick blooms inside them, feeling weirdly good as it eases the tension inside them and smoothes out the path Swindle’s spike took.

“Did… did you?”

Swindle shakes his head, “Just… hah, pre-fluid, don’t get your hopes up…”

“That’s not…” they shut themself up, blushing darkly at the thoughts swirling in their head. This doesn’t need to get any weirder.

He moves, finally, and they keen as the shallow ridges of his dick rub inside them, the odd fluid making it feel all the sweeter with a soft buzz like local anesthesia. Writhing helplessly in Swindle’s hands, they hold on as he uses them like a living cocksleeve with deep breaths as he moves almost too slowly like he’s afraid of breaking them. They wish he’d move just a little faster, the stretch of his spike achingly good but the touch of it is teasing almost to the point of agony, turning their mind into a cloud of fog. That strange buzz increases gradually in rolling waves, overwhelming their nerves and making every touch of his cock inside them feel heightened. No one’s ever fucked them like this before…

The heat within them builds gradually, their body getting tighter and tighter with each pleasant bloom of sensation that has them letting out incoherent noise and saying things completely out of their control. This liquid pleasure he’s pumping into them doesn’t form into a sudden peak but builds and builds like he’s forcing them into a corner until their mind goes blank and they go totally still, overwhelmed by the energy and heat coursing through them until they go limp in his hands. They shudder and keen weakly as Swindle quickly slides out of them, grunting as he holds them close to his chest and they feel his spike bump against their butt as he releases over the ground.

It takes a second, but once he’s done he pulls them away and they immediately miss the warmth of his body. They squeak as he cleans them with a cloth that he pulled out of… somewhere. Gathering themself, they pull their pants back up with an awkward cough, unable to meet his eyes.

“Well, I can’t say that I’m disappointed,” Swindle rolls his shoulders, looking them over out of the corner of his eye, “you still got the cash?”

Without any delay, they rummage through their pocket and pull out the stack of bills that’s now slightly out of its bind, handing it over as he passes them the USB.

“Pleasure doing business with you…” Swindle stretches out his neck cables as he steps past them and transforms back into a jeep, driving off down the dimly lit road.

They look down at the USB, still a bit in a daze, and spot the puddle of… something on the ground.

Holding their head, they murmur, “What the fuck just happened?”

[samgirl98]

Cain and Abel Wept 7/?

Prev | Next

This a Fenton Family-oriented chapter with a bit of background. I hope it came out fine.

Danny dodged the big shadows sent his way. Another day, another challenge for the throne. Except for this time, it was an Ancient Danny didn’t know. She was a being made of pure shadows and darkness.

And she had just proclaimed in front of Amity Park, including the GIW, that Danny was the fucking Ghost King. That will be a joy to deal with later.

Danny needed to put a stop to this. The being had already destroyed infrastructure and caused too many injuries. Danny didn’t want any deaths on his hands.

His parents were following their fight with the GAV, too afraid of hitting him to shoot any ectoblasters. The GIW had no such problems. Danny ended up dodging shadows, GIW blasters, and the random attack from a townsperson trying to be helpful.

“Have to get away from everyone,” Danny muttered to himself.

He flew to the empty park and duked it out with the Ancient Shadow. If it weren’t for his intangibility, Danny would have a shit ton of bruises instead of the few he did.

It was going badly when it took a turn for the worse. The Shadow turned six stories tall and somehow, impossibly, got stronger. Danny was at the end of his rope. He could feel his strength waning. Already, a white ring had appeared around his waist three separate times. Even though he didn’t need to breathe in his ghost form, he could still feel his lungs burning. Danny was going to lose, and a chaotic shadow would rule the Infinite Realms.

No, he wouldn’t allow it; he couldn’t!

Danny felt power growing deep in his chest and raring to be let out. His ghostly wail came out of him.

The Ancient didn’t stand a chance.

Danny used the Fenton Thermos to suck her up and let himself float down slowly. He was too tired to notice Agent K hiding behind a tree; he was too tired to keep his ghost form.

Danny sure felt the ectoblast hitting him.

Danny let go of the thermos and held on to his now bleeding shoulder.

“Freeze, ghost scum, under the Anti-Ecto Act Laws, you are to be detained and taken by GIW to be neutralized.”

Danny gritted his teeth and turned to run (he was too tired to transform) straight into Damian’s sword.

Danny woke up hyperventilating. He touched his chest. He was trying to stop the bleeding and remove the sword he felt protruding from it. It was there, the cold steel chilling him to his very core.

(Not like his ice, though, not the silly little tickles of frost; no, it was a straight-up chill that froze to the bone.)

It took a while for Danny to notice the strong arms around him as they rocked him. Then he heard the words.

“It’s okay, Dann-o, we got. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Through blurry tears, Danny saw his dad’s large figure holding him tight. His mom was on the bed scratching his head, and his older sister was holding his hand up to her chest and taking deep breaths. Danny soon mimicked her.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually whispered through a hoarse throat, “did I wake you?”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t ever apologize about something like this,” his mom said.

Danny was about to apologize again but bit his tongue; he didn’t want his family to feel guilty about him feeling guilty. It was a cycle.

Danny sighed and decided to be selfish for once. He sank deeper into his family’s embrace.

____

Maddie tried to stitch Danny’s injuries as her husband drove away from their smoldering home.

The Fentons had contingency plans in case something like this happened; she just hoped it would never come to it. Thankfully, Jazz was home from university that weekend and could escape with them.

She shuddered to think about what the GIW would do if they had gotten to her while separated.

Danny sobbed in her arms.

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Maddie ignored Danny’s (unwarranted) apologies. She had to focus on his injuries first. Then she could comfort him emotionally.

“Sharp turn,” Jack called out, giving her enough time to put away the needle before he made a crazy move to avoid a shot from the pursuing white vans.

Fuck. Maddie wanted to tear them apart for even hurting her baby.

Danny stared at her with big, fearful eyes, and she had a flashback of a ten-year-old Danny with the same look as they first brought him home. She had promised to protect him; instead, she had gotten killed. Now, he was being chased by a shadowy government organization.

“I’m sorry,” was repeated over and over again from her baby’s mouth. It should’ve been her saying those words.

____

Danny finally cried himself to sleep in his father’s arms; Maddie continued scratching his head. She never wanted to let her small family go. Now, she feared Bruce Wayne, Batman, would try to take her baby away. If not him, then the GIW. If not them, then Danny’s responsibilities, and if not those, then…To say Maddie had separation anxiety would’ve been an understatement.

So, for the time being, she put away all those fears and stayed in bed with her family as they held their youngest.

____

Jazz used the encrypted laptop and smartphone that Tucker and Technus had programmed. Code Blackout had been implemented. Before the GIW had blown up Fenton Works, Tucker had downloaded a remote virus into all of their techs so they would be unsalvageable. Danny had let the being through the portal before it had been shut forever.

Now, they were in a random, run-down motel.

Danny fiddled with a bracelet hiding his ectosignature, looking out into the distance.

Jazz knew better than to say anything, but she did put her arms around his shoulder before giving him a quick kiss on his head.

They already had gotten in contact with Vlad.

After Danny’s secret was spilled, it didn’t take long for his parents to put together who and what Vlad was. They had made a deal; Vlad left them alone, and Maddie and Jack wouldn’t hunt him down for what they put Danny through.

(That truce almost went out the window when they found out about Dani. To say her parents were murderous would’ve been an understatement)

Now that they were on the run, they needed all the help they could get.

Vlad had set them up with a contact that could get them to Europe, where the Anti-Ecto Acts didn’t exist. They just had to get to New York by the end of the month without being caught.

Easy.

Thankfully, both Vlad and Sam had deposited enough money for them to survive in an untraceable account.

Now all they had to do was wait and escape.

____

Jack had always believed in ghosts.

He had believed in them even when he was called a whack job. And when he found Maddie, well, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Jack had never really believed in God, but as he held his small family, he prayed to whatever higher being would hear him that he would be enough to protect his family.

@spectralstardustandphantomnights @avelnfear @idfk-man10 @blackroserelina @candeartist422 @luer-mirin @mur-ururu @insufferablecrab @skulld3mort-1fan @meira-3919 @aethernorwood @mimilikey @marshmelloe @latheevening226 @ahyesanerd @lexdamo @chrysanthemum9484 @spooky-fm

[general--winter]

uchiha shisui x reader - not a snowbird

author's note: I PROMISE I'm working on requests, I've just been working a bit more on ventfic one shots in my free time since it's finals and I kinda can't function, especially since I graduate university in two weeks, lol. This fic is greatly inspired by my own experiences with anxiety attacks and mental illness, so it's definitely not a one-size-fits-all type of deal. Hope you all enjoy!

rating: teen

fandom: naruto

pairing: uchiha shisui x gn!reader

word count: 2419

warnings: anxiety attacks, self-doubt/self-loathing, general mental illness descriptions

summary: snowbird - someone who migrates to warmer climates to avoid the winter cold

Sometimes, you can feel the void in your chest.

It burns ice into your heart, into your stomach. You shiver but you aren’t actually cold. It sucks the oxygen out of your lungs and causes you to hyperventilate. Your extremities tremble, every muscle in your body tenses. You try to catch your breath. There was no air to be consumed. You’re drowning in anxiety, the ice seizing control of every nerve in your body and brain, curling through them and freezing you from the inside-out. Your limbs scrunch up and your throat constricts, fighting against your instinct to breathe. At some point, the feeling in your hands and feet has vanished. It’s almost as if your body wants to shut down. That would certainly make sense, considering your inability to form any cohesive thought. Primitive thought was all you were capable of. Basic survival instincts. But even those are pushing to their max; seeing as your heart rate has skyrocketed and you’re heaving for breath faster than if you’d just ran a mile. Even though quite literally nothing had happened to make your fight-or-flight instincts surface.

Yeah. Anxiety attacks were fun. Especially when you had to hide them from your  house party guests. When they're the presumed cause.

You pulled yourself into a ball, trying to drain any heat you could from the wool blanket you kept in the bathroom for this very purpose. All you were able to do was drench it in your chills-induced sweat. And the tile floor pressed against your cheek was certainly not doing you any favors.

All the while, your thoughts raced. There were so, so many people around. All asking you about every minute detail about your life. Teasing you about your worst insecurities, prodding at topics that made you freeze up. It was too much at once. Everyone here was just a reminder of your past failures. Asking you why you never moved away from home, what happened to the rebellious nature you used to flaunt, why you were so compliant with the life path you always denounced—

From tailbone to skull, a violent, spasming shiver wracked your body. Where did all of your body heat go during times like these, you wondered? Did the cool floor drain it away? Or was your body leeching every ounce of warmth into the air to further torture you? There simply was no answer now, though you rationally knew it was just a sensation. A trick of the body and mind.

This situation sucked. And you had to reel it in before the partygoers got suspicious of their host’s absence. The music and chatter of your family and friends taunted you from outside, morphing into a muffled rumble as they entered your perception. Were you underwater? Your lungs might as well be filling with water rather than air. There was no relief from your stressed breathing.

It was a failure. Just like everything else in your life. Like how you couldn't do what you promised at seventeen, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the doors of your university. Sure, you had graduated, but now what? You’re back in your hometown, right where you said you would never go again. Now your body’s natural instincts were betraying you, were kicked into overdrive. Making you a panicked mess on the floor of your new apartment’s bathroom. It was pathetic, you thought.

Knock, knock, knock!

The clear, rapt knocks of the wooden door pierced your eardrums through the haze of noise beyond, causing you to jump in place, clutching ever stronger to anything you could use to ground yourself, to physically keep yourself from sinking. Who came to your bathroom? The party was in another part of the apartment with a half-bath nearby. No one even knew where this one was, nor did they have any reason to come all the way here. It was your safe space. A defensive cove no one would find while you were breaking down. Honestly, you were shocked you had half a mind to stumble in here however long ago you started to panic. A few minutes? An hour? What time was it, anyway?

“Hey, is everything alright in there?” a voice gently spoke from the other side. Who had come here to laugh at your misery? Your senses were so overwhelmed that you barely registered the identity of the voice.

You couldn’t, didn't want to muster a response to this mystery person. They were surely someone you knew, and out of the twenty-or-so people at your place right now, there was only one you think you could eventually be okay with finding you here.

And, well, to your (mis)fortune, that exact person picked the lock of the bathroom effortlessly and nudged the door open. It made sense, after all. He was the only person who could ever tell when you left the room; it seemed that sometimes you were invisible to everyone but him. Your sunken-in, puffed eyes met his near-black ones above, sparkling and wide with concern. Half-delirious, you weren’t sure if he was an angel coming down from above to save you or a devil stalking over its prey.

“Oh, sweetie,” he sighed, coming to kneel down in front of you after quietly closing the door. The closer he got, the faster your breath rushed through your lungs. When he got too close, you were sure he could feel the arctic rush of air settled around your cocoon.

“Shisui… help,” you managed in a herculean effort.

“Do I help by staying or leaving?” he whispered, still crouched.

“Staying,” you forced out, reaching for his hand like you were about to tumble down a sheer cliff.

“Physical touch is okay?” he checked.

“Yes… No more talking for now… please.” The voice croaking those words was almost foreign. 

With a nod, Shisui scooped you up, blanket and all. He was so, so warm. Like you were laid atop a furnace. You sucked every ounce of heat from his body while he silently took you to your bed. His breathing obviously deepened and took on a steady rhythm. Was he trying to get you to match?

Shisui placed you gingerly under your comforter, pulling away the emergency blanket from your shoulders. In an instant he'd worked his way around to the other side of the bed and slipped under to grasp your halfway-catatonic body, folded instantly into a cocoon, in a warm embrace.

There was something about the way Shisui cuddled you, especially at times like these. While you were in that fetal position with your eyes clamped shut, trying to catch your breath at his pace like you ran a marathon, the pressure of his arms and body on you breathed life back into your icy limbs. Sensations in your fingers and toes returned, first to static and then to the gentle rubbing of Shisui's dress shirt and pants.

And when his hand stroked your head in just the right way, Shisui was blown back by the force of your reciprocated hug. He let out a gentle chuckle and continued to calm you. One of Shisui's arms was anchored around your shoulders, making sure you were tethered to reality, to your bed. His free hand traced gentle, random patterns on the plane of your clothed back. A long time ago, you'd told him that it was one of the most relaxing things someone could do to you. Ever since, it has been Shisui's go-to in these situations.

Your face dug into his chest, the scent of cologne overtaking your senses. The familiarity of it all smashed the breaks on your heartbeat and your body’s functions started to finally decelerate. Shisui was a very soft person to lay on. He was a lot more fit than you, but there was still some squish to his body. It filled out his figure aesthetically, but what mattered more to you was that it made him so much more comfortable to cuddle.

However, you suddenly became self-aware of how much your grasping hands must have been messing up his shirt and wrinkling the entire backside. Oh great, and you were starting to cry on his chest, making it all soggy. What if Shisui wanted to get back to having fun with everyone? If you remembered correctly, he was in an animated conversation with your dad about something. Weren’t you holding him back from doing what he wanted? And… did you even deserve to be comforted after abandoning your guests?

Swiftly, you let go of Shisui and tried to turn your back to him to make him let go. That, infuriatingly, did nothing to sway his grasp on your body, although now he was quite confused. His brows knitted together and his soft gaze was fixated on you. Only you.

I don’t even think I deserve to be comforted, you spiraled. I’m ripping Shisui away from his fun time and letting everyone else down just because I’m too pathetic to put up with some silly questions.

“You can go back,” you breathed out onto his shirt after trying in vain once again to worm your way from his arms and cocoon once again into your bed. “I don’t want to keep you. And I should go back soon, too.”

“Hey, you little dumpling,” gently teased Shisui, the soft lilt of his voice drawing a sob closer to your throat. You felt one of his rough hands run atop your head again. “I’m here for you, you've gotta get better. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You opened your eyes and looked upwards, facing his tender expression. Normally, your heart would waver, but right now you were too caught up in your own self-loathing and panic to even think about that.

“But we really should get back to the party. I don’t want to hold you back from everyone,” you whispered. “I’ve already messed up your shirt too. It’s not presentable anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry.” A firm, but loving tone accompanied these words. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I know this can happen to you. I’m sorry that this is something you experience.”

Shisui shifted to sit up with a creak of the bed, dragging your head to lay on his soft lap. Your gaze focused up his body to look at him. One cheek was pressed against his body, the other caressed by his hand, gently wiping away the mist of tears on your lashes.

“If I could take on all of the hurt, all of the anxiety you experience, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. So the second best thing I can do is be here while you do.”

“But I’m wasting your time,” you whimpered. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. With me.”

“Hey. No,” Shisui gently scolded, bringing his palm to stroke your one upturned cheek. You hesitantly met his intense gaze, focusing more on his eyelashes than his pupils. “When I said I wanted to be your boyfriend all that time ago, I meant it. And that means I’m your partner. During the ups and downs, during times of suffering and joy. I’m not a snowbird, I’m here for all of it. I chose to be with all of you. And this is included. So I will dedicate myself to you fully.” He smirked. "That's just the kind of guy I am, yeah?"

You let out a little snort, his speech breaking through the final layer of ice surrounding your heart. “That kind of sounded like wedding vows.”

A red-hot blush spread across Shisui’s face, and his once-intense eyes now shied away. He muttered while shoving his face slightly into your pillow, but you were able to catch what he said:

“Maybe I should write that down so I can say it again one day.”

A ghost of a smile graced your lips. Once again, you wrapped your arms around Shisui’s waist, now enjoying the rise and fall of his breath. The periodic motion and slight whistle of his nose slowed your beating heart while finally and successfully matching your breaths to his. No longer was ice pumping through your veins, but real, genuine blood that breathed life into your body once more.

You allow the sensation of being present in the moment to wash over you a bit more. In this time, you shift yourself back up into a sitting position to nuzzle into Shisui's shoulder, his arm draping over you once more and one hand reaching out to pinch your nose shut.

"If you don't mind me asking," he spoke with care, "what's got you so worked up? I've gathered that you feel guilty for keeping me and for leaving the party, but—"

You cut him off in a nasally voice. "I was just super overwhelmed by everyone asking me questions that shamed me. It wasn’t on purpose, I don’t think. They're all done by now, it was at the beginning of the party, but it was just really digging under my skin."

"Okay," Shisui replied with a snicker, letting go of your nose. "It’s over, then. You’ve got it out of your system. There’s no need to feel guilty, either. You were feeling unwell, so you left. I’m pretty proud of you for that. Maybe we can work up to leaving before an attack starts. You know, set some boundaries.”

“Yeah, I can talk to my therapist about it,” you replied. “I still feel a little guilty about everything, but… thank you for being here for me.”

“Of course. Anything for you, alright? Are you up to going back?”

“I think I spent all of my energy,”  you said, volume barely above a whisper. “I don't think I’ll be able to get out of this bed no matter how hard I try.”

“The party’s been winding down anyway. I’ll get rid of everyone for you, yeah?”

Shisui slipped out of the bed in one fluid motion, leaving a pool of warmth behind. Your head hit the backboard and your eyes slid closed, soaking in the presence that Shisui left behind as he took care of wrapping up your get-together. He was always so kind and understanding with you. It made your heart race in a different, more pleasing fashion. No matter what, he always made sure you knew you were supported by him. And, well, no matter how hard your brain tried to fight, you knew Shisui would always be there to grapple back until you learned how.

[aralezinspace]

Can You Feel It

~AO3~ Dreamling, smut

Kinktober prompt: temperature play

Kinktober Masterlist

Almost forgot to post this one with everything going on, we'll see how the rest of the month goes xD

A shiver wracked Hob’s entire frame. He swore under his breath- the room was freezing cold at his request, something he had wanted to try, but Dream was taking his sweet ass time. 

Goosebumps pebbled every inch of his flesh, even places you didn’t think he could get goosebumps. The silk sheets on the massive bed were doing absolutely nothing to warm him up. He could even see his breath fogging in front of him, small white clouds coming from his mouth. He chuckled and released another, remembering all the times he and his friends would pretend to be dragons. Maybe he was being a tad dramatic, but this was possibly the coldest Hob had ever been in his life.

“Dream-?” Damn, even his voice trembled with the cold. Cold, and more than a bit of aroused anticipation. Yet as aroused as he was, his body had decided that between his thighs was not a wise place to send his blood at the moment. Maybe this wasn’t going to go as well as he hoped.  

“I’m here, my love.” He glided over to where Hob lay on the bed, his eyes sliding up and down his naked and trembling body. “My dear, you look positively frozen.” His voice lowered and he breathed, “Allow me.” 

He leaned over to kiss his husband, and his lips were searing, warm the way Hob’s body normally was, while the immortal was frozen to the touch. Hob felt the tingles spread through his lips like aftershocks and groaned into the kiss. Morpheus’ breath was warm and wet, then instantly cold again when Hob pulled away to suck air into his lungs. 

Hob continued to gasp for breath as he watched Morpheus slowly lower his hands to his chest and squeeze. His hands were scorching , the equivalent of a hot bath. It burned and tingled and stung in the most delicious way, little waves of heat radiating out from Dream’s fingers. A sharp cry tore out of his throat; he couldn’t decide whether to squirm away from the burning heat at his chest or move closer so it could warm him more. 

Dream squeezed the flesh of Hob’s chest again, pressing that heat further into his skin. Hob moaned and writhed, jolting between the cold sheets at his back and the fire from Dream’s hands at his front. Still squeezing, Morpheus slid his hands down Hob’s torso, over his thighs, brushing his knees with a teasing smirk. Hob had wanted to experiment with differences in temperature- well then, he would give the professor an exhaustive set of data for later analysis. 

“Hold still, darling,” Dream purred, one hand pressing down on his lower abdomen. His other hand spread corded thighs, and one slick, frigid finger slid inside.

Hob screamed, unable to move toward or away from any of the sensations assaulting him on all sides. Dream’s one hand was scorching on his frozen stomach, while his icy finger sapped all the heat from his insides. Dream let out a decadent chuckle as he easily kept Hob pinned in place between contrasting hot and cold. 

“How does it feel?” he rasped, eyes of black fire trained on his husband’s face with laser focus. 

“It feels-” Hob strained to get the words out as he strained against Dream’s hold. “Fuck love, it feels incredible-” Dream hummed low in his throat and slowly withdrew his finger. 

Hob groaned as his hole clenched around nothing, and the heat and the cold inside fought for dominance, leaving tingles in their wake. Tiny whines slipped out of his throat despite his best efforts. Morpheus groaned low in his throat, his mind racing with ideas of how many different ways he could make his beloved come apart with just fire and ice. 

With a smirk, Dream lowered himself to his knees and blew a puff of hot air over the once again chilled flesh of Hob’s inner thigh- his mouth so close to where he wanted it. “Please Dream?” he asked coyly with what he hoped was a winning grin. 

Morpheus gave him a devilish smirk. Before Hob knew it, the scorching heat of his entire tongue was pressed deeper inside than should have been humanly possible, ripping a delicious scream from Hob’s throat. Oh yes, his lovely immortal would burn and melt many times before this night was over.

[sykilik101]

Syk’s Snippets #7

This is a combination of “Writer’s block can suck it” as well as me taking a rare request. I’m trying something personal with this little snippet; I doubt anyone’ll notice, but I think (aka, really freaking hope) it’ll help break this mental block I have with writing right now. [This is being added on after I’ve already started writing, but man, this snippet is already longer than my others by a long shot; it might as well not even be a snippet anymore. LOL]

Ash’s footsteps pounded into the otherwise flawless sheet of snow blanketing Pallet Town as his lungs ached from inhaling frigid air. The wind nipped at the beads of sweat building up on his skin as he raced, one icy step at a time, down the familiar path. He needed a moment to catch his breath, to tend to the side stitch throbbing in his ribs, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

I’m at the hospital.

Those four words looped in his mind, and it was the fear that made the cold dig deeper into his clothes, finding any skin in need of frigidity and cutting deep inside. Misty’s text had been brief, but his reply had been even shorter.

What’s wrong?

She never answered back.

Ash knew he had some kind of guardian angel watching over him; more times than he could count, he’d been able to escape dangers that would have ended most others. As a child, a teen, and now even in his adulthood, he’d often been emboldened to pursue new challenges, take greater risks because of that safety.

But those were always his risks to take, because seemingly nothing could happen to him. The same couldn’t always be said for his loved ones, and he knew that.

His legs quivered, his throat dry and sore as the air continued to chill his body. It wasn’t much further now; over this little hill that lead to a dip in the road, around the bend, and then the hospital’s glow would be visible. The lit-up rooms would shine from a distance like the stars he’d admired in his travels, and in one of those rooms, Misty would be there.

And, if his guardian angel was truly kind, she would be okay.

Over the little hill, down the dip, and around the bend; even as his body felt like lead, even as his lungs felt like they would freeze over before shattering, the sight of his goal gave him a second wind, and his body’s exhaustion evaporated as he trudged through the snow. More than once he almost stumbled in his manic trek towards the hospital, but eventually he made his way to the entrance, finally allowing himself a moment of rest.

Misty, please be alright.

A final icy gust followed him through the sliding doors before they closed behind him. The receptionist peered over at him with a smile, though it quickly dropped as she made eye contact. In her defense, he was certain he looked like an utter mess, though that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

“Can I help you?”

Her tone couldn’t decide between professional and concerned, though neither mattered to him as he shook his head. “I’m looking for Misty Ketchum. She’s...she texted me saying she was here.”

The receptionist’s eyes squinted briefly before being flooded with realization. “You’re Ash Ketchum!” Then, as if an afterthought, “I’m sorry, you just look really different with, y’know...”

The snow and frost clinging to him, leaving him utterly disheveled? He tried to decorate a rueful grin with a coat of politeness, as small talk wasn’t really his priority. “Yeah, I guess maybe I look different on TV?” He glanced over at a door that seemed to lead to the other rooms. “But I’m really trying to find Mist- uh, Misty, so if you could just...”

“Oh, of course.” She turned to her computer, typing away as Ash crossed his arms, rapping his finger against his elbow. After another few keystrokes she turned to him. “I seems like she’s currently in room 20, so if you’ll just-”

“Room 20, thanks.”

His mom would probably chastise him for dashing away from someone mid-sentence, but he could offer an apology on the way out. He trotted through the door, glancing around for signs that could lead him to Misty. Why do hospitals always have to be so complicated, he mused internally, though he figured he’d have an easier time if he wasn’t still panicking.

“Do you need help?”

A nurse’s voice jolted his already fried nerves, though he took in a shaky breath to try and compose himself. “Hi, yeah, I’m looking for room 20. Misty- my wife is in there.”

Her eyes softened, and she gestured to a hallway to the left. “Go down there, and it’ll be on the right.”

Ash offered a hasty thanks and a wave, trying his best to move as quickly as possible without potentially getting in trouble for running in a hospital, though he wasn’t sure that was a rule in the first place. He eventually reached a series of doors, scanning the number etched onto each one as he walked.

12. 14. 16. 18. 20.

His hand hadn’t even landed on the doorknob when it suddenly opened, and a man in a white coat nearly walked into him. He opened his mouth, but after an inquisitive cock of the head, he offered a kind smile. “Ash Ketchum?”

“Is Misty in there?”

“Ash?”

Her voice meant that she was awake, which was a good sign. She didn’t sound like she was in horrible pain; another good sign. With as much respect as possible, Ash forced himself past the doctor and was gaze to gaze with the red-headed love of his life.

Misty smiled at him from the bed, though his attention was quickly drawn to her bandaged foot. She followed his eyes down to it, hunching forward to trace her fingers along her ankle. “Sorry to surprise you like this.”

“Mist, what’s...what happened? And what are you doing here?” His relief at her well-being was practically tangible, though he was immensely confused as to why she was here in Pallet Town instead of at the Cerulean Gym.

“Well, I was gonna come surprise you, instead of waiting for you to come to me tomorrow.” She pulled the blanket she wore tighter around her shoulders. “But I tripped on a rock that was hidden under the snow, and, well, here I am.”

Ash’s shoulders sagged, the stress slowly melting from his body. Wordlessly he took two steps forward and pulled her into him, her cheek pressed into his chest. Without fear tensing his body, he felt his eyes begin to water. “You should’ve said more in your text, dummy. I was scared.”

Misty was quick to place her hands on his back, deepening the hug. “Sorry, but when I wrote the first part, the doctors and nurses started examining me. I figured I could at least tell you I was here, and I was gonna reply when we were done talking, which was actually just a minute ago.”

He inhaled sharply, offering a nod that she couldn’t see but he knew she’d feel. His emotions were still in recovery, though a clearing of the doctor’s throat attracted their attention. “Mrs. Ketchum, I’ll have the nurse come in for one last checkup, and I still recommend that you stay overnight just to be safe.”

“Alright, thank you, doctor.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot.”

Ash hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so hoarse, but exhaustion and the cusp of tears held his throat in a vice. With a nod the doctor left the room, leaving the two to their silence and thoughts.

Misty’s gaze went to the window, and Ash followed suit, admiring the gentle downpour of snow. Ash’s hand quickly found hers; his body grew warmer when she squeezed back.

“I didn’t expect it to snow this much.”

“It’s not a lot, compared to some of the other snowstorms we had to deal with.”

“It never snows like this in Cerulean.”

“Why did you try traveling through it?”

Misty’s thumb stopped caressing his hand, her eyes falling for a moment before she smiled warmly. “I told you, I wanted to surprise you.”

Ash cocked an eyebrow, his hands resting on his hips. “Surprise me how?”

Misty’s cheeks went flush, her fingers fiddling together. “Well-”

The door opening interrupted her as a nurse peered her head inside the room. “Mrs. Ketchum? And Mr. Ketchum?” The two nodded in response, and the nurse turned her attention to Misty. “As the doctor said before, we recommend that you stay here for the night, just to be safe. Other than that, everything else seems fine.”

Ash knew at a glance that Misty was alright, but hearing it from the nurse’s mouth eased any remaining worry he felt. He let out a small sigh; the night had taken a toll him physically and emotionally, and the exhaustion was starting to sink in.

Misty, however, spoke up to the nurse. “And, the other thing I asked about...”

The nurse offered a gentle smile and a nod, and this sent a red flush to Misty’s cheeks. Ash glanced back and forth between them, feeling a bit out of the loop. “What other thing?”

Misty held her hand out to him, and Ash took it in his own. Her fingers wrapped around his, and when her eyes met his, they shimmered in a way he’d never seen from her before.

“Ash, I’m pregnant.”

Ash blinked, his thumb grazing her knuckles absentmindedly. The words seemed to echo in his brain, and his mouth hung open before, slowly, it began to curve upward. Misty’s elation at his response spurred further giddiness inside him, tightening his grip on hers. “You- you’re-”

Misty nodded, and in an instant, she, with worn eyes, bangs matted against her forehead, and bundled in the hospital’s most unflattering blanket, was instantly the most beautiful woman in the world. Ash’s heart hopped into his throat before it made way for the laughter that had mixed together with a cough and a gasp. Unable to control his body’s emotional response to the news, he settled for leaping forward to bring hers against his. “You’re- I’m gonna be a dad!”

“And I’m gonna be a mom.”

And in an instant, Ash was reminded of where they were, and he gripped his hands on her shoulders before easing back, his eyes drilling into hers. “Wait, did you know? Before coming here?”

Even without anything else, she could tell where the conversation was going, and she sighed softly. “I didn’t, but, I mean...I had a feeling.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to go through a snow storm when you had a feeling?” He hadn’t meant to sound so upset, but between briefly thinking his wife was in danger, finding out she was going to have their child, and then hearing that she’d put that child at risk just to see him, his emotional dam had run dry.

Misty, to her credit, had been the first of the two to develop control over their flare ups, and her pained expression was paired with her hand landing on his. “It wasn’t snowing that badly when I left, and by the time it had gotten really bad, I was close enough to Pallet that I thought I could get here sooner.” She lowered her head, her fingers tightening around his. “But you’re right, I shouldn’t have put myself in danger like that.”

Ash took in a shaky breath, though it came out as a worn sigh. Realistically speaking, he knew that if he’d gotten news like that, he’d have probably done the same. They were too alike in that aspect; if anything, he was worse so thanks to his guardian angel. He’d certainly done stupider things in the past.

He brought her forehead to his chest, kissing the top of her head. “You’re safe now. Just stay safe, okay?”

She nodded against him. “Okay.”

He let out one last sigh before reclaiming that skipped heartbeat from before. Months from now, he’d be saying hi to the mini version of himself, one made with Misty. He’d be a parent. It still sounded unbelievable, but Misty’s fingertips aimlessly gliding along his back reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

She was the girl who’d started his journey towards being a Pokémon Master with him. Now, she’d be starting another with him, and he hoped that she’d never leave his side for this one.

[masterwords]

legend

I had this idea. And I sprinted it in 20 minutes and didn't edit it and if it sucks, I'm sorry but CM: Evolution has really put me in my Hotchgan feels HARD (as if I ever really leave but...) so this happened. It fits with the @comfortember prompt for today: proud. ❤

1.6k words. Cheesy, stupid, self-indulgent and so sweet. Hotch & Morgan semi-retired and freezing at a Northwestern University football game.

**

Breathing hurt.

Hotch tugged his hat down over his ears and pressed his gloved hands over his mouth and nose, sucking in one, two, three deep breaths through the filter of warm knit wool. It didn't sting his lungs the way the air did. Derek's aunt made them for him, and a hat to match, and they were holding up better than anything he'd ever purchased at the store. She had made some crack about how he was always cold and made him two pair...his indoor gloves and his outdoor gloves. It was meant as a joke, poking fun at the way he wrapped himself in blankets or seated himself as close to a fire as he could, but he'd never minded a good joke at his expense. Especially not when that joke came with the warmest gloves he'd ever put on his hands.

“WOOOOOOOOOOO! GET EM!” Derek shouted from beside him, startling him by jumping up and waving his arms in the air wildly. “YEAH BABY!” Hotch glanced up at Derek and smiled cold and dreamy. He had no idea what had just happened on the field, but it mattered little. He had sixty quizzes to grade and Derek had a game to watch, that was the deal.

“You see that? DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

Hotch blinked up at him and Derek knew what that meant. He hadn't. It was okay, too. He would explain that it was one of the boys Derek had mentored at the youth center, one of the many he'd helped get scholarships to Northwestern. He was in his last year and he was a stud. NFL quality, Derek said, and he was working his tail off to get scouts out, get him noticed. He had connections.

That was how games went with them. Hotch went along dutifully, sometimes watching the game, others absorbed by the work he had to do. Since retiring from the FBI, since choosing that his family had to come first, he'd been teaching part time at Northwestern Law. It made sense, taking on a class or two at Derek's alma mater in order to prove to Derek that yes, moving to Chicago was a good thing for all of them. Being closer to Fran, to Derek's sisters and the rest of the Morgans was important. He'd spent so many years away from all of them. At a certain point they both realized what it cost them to remain in the D.C area and it wasn't worth it. Once Roy passed, the decision was even easier because Jessica wanted to go too.

“Let's get away from all of this,” she'd said, sealing the deal when Hotch had his doubts, most of which involved leaving her. “There's nothing left for us here.”

She was right. But in Chicago, they had the Morgans, and it was a quick trip from there to New York to visit Sean once he was released from prison. They were doing better at that whole visiting thing, too. Better at being brothers. Sean sent birthday gifts and cards; he even came to Chicago to visit. Hotch couldn't remember a time in his life when family looked like this, and it was overwhelming at times, but it was always good.

Except the temperatures in Chicago when winter hit. If he had to come up with one complaint to file for the record, that would be it. Right now, they were sitting in temperatures that were in the single digits, and the windchill took them down below zero. His nose hurt, his lungs hurt, his joints ached, his nose ran. In his pockets he kept plenty of packets of Hot Hands, and his collection of wool undergarments had grown exponentially, but there was really only so much you could do to combat this kind of chill. It settled deep in his bones.

“What quarter is it?” he asked, blinking his frosted eyelashes as he tried to focus his eyes on the scoreboard. It was a blur of purple and yellow, bright lights and nothing else. His glasses had fogged up enough times he'd given up on them...he could see his papers just fine without them, everything else would be up to Derek.

“Third. One left baby. Hang in there.”

Hotch scrunched his frozen nose but he smiled and went back to his papers. He only had a few left to go, and they would occupy his mind until the frostbite set in at least. At that point...well, at least he knew Derek could carry him if his feet no longer worked.

“Hey,” Derek said quietly, nudging Hotch with his elbow. “That one of your students?” Hotch glanced up and squinted, focusing on a young woman a few rows up who kept turning back to look at him. He smiled at the vague shape of her and she lifted her arm in a nervous wave.

“Yes,” he replied, returning the wave with one thick gloved hand. Her eyes darted from him to Derek and back, the vague flicker of realization in them, and blushing she turned back around and turned her attention back to the game. He scrunched his nose; it was really about the only expression he had left available that his frozen face could manage and watched her for a moment longer. He had some misgivings about what she saw or thought she saw, some horror at the thought she might feel it was inappropriate in some way that he waved at her, or perhaps that he was here with his husband. Whatever it was made her turn in an instant, and all he could do was turn back to his papers and begin scribbling furiously in the margins with frozen stiff fingers. He was going to be a human popsicle by the time this game was over.

“Professor Hotchner?” came a voice from beside him, and he glanced up, sniffling a little. His nose was running it was so damn cold. The student he'd waved at was now standing above him with an expectant smile.

“Monica,” he answered quietly, nodding and pushing up to standing as fast at his locked and painful joints would allow. He steadied himself against the seat when it flipped up behind him and smiled. “How can I help you?”

“I um...” she started a little nervous. “This is probably really out of line and I'm sorry to bother you, but is that Derek Morgan beside you?”

Hotch glanced over at Derek who was so intently locked on what was going on in the game that he hadn't noticed what was happening beside him. He nodded.

“It is,” he replied. He left it open, just hanging there, doing his best not to make any assumptions about her intention. The stadium erupted around them, and Derek leapt out of his seat again, hollering. Without wasting a moment, hHe wrapped Hotch in a hug, arms tight around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. Not a care in the world.

“TOUCHDOWN!”

“Derek,” Hotch whispered, nodding his head in Monica's direction. “This is Monica Jordan, one of my students.”

“Oh, hey! Pleasure to meet you!” Derek released Hotch quickly, with only one arm, and extended his hand to her. The other arm stayed hooked around Hotch's shoulders, fingers digging into his puffy coat protectively. “He's nice to you, yeah?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, taking his hand. “Yeah, his class is great. It's my favorite.”

“Nahhh...that can't be true,” Derek said, shaking his head. “He's so boring. I've been forced to sit through this man's lectures. Come on, what's your real favorite class?”

“No, really,” she began, squaring up her shoulders as if she needed to defend him. “The way he presents topics is so engaging. You can tell he's got a lot of lived experience, it's not just something he read in a textbook and regurgitated for us. Did you guys work together?”

“Yeah, we did. For a long time.”

“I'm supposed to do an interview with someone I admire for my sociology class, and I was wondering if um...if I could interview you, Mr. Morgan?”

“If it's all good with the ol' ball and chain...”

Hotch rolled his eyes and sighed. Sometimes he just had to question his own sanity. “Derek.” He said nothing more, and Derek let out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah, sure. Let me know when and where, I'll be there. OH HELL YEAH! WILDCATS WIN BABY! WOOOOOO!”

Hotch couldn't blame Derek for his enthusiasm, the way he was easily distracted by what was happening on the field. It was the team's first win of the season. Likely to be their only win, too. The team seemed to be permanently ailing, it was kind of their thing, but Derek never wavered in his support. No one could accuse him of being a fair-weather fan, and Hotch followed him dutifully to every game. His support of Derek was unwavering, too.

“I um,” Monica started, stepping a little closer to Hotch. “He's a legend in my neighborhood. I grew up hearing stories about him from everyone. You're really lucky.”

Hotch, frozen as he was, beamed at that. His eyes shone bright with tears that froze before they could do much more than appear. “I am.”

Breathing hurt, but the celebratory kiss Derek gave him, and the warm air pushed into his lungs didn't. He hoped Monica had walked away, hoped she wasn't staring at them, but he wasn't going to let it stop him from wrapping his arms around Derek beneath his open coat and hugging him close. Sucking up all of the warmth he had to offer in the glow of the stadium erupting in loud cheers. “I love you,” Derek whispered between kisses, and Hotch smiled against his lips and muttered his reciprocation breathless and happy.

[agentsketchbook]

10-5-22 "It was an accident"

“Can I ask you something?” Pinku tilted her head, her pink pigtails bobbing with it.

“You just asked me something,” Amata sassed coolly. 

“Har har, no really. Something personal. Can I ask?” 

“It’s about my eye, isn’t it?” Amata shifted in their sitting position, tightening their arms around their torso and drawing their knees in closer. The cold dirt and stone beneath them wasn’t what made it uncomfortable. 

Pinku looked surprised for a moment before dropping her lids into a contemptuous face. 

“No, I don’t care about your eye. I wanna know about your lack of an eye.” 

“Oh HAR har.” 

Very funny, Pinku. This could go on all night long.

“And how did you know I was gonna ask anyways?”

Amata rolled their one and only eye, their entire face following the motion towards Pinku’s as they uncrossed their arms and flattened their palms to their sides. 

“Oh, brother! Come on, you are always staring at my face. It is NOT very subtle, for your information. What other reason could you possibly have for staring at my ‘lack of an eye,’ huh?” 

Amata’s quotation mark hands fluttered in Pinku’s furrowed face, their right hand making a cheeky stabbing motion at her left eye. She flinched at the invading hand, shoving it away with her own.

She didn’t answer right away, she snorted at the gesture and pouted.

“Weeell. You always look so serious. And miserable.” Her fingertips flew to the heart of her chest to say, “I just wanna know what you’re thinking. You’re always asking so many questions, how come you don’t just tell people anything about yourself when they ask?”

It was Amata’s turn to puff out a dry humored snort as they crossed their arms once again.

“Maybe if you weren’t so rude about it, I’d tell you a thing or two.”

Pinku smacked their arm in disbelief, shaking her hand and widening her eyes as she tried to hide her pain. Right, tough skin. 

“You liar! You weren’t gonna tell me no matter what I said! And for your information, I was trying to be polite, I asked if I could ask!”

“And? That’s personal, not everyone needs to know.”

“Ha, nobody on Dearth knows, more like it.”

There was a silence between the two as they sat in the cave’s entrance. The weather had begun to cool down in Calitonia now that it was October, and the night air finally felt dropped down to suit its name. Look out wasn’t a particularly cushy position, and the chill and conversation ensured that it was even less so. 

It wasn’t quite so silent. The first thing Amata could note was the sound of crickets that hadn’t gone away in the cold. Other animals chittering and cooing beyond their sight. Some breeze whistling through the boards in front of the mine entrance. 

They could see the forest’s trees rustling in the distance rhythmically, disturbing their peripheral. Every now and then, their needles danced into the cracks between the planks, convincing them for a split second there was something or someone there. They didn’t know whether to thank or curse the darts of adrenaline for keeping them awake.

And they could hear a light chatter? And a hiss.

Pinku was sucking air between her clicking teeth, filling her lungs with the cold as she breathed heavily. She wasn’t used to this like they were, they thought. 

Amata unbuttoned their fur jacket, to the confusion of Pinku. Pulling the arms off, they said to her, “Here. You’re freezing and I’m not. I’ve spent a lot more nights out like this than you have, I bet.”

Wordlessly accepting the gesture, she slipped the warmed fur over her hands, then arms, and over her chest, clasping the buttons together. Her fingers dipped into the pockets and she uttered a sigh, followed by a genuine “Gee, thanks.”

Once again, there was a silence between the two. 

Well, not quite. 

“It was an accident.”

“Huh?” Pinku blinked and pinched her face, puzzled by the statement. 

“You asked. All you need to know is it was an accident.” 

She didn’t say anything. She just looked at their face. 

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

And so, there was not so silence once again for the rest of the night. 

[yanderenightmare]

uhm, yandere Katsuki with a small reader... like idk how to explain but fluff fear? like waking up together but all she can think about is how loud he sleeps and how BIG he is, also him being a total bitch about how small she is?

yandere kidnapper ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon mentions, kidnapping, abduction, abuse, degradation

PUFF

Waking up warmer than usual was something she’d gotten terribly used to. 

It had only been a couple days. A couple days in a foreign house without anything to do except prance around in what lingerie Katsuki bothered to give her, or sleep the hours away. Where which the latter was undesirable, because she’d be risking getting snuck up on by the brute predator once he returned. So, she was left walking about, dragging tired limbs through barren hallways, stopping to take in the space of each impersonal room, half-naked and cold in the marble mansion, doing nothing but dreading the time her hero came home. 

And in the absence of things happening, those moments where she was in fact preoccupied with something became so much heavier and longer than what they were in reality. Expanded, to the degree where she could pinpoint almost every single detail within the moment. 

This was one of those moments.

She wanted to focus on the bed, soft material, caky and cloudy beneath her, but it was difficult to ignore the mass behind her. His nose poking into the top of her head, nuzzling in her hair, a good measurement of knowing how close his teeth were to her neck as heavy breaths ran down her neck like a chilling breeze, ticklish and disturbing like crawling mites. His chest, rising, pushing into her back, the beating of his heart rattling her ribcage. His hands, large and so very warm, warmer than they were supposed to be, scathed like sandpaper as they scratched in their presence by rubbing her hip, arms slung around her body haphazardly, caging her, suffocating her, pulling her close, holding her steady, trapping her. 

Like a dragon protecting his treasure, she thought, but quickly discarded of the notion. It sounded too sweet. 

Katsuki wasn’t sweet.

He’d come home yesterday, coated in smog, droplets of blood flecked on his sand-skin in no particular pattern. He didn't shower, he’d only grabbed her and walked off to bed. No words shared, only whimpers and dark, disturbing chuckles. She’d struggled, as much as she could against the brute, but it felt as though he enjoyed that more. Tightening his hold until she swore she began to hear her bones ache, bristle as he squeezed the air from out of her lungs. 

She was happy she was spared his painful cock that night, but she was sure it would be a short-lived mercy.

His hold; though still strong, wasn’t as tight in the morning. She took it as an opportunity to create more space between herself and the fever-heat and blinding smell of caramel. She almost wished she could smell the blood and smoke instead, something bitter to disrupt the sickening sweet. She wished she could smell anything else, but even the smell of herself was overcome by him. She’d walked around the house thinking of it the other day, how it was almost as though he’d scented her, as though they were animals.

He didn’t take lightly to the disturbing of his slumber, grunting and growling, stirring that overbearing sense of fear inside her gut, her stomach folding in every possible way. She didn’t want to stop, she wanted to fight, she wanted to roar. He tightened his arms around her, squeezed her hip, planting her ass better against his crotch and she froze.

He smacked his tongue against his teeth. “Now what?” He coaxed. She expected his voice to sound groggy in the morning, but she’d learned in the past days, it never shed its ugly tone. “You gonna cry?” His voice sounding almost hopeful as he bit down on her earlobe, earning a gasp that along the way turned into a delicious little whimper. She tried clawing at his hand, his own nails digging into her skin. “Do yourself a favor and relax” All his taunting, patronizing overbearing words, dismissive to her discomfort, rather enjoying it, if only she could see the cracked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She kept struggling despite the obvious futility. “Yer’ not going anywhere, yer’ exactly where you need to be... exactly where you belong.” His tone was casual as he sucked in a breath, sighing with a grumbling growl, still sleepy, yawning behind her, comfortable when squeezing her plushie little form, keeping her close like child with a teddybear. 

But he wasn't enjoying how her legs were kicking, despite the rest of her struggles being teasingly pleasurable.

Pushed down on her back, manhandled into position, he made to move himself between her thighs. Now, with more mistaken freedom, she tried pushing him away. Foolish fists hit against the stiff muscles of his chest, until he grabbed them by the wrists and pinned them above her head. His face so much closer now, but he didn’t kiss her, still longing to hear her speak up, to beg, to plead, to scream. But he remained close, knowing how every one of his words made her heart beat that much faster, and how those especially crude words made her quiver or better yet bleat, like a little lamb beneath him.

“Come on…” He hauled out. She barely made out the words, as far hidden in the growl as they were. His voice tickling her burning ear, his head resting its heavy weight on her arm. “I know I’ve been busy, but…” He spoke as though she wanted to spend more time with him. “It’s my day off.” His voice in singsong, as if she’d be excited, the tone sounding dreadful and wrong when coming from him, dark as it was. But it earned him what he’d been wanting, that soft and struggled sniffle, breath caught in her throat, an uncontrolled shiver breaking the sweet feeble noise.

Content with what he’d reduced her to, he rested his head on the pillow beside her face, his weight laid down upon her in a lifedraining fashion. He hummed, closing his eyes, enjoying her small frame beneath him. In her rightful place, he snickered. Eyes fluttering to look at her pretty face, hand covered in dried blood and smoke as it ascended to tug a lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking over her lips when he made to retract it. The state of his skin made him cringe when he touched the fairness of her complexion. It felt wrong, he admitted. 

They needed to find an even ground.

“Let’s shower, I’m dirty.” She could feel his lips on her ear now, but she was too shell-shocked to snap her head away, knowing what was coming.

In all honesty, she wouldn’t mind a shower. She’d been there a while and didn’t exactly feel clean with him spread, smeared all over her, inside her. But, he’d insisted on being so very close at all times, she was sure the same rules would apply in the shower. 

She tried her best to fight, but it was all so easy to simply grab her arm and pull her with him, yanking on her like a child with a toy. Throwing her inside the large bathroom, with strength that almost had her falling to her knees.

“Take yer’ clothes off.” He commanded, having her backed up against the cold tiles of the walls. “Or… they’re not really your clothes.” He tugged at the black fabric of his shirt, one she’d put on after realizing her own clothes were far from wearable anymore, singed as they were.

Towering over her petite shape, enjoying how she had to tilt her head a drastic degree to stare up at him. 

She was so tiny, it sent pleasurable shivers down his spine to look at her, small like a little pet. His shirt hung around her in the same way you’d expect a tent would, reaching all the way down to her knees, only barely fitting on her narrow shoulders.

She wanted to sound strong. “N- no.” It came out weak.

Snickering, he placed a hand on the wall beside her head. “I was hoping you’d say that…” His smile was so feral, she began wondering if smiles were ever a nice gesture in the first place. Katsuki seemed to do it simply to show her those large teeth stored in his mouth, teeth that could rip her throat out if he were dedicated enough. “Better you learn sooner than later just how helpless you are to stop me getting what I want.” He leaned in closer, stepping further into her space, threatening to crush her toes under the soles of his feet, his much too hot breaths striking her face on repeat. “Weak.” He spat the word, as though it were venom on his tongue. “Defenseless.” It disgusted him, distaste clear in the growl lacing his tone. “Fragile.” 

He’d not gotten exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to scream, whether it was of rage or of fear, didn’t really matter. The tears were no less satisfying though, dribbling down her cheeks, eyes glossy and sparkling.

He grabbed the collar of the t-shirt. She felt the pull, but the tear still came as a surprise. The ripped fabric, now reduced to useless singed rags, pooling around her ankles, and she found herself regretting her wish to smell smoke because the burn of the textile at her feet was not the type of bitter like morning coffee, but bitter in the way that made her eyes sting. Her knees almost gave out when his hand neared her again, his other hand placed above her head, meaning to cage her in between his warmth and the freezing wall behind her. 

Her nipples perked at once when he made contact, which made him smile, hand still hot, much too hot. He cupped one breast in his hand, much too small to fill it entirely. He didn’t seem to mind though.

“So soft…” The disdainful tone was gone, but she found herself missing it as opposed to what lingered in his voice now. “So delicate.” Lust was so terribly more frightening than his distaste. “So…” He licked his lips, a hot breath fanned over her face and goosebumps sprung to the surface of her skin. He hummed in response and she was sure she might just faint. “So sensitive.” She yelped when he pinched. “Mine.” His voice was low and rumbling, hot like raked coals. Tugging down her bottoms as well, she did little to prevent it. 

Not that it would have mattered if she did.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[warmblanketwhump]

flight plan

disclaimer: this takes place in pre-you-know-what times - if you’re actually sick, do not do what B does here. alright, on to the suffering :)

Back when B booked their flight, the 4 am boarding time and 2 layovers seemed like a great exchange for saving a few hundred dollars while flying across the country. But now, with a head that feels like it was stuffed with cotton, a gate change that forced their leadened body to trek across the entire airport, and an additional 3-hour delay before their final 4-hour flight, they were beginning to question their penny-pinching ways.

In a nearby terminal, a fussy infant screamed, and it took everything for B not to scream back at them: I hate it here too! Their nerves were frayed, their whole body ached to the bone, and their head felt like it was in a vise grip.

It hadn’t felt this bad this morning - heck, they wouldn’t have left if they’d felt this bad - but the changing cabin pressure and constant temperature shifts from hot, stuffy terminals to icy planes were wreaking havoc on their poor, rapidly sickening body. They’d been up for 18 hours. And now, they had no choice but to ride it out and power through the last leg. They hug the paper cup of tea they’d grabbed at a nearby cafe close to their chest, trying to hold back their frustrated tears.

They just wanted to be home.

B shifts on the hard terminal seat as they wrap up a third agonizing hour of waiting, willing the passengers ahead of them to board more quickly so they could just get home to A, who they’d been missing all week. But the miserable minutes ticked by, and B kept having to blow their tender nose with their precious (and dangerously dwindling) travel pack of tissues. As they massage their aching sinuses, B feels a tap on their shoulder. Turning, they recognize a fellow passenger from their previous flight extending another full pack their way.

“Here. You need these more than I do.” They extend the gift, and B gratefully accepts. The stranger nods, and heads back to their luggage to wait out the boarding process.

After what feels like an hour, B’s group is finally able to board the flight. From their boarding pass, they knew they’d be stuck in the middle seat, but their heart lifts a bit when they see their Kleenex-wielding savior in the aisle seat next to theirs, who waves and gives them a small smile as they let them through. On the window seat side, a sour-looking individual scans them up and down, raising an eyebrow when B coughs roughly in their elbow.

“Sorry…” B sniffles. The sour-faced person rolls their eyes and turns their attention to the window, and B shrinks in their seat, embarrassed.

“Just want to be home, right?” Their aisle friend smiles sympathetically, and B nods weakly. “I know the feeling. Name’s C.”

B introduces themselves, and the two make amicable small talk during the pre-flight checklist, finding out that they both called their destination city home. As the plane takes flight, B winces - the pressure change makes their head ache, and their sinuses feel like they’re going to explode, along with their ears. The dry air of the plane irritates their chapped nose, and they close their eyes and grip the armrest till their knuckles bleach, trying to breathe through the pain and praying it doesn't get worse.

It gets worse. On top of their pounding head and runny nose, B discovers like all the other planes, this one's an icebox. Once they reach cruising altitude, B apologetically shuffles by C to head to the bathroom, hoping that by some chance it’s warmer in there. In the dim light, B’s stares at their haggard reflection – their feverish eyes are glazed and watery, their raw nose is bright red, and their peaked face is wan and drawn, coated with a sheen of sweat. Hopefully A would still recognize them, they thought humorlessly.

The bathroom is just as frigid, and B’s stuck with a stream of lukewarm water that barely heats their cold hands. Back in their seat, the throbbing headache continues to build behind their eyes, and their throat desperately cries out for something to drink.

As if they could hear their thoughts, C leans over and pulls a small bottle of water from their personal bag. “The flight attendants came by with drinks while you were up - figured you could at least use some water.” B gratefully accepts and murmurs their thanks, and the cool water feels like heaven as they gulp it down.

After, B pulls the paper-thin flight blanket up to their chin - at this point, they didn’t care what the travel magazines said about how dirty they were. But it’s no use. The cold plane air sinks into their aching bones, and their body shivers to make up the difference. They close their eyes and wriggle around in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position that still allows them to curl up and get warm while exhaling as few germs as possible – and if there's any mercy at all, to fall unconscious for the next 3 and a half hours.

“Will you stop?” The window passenger glares at them. “It’s bad enough you brought your germs on here. But now you can’t even sit still?” Tears pricked at B's eyes - being sick always made them more sensitive - but before they can squeak out an apology, C leaps to their aid.

"Lay off," C snaps. "Can't you see they don't feel good?" The other passenger huffs indignantly, and presses closer to the wall of the plane. C's eyes don't leave them, and they stretch their hand out tentatively toward B. "May I?"

B nods, letting their eyes close, and C gently lays a cool hand across their forehead, clicking their tongue at the heat. "Well, I've definitely flown with healthier seatmates than you." B tries to laugh, but a cough seizes their lungs, and they double over to try and contain it as best they can as C gently rubs between their shoulder blades. When they finally catch their breath, they rest their head on their knees, exhausted from the exertion. From their prone position, B checks their watch. 3 hours and 26 minutes to go.

I'm going to die.

Slowly, B sits up and stiffly straightens their blanket with as little movement as possible. A draft floods their section of the plane, and B longingly eyes C’s unopened blanket tucked in the seat pocket, trying to quiet the incessant chatter of their teeth.

“You cold?” C frowns.

“Freezing,” they whimper through clenched teeth. “And I hurt all over and I just want to go home and I miss A and I’m so tired.” They didn’t mean to break down, but two twin tears slip from their eyes as they try to stop their lip from quivering.

C’s quiet for a moment, then stands to rustle around in the overhead compartment, and returns with a small bundle.

“Lean back,” C gently commands, and A obeys and closes their eyes. They’re immediately draped in warmth, and open their eyes to see a thick, fleece-lined jacket being tucked over them, along with a soft travel blanket over their legs. They try to protest, but C shushes them.

“Being sick is already miserable without being stuck in a tin can in the sky. Besides, these flight blankets suck." C gives B's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and B nearly melts at the touch.

“And look, if you don’t want to, it’s fine - you don’t know me - but you can use my shoulder if you want to try and catch some sleep.”

In any other moment B would be mortified, but they're so spent that they just nod weakly and surrender to the offer of comfort. C pulls their unused blanket out and folds it into a sort of pillow, clicking the armrest down between them, and B collapses onto them in a boneless heap. Sleep tugs at the edge of their vision, but there's one lingering question on their mind.

"C? Why....why are you helping me? You've been nothing but kind and you don't even know me."

C's quiet for a moment. "Last year, I tried to do the same thing you're doing – power through an 8-hour flight home with a blossoming case of pneumonia. Cough, chills, headache, the works. About 2 hours in, I was about ready to jump out of the plane." They chuckle lightly, but B hears the wistful note in their voice. "It was absolutely miserable, and all I wanted was someone to hold my hand and tell me it’d be okay.”

C turns to look at B. "But nobody did. Not a single soul. So I vowed that if ever I found myself in a position someday to help somebody home, I’d do it.”

The words are so achingly comforting and desperately sad, so soft and generous and B feels like they should say something, affirm that yes, helping a random sick passenger was damn close to sainthood. But instead, sleep wins over, and they nestle closer to C as they tumble into a soft, dreamless sleep.

it feels like they’re asleep for minutes, but when C nudges them gently, they realize that they’re descending. They’re home.

The wheels skid on the runway, and the journey off the plane is a blur of sound and color and too-bright lights. B is only vaguely aware of C’s arm around their waist, guiding them through the crowd and to the baggage claim area. They must have told C which suitcase is theirs, because they blink twice and it magically appears at their feet.

“C’mon now, B. Almost there.” C gently guides them forward, and B wills themselves to power through the final few minutes.

“Do you see A anywhere?” C asks, squinting through the crowd of people. B can barely focus their eyes, and they’re losing hope, when all of a sudden - they see them. A. Holding a small paper sign with B’s name and a stuffed animal with a small red heart in their arms, waving wildly. They’re beaming, but the smile falls from their face as they see what condition B’s in.

“B - what happened? Are you okay?” B can barely whisper A’s name, and A pulls them into a hug, gently whispering reassurances, that they’re home and safe.

“Bit of a rough flight, but B hung in there,” C smiles, passing B’s suitcase to A. “They’re not feeling too hot, but I think they’ll make it.”

Suddenly, B releases A and stumbles back to C, throwing their arms around them. C’s thrown off balance by the strength of the hug, but manage to compose themselves and pat them gently on the back.

“Thank you,” B whispers. “So much.”

C blushes. “It was nothing. Just don’t forget to pay it forward.”

B squeezes tighter. “You deserved help. You still do.” C says nothing, just swallows tightly, and B feels C’s arms tighten ever so briefly around their waist.

A rush of dizziness floods B, and C gently guides them back to A’s waiting arms, before handing A a scrap of paper. “Listen, it’s none of my business - but can you give me a call in a couple days, just so I know they’re feeling better?”

A takes the scrap and smiles. “Absolutely. It’s the least I can do to thank you for keeping old B from falling apart in public.” B grunts indignantly, almost asleep again, and A strokes their hair and smiles.

They make it back to the car, and A manages to maneuver a limp B into the passenger seat, tucking them in and cranking the heat on their side. B blinks their eyes open and smiles guilelessly. “Go home now?”

A smiles and presses a soft kiss to their forehead. “Yes, love. We’re going home now.”

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Just My Type Pt. 2

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: dom/sub undertones, dom reader, subby shig, light mommy kink, anal fingering, blow jobs, smut ahead so ya know be prepared, shigs is kinda an incel but we love him anyway, 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Shigaraki is a full course meal that showed up on your doorstep and you are more than a little inclined to devour him whole.  

Part 1

AO3 Mirror

You liked to think you understood Tomura Shigaraki. 

Probably a bit better than he understood himself if you were being honest. 

It wasn’t that you were particularly adept at reading people, but you paid attention and he was generally a lot more obvious that he realized. You started to get the feeling your client-turned-sometimes-boss had a bit of a thing for you not too long after you started working for him. 

Mainly because he stared. 

All the time.

You weren’t certain if he was completely conscious of it, and at first you sort of assumed it was just a weird, somewhat unnerving habit. It took you all of a week to figure out, though, that his one visible eye did not seem to focus on anything other than you. 

Initially, you had been wary of him. This was a slightly more dangerous clientele than you were used to, but the rest of the League warmed up to you quickly enough. The true realization came with the little, silent fits of jealousy—nails raking down his neck and scowls so harsh they were nearly audible—whenever anyone else, usually Dabi, showed the same interest.   

And being the type of person you were, it was hard to resist pushing those newly revealed buttons just once. 

Well. 

More than a once. 

But! 

All that pressing and goading had finally culminated to this. 

Needless to say, you felt more than a little thrill when Tomura had finally taken the bait and let you drag him all the way back to shore like a fish on a hook. 

And now here he was, beached and floundering, as chilled air like ocean waves rocked against your ankles. 

So yes, you understood Tomura Shigaraki. 

He wanted you, as much as loathed to admit it. 

And you wanted him too, but not so much that you were willing to go down without a bit of a fight. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” you asked. 

You could see the shiver your voice sent through him, like lungfuls of sweet spring air after a lifetime underground. 

“What?” he mumbled, one hand holding the clasp on his pants closed and the other reaching up to tear at his neck. 

Always so predictable. 

You hummed at the gesture and leaned back to pull the door open a bit more. “Come on, you’re letting all my heat out.” 

His eyes narrowed significantly, not so subtly flicking down to your chest before meeting your eyes—suspicion clear as the tent in his pants, but a good amount of cautiously pleasant surprise as well. 

You dipped your head down, trying to get a better look under the mop of his hair and dark hood to see the dusty rose blush creeping up his neck. His scarred and cracking skin grew pinker with every passing second. The smile on your face was impossible to hide.  

“I caught you in the window of one of the shops like six blocks in,” you said by way of explanation and waved him forward once again. “You can stand out there and freeze if you want, but something tells me you might be a little more comfortable if you came in.” 

This was a calculated game, but no one ever got anywhere without taking a few risks.  

Your stress on the last two words and the way your tongue peaked out from behind your teeth was thankfully not lost on him. 

“Fine,” Tomura swallowed once as if this really was the last thing he wanted to be doing, and you watched his throat bob as he finally shuffled over the threshold.  

You liked the way he looked here, harsh but not out of place in the domestic setting. Surrounded by the scent of crisp air and clean laundry, you breathed deeply to catch the faint hint of cheap hand soap and dust and that strange, sweet smell that always tickled your nose when he got close. Tomura took a long breath of his own when you pressed closer, the top of your leg brushing just enough at the front of his jeans to feel his dick twitch. 

Yeah, he probably thought you hadn’t noticed him lifting your coat to his face when you left for the bathroom. That you hadn’t overheard Kurogiri chewing him out for all the different bottles of detergent littering the backroom like he wasn’t scouring convenience stores to find the exact one you used. Didn’t know you knew where all those ‘lost’ gloves or elastic ties or even your socks once when you’d taken them off to dry after a storm had ended up. 

It was hard to tell with him whether those strange behaviors meant he liked you or really wanted you dead. But you’d dared to assume the former and god it felt good to be right. 

“You like to watch, don’t you?” you asked, letting the words cascade from your lips. 

“Maybe. You like to be watched, don’t you?” he rasped, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control but your chest was brushing against him and you could hear his mouth going dry. 

You raised your brow and leaned just a fraction closer, ready to let the last of the chips fall.

“Maybe,” you mused, your lips just barely grazing his. “I don’t mind if it’s you.” 

And finally, finally you saw the little glimmer you’d been waiting for. 

Tomura Shigaraki was beginning to understand. 

You could see it in his eyes, the dawning realization. Reluctant still and forever mistrustful, but coming around. All those nights he spent observing you when he thought you weren’t looking—shrouded in smoke and keeping a safe distance—you’d never been aiming to get away. You’d never been hiding or ready to run. 

You were always trying to get closer to him. 

The way you left so soon when he sequestered himself away in his room or how you let Dabi’s hand creep just far enough up your thigh before making your escape—all of it, was just to catch his eye. 

Just playing your cards—working with the hand you were dealt.  

Tomura might have been watching you, but you had always been watching right back. Really, it was a wonder how he ever missed the way your gaze was trained on him nearly every second from the time you set foot in the bar to the ever unfortunate moment you slipped back out into the cold, lonely street. 

How many nights had you been waiting for this? 

Laying awake, thinking of the way his scarlet gaze warmed your skin like the cinnamon in Kurogiri’s nightly cocktails. You’d seen what those hands could do, watched them turn glasses and tables to ash, but that only raised the stakes. And wasn’t it so much more fun that way?

“Well,” you leaned in, tilting your head so that your mouths were centimeters away from touching, “do you want to see more?”

You were watching the levee break. Cracks forming up that skeptical and distant outer shell and letting desire leak out from every line and scar. The air was silent and heavy in the way it often is before a storm. You wondered if you’d be struck down by errant lighting before you got a chance to suck his tongue like you’d been dreaming of. 

His fist closed around your wrist, pinky poised threateningly over the skin. You let him hold you, not struggling in the slightest under his grip. Tomura could have you like that if he wanted. Could believe this was forceful, that he wasn’t giving himself away. You would gladly let him, but you had something else in mind. 

Something you were almost certain he’d enjoy more. 

All the deliciousness of the torture you planned to drown him in was completely dependent on him offering you the reigns. If he wouldn’t, well, you’d take what you could get. Encouragingly, he didn’t move further than his grip on your arm. 

Instead, he stared blankly and tugged you closer grunting under his breath, though never fully closing the distance. It took a second before your brain processed the slight pout of his bottom lip, the catch in his breath the way he subconsciously ground against your thigh. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You’d said it before and you’d say it again: god, it felt good to be right. 

Coming to your door was his first move tonight, and now it was your turn to up the stakes. 

Grinning, you closed the small gap between your bodies and let your mouths slip against each other, filling in the cracks of his lips with your tongue. Tomura groaned when the weight of it slipped across his teeth just once before you pulled away from him altogether. 

There was barely an inch between you, but that would always be too much now. 

“You never answered me, Tomura.” Saying his name made you shiver. You wondered what it would feel like when you screamed it too. “Do you want to see more?”

“Yes,” he nodded and surged forward, knocking your teeth together and nipping sharply at your lower lip. “More, now.” 

Your grips switched, his fingers going limp around your wrist while you took hold of his and led him towards the door at the end of your hall. The soft bedroom light leaked out and illuminated the halo of baby hairs at the crown of his head. You longed to run your hands through it. By the time you got him safely inside—sat cornered on the edge of your mattress—you realized there was nothing stopping you from doing just that. 

So you did. 

Tugged his hood down and ran your fingers across his scalp, grabbing a handful and pulling firmly. The noise it earned you had goosebumps erupting down your arms. 

With his pretty face revealed, you took a moment to drink him in. The small lamp lit him from the left, leaving one side in shadow and those red eyes were so dark you could have drunk them down like expensive wine. Slowly, you lowered your lips to his scarred forehead and pressed them softly against the rough skin. 

“What would the others say, hm?” you hummed, stroking his cheek as you leaned back to look into his eyes again. “If they knew their boss was tailing around the new hire just to get a glimpse of some ass.” 

Tomura stayed resolutely silent, grumbling under his breath as he lunged forward to slip his tongue back into your mouth. Your hand in his hair tightened though and his thighs tensed below you. 

“Seems a bit desperate, huh?” 

He growled again but moved a hand to the open front of his pants, palming slowly against the growing bulge there. The swathe of light grey fabric covering his cock was already sporting a sizable stain that you were dying to taste. 

Feeling merciful, you dragged your tongue along his sharp jaw and nipped at his earlobe, “Do you really want me that bad?”

You weren’t sure what exactly was the nail in the coffin. It might have been the words themselves, or the soft, honest tone with which you whispered them, or even just the way your chest brushed against him, but that was the moment his resolve finally shattered. 

“It’s your fault,” he whimpered, hips bucking up into his own hand, “you’re the one that did this, so fix it.” 

You could only guess he was referring to the absolute rager he was sporting and the drool threatening to spill from his ragged lips. 

“Oh, you want me to make it all better?” you were having a hard time keeping it together yourself with Tomura talking like that. 

He nodded furiously and you took the opening to lick back into his mouth, tracing his teeth and biting softly on his rough bottom lip. When you pulled back, a silvery string of saliva glinted between your mouths, only breaking when you moved to roll your desk chair over and plop down on the cushions. 

Tomura’s eyes immediately drifted between your legs as you peeled off your thin shorts and spread them, propped on either arm, fingers digging absently into the meat of your thighs. 

“You didn’t get to see much before did you?” he didn’t answer but you hadn’t expected him to. “How about we start where we left off, but I want to see that pretty cock this time while you stroke it for me.” 

“Oh fuck ,” he gasped and tugged his jeans down so they pooled at his ankles. 

You smiled as he cursed. One hand still gripped his length, but you could see how thick it was from between his fingers. Long and hard and leaking so much onto his stomach where it rested. The other fisted in his hoodie, pulling it up to give you a glimpse at the lovely musculature of his torso. 

So many delicious surprises, all in one night. 

Your gaze drifted between his face and the hand slowly pumping his length. Every now and again, he’d stop to run his thumb over the tip or squeeze harshly at the base. Your hand moved too, sliding your underwear to the side and giving him a full view of just how soaked he made you. 

“Is that how you usually touch yourself?” you asked quietly, slipping two fingers down your slit and coating them in slick. 

“Yeah,” his voice was already so wrecked that you shivered at the single word. 

Your fingers found your clit, drawing languid circles over the bundle of nerves and groaning in relief. “Tell me what you think about.”

“You,” he responded simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

To his credit, it probably was but you wanted to hear him say it. 

“What about me?”

Your slow rhythm sped up to match Tomura’s hand now steadily jerking his dick, wet slaps and various groans emanating from both of you. 

“Your...mouth,” he mumbled, vision locked on the movement of your wrist as your fingers began to dip inside only to travel back to your clit and repeat the motion. “How it would feel on me, how wet and warm and tight your throat would be.” 

You let out a long moan of encouragement and nodded for him to continue, grinding down on your own wrist as he spoke. 

“I think about how you parade around like a whore every time you come over— shit —and how you’d look bent over the bar top,” he spat as he ran his palm over the head of his cock. 

Normally you’d have clapped back at the insult but you were distracted by the way the muscles in his stomach were twitching violently with every stroke of his hand. 

“That’s not all is it?” you asked between breaths. 

Your skin was buzzing, warmth rising to your cheeks as sweat broke out on your forehead despite the chill of the room. Tomura keyed you up in a way no one else ever had.

“No,” his eyes were redder than usual, glazed over and pricked in the corner with frustrated tears. He wanted to cum so badly, you could see it in the set of his feet on the floor, forcing his hips up but not getting quite what he craved. 

“Come on, Tomura,” you brought your other hand down to rub quickly at your clit, “tell me what you need.” 

“Touch me,” he hissed, head thrown back, exposing the graceful column of his scarred throat. “I want to feel you.” 

He was panting, head thrown back and mouth open with just his eyes cast down at you. You wanted a painting of this scene—Tomura, ruined and starving for you. Wanted it framed and hung in your foyer so it was the first thing you saw coming home. 

How could you deny such a pretty boy?

“Alright, I suppose you’ve earned it,” you sighed in mock annoyance and stood, honestly surprised he’d restrained himself from jumping you this long. Discarding your shirt elicited a series of wines as you stood completely bare for him. 

You thought for a moment about what you should do first, before settling on your knees between his legs and batting his slowly stroking hand away. Tomura stared, wide eyed and slack jawed down as you took his cock in your hands and admired him for a moment. 

He felt good in your palm, heavy with impressive girth and length. Leagues better than you had hoped for. Pretty veins ran up the sides and the gentle ridge of his tip was silky smooth as you leaned forward to run your tongue up the slit. 

The sound that left him was bone shattering—deep and low in a way that reverberated in your bones. 

You vowed to make him cry. 

Looking up through your lashes, you let your lips fall open to take Tomura into the warmth of your mouth.  

And if you thought his first moan was delicious. 

What fell from him next was a goddamn feast. 

Four fingers were fisted into your sheets, the balls of his feet tensing so his hips bucked up and forced his length deeper down your throat. You hummed around his length, drinking down the salty taste of him, and bringing your hands up to rub sweet circles into the skin of his thighs. Listening hungrily, you devoured all the little whimpers and moans and curses that spilled from Tomura. 

Objectively, you ought to have been offended by all this. That he was so desperate for you, blamed you for somehow leading him on (which you had to an extent but only because he refused to set foot into your traps). You should have felt a bit disgusted by the behavior he’d displayed, but instead you were invigorated. Spurred on by the knowledge that the man before you wanted you so deeply and obsessively, that just the sight of you drove him off the edge. 

Flicking your tongue over the sensitive tip, you doubled down your efforts. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked hard and took his pulsing dick deeper, swallowing around it. 

“Oh god, yesyesyes—” Tomura cried out, hips twitching. 

It was on that particular backstroke you noticed the way he was grinding back into the sheets, rocking his ass just so and you really couldn’t help yourself from indulging a bit in the curiosity. 

Shifting a hand, you collected some of the spit and precum that had leaked from your mouth and coated the base of his dick, slicking your fingers. Slowly, you moved to give his balls a firm squeeze that had him whining before letting two fingers dip lower, between his cheeks to nudge the cute pink skin around his hole. 

“Fuck—” he gasped, staring down at you and letting himself fall immediately to the mattress, giving you full access to his pretty ass. “Hm, there please…” 

He trailed off, brain rotted with pleasure and unconcerned now with how desperate or needy he seemed. You thought it was a good look for him, and you gladly obliged his pleas. 

Just the slow circles you were tracing around the sensitive flesh seemed to drive him closer to the edge. You would have been shocked by how long he was lasting considering the unlikely possibility he’d had many partners in the past, but you were sure he’d had plenty of ‘practice’ on his own to get his stamina up to this level. 

Surprisingly, you were able to actually slip a finger past the tight ring of muscle down to the first knuckle. He was so tight your mind was flooded immediately with how good he’d look bent over—ass in the air and impaled on your strap. He made this delectable choked sound when you turned your wrist and slid a fraction of an inch deeper. But as you curled inside him and gave one particularly deft swallow around his aching cock, something even more unexpected tumbled past Tomura’s lust-loose lips. 

“Oh fuck, mommy —” 

As soon as the words left his mouth it snapped shut so hard you heard his teeth clacking. 

Well. 

You certainly hadn’t anticipated that, but thankfully, transporting required you to think on your feet often.

Tomura was beet red now, looking almost as surprised as you felt by what had slipped from him in the haze of lust and sweat that filled the room. You withdrew from him completely, pulling off his cock and planting both your hands on his slim waist. 

“What did you just call me?” you asked, tone dark, praying to hear it again. 

And of course you did, because Tomura was such a good boy . 

“M-mommy,” the tremor in his voice may have been due to residual shame or the fact that you’d nearly sucked his soul right out of his dick, “mommy, please.” 

And that, that lit something in you. All bets were off, any plans of a long, drawn out night of playing with your pretty boss until he begged for you was slipping quickly down the drain as you clambered off your knees and onto the bed. 

“Does my little boy need something?” you mused, slipping into the role easily and planting your knees on either side of his thin body while you brushed your nose against his cheek. 

He hadn’t touched you since you’d gotten him in your bed and while you thought it may have had something to do with the potentially deadly side effects, you really couldn’t have that. Reaching down, you guided his hand gently to your mouth and pressed a gentle kiss against the calloused knuckles. 

“Do you want mommy’s pussy?” 

That last question might have been boarding a bit on the evil end of teasing, but Tomura responded in equally bratty fashion by burying his face into your chest and reaching down to guide the tip of his dick into your dripping entrance. For once that night, you were the one gasping at the sudden stretch and quite frankly the fucking balls your boss displayed in surprise spearing you on his cock. 

Not that you minded, but damn. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you groaned as you dropped your hips to sink the rest of the way down his length. It took a bit, even as slick as you were, before he was bottoming out and letting out little poorly hidden sobs against you. 

Tomura’s feet still hung off the bed and couldn’t provide him the leverage to thrust up into you as he so clearly wanted to, but you could work well with this. Pulling back you got him to sit up, head still buried in the crook of your neck and braced your hands to start bouncing in his lap. 

His hands flew to your hips, any trepidation apparently lost in favor of marking you with crescent shaped bruises. You let your hands trail up his chest, thumbing over his flushed nipples before threading into the hair at the base of his head. Tilting his head back, you came up and dropped back down hard on his length, letting him strike that lovely spot inside you and making his face twist in pleasure. 

“Oh, good boy, “ you moaned, long and low. “Such a good boy for me, Tomura.” 

He whimpered loudly and you bounced faster, praise tumbling easily as the pressure in your gut began to build, “You look so perfect like this, pretty cock feels so good inside.”

On a whim, you gripped his hair tightly and pressed his face into your chest, leading his lips to the stiff peak of your nipple. He latched on immediately, moans muffled against you and lovely eyes rolling back in his head. 

You took it back— this was the picture you wanted immortalized from tonight. Tomura’s mouth was full of you, slick tongue curling over the bud and suckling softly only interrupted by the occasional graze of his teeth, his dick buried in you and pulsing as you rode him to your own high.  

A high that was coming sooner rather than later. 

You let your free hand slip from his shoulder to rub frantically at your clit, feeling yourself clenching tighter and tighter on his cock, strokes shifting into a more desperate grinding. The white hot pleasure grew stronger—spurred on by the image of Tomura’s pretty hair plastered with sweat to his forehead and his coarse lips grazing your skin—cresting and sending you hurtling over the edge, cumming hard on Tomura’s thick cock.  

“Oh, baby boy, yes, make mommy cum,” you shook and clenched around him, pussy in a vice grip around his length. 

He didn’t hold out long after that, biting down roughly on your chest he groaned and you felt the hot ropes of his release painting your walls. 

It was a bit of a blur after that. You recall lifting his mouth from you, revealing a deep bruise and the indents of teeth just around your nipple—a reminder that would stick with you of this quite eventful night. Residual clothing was abandoned and you’d agreed to forgo a shower in favor of pressing every available inch of skin against his under a light sheet. 

Tomura’s breathing had evened out a while ago, heart beat relaxing to an even tattoo from it’s initial pounding. His head was tucked securely under your chin, arms flung across your middle and legs tangled in a knot. 

You’d thought he was asleep until you felt his lips moving against your shoulder and heard the soft, whispered words, “Are you going to ask me to go?”

It had been so long since you’d had a ‘normal’ conversation with him that it took you awhile to recognize his casual tone from the wrecked and begging voice you’d been hearing from him all night. Something about that knowledge made your chest ache. 

“I’m not going to make you stay,” you responded simply. 

Which was all you could really think of to say, noncommittal but open. 

“But do you want me to?” 

His tone was harsh, but not in a purposeful way. The quiet rasp was a permanent feature of his voice you’d discovered and made it him sound far more severe than he usually meant to be. The question both surprised you and didn’t. You’d asked Tomura to give up control to you before, let you take the lead and see him vulnerable. Now he was asking for it back. Asking for a level playing field. 

“I would like it if you did, yes.” 

He nodded and you felt the brush of his lashes as he closed his eyes again, settling into you more than the mattress itself. You followed suit, at least for a bit, and rested your eyes to enjoy the feeling of finally not sleeping alone. Half dozing, you breathed in the scent of well earned pleasure and sweat and laundry detergent. 

Neither of you asked any more questions—you didn’t need to.  

Because you understood Tomura Shigaraki and he understood you. 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Green (Bucky x Reader)

Word Count: ~3k

***Warnings*** : Graphic and explicit consensual non-consent. It’s all pre-negotiated roleplay, but it includes fighting, struggling, spitting, scratching, the whole nine yards. 

A/N: The companion fic to Red. You do not need to read that first; this stands on its own. However, without that as an introduction, there’s no obvious indication until about two-thirds into the fic that what’s happening is consensual. 

More on this in another note at the end, but thanks to @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @katwillrise​ @mskathywriteswords​ @cracksinthewalls​ @littlegreenplasticsoldier​ @stunudo​ and the rest of the Slack squad for helping me sort out my feelings about “dark” fic, and for being a safe space to talk through stuff like this. This was really fucking difficult for me to write, but I’m glad I did. 

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

- From “Wild Geese,” by Mary Oliver

It’s just like any other Friday night, until it’s not. 

One moment I’m turning on the light in the entryway, hanging up my coat — next there’s a prickle down my spine, some primal reptile-brain instinct — 

Run! Now! 

— but there’s no time to recognize it for what it is. My body isn’t in the habit of being threatened; my body is tired and lazy, moving on autopilot through the comforting routine of Friday night. In the heartbeat between instinct and action, he pounces. 

The hand over my mouth is metal: unyielding, unliving, chilling me down to my core, and if it wasn’t for the heat of the rest of his body all down my back, I wouldn’t assume he was human. His right arm is around my ribs, locking me in place, and it feels feverish in contrast but it’s trapping me as securely as if it was iron. 

I can’t reconcile the cool metal against the human warmth, or the awful metallic tang mingled with the barely-there whiff of sweat. My mind is moving all jerky and slow. I can’t make sense of this. 

Doesn’t matter, though, because I’m trapped anyway, like a wild animal in a snare. Trying to make sense of it won’t change the fact that vicious iron jaws snapped shut around me. 

It was just like any other Friday night.

Panic clutches around my lungs all at once, adrenaline flooding in, and everything in me screams, fight back. 

I thrash and squirm in his grasp, but he has my arms pinned down at my sides, and I’m small and helpless against the solid wall of muscle that is his chest. My raw strangled gasps come out as tiny hitched sobs, muffled by metal, barely audible in the still half-dark entryway of my apartment. He leans back, hefting me up so that my feet don’t quite touch the floor any more, like I weigh nothing, and takes a few steps away from the door. 

“Don’t make a sound,” he snaps, before spinning me around, slamming me back against the wall and pinning me there with his metal hand at my throat. 

Panic makes everything sharper. It’s too sharp, sharp like the shadows cast by the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, sharp like the way he’s watching me with pale hard eyes. 

“Why — why are you here?” 

He tilts his head, considering me. 

“I was sent,” he says simply, in a low rasp of a voice. 

“What do you want?” 

Something cracks open in his eyes, like a tectonic shift bringing magma to the surface, and then the strangest expression spreads slowly over his features, fierce hunger and wild terror all at once. Fear splinters like lightning down my spine. 

“Take off your clothes,” he says quietly. “Let me see you.” 

I lash out with both hands, ready to claw at his eyes, but with his arm outstretched, he’s just out of my reach; when I scratch and slap at the metal wrist, he doesn’t even seem to notice, and when I strain against his grip, I only succeed in choking myself. Black spots dance across my vision, and I draw ragged wheezing breaths, clutching uselessly at the sleeve of his black leather jacket, still twitching and twisting feebly. 

At least he can’t undress me with one hand, I think, for one absurd second. 

Then his free hand twitches down to his side, and he’s raising a knife. Dark oxidized metal gleams in his fingers. I freeze, staring at the wickedly honed edge of it as he brings it closer, holding it up at eye level before lowering it slowly. 

The tip hooks under the first button of my blouse, and when he flicks the blade upward, the fabric separates like it’s nothing. I barely dare to breathe as he cuts my shirt open, one button at a time, with surgical precision. The knife is so close to my skin that one wrong move could slice into me. 

When the ruined remains of my blouse gape open, he lowers the blade, ready to cut through the waistband of my skirt, and my frayed nerves snap. 

“Don’t,” I blurt out. “I’ll do it. I’ll cooperate.” 

I unzip it, trying to step out of it without moving my head, still trapped by the constant silent threat of his fingers around my throat. 

He sheathes the knife so that he can push my shirt roughly down my arms. My bra straps follow; he tugs them down my shoulders and reaches around to pop the clasp open, and when it falls, he pauses, licking his lips as he gazes up and down my body, taking in the revealed skin. 

There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes when they meet mine for a long, frozen moment. He draws a breath like he’s about to say something, and his grip loosens a fraction. 

I’m not done fighting. 

I spit in his face, and when he flinches, I wrench myself away, twisting out of his grasp, bolting down the hall toward the bedroom door. 

Just as I wonder whether he’s reconsidered, whether he’ll let me go, he snarls, “You’ll regret that.”

I go down hard and fast when he tackles me, barely getting my arms out in time to break my fall, and the impact sends a flash of pain through one elbow but there’s no time to think about that — no time to feel it — not when I’m thrashing and kicking and squirming — but he’s too strong, too heavy — I almost writhe away but then he rolls me onto my back — pins me, sitting on my thighs — and my fists are swinging, flailing uselessly against his face and shoulders, but he doesn’t even seem to notice — and I let out a desperate sob as I realize I’m helpless again. 

I want to scream, but there isn’t enough breath in my lungs. 

He shuffles up on his knees until he’s straddling my waist, looming over me, blocking out everything else, and he snatches my wrists as I beat my fists against his stomach and chest. His lip curls, baring his teeth in a feral approximation of a smile, and he gathers my wrists together so he can hold them in the bruising circle of his metal fingers. 

Flesh fingertips dig cruelly into the hinge of my jaw, forcing it open, and he leans forward to spit into my open mouth — something twists and clenches deep in my gut as I sputter and choke, skin crawling with disgust. 

“Not so nice, is it?” he sneers, sitting back on his heels. 

Worn black denim stretches over muscular thighs as he shifts, drawing attention to the fact that he’s hard — the thick shape of his cock is obvious, straining against the fabric.  

My eyes snap back to his face, but it’s too late. He chuckles, throaty and smug, and then he rubs himself through his jeans, squeezing roughly, making it impossible to ignore his arousal. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks — taunts — and I shake my head frantically, throat too tight to speak. He smirks and drops his hand to my chest, tweaking one nipple hard enough to make me yelp. He shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall, and light catches the dark metal plates of his arm. 

Hot stinging tears well up and roll down my temples, blurring my vision, but not before I see his fingers on the button of his jeans, popping it open. 

“No,” I choke out. “No. Please, please, please —” 

He has to move to shove his jeans down, has to let me go for a moment — a fresh wave of adrenaline surges up with sickening speed, and I scramble back, twist, flop onto my stomach — it’s graceless and uncoordinated but I’m not giving in, not yet. I’m army-crawling out from under the cage of his body and I’m almost free — almost — but before I can get up on my hands and knees he’s yanking my panties down. 

Panic rises to a crescendo. 

I shriek — thin and pathetic even to my own ears — too frantic to even see straight, and then my breath is punched from my lungs as his hand slams down between my shoulderblades and crushes me to the cold hard floor. I curl an arm around my head protectively, burying my face in the crook of my elbow, and I whimper into the dark space it makes, trying to hide from what’s about to happen. 

My body is vibrating with tension like a rubber band about to snap, every muscle clenched so tight it hurts, and when I feel the blistering-hot pressure of his cock between my thighs I almost snap. 

“Struggle all you want,” he growls. “Won’t make a difference.” 

And it doesn’t make a difference. He shoves, and after a split-second of resistance he’s slamming into me with skull-rattling force. He grunts as he grinds in, working himself into me as deep as he can be. 

The weight lifts from my upper back, and I suck in a desperate breath, only to sob it out again as he braces himself on his left hand and tangles the right in my hair. It stings, but somewhere along the line I’ve lost the ability to feel pain as pain; it’s only another sensation, and it’s eclipsed completely by the flint-to-tinder flare as he starts to move. 

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, but I can’t hold back a moan. 

It’s too much, too fucking much, he’s too big, wrenching me apart, taking up every bit of space inside me and forcing me to accept the intrusion. There’s no rational thought left beyond I can’t take this. 

There’s nothing rational about it, though. 

Something catches and sparks — ignites — and wildfire licks up my spine before bursting out through every inch of me. It’s going to burn me alive, and there’s nothing I can do about it. 

There’s nothing wrong with it, I try to tell myself, but shame slithers through my belly anyway. 

I’ve never been this wet in my entire fucking life. 

I’m breathing fast and panicked, I’m naked and squirming on the gritty floor, and it’s humiliating, and it hurts… but friction is friction, and my traitor of a body is slick and eager even though my rational brain is screaming for it to stop. 

“Stop,” I choke out. “Stop, don’t —” 

“Don’t what? Don’t make you come? Don’t make you admit how much you like this? Not fightin’ back any more, are you?” 

I sob and shudder, squeezing helplessly around him. “Please.” 

“Shit, can feel you gettin’ close — gotta see this,” he says, panting harshly, and then he’s pulling out, grabbing at my shoulder to flip me onto my back. 

He hooks an arm up under my knee to open me up and drives in deep again, and I spasm around him, spine arching so forcefully my head slams back against the floor. He’s wild-eyed and wrecked, but he stops for the space of a jagged-edged inhale, pausing, slack-jawed with shock when I look dazedly up at him. 

“Green,” I breathe, and slap him across the jaw with a crack. 

He moans and surges forward all at once, hips snapping down, and the pleasure-pain coils tighter inside me, ratcheting up to new impossible heights.  

I’m not going to stop fighting — not now, not ever, no matter how good it feels. I hit and scratch and claw, and when my nails catch on his cheek he gasps, rhythm faltering for the first time. 

He’s scorching-hot, steely-hard, every thrust a solid filthy smack against my skin, a vicious stretch pushing me to my limit — and it hurts, it hurts, but the adrenaline makes the pain feel faint and distant, and the pleasure is raw and immediate and building (faster by the second) into something inescapable. 

I can feel it starting to overwhelm me. My muscles are seizing up, but I’m fighting back on pure animal instinct, still. I grab him by the throat with one hand, pull his hair with the other, and his face is the last thing I see before my world dissolves: cheek bleeding from a rough scratch, features contorted, mouth open in a wide red O that’s somehow, unmistakably, a smile. 

Bucky is breathing just as hard as I am, when I swim to the surface again.

 We’re both drawing deep wet gulps of air, gasping on each exhale. I twine my arms around his neck limply, resting one palm between his shoulders so I can measure the rise and fall of his lungs. 

I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, but I feel everything: every little tremor and twitch that goes through him, the slick warm tickle of aftershocks as he starts to go soft inside me. His face is buried against the side of my neck, and his right hand cups my cheek, so very gentle, thumb stroking my temple and wiping away tears. He kisses me softly where my pulse hammers under the skin. 

My heart is racing, beating against my ribs like a wild bird caught in a cage, but my head seems very far away from the mess of my body.

I whimper when he pulls back, but he doesn’t go far, not yet — I can hear the barely-there rasp of fabric as he shifts. 

“Can’t believe you’re still wearing pants,” I mumble, slurring like I’m drunk. 

“Wearing is a generous word,” he says flatly. 

It’s a weak impersonation of his usual deadpan snark, but I let out a cracked giggle, and for a hysterical second I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop giggling. 

Bucky whispers, “Gonna get you up now, okay?”

He slides his hand under my head, cradling the back of my skull, and kisses my sweaty forehead before gathering me in his arms. He sits up carefully, pulling me against his chest and letting me burrow into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. 

Then there’s a disorienting swoop of motion that means he’s standing up. I feel fragile and strange as he walks, like something inside me will break if it’s jostled, but I trust him to keep me safe. He nudges the barely-open bedroom door with his hip, easing us through it, and behind my closed lids the quality of the darkness changes as he steps toward the soft golden glow of my bedside lamp.

“Not going anywhere, just going to put you down for one second,” he warns me. 

The comforter is already pulled back when he settles me on the bed, and he pulls it up around me, wrapping me up. 

“Water,” he says quietly, holding the glass to my lips, and I sip carefully. “Juice? Something sweet?” 

I shake my head. “Not yet.” 

He steps back. I hear the soft thump of his shirt and jeans dropping to the floor, the click of his dog tags as he puts them back on, and then he’s sliding into bed next to me. I shift closer and trace the chain around his neck, touching the familiar imprint of letters in the metal. 

My swollen lids are heavy when I open my eyes, and they sting when I finally look up at him, taking in his puffy parted lips and the red line of dried blood on his cheek where I scratched him. It’s already healing, it’ll be gone within a couple hours, but I brush my finger over it anyway, making an apologetic face. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly. He clears his throat and swallows hard. “I’m the one who — I’m so sorry.” 

I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about. It was…” 

I don’t know how to finish that sentence; I shrug, helpless, dizzy with the enormity of getting exactly what I wanted — of getting what I never thought I’d be able to ask for, let alone have. 

His lashes are wet, his eyes shining in the low light, and that’s when it really starts to sink in. I shiver, and then I can’t stop shivering, and I curl forward, burying my face in his chest. 

It’s hard to believe that the world is still turning and even harder to believe that he’s still here. 

“God, sweetheart, you were incredible,” he whispers, voice breaking, wrapping me up in his arms and kissing the top of my head. 

Shuddery, convulsive sobs wrack my body, one after another, and I don’t try to hold them back even though they’re so powerful I’m afraid they’ll crack my ribs on the way out. The tears are nothing to be ashamed of. It’s more like they’re physical evidence of shame leaving my body, purging it with each ugly sound wrenched from my throat. 

I never would’ve said it out loud if we hadn’t stumbled into his violent fantasies. There’s nothing wrong with you, I told him, and I sounded so sure, but I still had a hard time believing it about myself. My rational mind knew that it was natural… but it was like knowing that the person who grabbed me tonight was the same man holding me now — it was like knowing he would never hurt me, but feeling my body panic anyway. 

Bucky holds me, crooning nonsense fragments against my hair, until it subsides.  

I sit up enough to look at him, and I’m conscious of how blotchy and swollen my face must be, but I let him brush away my tears. I feel soft and raw inside where I’d been holding all that guilt. Everything is starting to ache. 

“God, we’re a mess,” I say thickly. He lets out a huff of laughter. 

“I love you,” he blurts out. His eyes go a little wide, like that wasn’t what he intended to say. 

“I love you too,” I say, wobbly but warm, and I duck my head again, resting with my ear over his chest to hear his heartbeat. 

His sigh is long and shaky. 

“Yeah, we’re a mess,” he whispers. “Feels good though. Feels human.” 

fin. 

N.B: If you’ve spent any amount of time around my masterlist, you probably will have noticed that one of my favorite subjects is the shame people (especially women) frequently feel about sex in general and their fantasies in particular. I also really love writing enthusiastic consent, and so in a way this is very different from anything I’ve written before. 

I have trouble with the way a lot of fanfiction seems to glorify coercive or under-negotiated dom/sub scenes, and most so-called “dark” fic is triggery for me in its oversimplification of things like rape fantasies; they’re normal and common and natural, but frequently the way they’re written has the same flat, male-gaze approach as a lot of exploitative porn, which I hate. Rape has never been a fantasy for me personally (although it has been an actual life experience) but my #1 fantasy is finding the sort of trust and partnership and support that would make this sort of roleplay emotionally safe. I also just felt compelled to tackle the challenge of writing about something that is often considered so shameful, and writing about it in a way that neither romanticizes or demonizes it. 

So. Yeah. In case you need a reminder: don’t punish your body for what it wants. 

(If you liked this, please reblog or leave a message?) 

[aslitheryprinx]

Hello! Here is my mcyt g/t exchange piece for @blurrybunnie!

The prompt I decided to use was:

"cold nights are the best time for cuddles, but can it really be called cuddles when the giant is unaware of the tiny stealing their warmth?"

This was a really fun one to write, so I hope you enjoy! :D

Lonely Nights

-----------

Tommy clutched his ragged blanket around his shoulders, shivering violently. Winters had always been rough on the teen ever since he was shrunk by a vengeful witch as a child.

He'd been too terrified to be around people since the incident, knowing how easy it would be for one stray step or one cruel person to kill him. That meant living in the woods with what little supplies he could scavenge.

The blanket was made from the torn fabric of someone's discarded clothes he'd taken years ago. It had gotten him through many winters, but barely, and the years had made it thin and worn. This was possibly the worse winter he'd ever seen, as well, and as the night got colder, he was scared he wouldn't see the dawn.

Just as the cold was starting to make his body numb and heavy, the faint scent of smoke drifted past him. It didn't register for a couple of seconds. Then he was suddenly alert, adrenaline flooding his system.

Smoke meant fire. Fire meant his chance to survive the rest of the night.

Fire also meant people. Tommy felt anxiety curling in his stomach when he realized he'd need to get up close to someone, maybe the closest he'd been since he was shrunk. But it was worth the risk for the promise of warmth.

He sprinted through the woods, pushing past the blades of grass that stood in his way. He tripped over a twig, stumbling for a second before he recovered.

The running warmed him up slightly, but he was still shivering uncontrollably, teeth knocking against each other so hard he bit his tongue a couple of times.

When he saw a warm glow, he slowed. He stopped just before the clearing of dirt where the fire had been built, not wanting to leave the cover of the grass just yet.

His heart thudded far too loudly in his ears as he scanned, looking for the person or people who had made the fire. He wilted in relief when he realized there was only one man, curled up fast asleep on the other side of the fire.

He was still nervous at the possibility of the man waking up and seeing him, but the draw of the heat he could already feel from the fire was too strong. He walked forwards like a moth drawn to a flame.

The fire was old, more softly glowing embers than actual flames. He was able to go right up next to the fire. The warmth sank into his bones, and he sighed in relief. He sat down and curled up. Soon his eyes were drooping. He was close to drifting off, when a new shiver wracked his body.

He sat up quickly, alarm spiking. Another wave of chills hit him and he turned towards the fire. It had completely burnt out, and there was only a sliver of warmth coming from the smoldering wood now.

A gust of wind blew through the clearing, stealing all the warmth he'd gained from his short time by the fire. His eyes burned, though there was no smoke to sting his eyes.

He was going to freeze out here. He had no way to reignite the fire, and the man wouldn't be lighting it again anytime soon, he was fast asleep.

...The man was asleep.

A dangerous idea was forming in Tommy's mind. The fire was gone. If Tommy wanted to keep from freezing, there was only one source of warmth left: the sleeping person on the other side of the campsite.

The idea of it made Tommy's stomach churn with anxiety. But there really wasn't another option. It was either cuddle up to the giant person or freeze to death. A lump in his throat, he started walking around the burnt out fire, towards the sleeping figure.

He dragged his feet as he walked, stalling a little. While he walked, he took in the man's appearance. He hadn't paid much attention earlier, just glancing to make sure he was asleep. Now, he took in the man's features, wrapping his arms around himself as he realized just how massive he was in comparison.

The man was curled up in a sleeping roll. He might as well have been a mountain to Tommy. His hair was brown, but he couldn't tell what shade it was in the darkness. Tommy teen couldn't see what he was wearing, aside from the yellow sleeve of the man's sweater where his arm poked out. He slept with one arm curled in front of his face.

The last thing the shrunken teen wanted to do was get next to the man's face, and risk being seen. But the only exposed skin of the man was up by his face. There was no warmth coming from the safer options like the sleeping man's legs, he found out as he reached the area he guessed to be his knee.

Tommy just had to suck it up… and keep walking. Past the legs. Past the man's chest that rose up at least twice Tommy's height. He reached the elbow and his resolve wavered. The man was just so big. Just his elbow came all the way up to Tommy's waist.

But Tommy could feel the heat radiating from him already. Despite his fear, his shivering was too much, and he leaned against the arm. The warmth was intoxicating, and Tommy was climbing over the elbow, moving towards an even warmer spot before he knew what he was doing.

His heart was pounding with fear at the sight of the man's face. Every feature seemed impossibly large, and it just drove home how tiny and helpless Tommy had been for years now. But he pressed on, desperate to stop the shivering.

He crept closer and closer, feeling the warmth draw him in. As he walked, he could hear the whoosh of his lungs as he breathed. The noise was startling at first, far louder than it should be, but after a few moments, the steady sound became kind of relaxing.

Tommy found himself automatically matching the breathing of the sleeping man. His heart slowed down to a reasonable pace, and being this close to the massive person wasn't quite as intimidating. He could do this.

He passed the man's chest, feeling very envious of the warm looking sweater, and went straight towards the exposed skin of his neck.

Tommy set a hesitant hand against the neck, and instantly a wave of warmth was washing over him. He was pressed up against the man's neck, curling as close as he could before he could even think. His shivers slowly died down as the heat seeped into his core.

The relief from the cold made his mind slow to a crawl. He sat down, leaning heavily against the warm skin. He shouldn't fall asleep here, it was dangerous. But the warmth was making him sleepy, and his eyes started to droop.

Suddenly, there was motion in front of him and his eyes flew all the way open. He saw a hand twice his size coming towards him. There was barely a second to react. He looked around wildly, but there was no place to run to.

The hand brushed against him and he froze. It closed around him, and Tommy struggled, trying to escape. The grip was too tight, and he was terrified he'd been discovered. But the man was still breathing deeply, eyes shut. He'd moved in his sleep.

Tommy clawed at the hand, but he couldn't budge it. Eventually, he exhausted himself and laid back limply. The hand was radiating blissful heat, and he wanted so badly to just relax into it and sleep.

In addition to the warmth, each place where the massive person's hand brushed against his skin felt like the nerves were set alight. He hadn't been around another person in so long… since he was shrunk… when was the last time anyone touched him?

Against his better judgement, he curled into the contact. He was just so tired. Surely it would be ok if he just took a short nap? He could wake up early, and escape before the man woke up.

It only took another minute of the steady heartbeat, the delicious warmth, and the even breathing to lull him completely to sleep. He went limp in the firm but gentle hold, curling closer while he slept.

In the morning, a much more stressed Tommy would have to deal with a very curious, very large person who wasn't inclined to let him just run off.

But for right now? Tommy slept without a care, feeling more peaceful than he had in many years.

[little-diable]

Anxiety leaves her quivering - Jasper Hale (smut)

Request by @sweatyhandsduckhoagie I was thinking, her and Jasper are making out and the major makes an appearance ( 1st time in front of her) and scares her, so she wants to stop and leaves the house! She avoids Jasper for a few days and then goes back to the house and her and Jasper talk....ends with them trying again and they end up having sex. Just cute and fluffy at the end! 

Hope this is what you had in mind, I think this is one of my favorite Jasper smuts. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: the major scares the reader, but Jasper is hell bent on apologizing and maybe a sweet apology turns into something more. 

Warnings: smut, 18+, angst in the beginning 

The kiss turned sloppier with every passing moment, (y/n) was placed in his lap, thighs pressed against his, arms slung around his neck. Both had been tangled like this for a few minutes by now, savoring their privacy as the rest of the Cullens were out of the house. He felt the warm and content feeling spreading through her, soft moans spilled from her swollen lips, awakening something deep inside of him.

Jasper could feel himself fading, switching places with the major, though he tried to fight against it, he knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance against him. He moved his lips to her jaw, slowly he began to suck a few marks into her skin, eyes turning into a darker shade, nothing she had noticed until now. 

“So gorgeous, you’re mine darlin’, all mine”, his accent sounded thicker than ever, ripping her out of her bubble as his fangs grazed her skin. “Jas’”, the uneasy feeling that swapped over her, urged him on, like a predator that was hunting after his scared prey.

“Now that's not what you should call me, is it?”, (y/n) pressed her palms against his chest, trying to rip herself out of his tight grip, wondering what he was playing at. “What? Jasper?”, a nervous chuckle spilled from her lips, “you should call me major from now on”. (Y/n) struggled in his hold, shifting in his lap, panicked eyes watching his every move, heads whipping towards the door as Alice and Edward stumbled into the house, praying that Alice’s vision had only deceived her.

That one moment was enough for (y/n) to shuffle out of his arms, to grasp her bag and run out of the mansion, not noticing how Jasper switched personalities once again, honey colored, golden eyes finally returning.

(Y/n) would avoid Jasper for days, hiding away from him in the hallways, not sparing him one glance as he’d beg her to talk to him. Her heart felt heavy, it was calling out to him, she terribly missed him, but the anxiety stuck with her, remainders of the scary moment still ran through her veins. “Darlin’?”, Jasper was standing next to her, hands interlaced in front of him, fighting against the urge to touch her, he didn’t want to fuck up once again.

Her eyes momentarily grew wider, visibly gulping as she took a step backwards, “please, let me explain, please darlin’”, his voice broke with every word he spoke, venom pooled in his eyes. Her insides were burning, bile rose in the back of her throat, her body was aching for him, a small “okay”, spilled from her lips ere she could stop herself, instantly a smile tugged on his lips, there was still at least a bit of hope for them.

Jasper took her home that day, driving in the same car, hands finding their way to her knee, slowly tracing the fabric of her jeans, finally he felt at ease, like he hadn’t fucked up, like he hadn’t lost control. (Y/n) had known for quite a while, that Jasper and the Cullens were special to say the least, a few weeks back he had told her everything about them, their eternal lives, the daily fight against their primal instincts, but not once had he told her about the major, his sick and twisted self.

It took her a few moments to wrap her head around the fact that he basically had two different personas, switching between them as his primal side would gain the upper hand. “I’m so sorry, I never wanted to scare you or hurt you”, the words made her smile, (y/n) cupped his cheeks, crawling into his lap, “it’s okay, thank you for telling me”.

She attached her lips to his, falling back down on the soft mattress, dipping under their weight as he hovered above her, lips not leaving hers once. A fire was spreading through her veins, she wanted him, wanted all of him, no matter how scared (y/n) had been the last time, she knew that he’d take care of her, he wouldn’t hurt her, she was sure of it. “Darlin’”, Jaspers raspy voice shot shivers up her spine, he moved away from her, scared that he’d take it too far, it felt like a déjà-vu, repeating itself like days ago.

“I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me”, (y/n) nibbled on his jawline, hands combing through his golden locks, “I-”, Jasper’s eyes fluttered close, fighting an internal battle, wondering if he should give in, if he’d manage to keep the upper hand, pushing the major into the far back of his mind. “Please”, she pressed on, hands toying with the first buttons of his dark shirt, (y/e/c) eyes teasing him with every passing second.

A growl rumbled through him, cold hands disappearing underneath her shirt, ripping the fabric off her frame, golden eyes admiring the skin he had wanted to touch for weeks by now. “You’re so gorgeous darlin’”, she felt her cheeks burn, “don’t go all shy on me now”, his smirk made her giggle, the sound turned into a moan as soon as Jasper attached his lips to the soft skin of her boobs, hands moving along her sides, finding the bra clasp.

“Are you sure? We can stop any-”, (y/n) silenced him with another kiss, “I want you, all of you”. Her bra found its way down to the floor, jeans and panties soon following as Jasper took off his own clothes, “relax”, he rasped out, kissing his way to her aching core, walls clenching around nothing, begging for something, to finally feel him inside of her. His hands trailed up her body, softly cupping her boobs, squeezing a bit tighter, thumbs flicking over her hard nipples, god, he definitely knew where to touch her.

His cold fingers danced down to her inner thighs, tracing along her wet folds, softly pressing them into her heat, coaxing a high pitched moan out of her swollen lips. 

“Oh god Jas, feels so good”, he smirked against her skin as he kissed her hip bones, thumb circling her clit just enough to push her down the rabbit hole she wouldn’t find her way out for a long time. Jasper began to build a steady rhythm, fingers perfectly stretching her, thumb adding just the right pressure, god, he’d love to stay down there forever, teasing her, till she’d cum over and over again on his cold fingers.

“Stop”, her groan made him freeze, “I need you inside of me”, (y/n) arched her back, hands blindly searching for him, tugging on his wrists, eyes falling to his aching length. “You can always tell me to stop”, he reminded her, slapping her hand away as she tried to touch his member, “later, I don’t want to wait any longer darlin’”.

His cold touch had chills roll through her spine, pulling her under like a wave of ice cold water, knocking all air out of her lungs as she’d slowly drown in the ocean. “Jas”, she felt pathetic, whining like that, but she couldn’t stop herself, her body was aching to get conquered by him, to get lost in those beautiful eyes of his as he’d make sweet love to her. Just as another plea would roll off her tongue he had pushed himself into her heat, length engulfed by her tightness, walls constricting around him, struggling to adjust.

A few ‘oh gods’ and ‘fucks’ would stumble out of the both of them, “move, please”, (y/n) moaned into his ear, hands moving up his spine, trying to find anything to hold onto, trying to pierce her nails into his shoulders. (Y/n)s heart was rapidly beating, Jaspers hips would meet hers, getting faster with every thrust of his, “feels like you were made for me darlin’”, the words made her smile, forehead pressed against his, choking out a few breaths.

(Y/n)s head fell back as a sob crawled up her throat, she curled her toes, high on the wave of lust he brought upon her. “Please, Jas’”, she wasn’t quite sure what she was begging for, but no other words made it past her lips, too focused on the sensations he provided her with, the love she felt for him. He kept on slamming his hips against hers, rough enough to bring her closer to the edge, but not enough to leave bruises behind, careful not to hurt her in any way.

She never wanted to be touched like that by any other man ever again, she was his, his alone, only he’d get to make love to her like that, able to bring her orgasm upon her with a few thrusts, lips nibbling on hers, hands placed on the mattress, steading his broad frame. “I’m so close”, (y/n) choked out, eyes closed as she moved one hand down to her slightly enlarged clit, softly rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves, adding to the building pressure.

“Let go darlin’, it’s alright”, Jasper mused, eyes not leaving her features, smiling to himself as her orgasm rocked through her, walls clenching and unclenching around him, the knot in her belly snapped in apart, release wrecking her, leaving her panting and moaning. 

She felt his warmth spread through her, freezing above her as he gave into his orgasm, “fuck I love you”, Jasper growled, kissing her one last time before he pulled out of her, instantly wrapping his arms around her quivering frame. “I love you too”, she smiled at him, thanking her lucky stars for bringing Jasper into her life, she was truly made for him.