#is that called coping or shooting my own leg

[yeahiguess3232]

My dad fact of the week is is that I seem to like to draw sleepy cuddle piles. Enjoy.

[obsessedtomone]

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 15 - Doll▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤ “And all I had to do was take you the way I originally wanted to, huh? Here I thought I’d wait for you to come around,” he exhales and begins sliding your pants down your waist.

“Fuck—Slow down!” you mewl weakly, digging your nails into the rim of your desk and feeling your legs almost buckling under him.

“Like hell I will. I’ve seen your hand now, slut.” ◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Very Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ???, Toxic Romance Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Past Child Abuse, Bullying, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight • Nine • Ten(ko) • Eleven • Twelve • Thirteen • Fourteen • Fifteen • Sixteen (and up, on ao3)

Chapter 15 - Doll

“Hoooooly fuck! Look at this! Hahaha!” His voice bounces against the walls of the room.

You panic, mentally going through all the options you have in the span of a second. 

Unplug the cable to your computer or go for the power button and shut it down.

One of the options being under the desk in the back—and you’re not about to get in dick-sucking position for gamers 101 with him—and the latter being hooking your hand over his leg and holding the button pressed before he catches you.

Both options are out of the fucking question, so you pick option number three, going in to alt+f4 the fuck out of your browser.

As it turns out, your little mental dilemma was completely unnecessary when you realize Shigaraki, as always, is too fucking fast for you, grabbing you by your waist harshly and sitting you down on his lap, promptly restraining your wrists.

“There’s no point closing it. I’ve already skimmed through half of them while you were ignoring me, loser.” He grins, pulling you closer to him and away from the keyboard, while he could still reach and click around. “Don’t squirm too much unless you’re trying to get me hard.”

You think you could die right fucking now and you’d be fine with it.

But then again, weren’t you always?

“Let’s see,” he starts, and you try really hard to get off of him again, unable to bear the fucking shame of what’s to come. “Told you to stop moving, moron. Now pay attention here,” he orders, keeping you close to him. “Oooh, praise kink! You want me to call you my good girl?” Shigaraki coos really close to your ear with a sickly sweet voice and it sets your face on fucking fire, rendering you absolutely speechless.

“Oh my god, you do!” he exclaims, giggling. “What else? Dirty talk, degradation—fucking creampie?! Mmmh, you filthy slut. Should I fill your tight little pussy up with my cum?” He moans obscenely next to you and suddenly you feel way too hot, too fucking embarrased, so you shoot your hand to cover his mouth and wish you could grab the keyboard and beat him to death with it, picturing little bloody keycaps flying all around the room. 

Shigaraki wakes you up from your brief coping daydream by licking your palm sloppily in retaliation, immediately grossing you out and making you pull your hand away. You wipe the saliva against his shirt, while your body is still going through the after-shocks of repulsion.

When you look at him again, he gives you another one of his half-lidded smirks.

His leg shifts, holding your waist even tighter against his lap and you feel something hard pressing against your ass.

“S-Stop that! Let me go!” you plead, but his arms won’t loosen up. 

“Look.” He drags the mouse and highlights a word on your screen. You glance at it and then promptly look the other way, the ugly white paint on the walls of your apartment suddenly being infinitely more interesting. “What does that say? Hm?” He rocks you against him. “Speak, slut.”

“No! Fuck off and let go!” You claw at his hand, scratching and pinching at him to let you go but he doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, he grinds his erection against you again, groaning and nuzzling into your neck—any previous inhibitions about letting you off the hook for now were gone right out of the window. 

“My precious little slut is always fucking lying to me,” he says in a sing-song tone, biting the back of your sensitive neck harshly and causing you to whimper. “You fucking freak.” Shigaraki breathes, “Mindbreak? Breeding? You want me to breed you, make you scream on my cock until you can’t even think anymore? Is that it?” 

He slides his hand up your back, pushing against your shoulder forward and down, hard enough for you to have to bend and grip your desk in order to catch yourself from falling altogether.

“Hahaha.” He scrolls the website, reading through more of your favorited fucking tags, “Dubcon, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, emotional manipulation—Jesus. Even rape? Holy shit.” He snickers, standing both of you up but keeping you nice and bent for him. 

You shudder, making a strangled noise when he thrusts himself against your sex roughly.

“You’re so fucked in the head,” he cackles. “Is that why you provoke me all the fucking time? You want me to get mad? To break you? Make you—ahh, fuck—my own personal cocksleeve?” 

Shigaraki breathes heavily, bending himself over your back and using one arm around your waist to lift your hips, high enough for him to be perfectly slotted against your backside. 

You moan at the repeated cruel drag of his length against you, the raspy sound of his voice shamefully sending electricity all the way to your clit.

“And all I had to do was take you the way I originally wanted to, huh? Here I thought I’d wait for you to come around,” he exhales and begins sliding your pants down your waist.

“Fuck—Slow down!” you mewl weakly, digging your nails into the rim of your desk and feeling your legs almost buckling under him.

“Like hell I will. I’ve seen your hand now, slut.”

“That doesn’t fucking count! You—You can’t compare fantasy with fucking reality, Shigaraki!” 

Shigaraki doesn’t respond to that and you feel him snake his digits below the band of your underwear, sliding two rough fingers against your slit, pads brushing firming against your clit. They glide past it, until he reaches your opening and teases it.

He feels the resistance but still pushes both of his fingers inside you at once, the sudden stretch feeling really uncomfortable at first. Your back arches in response, hips involuntarily jerking against his hand and he begins lazily fucking his long fingers into your cunt.

“You’re such a fucking liar. Look at how wet you are for me, fuck.” He takes his hand out of your panties, splaying his slick-covered fingers in front of your face and presenting them to you proudly. 

Your head turns around, face flustered and you glare at him as he licks them off, starting all the way from the tips, then slowly pushing them inside his mouth knuckle by knuckle, making a great show of sucking on them. 

Shigaraki’s eyes flutter closed and he groans like he’s never tasted anything better before in his life. 

And maybe he hasn’t, because to him there’s nothing sweeter-tasting than victory itself.

“What, you wanted some?” He leans in and whispers huskily, completely drunk on his lust—on you, “Shame, because I don't feel like fucking sharing.”

Then all of the sudden, his warmth leaves your back and you gasp, immediately feeling yourself missing the contact. You curse at yourself for folding so easily.

He doesn't leave you for long though, can’t afford to when there’s so much he wants to do to you now. 

“Take them off, sit on the chair and spread your legs wide for me,” he commands in a low serious tone, making you feel just how fast your heart was pounding. “I’m going to fucking devour you tonight.”

It briefly crosses your hazy mind to refuse him, to run out of the house and never turn back. But that’s not what you really want, is it? 

You’ve felt it all this time. The way he’s so eager to have you, the electricity between the two of you, right between the hatred and the violence. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

You, broken enough to let him have his way with you.

Him, fucked up enough to claim you.

It was a line you didn’t want to cross, not with him, not really. 

But the way your hands have a mind of their own as you reach for the waistband of your pants, sliding them down your thighs while you’re watching him palm the outline of his erection through his jeans, tells you your answer.

“Hurry the fuck up, before I lose all of my patience and fuck you into the floorboard instead,” he growls, a dark glint in his eyes while he watches you bend over, slowly taking your clothes off like a tease.

And you listen. 

You take your pants off, leaving no room for interpretation on whether or not you want this, stumbling back and sitting down on your chair. His lustful gaze locks in on your hips as you shyly lift your legs up and get into position.

His head is reeling while he takes a tentative step forward, watching your reaction before kneeling in front of the chair, grabbing your ankles and rolling you closer to him. 

You watch as he slides his pale, trembling hands across the expanse of your legs all the way to your waist and you gasp when he leans in closer to your heat, eyes fixated on the obvious wet spot in the middle of your plain panties.

“Fuck,” he whispers, intoxicated when he sees your legs trembling in anticipation. His confident streak is slightly dampening now that you’re letting him actually have you, submitting to him so naturally. “Such a fucking slut for me, aren’t you?” Shigaraki’s piercing eyes turn to look at yours through dark lashes until his gaze falls on your bitten lip.

“Please, as if you c-could ever get me off,” you challenge and he grins dangerously, feeling warmth spreading inside his chest. 

He presses his cheek to the cold skin of your thigh and nuzzles it, soft white hair tickling you as he peppers you with soft hungry kisses. 

You look down at him, unable to breathe more than shallow breath and feeling your mind become clouded. Enough for you to impulsively slide your hand in his hair and rake your fingers through it, pulling a groan from what seemed to be the depths of his soul, as his eyes screw shut and brows angle downwards. It’s an incredible sight for sore eyes—

Until he fucking bites you.

He bites down on your skin so hard you have to let out a pained cry, fingers twisting in his white locks, immediately pushing him away. Shigaraki keeps pressing in until you can’t help but spill hot painful tears, blurring the way his possessive eyes were locked in on yours as he claims you like some fucking animal.

“I-It fucking hurts, please,” you beg, and because it sounds like heaven to his ears, he listens, flattening his tongue and licking the bloody mark he’s left on you, then kissing it as if he could nurse it. 

“W-What the fuck was that for, asshole?” You release the grip on his hair, hooking your other leg atop his shoulder and sniffling. He wraps his arm around it, bringing his face closer to where you want it to be.

“A reminder,” Shigaraki states with underlying excitement in his voice. Strong, rough arms pull you closer and your ass partially slides off the seat in the process. He pushes your legs upwards, nodding once towards your hands. “Hold them up properly.”

“A reminder,” you repeat, hooking your arms under your thighs and holding yourself up like he’d asked you to, looking away and feeling shame coursing through your body while you shrink under his impossibly sinful gaze.

“Tch. Don’t you dare look away from me,” he orders you, low and careful and once again, you listen, swallowing empty and looking back at him.

A deep growl escapes his throat as he sits back on his knees, admiring your obedience. Your quivering body, teary eyes and a stubborn needy pout, all on display for him to enjoy. 

Shigaraki leans in and reaches to swipe away at your almost-dried tears with a thumb, bringing his finger to his mouth and licking the salt off, the desire in his eyes making you pant heavily in anticipation.

“A reminder that you’re mine.” He lowers himself and places a soft kiss above the waistband of your panties before continuing, “And that I’m in charge now.” He runs his thumb against the already painful wound he’d created and presses his nail into the coppery dent his teeth left behind.

“Control freak,” you hiss in pain and your hold falters.

“Keep holding them up,” Shigaraki warns and you whimper as he goes to kiss and suck purple marks all over the expanse of your thighs, blatantly ignoring the ache between your legs and your weak moans.

Fucking finally gracing you with some mercy, he hooks his fingers around your panties and slides them off, until they’re only hanging on one ankle. 

Shigaraki shudders and swallows hard, now standing and watching you from above like a predator.

You move your hand to cover yourself, but he grabs your wrist and pries it away forcefully. “No you fucking don’t.” 

He thumbs at your wet slit roughly and you shiver. 

After pondering something for a second, he sinks back on his knees and dives right into your heat, licking a long stripe from your clenching hole to your clit. 

You moan brokenly but he doesn’t relent, blunt nails scratching down your sides as he eats your cunt sloppily, listening carefully to every noise you make. Your fingers dig into the plastic handle of your seat, free hand finding purchase in his messy white hair once more. 

He’s as greedy for your sounds as he seems to enjoy giving, hands sliding to part your lower lips and honing in on the bundle of nerves that seems to make you lose your mind every time he flicks his tongue in a particular way.

The barren room echoes with filthy sounds of your cries, his groans and your increasingly wet cunt, muscles in your legs twitching involuntarily and you struggle between keeping a steady position on your chair and giving in to the pleasure. 

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, because he dips two of his fingers in and starts finger-fucking you in earnest, one strong arm moving to keep your lower body pinned for him, and judging by the warmth pooling in your lower abdomen, you know you won’t last much longer.

His normally rough lips, now softened by your arousal, close around your sensitive clit and it’s him sucking on it roughly, combined with him repeatedly curling both his fingers against your most sensitive spot that does you in. 

You clench around his fingers hard, locking your thighs around his head and he whimpers against you, fucking you through your orgasm and licking the mess of your climax hungrily.

“Good fucking girl,” he praises when he lifts his mouth with a devilish grin, still rubbing soft circles on you, pumping his fingers lazily and watching you whimper in overstimulation. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot. Tongue out,” Shigaraki commands and you look at him with a half-lidded look. He slips his soaked fingers out of you and smacks your pussy playfully, earning him a moan. “Don’t make me repeat myself, c’mon.”

You whine and open your mouth, tongue peeking out just slightly, when he stands and drapes himself over you, making your heart beat faster. 

He places his slick-covered fingers on top of your tongue, pressing down on it for you to open wider, giving you the idea that he wants you to suck on them, but before you can close your lips around them, he spits into your mouth.

“Swallow.” Shigaraki orders and your nose scrunches, but you close your mouth and swallow. “Now show me.”

When you do, his face breaks into a creepy leer as he slides his fingers in and forces you to taste yourself.

“Good, right?” he giggles, voice filled with unrestrained giddiness and you roll your tongue over his fingers, giving him more than he asked for. His jaw falls slack and he stares at the fingers in your mouth, taking them out and leaning in to replace them with his moistened cracked lips instead.

The kiss is hungry, wet and sloppy. Shigaraki isn’t kissing you, he’s devouring you, and every time you pull away for air, his mouth would follow yours, hands gripping the handles of your chair and pushing you until the backrest is firmly pressed against the wall where he has you caged in.

You groan into his mouth in complaint and he finally breaks the kiss, your lungs filling with delicious oxygen once again. 

When you glance down, you see a string of saliva connecting you two, lips shiny, mixed with both your wetness and his own spit. 

He looks dazed, eyes clouded as he breathes in deeply. Breathes you in deeply and he finds that it’s not enough. He wants to have you, all of you, all at once.

“I’d love to shove my cock down your throat and fuck your face right about now,” he whispers low, corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk, hand reaching down to rub more circles around your clit and you shudder. “But that’s for next time.”

Next time?

“Look at you. You’re a fucking mess,” he muses, kissing your cheek softly—too softly—and you frown, getting ready to bitch at him.

He sees it and pinches your bundle of nerves harshly making you whine again, “Ah–ah. Don’t give me an attitude now. Come on, get up.” He slides his hand to your hips and squeezes, using his other one to grab your wrist and hoist you out of the chair. “I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

Your eyes fall on the tent in his pants and you can almost feel him stretching you out, with how painfully hard he looks, length lined down his right leg. 

Before he could push you along, you reach and run your curious fingers across his bulge, feeling your chest flutter with strange butterflies. 

It takes him by surprise and his whole body shakes, knees trembling. He slaps your hand away as he scrambles to hold himself up against the desk, eyes blown wide and breaths coming out heavy. 

No fucking way. That sensitive?

You smile deviously and he glares at you. 

“D-Don’t fucking do that, I almost—ugh, just move!” he grumbles defensively, grabbing your shoulder, turning you around and shoving you forward. 

Fuck, that was hot.

It takes you back to the time he was quivering under you. You really want to see that again. Would he let you switch if you asked?

There isn’t time to find out, because you suddenly hear the front door slam shut behind the two of you, followed by a violent thud of Taylor’s paper grocery bag spilling against your floor.

Eyes wide, you fumble to pull your shirt down, trying to cover yourself and frantically picking up your clothes. 

You sober up immediately, realizing you were about to let Shigaraki Tomura fuck you stupid tonight—part of you disappointed not at yourself but… at the prospect of it not happening.

Your cheeks fire up, feeling deeply ashamed as you look at your friend, then at Shigaraki who’s already running a hand through his hair and huffing irritatedly at the unwanted interruption.

So fucking close, he thinks. 

Tomura really wants to rip your friend’s fucking head off. 

“What the fuck do you two think you’re fucking doing?” They stomp forward, absolutely fuming.

“Get the fuck out. Can’t you see we’re busy?” he snaps back, reaching to hook his arm possessively around your waist and pushing your body flush against his own. 

You smack at his chest to let you go, cursing him repeatedly, but he wasn’t paying attention to you, opting to cautiously eye your friend’s presence instead.

“Like hell you are!” Your friend yanks him by the collar of his shirt and pries him away from you. “Think I forgot the shit you pulled at the party, creep?!”

Anger flashes across his face and he’s not beyond beating the fuck out of your friend for so much as daring to touch him—but he knows that doing so would set things back with you significantly. 

Tomura really fucking likes the new stage he’s unlocked with you, and he wasn’t going to let his temper ruin it for him this time.

You however were none the wiser.

So you cut right in the fucking middle when Taylor decides to hit him, the only person ending up getting slapped by unnecessarily expensive acrylics being you.

“Ow—fuck!” You glare at your friend, who looks absolutely mortified. 

Shigaraki scrambles to assess the damage and your friend is already tearing up and apologizing, both of them immediately crowding you.

“Get. Out. Both of you. Now,” you whisper angrily, prompting them to give each other a death stare. “I want to be alone, so—fucking please.”

To your surprise, they both (very reluctantly) back off. 

Shigaraki, who looked defeated, made an odd sound of disapproval, grabbed his shit and angrily stormed out first.

Taylor on the other hand lingered, trying to pry, to apologize, to ask why you didn’t answer their texts all week, but you were only able to snap back and make them cry harder.

When everyone finally left you the fuck alone, you begin breaking down, absolutely burnt out by this horrible series of events happening in your life.

You throw yourself on your bed, and realize you’re still able to smell his soft lingering scent against your bedding. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you also see that he forgot his fucking hoodie at your place.

Why the fuck were you about to let Shigaraki have his way with you earlier?

Why did you listen to him? Were you that fucking sexually deprived to let another psycho fuck you? 

Those were questions you could not fucking answer, not when you know you’re falling right into his trap. 

So you pull his hoodie over your head and inhale deeply into the collar.

Then you proceed to replay the earlier events in your head and do something you swear you’ll take to the grave with you.

─────────

The following days, including your whole weekend, were completely Shigaraki-free. That meant you got to study your ass off for your exam week and you didn’t have to deal with him at all after the incident. 

You didn’t speak to Taylor either, and Taylor avoided you like the fucking plague.

It was fair in a way that you didn’t like to admit. 

You deserved it. You were a shit friend.

Now you’re studying in the main cafeteria at lunchtime, when he casually slips into the seat next to yours with a tray of food in his hands. 

He pushes a box of juice to you and you stare at it.

“Hey,” he rasps, dragging his chair to be as close to yours as humanly possible, seemingly nothing changing in his Shigaraki branded demeanor during the few days that he went MIA. 

You click your tongue but don't reply otherwise, deciding to completely ignore him instead. 

So he does what you should’ve expected he’d do and grabs the spoon on his tray, angling it perfectly in your direction and flicking a disgusting wet fucking pea at your face. 

It hits you, falling on your rented notebook and fucking stains it.

“HEY! I have an exam in an hour and this is a fucking rental! Cut it out, dickhead!” you snap at him, wiping your face with a grimace but he only smiles.

“There we go! Was worried you forgot how to speak.”

“My god, you’re seriously the worst fucking asshole on this planet, I swear.” You snarl when you look at him.

“So they say.” His lips curve upwards.

Shigaraki lets you be for a minute and starts eating his lunch, but seems to notice something on your face.

“You look like a fucking zombie. Did’ya miss me so much you couldn’t even fall asleep?” He elbows your side and makes you mess up the words you were writing. Then he snorts at the way you clutch your pencil tighter.

“Drop it,” you hiss, feeling more on edge than usual. 

None of the information you’re forcing yourself to fucking remember is sticking to your brain. This never happened before and it really, really unnerves you. You’re not allowed to slack off. You can’t afford to slack off. 

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” He leans into you, becoming genuinely concerned. 

You snap your head at him, looking livid. 

Feeling fed up, you grab your stuff hastily and stand up. 

He, of course, has none of your fucking bullshit and forcefully grabs your arm, pulling you back down.

“Sit. I won’t ask twice,” he warns coldly, clenching his jaw.

The look you give him is one of defeat, so you crumple your study notes and then slam your bag on the table, half of its contents landing on the floor together with the box of juice he offered you. 

Your lips start quivering and you rub at your eyes.

“The fuck you so pissy for? Are you on your period or something?”

You glare at him, the bubbling anger under the surface of your skin threatening to break out. 

“Kill yourself.”

Shigaraki’s eyes widen.

“What?” 

There’s hardly any restraint left in you and you smile. Wide and unhinged. 

“I said,” you say, voice strained as you close in on him. “Do us all a fucking favor—” His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, “—and fucking kill yourself.”

Shigaraki’s breaths become increasingly labored and you see him struggling to hold back from lashing out, lips curling into a snarl. 

It’s not enough for you, though.

“And you know what?�� You reach to place a soft, comforting hand against his cheek, red angry eyes staring you down. “I bet that if you did…” He tenses under your touch and you lean into his ear, whispering your last words, “Nobody would miss you.”

Shigaraki grabs you by the roots of your hair and you gasp. He pulls you down so hard, your back arches and you almost slip and fall if not for you still gripping the table.

“What’s your fucking problem, hm?” His tone is low and dangerous. “Did all that studying fry your fucking brain?” he asks, eyes full of contempt and feelings of betrayal now that you reverted back to treating him like shit. “Need me to put you back in your place that badly?”

You giggle.

“ANSWER ME!” Shigaraki yells, tightening his grip on your hair, almost ripping it while blinded by his anger.

There were a lot of students looking at you whenever you were together, because Shigaraki has a reputation—and by extension, you do too. 

So it’s no surprise that him screaming in your face and assaulting you in front of everyone attracts even more attention.

You’re looking at him in a daze, vision blurring in and out as you only hear echoes anymore, not understanding the words coming out of his mouth.

It’s easier this way. To lash out and be punished. To finally be pushed off the edge you’ve been teetering on. You’re really tired, aren’t you?

You didn’t need any of this. Didn’t ask for any of this.

Getting blackmailed.

Pretend-dating a damaged asshole.

Academic anxiety. 

Mind games. 

Fights with your best friend. 

Feeling lonely. 

Wanting to die.

Wanting to die so bad it suffocates you.

The thread snaps and the tower of your sorrows finally topples over, crashing over the entirety of your soul. Acid raindrops of all the emotions you’ve been suppressing this entire time raining on your consciousness until all you could feel is nothing.

You can’t focus on your studies. 

Can’t handle their attention. 

Can’t do this anymore.

So maybe you should—

Just obey. 

”You don’t have to think about anything else other than how to please me, bunny. Do you understand me?”

SPANK—

“Yes, Sir.”

He lets go of your hair almost immediately, red eyes widening and you lower your gaze like you’ve been taught to do. “...The fuck did you say to me?”

“My apologies, Sir,” you reply robotically. “Would you prefer I called you Master or Daddy instead, Sir?” 

Tomura’s brain short-circuits. Is this another one of your weird fucking games? 

He glares into your eyes and can only find a dull submissive look in return. 

“What is wrong with you?” He frowns, voice wavering.

“I’m extremely sorry. I do not understand the question, Sir. Could you please explain?”

He runs a hand over his face and scrunches his eyes shut.

“What is this—What the fuck are you doing right now?” He uses his pointing finger and circles it at you.

You just stare at the floor.

“Answer me, idiot.”

“My apologies, Sir.”

“Stop calling me that. Explain what’s going on.”

“I’m just your dumb slutty bunny, Sir. I’m yours to have, yours to breed, yours to break,” you say and he almost has a fucking brain aneurysm at how willingly you’re humiliating yourself.

Did you seriously completely fucking break—right here? Like this? In the middle of the fucking cafeteria? After you provoked him? 

Was that on fucking purpose too? Why?

His head is spinning.

Should he… test the limits of your submission? You did piss him the fuck off today, after all. Talking to him like that? Who do you think you are?

This opportunity is definitely too good to pass up. 

Tomura’s grin spreads wide, resolving to immediately test this newfound control over you, feeling excitement bubbling in his gut at the prospect of you finally becoming an ideal toy, accepting him fully. 

How far would you go with this little game you started, he wonders.

“Get on your knees and under the table. Now,” he barks at you—and to his surprise, there really is no bratty remark, no comeback, no hesitation. 

You stand up, get on your knees and slip under the cafeteria table, keeling all over the disgusting floor and still avoiding his gaze submissively. 

“Look at me.” Shigaraki snarls and you obey, eyes distant and devoid of any expression.

More students are catching on, whispering in the background. You just wait patiently for his next command, blankly looking up at him through your lashes.

“Tch. Give me your hand.” 

And you do, without any resemblance of your usual resistance.

He grabs it for you and presses it flat against his semi-hardening cock. “Now go ahead and fucking use it. Show them what a dumb bitch you are,” he orders, looking down at you coldly. 

You do as he says and start stroking it the way you were taught to—not the way you were with him that evening, eager and curious, but trained, expertly wrapping your digits around the rising tent in his pants and stroking against the fabric.

It wasn’t the same.

It did fucking nothing for him. 

There’s no trace of the sparks he felt in the pit of his stomach every other time he’s made you squirm before. Every other time you made him squirm.

Instead, he feels hollow. 

“So fucking useless,” Tomura hisses, covering your hand with his own and pressing it harder, rocking his own hips against your palm and feeling incredibly frustrated when it only seems to have the opposite effect on him.

It pissed him off how you weren’t worried about catching a sex offender case anymore. It also pissed him off that he can’t even enjoy this half-assed victory. 

You’re looking at him in a daze, but not the daze that betrays how much you wanted him to fuck you—how much you wanted him in the hallway when you had him pinned under you. 

How your eyes sparked with flickers of desire he saw in-between your apprehension or even fear, at the party. How wet you were last week at your place, bent over your desk and soaking just for him. How he almost got to feel the warm fluttery insides of your cunt and finally make you his.

God were you perfect, every single time.

Instead, you’re now staring through him, mindlessly follow dumb orders like a brain dead fucking sex doll. 

You pushed him and he pushed you in return, breaking you like he’d always fantasized to in the beginning.

But isn’t this exactly what he wanted?

Is it fucking not?

Wouldn’t it be great for you to leave every decision in your life to him?

So then—

SO THEN WHY THE FUCK IS HE FEELING THIS WAY?

Like he’s made a huge fucking mistake. Again.

It… It wasn’t even his fault this time! He should’ve… He should’ve…

Tomura swallows hard, unable to keep the inner turmoil at bay. His shoulders become tense, free hand scratching red angry lines against the scarred skin of his neck. 

“Fuck!” He slaps your hand off his limp dick and you just stare back in return. “STOP looking at me like that, you dirty fucking whore!” he yells in your face, voice cracking. “This is all your fucking fault! Why couldn’t you just—Fuck!”

You look down at his feet again. “Apologies, Master. Please feel free to punish—”

“NO! FUCK! Don’t EVER fucking call me that again!” He grabs you by your arm before you could finish your stupid fucking sentence, roughly pulling you off the filthy floor and knocking the chair out of the way for you. 

He takes your bag and chaotically shoves all of your things inside of it, together with the stuff that spilled on the floor earlier. 

Tomura throws it over his shoulder, along with his own and shoves you forward. “Walk.”

Useless NPCs gathered around for the theatrics, but he’s having none of it.

“If any of this comes out, I’ll fucking kill every—single—one of you. Am I clear?” He turns around and barks at the circle of idiots that surrounded the two of you, gawking and recording the scene like they usually did whenever Shigaraki publicly did something unhinged to someone on campus. 

The only difference is, that this is the first time he’d ever shut it down, taking everyone in question by surprise. 

“Am I FUCKING clear?!” his voice booms again, as he’s grabbing one of the chairs in a fit of rage and smashes it repeatedly against the floor, plastic parts flying in all directions from the impact and throwing whatever chunk was left of it at a random cluster of individuals.

He then fixed a piercing gaze at the room, waiting expectantly while breathing erratically.

Some of them were frozen, nodding quickly but most had already hurried off.

Fuck. 

Everything is so fucking itchy and all of it is your fucking fault.

[junior-high-rui-official]

// sh below cut. it's a little descriptive, not so much about the injury but we really get into the feelings here. this is how we r coping tonight ig.

urgh- damnit, I have to fix this door...

Rui throws his weight against the floor of the downstairs bathroom. It still doesn't shut properly.

He decides it's whatever. Nobody uses this bathroom, anyway- that's why he's here. Everyone here also probably knows the door doesn't work properly, so if they find themselves needing it, they'll knock to make sure nobody's inside.

He sits on the floor, and pulls two things from his pocket: a razor, and a pair of pliers.

He remembers a discussion his mother had with him after his latest hospital visit, about how from here on out she was going to avoid keeping reusable razors in the house, and start buying disposable ones, so he couldn't get his hands on razor blades.

...

The guilt of remembering that should have stopped him, but it only made him want to do it all that much more.

He starts by snapping off the handle of the razor, holding its head between his fingers. He observes the shape of the plastic.

[There's a seam here, and here...so if I grab it like this, and twist...]

It takes a few tries, but the plastic on the side bends and breaks.

...!

He continues to pull the plastic away from the edges. With a final twist, the front piece guarding the blade breaks free from its supports, leaving its entirety exposed.

...

He takes the pliers to the side of the blade and lifts it out. He removes a separator, another blade, another separator, and another blade.

oh...

He cleans up the plastic mess and takes the blades, situating himself in the bathtub.

He's so tired.

Isn't he supposed to be getting better? How come it's like it feels worse? Or did he just spoil himself because it got better for a little bit?

Everything feels like a chore. Getting up takes effort, energy he doesn't have.

He has so many people around him now. Why does it still feel so lonely? How come it's like everybody likes each other more than they like him? How come it's always like he's the other? Replaceable? Not even close to enough to love, no matter how hard he tries?

It's just not fair. He'd go and tell somebody about this, try and keep himself from doing something like this to himself, but god, it was humiliating. It's not like he'd be ignored, but...

[I don't know, maybe I wouldn't get to this point at all if anybody acted like my friend before I started to feel like hurting myself over not having any...!!]

uughh...!!

He groans and slams his head back against the wall. These stupid, bitter thoughts wouldn't leave his head. It was so terrible for him to think like this, no wonder nobody wants to be around him- he's an awful person, and he's terrible at concealing it.

He was meant to be alone, no doubt. It hurts to be lonely, but this must be a bug in his system. He's defective. The kind of thing that slips past a quality check.

He should've been demolished. He tried to take that responsibility upon himself, the only good thing he's done in his miserable, mistaken existence he calls a life.

The impact already brought tears to his eyes, so he didn't have to look too much while he did this. He grabs the blade in his shaking hand, presses its point hard against his thigh, and swipes.

mm-!

the stinging pain shooting up his leg makes him exclaim aloud. Oh, it's sharp.

He looks down at the wound, feeling fear grip his chest while he watches red replace white. Being afraid of blood has exactly one perk to it; and it's that when he does this, it's guaranteed to replace whatever he's feeling with a much simpler anxiety.

He goes again. And again, and again.

Every time he thinks it's enough and he feels better, his sick, sick head begs for another wound, and he provides, a robotlike, helpless kind of obedience, willingly enslaved to his own addiction to the hurt.

Blood trickles down both his legs, but it's already begun to slow.

It's not deep enough. He needs it to hurt worse.

He needs to scratch away at himself til he finds something of any worth. He wants to tear his skin off, morph into someone new. If he can't do that, he'll settle for destroying this filthy carcass he inhabits. Whatever it is, it isn't him- he's not sure if it ever was.

He presses harder. Drags the metal slower. Deepening wounds, multiswiping once, twice, three times, while the stinging pain in his legs and the wailing in his head slowly begin to turn into pleasant numbness.

.

.

.

At some point, he finds he's too shaky to hold the blade up.

He drops it on the rim of the tub, taking a deep breath in hopes to ease the ringing in his ears.

He feels lightheaded. that's probably not good, he thinks faintly, but he doesn't really care.

Realistically, he's not, but with how detached he feels, he'd like to think he's finally begun his descent to hell. It's only natural he'd die as he lived.

He tries to stand up, but the deep ache in his legs and onslaught of dizziness won't permit it. He slips, collapsing to the bottom again.

ugh-...ouch...

He opens his eyes. There's a smudge on the side of the tub, he notices. Two identical ones, no doubt from a certain two parallel cuts with strange placement on the side of his thigh.

[In graphing, and linear equations...two parallel lines means there's no solution to the system.]

How brutally fitting for the situation.

For there is not, and never will be, a solution to the problem that is him.

[cellard0ors]

For over the last thirty years, Laura has lived in captivity.

Trapped in a glass tank full of water from Lake Septimus, she was shuttled all around from town to town, no one's company to keep save her own.

At first.

But eventually she struck up a kinship with another fellow captive, Silas. Or Silas the dog boy, as Vorez called him.

Eliza Vorez. Their 'mother'. Their owner would be more accurate.

However, she found Silas long before Laura and at least treated him with some semblance of decency. Not much, considering she still expected him to perform at showtime, but he at least got kind words and a gentle attitude.

Laura got the exact opposite. She can only assume it's because, at some point, Vorez thought she would break her. Make her docile and meek. Subservient.

She chose the wrong Mer for that.

It didn't help that Silas was younger and kept so through a perpetual age retention spell - one that kept him trapped at thirteen.

Laura was allowed to go through her First Embarkment and gifted two years after before Vorez struck her with the same spell, coming to the conclusion that it served a two fold purpose. One it kept her attraction young and beautiful. Two, as a punishment.

...Laura wasn't even allowed to naturally age alongside her lost love.

Her lost love - Travis Hackett - the starry-eyed sweet boy who kept her going. The one she grew up with, played with - the one she sacrificed everything for, because she loved him.

She loved him and thinking of him - alive and safe and out in the world, was her only respite from the life she was enduring - not living - enduring.

And now here he is, sneering at her and the only way she can think of to cope with it is to turn it to anger, "Or else what? You'll shoot me? Go ahead. I'm not telling you where my brother is."

"Your brother?" He scoffs and he gets to his feet, peering down at her with disdain, "Well, your 'brother' is responsible for the curse on my family and I'll be damned if I let it continue when I finally have a chance to end this thing!"

"And what do you think I'm here for? The sights?" Laura snaps at him and she does her best to shift around. Her jeans are wildly uncomfortable, her scales having returned and her legs wanting to rejoin to form her tail.

That's not even to mention her patch covered eye socket, which feels like it's bubbling and fizzing, the lake water on her skin, but not where she needs it to heal.

This in mind, she tosses off the patch and while she can hear the sheriff make a sound of disgust at the sight, she ignores him, scooping up handful after handful to splash on her face.

Sure enough, the cool water seeps in and she lets out a sound of sweet relief. There's a slight bit of discomfort as her lost eye returns, but it's worth it once she blinks and realizes her depth perception has returned.

Travis sees her eye is back and gapes at her, "What the hell are you?"

"You said it yourself." she grumbles, "I'm the fish girl..."

"So...a mermaid?"

"We prefer the term Mers." She sighs, "Gender more a human convention..."

"But you said-?!"

"I identify as a girl." Laura explains, "That's my choice."

"Okay..." He says it lightly, in that way where it's clear he's trying to understand and doesn't. It's funny, because it's the exact same response and tone he used when he was ten and asked the exact same thing.

Looking at him now, she can still see bits and pieces of that little boy. She can also see the parts of him she fell in love with during their teens. But he's also different. He looks...tired. Worn. Sad and the sadness kills her, makes her ache, so she speaks to distract herself, "This lake is my home. I was born in its' waters, so they can heal me from pretty much anything."

"Like a lost eye?" He offers and he's managed to fish out the patch she's been using since the last full moon.

Laura eyes it with distaste, "It was an accident. Normally I can be around Silas without fear - my blood is made of these clear waters, so, he tends to avoid me once he's changed, but," she shrugs, "I pushed."

"It shuns clear water..." Travis mummers and she just nods, because clearly he knows more about Silas's condition than she thought. What he knows about her, thanks to her singing, is zip, so she holds up her arms, "If you could, ah - pick me up?"

His expression is cold, stone faced, but she ignores the sting it causes - again, he doesn't know her. Not anymore, "Look, you saw my scales. The water in the lake can turn me back into my natural form. When I'm dry, I have legs just like any other human, so-?"

Travis looks out over the lake and then back at her, his tone full of doubt, "You were down here by the water."

"Yeah, to fix my eye! Not swim away! I would have gotten some water, healed myself, and then been on my way if you hadn't come stomping through!"

"I wasn't-?!"

"Just pick me up, Officer Dick Whippet!"

His jaw sets and he looks furious, but he does as asked. He scoops her up and makes a big show of acting like she's heavy even though she knows that he can more than handle her weight.

...in fact, his arms have gotten very...muscular since last she saw him. Laura can feel the corded strength of them through his police uniform. Swallowing, she feels her face heat and thanks the darkness for covering her blush as he carefully sets her far from the lake.

As she begins to dry, he begins to interrogate, "You say you weren't planning on swimming away, but you refuse to lead me to Silas."

"Uh, yeah. Because you'll probably just kill him." Her tone tells him that he's stupid for thinking she's dumb enough to have thought otherwise.

He sighs and runs his hands over his face, "Look, I don't want to kill the kid. Okay? I just-? I want this nightmare to be over."

Silence settles between them for a moment while Laura patiently waits for him to continue. He does, "When my niece, Kaylee, and my nephew, Caleb, busted your 'brother' out of his cell, he bit one of them. Turned them into a werewolf and they passed it on. So now I've got three infected family members and for the last six years, we've been dealing with all kinds of hell."

"Silas is my brother. You can stop air quoting it." Laura hisses, "You have no idea what he and I went through. No idea. We're bonded by something more than blood and what your family has suffered is nothing more than an eye blink in comparison to the amount of time he and I were trapped with Vorez!"

"Okay, okay, but if that's the case, then why did you two run?!" Travis cries, "When Kaylee and Caleb freed you, you could have-!"

"Could have what?!" Laura interrupts with a bark of laughter, "Gone to you and your family? Yeah, right."

She shakes her head ruefully, "There's only one Hackett I trust, and he didn't show up that night."

Once the words leave her mouth, she realizes the mistake she made. It was said in the heat of the moment and her eyes widen at the ramifications of what she just admitted.

Travis, for his part, seems - thankfully - confused, "The only-? Which Hackett? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Nothing." She waves her hands, "Let's just-? Just drop it."

She wishes her legs were dry enough that she could stand. If life were perfect, if it was as well timed as music or a scene in a film, they would be. But this is real life, so it leaves her in this well of awkwardness as the minutes pass and Travis, obviously, works over what she said.

And while he might have been confused initially, it doesn't take him long to figure it out. No, of course not. He's the sheriff for a reason. He's capable of solving a puzzle when need be and his eyebrows rise, face a mask of shock as he says, "Wait...that night..."

Laura gulps.

"The night of Harum Scarum...the tickets were addressed to me."

She feels her bottom lip tremble, feels herself looking away from him, eyes heating with unshed tears as he rises to tower over her and growls, "You sent the tickets to me. Why?"

She starts shaking her head and he reaches down and grabs her arms, shakes her roughly, "Why? Who in the hell are you?!"

"I'm-? I told you. I'm nobody. Just some fish girl, just some-!"

"Oh, don't give me that horseshit! You sent me the tickets! You're responsible for all of this! Who ARE you?!"

"Laura!" she cries out sharply, "Alright?! My name..."

She sucks in a shaky breath, "My name is Laura..."

[princepaddy]

‘I wanted all eyes on me’ – The OA and Shadow and Bone star Patrick Gibson on his acting pedigree

After the Netflix series that gave Patrick Gibson his break-out role was cancelled, it was no doubt tempting to jump at the next thing that came along. But the Dubliner — who has been acting since age eight — has chosen his roles carefully to forge a long-term career. It helps that he’s had his thespian parents, Lenny Abrahamson, and a clown professor to guide him.

A solidarity exists among those who survived hotel quarantine during the pandemic. On encountering a fellow detainee in the free world, an immediate bond forms over a shared experience in enforced confinement, and occasionally, so does a dynamic of oneupmanship.

“A fortnight without an open window,” I’ve smugly responded of my own quarantine episode, to those who underwent a mere week to 10 days with a terrace. “It was tough, yet strangely cathartic, and actually quite spiritual in some ways,” I then deliver with a martyred air.

Consequently, I feel completely diminished by Patrick Gibson’s multiple bouts with room-serviced captivity. “I think I did it five times,” the actor casually estimates, scratching a whiskered chin. “Once in Australia, once in America and a couple of times while going back and forth between the UK and Belgium.”

He’s unsure how long in total, something I chalk up to a coping mechanism from the residual trauma. “Maybe,” he agrees. “I mean, the days blended into each other. I did keep a video diary as a way not to lose my mind, but I’m too terrified to look back at it now. And I had it easy compared to some of my friends who’re actors. A couple I know were in and out of quarantine once a month.”

With each stint in confinement preceding an acting job, Gibson explains that all delivered the perfect duration in which to learn lines; to find a character’s motivation, and even workshop with a clown professor. Yes, you read that right — a clown professor.

“I was quarantining in Brisbane to work on a film I was shooting in Australia called The Portable Door which has a lot of physical comedy in the script, something I’ve never done. I’ve never done comedy — there’s actually nothing scarier than doing comedy because the reaction is so much more immediate. You know if you do something and people don’t laugh, you’re in trouble. It’s not as nuanced as drama.

“So I did workshops on Zoom with a clown professor. He’s an amazing movement coach teaching in one of the best drama schools in Australia. And it was about facing the fear of falling on your face, which is at the core of clowning; getting comfortable with that, not giving a shit if you make an idiot of yourself. It was actually way more philosophical than I expected. The theory of clowning is so fascinating.”

I’m disappointed with the distinct lack of clown tropes in his account of the experience: no red squeaky nose, no water-squirting flower. There must have been some slapstick involved.

“There was a physical [slapstick]. He would get a chair, give himself a simple task to unfold the chair and do a 60-minute routine, which was hilarious. And I learned from that, just doing simple things and allowing myself to flow with it. He’d have me waving my arm around, and then he’d click his fingers, and I’d be waving the other one, or my leg, or some other crazy action. Jumping up and down. Using my whole body.

“If I was being monitored [during quarantine], they’d have thought I was losing it in there.”

It’s Friday evening in Los Angeles. Gibson (27) who found fame with the Netflix cryptic fantasy series The OA, talks to me from his hotel room. “At least this one I can come and go from,” he laughs with a drawn-out titter.

He periodically repositions the camera during our video call, often at an upward angle, which for most of us would manufacture a furl of unfortunate chins, but only serves to enhance his pale, cinematic features.

The Dubliner, raised in Stillorgan and schooled at Gonzaga College in Ranelagh, is on a flying visit to meet his agents, Dar Rollins and Andrew Kurland at Creative Artists Agency (CAA), who between them represent and negotiate for screen luminaries such as Michael Keaton, Samuel L Jackson and Sarah Michelle Gellar.

I’m imagining the agency as an open-plan office, with blinding white furnishings, floor-to-ceiling views of the Hollywood sign, and skittish assistants clumsily clutching scripts and offering green juices. “Well no, not quite,” Gibson smiles.“ But we went for a coffee on a roof of some fancy hotel, which was still very LA.”

Since a breakout role as a disaffected delinquent in The OA — a supernatural, sometimes baffling series, circling near-death experiences and alternate universes — Gibson has ricocheted from sumptuous costume saga in The Spanish Queen; to Gen Z romcom In A Relationship, alongside Emma Roberts; and a West End stage debut in Lynn Nottage’s Pulitzer-winning Sweat.​

Meanwhile, the fruits of his quarantine labour are set for imminent release, including a second season of Channel 4 crime series Before We Die; independent teen drama, Good Girl Jane, lauded at the recent Tribeca Film Festival and a central role in the next run of Netflix mega-hit Shadow and Bone.

As a rule, agents largely guide and counsel an actor towards success, while sometimes inadvertently steering them into failure. Does Gibson feel comfortable placing his full faith in his LA-based representatives?

“Good agents, who you feel completely at ease with, who understand your goals and what’s right for you, they will have your back. And [my agents] have my back. Right now, there’s so much content being made with all the streaming platforms, it’s important to know the next thing you’re going into is right for you. Because once you’re in, it’s a big commitment.

“Shadow and Bone, that’s six months of the year. That’s a massive project to sign on for, so it’s important to have a team of people to discuss with, feel it out. Some have their own motivations and will encourage you to work on something that serves the immediate, rather than the long-term plan. A good agent will encourage you to say no if you need to.”

At just 27 and still in the infancy of his career, is saying no to work frightening? “Saying no is scarier than saying yes but it shouldn’t be. Also, if you say no to something, people can then assume you’re not working but I don’t think it’s good to make decisions over what others might think of you.”

For Gibson, performance is in the DNA. His parents, Irish mum Kate and his dad, Richard, who was born in Uganda and raised in the UK, met and fell in love as actors on London’s West End. “One of them was doing a Noël Coward play I think, I can’t remember what the other was [doing].”

While Kate walked away from acting, ultimately transitioning into marketing, Richard continued his career on stage and screen, notably doing a 10-year stint as Nazi buffoon Herr Flick in the iconic BBC sitcom ’Allo ’Allo!.

During summer breaks from school, young Patrick and his older brother Billy played backstage during Richard’s touring stage productions, mingling with cast and crew. For Patrick, a seed was planted. “The costumes, the transformative atmosphere, the creativity — it captured my imagination.”

Gibson tagged along to his father’s theatrical agency in Dublin, communicating his desire to act. Aged eight, he landed his first commercial for Vodafone and enrolled in afterschool drama classes, the latter a futile exercise.

“I remember briefly doing Betty Ann Norton, Billie Barry [stage schools], and my parents being told, ‘This kid is not designed to be in this environment, he’s too mental’. I imagine I was incredibly annoying to teach; must have been a nightmare. I had no interest in group collaboration. I wanted all eyes on me.”

This unapologetic self-interest proved rewarding on the local audition circuit, with Gibson and his brother cast as Liam Cunningham’s sons in a 2007 RTÉ production of Maeve Binchy’s Anner House. Shot in Cape Town, it’s the only time Gibson has travelled to the African continent. While far removed from his father’s childhood home in Uganda, it gave Richard the opportunity to introduce his children to a taste of his African upbringing.

“Dad left Africa when he was 10, moved to London when his father was working there and he had a mad transition. Uganda was all he knew, and he’s told us how wonderful it was to grow up there and then he moved to the UK where it was grey and miserable. So being able to revisit Africa with us as kids was significant for him. He brought us to Kruger National Park, which isn’t in Uganda but he had been there as a child and it was a special trip for all of us.”

By the time Gibson attended Gonzaga, he had appeared in a couple of episodes of The Tudors and was a ‘lost boy’ in Neverland, Sky’s expansive adaptation of Peter Pan. “That’s where the penny dropped. That’s when I realised, ‘Yeah, I really want to do this’.”

Disappointment came with an audition for Game of Thrones’ adolescent despot Joffrey Baratheon, a role which ultimately went to Cork’s Jack Gleeson. “I was 15, maybe 16 and I know I got close. Not final two, but I got really close. But Jack was Joffrey. There’s a DNA in every part that casting directors are looking to match that up with. When you see it, it’s undeniable. I’ve had parts I don’t get because no matter how hard I work on that character, there’s somebody who matches up [more than I do].”

A successful casting for Lenny Abrahamson’s What Richard Did as an impressionable young sidekick to Jack Reynor’s titular anti-hero heightened his profile and fostered an enduring relationship with the Oscar-nominated director. Abrahamson was directly instrumental in Gibson studying philosophy at Trinity College.

“I was thinking about doing philosophy, and at the same time talking about drama school and Lenny gave me the nudge. He said: ‘If you want to be an actor for the rest of your life, do something now that’s different. And if you’re going to act for the rest of your life, philosophy demands you look at everything from every angle.’ It encourages you to analyse and assess beyond a linear point of view.”

However, Gibson struggled to balance work and college. “I missed classes, tutorials. I missed my exams two years running,” and after landing The OA in 2015 and relocating to New York for five months, his studies had to be ultimately sacrificed. “I will go back, some day,” he promises with a cackle.

The OA was a complex learning experience for Gibson. Conceived by Brit Marling and Zal Batmanglij, the creative duo behind indie efforts The East and Sound Of My Voice, the series was a psychedelic blend of comic-book fantasy and murky mystery, and hailed as being both brilliant and baffling. One critic called it, “bonkers with a vengeance,” while another dismissed it as “gripping but annoying”.

With Marling taking centre stage as a blind woman missing for seven years who reappears with her vision restored, a mysterious carving on her back and a flat-out refusal to disclose where she had been, the show amassed a keen audience who were left bereft after the shock cancellation in 2019, leaving the storyline on a cliffhanger.

Some were so disappointed they raised funds for a ‘Save The OA’ digital billboard in New York’s Times Square, with one devotee going on hunger strike outside of Netflix’s LA offices.

Gibson was deflated by the cancellation. “I got a call from Brit and Zal when I was coming back from a music festival, which was a slight buzzkill. And they said, ‘We have some sad news’. From their side, while everything in that show had been a challenging thing to make, I found the whole journey was so bizarre and magical. And it didn’t feel that out of the ordinary the way it ended. With something like Shadow and Bone, that would surprise me if it was cancelled that way but, with The OA, it felt right in a strange way.”

Shadow and Bone is Gibson’s second punt with the Netflix machine. Joining the hugely successful show in its second season, after the debut series drew in 55 million viewers in its first 28 days, long-term success appears a more likely outcome.

Adapted from a series of popular fantasy novels by Leigh Bardugo, the glossy saga boasts a central band of heroes and cads with varying degrees of magical capabilities. Starring Chronicles Of Narnia’s Ben Barnes, British-American actor Zoë Wanamaker and Irish newcomer Danielle Galligan, audiences were gripped by an interspersing, sweeping narrative framed against the battle for Ravka, a fictional realm heavily influenced by Imperialist Russia and the reign of the Tzars.

Joining the conflict is Gibson’s Nikolai Lantsov, a prince of Ravka masquerading as a pirate — a duality the actor relished. “He’s a prince and a pauper, an alter ego in disguise and he brings this massive bravado; a pirate who has this massive ship, has got this massive swagger. Kind of like Robert Downey Jr in Iron Man, he gets on people’s nerves but he’s also hard to hate. Underneath, he’s vulnerable, not given a chance by his family. It was fascinating to be able to explore both sides of that person.”

With Lantzov a standout fan favourite of the book series, the actor is keenly aware of a pressure to please with his take on the character. Unusually for an actor in his 20s, Gibson employs a veteran’s perspective to quieten such anxieties.

“With movies and TV shows, everything is talked about like it’s life and death, and it can often feel like it is, but at the end of the day, it’s not. Other people’s jobs are — some literally.”

He tells me his brother Billy — now a father of two, who works as a cardiologist in a Dublin hospital — is a massive inspiration. ​

“Working a 24-hour shift, then taking his kids to the pool, has a few hours off, then goes straight on to another night shift. And the stakes he’s dealing with, the health and well-being of people, their actual lives — it always puts it in perspective for me.”

Quite the effective reality touchstone, I remark. But does it always work?

“You hear actors complaining all the time. We’re the number one for it. But you know what, it’s absolutely unwarranted because to get to do this as a job is the most fortunate thing in the world. It really is. And I won’t take that for granted.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin goes home for a little while, determined to enjoy a well-earned vacation;

Camelot immediately falls apart, with the sole exceptions of Guinevere and Gaius.

Merlin knows Arthur really well.

Which just means he knows exactly how to get him to let his servant go home for two weeks to visit his mother and relax a little:

“You just don’t want me to go because you know you can’t cope without me! Look, if you want to come with me, that’s fine, but you’ll struggle just as much there as you would here because I refuse to act as your servant in my own home.”

Arthur turns red, looking outraged as he loses the ability to speak. Merlin turns around before The King can see his satisfied smirk, tidying around the prat’s chambers with exaggerated annoyance as he just waits for the inevitable-

“Fine! Go! See if I even notice that you’re gone! Honestly, Merlin, the running of the Kingdom will probably end up going smoother without you here to mess things up, you bumbling idiot.”

Merlin grins to himself before schooling his face back into annoyance and turning around with a huff, crossing his arms petulantly:

“Fine!”

The servant decides that he’d better leave, what with the way he was struggling to keep the victorious grin from his face, so without waiting for a response, he “storms” from the room, slamming the door behind him as dramatically as he’s able when he hears Arthur yell:

“FINE!”

~

Merlin sets off at the beginning of the next week. Gaius had raised a disapproving eyebrow when his ward had told him how he’d gotten Arthur to agree to such a long vacation, but didn’t say anything. They both knew that the elderly physician thought it was funny.

Gwen and Morgana make sure to see him out of the castle gates with big hugs, and whilst all of the knights were meant to be training, it came as no surprise to anyone when Gwaine slacks off for half a candle-mark to say goodbye as well. Mordred shoots him a quick goodbye across their mental link as the servant walks away from the city, after promising Merlin that he would warn him if anyone was in any serious danger (”Serious danger only, Mordred, I mean it. If I get called home because Arthur is throwing some sort of tantrum, then I’ll act out your destiny for you.”).

Merlin’s journey goes smoothly. The world was hovering in the junction between Spring and Summer, but with a little magical manipulation, the Warlock had no trouble staying warm and keeping his feet beneath him on the uneven path. Unsurprisingly, the young man is a lot less clumsy when he doesn’t have to focus on keeping his magic locked away so tightly.

Two days after his departure from Camelot, his mother is greeting him outside her little house with a long hug and a wide grin, stroking a hand through his hair as she welcomes him home.

Coincidentally, that’s also about the time things started going to shit for everyone else.

~

It was just after noon when Elyan had to be carried to Gaius’ chambers, his whole body juddering as he struggles to draw breath, the lack of oxygen from his throat closing up mixed with the panic making his brain go fuzzy.

Percival holds him up from one side and Leon holds him from the other, the two of them bursting through the physician’s door just as Elyan’s eyes roll back in his head. Gaius looks up suddenly, obviously startled by the abrupt intrusion, but he swiftly focuses, eyes wide and assessing as he quickly points them to a patient pallet:

“What happened?”

The two knights lay him down as carefully as they can before standing out of the way as Leon forces out an answer, trying to catch his breath between words:

“I don’t know, servants brought lunch out whilst we were training so we stopped to eat and he just started... wheezing. We thought he was choking at first but he said he couldn’t breathe. Has... has he been poisoned? We stopped everyone from eating.”

Gaius had gathered a handful of odd looking dried leaves the moment Leon mentioned the food, recognising the symptoms of an allergic reaction and putting two and two together immediately. He crushes them in his hands quickly, knowing he didn’t have time for a proper mortar and pestle as he shoves the crumbs into Elyan’s mouth, following through with a vile of something green and gross-smelling

He massages the odd concoction down Elyan’s throat as best he can around the swelling, and lets out a relieved smile when the knight’s eyes blow wide open and he chokes slightly before swallowing it all, grimacing at the taste but breathing deeply as his airways open again.

Leon and Percival let out similar breathes of relief when Elyan begins breathing again, chuckling breathlessly at his disgusted groan. The door bursts open again before anyone can say anything, and Arthur strides in, his flushed cheeks and rumpled clothes implying he had sprinted across the castle in his panic.

He spots Elyan on the pallet, his deep breaths interspersed with the odd cough, and his eyes widen even further as he looks to Gaius for an explanation:

“A servant told me something was wrong, what happened?!”

The King loses a little of the tension in his shoulders when Elyan waves a thumbs-up in his vague direction, but still looks frantically between the two knights and the physician as he waits for an answer. Percival wordlessly moves to Elyan’s side, running a hand up and down the man’s arm as Leon looks to Gaius expectantly:

“He had an allergic reaction, likely to nuts in the food. He should be fine, but he needs a day or two of rest, and to come back to me immediately if his throat swells again.”

Arthur sags in relief, nodding his approval of Elyan’s needed bedrest, but Leon’s eyes go wide as he lets out a knowing noise:

“Of course! I forgot about his allergy, it hasn’t been an issue since we were kids.”

Gaius nods knowingly and begins reorganising the jars he had knocked over when the knights had startled him:

“Hmm. I imagine he watched what he ate carefully when he was travelling, but Merlin keeps an eye on all of your food now.”

Leon frowns slightly as he tilts his head in confusion, but Arthur beats him to the punch, asking incredulously:

“What do you mean, Merlin keeps an eye on our food?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, holding in his smirk as he slowly replies:

“Well, Merlin is usually the one to bring food out to you when you train, is he not? And on days he can’t he always speaks with the kitchen staff to double check what food is going where. Sir Elyan is not the only one with an allergy, My Lord. Merlin always makes sure any food the seven of you are given is safe. He has a tendency to check the Lady Morgana’s meals as well, whenever he’s able.”

Arthur is too taken aback to reply, his mouth hanging open, but that is when Percival looks up from his place at Elyan’s side, a confused frown on his face:

“Why?”

Gaius doesn’t manage to hold his smile in at that, looking between the three knights, and Elyan, who has just about managed to regain his breath:

“To avoid situations like this, I imagine, and to check for poison. It’s not uncommon for assassins to try and lace the royal’s food with something or other.”

Arthur finally shuts his mouth, only to open it again, speaking slowly:

“So... Merlin checks all of our food?”

Gaius nods:

“Religiously, Sire.”

Leon and Percival just shrug, adding it to their list of Weird Things About Merlin That They Should Be Grateful For, and Elyan smiles goofily from his place on the bed (whether it was the lack of oxygen or something funky in the vial, the knight didn’t know, but he was definitely still feeling a little... odd), but Arthur just frowns deeper, muttering a distracted “Take it easy.” to Elyan before walking stiffly from the room.

The King makes quick work of the journey back to the council meeting, desperately trying to persuade himself that this was nothing to do with him not being able to cope without Merlin. Elyan was the one not coping, clearly. Merlin was still wrong and stupid and Arthur hadn’t even noticed that he was gone until Gaius brought him up (a lie, he missed him terribly, but shhh).

Leon and Percival look to Gaius in confusion when Arthur had almost stormed from the room, and the Physician simply smiles again, the amusement shining clearly in his eyes:

“Merlin persuaded Arthur to let him take a holiday by heavily implying that he couldn’t cope with Merlin’s absence.”

Percival snorts with laughter and Leon raises an eyebrow as he grins:

“Arthur took that as a challenge then, I suppose? Two days in and we’ve already got The King sprinting from meetings because a knight has collapsed from an allergic reaction... because Merlin wasn’t here...”

Gaius just nods, and Percival mutters an amused:

“This will be entertaining.”

~

Arthur steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that the next mini disaster, a few days later, was also down to Merlin’s absence.

Ok, so maybe it was because Merlin wasn’t here, but ultimately, it was Gwaine that messed up, not Arthur. So it didn’t count.

The knight came back from a night patrol that he’d taken with The King with an infected gash on his arm. Arthur grins teasingly as he describes to Gaius how the knight had tripped on a loose cobblestone and scratched his arm on the sharp edge of a stray cart at the beginning of the patrol, and Gaius hums disapprovingly as he unwraps the scrap of fabric Gwaine had used as a bandage:

“Did you not have any medical supplies in your pack? Or did you think it best to let it get infected so I had to wake an hour before dawn to deal with it?”

Gwaine swings his dangling legs back and forth from where he sits on Gaius’ table, pouting sheepishly as he admits:

“I looked, but there wasn’t anything helpful in there, usually the armoury-hands have them stocked up for the patrols, I guess they missed mine.”

Arthur rolls his eyes at Gwaine’s seeming ineptitude, but his scolding is interrupted before it even begins when Gaius shakes his head in disagreement:

“Hmm. The servants that work in the armoury only tend to check the packs every few weeks, and even then they only check if they need any repairs. Merlin is the one with easier access to patrol rotas, so he’s the one who stocks them up on a day to day basis.”

Gwaine just nods in understanding, as if he should’ve expected that, but Arthur’s smile drops as he unfolds his arms, getting over his annoyed speechlessness in a matter of seconds:

“You’re telling me that Merlin, my personal manservant, is responsible for all the knights’ patrol packs?”

Gaius finishes cleaning Gwaine’s wound, muttering a quiet apology when the knight hisses at the first poke of the needle, speaking slowly as he focuses on making sure the stitches were neat and uniform:

“No, Sire. Technically the knights are meant to take care of their own packs, but Merlin is a paranoid man, he likes to double check things to make sure everyone has what they need. I suppose some people got used to having it done for them.”

Gwaine winces abashedly, making a mental note to remind the others to check their packs before their next patrols, but Arthur rolls his eyes, crossing his arms again and immediately accepting that this little incident was therefore Gwaine’s fault, and not down to Merlin's absence.

The voice in his head sounded a little doubtful, but he ignores it, choosing instead to chide his rebellious:

“Do try to pay attention to your own responsibilities, Sir Gwaine, I’d hate to see something terrible happen to you because you’re unable to complete your own simple tasks.”

Gwaine just sticks his tongue out petulantly, looking away from The King before he can see the blonde’s rolled eyes. Arthur huffs at his childishness, turning around to cover his grin and speaking over his shoulder as he walks from the room:

“You will be on time for once, Gwaine, training starts in a few hours and I want to see you bright and early.”

Gwaine just smirks, waiting for the door to shut behind Arthur before moving his sly, curious eyes to the physician in front of him:

“He’s missing Merlin, then?”

Gaius just gives him a knowing glance before looking back down at the now stitched gash, gathering bandages:

“I’d imagine so, though he’d never admit it. Merlin implied that Arthur wouldn’t cope with his absence,-”

Gwaine interrupts him with a laugh:

“Hence his insistence that it was entirely my fault?”

Gaius nods wordlessly, and Gwaine snorts, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

Meanwhile, Arthur stalks back towards his chambers, eager to get out of his armour and get into bed; Gwaine had training in a few hours, but so did he, and he needed at least a little sleep. He purses his lips in annoyance as his gaze falls upon the clinical cleanliness of his room... George had been in then. 

Look... Arthur being used to a slightly messy room did NOT mean he depended on Merlin. And Gwaine not being used to having to actually organise himself ALSO didn’t mean that Merlin was... ok. Maybe Gwaine relies on Merlin a little.

So that’s Sir Elyan and Sir Gwaine, two of The King’s most trusted knights, who can’t cope without Merlin. But Arthur is doing just fine. It’s been half a week and he is just. Fine.

Just fine.

~

It was the next day that things began going wrong a little more... drastically.

George wakes Arthur up for training on time because of course he does. Arthur had found himself losing out on a lot of sleep without Merlin insisting he go to bed at a reasonable time, and waking him up late; Merlin had gotten into the habit of snatching Arthur’s paperwork away and holding it out of reach until The King agreed to go to sleep, and somehow manages to fit Arthur’s entire morning routine into half a candle-mark. George would never snatch away Arthur’s paperwork, and he takes so much longer in the mornings meaning Arthur has to wake up earlier.

Not that Arthur would ever admit to enjoying his and Merlin’s unorthodox routines. 

Eight more days to go, and he’s fine.

At least... that’s what he thought until a nameless guard approaches the training field, waving him over from his spar with Mordred. Arthur strides over quickly, annoyed at the interruption and nodding at the guard to speak as he drinks from his water-skin:

“My Lord, Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel have arrived. I believe they’re waiting for your presence in the courtyard.”

Arthur chokes, managing to turn his head to the side just in time before he spits a mouthful of water over the guards face. He quickly wipes his mouth and turns back to the pour armoured man with wide eyes:

“That’s today?!

The guard nods hesitatingly:

“Yes, Sire, would you like me-”

He’s interrupted when Arthur shouts a hurried:

“Fuck!” as he drops his water-skin and begins sprinting up the field towards the castle, desperately trying to calculate if he had enough time to wash and change before they got antsy with waiting. Probably not.

Seeing Arthur’s panic and hearing his loud curse, Leon hurriedly approaches the guard, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder as he speaks with a frown:

“Gavin? Is everything alright?”

The guard, Gavin, looks to Leon with a confused frown:

“It would appear that His Majesty... misremembered the date of Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s arrival.”

Leon’s eyes go wide and he glances quickly to the castle as he rushes out an exclamation identical to Arthur’s:

“That’s today?!”

Gavin just nods again, and Leon drops the hand from his shoulder, letting out a loud:

“Shit!” as he recreates Arthur’s sprint up to the castle, knowing that he was expected to be at The King’s side when welcoming guests. He doesn’t pause, even when he shouts:

“Lancelot’s in charge!” over his shoulder.

The knights all look to each other in amusement, but Lancelot quickly takes charge, running drills as if he had been doing it his entire life and trusting that, whatever it was, Arthur could get things sorted. And if Arthur couldn’t get things sorted, then Leon would get things sorted. And if Leon couldn’t get things sorted, then Merlin would... oh.

He glances worriedly to the castle just as Leon falls through the door, not bothering to shut it behind him in his panic. Oh.

Arthur lets out the deepest breath of relief he thinks he’s ever experienced when he sees George ahead of him in the corridor; he gestures him over hastily, making the servant jog to keep up with him as he continues his fast pace down the hall:

“I don’t care how many other servants you have to pull from their duties, but I need the castle prepped for Halbert and Ethel’s arrival right now.-”

Arthur barely pays attention to George’s faltering step of shock, just stops suddenly in front of the door that leads down to the courtyard, turning to the servant and putting both hands on his shoulder as he stares at him intensely, face flushed and breathing harsh:

“I need you to do this for me, George. Prepare guest chambers, send someone down to show them to the right rooms, and make sure the Kitchens know they’re feeding two extra nobles for three days, starting today. If you can organise all of that in the next two minutes, I’ll give you a raise and a Godamn hug, you hear me?!”

George gulps, his shoulders tense, his face pale, and his breath frozen in his lungs as he meets Arthur’s frantic gaze with wide eyes. He gives a shaky nod, instantly turning and sprinting down the corridor without a word when Arthur lets go. 

Leon skids around the corner, moving to stand next to Arthur with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath, speaking in a slight wheeze:

“I... I left Lance... in charge.”

Arthur nods in approval, pulling Leon to stand before holding his hands out to the side, presenting himself for inspection. Leon takes one last deep breath, smoothing the training tunic over Arthur’s shoulders, attempting to rub the dirt from his nose, and brushing a quick hand through his hair before stepping back and holding his own arms out. Arthur pulls a leaf from behind his ear, but is otherwise satisfied, and the two of them turn to the door, schooling their faces and stepping down into the courtyard.

Arthur has a calm, welcoming smile on his face, and Leon stands stiffly behind him, hand on the sword that he luckily had on his hip as he stares blankly ahead.

The nobles seem taken aback at The King's state of undress, but don’t say anything, covering their shock quickly. Arthur’s hoping that his friendly attitude will just give the impression that he’s...approachable and slightly laid back, as opposed to just an idiot who forgot they were coming because no one had reminded him.

Gods. Merlin can never know about this.

~

Thankfully, the next three days went smoothly, or at least as smoothly as possible after Arthur spent an hour rifling through his old mail to try and figure out the original reason for Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s visit (watching their eldest’s knighting ceremony, and discussing with Arthur the potential for their youngest to move to the city to become a squire).

He waves them off in a much more regal manner than he had welcomed them, and keeps his promise to George, upping his pay slightly; though he exchanges the hug for an awkward pat on the shoulder, which he thinks both of them were grateful for.

~

He’d successfully made it through nine days. Semi-successfully. He’d just about made it through nine days.

Five more to go. But Arthur was feeling fine about those five days. He’d double checked all his mail, and made sure to find out when his patrols were scheduled.

Which is... unknown to Arthur, where the next problem stems from. 

Arthur wasn’t the one to rota the patrols, he really didn’t have the time to sit down with a list of names and hours and times and maps and organise everything fairly, it was difficult and time-consuming, but he made sure that Leon knew exactly how many hours he could give up for patrol each week.

Apparently, the communication between Leon and the council was normally handled by Merlin, who wasn’t there. So whilst Arthur was enjoying a solo patrol along the city borders at noon, waving at citizens and making his horse do tricks for giggling children, the council were sitting around the table, waiting rather irately for his arrival.

Now normally, this could’ve been easily dealt with, but when the same guard from three days ago gallops over to inform him of the problem and take over his patrol, Arthur was reminded rather suddenly that Merlin was always the one that came up with sensible sounding excuses.

(He also makes a mental note to avoid that guard forever out of embarrassment.)

This was one of the very rare occasions when Arthur simply glares the council into submission. Normally he likes to work with them; he hates to feel like they're just doing what he wants because they were kissing his arse, but he has no excuse other than “I forgot.” and he felt like that was worse than just.. acting like a bit of a dick for five minutes.

So... yeah. Merlin wasn’t there to reorganise the council meeting around Arthur’s patrol, and then also wasn’t there to come up with an excuse for why it wasn’t reorganised.

Arthur makes it ten days before he admits to himself that perhaps he relies on his manservant just a little too much.

~

Four days later, Arthur had missed another council meeting (despite his best efforts), Lancelot and Mordred had accidentally insulted some visiting Lord (and had therefore been told not to leave their rooms until he had vacated the city), and Gwen was no longer speaking to him, on account of The King being a dick without realising because Merlin wasn’t there to rein in his ego and... well... dickishness. That, and his crown had somehow gone missing between yesterday morning and now.

(If that last one had happened even a week prior, Arthur would’ve been adamant that it had been stolen or something else equally not-his-fault, but with how quickly he’d been made aware of his apparent bad memory and social clumsiness, he had every faith that he’d just misplaced it, and Merlin would know exactly where to look.)

Arthur was sitting on the courtyard steps, tunic unlaced at the top and hair a mess when his servant finally, finally walks through the castle gates. The King perks up slightly, but refuses to give Merlin the satisfaction of being run to, so forces himself to remain in place. He was especially glad that he’d made that decision when he saw Guinevere spring over to greet him. He has a feeling she won’t be all that... welcoming, at least not yet.

Merlin wraps her in a tight hug and Arthur forces down the swell of jealousy in his lungs, especially when he laughs brightly and pulls back to clasp her shoulders. Arthur sees Gwen’s face fall at a question Merlin had asked and he gulps, biting his lip when Merlin frowns and raises an incredulous eyebrow at her response. She points in Arthur’s direction, and The King’s eyes go wide as he rapidly stands, failing miserably at looking as though he weren’t staring in their direction. Guinevere rolls her eyes before giving Merlin one last hug and walking very deliberately in the opposite direction to Arthur.

Merlin marches towards him, slight annoyance mixing with a secret eagerness to check on Arthur speeding up his normal pace significantly. Before the servant can say anything, Arthur grabs his wrist, pulling him up the steps and through the castle without a word, tugging harshly every time Merlin opens his mouth to demand an explanation for himself or an apology for Gwen.

When they finally reach his chambers, Arthur quickly locks the door behind him, whirling on an angry Merlin with flushed cheeks and a desperate look in his eyes:

“I swear Merlin, I will never doubt you again, but Elyan almost died, Gwaine got an infection, Leon and I forgot about Ethel and Halbert, Lancelot and Mordred are essentially under house arrest, I missed two council meetings, lost my crown, and now Gwen’s not talking to me. You’re never allowed to leave me again.”

Merlin freezes in place, staring at Arthur with wide eyes and an open mouth for a few moments before he bursts into laugher. Arthur huffs, crossing his arms as his blush deepens, but waits patiently instead of demanding that Merlin stop. Honestly? He may have been laughing at Arthur, but it was still the most beautiful sound The King had heard in two weeks, and he’d definitely missed it. Which is... something to think about at a later date.

Merlin finally relents, his dimples showing prominently as he holds in another round of giggles at Arthur’s red face. The servant drops his pack to the floor, stepping forward and not giving Arthur time to move away before he pulls him into a tight hug, sighing contentedly at the warm contact:

“I missed you too, you prat. You’ll just have to come with me next time and we can leave Gwen and Gaius in charge.”

Arthur huffs out a gentle laugh, finally wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle tightly and burying his face in the slightly taller man’s hair:

“I did. Miss you, I mean. And I also mean it when I say you’re never going anywhere without me again, this has been a nightmare.”

Merlin snorts, tightening his grip on Arthur as if he were trying to squeeze all of the stress out of him:

“Co-dependency isn’t the healthiest thing in the world, you know.”

Arthur just huffs, refusing to let go as he petulantly responds:

“I don’t care. I’m The King, I can do what I want.”

Arthur can almost feel Merlin rolling his eyes, but the servant just laughs again and seems to nod in agreement:

“Hmm. That excuse is going to come back to haunt you one day. Heard you gave George a raise?”

The blonde tenses in embarrassment, now refusing to pull away so Merlin wouldn’t see his pink cheeks:

“Uh... yeah. He cleans too much and is shit at coming up with plausible excuses, but he did save my arse a few times.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s laugh vibrate through his ribcage, and though the man was usually rather touch averse, he found he never wanted the feeling to stop. He found himself hoping that Merlin felt the same when The King chuckles at his response:

“Oh yeah? Does that mean I get a raise for being good at excuses and bad at cleaning?”

~

THE END!!! 

Literally wrote this in one day so... sorry if it’s bad😅

Had no clue how I was going to end it until I got there, my thought process essentially just went “Hugs? Yeah. Hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs.” :D

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out in full or remix it or whatever, go for it, just drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

[subbykboys]

new to this | taeyong

↳ pairing : virgin!taeyong x reader

Genre ➞ pure smut oof

Warnings ➞ sub!taeyong, corruption kink, begging, mild degrading, handjob, fingering (m. receiving), public-ish(?), mild choking, running into walls

Word Count ➞ 8.3k

requested by @ninachocoo

posted ; 3.08.21

Hot. God, it was so hot. 

Then again, summer in your part of town always was. But this heat— this heat was different. It surrounded you, pulling perspiration from your pores and clinging to you persistently. It spilled down your throat, filling your lungs with every deep inhale. It robbed you of any and all of your energy, leaving you too tired to rouse yourself from where you lay on the cool tile floor of your kitchen in front of the open fridge (the absolute coldest spot you could find in your entire house). 

You didn’t cope very well in warm weather, if that wasn’t obvious. 

And, at the cost of your poor housemate’s sanity, you always found new and creative ways to cope with the excruciating rise in temperature, 

“Y/n a few of my— how many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?!” You couldn’t bring yourself to so much as flinch as the fridge door was abruptly slammed shut, only managing to pull a whining complaint from the back of your throat as your only source of cool air was ever so rudely ripped away. 

“Fuck you, Mark. It’s too fucking hot to worry about the stupid electricity bill.” You huffed, peeling your eyes open just long enough to shoot an icy glare in the direction of the scowling brunette. 

He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, lower lip jutting out. “I think you forget that it’s a combination of both of our money going into paying them, so I think that I have a right to worry about how much is coming out of my pocket because you think that laying in front of an open fridge is a good way to ‘beat the heat’.” 

“Offer me a better solution, I’m open to suggestions.” You sighed tiredly. 

He only rolled his eyes. 

“Oh! I’ve got one,” you exclaimed suddenly, clapping your hands together as a gasp of excitement flew from your lips, “How about I just strip down and walk around butt ass naked? That should do the trick! Oh… but little Mark would like that a little too much, wouldn’t he?” You offered him a taunting pout, feigning sympathy as you glanced down unabashedly towards his crotch. 

Instinctively, his hands flew to cover himself as his cheeks throbbed a devastatingly obvious shade of red, bright enough to rival even the ripest of tomatoes. “Y–you—” 

Your lips curled with an amused smirk, but it faltered at the sound of thundering laughter coming from behind your flustered housemate. Your eyes followed the sound, finding its source in a group of about five or so men crowding up the foyer. Brows lifting in mild surprise, you shifted your attention back to an even more humiliated looking Mark. 

“You brought company.” An apology hung at the tip of your tongue. You really tried to keep your pg-13 teasing to a minimum around other people, especially knowing how susceptible Mark could be to his own embarrassment. 

“Hey Mark, I thought you said your roommate was a raging asshole with the sex drive of a teenaged boy on viagra? She seems pretty cool to me! And hot.” One of the taller boys chimed, a massive dopey grin plastered across his face. 

You turned to Mark slowly, brows raised. But he wouldn’t meet your eyes, head lowered. He wasn’t good at hiding his guilt. 

Welp. No apology for ole Marky boy today. 

“Please, allow me to properly introduce myself to our company.” Mark's eyebrows jumped all the way to his hairline as you pushed yourself off the floor and tossed an arm around his shoulder. “My name is (y/n), but I suppose Mark's asshole roommate with the sex drive of a teenage boy on viagra could work, too.” 

The look you shot him out of the corner of your eye had him shrinking in on himself, regret shining in his big brown eyes. But, you ruffled his hair, a silent reassurance that you weren’t all that torn up about the comment, especially considering it was hard to deny the layer of truth that lingered within it. 

You’d probably subjected Mark to more than his fair share of sleepless nights while you were up into the early morning giving the man (or woman) of the night the experience of a lifetime. A few scathing comments to close friends was more than understandable when looked upon in that light. Besides, you were never good at holding a grudge against your sweet, awkward, puppy-eyed housemate. 

The tall one that had spoken before chimed in eagerly, “I’m Yukhei, but my friends call me Lucas. Xuxi works, too. Or papi if you're feeling especially— ow!” Lucas yelped loudly as a hand connected to the back of a head with a sharp smack. You watched in amusement as another tall, charming looking man tugged him back, shooting him a warning glare before turning his attention to you. 

“Ignore him. He has a bad habit of forgetting his manners around attractive women. My name's Johnny, it’s great to finally meet you.” The sweet, disarming smile he offered you had any reservations melting away, and you easily returned the gesture before he proceeded with introductions. “This Haechan, Jaehyun, Doyoung, and— Taeyong?” 

Johnny pivoted around, brief confusion settling across his face before he spotted whoever he’d been looking for. Reaching behind Lucas, he grabbed someone's arm, tugging them into your line of sight. 

“And this is Taeyong!” He concluded with a grin, slapping a large hand down on the shorter boy’s shoulder. Taeyong dipped his head shyly, not meeting your eyes as he murmured a soft greeting that you were just barely able to catch. Soft tufts of dirty blonde hair fell over large brown eyes as he bowed politely, the air of meekness unmistakable. 

Oh, he’s cute. 

Your lips curled into an impish smirk. “Hi, Taeyong.” 

A faint blush darkened his cheeks and you caught a hint of a smile upturning the corners of his mouth. 

Really cute. 

Mark knew you well enough to see the gears beginning to turn in your head and coughed loudly when your stare lingered longer than necessary.

“O-kay, now that you’re all acquainted…” he stepped in swiftly, opting to intervene before you could get any wise ideas about his friend. “We have got a group project to work on and it would be extremely helpful if you’d refrain from providing any distractions. I already have a hard enough time trying to get them to focus for longer than five minutes as is.”

“Aww but I wanna hang out with your hot roommate, Mark.” Lucas whined loudly, practically throwing himself across Mark’s shoulders as the cutest pout you’ve probably ever seen fell across his lips. “She’s got a way nicer ass than any of you guys.” 

Doyoung sighed, his face screwing in second hand embarrassment for his friend’s shameless behavior. “Lucas, please.” 

“Have some dignity, man.” Haechan huffed additionally and you grinned in amusement as he grabbed the collar of Lucas’s shirt and began tugging him towards the living room. 

“Don’t worry, Mark. I’ll stay out of the way. I would hate to hinder your geek fest.” You teased, wrinkling your nose as you stepped past him. 

“Thank you, (y/n). I really— wait, Geek f– it’s a project worth thirty percent of our final grade!” 

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.” You waved a dismissive hand over your shoulder, before pausing briefly. Spinning on your heels, you turned back to face 

the cute boy, who visibly jolted the moment your attention landed on him. “It was very nice meeting you, Taeyong.” 

“Y- you, too.” He stuttered sweetly and you had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach over and pinch those adorable pink cheeks. Either pair. 

With one last sultry smile, and a wink just to fuck with Mark a little, you sauntered back into your bedroom. Miraculously, you were no longer concerned with the previously unbearable heat plaguing your apartment. Now, you had something —or rather, someone— far more interesting to occupy your mind. 

Taeyong was having a difficult time focusing, which was pretty out of ordinary. He had barely gotten anything done with his assigned part of the project, less than half a page filled out with what little information he managed to collect. Luckily, none of the other guys seemed to notice, too distracted by their own inabilities to focus to take notice of his. Otherwise he would have to concoct some lie. But he wasn’t good at lying. He was a terrible liar, in fact. So he would probably just end up blurting out the truth which was you. You were the reason he couldn’t focus. You with your mischievous eyes and your pretty smile and intoxicating laugh. Mark’s asshole roommate with the sex drive of a teenage boy on viagra. 

He’d seen pictures of you before. But they didn’t do you any justice. In pictures, you were pretty. In real life, you were beautiful, charming, witty, sexy, and you winked at him. Girls don’t wink at him. Not ever. But you had. You’d winked and smiled at him and he wasn’t sure if you were just teasing him because he flustered easily or if there was a chance it meant something a little more than that. 

… he secretly hoped it meant something a little more than that. 

But he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. He should be thinking about finishing his research. Not your eyes. Not your smile. Not your voice of the way you purred his name and those shivers rushed down his spine and he could have sworn something twitched— okay. That’s enough. He really needed to splash some water in his face, cool down a little before his mind wandered to places it definitely should not. 

“Ah— Mark?” 

The younger boy lifted his head, brows raising. “’Sup?” 

“Where’s the bathroom?” 

He perked, tipping his chin forward. “Oh, it’s to the right of the k— shit, wait. That toilet’s busted. Um, just use the one in my room. It’s at the end of the hall.” 

“Thanks,” Taeyong pushed himself up with a soft grunt, nearly tripping over Yukhei’s long legs as he maneuvered himself around the cluttered coffee table, “I’ll be right back.” 

None of the other guys took much notice of how quickly he rushed out of the room, much to Taeyong’s relief. He let out a low breath the moment he turned the corner and found himself in a vacant hallway, but that relief was short lived. 

Mark had only said that his room was at the end of the hall. But, there were two doors at the end of the hall. Meaning one of them could possibly lead to your room. And you were in your room. Which meant if he walked through the wrong door on accident… he could walk in on you. Oh god. Heat rushed into his cheeks at the mere thought of such a humiliating occurrence. For a moment, he debated turning on his heels and returning to the living room. 

But, he wasn’t ready to go back to studying just yet. He was still feeling flushed and antsy and needed another moment or two to himself. Plus… he was actually starting to need to pee a little. Damn him and his tiny bladder.

Hesitating, he gently knocked on the door on the right side of the hall then waited ten seconds. No response. Just to be extra certain, he knocked twice more before finally turning the knob. Cautiously, he peeked his head inside. The black out curtains were drawn tight so the room was dark, too dark to make out anything defining outside of the vague shape of a bed and dresser tucked into the far corner. It took a few minutes of stumbling blindly through the inky blackness, tripping over clothes and extension wires until he found what he hoped to be the bathroom door. 

Without too much of a second thought, he opened the door. 

Then he froze. 

He thought it was Mark’s room. He really did. He thought he was tripping over Mark’s clothes and Mark’s wires. Though, he probably should have noticed the light coming out from beneath the bathroom door, indicating that someone might be inside. Or maybe he did but ignored it because– because maybe Mark just left the light on. That could have happened. That totally could have happened. 

But it didn’t. 

Because it wasn’t Mark’s room. Those weren’t his clothes or his wires and he didn’t leave the light on. 

He realized this all too late of course. Because now he was staring at you. You who was wet and naked and… wet and naked. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could only stare, dumbstruck, mind short circuiting as billowing steam curled around the shape of your body like an iridescent veil, beautiful skin glistening under the soft golden light. Your head was tipped back, lips slightly parted, hands soothing your slick hair out of your face as the hot water cascading down the swells of your 

breasts and over the curves of your shoulders.

It was like watching something out of a pornographic shampoo commercial. 

“Oh—” it was somewhere between a whine and gasp, strangled and broken by the time it escaped his trembling lips. It was so quiet, you shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the hiss of water. So it took him off guard when your eyes opened and flicked in his direction. 

He flinched, body jolting backwards like it intended to make a break for it, but it was like your stare locked him into place. His brain was screaming at him to do something; to move, to  turn away, close his eyes, apologize, bash his head against the freaking wall, literally anything but stand there staring at you with his mouth open like a complete idiot. But he couldn’t. 

The corner of your mouth curled, forming into a downright devilish smirk that sent hot tendrils of desire spiraling through his veins. Then you quirked a brow and it was like a burst of electricity bringing him back to life. His hands flew up from where they’d been frozen at his sides, slapping so hard over his eyes that he yelped in shock at the sting. 

“Ohmygod I- I am so sorry! I am so—” he whirled around, spewing high pitched apologies as he scrambled for the door. Only, his eyes were closed so instead of bolting out the door he face planted into the wall next to the door. “Ow!” 

Your low laughter rippled through the small bathroom and red hot embarrassment raced up his neck and into his face. He could only whimper out one finally strained apology as he clutched his throbbing nose and stumbled back into the darkness of your bedroom, slamming the door sharply behind him. 

By the time he’d managed to scramble back into the hall, Taeyong felt like he was on fire. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he was certain if he dared to look in a mirror he’d be the equivalent of a tomato. 

Humiliation gripped at his throat, squeezing painfully around his airway every time he recalled the previous events. He’d never be able to face you again. Not after that train wreck. Not ever. Groaning distraughtly, he sank against the wall, silently wishing that the floor would just swallow him up and put an end to his suffering.

But, there was something worse than the embarrassment. Something hotter and harder, throbbing shamelessly in the confines of his suddenly far too jeans. He saw you naked— wet and naked, looking like a freaking goddess beneath the stream of hot water, soap suds still clinging to your skin. He had never seen a woman like that before. Not in person, at least. And none as beautiful as you. 

Biting his lip, he squeezed his legs together, trying his best to will away his progressively hardening erection. That, of course, did not work. And it didn’t help in the slightest that every time he so much as blinked, the image of you in the shower came rushing to the forefront of his mind, still fresh and vivid and devastating. 

Oh god. There was no was no way he could go back to working on the project now. If he thought he was being unproductive before— he probably wouldn’t be able to get a single legible word written with the image of you and your body burned into the back of his eyelids. 

He was doomed. 

And he still needed to pee. 

Damnit. 

It was about nine at night when the low voices transformed into booming laughter, the walls practically vibrating under the barrage of stomping feet. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that they’d finished up on their project— either that or they mutually reached the end of their attention spans. 

Regardless, you were bored of remaining cooped up in your bedroom merely for the sake of your roommate’s econ grade and needed to stretch your legs a bit. Not to mention you were beginning to crave something greasy and unhealthy. You were almost certain the group of college boys lounging in your living room wouldn’t be opposed to some pizza, fries, and milkshakes from your favorite delivery place. 

“I don’t know about you boys but I’m starving!” You sang brightly as you all but skipped into the room. All eyes swung to you, wide and stunned as they watched you waltz over to where Mark sat in the love seat and throw yourself into his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world. He grunted under your weight, lip curling in annoyance but wrapped his arms securely around your stomach nonetheless. You pretended not to notice the lingering eyes of one particular boy, meticulously curled into the farthest corner of the couch. “Anyone down to order?” 

“Ugh please!” Yukhei exclaimed, throwing his head back dramatically. “I am dying of hunger.” 

The others were eager to voice their own agreement and you turned to Mark with an expectant smile. “Rubio’s?” He asked, already reaching for his phone. 

“Read my mind.” You hummed, pinching his cheek until he hissed and swatted you away. 

It was nothing short of chaos trying to get everyone’s orders, multiple overlapping voices making it hard to discern exactly who was asking for what, but somehow Mark managed to place all of the requests with only a handful of difficulties. Well, all but one. 

“Taeyong.” 

The boy’s head jerked up so fast at the sound of his name that you were surprised you hadn’t heard something crack. Up until then he’d been sitting quietly with his knees to his chest, staring at his feet, pointedly avoiding looking in your general direction. He could only hold your gaze for a few tense seconds before his cheeks flamed and he dropped his eyes. 

“I– uh– y- yes?” He coughed, blinking hard. 

You tilted your head, offering him an innocent smile. “Is there anything you’d like to eat?” You couldn’t stop yourself from adding an unnecessarily suggestive pitch to the question, words dancing wickedly across your tongue. 

Taeyong swallowed and pulled his knees tighter to his chest. “I– I’ll just have some of the- the pizza.” The words tumbled clumsily out of his mouth and your grin only widened as he became more and more flustered under the heat of your persistent stare. 

“Perfect. Then we can share.” 

The poor boy nearly choked on air when you abruptly pushed yourself off of Mark and sauntered over to where he sat, squeezing in between him and an eager Yukhei, who was more than happy to make room for you. His entire body went rigid, brief panic shooting across his features as you made yourself comfortable. It was tight with Jaehyun, Lucas, Taeyong and now you all squished onto the couch, so you were practically flush against him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. You pretended not to notice that he was holding his breath. 

“Thirty minutes.” Mark announced, shutting off his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. 

“What should we do while we wait?” Jaehyun asked, ignoring Yukhei as he whined about how he’d be dead of starvation before the food even arrived. 

“Movie?” Haechan suggested. 

You perked. “I know a good one.” 

“No— no.” Mark cut in quickly, pointing a finger with the intention to reprimand in your direction. “Every time you pick a movie it’s either fucked up or really fucked up. So no.” 

“Don’t be a pussy, Mark.” You huffed, wrinkling your nose at him. “Just because you don’t like horror movies doesn’t mean your friends don’t.” 

“I, for one, love a good horror movie!” Yukhei remarked, a smug grin breaking across his lips as he shot a flirtatious wink in your direction. 

Haechan scoffed. “Bullshit! You couldn’t sleep alone for a week after we watched The Shining. And that wasn’t even scary!” 

“There was a tidal wave of blood.” He grumbled defensively, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumped, lower lip jutting out dramatically.

“No tidal wave of blood is this one, promise.” You snickered, snatching the remote from the cluttered coffee table and switching on the television. It only took a few minutes of browsing through Netflix before you finally located the movie you’d saved to your watch list a few weeks ago but had never gotten the chance to watch. 

Marked hopped up to flick off the lights as you pressed play, any excited or nervous murmurs coming to a halt as the opening credits rolled across the screen. Beside you, Taeyong tensed, squeezing his legs even tighter to his chest. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, not missing the nervous way he gnawed at his lower lip even in the darkness. 

“Not good with horror movies?” You hummed, nudging his knee. He flinched in surprise, eyes shooting over to meet yours before he quickly diverted his attention back to the screen. 

“No, not– not really.” He admitted weakly, clearing his throat. 

A playful smirk twirled onto your lips and you subtly leaned into him, whispering near his ear, “you can hold my hand if you get scared.” 

A fierce blush consumed his cheeks, illuminated by the soft grey light of the television. “I– I’ll be okay.” He coughed when his voice cracked and you chuckled under your breath, opting to cut the poor boy some slack… for now. 

The movie progressed with the usual eerie start before transitioning into something lighter, though the low hum of anticipation-building music never ceased. Even if at some point it became rather repetitive, you thoroughly enjoyed a good horror movie. Most of the time, they failed to meet expectations and you left feeling rather disappointed that your stomach hadn’t leapt into your throat any point throughout the film. However, every once in a while, you were pleasantly surprised. 

Now, was not one of those times. 

Boredom quickly settled over you as the plot developed, revealing itself to be almost identical to a number of horror movies you’d watched in the past. You slumped back in your seat, a subtle scowl staining your lips. But then… inspiration. Devious, unquestionably self indulgent inspiration that risked putting a certain someone in a possibly very awkward (but also very delightful) position. 

The slow slide of your eyes from the television over to the boy seated at your left revealed that not everyone found the movie to be boring and repetitive. Taeyong was practically trembling. He had both of his hands over his face, wide, uncertain eyes peeking out timidly from between his index and middle fingers. 

You had to sink your teeth into your lip in order to subdue the large grin threatening to break across your face. 

Fuck, he’s too adorable. 

Unable to resist, you allowed a curious hand to wander towards his leg. With a brush so subtle it could’ve been mistaken for a breeze, you traced a finger over the seam of his pants. But, with his senses on high alert, it wasn’t a sensation he missed. He jolted violently, head swinging in your direction. There was fear in his eyes, but it quickly melted into relief else once he realized it was you and not some demon. 

Then his eyes drifted to where your finger lingered, hovering over his clothed thigh, and the relief transformed into something else entirely. Something hot and shameful and desperate, something he tried to hide behind frantically fluttering eyelids and quivering lips. But it was unmistakable. 

You lifted your brows, a silent question swirling in your gaze. He swallowed, breath coming out in quick, shallow huffs as the unnameable emotion thickened inside of him, then he nudged his leg shyly towards you. The air you didn’t realize you were holding in your lungs rushed out in one quick exhale, a subtle smirk curling onto your lips as excitement swirled in your gut. Taeyong sucked his lower lip into his mouth as your open palm landed boldly on his lower thigh, fingers pressing gently into the clothed muscle just above his knee. 

For a few minutes, it remained there, not moving any lower or any high, simply resting on his leg and he found himself relaxing beneath your touch. The heat of your hand was a welcome –comforting, even– distraction from the horror movie that had progressed to the point in the plot where the reckless characters put themselves directly into the line of danger instead of taking the intelligent path that would help them avoid it all together. You could feel the tension returning to Taeyong’s muscles as suspense building music poured from the surround sound speakers. 

In a two sided attempt to both comfort and tease, you began gently massaging his thigh. His breath audibly hitched, gaze straying from the screen once more in favor of watching the slow, deliberate motion of your fingers squeezing around his leg. That alone was enough to set his long neglected desire to flames. It burned within him, hot and dangerous, turning his face a dark, flattering crimson. 

It was too much. He’d never been touched like this before. You weren’t even close to his crotch and he could still feel the distinctive hardening beneath the zipper of his jeans which were growing tighter and tighter with every passing moment. At this rate, he’d make a mess of himself before the movie even reached its climax. 

The mere thought of coming untouched was enough to make his head feel dizzy, a mixture of humiliation and heady lust licking at his nerves. 

He couldn’t believe he was feeling this way, in a room full of his friends no less. If one of them were to look over, even through darkness, it would be impossible to miss your hand laid across his lap or the feverish blush coating his face, illuminated by the dull light of the tv. 

Then, your hand shifted higher. It was a minute movement, couldn’t have been more than an inch or two. But it had his pulse spiking in his veins nonetheless, blood rushing downward. You gripped gently at the inside of his slim thigh, thumb tracing slow, calculated circles into the rough material of his jeans. He trembled beneath the teasing ministrations, jaw clenched to fight back the urge to moan as your curious touch wandered upwards once more. 

“Is this alright?” 

The question came unexpectedly, a sudden rush of warm breath hitting the curve of his throat. He sucked his lips into his mouth, shivering faintly at the low, rough sound of your voice, just quiet enough that none of the other men in the room could make it out. 

He offered a sharp, jerky nod, desperately heaving in deep breath through his nose. The corner of your mouth curled. 

“God you're shaking. Are you that sensitive? Or do you just get off on getting felt up in front of all your friends? How naughty.” You chuckled tauntingly, words borderline malicious. 

“I– I don’t— I’m not—” he swallowed, shaking his head frantically in denial of your words, despite the flames they ignited inside of him. 

“I think you are.” You purred, tracing your index finger lightly over his prominent bulge, eliciting a strangled moan from his trembling lips. He was fortunate enough that at the very moment the sound escaped, some ditzy bimbo began screaming her lungs out in the movie. Still, he slapped a hand over his offending lips, looking around frantically to see if anyone had heard his slip up. Luckily enough, it seemed they hadn’t. 

This was payback, he realized abruptly, this was payback for walking in on you showering. 

But even if it was— 

It felt too damn good. 

His head tipped back, hand surging to cover his burning face and stifle his whimpers as you suddenly gripped firmly at his clothed length. A low, appreciative hum thrummed through your chest as you felt him twitch, delighting in just how responsive he was to your touch. His thighs squeezed together, hips shuddering upwards as you mapped him out. 

The urge to set your teeth upon his neck was almost overwhelming, but you resisted only because it might draw some attention from the room’s other, currently oblivious, occupants. You doubted Yukhei would miss it, even if he was desperately hiding his eyes behind those astoundingly massive hands. 

But shit was it tempting. 

His pretty porcelain skin would look so good painted in varying shades of pink and red. So sweet and pure… you wanted to taint him. 

He couldn’t stop moving now, squirming and quivering in place. He was unraveling right before your eyes, and you were devouring it. What a sight… 

Warmth stirred in your belly, and you rolled your palm down. He jolted violently, then in the next second he was up on his feet. It happened so quickly that you nearly fell over, just barely catching yourself from falling into the spot he previously occupied. Yukhei shrieked in shock, throwing himself directly into Jaehyun’s lap. 

“Fuck, Taeyong! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Haechan shrilled, clutching a pillow against his chest. Instead of responding, Taeyong jerked forward, the movement sharp and robotic, like his body wasn’t quite caught up to his brain. 

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asked, squinting at him through the darkness. “And why do you look so—” 

“B- B- Bathroom!” Taeyong squeaked out abruptly. You could only watch with wide eyes and gaping lips as he proceeded to run out of the living room like his ass was on fire. 

“Movie must’ve freaked him out.” Johnny muttered. 

“It’s not even that bad.” Yukhei scoffed in a voice too high pitched for his words to sound believable, grunting when Jaehyun shoved him off of his lap. Noisy banter was quick ensue. Noisy and distracting enough for you to make a quick and silent escape without catching any of the other boys’ attention. 

“Taeyong?” You called softly, worry churning in your gut that you overstepped or upset him. “Tae, I’m sorry if I—” you gasped, words cutting off in your throat as a hand found your wrist and you were quickly tugged around the corner and into the unlit hallway. 

The motion was so unexpected you ended up tripping over your own feet, having to slam a hand against the wall to steady yourself. But it was only when you felt a rush of quick, warm breath against your face that you realized the position you’d gotten yourself into. Taeyong was standing in front of you, face flushed a feverish shade of red, faint perspiration glistening on his skin, and he was standing with his spine flush against the wall, effectively caged in by your body. And he was looking at you. 

Really looking at you. 

With the kind of eyes that had something tightening deliciously in the pit of your stomach, chills of excitement ricocheting through your veins. 

“Tae?” His name was less than a breath on your lips, laced with an unspoken question. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, fluttering gaze dancing across your face. 

“I almost…” he swallowed, shivering voice tapering off as he became overwhelmed by the proximity. He could smell your shampoo, a subtle, smoky-vanilla kind of scent that made his head feel dizzy. “I almost c- came.” 

The corner of your mouth swirled, both amused and charmed by the way he whispered the word, tone so innocent and shy that the filthy meaning behind it almost became misconstrued in your head. 

“Do you want to come, Taeyong?” You asked quietly, jutting a knee forward to press between his thighs. He gasped, trembling lips silently caressing the shape of your name as his hands shot forward, clutching desperately onto the sides of your shirt. A shy nod was all he could muster, the words feeling far too dirty to say aloud. But you weren’t satisfied. 

“Say it.” You murmured, nose brushing against his. His breath hitched at the command, warmth flushing through his veins beneath the staggering heat of your dark, hooded gaze. “If you want it, say it. If you don’t, tell me now.” 

“I want it!” He said quickly, only to flush and shrink in on himself, taken aback by his own outburst. Licking his lips, he repeated himself in a much softer voice, “I– I want it.” 

You let out a low hum, curving a gentle hand around his jaw. “Can I kiss you?” 

A shock ran through his body, his wide eyes snapping down to trace to soft lines of your mouth. “Yes.” He breathed, suddenly desperate for a taste of your lips. You didn’t deny him. 

The first brush of your lips against his is light, delicate… teasing. It made his knees tremble, fierce anticipation and wild desire running rampant through him. He opened up for you like a goddamn flower in bloom, melting sweetly when you applied even the slightest bit more pressure. His mouth was soft and warm, his kiss shy. And there was something ever so endearing about the way he clutched at your top like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

You kept the pace deliberately slow, relishing in the soft moans that fluttered from his chest as you sucked his lower lip into your mouth, gently sinking your teeth into the sensitive flesh. He was wracked by a violent full body shiver when you licked over the seam of his lip. 

God he’s adorable. 

His strong reactions made you wonder if he’d ever been kissed like this before. Or, perhaps, this was a new experience entirely. 

“Taeyong.” He whimpered when you abruptly broke away from the kiss, but you ignored it. “Are you a virgin?” 

His eyes widened, a deep red flooding his cheeks. Then, he nodded, gaze dropping to the floor as the tips of his ears darkened. 

Wicked excitement curled in your gut, heat licking at your veins at the thought of being the first to corrupt such a sweet… innocent… 

“Have you ever been touched before?” 

He shook his head, chest pressing against your with every jagged inhale he drew into his lungs. 

You dipped a hand between your bodies, trailing teasingly down his stomach. “Would you like to be touched?” Your voice had dropped at least an octave, a low, rasping whisper that nearly made him keen. 

“Yes.” A devious grin settled across your lips at the quickness of his reply. Didn’t even need to think that one over, huh? 

You slid your hand over his crotch, feeling his hips buck uncontrollably when you squeezed. “Just looking at you,” you began, toying with his zipper, “I never would’ve guessed what a little slut you are.” 

“I- I’m not a slut.” He whimpered, digging his fingers into your waist. 

“Aren’t you, though?” You popped the button of his jeans. “I mean, take a good look at yourself, Yongie; letting yourself get felt up and teased by your best friend’s roommate while they’re just in the next room over. Seems pretty slutty to me.” 

Taeyong couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his chest at the degrading word, his cock twitching within the confines of his boxers. Slipping a finger beneath the elastic, you tugged it away from his skin, letting out a playful coo when his weeping pink tip peeked out. The blush on his face intensified tenfold, both of his hands dropping down instinctively to cover himself. But you were faster, snatching his wrists and pinning them against the wall on either side of his head. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

Shivering, he offered a compliant nod. 

“Good boy.” 

He barely had time to form a reaction to the praise before he felt you around him, stroking and caressing. The responding moan that burst from his lips was loud— too loud. You were quick to cover his gaping mouth, successfully muffling the series of succeeding gasps and whimpers. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” you clicked your tongue, watching the way his eyes fluttered and rolled as you tightened your grip around his cock, “you wouldn’t want your hyungs to find out what a little slut you’re being, now would you? Mark was so kind, inviting you into his home… How do you think he’d feel if he were to see you taking advantage of his hospitality, getting your pretty little cock played with by his roommate? How shameless...” 

Taeyong whimpered, and you felt the gentle press of his lips against your palm, followed by a meek flick of his tongue. He was looking at you now, really looking at you, with the kind of pathetic, wanting eyes that never failed to make your skin burn in excitement. You wondered if you could make him cry, overwhelm him with pleasure to the point where he couldn’t keep his emotions at bay. The desire to ruin him was almost unbearable. 

Swirling your thumb over his tip, you slotted a leg between his, pressing up against him from underneath. He nearly keened at the pressure, hips rolling greedily over your thigh, simultaneously pumping his cock into your closed fist. Heaven, this must be heaven. Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to succumb to his desires so readily, with such… enthusiasm. But this Taeyong surprised you at every turn. You’d thought he’d be shy, reserved, hesitant to give in, but here he was, riding your thigh and fucking your hand like his life depended on it, his muffled moans pulsing beneath your palm. 

It’d be a flat out lie to say you weren’t beyond turned on. 

There was a slick warmth building between your thighs, soaking into the fabric of your underwear, and tight knots in your stomach, threatening to burst at any given moment. The knowledge that less than thirty feet away, your roommate and all his friends were gathered and one stray moan from the crumbling man before you could give away all the filthy things you were doing to him stroked the lustful flames blazing through your blood. One glimpse into those hooded, glassy brown eyes told you he was suffering from a similar burn. 

“Turn around.” You demanded, somewhat breathless as you tore your hands off of him. A low whimper escaped past trembling lips at the loss of stimulation, a shiver rippling down his spine as his hard, abandoned cock swung through empty air. Regardless, he was quick to comply, spinning himself around and pressing his palms flat against the wall. You hummed a praise, pleased with his eager compliance, rewarding him with your touch. He gasped, forced to sink his teeth into his lip to stifle his whimpers as your hands slipped over his body: one returning to stroke his dick while the other pushed beneath the material of his top, venturing up to his chest where your fingers set to toying with his sensitive nipples. 

“(y/n)—” he moaned your name desperately, rocking his body back against yours as overwhelming pleasure pulsed through his veins. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” you chuckled darkly, splaying a steadying palm across his hips as they began grinding back into yours, “you sound like you're about to burst.” 

He moaned, shuddering when you caressed his sensitive tip, and an idea struck you. 

“Can you do something for me, Tae?” You asked, voice a low, rasping against the shell of his ear. “Can you suck?” 

Any short lived confusion dissipated from his mind when he felt your fingers nudging at the soft flesh of his lips. A deep blush flooded into his cheeks, but his mouth opened nonetheless, shyly taking your digits inside. 

“There you go…” you purred, feeling his tongue lick delicately at the pads of your middle and ring finger. He sucked, and you lowered your head to press slow, encouraging kisses laced with whispered praises to the juncture of his throat. You felt the soft vibrations of his muffled moans quivering through your knuckles and against your lips. He was shaking, the stimulation to his cock causing violent tremors to wrack his body. He wasn’t far off from release, you could tell as much by the way he was twitching and the slow increase in volume of his sounds. 

But you weren’t finished yet. 

Not by a long shot. 

You pulled your fingers from his mouth, the suction of his lips giving with a lewd, wet pop. A filthy sound coming from such innocent lips. 

Leaning forward, you nipped gently at the shell of his red tinted ear, hand releasing his dick in favor of venturing beneath the hem of his pants. You heard his breath hitched and offered quietly, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

Taeyong nodded in understanding, but offered no resistance as you pushed the thick denim down over the soft curve of his ass. His shoulders jumped, a gasp shooting from his lips when you slid a saliva soaked finger between his cheeks, coming to the abrupt realization of what your intentions were. 

“O– oh—” 

“Is this alright?” 

He swallowed, glancing back at you from over his shoulder. “I– I’ve never…” 

You soothed a hand down the front of his thigh, “it’s okay if you don’t want to.” 

There was no judgement in your tone, rather a gentleness to the reassurance that put his buzzing nerves at ease. “That’s not it,” he shook his head, gnawing at the corner of his lip as a soft pink crept across his cheeks, “j– just…” 

“Just?” 

Taeyong drew in a deep, trembling breath. Your furrowed brows shot to your hairline, heat twisting in your gut as he suddenly bent himself over, sticking his ass out, practically fucking presenting himself to you. “B- be gentle…” he whispered shyly, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. 

Steam would surely start coming out of your nose if your temperature rose any further. This is fucking ridiculous. How was it possible for a man to be so cute yet so sexy all at once? This couldn’t be good for your health… 

Smirking deviously, you settled a palm between his shoulder blades, pressing down ever so slightly and watching as he delicately arched his spine. “I’m always gentle.” 

A hiccuping moan rushed from his chest at the first careful press of your finger, his brows furrowing deeply as his muscles tightened in response to the foreign stretch. 

“Relax, sweetheart.” You reminded lightly, settling soothing kisses across his shoulder. He drew in a series of deep breaths, allowing himself to adjust to the sensation of having something inside of him while melting into the tender caress of your cool lips across his feverish skin. You felt the slow dissipation of tension, felt the way he melted beneath you. “There you go…” you cooed, easing into him until your knuckle before allowing him a few moments to adjust. 

He was panting, forehead thudding softly against the wall as his hips trembled, a strange but not unpleasant feeling sparking to life inside of him. 

“Oh…” it was a barely audible sound, soft and breathless of shuddering lips. But you didn’t miss it, didn’t miss the way his shoulders drooped, his walls tight relaxing ever so faintly around the intruding digit. The corner of your mouth curled upwards in a salacious smirk, and you curled your finger experimentally. 

His reaction was instantaneous, a moan of surprise entwined with unexpected pleasure rushing from his flush throat. He glanced back at you from over his shoulder, eyes wide and trembling, hazy with an emotion you immediately recognized as pure, unfiltered lust. Your grin widened, almost triumphant as you whispered, “feel that?” 

He nodded rapidly, a gasp of breath wracking his chest. “Yes,” his hands were curling into fists where they were braced against the plaster wall. 

“Wanna feel it again?” 

The sound he let out was a combination of several things, keening and desperate for the sensation he’d never before experienced. “Please. Please.” 

It was impossible to say anything but yes when he begged like that. 

You rewarded him by stretching him out around a second finger, his knees nearly giving out when you thrust them in as deep as they would go. He was an absolute mess, forced to slap a quivering hand over his gaping mouth when his teeth proved insufficient at keeping his sounds in. You were enjoying yourself perhaps a little too much, enjoying watching him slowly crumble, enjoying watching his innocence shatter into tiny irreparable pieces on the floor beside glistening drops of precum. He was just too irresistible… 

“You’re about to come, aren’t you?” He was nodding before you even finished the question, muffled moans and sobs escaping through his fingers as he fucked himself back onto yours. You curve a hand around the shape of his jaw, tugging his head back at an angle that surely causes a strain in his neck, and slot your lips into his. Shoving your tongue down his throat proves a far more efficient means of keeping him quiet. 

But when you curled your fingers inside of him, subsequently stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, even your mouth wasn’t enough to stifle the shriek of pleasure that burst from his throat. You were hoping the screams you heard emulating from the other room were enough to drown it out. 

“Keep your voice down.” You all but snarled, curling a hand around his throat. 

“I- I can’t— oh god, it feels so g- good.” He babbled, voice strained from the sheer effort of trying to keep himself from crying out in bliss. “I’m g- gonna come— I’m gonna c- come—” the sound of him choking on his words, gasping for breath around the added resistance of your restricting hold was even hotter than you imagined it would be. 

“Gone on, sweetheart. Let me see you make a mess of yourself.” You kissed the shell of his ear, deciding then to have mercy and offer his pathetic, weeping cock a helping hand. He was finished the moment your fingers grazed his tip, struck with an orgasm so powerful it had his knees buckling beneath the weight of his quivering body. 

His jaw when slack, unleashing every pent up sound he’d managed to keep bottled up thus far. They came rushing out of him too quickly to stop, not that you made much of an effort. You were enjoying the way he was moaning your name like it was his saving grace far too much to care whether or not the other boys were hearing. In fact, the thought of them hearing their sweet, innocent Taeyong whimpering like a bitch in heat, moaning your name, gave you an unexpected rush of delight. 

You didn’t stop fucking your fingers into his tight little hole until you were certain you’d milked him for all he was worth, until he was reduced to little more than a trembling, whimpering mess against your chest, barely able to keep himself upright. 

“Oh my g- god.” He murmured shakily, head falling back to rest on your shoulder. 

A low chuckle slid from your lips as you gently released his spent cock, simultaneously pulling out of him. He winced faintly, whining weakly at the unpleasant emptiness that ensued. 

“That felt pretty good didn’t it?” You teased. 

He bit his lip, humming airily as he melted into your hold. 

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Taeyong?” Your words danced over the curve of his throat, flooding his senses with the fluttering implication. Blushing, he nodded, a shy bob of his head that caused the sweat soaked fringes of his bangs to fall over his eyes, clinging delicately to his pretty eyelashes. “Words?” 

“I—” he swallowed, gaze flitting as his face reddened further, “I’m a g- good boy.” 

You mouth curled deviously. Holding your come covered hand up to his panting mouth, you whispered against the shell of his ear, “good boys clean up their mess.” 

His breath hitched, wide eyes jumping over to meet yours. You held his gaze boldly, cocking an expectant brow. Then, ever so lightly, his tongue dipped out from between red bitten lips, kitten licking his come from your fingertips. You could’ve come right then and there, watching him shyly lap his own release from your hand. Honestly you would’ve been happy to stay like that all night, his tongue tracing the lines of your palm, caressing your knuckles… 

But then the doorbell rang, and someone cleared their throat in the other room. 

“Uh… foods here.” 

Taeyong leapt away from you with a gasp, flushing deeply as his hands flew to tuck himself back into his jeans. 

“D- do you think they—” his voice cracked and he coughed as crimson crept up his neck. 

You smirked, not in the least bit ashamed. 

“Oh, definitely.”

A/N; well i dropped off the face of the earth, sorry about that loves. but i think you’ll be happy to know that i have a number of wip sitting in drafts, should i tease the banners? 

[ghost-like-pale]

a flinch is enough

info: the past never forgets, and techno never forgives. 》 they/them 》 in canon + platonic 》 1.4k words

warnings: sexual assault, explicit descriptions of murder/blood, hurt/comfort, swearing

a/n: this was a request from my beautiful 🌹 anon, thank you for sending this in. i made the implications of sexual assault a a little more subtle but i still hope you like it.

this blog it meant as a way of coping with trauma/mental issues, please don't report it. if you don't want to see what i write, please just block me.

——♤——

the moonlit sky was a beautiful dark blue as you stared at the light. you had been doing housework the entire day due to your counterpart being too busy with whatever he was brewing upstairs. the piglin hybrid usually helped you when he was home, it's his house after all. but today was different, you supposed.

you were so caught up in the moon's doings that you didn't notice the tall figure creeping down the stairs and right behind you. he assumed you were aware of him and went to tap on your shoulder.

as soon as he does you whip your head around, backing away from him as you hold one arm in front of your face and the other in front of your lower body. the shaking of your body became more prominent as time went on.

"(y/n)?"

you couldn't look at him. you weren't strong enough.

"(y/n), please. look at me."

you lowered your arms hesitantly and looked him in the eyes still filled with fear.

"(y/n), i'm not going to hurt you. i promise."

you averted your gaze and drop both your arms. tears leaked out of your eyes and cupped your face with your hands, all the memories coming back and hitting you like a truck.

"i'm so sorry, techno."

you dropped to the floor, your knees buckling under you and techno barely being able to catch you. you felt a heavy, warm cape drape over your figure while a worried piglin grunt escaped techno's throat. he got on one knee and rested one of his hands on your shoulder.

"don't apologize."

two simple words managed to tug at your heartstrings so harshly you couldn't hold it in anymore. you sobbed loudly into your hands, completely losing any posture you tried to maintain. techno was startled, thinking he did something wrong. he quickly snapped out of it, however, and pulled your body by the shoulders into his chest. his firm grasp made you feel secure, stifling your cries a little.

"...are you alright?"

you knew he had no idea how to handle it from here, but you appreciated the concern and kindness he showed. you pulled back from his embrace and wiped your eyes gingerly.

"i'm.. a little better."

"good."

the voices wanted to know who did this - who made you this way. who the fuck hurt you? he tried to keep them quiet, but he wanted them dead as much as his mind.

"can you tell me what happened?"

everything was silent for a few seconds. the voices were quiet, nothing came out of techno's mouth. you sighed and shakily started explaining yourself. techno listened silently, trying to catch every detail and description of the man who scarred you. he had a basic image of him in his mind by the time you were done.

"thank you for telling me."

techno glanced outside the window, the soft glow of the moon telling him it's late. how long had he been brewing? he shuffled a bit and eventually stuck an arm under your legs and upper body. with a small yelp you were lifted a few feet in the air, the cape that you were siting under fell off your back and onto the floor in the proces.

"you need some rest."

you didn't bother trying to stop him. your mind was foggy and your body felt heavy.

"thank you, techno."

"shh, there's no need to thank me."

in comfortable silence you were carried up the stairs and into techno's room. you were confused, you had your own room after all. you didn't mind, though. he placed you on the mattress he slept on rarely. his bed was bigger, the blanket was heavier, the pillow was softer, everything felt better. you wrapped yourself in the plush blanket and felt your eyelids getting heavier already.

"sleep well, (y/n)."

just as he was about to stand up you grabbed a hold of his wrist. he looked at you quizzically, knitting his eyebrows together.

"where are you going?"

"don't worry, i won't be away for long. now sleep."

"fine. good night, techno."

"good night."

—

looking through his bag once more technoblade checked if he forgot to grab anything; he had food, arrows, ender pearls, potions and a small knife. on his hips hung his axe, crossbow and sword, yearning to be used. his bag was full and everything he needed was in his possession. before he opened the door techno noticed the red velvet fabric resting on the ground. with a few paces he arrived in the kitchen and picked up the cape. he swung it over his shoulders and adjusted it carefully. with a loud exhale he stepped out of his house and into the cold weather of the tundra. he whisteled a command and one of the wolves in the pack jumped out of the enclosure it sat in and rushed over to techno's side. he was going to find them.

you've shown him your previous residence multiple times, which is where he was going to look first. it was his best guess. while making his way over to your former abode the wolf that traveled with him was scouting out ahead, hoping it would find it faster than techno.

techno's eyes shoot in the animal's direction when it starts barking aggressively at a moving figure across the woods. the voices screamed at him to assist his pet, to shoot him, kill him immediately, to which he happily obliged. he sped over to his companion, hoping to catch a better glimpse of the person.

"stop him, now!"

techno ordered the animal. after a few seconds he heard a loud thud followed by a yell belonging to a man in immense pain. he made his way over to the barking wolf, it having a slightly stained mouth from its jaws going through the man's flesh and muscles. he found them.

"what's the rush?"

he towered over the other male pathetically writhing on the floor. his calf had a nasty teeth mark, bleeding profusely and covered in dirt and saliva.

"p-please... don't... hurt me!"

"why shouldn't i?"

technoblade hated these kind of men; not even willing to fight or run. just begging and whimpering for mercy. it made him sick. the wolf that followed him all the way here was still barking, ready to tear the man to shreds.

he takes his netherite axe off his hip and hoists it over his shoulder. techno looks the other man right in the eyes, fully aware it fills him with fear. he wanted to feel everything you were put through. he was going to feel your pain.

"i...i've never done anything to you..!"

technoblade froze at the sentence. nothing? he thinks he's done nothing? he's not completely wrong; he's never physically hurt him - he's never even met him before. his train of thought was interrupted by the voices yelling in his head. they were screaming at him to cut him, to strangle him, to burn him, anything. he needed to feel pain.

"does the name (y/n) mean anything to you?"

the horror on the man's face got worse by the second, him figuring out why techno is here. the piglin drops to one knee and gets about an inch away from his victim's face.

"am i going to get an answer?"

"y-yes! we were friends a few years ago."

techno let his axe fall off his shoulder and into the dirt, the blade only falling a few inches away from the other male's injured leg.

"do friends traumatize each other?"

the question filled the victim with dread, his monotone voice only adding to the fear.

"y-you don't know what we did!"

the sudden surge in confidence surprised techno, to be sure. there was nothing more pathetic than a man yelling at the brink of death in such a tone. he scoffed with an amused expression and retracted his axe back into the holder that rested on his hip.

"yeah! they were lying to you, i promise. that's the reason i stopped being friends in the first- GAH!"

his sentence was cut of by a dagger being plunged into his stomach and dragged up to his ribs, cutting open his body. he mewled and moaned in agonizing pain, unable to form any coherent words.

"you disgust me."

technoblade stood up, his ears twitching and voices pleased. the blood on his hand dripped on the dried leaves as he called the wolf he brought with him. as the animal sped over to technoblades' side the screams of the impaled man were completely gone. looking over his shoulder he sees the lifeless body of the man who has haunted you for a long time.

he'll never hurt you again.

——♤——

thank you for reading, hope you liked it.

masterlist

taglist;

@esylwen

[strawberry-nugget]

Stargazing [through the five stages of grief] | K. Bakugo

★Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki/ reader

☆Synopsis: after Izukus sudden death you and Bakugo find comfort in each other

★Warnings:18+, minors do not interact, sexual themes(SMUT), aged up characters, grieving and coping mechanisms, depression as part of a stage of grief, language

☆A/N: I wrote this for @starstruckkittensweets​ 's  Summer Romance Collab collab I also cried multiple times while writing this for so many reasons. Dedicated to my friend @aichiin in hopes this is any comforting to her <3

★Word Count: 10.6K

i. denial | 3.28 am Just when you think silence is going to engulf you in lethal restraints, he's got you. Held and embraced, away from all the evil in the world, pouring a fountain of tears in the burgundy of his tank top. The beauty of the seashore is unmatched at this time of the year -end of July- honey colored sand spreading to as far as your eye can see, lining the white foams of the water perfectly. It shines under the moonlight beautifully golden, as if Midas' touch has grazed each and every speck of sand; it's almost a pity to watch some weather away in the soft evening breeze. Not many stars are visible with how bright the moon is and you simply can't stop thinking about it, the numbness in your heart as you're trying to spot the only few constellations that you know, but even them seem unable to shine brighter than the light of the moon. But he- he shoots a hand to the sky with one eye closed as he mutters something under his breath. It makes your heart pause. You don't catch it though -whatever it is he said- ears deaf to the feeling of being pressed too tightly into his broad chest -to an asphyxiating point, even- but you catch your heart fluttering again for the first time in weeks. A good sign, you guess, the little excitement that you feel can overthrow the buzzing void in your heart, or your head. "That's the Hercules one right? You've been trying to find it for years huh?" You feel the humming in his own hollow chest more than you hear the soft muttering that leaves his lips. This heat he usually emits is probably gone by now, from how tight he's holding you and you're not entirely sure why he's putting on that show for you. The soft pretending of searching for the stars when he won't let your face turn to the direction of the sky, or why he just so effortlessly knows all the constellations you've been trying to find. Under any other case you'd call him a show off, a self contrasting asshole and his sloppy hold around your chin and neck proves that you've never been this close, as expected. He doesn't know what you like or how you'd rather be held, or even, how anyone would like to be held and you don't know anything about how to handle someone like him but social expectations don't matter when comfort is needed, or whatever Mina and Ochako said. The air smells like salt and seaweed, musty and a bit heavy, but refreshing at the same time. As refreshing as hot July air could ever be yet you still find the breeze chilly, so you coo into chest even more, throwing a leg over his thighs, and flexing your palm on his ribs. In response he soothes his hand down your shoulder, trying to create some much needed friction for you. "You can drop the act now" You mutter, rubbing your cheek comfortably onto the soft cotton of his tank top

"What act?" "Trying to comfort me, trying to use me to comfort yourself" There's hurt in the way you talk, and it jabs his heart peculiarly, making him push you off his chest just one but so he can meet your gaze. When he does, you realise you've never been met with such a serious look, and your mind vibrates in what your own confrontation towards him should be. "I mean, why be comforted? We're strong. We're heroes, we-" He shushes you, with a gaze and a snake-like lisp sound that rattles out of his teeth. "What's insufferable for me, I'm guessing, is even worse for you" He clears his throat just when his voice gets a bit raspy from laying on his back "and I'm a hero, it's what I should do. He would have wanted this as well you kno-" "He would have wanted you to be yourself not try to become him" You nuzzle your nose deeper into his chest, avoiding his eyes and the prying stars that decorate the sky above, feeling watched, betrayed by how they're able to shine so brightly despite the loss you're feeling. But then again, why wouldn't they shine? Isn't life just supposed to move on even after a loved one isn't with you anymore? Stars aren't supposed to go out, to become more or less as time goes by, they've seen distraction and glory and fall -it's only you who finds

it cruel that they can still shine in times like this. "He would have wanted me to be better. It pains me more than you to admit" Katsuki has never shown such an appreciating side of himself when it comes to your late friend. Or he has and you've just not been there to witness. Or, perhaps, you've chosen to turn a blind eye to anything that's ever brought them close because you weren't the most fond of him since childhood. Yet, a feeling inside your chest commands you to oppose him and his word. Even by the comfort of his own chest. There's no denying that you've wanted to hate the one who's nothing but comforting you, but you find yourself stuck between grief and a burning heart. It leaves you numb, maybe, to think that he so graciously holds you as if nothing else in the world matters. When this shouldn't be the case. "Why, why does this have to happen to us? We're supposed to save people, losing people is-" "The biggest part of the job" He finished your words for you, strobing that little rattle of reluctance he senses in your voice "We didn't-" "Sign up for this?" You nod at his inquiry "in a way I think we did. He always pushed himself and if you say you never saw it coming, you're lying" "I didn't" "There you go" "No, no" You shake your head "he was strong. This shouldn't have happened, it's unfair and it's-" "It fucking damn is unfair but there's no rematch for him. I wholeheartedly agree, it shouldn't have been like this. We shouldn't be here, days after his damn birthday, hollow and mourning. He should have been here, we should be celebrating" He's not going to call him an idiot. Not anymore. Not even because he's hurt you or anyone as a matter of fact, but because he's come to respect his dead, he's come to lose the attitude when it comes to seeking help, or giving it. It's something Izuku has taught him, a strong moral that no longer rests in the back of his head as a possible value to characterise a hero. It's rather a reality, such a strong wave of consciousness and coinsense that washes through his body all the time. You think, qualities of Izuku, wash through your soul in waves too. "But suggestion is oceans away from reality" Katsuki whispers and just then, the tender touch of his fingers lingers in between your locks. Only for a split second, and for the sole reason of flicking some hair on top of your ear, to shield it from the chill of the air. You're not certain if you act on your grief's accord or not when you grab onto his wrist to prolong the soft petting of his hand on your head. But he complies with you wordlessly, sighing out a heavy bubble of air off his lungs. "That's not the hercules one" You whisper "Huh?" "The constellation" It's oddly satisfying how you coo deeper into his chest, even if you can't see him pop one eye open to peak at the sky "that's Ursa Major" "Like fuck it is Ursa Major" "Katsuki, is this your first time stargazing?" You ask quietly and he wraps a hand around your waist to drag you a little closer towards his chin. When he does, he rests his chin onto your hairline. "I can't believe I opened a goddamn map for this and couldn't even distinguish the hercules one from the Big Dipper" You hammer out a little giggle. It sounds mechanical but still, he mimics you, and you can not only feel the vibrations in his chest, but the movements of his chin too, as he mellowy rubs his soft skin on your hair, soothing his lips on your head from time to time. The breaths he lets out of his nose are silent, yet you feel them calming you down, so warm and so calming against you. "The Hercules is a big constellation but it's not bright at all, you have to catch it on a moonless night and it's usually gone too early" Katsuki sighs. The process of taking in your words in analogy with late Izuku is too strong and it's too early for him to touch a subject that even so reminds him of the situation. It's more than enough that you two got to talk about it tonight, or rather, about your feelings, but at one point the line is drawn on what's harmful to his soul. A sole mention of the condition of a constellation should be making his stomach churn, and it definitely shouldn't make him hug you tighter into him. For one, the phenomenon of the constellation's nature has been around for longer than he has been who he is, and will still be when he's not. This small coincidence, even if it rubs salt to the wound, is not the fault of a small mass of stars gathered together to form something human eyes can recognize as a kneeling figure. Izuku's life is probably just a parallel to the greek myth of hercules, or so, he likes to glorify, but when it comes to him, there's noass of stars for anyone to remember him by.

Izuku falls and dies so long as the memories of his friends live, finding shelter behind a myth, a legend, a course change in the history of humankind that lead to this specific moment. Him, mourning with you, on the beach that Izuku cleaned years ago, feeling his heart ache in sync with yours. And maybe, maybe if- "If I close my eyes and fall asleep, will I wake up and realise that this is all a bad dream?" You ask as if you don't know what the answer is going to be and he tries to not indulge in feeding you a void of hopes just to make you feel a bit more sure of your future, or try to convince himself he'll have a good one too. He wants to reply positively, just as much as he wants to wake up too in a reality where Izuku is still alive, and he's got to say everything he's ever wanted. He knows, some nights he'll find himself thinking he would like to go back and change the course of his own history, whatsoever, to never hurt Izuku for naturally having qualities he had to work for, or change the fact that he's been harsh and cruel. The 'why us' inquiry that arises in his chest as he's stroking the slightly greasy hair on your scalp is what's left to bounce in his head for now, eating away every curly corner of his brain, turning any other thought into a wasteland, yet, still his answer to you is what he would rather not hear, bathed in a cruel nature he's tried so hard to lose from his persona. "I wish it were just one bad dream" There's so many questions in his head; are you asleep? Or will he hurt you by trying to force himself into accepting Izuku's death? Are you prone to being hurt and pricked by how raspy and serious his voice sounds? Because you don't make a noise, nor a sniffle, and your hand isn't tightening around the collar of his shirt anymore. He wishes too, it's all a bad dream. For the lover that you lost, and for the person he's known better than anyone, the person that knew him better than anyone. But it's not. And the mellow sound of waves crashing on the shore bears a tune to convince him to forget, but the water won't reflect the stars he can see with his bare eyes. Thus he's asleep before the lurking darkness in sound and sight gets him too. Just for a while, just until it's his own turn to face oblivion. A small part of his brain, though, convinces him he'd face any oblivion so long as he gets to fall asleep in your arms like that, over the soft, warm sand, on a chilly July night. 

ii. anger | 9.47 pm If you could only know the reason you're yelling, tears wouldn't be spilling from the corners of your eyes, down your cheeks just to drown on your overly stretched mouth, wetting the lips that are stinging in splits and bruises of dehydration. He's not one to back down while facing the disdain of his own feelings. When that disdain should be directed on how petty the cause for your irritation is, you're both focused on the snap of nerves inside each of your heads, chests heaving as you're staring at each other dead in the eye; you, from the cold seat of your couch, Katsuki, from the numbing howling that seeps through the cracks of your front door. The bags in his hands are heavy with groceries and the weight of this peculiar, unspoken agreement to settle together. It's hidden in the affection behind every piece of vegetable and fruit in the tote bags. Even if the night is young, he's got a look in his eyes that mutters how

willing he actually is to grab a pot and a spoon and cook for the two of you. But you know- he shouldn't put pressure on himself after a late patrol for a chore you were supposed to fulfill. If only he wasn't on your ass about ordering take out. "You can't fucking order again." He speaks, grunting more so than accentuating the words as he probably should. But he's irritated you, so much that you've spent the last ten minutes yelling at each other while standing frozen in your places. Probably, a neighbor has heard and your mere response to the alarming social anxiety that arises from that fact is apathy. You're already directing a big amount of angry spouting at the blond, there's no such room to experience other feelings right now. "Fucking hell, Katsuki just stop! I don't fucking care if you think ordering isn't fucking good. I can't cook right now. I won't cook" You say in a higher pitch "and you won't cook either" When he opens his mouth to speak, you roll your eyes, away from him -you just know what he's going to say- though you instantly regret it. The sight of him frozen, with bags in his hands before your door is upsetting, and begs to stir up your mind in horrid imaginations of him throwing a tantrum at you and leaving you, of him never opening up his door to you ever again. Maybe, just maybe you should have thought this through better before yelling at him. "Fuck you" He says through greeted teeth and scrunched up nose huffs "fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck" He's not a punching bag, he's the only person who's here for you and your heart won't forgive you if you lose him. Your head turns or snaps to his direction, eyes too gooey to meet his gaze properly, but you still do look at him so desperately, you're sure your heart makes a ripping sound at its very seams. And that firm dedication of his to closing himself off is evident again; in that wet anger in the corner of his eyes, seeping like magma just at the tips but never falling down on his cheeks. In his pursed lower lip -and oh, will it be so infuriating to think, you don't wanna fight, you just want him to press those lips against your forehead and forget those arguments that always arise? As he's headed for the kitchen, step after step and upper lip overlapping the bottom one to hide his irritation, his eyes are averted from you and you chase after him with counted movements; a little limp to your left leg by sitting on it for a long time bubbling up inside your bones. Unwillingly, non-eagerly. Regret and remorse for yourself are feelings that rush through you, making your tongue run faster than your mouth, making your head dizzy with guilt and drowning you of a trillion of things you want to say to him. "Katsuki" You plead with half a breath, eyebrows forming an impossible frown above your eyes "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, i-" "Fucking save it. Order if you want, I don't care" "Katsuki-" He huffs air too harshly out of his scrunched up nostrils again and shuts his eyes closed, hands resting over the groceries as he's leaning over the kitchen table. Not once in the minute he's taking from himself does he spare you a glance, but you can rather listen to him mutter a soft 'be patient' under his own breath. To himself, you realise, but your heart's too heavy as you anxiously suck your upper lip inside your mouth, wondering -will an apology fix this? It may irritate him even more, and taking the risk is probably not worthy of him getting riled up, but you go for it nonetheless, hidden away behind the stall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Your little hiding spot for the moment, a place where you can safely hide behind as you choke on your own spit, trembling at the thought of any possible outcome of your next choice of words. "I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm snappy lately" He won't respond and you notice how he's counting his breathing with eyes still shut, though, ever so slightly; that's your sign to step back, give him space and time as you make your first step to the living room. Though small glimmers of regret

springle inside your heart, landing in small needle-like jabs on every stretchy wall of the overly sensitive organ, your brain begs to be the voice of common sense, just to push you to just give him space. But what if he doesn't want space. What if he wants to be held? Like you do. What if he doesn't want to fight? "I'm sorry" You mutter under your breath, again Your step is almost crippled as you try to approach him, lost and scared at the sight of him still struggling to compose himself still. The guilt in your gut is immense and spreading like a wildfire on rotten land, but you feel like, perhaps, you -and him consequently- soothe down when your hand touches his shoulder, or, when your forehead rests easy on the crook of his neck, just after you out your weight on your toes, You can't help but repeat your previous statement. "I'm sorry, talk to me, tell me if you're good or not" He grunts, letting out a short breath in the form of a sigh. 'I'm not', you translate and your chest tightens Your right hand comes to curl around his chest over his shoulder, your left, mechanically even, cripples around his waist enough so you can press his back into your chest. "Fuck i-" You don't make a move to shush him "I feel so bad, I just. What would he have to say about me if I left his girlfriend on her own, to eat crap everyday. That's not healthy for you. I shouldn't be fucking yelling. I shouldn't-" He's so out of breath, that you consider punching some air into his lungs, with the softest CPR to have ever been performed, but the thought leaves your head immediately, your heart drowning your stomach in guilt at the imagery of your lips on his. The snap to reality after that little moment is so intense, you don't know how you handle yourself and your heart. "I shouldn't be yelling" In all your years, you've never heard him be so sincere while being so furious. When it's true that he's nothing of getting into drama or anything of sort, Katsuki is always too prideful to admit when he's made a mistake. You figure, it's unfair to still judge him as if he's his UA self, or his middle school self even. He's a different person now, having lived through so many events that could crush even the most strong willed person -and that's what he gets from admiring All Might, you think- and all he's ever done is try to be here for you. Understanding each other in such difficult times is mandatory and compromise is a foundation that you both need to work on. You find yourself opening your mouth and shutting it again for several seconds as you're trying to voice it. The dry, chapped feeling of your lips colliding makes you want to shut your eyes and wordlessly communicate your thoughts to him, but it's impossible. For your quirk isn't transmitting your thoughts to others, nor is it keeping track of one's thoughts. Everything you do to comfort him, has to be done by yourself, strictly. "Katsuki, I don't want you to-" You nuzzle your face into his back in hopes that perhaps, it muffles the intensity of your speech "I don't want you to overwork yourself for me. Izuku-" His name is whispered like words of sin or ruthless statements of atrocities, when it shouldn't "-wouldn't let me do that to you." He doesn't talk, or sigh, or even place his hand on yours and a whole minute passes like that. Or two, or three, or an eternity. The clock is ticking so loud that it's unbearable, his heartbeat muffling your ears while his scent is musking your nose. It's a funny thing, that perhaps, everything feels so warm, so comforting like this, you'd like to keep hugging him, if he allows you too. For as long as this minute's eternity can last. "Don't leave me cause I'm angry and snappy" It's so barely audible that you think he's only trying to calm himself down again, but it strikes you like a swift slash of a sword to your chest to realize the weight of his words. You thought you were the only one feeling this way. 'Don't leave me'. As if- as if it's an option that's hunting the depths of his chest, or perhaps as if your situation isn't a granted part in your lives for a little over a month. You're not one to inquire of a person in panic why they said what they said or if there's a cryptic meaning behind his very words. Because, frankly, there isn't. He's pretty clear, even while being tenderly desperate about it. And oh, you feel your heart pull and pinch at the thought of it.

"I'm not leaving" "Good" When he turns to face you, he's gripping onto your palms like it's painted out to be for dear life, a plea to not let him go as he turns his body around; you feel as if he needs you, as if, you're necessary to comfort him as well. You're too far gone in the joy that gathers in your stomach to hear him utter the words "I'm not leaving either" but you find some meaning of this statement in his embrace, when he shoves you into his chest. There's a little awkward cripple to your gaze that causes you to steal a stare outside the window or, perhaps, it's something bigger, or even the drive in your heart to hope for something more as an outcome for this. In the worst case scenario, you're pleading for forgiveness, if, by any chance, Izuku is still out there and can witness this little happening. That's when you find it, and truly, you have to catch a second glance at it to feel certain about what you just saw. Subtle little shimmers of stars, painting a large part of the sky, patiently awaiting to be noticed, in agony and tiredness that only a hero could recognize. And if you're a hero, you can feel it too, the kneeling of the legs, the flexing of the arms -it's all there- drawn by little stars of other galaxies in front of your very eyes, after searching for them for years. That's perhaps what people mean when they say, happiness is found in small things. Katsuki's arms around you, his faint breathing grazing the skin of your nape tenderly as he's calming himself down is more than enough, but the sky tonight has managed to make a compromise for the two of you, shining the diamond colors of the hercules constellation to the two of you. It's a blink and you'll miss it, no reason to break away from his arms, so you coo into his mellowy neck, speaking against his skin. "I found it, the hercules constellation" "What? Where" He's not shook at all as he speaks, and it doesn't surprise you either; there's this dazzling tranquility in the air, so much for getting you to calm down after such rage, but you'll take it over anything else, anytime. When Katsuki seems to detach his resting lips from the crook of your neck, he lays the side of his face on the very spot, inquiring again about the location of the constellation. You're more than happy to provide him with an answer. He drags you to the balcony with slow steps, a million steps away from the lights of your apartment as it seems before snapping his head towards the sky, squinting his eyes to comb through any star he could probably set his gaze on. You help him find it, not because it's before his very eyes, but because something inside you is flickering to rush you. Hurry it up. Look at the pretty stars and embrace him again, because it feels good, and you don't mind that you get mad at yourself for thinking this way. You don't even want to question your morals as thoughts of holding his hand pass through your head. Maybe a finger or two tangled in his like messy strands of hair, too hard to detangle- maybe that'd be comforting. Perfect even. Despite your best efforts to tickle his pointer finger with yours shyly, you come to realise he won't respond -you better behave, or, you should have know, but the insecurities that make you question everything are as evident as they'll ever be- you wonder if you've made him uncomfortable. But he's wrapping an arm around your shoulders, by grabbing that hand you're using to guide his gaze across the constellation and this time you can't help, but tangle all of your fingers through his, like a hair clam, fitting so perfectly, your heart cracks even more than last time. "I can pop some rice in the rice cooker and you can buy some Teriyaki" He sighs, though not once does he pry his eyes away from the stars

And that's where you feel a weight lifting off your shoulders, only to drop to your stomach; it's not a half hearted compromise, rather, it's sincere, something so eerie and far away from the usual 'take it or leave it' Katsuki Bakugo, but… you'll take it. With a broken smile and a coo into his shoulder. You turn to look at the stars as well, and Katsuki cracks a small smile now that you can't see it, because compromising actually feels good, relieving or whatever. He doesn't want to think about whether, in any sense, he's on your mind or not, he'd rather show you a piece of his own mind, a crack opening to see inside his heart -it's almost too painful that he has to be the one to calm things down. He's never been one to do so, but standing on his feet right now is mandatory. For you, him, whatever the two of you have got going on, because if not, coping won't be effective. He likes to think, you have each other in this, and that's enough for him. To keep things peaceful he has to take an occasional step back, and if that's the price to pay, he guesses he will. Izuku may be gone, he may have turned the two of you into what seems an unfixable broken mess, but at least he's left you with each other. Perhaps, he'll once appear again, in the form of new love, or a smile on your face at the sight of an old childhood photo, and things will be fine again. If only he could have been kinder, or better, or not as competitive, he wouldn't be sorry or trying to fix his own self. For now though rice and teriyaki ought to be the only problems he wants to face.

iii. bargaining | 7.30pm "What if I could have prevented this?" His voice is anything but loud, his chest too hollow, bouncing the voice of his concern around the broadness of his muscles, just to graze into your ears in soft vibrations. The statement alone makes you perk up and swoon your face away from him, hands laid flat and firm against his petrocals as you're finally fixing him with a gaze. Saturdays always bite his ass and Sundays are ever so depressing. This weekend is no less easy for the two of you. Katsuki's barely able to slur words without hissing or cursing, seeing as his jaw is bandaged up by being sliced by a villain at work today, and you've both decided that it's best if he gets to have an early night. "You'll be fine by next week, I'll help you change your bandages" He shakes his head before he buries his face behind his palms, as if trying to hide his emotions from you; you give him the right, with a worried face to match the situation "Not that, shit- no 'm taking 'bout Izuku" Oh You can't really place yourself into why but you've been having the same thoughts as of late. It's only natural, you dare say, to convince yourself not to be persistent on guilt tripping that little mellow voice in your head that tried to tell you that everything's going to be fine in the end, but it's in vain- for every time this happens you have to find a new way to occupy yourself to shove the destructive thoughts away. It's probably not right in any sense, to prompt Katsuki to ignore the problem as well, but the thudding of your heart -always matched perfectly by the raindrops that hit on the roof of the house hard enough to make you feel oh so concerned- commands you to find a new coping mechanism to add to your little pile. "I- I just-" A look in his eyes and you're lost in a trance of whether you're going to break his heart by momentarily avoiding talking. It is more than enough to convince you to voice something, anything, but every word that sparks at the back of your brain is washed by astounding waves of anxiety that have your tongue swim in the sea of your mouth. You don't come up with anything to say for as long as a moment lasts. "It's like- I should have been there! I turned down that fucking call because I was sure he could do this on his own" "Katsu" "He fucking- I fucking- I-" "Hey, stop it-" You plea "It doesn't make it any different, I know that but-" He snaps

quicker than you can imagine, prospering away from another call of his name that slips from your lips. Irises turn away from you in wrinkly eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. His heart is palpitating so fast, his eyes flicker in what you can read is pain, maybe, you could take some blame to yourself. Not that you have any right trace if thought to come up with comfort, or rather, not like you have it in you to let Katsuki assign this all on himself. "I could-" You start, yet your mouth is dry "I could have been there as well-" It's such an awkward miniscule moment that you share but it's enough to make your heart feel like it's breaking in regret. You're only left to wonder if your friends are feeling that way too, about Izuku's call for reinforcements that Katsuki turned down, that none of them tended to on time. "Don't put this on you" Your stomach, unable to cooperate with any plea of yours to not drown in anxiety, stirs its contents to it's desire, making you sit up; Katsuki's embrace is too void for you right now, your chest is way too hollow for you to not feel alienated. It's in moments like these that you know trying to handle yourself or your life with each other is probably a mistake, a false emotional dependency that should not exist otherwise, and you always hope he gets to prove those intrusive thoughts of yours otherwise. You're taken aback when warm hands find their way around you; it's unexpected and you flinch, but you're soothed the moment your brain processes who it is that's hugging you, bringing you back to reality and breaking your short lived dissociation. He presses his ear onto the crook of your neck, this time, not hissing at the way his wounds ache as his skin tubs on yours. He notices that certain way your breathing's working and he sighs in relief, or sorrow, for he's too scared to ever speak of what's hiding in his chest, or what's adding to him feeling so twisted and evil. "Wanna go for a ride?" He says, unexpectedly, surprising even himself by how absurd it sounds "Where to?" "Niko" He purrs and you let out a giggle "That's too far silly" "I 'on know, heard it's pretty this time of the year" You finally turn around to him, only slightly so as to not disturb his embrace and ruffle a hand through his hair, and pause just before your lips find his forehead. Somewhere deep inside of you it hurts for this to feel so casual, a loving interaction with Katsuki of all people. It feels like some sick trick of betrayal but your eyes are burning onto his skin while your world moves in slow motion. A hand on his cheek isn't as harmful as the addition of another one, yet you still go for that choice, dry lips inevitably set onto pale pink skin, pressing a soft kiss of comfort. "We could go at that spot, near UA, we used to go there a lot when we were high schoolers" Katsuki's words are calm and collected, hidden between gritted teeth so he can appear like his chest is fuller than yours, but what you don't know is that his heart is trying to beat out of his chest, like it's the most secretive, harsh prison. He briefly wonders if by knowing so, you'll hurt as much as him. But your kiss on his forehead, the warm place in which he rests face against your chest it all points to you feeling the same- it's there and he can read every single sign, whether he wants to deny them or not. "Should I get dressed?" A grunt this prolonged means yes. And truth be told the set and scenery of this small driving outlet is almost idyllic; a silent car ride, tainted faces and the gloomy watery corners of one's eyes to match the pouring rain, the slow, mellow music matching in beats with the squeaky wipers. What a perfect, diligent harmony you've got. It feels like a cut to another scene in a slow paced movie. The time is still stuck at 8.15, signifying how it wasn't long ago that you were starting to drown in a pool of bargaining -and voicing it out loud- and a part of you is still sad for thinking that maybe, for Katsuki, you're a coping mechanism. A full rembrandt of what's left of

Izuku's that he doesn't want to give up. You keep wondering if that would be the case had he still been alive. Would he ever have such an attitude stored inside of him for you had you not been dating Izuku on what now counts as ancient history? He parks his car on a narrow little road that splits the woods in half and turns the engine off. Seeing that it's November already, you think about how this is a bad idea, you know how cold he gets, and he's not wearing any jacket but you keep it to yourself. Perhaps, had Izuku been here, he would have brought an extra jacket too. For now, it's foggy windows and died down warm breaths. Thus, with a quivering lip you settle lower into your seat and sigh. "I- I know you like stargazing" He coughs, vermillion eyes pacing back and forth between you and the rain that's clashing on the car's glass "and I got an app and a window on the roof of my car" "But it's raining" "Who caaaares!" He grunts when you pout and turns away from you, something that makes your stomach coil abrasively. You want him to look at you, you want him to- As ridiculous and bitter as it sounds, you're tired of asking yourself if any of this would be happening were Izuku still here. Because he's got a stupid little fucking app on his phone for you. Because you're dying to press your lips onto his skin again. Half an hour ago feels like an eternity has passed already. He cares about you enough to open the app -and switch the location of his phone on- and that's more than enough actually. You glue your eyes to the bright screen and follow it as it pops us with a dark window, asking for confirmation that it's authorized to use the camera of Katsuki's phone. A part of you sinks in the silent death of love at the thought that, yes, he downloaded this just for you. Joy in little things, you figure, is what keeps you grounded, it's what ultimately pushes you to rest your head on his shoulder as he lifts his phone up, facing it on the small opening on the roof of his car. "Can't see past all this water, dammit" "So?" You coo, and the previous small irritation in his voice dies down with a grunt that comes from the depths of his chest. "The app's fine. Feels just like stargazing." You've never done anything similar with Izuku. And there's not even a spec of comparison clouding over your head, despite the guilt that settles in your stomach once again. Looking up to Katsuki, you can see his jaw tensing in the slightest, most probably in pain -you wonder, does his wound still ooze- and you can't help but feel like your eyes are stinging. You sniffle nonetheless. And Katsuki retreats his shoulder, letting your head hang without support as he turns to you. "Maybe, even if we can't see them, they're still there and-" You purse your lips to the side of your cheek, thinking of a reply, anything to say to make his words seem like they've come out of his mouth. "You've turned into quite the poet lately, haven't you?" Your answer should be that no, he hasn't, he's just hurt and confused, numb and afraid, but in turn you're all those things as well, or so he speculates by looking in your eyes. Because he can read people, he can read you, and as much as this has been established, he can't find it in him to speak a word on it. Then again, what's the point in holding anything in if you're going to die one day? The life of a hero is expendable, he's got his rise and fall as number one set in stone, so why should he hold back? He can't bring Izuku back even if he wants to, and he can't possibly stop himself from feeling for you. He remembers finding salvation in holding Izuku down and apologizing. He now finds humility in words that are spoken from his mouth that slip past his consciousness. "I love you- Don't care if it's fucking raining or not- Fuck" There's no time for you to think of a response before he throws a fit; his phone is slammed on the backseat, rocketing to the floor, and the click of his door is heard before he steps out of the car and slams it shut. He's lucky- the rain covers most

of the scream that he let's out and fills the buzzing void in your chest, your head. He said the words first, and your head is pulling you instinctively to your right, just where he was a few moments ago, you want to see if he's facing you, you long to feel your eyes meet his. You manage to collect the only ever courage you have left and push the thought of Izuku away from your mind, click your door open and shoot out of the car. Just like him. Like you're his echo. "Don't say a fucking word" He dismisses your open mouth, as if he can hear your breath clearer than this deafening rain, but you're not having it. "But i- i" "Shut up, as if you know-" "But I feel the same way" You whisper "What" He yells, and you scream at him to get back in the car, so you can talk, clearer. Though when he does, he's burning his eyes on your lips, then your eyes, then he never makes any move towards you, as if everyone and anything is on you. But none of you takes the bigger leap towards each -justified, because there's trembling in your movements and hesitation in your heads. And then your lips meet his. Tenderly, painfully, religiously Your first kiss is cursed by numbing ache, but it feels so right, like the warmest summer evening, or the most hazing bonfire during a cold winter night. Regret can't eat you alive for that one. And Katsuki, even with his lips still pressed against yours knows he will think about this kiss as a sin and a betrayal for far too long, he knows it'll torment him through the darkness of whatever tonight could mean. If only he gets through this night, he'll be fine Tomorrow you'll wake him up with a soft "how'd you sleep'' again and he'll be fine. The void and guilt inside his chest will get filled up with the warmness of being embraced first thing in the morning. Perhaps in time he'll convince himself that Izuku would never mind what's going on between the two of you, if you're meant to be endgame.

iv. depression | 12.07 am

Soft bubbles that smell like carnation and the auburn flicker of the fire that shines on top of a plethora of candles set the atmosphere for this evening. The lack of bright light -being that the whole city has been in a black out for several hours- is gentle to yours and Katsuki's eyes. What should have been matched with some of the artificial warmth the heater next to the bathtub, that should be providing for the two of you. Instead, it's him that keeps the temperature high.

Your muscles hurt and his wounds ache, as always, after a tiring day of hero work. You guess that's your daily nature; after hours and hours of overworking your body and soul, two people like you only get to spend the little time they have together like this. Late at night, curled up against each other, borderline sleeping in a bathtub. You're sure the water has a pinkish red tint to it -somewhere, a wound of his or yours is bleeding more that you'd like to believe is natural.

Katsuki is unbothered to check who's wounds are worse.

For the first time in a while, his mouth isn't dry, or chapped, a killer to his heart, for he can't find the right choice of words to spell to you. He should be fine with having you curled up against his chest, but somewhere along the way he finds it hard to experience the warmth he's trying to emit. And he thinks he finds your response to this unspoken mind trick when he cups your hands with his, checking at your fingers. Not a single prune or puckered line to clasp a non indifferent reaction from the back of his brain.

He's content with the way time seems to have stopped, trapping you in a moment filled with cold granite tiles and blood spoiled water that smells like lavender. In a movement he abandons your hands, watching them float over his. You hum -it's warm and welcoming, as if you're saying you're content too- and rest the back of your head to the crook of his neck.

His only reply is to nuzzle his nose into your neck as well. Placing a tiny kiss to the skin against his lips, tangling his fingers through your wet hair.

Small reassuring acts of

love with nothing special into them help you relax completely into him. "Kinda nice that you can see the stars so bright tonight" If you're looking for a cynical answer, then Katsuki's ever your man. "Of course they'd show when it's pitch black outside. What'd ya expect?" With your eyes glued to the glass ceiling for a long while you wonder, what did you expect really? Words that spiral in your brain are always spoken, leaving you numb and inquiring, searching for an answer in the deepest curves of your brain. When burning your eyes into his will never work, he decides to let his gaze melt holes in the vast of his bathroom windows. The beauty of minimalism leaves him cold and lonely, as if there's facelessness in the black veil of the sky that mimics the inside of his home. He curls into you by pressing you against his chest tighter. You never ask him why his bathroom is built the way it is -with that little corner window in the ceiling, neither does he know what he'd answer to you were you ever in a position to. He doesn't know how to apologize for being who he is, or his that window makes him feel like he used to be assured and secured on what was assigned to him by birth. (His parents’ money, a strong quirk.) He doesn't know how to apologize for still living in traits of his life that could make you feel like he's been everything but fair to Izuku. And all you probably think about, he convinces himself is that It'd be ironic to say that you mind having a view of the stars while having a midnight bath. It's a full moon tonight too -the glowing sky orb floating just above the furthest line of the horizon, illuminating the sky. And you, with your eyes shut by now and facing the glass ceiling, seem like you feel the weight of the moon pulling you in. What Katsuki knows for sure is that you have a terrible migraine that has you frowning horrendously. It's because of the fool moon, you'll say when the blond asks you why you're suffering, it always gives you migraines and he'll sit by you as you're making him his bath, holding your hand while he asks you to join him. He's nothing but a lover of roughness and void, he doesn't know how you're still with him, or how you ever fell for him. He feels slow, like a worn out tire, washed to a shore by the sea. But his hands, calloused and sculpted harshly even only by the -not so many- years of being a pro, aid to your comfort, not in his need to be a hero -more like, in his need to be human, or not feel inadequate, to not feel like his life is a pit of guilt because Izukus is over. And it has been for a long time. And his, is taking turns so abruptly that his gut churns and pleads. Two bulky thumbs run over your eyebrows, smoothing the short coarse hair and soothing the bone, swooning the sore pain away; it feels like custom made heaven, sweet and fluffy, and the water in the bathtub won't get cold, nor will his hands. You're so relaxed into him, bones turned into jelly and skin tingling at his touch. Every circle he's rubbing on your forehead is releasing tension you didn't know you had piled up. The soft splashes of water are merely inaudible when compared to his heartbeat, but you can't feel it. Not yet. It's not tense enough for him to feel like his heart is beating out of his chest. "You any better?" Cold. Brutal. Almost as if his hands belong to someone else, but that's Katsuki for you, or anyone else as a matter. You turn your head to him, wearing a tiny, worn out smile as you lean you mean into him, clashing your lips over his, bumping your nose to his cupid's bow when you're done. Katsuki, you're sure, closes his eyes in a feeling that doesn't seem pleasant and you do the most expected thing -retreat. It hurts; watching you slip away, turn your head to face the stars outside of his window, wiggle your body away from his, to collect your knees and press them against your chest. It's devastating how a small denial to a kiss can harm you in such a way. It's either his fault, or yours. Because somewhere deep inside his head he's convinced

himself he's a rebound. Someone you'll get over when you start getting better. And he's probably convinced himselfhes viewing you in this way, somehow. "You could have at least kissed me back" You whisper, shivering. The water is cold, finally, it was so nice while the warmth washed over your skin. Almost like a lie. "I-" He huffs, buries his head into his wet palms. He can't speak, for if he does, the crack in his voice, the high pitch of it, will snitch on his torment. He tries to shove it away, when he shoots his hands to your direction, trying to pull you into him again. When it doesn't work, you swear you see the corners of his eyes sparkle just a tad. It's alienating, when you've seen him cry and have numerous break downs, more times than you've seen him smile or laugh, you feel like you're foreign to the slight emotion that gathers in his eyes, now forming a pit, never spilling down the harsh lines of his cheeks. The moment a salty streak appears on his skin, you can help but wonder, what would happen if only you could stop your own tears from falling. You can't ask him to talk to you, it's more than obvious. You're deprived of any logical sentence forming mechanism in your brain, knees like jelly, arms heavy as two whole buildings in the verge of collapsing. One word of his and your heart will unleash all the ache that gathers slowly in your throat. "'M not just here cause Izuku died" There you go, not once, but seven times, feeling your heart pierce holes in your body, hanging from his every word, cursing yourself when you grasp his meaning. Wild and unleashed and raw, a plea, an inquiry. A way of masking his insecurity and it's your fault he's feeling this way. "You're not," You start, lost and perplexed "I love y-" But it does down faster than you would have wanted it. You turn your head away from him for a second. With the moon so high, and the city lights non existent, you can distinguish the Taurus constellation, just below the moon, and so very faint. Your throat is tight, your neck is sore, your voice won't come out -you wonder why astrology is right about Taurus controlling the throat- and you don't know how to make him feel good about himself. If only you can show him the constellation he'll be fine, right? Do zodiac constellations make him as excited as they make you? Or is that just a role he's taken upon himself to stick with you? His lips clash with yours, water splashing around you as he shifts, and he hugs you close to him. It's your cue, to close your eyes and move your lips in sync. Its a sullen form of desire, that dangerous one, where you get his lips to bleed from how hard you bite down onto his lip and twist and pull and clash him into you again because you can't get enough. You tell yourselves you have to live for this present, even if the past makes it unbearable. Just when your hearts feel like they'll jump out of your chests and dissolve into the lavender smelling bubbles, this time painting the water in a deep carmine, you clash your chest to his and he feels as if, he's wanted, here and now, even if the feeling won't last for long. And then it's hands that roam bruised skin, fingers than dig into softness or thick muscle, fingernails that dig into scalps painfully, until they draw blood as your teeth clash. It's passion, and only in the way your hips ghost over his, swaying in the water, as he's grunting "see, am kissing you back" and "We'll never be clean at this rate" "I'll massage your head when we're done" You breathe, pulling back for a second, as he sucks a spot on your neck, handling your back just to press your chest to his face. "Fuck, I love yo-" You shush him with your mouth on his, forehead sticking to his when a slit on your nose gets smashed when it scrunches against his cheek. He doesn't have to say it, you don't have to hurt him like this. It almost doesn't matter -the cold- when he pulls you to the edge of the bathtub and buries himself into you, you simply shiver by the way his thumb rubs your clit, thrusting your hips in rhythm to

meet his. And he bites on to your collar bones, eyes teary and heart heavy after he lets you set the pace, occasionally thrashing into your touch, his gut churning more and more as you go. It's only when he takes matters into his own hands -lifting you and pressing your back again the wall, putting out some candles I'm the process- hand on your face to shove some hair away, and legs wrapped securely around him that you both find release. Screaming in agony, crying in what could be mistaken for pain, sticking your foreheads together as your breaths tingle into one hot huff of air that travels up and way from you. You lock eyes with him, just before he lets his body collapse into the water, limbs numb and sore. "Please don't leave too." You whisper, sinking down just behind him, fetching for the shampoo bottle from behind you. He doesn't respond. Instead, he mimics you and rests his head on the crook of your neck, eyeing you backwards, pressing his lips into an upwards line. You're not sure you'll be able to get over this void soon, and you can't help but plead. Later, as you're washing through his hair, you show him the Taurus constellation and his eyes beam like a child's when he says "hey I'm a Taurus" all while tending trying to tend for the bite that he left on your shoulder. He doesn't ask to find the cancer constellation. You don't remember where to find it. The moon is too bright for you to even try.

v. acceptance | 6.59 am

The last rembrand of a star shines in a portrait of purples and oranges. The beautiful afterglow of the previous night, the first ray of sun washes its shine away, almost entirely, before a second can come. To paint the sky in blues, sprinkle the marine shade as to spoil the darkness' leftovers.

The night star, or morning star, tolerates a third, then forth ray of sunlight, and your watery eyes flicker at the scene, your head curling deeper into Katsuki's chest, humming as his hand wraps tighter around you, rubbing frantically over your skin to create some friction. It's only then that you're reminded how beautiful warmth is.

Your ear is cold -after Katsuki's doing while playing with the roots of your hair- and you tuck it under a few strands, instantly noticing the difference in temperature. Katsuki is cold as well, shivering slightly even with the blanket that's wrapped around the two of you. You can't help but wish that you were in bed, curled in a blanket cocoon, sleeping in the most sappy, eerie way.

But spending the night at the beach in early September night's has been a favorite activity of yours for the past few years. Long gone are the July nights spent in agony at the beach in Musutafu, nights that have allowed you to know Katsuki like the back of your hand. You can't take them back, replace them with memories of a happier process of getting to know him. You're not sure he wants to do that too.

He yawns slightly, squishing your head under his elbow to rub his tired eyes, breaking the loudsy inhale to chuckle at your pretend squirming. Avoiding your hair as to not hurt you while scratching the stubble hair on his cheeks -flinching slightly at it- before he moves your hair away from your ear, laughing trumphically at his doing.

"Nooo, I'm cold"

He chuckles again, running the tips of his fingers through your hair and tapping his palm over your ear. "Better now?"

"Katsu!"

You smile into his chest, trying to muffle your giggles, deciding to cook into him further.

His heart might as well burst. He thinks to himself that this is more than something he could have asked for, years of putting the effort in being with you awarding him in moments like this. Moments where he can see Venus shine faintly in the sky, feeling blessed by the planet of love as he places kisses to the top of your head.

I'm times like these, it's hard to look back and remember he used to beat himself over trying to convince himself he was drawn to you only because Izuku died. It feels like there's more behind it. Some karmic pull, some aligned stars, fates arranged in such a way that

you were meant to end up in this moment. Even if none of this is true and he's lost in superstitial bullshit, trying to explain things with something that bears no resemblance to simple logic, he figures there aren't any fresh wounds in his body. Time has flown since the last time he caught himself bathing in his own blood, but he's not reckless any more -neither are you- he doesn't go tormenting himself with wounds that will take long to heal. He can't remember times that have been tougher than this. But he's attached to the warm sand, moist still from the night's angry chill, so much that he slips one hand out of the blanket and sinks it low into the ground. It's so pleasant that he doesn't feel the ground pulling him in, or down. He's got a heart that will withstand his will to get up any time he wants to, and a pair of legs that will at his command, a chest that heaves with breaths while you're showering him with kisses. He won't get to spend an eternity like this, not even as many years as he thinks will be enough for him to enjoy this, but he's figured that there's eternity hinged in every moment, of taking care of yourself before you take care of someone else, so you don't hurt others around you. He's surprised with how much he's changed; he is aware that change is inevitable, through all the compromises that he's had to not condemn, all the soft words he's forced himself to say to you, to himself, to the point he's become softer, mellowed. Knowing he'd never forgive himself if he came to lose you to his grief. "We should get up, I'm sure Mina and Ochaco will be freaking at this point." He chuckles, hiding his tongue in the back of his mouth, as if to fish for a reply. "Kirishima and Denki will-" "Let the fuckers do as they wish, it's my wedding day, I decide when I show up. I can't with this enthusiasm" "Oh my god" You fake gasp, clapping your mouth "this is it? You're not going to marry me? You've lost your spark? Oh me. Oh my, whatever do I do?" You laugh, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he's laughing too, ruffling your hair in the messiest way he can imagine "There, now your hair is unfixable and I get to say it's you who left me at the altar" You burst out in giggles as you're trying to get up -efforts wasted in vain, because he's pulling you back onto him, for a kiss, one that makes your lips feel like cotton candy that slowly melts away, fuzzily yet so watery and with such delicacy. He gets up soon after you, folding the blanket neatly -too neatly- only pausing to take in the moment. Blue blotch after blue blotch is flooding the sky, almost every hint of purple gone, giving in to that warm tangerine light of the early sun. Katsuki sighs and you link your arms around his elbow. Content, happy. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't much of those himself. There's nothing holding him back. And so, he guesses, this is goodbye. The official one. Not melded with an apology, not fueled by regret. It's a silky woven letting go. There are no tears left for him to shed, there's no more trembling to violently shake your body awake at night. There's nothing but good in the memory of Izuku. Not even the subtle wish for him to be here, and happy with you. As the bright, starry light of Venus is outshone by the sun, he places another kid to the top of your head. "I'll see you at 5" "I'm going to be fashionably late" You argue, turning around to wield your hands around his neck and almost linking your lips to his. "Don't you fucking dare" He kisses you "Or what? You'll blow everyone to pieces?" He kisses you again, then again, then once more. "Might as well" And that's Katsuki for you, even in the calmer, softer version of himself. The personification of the twilight hours, even if he's going to bed at 10pm, wiggling his feet under the covers until you join him. He's the only reason you're still sane and you won't ever lose him. He won't lose you, in return.

[emerald-chaos]

Insomnia

*gif not made by me, credit goes to the owner*

Hi Everyone! So it's been probably like...10 years since I wrote my last fic lol. Watching TFATWS has rekindled my undying love for Bucky Barnes and I just couldn't help but start writing again. I had to get my feelings out! I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've been considering writing some more parts...so tell me if that's something you'd be interested in! I appreciate any and all constructive feedback or just feedback in general! Much love.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2533 (lowkey popped off...oops)

Warnings: Just in case...vague allusions to a dark past, struggles with mental illness, explicit language, and some suggestive conversation. Oh and some really bad jokes lol. Fluffy and angsty.

No matter how much you tossed and turned, how many sheep you counted, or how much you prayed and pleaded to any higher power that would listen – the release of sleep just wasn’t going to happen. You’re not sure why you were surprised, it’s not like this was the first time. You let out a heavy sigh and toss off the covers. This has been a nightly occurrence for as long as you can remember. When you were trying to rest, when there was no noise to block out the images in your head, it was a battle. A battle which you have always lost.

You flip on the bright florescent lights of the bathroom as you trudge in, dragging your feet in exhaustion. It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to the harshness of the light as you place your hands onto the countertop. The cool marble feels good against your palms as you close your eyes and lean your head back, another sigh leaving your lips. You twist your neck from side to side, trying to release some tension and maybe get a satisfying pop. No such luck. As you open your eyes and gaze upon the person staring back at you a small laugh tumbles from your chest.

Jesus, she looks awful.

The dark circles that permanently reside below your eyes appear more pronounced than usual. The corners of your mouth hang low and you just look…tired. Like you were rode hard and put away wet.

The bottle of melatonin tucked away on your counter catches your eye. You pick it up and twirl it as you inspect the writing. “Sleep Support” you read, “may help promote restful sleep”. What a load of shit. You place the bottle back down and inspect the orange one next to it. The pills inside were about as useful as the melatonin. Nothing seemed to quiet the voices or stop the scenarios that plagued your mind. You splash some cold water on your face and grab for a towel to pat it dry. Your eyes drift to the mirror again, as if though the water was going to wash away the dead look in your eyes.

Yeah, fat chance.

Before you know it, your legs are carrying you through the compound. The only sounds present are the whirring of various appliances and the soft patter of your feet against the tile floors. The moonlight casts shadows over the various pieces of furniture and lights your path. Your fingers curl around the handle as you pull the sliding glass door open. The crisp outside air kisses your skin as you step out and close the door behind you. You find yourself settling down in your usual spot on the balcony and you sink into the comfort of the chair.

Many a sleepless night has been spent out here, admiring the way the moonlight gleams off of a nearby pond. Before the compound and the balcony, it was a fire escape and a bottle of bourbon. You kind of missed that coping mechanism a little bit. You were thankful, of course, to call this place your home. Thankful to feel safe for once. Thankful to be a part of a team that felt like more of a family than any sorry piece of shit who had been in your life before. Not that you were bitter about that or anything. A little baggage builds character. However, life hasn’t always been kind to you and your stupid brain had a cruel way of constantly reminding you of that fact.

In all honesty, Tony rescued you. You absolutely hated to allow him to relish in that fact, but it was true. He took a chance on a royally fucked up kid out of college who managed to skate by and earn a mechanical engineering degree. If you were to ask him, he would say it was because the first words you said to him were fuck off. Apparently, something about that translated to, “hey, I would be a great addition to your tech and development team”. Although, you were pretty sure you just really meant that he should fuck off. I mean, the guy’s reputation does have a bit of moral gray area to it. Somehow, some way, your tenacity made an impression on the billionaire. Now here you were - living at the Avenger’s compound, sitting on a balcony at 3:30 in the morning because you couldn’t turn your brain off long enough to find some peace and sleep. What a life.

Even as you were sitting here in your special spot, reminiscing about some actual good memories – your brain still tried to drift into the darkness. Glass breaking; voices, thick with hate, engaged in a screaming match, and the cold nights spent trying to find a safe space to eat and lay your head. Your fingers gripped into the arms of the chair as you felt the heaviness in your chest increase.

“God damn it,” you cursed through gritted teeth.

The panic attacks were a second nature at this point, but you still really hated when you lost control. Your eyes closed tight as you tried to rack your brain to remember the bullshit your therapist had told you earlier in the week. Something about 5 things you can see?

“We gotta stop meeting like this, Doll”

The voice ripped you from inside your mind and back to reality. Your eyes opened and were met with a beautiful pair of cerulean ones. You blamed the skip in your heartbeat on your fading panic attack - although, you knew better than that.

“Well, it seems to me that the only logical conclusion is that you’re stalking me, Barnes” you quipped as a grin spread across your face.

“Could say the same about you,” Bucky retorted as he sank into the chair beside you, “besides, been doin’ this a lot longer than you’ve been around”.

You rolled your eyes, but the super soldier had a point. Almost each and every time, aside from the ones that happened when the team was away, you two would meet like this – here on the balcony, both searching for something to replace the sleep that neither of you could find.

“Yeah, we get it, you’re old” a laugh fell from your lips as Bucky snorted at your remark, a grin remaining ever present on his lips.

The familiar silence took over as he leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. Meanwhile, yours were hungrily taking him in - tracing over the stubble on his chin, the soft pinkness of his parted lips. Recently he’d gotten his hair cut and even though you much preferred the long hair, you would rather die than actually admit that to him. Your crush on the 106 year old grumpy ass was one of your best kept secrets. At least, you thought you’d kept it from being painfully obvious.

The man sitting before you, he had a tough exterior and a horrific history, but you knew him better than that. You knew about the way his nose scrunched up when you made him laugh and the way his eyes looked as he listened intently to every story you ever told him. You knew the sweet melody of his laugh and the far off stare that meant he was also held captive by his own thoughts. This late-night rendezvous had become somewhat of a routine for the two of you and you would be lying if you said it wasn’t your favorite part of the day.

The first time it was a short nod and typical white person, thin-lipped smile as you left to find a different spot to suffer alone. Shortly after, it developed into cohabiting the balcony – staying on your own separate sides of course, only occasionally sharing words. Then, before you knew it, the two of you would be sitting beside each other, shooting the shit like you’d known each other for years. Just two, incredibly fucked up individuals, trying to make each other feel a little more human.

Bucky had always given off the quiet, brooding energy. Typically he kept to himself, other than with close friends like Steve, choosing to stand in the corner and listen to the conversation rather than be a part of it. Occasionally he would give a quip during a meeting that would catch people off guard, but mostly he just sat there and stared. The Bucky you had come to know was nothing like the person that others wanted to make him out to be. Sure, at one point he was a masterful assassin who killed like he got pleasure from it – but that wasn’t him. The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were not synonymous.

If only the world could meet Bucky at 3am.

“What’s going on in that empty head of yours over there?” Bucky’s voice once again brought you back to reality as you laid your eyes on the familiar grin plastered across his face.

“Please,” you huffed, cheeks tinted a light shade of pink at the thought of him catching you staring, “which one of us has a college degree again?”

His laugh was a symphony to your ears. Your smile mirrored his when he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at you.

“So, what is it tonight? That nightmare again?” he asked, voice dropping an octave as his facial features softened in a way you really hoped only you got to see.

“Mm, not quite” you responded, your voice a broken whisper.

Bucky wasn’t the type to pry, but with you he wouldn’t even have to. Talking to him, sharing your deepest secrets and fears, telling him about the nightmares that kept you awake at night – it all came easily. Too easily.

“This week it’s...it’s that image of my stupid mother. Standing there with her black eyes and busted lip, telling me that it was me that was the problem. That it was me who...” you swallowed hard, the heaviness creeping back into your chest and tears fighting to wet your eyes. God you hated that you let this get the best of you.

Just as your mind started to bring you back to that dark place it was interrupted by the feeling of warmth spreading over your body. You looked down to see Bucky’s large hand resting right above your knee. When your eyes met again, he gave you a soft look that made your heart scream.

“I’m sorry,” you could tell he meant it as he gave your knee a soft squeeze.

A small smile flashed over your face and you had to resist the urge to reach out and cup his soft, stubbled cheek in your hand.

“Hey, we’re all a little fucked up, right?” you joked.

“Some more than others,” he replied, those beautiful wrinkles appearing around his nose as he scrunched it up with another laugh.

“Thanks, Buck... I’m sure you’d rather be doing anything other than listening to my sob story,” you reluctantly broke eye contact and looked down at the hem of your shirt as you fiddled with it in your fingers.

You were all too aware at the loss of contact as Bucky drew his hand back and leaned back into his chair.

“Doll,” he started as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes again - you could swear you almost saw a grin on his lips, “there are very few things I’d rather do than sit with you on the balcony at 3am”.

At that moment it felt as though time stood still. Sure, you had flirtatious banter back and forth occasionally and made a habit out of spilling your deepest regrets to each other during the wee hours of the morning, but this felt different. This felt like a confession.

You’d be lying to yourself if you tried to convince yourself, or anyone else for that matter, that you didn’t have a thing for him. I mean - who wouldn’t? The guy was a gentleman; he was soft spoken and caring, he was a dork who loved to crack jokes at the most inappropriate times, the type of person who would give you the shirt off of his own back if it meant you were taken care of.

He....well, he was Bucky.

And god damn it if you didn’t love him.

You’re unsure of how much time has passed, but one minute you’re sitting on your chair, chewing your lip and droning on about the man in front of you in your head. The next minute you found yourself on his lap, knees seated on either side of his waist as your legs straddle him and your hands connect with the skin they so desperately craved to feel. Bucky’s eyes opened slowly and met yours as you let the pad of your thumb gently run along the curve of his bottom lip. The uneven breaths leaving your chest hitched as you felt his hands grip your hips softly. Refusing to break eye contact, Bucky gently pressed a kiss to the pad of your thumb. You dragged his lower lip down briefly.

“Well,” he began. His voice was barely above a whisper but it’s thick, lustful tone made you shiver from head to...well, you know, “are you gonna kiss me, Doll? Or do I have to do all the work myself?”

He barely finished his sentence before your lips captured his. It was messy, almost all teeth and tongue. It was needy, as if it was the last time either of you would ever kiss anyone again. It was fucking incredible.

Bucky’s metal arm snaked up your back and found its way into your hair, curling his fingers gently around the strands at the back of your head, as his other arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to his form. He was intoxicating. This whole situation was something you had briefly imagined months ago, but ultimately pushed out of your mind. There was no way that he would ever be interested in someone like you. Yet, here he was, tongue fighting for entrance into your mouth.

You aren’t quite sure who pulled away first. Both of you were gasping for air, chests heaving up and down as you both stared into each other's lust-blown pupils.

“You kiss pretty well for someone who hasn’t had a girlfriend since 1940,” you teased, laughing as he rolls his eyes at the comment.

“You just don’t know when to shut that mouth of yours, do ya?” he practically growled, ever so slightly tightening his grip on your waist, and you almost lost it from just the sound of his voice alone.

“Why don’t you make me, Barnes?” you leaned in close, warm breath fanning over the shell of his ear.

A yelp escaped your throat as you were suddenly jerked up to a standing position, locking your ankles behind his back as he effortlessly held you up by your thighs.

“Oh Doll,” he chuckled darkly into your neck, almost making you pass out from the sensation, “I thought you’d never ask”.

[popes-jj]

Paradise on Earth - Pogues x Routledge!OC PART 1

Summary: this story follows Cassie Routledge, John B’s twin sister through the events of OBX seasons 1+2.

Parings: rafe x Routledge!oc + Routledge!oc x the pogues + some JJ x Routledge!oc + everyone else.

[specifically rafe x Routledge!oc] 

Disclaimer: kind of fanon rafe in some future parts, this is not condoning this type of relationship or Rafes behaviour, this is not me saying anything, it is just a story. Also in this, I have changed Rafe to be 18 and OC & the pogues are 17 in s1 not 16 :)

Warnings: mentions of drugs/drug use, mentions of death, violence, mention of violence, sexual innuendos, mentions of sex (not detailed), toxic relationships, unhealthy relationships, sad content, psychotic behaviour/tendencies, bad mental health, abuse, sexual language, swearing. (I think that is all)

This is my own work but I do not own OBX or their storyline or characters!!!

MASTERLIST

The Outer Banks. Paradise on Earth.. or so they say. For people like Cassie Routledge, it was just home. Well, the cut was at least, born and raised where she lived with her brother and father, that was until her father went missing 9 months ago. Lost at sea..

It had been hard for Cassie and John B since their fathers disappearance, they lived alone in their 'Chateau'. They tried their best to cope with the bills that just seemed to very stop, and their friends constant need to party and drink, not that the two didn't partake, they did of course. Cassie's day to day was mostly parties and constant noise from their friend group.

They all proudly call themselves Pogues, all of them being born and raised in The Cut, almost all anyway, Kiara was the only exception to that, have being a Kook initially, but they welcomed her in the Pogue life.

__________________

"That's what, a three-story fall to the deck?" Cassie opened her eyes to Popes voice breaking the groups comfortable silence. "I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival." Cassie rolled her eyes, looking up at her brother that was balancing on top of the buildings roof. Idiot.

"Hm.." John B licked his finger, pointing it to the air. Everyone's attention now on the boy above. "Should I do it?" He asked, a smile on his face.

"Yeah you should jump. I'll shoot you on the way down." Pope laughed, holding a drill tool up towards the Routledge boy.

"Yeah, let's see if you can break both legs at once." Cassie spoke up, standing up from her position on the floor. Hand over her eyes so she could get a proper look at her brother. This wasn't uncommon for the group, to be sat around a construction site on a random evening, summer had just started and they had already found themselves to be bored.

"You'll shoot me?" John B spoke, amused by the boy below.

"Yep."

The two made shooting noises to each other, JJ and Cassie locked eyes, and laughed slightly to each other, amused at the two boys being stupid.

Kiara stormed out of the unfinished building, clearly annoyed. "They're gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers.."

"Of course!" JJ spoke up, "Why wouldn't they?"

"This used to be a turtle habitat but who cares about the turtles, I guess.." Kiara said, looking around.

"I can't have cold towels!" JJ joked.

Kiara looked up at John B, as he stood upon the roof still. "Can you not kill yourself please?" She asked.

"No!" Cassie whined, jokingly. "If he falls, I get a bigger room. John B, as you were." She smiled at her brother who faked being hurt, putting on a fake frown at her.

"Wow, feelings are hurt, Cassandra."

"Oh, shut up." She rolled her eyes at the use of her full name, she walked over and climbed up and perched herself to be sat next to JJ on some scaffolding, snatching the beer from his hands and taking a sip.

"Don't spill that beer, I'm not giving you another one!" JJ shouted up.

John B lifted his leg up, trying to balance on the edge of the roof, his beer falling from his hand and slamming against the deck. "Good job!" Cassie put her thumbs up to her brother who just laughed.

"Of course you did! Right when I asked you not to." JJ laughed as John B groaned about his fallen beer.

"A plus!" Pope clapped.

"HEY!" A deep male voice shouted.

"Hey, uh, security's here." Pope said calming, leaning over the wooden railing. "Let's wrap it up."

"Humpty Dumpty, let's roll." JJ called to John B.

JJ hopped down off the scaffolding and held his arms out of Cassie. "M'lady" Cassie took the help down and ran off into the house with her friends, all laughing as they did so.

The guards chased the group through the house, trying to catch them, almost catching JJ as he slid over the floor. The five of them hopped the fence and made it to their van, 'The Twinkie', John B in front seat, Cassie hopped in next to him in the passenger seat. Kiara made it to the back and left the van door open for JJ and Pope to hop in as they had small trouble getting over the fence.

They all laughed as they continued down the road, van door wide open as JJ jokingly called after the guard that was chasing them down on foot. "C'mon Gary!" JJ taunted.

"You're gonna give him a heart attack!" Kiara laughed.

"I don't know, Kie, I think he looks thirsty!" Cassie called out from the front.

"I think you are right, Cass. Hey, Gary! Want a beer?" JJ threw a beer at the running security guard, "They don't pay you enough, bro!"

"JJ, stop! Stop." Kiara sternly told the blonde boy.

"Oh, C'mon. That sort of the initiative is begging to be punished." JJ laughed, looking back at the guard. They closed the van door and continued on their drive, laughing whilst doing so.

"Okay, so, party tonight?" JJ spoke up as he rolled a blunt, resting his head against the back of the drivers seat.

"Is that even a question at this point?" Cassie asked, holding her hand out to the blonde boy. He placed the blunt in her hand along with his lighter. She studied the lighter for a second, rubbing her thumb over the words 'JJ' that was carved into the silver lighter.

"No.. well- I don't know. Sometimes Pope isn't fun Pope and has to 'study'" JJ made quote signs in the air with his hands awkwardly, watching as the Routledge girl placed the blunt between her lips and lit it. "Pope?" He asked, turning away to look at the boy.

"It's summer, J." Pope looked around confused, unsure if the boy was making a bad joke.

"Great! Lovely to hear!" JJ clapped his hands together and turned back to Cassie. "Cassie, if I may?" Cassie handed him back the blunt reluctantly, getting a small glare from John B.

parts 1-3 up on my wattpadd now :)

[itsallyscorner]

Play Me A Song

Paring: Tom Holland x fem!reader

Summary: This is based off the video of Tom playing guitar that he posted on Instagram:) Tom facetimes you to help brighten up your day.

Warnings: none

A/n: Not me using fan fiction as a coping mechanism for my stress, yet ONCE AGAIN.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

✧───── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

“Hellooo, gorgeous girl!” Tom cooed as his face popped up onto your phone screen.

You let out a nasally giggle, the side of your face snuggling deeper into the pillow Tom would use when he was over at your house.

Tom tilts his head at the phone, a hint of a smile on his blush colored lips. The action caused his mop of chocolate brown curls to slightly bounce, catching your attention. You longed for the feeling of running your hands through his soft hair. You missed the way it felt between your fingers and how it would make Tom nuzzle closer to you.

“How was your day? You sounded a bit upset on the phone.” He checked in, voice soft and sweet, yet full of concern. His brows furrowed, causing a wrinkle to form between his brows.

You breath in, smelling the hints of him on your pillow. He was miles away, FaceTime allowed you to see and talk to him, though it wasn’t the same as him being beside you. If you were together right now, he would probably envelop you with his protective arms, pull you into his warm chest, and press kisses all over any bit of your exposed skin. His curls would tickle against your neck while he buried his head into the small space between your neck and shoulders—though you wouldn’t mind the tickle because it would remind you that he was there with you.

You sighed, “Today was a rough day. My professors have been piling work on us and I got called into work on my day off. I haven’t even gotten to start that research paper for class—I’m just so burnt out. I’m tired of trying, Tommy.”

Tom pouted, bringing the camera near his face to feel closer to you. He only felt the heat of his phone screen against his face, but he could still feel the light vibrations of your voice through the phone’s speakers. He placed the speaker of his phone slightly atop his chest, so he could feel the rhythm of your words against him. It reminded him of the days you two would cuddle after the both of you had long days at work. You would tell each other about your days and bask in the feeling of being in each other’s arms. He missed the feeling of being close to you.

“I know you have a lot of work to do, but you need to give yourself breaks, darling. And don’t tell me that you don’t need a break, you’re human (y/n), there’s only so much you can do in a day.” He began. Tom knew how you could get when college got overwhelming. Sometimes there were weeks where you would throw yourself into work, with no sleep, minimal food, and too many cups of coffee. He adored the diligence you had for your education, he wished he could’ve had that when he was still in school, but he wanted to make sure that you were taking care of yourself.

“Listen, you got this, I know you do. You’re the most intelligent and hard working woman I have ever met in my life. There’s nothing you can’t do, because I know, one way or another, you’re gonna find a way to do it. You always do. I just don’t want you to forget to take care of yourself. I know your education is important, but so are you.” He finished, a small smile forming on his lips. You hum in response, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself Tommy.”

What you say seems to reassure him, his shoulders visibly loosened up and the smile on his face grows a bit wider. Your own lips turn up on their own, reciprocating his smile.

“How about you, how was your day?” You ask him. Tom sits up and leans against his headboard.

“Well they’re still renovating the house, so Harry and I decided to rent out a place not too far from mum and dad’s. We actually had lunch with them, I got to see Tessa—gosh, I wish you were here right now. Tess was bouncing all over the place and giving everyone kisses, you would’ve loved it. And Paddy! He’s gotten so much taller since I’ve last seen him, and his voice keeps getting deeper, it’s actually embarrassing for me to be beside him because I’m older and I sound like I’m the one going through puberty.” He rambled, one of his hands making gestures and his face making expressions as he spoke. You loved the way he could just go on about a certain topic, especially when it came to his family. As sad as it was to see him leave for the UK, you were also happy because you knew he’d get to see his family.

He continued to talk about his day until his leg bumped into something, causing a hollow thump to emit from the object.

“What was that?” He leaned forward, the sound of his sheets rustling as he moved to grab the object filling your speakers.

“My guitar.” He grunted, holding the instrument up. “Remember, you got this for me for my birthday!” He proudly reminded you. You had gotten him the Ed Sheeran edition Martin Guitar after he had been going on and on about wanting to learn how to properly play the instrument. At the same time, he had a little obsession with Ed Sheeran and his music, so when you saw the guitar in the shop, you thought why not? You knew he would love it.

You fondly chuckled at him, “Yeah I do! You even promised to write me a song one day after you opened it.”

The last part of your sentence caught his attention, “I will write you a song one day, I’m very serious about that promise, love.” He pointed at you.

“Oh, are you?” You tease him.

“Yes, I am. In fact, ever since I’ve gotten back home, I’ve been practicing again and I’m doing much better.” He confidently told you.

“Can you play me a song?” You softly ask him.

“I can play you ‘Grow as we Go’ by Ben Platt. It’s the song I’ve been practicing.” He placed his phone against a pillow, using it as a stand. He placed the guitar in his lap, positioning his fingers on the frets and strings of the guitar.

“Yeah, play anything. I just wanna hear you play.” You mumble, your voice coming out in a muffle against Tom’s pillow.

“Just a warning, it’s probably not that good.” He mentions, shooting you a playful look.

“I don’t care.” You smile. He starts to softly strum the opening of the Ben Platt song and you couldn’t help but smile. He looked away from the camera, trying to focus on the notes and giving you a good look at the side of his face. The light shines part of his face, leaving the features you can see dark in the shadow, though it didn’t stop you from making out his gorgeous brown eyes. His long fingers move fluidly along the strings, creating a sweet melody on the guitar.

He stumbles a bit, making him whisper “Bollocks.” The little hiccup didn’t stop him from playing and so he continued to strum the guitar. You decided to stay quiet, letting him be in the zone. He messes up again, this time saying “bollocks” louder than the first time. You see him slightly shake his head as he regains his focus and places his fingers on the proper strings again.

You fondly watch him as he play, admiring the man you call your boyfriend. His fingers twitch on the string causing him to pause. He sucks his teeth, a bit of a frustrated grin on his face.

“Mmm.” He looks at you before turning away, “Okay.” He plays again, brows furrowed together in concentration as he tries to play the part of the song his keeps messing up on. You couldn’t contain the giggle that came out of you when he cringed at the sound the guitar made when he tried to play past the note. He pauses looking at the ceiling and tries to figure out the next notes.

“Alright, last time.”

“You’ve got it.” You encourage him. Your words give him some confidence and he shoots you a sweet smile. He readjusts the guitar in his lap, this time keeping his eyes on the strings as he plays. He strums the song again, starting off slow then slowly getting faster. Though his pacing was off by a bit, the song still sounded great nonetheless. You were thoroughly impressed.

He stops playing sitting back against the headboard, “I don’t know why I speed up though. I don’t know why I decide to do it so quickly.” He says into the camera.

You laugh, “It still sounds great though, I really enjoyed it.”

Tom tilts his head at you, teasingly squinting at the camera, “Even with the amount of times I kept stopping?”

“Yes, even with the amount of times you kept stopping.” You laugh, adjusting your phone. Tom puts the guitar aside and grabs his phone. He lays back on his bed, his head resting on his pillow and his curls sprawling out on the cushiony white surface. One of his hands rest behind his head as he stares at you.

“I’m gonna keep practicing. So the next time I see your beautiful face I can serenade you with a song and my guitar.” He muses, a lazy grin on his features.

“That sounds like something out of a chick flick.” You snort. He shoots you a playful glare, “Shut up, you love it.”

Tom knew you were a sucker for chick flick gestures. Kissing in the rain, watching the sunset, you name it.

You sigh, scrunching up your nose, “Yeah, I do.”

“But only from you.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

🏷Tags ↴

*if there is a line through your blog, tumblr won’t let me tag you:(*

Tom Holland Tags

↪︎ @lovableparker @aprettyfleur @sunwardsss @dummiesshort @thotforcriminalminds @cuddlykoala101 @itstaskeen @whoslili @white-wolf1940 @tomsirishgirlx @roseke @kaylans-imagines @spideyspeaches @slutforsebstan

General Tags

↪︎ @quxxnxfhxll @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @thegirlwiththediary @agustdowney @bi-lmg @rqmanoff @sesamepancakes @stardustofreading @dracoswhore007 @amourtentiaa @alyssathesoftie

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I’m sorry, but can I just go on a little rant about the Louis, clouis, and the Clem comic...? 

I didn’t really talk about Louis in my overall review of the comic because I wanted that to be more contained to the content shown on the pages, Clementine’s relationship with AJ, and her as a character.... but the more I think about these comics and Louis, the more frustrated I become thinking about what Clementine abandoning everyone would do to him. 

[... okay it’s not little anymore since I guess I can never just do anything simple when it comes to Louis, sorry my bad]

So, no surprise, we all know the comic’s bullshit by now. Clementine leaving everything and everyone behind because she’s not happy is dumb, AJ just letting her go is dumb, and Clem going to the mountains on crutches and a peg leg to find this so-called happiness is dumb. 

Now that we’ve established it’s dumb, I wanna talk about Louis because I got a lot of built up feelings about how bullshit this storyline is with how Clementine would not only abandon AJ, but also abandon Louis. 

Because let me tell you..... his heart would be broken beyond repair and I need to talk about why.

Sigh.... so.... muh boy. 

Before he met Clementine, Louis was this laidback, irresponsible, but caring and musical person who kept his head down to avoid conflict and never looked at the future. He was the kind of person who took things one day at a time, saw survival as a day-to-day task, and said that the future doesn’t exist, there’s only today. You get the point, he was never too concerned with things because they always seemed to work out, and if they didn’t, then that sucks and that’s why we should appreciate every day while we have it. 

Louis is shown to be charismatic and friendly, he spends his free time playing piano and card games, but no one really takes him seriously. Not even Marlon, his best friend for 8+ years. While he doesn’t seem to be on bad terms with anyone [including Aasim, they just act like people who disagree with the other’s point of view and have had the same argument many times, but that doesn’t mean they hate each other, y’know?] he also doesn’t appear super close with anyone outside of Marlon and possibly Violet, but even then. 

Marlon’s shown to have little faith in him with the way he talks about if Louis will even show up to hunt. He has a controlling grip on Louis that’s prominent during the confrontation scene when he uses intimidation to try to convince Louis to not interfere. Oh, and there’s the fact that Marlon’s been lying to Louis for the past year about the twins and then continued to lie to his face about what really happened to Brody... which isn’t great when you consider how Louis was the only one who had blind faith in him as a leader and, according to Marlon, was the only one who couldn’t see how pathetic he always was. 

Violet, while having a few more nicer moments with him than Marlon, still invalidates him and his feelings several times throughout the first half of the game which makes me wonder how close they ever were, or at least if Violet ever considered him a close friend to begin with. And no, a small monologue in the dorms doesn’t make everything better or confirm they were brotp the whole time... especially when once they’re on the boat, Louis might as well not exist because Violet can’t be bothered to acknowledge what happened to him or inquire about how he’s doing. I guess she just didn’t have time react while standing in her cell for several unbothered minutes-- no wait, it’s she already reacted off screen. Right. Good writing is good.

What I’m getting at here is that even though Louis is surrounded by people who he genuinely cares about, there is an argument to be made that he’s a lonely person. Hell, he’s aware of his loneliness when he says that no one hears past his music and jokes. I mean, how many nights do you think he spent by himself playing the piano because no one wanted to hear it? Are they like Violet and crack jokes about how he doesn’t have actual talent? Probably, given that someone literally carved “you suck at playing” onto the side of the damn piano. 

Oh, and let’s touch on that backstory of his. Louis grew up wealthy with two parents who loved him and each other, and they gave him anything he wanted except singing lessons. Louis says he wanted to be a real musician. But I guess his father didn’t like that idea and told him no, with the [as Louis puts it] dumb dad lesson of, “You get to be happy, or you get to be rich, can’t be both.” ...which is interesting given that Louis and his family were stupid rich but also.... were they not happy? well, that doesn’t make sense because little Louis knew that if he broke up their marriage, they would be hurt. 

So yeah, Louis was so upset that his father continually refused to let him take singing lessons that he broke into the man’s credit cards and faked an affair, which led to his parents divorcing... and then he spit his father’s words back in his face. 

Then they dumped him at Ericson. And the walkers came. 

There’s so much to unpack from the story he tells that it could be it’s own analysis, but basically.... Louis is aware of why what he did was fucked up, and he carries it with him every day. 

He regrets what he did, chews himself out for being such a “vindictive fuckhead” [and the amount of force used in that line tells you a lot, like how it’s not the first time he’s chastised himself like this] and he admits that he doesn’t even know the person he’s talking about. Yet, he still sees himself as bad, saying that they [I assume the staff] told him and the other kids they’re bad people. I don’t doubt that Louis internalized that which played a huge role in the confidence and self-esteem issues he has during tfs. 

Anyway, I’ll come back to this later, but when you take that amount of guilt and regret, and mix it with the fact that they dropped him off at this school that was supposed to make him better.... then the walkers came and those teachers, staff, and headmaster? Gone. Left a bunch of kids to fend for themselves, with the exception of Ms. Martin [but given how she looks when we find her I doubt she lasted that long] and I cannot imagine how horrifying that was for all of them. The dead are up eating people, and if you die you become one of them... and the people you thought you could rely on just fucking left you to die at this school. 

Every kid in that school has trauma and abandonment issues from before and after the world went to shit, every last one, and Louis isn’t the exception here. Over the years, a lot of kids died and they’ve all seen horrible shit. They all knew they were never going to see their families again, and as far as we know, no one came to get their kids at the beginning. They had to find ways of coping while trying to survive, and all they had left was each other. 

Louis copes with music and games and jokes. He’s built up this persona where it seems like he’s unaffected by the comments the others make, that the death and suffering he’s gone through is in the past, that he is confident and open to those around him.

But then Clementine and AJ show up, and Louis grows close with both of them. They had immediate chemistry upon first meeting, he was the one who looked after AJ since it seems like everyone else saw him as a little terror, and he went out of his way to be kind and make them comfortable. 

When they go hunting with him, Louis and Clementine have a moment after taking care of the walker where they lower their guards a bit-- Louis gives her more in-depth reasons for his views of survival, and going off her expression, it gets to her and makes her think.... but they’ve know each other a day and he’s not quick to infodump his life story or let her in, so he cuts the conversation short.

Then we have the Marlon confrontation scene that I have gone over so many times in the past. I won’t dillydally with it too long but..... Clementine appeals to Louis, who curls in on himself because of the control Marlon has on him. He wants to help, and hell, he knows this is wrong but he’s so used to not getting involved that he gets defensive.... plus, he’s known Clementine for two days, and he’s known Marlon for 8+ years.... he wants to believe Marlon but you can tell he doesn’t want this, either. It takes Clementine talking to him to give him courage to stand between her and Marlon’s gun and it’s a lot.

AJ shoots Marlon and everything goes to shit, and Louis is a goddamn mess. His best friend was murderer right in front of him, so add that to the trauma list, and he’s overwhelmed with all these feelings that again.... they keep getting invalidated by Violet because “Marlon was a liar and murderer, therefore you shouldn’t feel bad about his death. Get over yourself, Louis, you can be such a shithead sometimes.” 

Oh yeah Vi, I guess he should care more about two people he’s known for a total of two days rather than for the safety of the people [including you] he’s grown up with and cared about for 8+ years.... makes sense. 

So yeah, little to no support during this time. Alone again. 

And just because I have to make this clear so no one gets a hair up their ass-- both Louis and Violet are wrong here. Kicking them out isn’t the solution, but neither is acting like AJ was right to commit murder just because it was Marlon.

 But plots gotta plot, so they get voted out and you can see that Louis is conflicted about the whole thing. He wants them gone, but at the same time, he knows what kicking them out means. You can see it on his face that he’s not okay with kicking them out. He’s hurting when he’s there in the dorms telling them how the vote went... he literally doesn’t know what else to do. He just knows that everything hurts, Clem and AJ caused it, and he wants the pain to stop. He even tries to justify it to himself by figuring that they’ve done this before so they’ll be fine. Not a great thing to say, Lou. 

Anyway, we know the story, Clem and AJ come back and Louis once again sees the consequences of acting out of pain.... AJ is shot because Louis was hurt and he made a bad decision that he’s gotta live with.... something that he’s done before, and this affirms to him that he’s bad. He wishes he could take it back, and goes as far as to admit that to Clementine during the archery scene. 

By the way, credit to him for his apology to her. It’s rare in these games that Clem gets a genuine apology from someone who hurt her and doesn’t turn around to repeat the hurtful behavior, y’know? Plus, I can think of plenty of characters who owed Clem an apology in the past or if they did apologize, it was half-assed. 

You can feel how conflicted he is with this whole thing-- learning who Marlon really was and what he did, feeling something for Clementine before everything went down and not knowing how to handle those feelings afterward, caring about AJ and understanding why he thought shooting was the best choice but still hurting that his friend is dead.... 

And the thing is.... Louis forgives her for so much, as she does him, and through all of that bullshit, they manage to develop that strong connection that turns romantic. Louis lets himself be fully vulnerable with her and is honest about his feelings, how she listened when no one else did and seeing him for more than just the persona he put on. 

This works on Clementine’s side, too. Clementine has been through her own fair share of bullshit-- trauma, abandonment, loss, injury, you name it. She’s made mistakes, done terrible things, and has been in enough groups to know that romance usually ends in heartbreak.... and yet, she’s willing to open herself up to Louis and admit she feels a lot for him. 

Is it a little rushed? Yep. Could it have been handled better? Of course, most things this season could’ve, but what we got was pretty good. 

So Clementine and Louis are romantically involved now, the raiders attack, and she saves him... and boy does Louis feel guilty about that one, too. He feels bad enough that he questions why she would pick him because he can’t fathom his life being worth saving over another’s. He doesn’t see himself as useful, and even though Clementine is literally his girlfriend at this point, his self-esteem is so all over the place that he can’t understand why she would have him at her side. 

And when Clementine tells him that he’s too important to her, he’s too baffled to even give a response. He looks at her in disbelief like he wasn’t expecting her to say that.  But this shows that at the beginning of their relationship, he still doubts himself, and through her working with him, he begins to build up that strength in himself. 

He becomes brave enough to share what got him sent to the school with her, and he plays Don’t Be Afraid for everyone at the party and like.... for once, everyone is listening to him. Really listening to him. They’re not talking shit about his musical skills, they’re not ignoring him or the feelings he’s putting into the song, they’re sitting there with him and I just..... if you watch him, you can see that his eyes get pretty glossy throughout the song. The moment meant something to everyone. 

There’s also the fact that Clementine asked him to come with her and AJ onto the boat, and to be the one in charge of the bomb... that’s a huge responsibly and he feels the pressure of that. He starts to panic a bit about if he can do it, because what if he fucks up? What if he gets them caught and makes everything worse? What if something happens to Clementine and he can’t do anything about it? 

She’s there to reassure him that she believes in him, and that he can do this. They’re going to get everyone back, and he needs to focus... then he asks her to slap him which why would you? that’s dumb, so Clementine smooches him instead and like.... he physically relaxes into her because he’s comfortable and trusts her in this situation. 

Also, he loves her and cares about this mission enough to cover himself and his fancy jacket in walker guts.... sure, he complains while doing so but how else is he gonna cope with rubbing rotten guts on himself to blend in with a herd of walkers? 

Skipping ahead so that we’re not here all day, I wanna talk about the walk back to the school because it’s one of the most important clouis moments in the game and a huge reason that solidifies why the comic is bullshit.

Louis went off on his own to go out and find them. He didn’t know where they would be, he just knew that he had to go out and find them after making sure everyone was okay back at the school because he couldn’t bare the thought that he had lost them. And the way the AJ gets so excited to see him? and the group hug??

At this point, Louis has grown so much as a character. With Clementine by his side to support him, he’s grown stronger and more reliable. Remember how he never thought about the future? Well, now he is because his relationship with Clementine has given him a reason to long for a future. He talks about building this imaginary house with her, one he knows they can’t physically build... but it’s his way of saying we can build a home together, that he wants a future with her and AJ and everyone else. It’s such a personal conversation that flows so easy between them. Louis is more comfortable talking to her about things from his past, which is something he didn’t want to do back in ep1. 

He confides in her how he’s feeling after he shot and killed Dorian, he tells her that having a home means protecting it and I just.... it’s so good, okay? And from Clementine’s side, you can feel how at ease she is with him, too. Just the way she smiles at him as they’re walking? like he’s the cutest thing and she’s so happy to have him with her? 

But then we gotta deal with Minerva’s crazy ass on the bridge and well, AJ shoots Tenn and Louis is having flashbacks to Marlon and it’s not great. That’s a whole thing, and he ends up separated from them while escaping.

We don’t get to see Louis’ reaction to Clementine getting bit and losing her leg since I guess that puts a damper on the overly happy ending. But, going off of what we know about him and what I’ve explained [which isn’t even all of it, this isn’t a full Louis character analysis. if it was, it would be much longer and in multiple parts... believe it or not, I’m trying to not make this too long and only sorta failing...] we can get an idea of how he would react. 

Um, to say he was upset is an understatement.

Because remember, he had no time to think and climbed over the fence, thinking he could get them to climb over and they could get away, but it didn’t work. He ended up leaving them in order to save himself since walkers were closing in on him.

But you know that he’d blame himself for the bite. A lot of, “if I had just stayed” and “I should’ve climbed back over, I should’ve stayed with you.” I’m sure there were points where it looked like Clem wouldn’t make it and I can’t imagine how much hurt he went through watching her suffer and heal from losing a leg like that. 

Not only that, but knowing that AJ was the one to do it? And him thinking about what Clem’s death would do to AJ after all this? There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Louis would take care of AJ if she died. He cares about AJ, and he loves Clementine, so he be there for both of them, even if he’s still hurting from Tenn’s death. 

However, Clementine didn’t die. She survived the bite and amputation, and when we flashforward, she and Louis are still happily together. Louis is right there next to her at dinner, and he’s the one to help her with her crutches. He’s there to go over future plans to meet the traveling caravan, and Clementine wants him to be the one to go. 

Oh, and Louis once again forgives AJ for shooting Tenn, claiming that he understands that AJ saw something that he couldn’t. Like with Marlon, he’s not happy Tenn’s dead but he can see why AJ did it to save his life. 

I just..... happy ending. Clementine and Louis are together and she’s truly happy to have found a home for her and AJ with him at Ericson. 

....But then the comic thought it would be fun to say “nah.” 

The comic isn’t canon, I’m still insulted that it would ever consider itself as such, but even so I can’t help but feel so frustrated about how this would destroy Louis. 

He finally found someone he would consider his best friend, not just his girlfriend. She saw past that funny man persona and he trusted her enough to let her past this wall he built around himself. He let himself become vulnerable around her, he named his song after her. Their initials are carved into his piano with a heart surrounding them. He loved her. 

Clementine left him feeling loved, something he probably hasn’t truly felt since he was a little boy with his parents before their divorce. She loved him even after hearing his past because she knew that wasn’t him anymore, and she helped him build the confidence he needed to step up. Because of Clementine, Louis wants to enjoy every day while also looking at the future. He isn’t lonely anymore, he has her and AJ. He’s truly happy.

So to tell me that Louis would wake up one morning only to have AJ tell him that Clementine’s gone, she’ been planning an escape without telling anyone because she wasn’t happy...? I’m sorry, but if you think that wouldn’t leave Louis absolutely devastated, then you know nothing about him as a character. 

This idea is just.... look, Louis is perceptive. That’s a big part of his character, he’s perceptive of those around him. If Clementine was showing signs of being unhappy or depression, he would see it. He would notice a change. He would be able to tell if something was off, and he would ask her about it. Louis is the type of person to ask you what you need. What can he do to help? What do you need to feel better? And if you don’t know, it’s okay, he’ll help you figure it out in any way possible. 

Plus, the comic suggests that there are times where she went off on her own but came back [probably doing her escape prep ugh] and you expect me to believe that Louis wouldn’t notice that or wonder what she’s doing? Wouldn’t sense that something’s going on? 

After she’s gone, he’s going to blame himself for not being enough. He couldn’t make her happy and he was a fool to think he ever could. AJ lost the only family he’s known since he was born because Louis couldn’t help her, couldn’t do anything to stop her from leaving. 

And for him to realize that she didn’t love him? Clementine, the girl he thought the world of because of how strong and confident and in-charge she was, because she saw him for who he was..... she left him, abandoned him... and she couldn’t even be bothered with a goodbye.... that says that she didn’t care all that much about him in the end.

You KNOW that he would think he had this coming, too. How could the universe allow him to fall in love and be happy with someone who loved him back after what he did to his parents? He would feel so heartbroken that he would see this as some sort of karma for breaking up his parents happy marriage as a kid years before he ever met Clementine and before the apocalypse.

I fucking can’t.... I don’t have the words to fully explain how much I hate this. Louis wouldn’t be okay afterward, and I doubt he’d ever fully recover. I wasn’t joking when I mentioned before that Louis would stop playing piano. How could he sit there and play when I he can see is their initials and remember the night she confessed to him? When he named his song after her? Clementine left and took the music with her because Louis wouldn’t have it in him... something that he used to cope would be ruined and that’s just.... it’s fucking awful. 

Not only that, but now he has AJ who I assume is hurting just as much [though the comics inaccurately assume he would just let Clem go sooo... yeah] and he would be the only one Louis would really talk to about it, but then again.... what if AJ doesn’t wanna talk about it? What if AJ starts to act out and things just become terrible and Louis is just too overwhelmed? 

I just.... UGH. That’s how I feel. UGH. 

Clementine from the comic? Not her. She would never fucking do this to Louis, AJ, or anyone else at Ericson, and you would know that if you played the tfs. 

Sigh.... sorry, I just needed to get this all out. I haven’t seen anyone talk about how Clem leaving would affect Louis and I’ve gotten some asks/come across some posts about Louis that have left me incredibly annoyed.... well, I was annoyed before because of the comics, so my annoyances with those things were only heightened. So yeah... I wanted to talk about Louis’ character in hopes of explaining why he would be so hurt if this comic was canon. 

Which it’s not. So it’s fine. 

How are we all feelin’ at this point, by the way? I know I’m not the only one still annoyed with the comic, so I hope y’all are doin’ okay. Hope you’re stayin’ chill and thinking about your faves to help cope with this mess hahaha

[windows98whore]

Welcome home

An: You’re tired and stressed from a shite day at work. Your husband is more than happy to release that tension for you. Just a short Drabble to cope with a bad day.

Warnings: Vaginal sex, comfort after a bad day. Cumming inside?

Word Count:

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo

All characters are aged up. Divider credits are at the bottom of the post.

Just imagine coming home, dog ass tired. It’s cold out, and you bundled up for the bus ride to and from work, then the grocery store. You drop the bag of groceries you’d forced yourself to get for dinner and kick off your shoes at the door before you start peeling off a fleece and a big coat to hang on the hooks by the door. Your hat and scarf come next, and you shake out your curls, rubbing a hand down your neck. Despite the cold, the way your hair had been pressed against your skin had left you damp with sweat. You didn’t bother calling out that you were home, Katsuki was used to you coming home around this hour, and if he wasn’t on a patrol or mission, he was almost always in one spot.

From the doorway you could see Katsuki planted in that familiar recliner in front of the tv, watching the news of course, a cup in his hands. He looks up when you saunter in and plop yourself on top of his spread thighs with a tired sigh. He sets his cup on the end table and scans your back, noting the visible tension in your muscles.

He doesn’t speak. Instead, he runs warmed fingers up and down your arms, helping you shed your blazer, leaving you in a simple button up. He takes his time, unbuttoning each button and pressing warm, soothing kisses down your neck and back, his lips soft against your shoulders.

You catch a glimpse of his silver wedding band glinting in the lamp light and thread the fingers of one of your hands into his. Palm to palm, the only sounds between you for a moment, is the droning on of newscaster on the tv. You enjoy the roughness on his skin, the calloused fingers once used for fighting, ever so gentle and sweet with you, when you need it.

He knew work was stressful. Knew you wanted to quit too, and go into another field or just work anywhere else. He didn’t prod, no use in having you repeat your usual rants about paperwork and bitching supervisors and never getting anything the way they liked it. He rubs a thumb on your palm and presses his lips against your back.

“Let me make you feel good.” He mumbles against your skin. He releases your smaller hand and sets his hands gently on your hips to lift you off of his lap. The two of you walk slowly, to the bedroom, and not long after you flop down onto your plush bed with a huff, Katsuki’s body follows right behind, moving to push your pencil skirt and panties down your hips in one easy sweep, until the expensive fabric gathers around your ankles. You kick them off, not caring where they end up right now.

Katsuki resumes his lazy kisses, alternating between kitten licks and gentle suckles. He expertly undoes the clasp of your bra and takes both breasts into his hands to massage at the supple skin with a soft groan.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs against your neck. He relishes the way your back arches and the sighs that tumble from your supple lips as he rolls your pert nipples between his fingers. He pinches ever so slightly, smirking when you gasp. Katsuki releases your right breast and flips you over to trail a hand down your stomach, rough fingers ghosting over your belly to your thighs.

He pulls you in by your hip, and ruts into your shapely ass, groaning at the way your ass feels against his hardening cock. He wants to give it to you, fuck you until you’re relaxed and cuddly and sleepy, but he takes his time. This is about your pleasure and he wants you to know that. His fingers dip towards you heat, and he parts your lips to rub a warm finger over your clit.

The pressure sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. You mewl his name quietly, which only spurs him on. “Good girl...” he’s whispering, voice deep from arousal. “Like that? Like how I touch you?” His words just add to your growing pleasure as he thumbs your clit, circling it expertly in just the right way. He runs his fingers down to your entrance, collecting slick between his pointer and middle finger.

As much as he’s aching to be inside you, he’s gentle, slow even, as he slides his dampened fingers inside of you. You part your legs instinctively, mouth open as you groan. He massages your velveteen walls, enjoying the way you roll your hips to try and bury the two fingers further inside of you. He pulls his hand back, twirling your clit with his thumb, before he slides back in enjoying the wet squelch of your juices against his fingers.

“That wet already?” He sucks his teeth, feigning surprise. He knew what he did to you, and just how to get you worked up. “I’ll make you cum, and then I’ll fuck you so good you won’t even remember your day. Deal?” His voice is like liquid pleasure and it shoots straight to your brain. Your clit twitches against his thumb and all you can make out is a quick nod. “Good.” He speeds up his wrist flicks, and changes his angle so that he each time his fingers disappear inside you, the palm of his hand kisses your clit. You’re a mess, moaning and turning into jelly right in front of you. “Why don’t you cum for me sugar. Cream all over my fingers.” He husks, curling said fingers against your g spot and making you see stars. You tumble over the edge into ecstasy, panting and shaking while your husband praises you softly, tells you how he loves how you cum with that pretty pussy of yours, how sexy your o face is, how he can’t wait to bury himself inside and fuck you dumb.

Katsuki always licks his fingers after he’s helped you ride out your orgasm. He sucks each digit into his mouth, staring you directly in the face with that cocky look in his lust darker irises. When he turns your head in his cum and saliva slick fingers, and presses his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, you shudder, able to taste your own cum in his mouth.

The blond normally likes to tease. Likes to have you at your breaking point before he gives in and fucks you so deeply tears spring into your eyes.

But tonight, he doesn’t. He turns you so he can be the big spoon, pushes his orange boxers down just enough to get his erecting free and slides into you, groaning at how your walls are already fluttering around him as he slowly buries himself to the hilt.

“Oh fuck...” you groan, which puts a cocky smirk on his face. Katsuki takes his time. He’s not fucking tonight, he’s making love to you. Making you feel loose and well loved and appreciated. He presses his lips to the shell or your ear to whisper just how tight you feel, and how good it all is, and how no one else gets him this hard and horny but you and your amazing body and mind god he loves how sharp you are. It had been your quick wit that had drawn him in. He rolls his hips, dragging his cock against your walls in a way that makes you twist free hands in the plush sheets beneath you.

Katsuki is a lot of things, but patient isn’t one of them. You’re more than aware of that, though, and when you feel him start to tremble from holding back, you quietly beg him to take you rough and quick, the way he’s dying to. The sounds of damp skin slapping fill the room. You’re moaning and groaning and keening for him, and that just sets him off more. He’s curses up a storm, and pulling you by the hips into him so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises to match the hickies he’s sucking into the copper skin of your neck.

“Fuck, babe I’m close. Where do you...Shit...where do you want it?” He asks breathlessly, voice raising so you can hear him over your own sounds of pleasure.

“Inside Suki. Cum inside me. Fucking cum inside, please.” You plead between deep suckles of air. Katsuki nods against your neck, mumbling that he’d do anything you ask, anything for you. He slips his hands between your legs and thumbs your clit, quickly sending you into your second orgasm of the night. The way you tighten around him has Katsuki following not long after, hips jerking wildly, only to stop and stutter, as he pumps you full of his cum. He lets out a breathy shudder, sliding his slowly softening dick in and out of you with a very satisfied groan.

Your head spins. There are goosebumps and bruises and hickies dotting your skin now. Katsuki presses his lips to each dark mark in a silent apology as he pulls out with a hiss.

He was right. You don’t remember much of your day anymore. All you can focus on is the familiar ache between your thighs and the way cum slowly drools from inside you, dribbling down your legs.

Katsuki takes care of you, silently. He gets a damp rag from the adjourning bathroom, and delicately wipes you down. Your eyes meet, and he looks like he’s considering something. You tilt your head in a silent question.

“I don’t like telling you what to do.” He hums, looking up at you through foggy eyes. “You should quit. Take some time to just lounge around. I’m sure we can find you a less shit job.” You smile fondly down at him.

“Actually I’m determined to make them regret treating me like shit.” Your determined look makes Katsuki smirk. He pats your thigh, a loving glint in his eyes. “Be the best employee they’ve ever had, so when I quit, they beg me to stay. Make them wish they’d never been rude to me.”

“That’s my fuckin girl.”

Requests are open! Shoot me an ask~

Divders are from @/firefly-graphics

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

“I thought you didn’t want me.” for Meribela?

Thanks for the prompt!...that I'm filling six months later... Welp, better late than never! I don't write these two much, so here's hoping it works!

@dadrunkwriting

Merrill x Isabela

Rated: G

Tags: angst, immediately after the Arishok duel, iffy coping mechanisms

===

Smoke still lingers, heavy and soggy like a wet blanket dragged over Kirkwall's buildings and stairs as Merrill slogs her way back to the alienage. Blood still pools in the streets from the Arishok's assault on the city. Creators, everything in her aches, something bone-deep and exhausted; too many people needed help, and she needed something to pull her mind from the battle at the Viscount's Keep, so she exhausted her healer's kit and her remaining strength stitching up every wound she found.

Bela had come this close to dying; Merrill knows she'll be out of town on the first ship she can find. Hawke had almost died trying to save her, and it's still touch-and-go whether or not they'll survive their wounds. Merrill's mishmash little family is trying to shrink again. Maybe it's the way of her life, that she is to lose everyone she loves. The thought settles like rancid halla milk in her belly and raises her hackles with what promises to be another dry-heave.

She stumbles on the final stair into the alienage. Lancing pain shoots up her legs when Merrill falls to her knees. "Fenedhis—I'll fall and break my neck at this rate." She rubs her knuckles into her eyes for a moment before heaving herself to her feet.

"Careful there, kitten, careful." Warm hands land at Merrill's shoulders when she sways unevenly. "Looks like a stiff breeze could knock you over."

Merrill glares at the ground. "Thanks," she says, clipped, and shakes herself from Bela's grip. Merrill crosses her arms over her balled fists and stalks off toward her little cottage.

"Kitten, wait."

Merrill speeds up into a half-jog across the broken cobblestones. Bela swears and her jewelry chimes together discordantly as she follows. The cottage is a scant hundred feet away, and Merrill breaks into a run. Her heart bolts rabbit-fast in her ears.

"I just want to talk!"

Merrill flings herself at the door. There hadn't been enough time to lock it earlier in the afternoon when the Qunari had attacked, and in Mythal's mercy, it is in remarkable shape. The door groans as Merrill barrels inside, torn askew on its hinges in the assault, and it sticks in the frame when she slams it shut behind her.

Bela pounds on the other side a second after Merrill throws the latch and locks the door. "Merrill, come on—let me in!"

"I don't want to talk to you!" she yells back. Tears sting her eyes, and Merrill roughly wipes them away on her knuckles. Her nails bite half-moons into the heels of her palms. "Go away!"

A thud hits the door, followed by a long slide. Bela sighs. "I know I messed up, Merrill," she says. "And I—I've thought about it. A lot. You and Hawke must have... must have rubbed off on me or something. So I came back."

Another thump on the door, lower now—Bela slumps against the door and bangs her head lightly on the wood. She's staying, for now.

It hits Merrill dully, from a distance. Her own legs shake and she catches herself on the door. Sliding to the dusty floor, she lands hard, legs splaying before her.

"You made me feel like you didn't want me."

The tears come down in earnest. Merrill tips her head back and lets them drip down her cheeks. "You—you left that night. You've talked about returning to the sea and taking me with you, and you left me here." Her voice warbles and she wipes angrily at her face again. "I said I loved you, Bela, and I woke up alone."

Long fingers inch into the gap under the too-short door. They quest and find Merrill's hip, pet awkwardly at the hem of her shirt. "I know. I spent a long time ignoring it. And then a long time thinking about it."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, I—" Bela knocks her head against the door again and curses a low streak. She sniffs roughly. "Merrill—oh Maker's taint, I'm not crying, for fuck's sake," she mutters to herself, so quiet that Merrill only just catches it. "Get it together."

Bela sighs. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, you know, once I started. Feelings are dumb, kitten, and here I am, having them. You know, this morning I wasn't sure what would be worse: having to face the Qunari and return the stupid tome, damn the consequences, or having to do all that and then face you," she says with an incredulous snort.

"People died because of them," Merrill mutters. Because of you, she doesn't say, because Bela knows that already and it's not helpful to bring it up right now. Bela can talk about that with someone else. Merrill is too tired to do it. She wipes her eyes and draws her knees to her chest, bends down enough to rest her head on them. "What do you really want, Bela?"

Silence meets her question. Merrill gnashes her teeth. "At least do me the kindness of answering me," she calls through the door.

"Believe me, kitten, I'm trying," Bela grunts. The door thumps again. "What—" She cuts off on a cough, clears her throat, and tries again. "Do I still... Is this still safe harbor?"

"Safe harbor," Merrill murmured. Her hand found Bela's and she laced their fingers together. Bela blinked, almost like she was surprised, but surely she knew, right? Merrill had said it in all the ways she knew how—murmured against her skin in the night, woven in the living shield Merrill casts in battle to protect her back, hammered into the fine edge of the dagger she'd saved for over most of a year to have commissioned for Bela's last birthday. Tonight she whispered it into Bela's heart, skin sweat-slick and chest heaving, feverish. "Ar lath ma, Bela, ma vhenan. You always have a home with me."

Bela smiled. "C'mere, kitten," she said, and she pulled Merrill into a bruising kiss, her trembling hand wandering down Merrill's ribs and over her belly with a singular purpose.

And then Merrill woke up alone.

"I want to come home, Merrill. If you'll let me." A beat. "If you'll have me."

"Bela—"

"I know I'm bad at this, kitten. I know. And I want to try anyway. For you. For our misfit family."

Merrill knocks her forehead on her knees and squeezes her eyes shut. "And I'm just—I—Creators, Bela! What am I supposed to do?"

"Let me in so I can apologize properly, I hope. It's dark and fucking cold." She falls silent. "I really am sorry, Merrill, and I want to make it better."

Something twists in Merrill's gut, wounded and hurting and full of aching rage. She drags in a shaking breath. "You'll have to talk to the others," Merrill says. "You'll have to, you'll have to apologize, and explain, and all that. And you'll have to ask them for forgiveness, too, especially Hawke, and maybe they'll all be nice and give it to you. Then maybe..." Merrill sniffs and wipes her face on her trousers. "Then maybe you can ask me for forgiveness, too. Later."

"...that's fair," Bela sighs. She thumps her head on the door again. "Really screwed everyone over, didn't I?"

Merrill unfolds herself and stands up with a groan, wobbles against the door. She scrapes her nails down the wood. "You'll need to talk about that with all of them. I'm—I'm going to bed."

She gets a step away before she turns back, some needy thing scraping at the inside of her ribcage, and yanks open the door. Bela scrambles to her feet; she barely has time to protest before Merrill's got her hand wrapped around Bela's wrist and pulls her, hard, into the cottage. Merrill kicks the door shut behind them and leans back against it, tugging Bela to follow until her arms bracket Merrill in.

There's no doubt as to what this is. Surely Bela knows. Surely Bela understands. Merrill can't say it any plainer, not again.

"I thought you said you're going to bed."

"I am. We are. If you want."

Bela searches her face. "It's not this easy," she whispers, her brows pinching lightly in confusion.

"No," Merrill says. She reaches up to cup Bela's cheek, rubs her thumb along the edge of her bottom lip. "But it has been a long, terrifying day, and I'm tired, and I—" her voice warbles again "—I've missed you so very much."

Relieved warmth pools in Bela's gaze when it flicks to Merrill's lips. "I've missed you, too, kitten." She dips her head and gently, more than Merrill expects, presses their mouths together.

She sighs into it and lets her hands fall to the neckline of Bela's tunic, curling into the fabric and anchoring her pirate queen to her. "If you stay, we're going to have to talk about all of this in the morning," Merrill murmurs.

Another wave of tears threatens to fall. If.

She shakes her head against the thought and winds her arms around Bela's neck. Her heart hammers in her chest, breaking it open; Merrill has to hold it together, smother everything down against the lean lines of Bela's body to keep her heart from pelting into Bela's hands again.

"I know."

It's not fair that Bela could just leave like that, before. That Merrill wants her anyway, now. Bela trails kisses along the edge of her jaw, nudges her into tipping back enough that she can trail her lips down the sensitive skin just below her ear. Her laughter ghosts over Merrill's skin when she can't help the shudder that trembles through her.

It's not fair. Bela was gone for months, and Merrill loves her just as much now as then, even though it burns.

She closes her eyes at the frisson of selfish want that bolts through her. I know, Bela says, and Merrill desperately wants to believe.

But Bela always told her she's too trusting, too open-hearted, and where has that gotten Merrill so far? Empty-handed, empty-hearted, and lonely.

Merrill drags in a shuddering breath. The morning will come soon enough, and she can't waste any more time worrying about the inevitability of Bela's coming departure.

"Take me to bed," she whispers, and she lets herself be hauled off, curled tight into Bela's embrace, unable to let her go for even a moment.

She’s survived the dawn of every morning before. She will survive it again.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Andrew Clark

(Not my gif)(Requested by @mpmarypoppins​ )

(I’m sorry this took so long! It took more work than I was expecting!)

- You technically met Andrew after the two of you were placed in the same class though; since you weren’t in the same social circle, you didn’t talk to each other. Well, you didn’t talk to each other until the teacher was late to class one day; something quite common for said teacher, and the delinquents who sat behind you decided to pick on you.

- Usually, it really didn’t bother you. You’d ignore them and the teacher would arrive and they’d be forced to shut up. But Andrew wasn’t used to that sort of thing and he certainly didn’t like it so when the goons started to berate you, he turned around and told them to shut up.

- They made a smartass retort back at him but did as he said, settling in their seats just as the teacher finally showed up. Throughout the rest of the class, the two of you took turns sneaking glances at each other and pretending like you weren’t when the other happened to look. 

- Neither of you mentioned the event to each other and you’d figured that that was the end of it. And for the time being it was, but a few days later that wouldn’t be the case. 

- Once again, your teacher was late and the assholes who sat behind you began their familiar attempts at bothering you. You caught Andrew glancing back at you, watching to see your reaction; you’d assumed, before he finally turned fully around and told them to knock it off …though this time they didn’t.

- The ringleader of the group made a comeback, turning on the boy and asking “what he was going to do about it”, prompting Andrew to stand up, threatening to “wipe the floor with” them.

- The boy stood up as well, grinning as he made a comment about the two of you dating, and subsequently an obscene remark which made your face turn hot. Before you knew it, the two boys were one the floor, Andrew pushing the kid to the ground, asking if he was finished and demanding he apologize.

- He released the boy after a moment and they straightened themselves out, stumbling backwards without saying anything, hoping to dodge the extra humiliation of saying they were sorry.

- You saw that Andrew was about to say something; most likely once again telling the boy to apologize, so you delicately grabbed his arm and told him it was fine, thanking him for sticking up for you.

- He eased up as the other boy and his group of friends made their exit, turning to you more calm then before and asking if you “just let them do that to you”.

“Nothing much I can do. If I say something they’ll just keep doing it because they get a rise out of me.” You explained.

“If you don't fight back they’ll just keep bothering you cause you’re an easy target.” He insisted.

“I’ll be an easy target but I’ll also be boring. The only way to win is to wait it out and let them get bored.” You replied, turning through your notebook a bit uncomfortably.

“No.” He shook his head.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“No,” he replied. “They bother you again, you tell me. I’ll handle it if you don’t want to.”

- His offer made you smile but proved to be unnecessary as the boys moved seats and refused to say anything to you after that day.

- The two of you hadn’t talked in a few days so it sort of shocked you when he approached you in the hall and struck up a conversation, asking how things were to which you were able to report that the guys had left you alone.

- He gave you a small smile and a “that’s good, that’s good” before going quiet for a moment. You were about to say goodbye until he turned to you and told you about a party that one of his friends was having, suggesting that; maybe, you’d like to go before offering to pick you up.

- Taking your only chance to attend a real highschool party; and spend more time with one of the most popular and handsome boys in school, you agreed, writing down your address for him and returning his smile as he said goodbye. 

- As it turns out, parties aren’t really your thing and surprisingly not his either. The two of you ended up spending most of your time sat outside, talking in the dark and nursing cheap beer.

- You’d been telling him a story when you noticed that his eyes were locked on you. You’d dismissed it for a while before you turned and met his eyes, your story quickly becoming meaningless and trailing off into thin air.

- You watched as his eyes shifted down towards your lips, pausing there before he began to lean in. You began to lean forward as well, tilting your head so that he could connect your lips properly.

- The two of you shared a long, soft kiss before you pulled away, a warm, fuzzy feeling filling you as you took notice of the lovestruck sorta look on his face. The two of your faces lingered close to each other’s for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away.

“You should probably take me home, it’s getting late.” You whispered.

“Do you want to go home?” He asked quietly.

“No.” You smiled, laughing softly.

- A small smile found its way onto his lips as well before he leaned in again, kissing you with a bit more fervor than before, his hands tightening their grip on the jacket; his jacket, that you were wearing.

- Cliques and stereotypes be damned. He loved you and he sure as hell wasn't letting you go if he could help it.

- He’s been taught to be a gentleman so he keeps his pda light and innocent. He doesn’t need the entire school watching him shove his tongue into your mouth.

- Soft kisses.

- Handholding.

- Temple, forehead, and head kisses. 

- Attending all of his wrestling matches and cheering him on. He always seeks you out in the crowd and shoots you a smile.

- He’s prone to trying to show off and impress you. Taking off clothes, flexing, athletic tricks, acting tough; whatever he thinks will get your attention.

- Giving him genuine, meaningful praise. 

- Shy compliments from him. Sometimes, he gets genuinely awestruck over how pretty you are. 

- He doesn't use too many nicknames, maybe a babe here and there but otherwise he just calls you by your name. He thinks pet names are sorta silly though he cant help but smile when you use them on him; as long as its in private. 

- He insists on escorting you to class. It’s certainly useful, the hallway crowds all but part like the red sea for him and his Varsity jacket. 

- Your books? In his arms. Your entire body? In his arms. Hey, he’s got muscles for a reason; he’s gonna put them to good use!

- Getting used as a human dumbbell. It’s somewhat scary yet fun though you’re pretty sure he copes a feel every now and again. 

- If you ever have any food you don't want just slide it over to him. You don’t even need to say anything, he’ll grab it and kiss you on the cheek before you can anyways. 

- He fiddles with things when he’s bored so expect to just randomly feel him playing with your hair or witness him doing something adorably stupid in an attempt to entertain himself. 

- Playing finger football and other hand games in class/lunch. 

- Dancing together.

- He loves having you right by his side. He’ll literally pull your chair closer to his while you’re sitting in it just because he wants you as close as he can get you.

- Sharing inside jokes and secret smiles with each other.

- He’ll either lay between your legs and lean back against you, his head on your stomach/chest, or he’ll lay his head in your lap and let you mess with his hair. He “secretly” loves when you play with it.

- You usually cuddle with your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around you. He’s sorta not used to cuddling so it’s gonna take a little bit of time for him to warm up to really snuggling with you.

- He hasn't really figured out who he is yet. He’s an amalgamation of everyone he’s ever had to listen to so you’re gonna have to try and help break him out of that, and become his own person. 

- A part of him yearns to feel accepted and that’s going to cause him to do whatever he can to please you, unless, perhaps, it goes against pleasing his father. It’s just something he does without really thinking about it so you’ll have to sort of keep that in mind since you don’t want to take advantage of him. 

- Going out and acting like idiots, living in the moment and actually enjoying yourselves instead of worrying about what other people think. 

- Being there for him to rant to when he needs. 

- Helping him study so he doesn't fall behind in his academics while trying to excel in sports. 

- Wearing his jacket. He thinks you look adorable when you put it on and will always toss it to you when the weather gets cold.

- He’s hot blooded so if you get cold then just move in closer, he never minds. Either that or throw on the clothing that he’s pulled off of himself.

- Being invited to the “popular” parties, even if you really aren’t yourself. He’s not a big fan of them but you being there makes them more bearable.

- Becoming friends with the members of the breakfast club, specifically Claire since she’s in the same clique as Andrew and you wind up hanging out in the same places. 

- He genuinely likes you for you. You may think that you have to change something about yourself but just know that he loves you either way, whether you do change it or not. 

- He thinks you’re the greatest. Even if other people see your actions as “nothing” or strange, he finds them endearing.

- He’s always willing to fight to figure out what's wrong, pushing you to talk even when you try to defensively push him away. Instead of judging or trying to give you halfhearted advice, he just relates and makes you feel accepted.

- Carnival/theme park dates. He likes taking you places where he can win you prizes and the two of you can spend the day goofing off. 

- Arcade dates but the cool kind. 

- You know how hard it is to strip off clothes and makeout with his layered fucking circus act? Man has on like five shirts at a time. He’s immune to strip poker and pussy. 

- He sorta acts like your father. He’s been conditioned into acting the way he does, behaving like he’s a teacher/parent and telling people what to do, repeating the same dribble that he’s been told. In some ways its endearing, in others its infuriating and sad. 

- He isn't too keen on introducing you to his parents and you understand why. You don’t take offense, knowing that he isn’t keeping you away because he’s ashamed of you. 

- Making sure to step in and ensure he doesn't beat peoples asses. You’re one of the few people he listens to when he’s angry.

- He gets extremely jealous, particularly when he knows someone has a thing for you. And when he gets jealous, he has a habit of getting aggressive; either threatening or full on fighting guys when they don't back off. 

“You don't talk to her. You don't look at her. You don't even think about her.”

- Overprotective; he’s always ready to jump to your defense even when he really doesn’t have to. 

- A lot of your fights are due to outside pressures. He’s constantly under a lot of stress so fights can erupt at any time, even if neither of you mean for them to happen. 

- He just loses it, sometimes throwing an insult/harsh word or two at you that he doesn't mean. After he has some time to cool down he feels absolutely horrible and chides himself for being such a jerk. 

- He might show up at your house or try to approach you at school the next day but its up to you on whether you'll just take him back. He’ll ask to talk to you and tries to offer a genuine apology whenever he’s in the wrong. 

- Quiet, earnest “I love you’s”. He’s sort of shy about saying it but you can certainly tell that he means it when he does.

- You don’t really talk about the future all too much but he’ll occasionally bring it up. He certainly wants to marry you. He’s praying that you want the same and that you’ll end up being his highschool sweetheart.