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izvmimi · 2 years ago

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WSB (and WSHB) - Chapter IV

cw: reader is called by their nickname based on their hero name. minimal violence.

Masterlist

You wake up the next morning disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings before you realize that you’re in Shoto’s bed, an empty space beside you.

Did you…

You slide out of bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, and creep out of the room gently to see him laid across the couch on his back, eyes still closed. He doesn’t look comfortable, the way his head tilts backwards awkwardly as it rests on the edge of the sofa. His arms are crossed over his chest, without a blanket even.

“Shoto?” you murmur, approaching.

His eyes open instantly and you wonder if he were ever asleep.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asks. You nod.

He’s far too kind for his own good.

---

“Did you want to leave or did you just want to be missed?”

The question weighs heavy on your head. Your legs curled up into the couch, you continued to hold the phone onto your ear, head spinning as you pondered the question. Your mother has always had a great way of shocking you back to reality, as she was doing now, and you struggled for a response.

You didn’t really want to leave. What you wanted was for the threat not to fall flat, and when it did, when instead Izuku chose to respond to the next distress call rather than respond to your ultimatum right that very moment, you packed up as many things as possible and moved into the next available apartment in a haste. It was an overreaction, as you were prone to do these days, much like now, sitting in Shoto’s apartment still, as though hiding out in your own home would remind you that you made dumb decisions in a blink of an eye.

You decide not to answer her question, instead changing the subject.

“I might consider that internship overseas,” you reply. You can practically hear her roll her eyes on the other end. Your mother has never indulged your caprices, even if she loves you dearly.

“Your response to distress shouldn’t immediately be running. Tell me you want to go because you think it’s a good idea for your career, not because you’re upset about a boy.”

You swallow hard.

He’s not just some boy is a phrase that dies in your throat, too embarrassing to say out loud. You’re not in high school anymore, holding hands as he carries your books between classes. You’re no longer hiding from prying eyes to kiss or sending each other flirty texts between missions.

You’re an adult now, and you’re no longer together.

Your mother sighs, sensing your hesitation. “Think about it longer.”

Defeated, you reply, “I will.”

“Where are you right now? You’re not face-timing me so what are you hiding?”

The fact that this woman is so astute will be your undoing. It’s your turn to sigh.

“Don’t judge me… but I’m at Shoto’s apartment. But he’s not here right now…, he’s at the afterparty.”

“Honey, leave that boy alone if you’re not serious,” she says in exasperation. You purse your lips. She’s already been merciful about the fact that you didn’t go with him to the event yesterday, so brutal honesty is warranted now.

“Okay,” you offer.

“Remember, our doors are always open. I haven’t seen you in a while. Next time come to me, not somebody else’s confused son, okay?”

This makes you laugh. You can practically hear her smiling into the receiver.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime.”

---

“Can I, uh, get you ladies a round of drinks on me?”

Mineta flashes a smile, rubbing his hands together and Tessa resists the urge to kick him in the teeth, but instead smiles faux sweetly. Jirou on the other hand, does not offer Mineta this much courtesy and reminds him promptly that the open bar is free. Hagakure giggles.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take orders for you all!” he huffs. The Casanova act subverted, he crosses his arms and stomps his foot.

“See this is why at your big age you’re still mistaken for a baby,” Mina jokes slyly. It doesn’t help that his suit appears slightly oversized. Her own short cream fit and flare dress would be considered plain, if not for her painfully extravagant faux fur coat in the same pattern as her hero costume. Tessa spends the entire night trying not to spill her drink on her but she takes up so much space it feels almost inevitable.

“Let’s try to be nice today?” Momo suggests, to which Mineta oversteps his boundaries yet again and hugs her at the waist tightly.

“You were always my favorite!” he sobs dramatically.

Denki, approaching with a drink for Jirou, takes one glance at Mineta then shakes his head.

“He never changes, does he?”

“Never,” Sero sighs as he makes his way over to the unintentional huddle of girls. “Some of us had a glow up in the interim-” he adds, running his hand through his dark hair, and flashing his reality TV smile. “Don’t you all regret not snagging me while I hadn’t yet grown into myself?”

There’s one person who would have instantly jumped at the opportunity to roast him from his gold on gold suit, open shirt, necklace and cufflinks and she’s not present, they all realize in unison.

Well, all except Tessa who sips her drink quietly. She and Bakugou had already come up with excuses, because missing a ceremony was one thing, but missing two was a concern.

“Is Tenten really not coming to this too?” Sero asks.

Hagakure shrugs. “Maybe she’s busy?”

Their eyes are on Tessa who is the closest, who tries very hard to come up with something to say. As her eyes shift, she makes contact with Bakugou who is partially across the room, in conversation with Kirishima and Izuku.

They exchange a knowing glance.

“She has a really big project that she’s been working on,” Tessa lies through her teeth.

Tsuyu gives her a look. “Enough that she can’t take a break at all? Are we sure she’s okay?”

“Yeah, I think I called this morning to see if she was coming and her phone was off, which I feel isn’t like her,” Momo adds, crossing her arms over her chest as she ponders. No one wants to say it, but it’s clear that they suspect that there’s something more behind her absence. The internet is free.

Tessa starts to sweat but only until Shoto, noticing the small commotion, finally pipes up.

“She’s fine, she stayed the night after we slept together.”

Tessa and Mina spit out their drinks in unison. Bakugou, alarmed, shifts his gaze towards Izuku who he hopes by some miracle hasn’t heard Shoto.

Alas, he heard.

In fact, he was listening intently the whole time, his attention having been pulled away from Shoji’s words of congratulations on the pregnancy (he, for whatever reason, does keep track of entertainment media) the moment your name came into the conversation.

“You did what?”

Shoto considers that his word choice may have implied something else based on the shock of everyone around him. He tries to fix it:

“She came over last night because she was upset about something and ended up-”

That’s all Izuku is willing to hear.

Shoto turns his attention to Izuku to elaborate and is immediately met with knuckles to the jaw in a punch that sends him hurtling across the venue like a missile.

The air seems to freeze for a split second, then the far too loud crash of Shoto’s back hitting a wall in his path seems to shatter the silence - it takes less than half a second for Bakugou and Kirishima to act, each man restraining Izuku by each of his arms, trying to subdue him before he goes for the second blow.

“Chill! What the fuck?!”

“Deku!”

Izuku doesn’t speak but he’s red and angry enough that he looks like he could bite, teeth bared in a harsh sneer. He wants so badly to hit him again, and he stares daggers right at Shoto who looks genuinely stunned. The shock on his face only makes him angrier, the thought that Shoto would just casually proclaim to have had sex with his girlfriend and then-

His anger dissipates and shifts to regret just as the chatter amongst the group starts.

You’re not his girlfriend. You haven’t been for months, and thus who you sleep with is not his business.

And yet…

“Are you fucking insane?!” Bakugou hisses as Izuku huffs and lets his body relax. Iida, aided by his quirk, speeds over to Shoto to mitigate damage, and Shoto considers for a brief moment bathing the entire venue in ice before he decides on cool words instead.

“Odd way to show that you care,” Shoto spits. The environment is again icy cold, despite the fact that Shoto has yet to activate his quirk, and it is so quiet you can hear a pin drop. Izuku looks up from where he’s been focused on staring at the ground to recollect himself and consider exactly why he acted so brashly, renewed irritation in his eyes. His muscles tense again as Shoto marches closer, close enough eventually that they stare at each other nearly eye to eye. Kirishima pivots to get in between them but Bakugou gives him a knowing look and the redhead accordingly steps back out of the way.

“How unbecoming, given that you just announced that you were expecting.”

Shoto’s words are like venom, drawn out and poisonous, direct and scathing as is typical of him but with a new, controlled fury behind them. Not just because Izuku had the nerve to hit him, but because of the sheer hypocrisy.

Possibly because he remembers how you looked when you showed up at his doorstep.

Izuku’s fists clench, as does his jaw, and again he considers punching a second time but at the whisper of his name from the mother of his child, a realization sets in.

When he turns, Ochaco is right by him and looks visibly upset, the blood clearly drained from her face. She’s pale enough that even her perpetually red cheeks seem to have faded in color. He’s hurt someone else, he realizes. He can’t seem to stop hurting people.

“I-Izuku, what’s going-” Ochaco starts, and before he can hear whatever she has left to say, Izuku promptly storms out of the room.

---

You had just gathered your coat and keys when Shoto finally makes it back into his own apartment, nearly startling you out of yesterday’s clothes as the door swung open. Wide eyed, your attention is called directly to the bruise covering the unscarred half of Shoto’s face and you rush over to him in shock.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

Shoto’s face remains neutral as he replies, “Midoriya happened.”

A pang hits your chest.

“What… why?” you croak out, but you can tell the specifics don’t matter as much as what they represent. The fact that you are here, right now, and what you tried and failed to do last night, must be out in the open. Something of the sort.

Shoto doesn’t respond to your direct question and instead puts away his coat. He eyes you carefully, then changes the subject.

“I see that you’re getting ready to leave. Do you feel better?” he asks.

Your stomach twists. No, but also yes. It depends on what better means. You’ve only just now turned on your phone and there’s the myriad of texts that you ignored from this morning, many of them from Tessa, that still await your response. Your chest still aches. You don’t feel relaxed, more like you are masking a general unrest that sits deep in your bones.

But you’re okay to drive, you won’t cry yourself off the road.

You nod.

He offers you a small smile. “Good.”

You hesitate for a moment, then walk over to him where he stands.

“Do you mind?” You ask, as the tips of your fingers begin to glow. He shakes his head, and you touch his bruised face gently, stimulating the cells in that region to speed up healing.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. His hand hovers over yours but doesn’t make contact.

“No problem,” you reply. You want to know more of what happened, but you know when you finally get around to replying to Tessa and Momo, you’ll probably have a better inkling than you do right now. So rather, you wrap your arms around him in a hug and press your head against his chest. He’s rigid, startled by the action, just as he was last night, but he relaxes faster this time and places a hand on your back, rubbing up and down.

“Let me know when you get home,” he reminds you as you separate.

You nod.

“I will.”

---

Turning your key into your apartment lock, you find yourself laughing despite the fact that your heart currently remains broken in two, courtesy of an old friend.

“All I’m saying is that I fight pregnant women too.”

“Kali, please!” you exclaim on the phone, giggles abounding. She’s been ranting for the past twenty minutes about how she never thought Izuku understood how lucky he was to have you, how she cannot believe you found out like this, how if her husband wasn’t still a top-ranked Hero, she’d have very quickly returned to her Vigilante ways, and it is refreshing as usual to be somewhat muted in the conversation. There’s a sudden shuffling at the other end of the line, and soon you can hear her bark at Hawks about returning her phone to her immediately.

“There’s no need for a smear campaign, Kali. We were broken up, he never did anything wrong,” you remind her.

“He didn’t technically but this still feels wrong to me and since I can’t beat anyone up I’m going on Twitter. Gonna have #dekuisadicku trending by tomorrow morning.”

You burst into giggles once again, but unbeknownst to your long-time friend, there’s tears that she can’t see that accompany the laughter, until eventually when you hang up on the phone you’re outright sobbing.

Three months is all it took. As Kali brought up, perhaps your suspicions really were right, and he was actually seeing her romantically at the tail end of your relationship. Even if you knew a single roll in the sheets could turn out this way, it still hurt that it could happen so quickly.

And knowing that everyone else knew… The sheer humiliation of it all was almost as bad as the fact that you loved him still and wished so desperately he hadn’t moved on so quickly.

If there was any hope of you returning to the Hero agency where you and Izuku once worked, the permanent resignation letter you were drafting suggested otherwise. There were other ways to be a Hero and there would be other ways to work, even if the Agency you’d previously freelanced at was one of the best in the country. Either way, after months of declining missions, it was probably unlikely you were still high on their roster for potential jobs.

Your brother would be proud of you for leaving all of this shit behind.

---

There are very few things that have been able to distract you from the pain in your chest, but Tsuyu’s terrible, croaky and off-key rendition of Leona Lewis’ ‘Bleeding Love’ is somehow one of them. Gulping down the rest of your Cassis Grape (the third of the night), you considered that Tessa’s ‘It’s Raining Men’ a few minutes ago was not actually so bad, especially given the fact that Momo was worsening the current entertainment by shaking a tambourine, equally offbeat and with an inappropriate level of grace.

There are other reasons to want to cry, you remember. Then for whatever reason, as you contemplate ordering another drink, Mineta’s purple hair suddenly comes to mind and you consider retching.

Maybe you are going insane.

“Tenten!” Tessa sees your skin go ashen and holds you close, rubbing her hands through your hair as you find yourself unwittingly laying in her lap. “Tsuyu, stop, you’re making her sick!”

Tsuyu’s ribbit ad-libs come to an end and the music dies down for a moment, while the three girls look at you. You wave them off.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, and the slight slur in your speech makes them doubt you. Tsuyu comes to squat down before you, and frowns.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay, you know,” she says, putting down her microphone, an action that brings joy to your soul.

“We’re just happy you came out,” Momo adds, placing a comforting hand on your hip and rubbing gently. The gentle flush on her features is comforting, even if your head is spinning as you look at her. She’s very pretty, you remember, then gaze back at Tessa who appears to be staring straight ahead, scrunching her nose.

“Maybe we should have stayed in.”

The walls of the karaoke room are quite small, but of course you would never feel suffocated with your friends. In fact the closed space reminds you that you’re not alone.

“I needed to get out,” you assure them. Tessa glances back down at you for a moment, contemplating, then sticks out her tongue at you.

“Next time you ignore my calls, I’m breaking into your house.”

“Nice threat. I’ll make you tea and tuck you in bed,” you murmur back. Momo giggles, then rests her head on Tessa’s shoulder. Tsuyu mutes the karaoke machine, having given up on torturing the rest of the group, then takes a seat on Tessa’s other side. She brings her knees to her chest and sighs.

You steal a look at her for a moment. Even through the alcohol settling in, you can still recognize that this situation must be terribly awkward for Tsuyu, who is particularly close with Ochaco, and you can tell that she’s trying not to mention her in order to remain diplomatic. Will her presence here be considered picking sides? You don’t want her to pick sides.

You’re mad at her but you’re not really mad at her.

Maybe you should broach the subject yourself, to let the group know that it’s okay. Because you’re curious after all.

“Is she happy about… you know? Did she tell you anything?”

You’re mostly expecting Tsuyu to answer, and Tessa briefly stops stroking your hair as the air grows silent, but Tsuyu can see that you’re throwing both her and yourself a bone and replies.

“Yeah, she’s happy about it. They’ve been going to appointments together.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have asked. Your throat suddenly feels very dry. Tessa resumes stroking your hair and Tsuyu falls silent again. It’s too quiet and you can hear the rush of blood in your ears far too loud.

“I’m not upset.” You say out loud, but really only to yourself. “You can talk freely about everyone. We’re adults.”

“You can be upset,” Tessa reminds you.

You reply again, more forcefully, bringing yourself to an upright position which has your head spinning.

“I don’t care, Tessa.”

The resignation letter on your desktop says otherwise.

Tessa purses her lips as she looks into your eyes, then whispers “fine.” You get up shakily, then reach for the tv remote from the table, snatching it up.

“Next song is Bootylicious,” you hiss. You don’t know what you’re trying to prove in the sway of your hips and in the shrillness of your lyrics, but you’re nearly screaming at the top of your lungs as you drag Momo to her feet to dance with you. Swinging her arms back and forth, shaking your ass and prompting her to mirror you as well, maybe you’ll just wait the pain out.

After all, your friends will always love you and most importantly, you’re responsible for your own joy.

---

Izuku, wait!

Ochaco can still vividly see his turned back as she hovers over the toilet bowl again and hurls.

He didn’t stop then. He barely even hesitated, just like he didn’t hesitate to punch Shoto practically halfway across the city just moments before.

The vomit tastes acrid in her throat and her head is pounding like a bad hangover. She takes a moment to take a few more dry swallows, then positions her head over the bowl again to vomit the nothing left in her stomach.

Maybe if she throws up enough times, she’ll run out of stomach acid and purge the noxious feelings welling up in her chest instead. He didn’t wait for her. He heard her loud and clear and kept moving, despite everything - her feelings for him, the life growing inside her, the simple fact that she hasn’t spent one morning without vomiting this entire week.

Maybe he doesn’t know that last part, but still. He had proven to her what she’d suspected.

She still doesn’t have all of him. Not even close.

Does she have any of him, or is it all just an illusion?

The salty sensation of impending emesis begins to subside and she takes in a few deep breaths. This too shall pass, right?

She has to work in a couple of hours. Perhaps enough time to take another nap? She takes a look in the mirror as she brushes the awful taste out of her teeth. She glances at her phone, considering whether or not it’s too early to call her mother. It is too early.

She hasn’t talked to Izuku since the event two days ago.

But it’s okay. He’s shaken but he loves her. He loves her and the baby inside of her. He held her hand. It must mean that he’s all in for once, right?

He will look at her for once. Not this woman who showed up out of nowhere to take her place.

Her. It was always her.

She spits into the sink and looks at the dark circles under her eyes and the sallowness of her skin from dehydration.

It’s okay. This too shall pass.

#izuku x reader #shoto x reader #thoughts: izuku #thoughts: shoto #daydreams: bnha #mimi writes: wsbwshb #mimi's notes

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strawmyberry · 1 year ago

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hi strawberry!! hope ur having a good day!! i absolutely loved ur headcanons for the main 4! they are soo cute i literally re-read them all the time 😭💗💗 do you by chance have any headcanons for butters?? <3

AAAA!!! more headcannons!!! makes my heart happy!!

cute little fun fact about me before we start- im a very indecisive person! basically meaning ive never really been able to choose a favorite character in South Park- i have way too many-

but i LOVE butters with all my heart! he’s a little guy and i wanna squish his cheeks! so of COURSE i have headcannons for him!! thank you for the ask toast <3

i hope you guys like them!

— ❤️🍓 strawberry 🍓❤️

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Butters!

HE’S SO TICKLISH

i am so certain he is just a ball of ticklishness!

i don’t know if he’s more ticklish than kyle though!

if anything- i think they’re tied!

has the cutest laugh ever ever ever!

his laugh 100% causes cuteness aggression

(i think someone intends to tickle him for only a minute- they hear his laugh- and they literally cannot stop. HE’S TOO CUTE!)

he’s a wiggly worm!

he leans into being tickled by accident- little silly guy <33

(he’ll lean one way to avoid it just to lean into the other side by accident!)

HE HAS A TICKLISH TUMMY!

im so normal about this you guys!!!!

(butters is a human version of the pillsbury dough boy!!!)

his worst spot is his stomach!! but his armpits are pretty bad too!

HE ALSO HAS TICKLISH HANDS

like- they’re not superrrrr ticklish- but they’re ticklish!!

he learned to do his own nails for that exact reason!

(yes!!! butters likes to have painted nails sometimes!!! let him have it!!!)

he has a little hello kitty sticker on his index nail! he’s classy! he’s stylish! he’s chic!

he really likes being tickled!!

(he’s touch starved :((( )

i think he could ask to be tickled for the longest time

could being past tense!!! because- poor little guy figured out that not everyone likes being tickled!

he totally thought everyone liked it as much as he did

( [f]artman burst that bubble real quick :( )

so now he’s a little bit more shy about it!

but there are certain people that are already well aware- so they give him his fill to cheer him up <3

he makes a lot of noises- squeals, squeaks, hiccups, you name it!!

gah he is SO CUTE :(((

teasing is SO effective he can’t handle it

if you wiggle your fingers at him it’s over!!!

he already starts giggling!!

(and i means GIGGLING giggling! you’re practically already tickling him!)

he curls up like a little hedgehog!!

i also imagine he cries when he laughs too hard- and it makes his lers feel SO BAD because they think he’s actually crying

he somehow becomes even more southern when getting tickled

his faint little twang gets amplified by a billion!!

HE COVERS HIS FACE WHEN HE LAUGHS!!!

i hate to say it- but i feel like mr. stotch (i hate him >:( ) has made butters practically hate his own laugh

he apologizes sometimes while laughing :(((

BUT HIS LERS ARE SO DEDICATED TO MAKE SURE HE KNOWS HOW CUTE HIS LAUGH IS

he takes teases SO literally!!

“awww, does that tickle?” “yehehehes!!! a lohohot!!”

(i always think back to wendy’s “are you just an asshole?” line!!! this HAS to be canon!!)

raspberries are SO bad for him!

and the poor thing falls for it every! time!

“hey, you know what my favorite fruit is?” “ohohoh chrihihistmas- i knohohow yohou’ve tohohold me behehefore!! im sohohorry-i dohont rehehemember! …ahahapples?”

he is also very aware that tickling is the first resort when i comes to getting him to do something

“no! i won’t! ….oh hamburgers- you’re gonna tickle me, aren’t ya’? please don’t! im sorry fellas, really-!”

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH YOU GUYS :(((

and he’s such a sweet ler too!!

that’s not to say he doesn’t go all out- he definitely does!!!

but he constantly checks in! makes sure he isn’t crossing any boundaries!

surprisingly, he’s super duper teasy

“Awww! You’re just the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen!” (thing pronounced thang!!! southern bell!!)

tickles are always his go to for anything

(sometimes he looks for excuses to tickle people- just to hear their laughs!!)

he randomly pokes at people! just for funnzies!

especially Kenny- poor Kenny gets poked way too much

(butters totally does the thing where he pokes and quickly looks away, as if he isn’t the only one standing next to kenny who could’ve done it)

he has a BLAST- whether he’s a Lee or a Ler!!!

hes such a good sport about it he’s so sweet :((

“that was fun!!!”

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

Professor Chaos!

oh no!!! who’s this evil, totally unrelated, fiend who’s invaded my butters headcannons??

well- i guess since he’s here! we might as well!

very ticklish!!! it really works against him!

he has a little maniacal laugh that he tries to keep up while being tickled

(but that only works for like- 5 minutes! then he’s all giggles and squeals!)

his minions tickle him from time to time!!

of course- completely on accident!

(or maybe those hamsters ARE evil?!)

but he just giggles a little, catches them, and puts them back in their little balls!

getting captured by Racoon & Friends/Freedom Pals is very common!

he tries to act all macho and evil

(it never works!! doesn’t even last five seconds!)

it’s the same song and dance every single time!

“mwhahaha! you really think you can get me, Professor Chaos, to tell you where I’m conducting my next evil scheme? you are wrong!” “…” “oh! u-uh- you think you can resort to c-childish antics, huh? w-well! i-im not ticklish! s-so, yeah!!”

hes very dedicated to his character!!

he does this little silly thing where…sometimes…he forgets what info he’s supposed to confess

sometimes he gets lucky! (mysterion or toolshed quickly whisper in his ear what hes supposed to say- and he goes along with it!)

but sometimes…he gets stuck with Racoon & Friends

(they don’t care if he can remember or not- they just tickle him until he remembers again)

BUT HE ALWAYS GETS THEM BACK!

this evil evil guy is the most evil evil ler in South Park!!

(ooooooo! scary!)

professor chaos’ super evil super effective interrogation!

(he calls it “Interronation”!)

wether it’s because he physically can’t pronounce it or that he’s just clueless is for you to decide! it’s both!

tickling is his only resort. if it doesn’t work?

…well- that’s never happened before- so he doesn’t have a backup plan!

but he goes ALL OUT

he has feathers, he has hairbrushes, he has a pair of The Racoon’s claws (he stole them >:D) anything that you think could be used to tickle a person- HE HAS IT!

he keeps it all in a little teal lunchbox (it has cute little stars!!!) that he got from his mom

(sure, he doesn’t use it for lunch, but it’s getting used!!)

but strawberry!! isnt it impractical to have to carry around a lunchbox?

yes! yes it is!

that’s why he also has a cute little tool belt with little slots to put everything in!

it’s made out of tinfoil! (he made it himself <3)

and he has spares in the back of his closet!! jusssst in case!

he teases a BUNCH

“i think someone’s gonna have to give up soon…you seem really ticklish here…”

he says the word “tickle” and all its many variations millions and billions of times

mostly because it’s super effective!!

(but also because he thinks it’s a fun word to say!!)

he also sings a little while he does- he’s silly!!

“🎶 i think someone’s ticklish! 🎶”

he makes every single time a new experience

(like, he starts every time brand new- as if he’s “discovering” each spot for the first time all over again!)

but, despite the fact that he’s an evil evil guy (ive mentioned he’s evil right?) he’s still super sweet

he stops every now and then, does a quick check in!

thats some of the only times you’ll see him break character- it’s so cute

“…ya’ good, Kenny?” “whahat?” “are you okay? can ya’ breathe-? do ya’ need water?” “…uhuh…nohoho?” “and what about here? is it okay that im tickling you here?” “uh…yehehah?” “oh! oh goodie! …round two!”

and he has waters on hand!! he buys the jumbo packs!

(you know? the little mini water bottles with the little motivational quotes on them? those little ones!)

the little evil guy doesn’t really have the heart to hurt anyone- he just likes hearing his friends laugh!!!

deep down he knows they’re gonna get him back a million times worse but it’s all in good fun! so he doesn’t mind!

all is fair in love and superhero civil war!

#south park tickles #strawberry hcs #lee butters #ler butters #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK TOAST IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG🥹#butters is so adorable 🥹 i love this little guy #he deserves so much!!!! he deserves to giggle and laugh and be all cute!!!#please matt and trey? pretty please? with a cherry on top?

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mrs-galaxy-m · 2 years ago

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Climbing emotions

Izuku has a quirk that jeopardizes his health

It's one where it can wake up with a cold or on the worst days he needs to stay inside the nurse's office for the night, needing to be watched if anything goes south and add a shit ton of pain to it on those bad days, luckily with really strong quirk suppressants and the fact technology was so advanced the quirk only did minimum damage to him

He had to sadly give up on his dream of being a hero, god knows what he might break from running but instead, he applied for the support class

And that's where the three met in UA, Bakugou and kirishima needed gear, and the moment a small green hair omega took their pieces of equipment from their hands with so much care they couldn't help but always go to the green-hair omega

The two fell in love with his giggles and mutters, with how no matter how much he concentrated he was still clumsy enough to mess up a bit

But it just made them fall in love with the omega much more, ignoring the fact izuku needed an IV and had to take his meds every so often, sometimes his body was too weak to walk but they had a blast as kirishima pushed the wheelchair as they caught a whiff of fresh air outside the school campus

They won't lie–they may have heavily practiced and trained to wear their gear much faster and although the omega would puff his cheeks out and whine at the alphas he happily fixed it like new

Then small meetings turned into lunch hangouts, into dorm sleepovers, into /courting/

Well, they never call it courting, just wanting to gift him constantly–

Then into love, but no mates and no pack, not yet..more like the alphas haven't discussed them having a crush on izuku even

It was their last year and Aizawa agreed for the alphas to let the omega stay in their dorm without heavy supervision from him

After all, you can't leave two teenage alphas with an omega alone but he has seen just how much they love izuku to just make it all go to waste for some horny pheromones.

The alphas barely smelled like themselves when izuku was visiting, that's how many patches and precautions they were taking

The black hair also knew of izuku's troublesome quirk and made sure no idiots would cause too much of a ruckus which the omega chirped when he saw how thoughtful Aizawa was being earning a huff from the head alpha

Also, a top-of-the-class support student visited their dorm which meant no queue as they wanted their gear done so he had to be blocked by the others

The two alphas would've reeked of nervous pheromones if it wasn't for them being on top of their game as always

But you can't be on top with things like love, it was all izuku's decision in the end, if he wanted to be something more than an omega they courted in high school, plus, the three had great success for their future

The omega tilted his head at the alpha's nervousness, he couldn't smell anything (which annoyed him a bit) but the two were extremely careful

“Ah–fuck..” bakugo whispered as kirishima patted his back Izuku bit his lips

Was everything alright?

“Okay–so..mido-izuku” kirishima stuttered, forgetting they've known each other for more than enough that they don't call each other by their full-on last names but by their nicknames

“We–..alphas..you–uh..omega–” “Huh-”

Before izuku could ask bakugo smacked the back of Kirishima's head “Shitty hair! What the fuck was that?! Sounding like a fucking caveman!” the blond hissed “Ohh yeah because you can say it better!” “Yes I can!” bakugo spat “Do it!”

Kirishima huffed and bakugo froze

“Are..you guys okay?” izuku asked as he got his walking stick out and stood up at his own pace, knowing the omega liked doing things like these for himself from time to time, not that he minded having two alphas fawn over him, telling him how his books are sooo heavy and that he needed to be spoiled

But it was more of their alpha said wanting to spoil the omega than trying to babysit him

“Y-yeah!” “Always!” Both alphas say quickly say and izuku covers his mouth to hide his laugh

“You guys..what are you hiding? Is it another all might plush?!” the omega chips as he looks around trying to find any suspicious-looking package with his name on it

“Well..we won't hide it we do have gifts..” “Oh!” “But–they mean something more than courting–I mean gifting..” bakugo finishes for kirishima and before izuku could react the alphas got on their knees

“Please be our mate!” they say in unison as if they've planned this for a while

Izuku covered his mouth as he took a few steps back until he sat back in his wheelchair in shock “I–” izuku’s lips trembled, having to cover his mouth as he started coughing, the excitement getting the best of him

But the alphas couldn't smell an ounce of regret but instead /super/ happy omega pheromones that even made their alphas huff and chuff, worried about the sudden fit of strained coughs

"I'm-I'm fine" izuku coughs out as he goes into his bag to take out a pill and water and drank it

“Is..is that a yes?” kirishima asks cheekily as both give him puppy eyes “I–of course! Yes!” izuku sobbed out as he hastily threw the items inside his bag and had his bandaged arms opened wide for the two alphas to hug him.

Which they instantly did–even pushed each other slightly to hug their omega with so much care

“My alpha is so happy right now” bakugo said with a muffle as he hugged izuku “M-mhm! I love you izu!” kirishima rubbed his cheek against izuku’s and the omega let out happy purrs

“Guys–”

“WOOHOO” the door slammed open by mina “How–” Bakugo couldn't even finish speaking as a few other classmates entered and cheered for them

It started with bakugo ordering them all to go back to their rooms but it ended with a big sleepover, no wonder Aizawa allowed them alone without a checkup since they technically can't do anything with 4 other students here

With the bags for everything, izuku would need in any complication at arm's length and their small pack huddling around him, scenting and purring, of course, the two alphas protectively stayed near the omega, nibbling on his cheek from time to time to hear his happy chirps

* *

“Izu?” The omega flinched as a rough hand caresses his pale face “Y-yes ei?” Izuku asks, eyebrows furrowing when the two alphas looked at him with concern

“What?” The green hair asked “Your..your answer” kirishima spoke softly “My..huh? Oh! Yeah, I would like some sweet potatoes–”

Bakugo chuckles as he moves one of the izukus curls out of his face “No baby, our question about ochako, do you want her to join our pack?”

TBC

Please follow me on twitter and bye! [Twitter]

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grimsneverendingfuneral · 1 year ago

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Helloooo Grim! How are you? I followed you not long ago and I wanted to tell you I really like your blog. I was wondering who Lotus and Jeff were because you mention them a lot but I don't know the fandom they're from. Hope you have a nice night!

yoooo you're my first real anon! welcometh

im doing mighty fine thank yew very much. just ate a pulled pork sandwich and im smokin the dubious grass :)))

aaaah yes..... Jeff and Lotus. they're not from any fandom, no lol. they're characters of mine i created when i was thirteen (its their thirteen year anniversary of existence soon). they're both mental separately and together and its like....no one else could be with the other except them because its just too fuckin much, yknow? They're too fuckin. much.

Jeff is a pretentious, suspicious, pedantic, anal retentive but extremely unpredictable and eccentric, sometimes fun n silly, mostly mad in the fuckin head, anti-everything, endearingly awkward upon first meeting, deeply caring, extremely responsible money hungry hustling bisexual God of sex who worships the ground Lotus walks on all while condescendingly parenting him for things he secretly is obsessed with him doing. Looks like a mad scientist. Bored with mundane life. Slab of standing stone with a big dick. Also evil. Like.... he's just kinda evil. But also cute like this ---> :3

and Lotus is like an afterprom party. Tears streaming down your cheeks with a smile on your face. Disastrous, charming, internally anxious, emotional wreck sort of pain in the ass avoidant, extremely talented and artistic sees-the-beauty-in-everything ass crying all the time funny little flower baby angel and the type to pretend to be helpless so Jeff takes care of things for him but he's actually capable of parting the sea and moving mountains like he's just an unstoppable force with a heart of gold. the type of person you're instantly comfortable with yknow? always smiling and giggling. Also has a praise kink like you've never seen. In all aspects of his life. Good job Lotus! Look at you go Lotus! You're so pretty Lotus!

i've put them through so many different versions of themselves and thrown them into so many alternate universes that theyve twisted and morphed through the years in ways that i can't even begin to enumerate here but they're like. real to me. truly and deeply. they exist in my head and talk and have their own opinions and i very much am never alone. its like...im gonna die with them up there, speaking to me. its nice. its actually miraculous.

im currently writing a book with them as the main characters (finally. after all these years of random google doc after google doc) and its been the most difficult thing ive done in a while, cause i have to cram all of their existence into a couple hundred pages. im excited though.

this was a fucking novel but hey its like you literally activated the info dump channel in my brain. not my fault. i could go on for like ten more pages ngl........

thanks for asking me this anon!! love you mwuah mwuah

#grims echo #someone: mentions my characters. aaahhh time to self implode like a submarine under 30 000 feet of water #no but fr love you

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gikairan · 2 years ago

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Taking advantage of the fact the cinema is now only a 5 minute walk from my sofa and going to watch another film this weekend.

This time - The Mario movie

.... yeah the critics are right, this things 6/10 at best.

So, before i went... i set my expectations as rock bottom as i could.

Mario, as a franchise, is hardly known for its complex plots. Illumination, as a studio, have made Just-Fine film after Just-Fine film. They dont make Good films, they make Okay films that entertain kids & sell a tonne of merch.

So like, i always expected this film to be a 7/10 at best

It... failed to hit what i would consider a 7.

The story is fine. But didnt really work for me. It feels... basic. The dialogue is Fine. Awkward in places but ehh.

Humour completely fell flat on me. I think the movie got 2 laughs out of me, and an internal giggle as i mentally went "so long, gay bowser". I said on my post about the D&D movie that American humour usually doesnt work on me - and yeah, in this case it really didnt work on me.

I cant fault most of the visuals though - its visually stunning. Maybe some of the best semi-realistic 3d animation ive seen? Like, i really cannot fault the actual animators here, and you can tell they really really tried to make the best product they could. I think the biggest gripe i have is Peachs anatomy looks a bit... odd?? But really, thats the only complaint i have about the visuals of the movie.

I definitely feel like all this movies best bits... were in the trailers. You kinda miss the underlying story if you just see the trailers, but you really do see like... most of the set pieces. I really dont like it when films do this.

The movie uses real world pop music. It's bad. Every use of it kinda took me out of it. It doesn't make sense for the movie. And many of the choices kinda made me scratch my head because I couldn't see why they'd chosen THAT song?? Go watch Shrek and Shrek 2 and learn how to put pop music in an animated film in a way that Works ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ.

I usually kinda find myself engrossed in any film i see in the cinemas, regardless of the quality. Like, I enjoyed Rise of the Skywalker in cinema! I had a lot of fun with that film! Is it a good story? Not really! But i dont regret seeing it in the cinema.

I just felt "meh" throughout this entire film. I felt "meh" upon leaving.

Everything else though...

..... Watch it on TV when it inevitably airs around the holiday season or something, its just not worth going out of your way to watch.

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astrobydalia · 4 years ago

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💫New Year Observations🌟

Hope you’re having a great new year guys! Currently working on a post about physical appearance!

Credit: Tumblr blog @astrobydalia

🌟　Anything that touches Uranus in your chart in a harmonious aspect are the things you’re willing to be experimental about. Hard aspects (conjunction to a lesser extent) can make you a bit reluctant

💫　Scorpio placements are not taken aback by sexual topics AT ALL but they can really dislike it when people talk about sex in a very vulgar and nonchalant way or they simply won’t partake in that type of talk

🌟　The worst thing you can do when it comes to scorpio placements is trying to cross their boundaries (lying to them is a close second). When it comes to boundaries, Scorpios just won’t budge so if they don’t wanna say something or they don’t wanna do something don’t insist, don’t try to convince them (much less manipulate them) bc they WON��T. For Scorpios “no” it’s not just a full sentence, it’s a STATEMENT

💫　Juno in the 4th or conjunct the IC in the solar return chart can point to getting married in a privet ceremony, while Juno in the 10th house it’s quite the opposite (this is only if the overall solar return indicates marriage taking place of course)

🌟　Sagittarius personal placements really do be lucky AF but they don’t see it or just take it for granted. People often ask them how are they so lucky but they don’t see it as a big deal🤷🏽‍♀️

💫　You’d think this is Sagittarius but pisces personal placements giggle very often, it’s so easy to make them laugh

🌟　Nodal conjunctions in synastry (personal planets in TIGHT conjunction to the nodes) is an incredibly binding aspect and makes for a very significant relationship in your life. However the reason it is this way is because this relationship serves an important purpose, once said purpose is done so is the relationship (specially with the North node) and usually the lesson is mainly aimed at the node person tho the planet person can also be significantly changed by this relationship. Therefore, the relationship will last however long it takes for the purpose to be completed; could be a couple of years, a life time, who knows.

💫　I’ve noticed Sagittarius placements can be very irritable and have anger issues (you’d think Aries would be like this but nah) specially when combined with fire or air moon/mars

🌟　People with Juno in Libra or in the 7th will look to marry the love of their life and their soulmate. This of course doesn’t mean you won’t marry your soulmate if you don’t have this bc Juno IS your soulmate. The sign Juno is placed in signifies the type of soulmate you want. People with Juno in Libra want that Disney movie type of soulmate

💫　Following the last point, people with Juno in Aquarius will marry their best friend. They’ll be friends with their spouse first rather than have a movie romance with them like Juno in Libra people

🌟　I’ve noticed that people with Jupiter, Mars or Venus in the 8th can come off as very slutty to people bc they are sexually open and self-indulgent

💫　People with moon, Vertex or Juno in the 7th house are the type of people who are always in a relationship

🌟　Vigo placements can come off as competitive bc they just LOOOVVEE proving people WRONG!

💫　I’ve noticed that the most repeated placements for people who are vegan/vegetarian are water risings, taurus placements, 6th house, 8th house, 11th house and 12th house placements

🌟　It’s no secret that Scorpio mercuries can cut with their words but I really think that Virgo placements can easily rival Scorpio mercuries when it comes to this like SERIOUSLY. Virgo placements can be extremely judgmental, they will throw facts and criticism regardless of how it sounds and could have a “well that was offensive but it was the truth so🤷🏽‍♀️” type of mentality. And I think no body talks about this but VIRGO PLACEMENTS CAN BE VERY DETACHED specially when they trying to prove a POINT. I have legit witnessed and experienced virgo placements making people cry with how cut-throat and judgmental they can be seriously don’t underestimate virgos

💫　Common rulerships in the charts of celebrities (hope this isn’t confusing lol):

Ruler of the 10th in the 10th or the 11th house

Ruler of the 11th in the 10th or 11th house

Ruler of the 11th or 10th in the 8th, 9th and 1st house

Also less frequent ruler of the 11th or 10th in the 2nd house

Ruler of the ASC in the 1st, 2nd, 8th and 12th houses

🌟　Capricorn, Aries, Scorpio, Aquarius, Leo mars people really dislike being interrupted once they set their attention into something

💫　I have a theory that the house where you have Neptune indicates the type of movies and shows you like

🌟 Fire moons are honestly hit and miss. They are all incredibly likable people but they can be very self-centered/selfish once you get to know them. I wouldn’t call Aries moons selfish per se I’d call them reckless, check my aries moon post for more. Surprisingly, I’ve seen Sagittarius moons being more narcissistic and entitled than Leo moons. Leo moons can have a lot of ego but can have lots of insecurities deep down and be put down way too easily and they are the most generous out of all the fire moons. Leo moons are extremely giving and genuine but many times they are way too preoccupied with being liked, prised and recognized (which can make them selfish). Sagittarius moons tho are the type to actually believe they are the SHIT or low-key believe they are better or above anything else, when underdeveloped they can be obnoxious, arrogant and overbearing. When developed they are the most generous and the best friends ever but they are definitely the most entitled too

💫 12th house synastry is way more karmic and can be more intense and uncomfortable than 8th house synastry, even if it’s just subconsciously. Basically 12th house synastry is what people think 8th house synastry is, except there’s no sexual factor here (unless planets say otherwise) and there’s 0 sense of control in either party (you’re not sure what’s going on) which might drive y’all crazy

🌟 People with Mars-Neptune aspects can actually be into pain bc it gives them a sense of escape. I’ve seen this aspect in people who get sexually turned on by pain or in people who cut themselves or self-harm

Credit: Tumblr blog @astrobydalia

MORE OBSERVATIONS:

Observations pt. I

Observations pt. II

Observations pt. III Relationship edition (most popular)

Observations pt. IV Spooky edition

Observations pt. V

Observations pt. VI LGBT edition

Observations pt. VII Chiron edition

Observations pt.VIII

Observations pt. IX Aries moons

Observations pt. X

Observations pt. XI

Observations pt. XII Scorpio Risings

#astro #astrology #zodiac #astro notes #astro observations

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reidsnose · 4 years ago

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spilled coffee

overview: spencer mistakenly spills his coffee all over reader's stuff on a case, but it turns into a happy accident (based on this request)

genre: fluff :)

a/n: ok so i think this is so cute and ive been meaning to write something ab coffee art for so long im so hapoy i got sent this request! as always lmk what u guys think of it :)

masterlist

you sat at a raggedy table, spitballing with the team in a run down police station in the absolute middle of nowhere. your notebook was open wide in front of you, the blank page taunting your inability to make a good assessment of this unsub.

"hey guys, i think i've got something," Spencer announced, walking into the room.

"thank God," you murmured under your breath.

he began walking over to the board, setting down his coffee next to you. except he accidentally bumped the corner of the table as he crossed the room, consequently knocking over his cup and spilling coffee all over your paper.

he gasped, profusely apologizing and you assured him that it was ok as you wiped it off as best you could, urging him to say what he came to say about the case.

you left your notebook out to dry and the next couple of days went by very quickly, and you nearly forgot about it. it wasn't until you were all packing up that Spencer handed it to you.

"im so sorry again, ill buy you a knew one." he offered.

"no its ok! it just has some character now!" you explained, thumbing through the pages, now stiff and various shades of brown, "mmm and it smells like coffee."

"i'm gonna find a way to make it up to you." he stated as the two of you walked out of the room.

the jet ride was going to be long, and everyone was schlumped, meaning it would be void of fun commentary and be even more long and unbearable.

you sighed, flipping through your stained notebook before getting to the exact page the coffee had been spilled onto. it might have been the lighting on the jet, or maybe the sleepiness on your eyes, but the longer you stared at the blob, the more it looked like a person.

a person you knew... someone with wavy hair that stuck up in all directions, someone who had a cute button nose, someone with kind eyes and a bright smile. someone with an iq of 187 and a particular interest in halloween and chocolate frosted donuts with sprinkles.

the coffee stain looked just like Spencer.

you rubbed your eyes a couple of times but nope, he was still there, in the coffee stain.

you couldn't help but think you were going a little crazy. you had liked him for quite some time, maybe you were just seeing him in everything now. maybe to everyone else it just looked like a coffee blob?

regardless, you took out your pen and started sketching. outlining his perfectly messy hair. and his defined jaw and cheek bones. and his puckered up, oval, kissable lips, curled up in a smile. and his little boop-able nose. and his off center tie.

you weren't sure how long you had been drawing, or how many times you had looked over at Reid to make sure you were getting him down correctly. and yes you were.

all the other times you had secretly sketched him it never turned out right. there was always something that made it like someone looks like Spencer. but never quite him.

until now.

because somehow, this spilled coffee sketch had perfectly captured his essence. maybe because he was the one that spilled it? maybe it had to be done together to look right?

whatever it was you just couldn't stop staring at the wonderful accident that you and him had created.

you looked up again to see him walking over and quickly flipped your notebook to the other side, trying hard to hide your drawing.

"hey," he smiled sitting down across from you.

"hey," you replied, voices low to avoid waking up the team.

"what were you drawing?" he asked innocently.

"oh..uh nothing," you denied quickly.

"oh come on you know how much i love your doodles, show me!"

"you've seen my doodles," you face palmed.

"yes! and i love them! especially the little flower chains you border your paper with sometimes," he giggled.

"well this one..it um didn't turn out right, you wont like it."

"i doubt that."

you sighed, giving into his pleading eyes, "here."

he flipped it over, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open, "WOAH!"

"shhh!! they're sleeping!" you whispered, pointing at the rest of the team.

"y/n! this is absolutely incredible! how did you- out of a coffee spill- and it looks so- wow. i-" he looked up at you, a huge smile stretching across his face, "i'm honored that you chose to draw me. thank you."

"you're welcome, i've tried to draw you before but i could never get it right until now," you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up.

his eyes softened.

"nothing says Spencer Reid like spilled coffee," he joked, making you smile. "but how come you didn't add yourself?"

"what?" you chuckled.

"theres a second blob here. right next to me," he pointed.

"yeah but that just looks like... a blob."

"no! that looks exactly like you! look theres your hair, and your eyes, and even the height difference is right!" he explained excitedly, grabbing your pen, "may i?"

you nodded and watched him get to work, sticking his tongue out as he focused. his approach was much different then yours, he drew connected, long shaky lines, and even though it didn't match the style you drew him in it was still perfect. and it still looked just like you.

he finished up, adding his last touches before pushing the paper back towards you.

"spence, i love it!" you breathed, holding it up in-front of you as you felt your heart begin to swell. "look at us. Spencer and y/n"

"Spencer and y/n." he echoed, liking the way your name felt in his mouth.

you smiled, "we forgot to sign."

"oh, right," he stammered, taking the pen and signing at the bottom corner before passing it to you and watching you do the same.

"something is off," you frowned.

"no! i think we look good together." he countered, wondering if you would catch the hint.

"no.." you sighed, taking the paper and holding it close as you scrawled something else.

his heart sank. rejection. you were probably scribbling out his face. or drawing a line between the two of you. this was gonna hurt.

you dropped the notebook back in front of him with a happy sigh. he brought his eyes up, wishing you'd at least had the decency to not show him.

but when he looked he was surprised. pleasantly surprised.

a large heart floated above your heads in the picture.

he grinned at you, his heart making its way back up to his chest from inside his stomach.

"i think we look great together." you grinned back.

his fingers grazed yours on top of the table.

"i agree." he breathed, looking like the physical embodiment of heart eyes.

"hey lovebirds," morgan groaned, "i'm so happy for you but please shut up and let me sleep."

you two chuckled, both whispering an apology, grinning ear to ear.

ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @takeyourleap-of-faith @vampire-overlord @spenxerslut @violetspoetic @aperrywilliams @b-a-utiful @eevee0722 @srhxpci @reidemandweep @imdefinitelyfloating @random-human-person @gurkiloni

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deluluass · 4 years ago

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all yours; all mine

71 and 58 with Atsumu pleaseeese. I just love this man and I would appreciate it if you wrote something with him. Youre so talented!💕 — anon

sidenote: anon, i hope u know that u have a very special place in my heart for being the first ask ive ever received. i hope u are well & having a gr8 day ;U;

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; daddy kink; mild angst; implied post-breakup depression; toxic relationship/s

Breakups are a messy business. A lot of crying, begging, screaming (if it's that type of a breakup). Whatever it is, breakups generally inspire intense— so-intense-it-could-get-you-kicked-out-if-you're-in-a-public-place, high-strung, and the most unpleasant kind of emotions.

It’s understandable, considering you’re losing the person you love.

But he doesn't even look upset.

"Aah," Atsumu sing-songed, twirling the plastic stirrer between his fingers. "Ya wanna call it off?"

The heat from the mug bit your skin as you gripped it.

"What?" you choked, shaking your head. "I didn't say that, Atsumu. I only-"

He scoffed. "Fuckin'- ya just did."

You finally looked up at him, porcelain clinking as you placed your drink back on the saucer. Ball cap on, muscles filling up and straining his hoodie and jeans; even in an outfit that almost concealed him he never fails to take your breath away.

Only, it's for a different reason this time.

"I said that I-" you cleared your throat. "I want- I want you to-"

"I get it, I get it." Atsumu sighed, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Let's break up, then."

He was already standing up and he didn't even deign to meet your eyes. You didn't expect much when you'd travelled all the way to Tokyo just to have a talk with him. After all, the last conversation you had was over the phone. (And that, too, did not go well).

Though, is it too much to expect he'd at least listen to what you have to say?

"Tsumu-kun! Wait!"

Some customers were already staring, urging you to hide, hop on the next train, and run back home; away from the cold scrutiny of strangers.

But not now. Not when what you have with him is hanging on a balance.

"Please, sit down and- and let's talk," you huffed, voice and hand trembling as you held onto his.

Breakups are a messy business, you heard.

A lot of crying. A lot of begging. A lot of screaming. Whichever kind it is, don't breakups usually inspire only the most intense emotions?

But he doesn't even look upset, doesn't even look like he feels anything other than a passing irritation, as if you were a fly buzzing in his ear, when he told you, "I know this is ya first rodeo, but yer gonna find someone new eventually, hm?"

It's been a long time coming, Atsumu thinks. He'd known for quite a while now that his relationship with you would end, actually, ever since you'd wanted to include "feelings" and "trust" and "opening up" into the mix.

"Why?" he'd laughed at your face once. "What? Ya ain't happy? That it? We got somethin' good goin' on don't we?"

He didn't get it, at first. You'd always been your cheerful, bubbly self; never failing to be that one sunny spot when his day gets too pesky and such a pain in the ass. You were happy.

Until you weren't.

"You don't.. tell me things," you muttered, fiddling with your hands on the kitchen table. "Which is fine! I'm not- go at your pace, but- but know that I'd listen to you. Always. I'm here, 'Tsumu."

And it wasn't as if he didn't try. It's just that Atsumu realized, a few months later, that he wasn't any good at it.

Every time he'd lay it all out in front of you⁠— every tiny and pathetic and gritty part of him, you would eventually take him in your arms. So much smaller, weaker than his and yet Atsumu did not mind if it could be his entire world.

Then, a thought would creep in, like a thief that'd stab him in his sleep. In the safety of those tender arms, with those guileless eyes peering at him, Atsumu would think that he'd rather stay there forever, cling onto you until he bites the dust.

It disgusted him.

Atsumu couldn't stand it. Because if he could be anything in this short life, he'd choose to be perfect. And that- that wasn't it.

So he avoided it when the occasion arose. Diverting the subject to mundane stuff was easy, at first. The weather, the new show you're binging, your slacker of a boss, what happened back in the game. When that didn't work⁠— well, there were other ways.

(His favorite was sticking his tongue in your wet cunt, to prod at the soft walls with the tip, and to lap and suck at the clit until you're begging for the stretch of his fat cock.)

The break up was understandable. When you'd greeted him in the café as if you'd spent the entire time you were apart crying, Atsumu knew it was over.

You just repeated what you'd always said. It's okay to be vulnerable. If he needs some time to work out the right words then you'd always wait because I love you, 'Tsumu.

(But there was that feeling again. Like he could die on the spot if you would so much as leave his sight.)

(Ending it was the only way out. When poison seeps itself into the bloodstream, you're left with no choice but to cut off a part of you.)

Unlike others, he can say that it was a clean parting. You wanted something and he was bad at it. And because he hated fucking up, Atsumu decided to leave. Easy.

Really, the only people who didn't understand were his teammates.

"That's strange," Hinata spat, rice bursting to his chin when he suddenly faced Atsumu. "I don't think I've seen her for weeks now."

He could hear barely suppressed groans behind him, no doubt from Bokuto and the others, before their spiker blurted out a confused, "What?"

Because, of course, Hinata could only mean one "her.” (There had only ever been one that Atsumu Miya allowed inside the team's gymnasium; inside his circle of friends; inside his life.)

Apparently, except for Hinata Shoyo, everyone had caught on that the both of you had thrown in the towel, so to speak. (And here they thought the guy's finally in it for real.)

"Nah, it's fine," Atsumu smirked, addressing it to everyone gathered around Samu's onigiri stand.

"We broke up."

He clicked his tongue. "It's not like there ain't no other fish in the sea."

The remark, casually said in between sips of cold coffee, was met with a gaping silence.

That turned out to be right, like everything else that he'd predicted.

A hole is a hole is a hole is a hole. No disrespect meant to you. But before you there had been many others who'd helped warm his bed. It just so happened that you got to stay for far longer.

(Because waking up next to you meant waking up to that dreamy look, as if whoever's in charge up there has finally given you everything you've ever wanted.)

(And when he greets you with a hoarse good morning you say it back with eyes that tell him he's worth it, simply for being there.)

Anyway, going back to that old routine hadn't been difficult.

(Except when he finally does it with someone new, for some reason he keeps searching for a different touch, expecting that endearing combination of inexperience and enthusiasm.)

(And when they cum he can't help but put a hand on their mouth, around their throat, because he's hearing the wrong voice, seeing the wrong face.)

It's obvious, looking at him. Everyone can see that life's going pretty well for Atsumu. He can only hope that the same goes for you.

"You're miserable."

Peeling your attention away from the mother braiding her young daughter's hair, you hurriedly brought it back to the two women sitting in front of you.

"See?" Aya swung her hand in your direction. "Not even listening."

"No, no," you giggled sheepishly. Kaori was already pursing her lips.

"No, seriously. I am."

You sat upright, setting the chopsticks on your bento box.

"Then what was it she said?" Kaori pressed. She folded her arms and you knew you were in trouble.

"Uh..huh." You nodded. "Right. So. Um...."

"You didn't catch it," said Kaori.

"I didn't catch it," you winced.

Both girls sighed.

The first three buttons of their blouses were open, the heat of the afternoon getting to them. And as they leaned back against the wooden bench, you had a feeling that they were about to give you the Conversation that's been waiting to happen for two long months.

That's why you'd decided to start it before they could. Just so it won't linger anymore painfully so.

“I know what you're going to say."

They only raised their brows, a mere "okay, go on" than an actual expression of surprise.

"I've been sad. I haven't been..fine. That is true," you inhaled, preparing yourself for the agonizing part. Then, you released your breath.

"Ever since..'Tsu-" you gulped. "Ever since breaking up with Atsumu I haven't been feeling like myself but nowadays I'm getting back on my feet and I'm still working see so really there's no need to worry okay? Okay."

Aya grinned, but it didn't hold her usual devil-may-care humor to it.

"You say that," she started, "but we’ll probably always be if you keep at that- at that⁠—"

"You're rarely in the moment," Kaori supplied, to which Aya replied with a harsh thank you. "You're distracted. And we know you're trying your best to be okay on your own. We've given you space, but remember that you have us."

Something was lodged in your chest and you found it hard to breathe. You'd missed them. You hadn't realized it, but you missed your friends.

So much.

"Thank you," you whispered, forcing back tears. "I- I wouldn't know what to do if it not for you two-"

"Hold it." Aya raised a palm. "Before you get corny again. Can I just say, I know he's your first dick-"

"Aya," Kaori murmured.

"And we all know it was good-"

"Aya," you hissed.

Your face burned as you searched from left to right, making sure no innocent being heard her.

"But can I just say," she slapped a palm on the surface of the table. "I don't care what you or the TV or his fans say about him! But the man's a walking red flag since day one!"

Kaori rolled her eyes. And despite yourself you couldn't keep a chuckle from bubbling.

"Here we go again."

Aya almost rose from her seat. "When he sent that poor dude from accounting to the ER for just, I don't know, breathing your way, I knew something was up!"

You felt your smile die.

That had been the first time it happened. You'd asked him what's wrong, after you'd rushed to the hospital, and all he gave you was silence. A whole day of it. He hadn't spoken a word about it, only that he'd warned you not to talk to that bastard again, or else.

(You'd learned, much, much later, that he doesn't do well with people that annoy him. That's what he said. You wanted to know more, but he suddenly decided that he had to make it up to you between the sheets.)

Kaori touched your hand. "Talk to us," she whispered.

You hummed as you shook your head. "I just remembered him," you said, only half of the truth.

If they knew it, they didn't let on. But Aya did say, "Tell you what. Company outing's upon us. So you know what that means?"

"Oh, I don't know," you mumbled apologetically. "I might sit this one out."

"No," Kaori gritted.

Aya held your face with both hands as she stared you down.

"You will buy yourself a new swimsuit. You will enjoy that cheap beach resort."

The heaviness was lifting, bit by bit, as you felt your stomach ache with laughter. And with each silly word uttered by your friends, you could almost see the gray clouds overhead disappearing. Even for a little while.

"And you, you beautiful person you," Aya beamed. "Will finally, finally get laid."

Having best friends who are dead set on helping you get over an ex is a fearsome thing to behold, indeed.

You couldn't even get a word in edgewise as they took you in a whirlwind of spas, salons, mani-pedis, and shopping bags.

"Calm down. You rarely spend for yourself," Kaori told you when she'd caught you peeking forlornly at the frightening bill you'd amassed.

But, try as you might to miss owning a fat wallet, you couldn't deny that you have no regrets wasting your money away. Not even for a single cent. Because you did feel amazing.

And when the day arrived, you couldn't help at the giddiness of having compliment after compliment thrown your way.

"Is that really you?" said a co-worker when you'd boarded the bus. "You're glowing!"

During the games, as well, you'd often hear "Love the new look!" and "Have I ever told you before that you're so pretty? Because you are." And you'd preen with a soft-spoken thank you, having been taught by Kaori that denying a compliment makes one look stupid.

It was so silly, honestly. Though not the part where, after a lovely comment, you'd be emboldened to strike an actual conversation. Learning that a coworker has a new baby now, or that so and so has recently moved up the corporate ladder; learning that, during your period of grief and self-pity (and even during the blissful time you’d spent with Atsumu), there were so many things you hadn't noticed.

You basked in it: the shower of pleasantries and anecdotes that had you feeling soft and fuzzy inside. The same way you lazed on the sandbar, clutching tiny conch shells in your hand, as you watched the sun tinge the sparkling waves with warm light.

"Hey."

You jolted, turning towards the person who'd called your name. It was him. "Poor dude from accounting" as Aya dubbed him.

"Sano-san," you gasped, reaching for the towel beside you to cover up. "How- how are you?"

Of all the people in your office, he was the last one you wanted to see. Solely for the reason that things have been awkward between you ever since that incident. A working relationship characterized by the literal turning of the other cheek whenever you two bumped into each other.

"Oh, pardon me," he scratched the back of his head. "Do you..want me to go?"

Yes.

"No..!" you blurted out. "I think-"

The sun was almost setting. You wrapped the towel around you as you took in the balmy sea breeze.

"I think I'm done hiding," you whispered, meeting his gaze for the first time in a long while, head on and baring the tiniest hint of shame, like how you did with your friends and other coworkers.

He didn't say anything, allowing you to continue. "I- It's nice. Talking to people again," you giggled. "Look, Sano-san. About before, I'm really sor-"

"Actually," he smiled. "That's why I'm here. Well, my partner pushed me but-"

You grinned at the blush that rose to his cheeks.

"But I wanted to tell you: No hard feelings."

Sano-san extended a hand. You stared at it for a few seconds. His hand, then his face. Back to his hand, then his face again. And when you'd finally accepted it, it felt like witnessing the cage that’s imprisoned you for centuries finally open.

"By the way," he added, walking back towards an obviously amused fianceé. "It's a good look on you, being happy."

Atsumu entertained the possibility that maybe— just maybe, not everything was fine the night the Jackals went home after an overseas tournament.

As soon as the plane landed on Japanese soil, the hunger he felt throughout the journey morphed into some kind of anticipation, palpable through the thrill that electrified him into wakefulness. He might have left in a hurry, only half of his mind present when the Coach ordered for a short meeting.

His foot tapped endlessly on the way⁠— while in the car; during the tedious elevator ride⁠— and when he'd finally entered his pad, slamming the door open with much eagerness than usual, Atsumu felt his heart plummet down his stomach when he was welcomed by a dark and empty hallway.

You're not here. Not anymore.

Hasn't it been almost half a year now? Why did he expect you, face brightened by a grin that went from ear to ear, to materialize in front of him, with the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen? As if a magician with a hat trick.

("Welcome back!" he was aching to hear.)

(You always insisted on eating with him when he got home; sometimes opting to just stay by his side⁠— munching on a midnight snack while you babbled on, if he arrived later than usual and you'd already had dinner.)

("It's lonely having a meal on your own," you explained. "Don't you think food tastes better if you have someone with you?")

Perhaps it was the jet lag. Or, it could be that the abrupt change in time zones was starting to mess with his head. Either way, Atsumu was sure that sleep would eventually cure him of the momentary delirium.

But then he woke up the next day feeling like someone had pissed in his morning drink. The day after that, too. Even the next had been the same, persisting onto the following weeks.

Until one game, after a winning streak that had the crowd chanting their names and with blood still roaring in his veins, he condescended to survey the numerous people occupying the bleachers.

And when he couldn't find one⁠— one person that had always stood out to him despite being constantly drowned in an ocean of spectators— it was only then that Atsumu Miya decided that enough was enough.

You hadn't really agreed with Aya when she told you that you'd be getting "laid" during this short vacation.

Reason number one: it's a company outing. And you're sure you'd be breaking some protocols by fooling around with any of your coworkers. Reason Two: as you'd sagely imparted to a miffed Aya, "I don't think it's nice to cure a broken heart with sex; strings attached or no."

That being said, the lingerie she'd chosen for you did flatter your figure. It didn't matter that "no one would see it," as Aya grumbled. It was enough for you that you yourself saw it, you thought as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

The way it was tailored made it seem like it was made just for your body. The details of lace also made it look so pretty that you felt kind of sad that you'd have to cover it up with a summer dress soon.

Nevertheless, you allowed yourself to strike a few poses in front of the mirror; feeling like a teenager on their first date as you admired how you looked in it.

You smiled to yourself, humming a tune, before you opened your makeup kit and prepared the necessities you'd be bringing for the bonfire dinner.

"Wipes: check," you murmured, rummaging through your bag. "Hygiene stuff. Where are you hygiene stuff, hygiene stu⁠—"

You froze.

Something rustled. Outside. As if something had moved.

Putting a robe back on, your heart thundered against your chest as you stepped out of the bathroom and into the dimly lit sleeping area, illuminated only by a small reading lamp.

"Be careful there, girlie," the old caretaker warned as she guided you to this room. "Lots of mean spirits lurking about."

You didn't believe in ghosts. For some reason, however, your coworkers did. So you'd taken it to yourself to move here after a room assignment mishap, leaving Aya and Kaori behind.

It didn't seem like the cursed chamber that she purported to be. Sure, it was isolated at the furthest wing of the beach house, away from the other rooms and separated by a too dark hallway. But that had been the creepiest thing about it. Besides, you heard from logistics that renting the house didn't cost much, despite its size, so maybe it's just that they lacked the resources to renovate.

The floorboards creaked beneath you. "Aya? Aya, I know it's you," you called out as you squinted, catching a faint silhouette reclined at the corner of the bed.

It was too large to be Aya, but you chalked that up to the shadows playing with your eyes. You puffed out a chortle, resting a hand on your hips when she finally stood.

"Very funny, Aya," you snorted when she sauntered towards you. "Just you wait until Kaori hears about.…" you trailed off.

"......this."

You drew in a breath as she moved closer, revealing a build that was much taller, towering almost in the small room, shoulders that are way broader than the ones your friend has, and a face that clearly wasn't Aya's.

"Evenin'," Atsumu yawned.

Your legs refused to listen to you.

"Been a minute, hadn't it, darlin'?"

You don't know why he's here.

And even if you wanted to ask, you find that no sound could escape from your mouth when you tried to open it.

You do know this, as he gave you a lopsided grin that used to have you eating at the palm of his hand, along with a lazy gaze that was belied by a bird-like focus:

That although he told you that all he wants is a little chat, you knew that he didn't come here just for that.

You ran.

Atsumu had been the worst boyfriend.

He's aware of it now, realized it fully when he knocked on Samu's door, shit-faced, and it only took a single look and a consoling arm from his brother to break Atsumu into tears and snot, as well as Samu's voice telling him, "Yer a big baby. Ya need her, dontcha?"

That's why he followed you here, figuring that you'd love a thoughtful surprise. Because you always have. He didn't expect you'd take to it kindly, of course, not right away. But he also didn't expect that you would be doing the surprising.

You were talking to that man when he arrived.

Didn't he tell you not to?

His intentions still haven't changed. He's here to bring you back, but before anything else Atsumu's sure it's only normal that you guys clear things up first.

And if you're going to do that, he can't have you running away now, can't he?

Grabbing you by the waist, Atsumu's palm tingled at the feel of your body, pulling you closer to him as he pinned you to the wall and stifled your shrieks with his hand.

"Everybody's gone, angel," he whispered, losing himself in your skin, though covered in silk; lips and fingers roaming every which way because finally, finally, fuckin' finally you're here and you're real.

"Just wanna talk." He stroked the curve of your ass, middle finger tracing the lining of the crack. "Ain't this what'ya always wanted? S'let's talk," he murmured against your collarbone.

You were already crying, shaky hands weakly grasping his back and tears wetting even his cheeks. Atsumu couldn't help but smile. You'd always been a crier. It's one of the many things he loves about you. Always so honest with your emotions.

"I missed ya," Atsumu groaned as he grinded his cock against your pussy, feeling it harden when he mouthed your tits.

There was something peeking out of your robe, he noticed as it became more rumpled.

"D-don't," you breathed, your attempt to swat his hands away thwarted when he seized your wrist.

It was lace. The color pulling the eye to your body like a siren's song. And when he stripped the robe off of you, silk swishing down your elbows, Atsumu saw that it was a piece of lingerie. One that he hasn't seen before.

Because he didn't buy this one. It wasn't from him. You weren't the type to get one yourself.

Until now.

"This for him?" he murmured, pressing a kiss against your pulse, beating like a drum against his lips.

"Wh-who?" you whimpered.

"The ugly piece of shit. Saw you guys gettin' chummy earlier."

He was close, too close to you, back at the beach. You smiled at him, laughed and showed him what he isn't supposed to see. And when he touched you— when the fucker touched you, Atsumu wanted blood on his hands.

"Yer gonna fuck the guy whose face I busted?"

You squeaked as he dug his blunt nails against your wrist. Atsumu licked the red impressions they made.

"And what- what about it?" Your voice was so brittle and small. God, he just wanted to hold you. "It's none of your business, who I spend my time with. And don't- don't tell me you're jealous because-"

He chuckled, the sound of it making you shrink back into the wall. "Jealous? Doll, ya wouldn't wanna know what I'm feelin right now. But, sure." Atsumu lightly nipped at the tips of your fingers.

"'Course I'm jealous," he rasped. "You're mine."

Then, Atsumu looked at you. And what he saw in your eyes made him stumble that when you shoved him away, all he could do was stand and stare.

"I'm not your thing, Atsumu," you cried. A light-year difference from the girl who'd always stare at him so tenderly. "I never was and I never will be. I'm not yours."

You didn't run this time. You should've.

Atsumu clenched his jaw. "Like hell ya ain't," he snarled.

People say that breakups are a messy business. Atsumu was so sure he wouldn't have to endure that, before he met you. Now that he's had the experience, though, Atsumu can say with confidence that breakups are, in fact, a goddamn mess.

But you're over that now. It's time to turn over a new leaf and return to one another. And Atsumu's finding out, in the process, that making up can be astonishingly reminiscent of the breakup.

You started crying when you woke up, screaming for help as you tried to budge the rope that was tying your hands to your knees. You got louder when you found out that you were naked and not in the rickety confines of the beach house.

"Welcome home, baby," he beamed, eying you from between your legs.

The begging started when you realized how drenched your little pussy was, his tongue lapping and slathering the cum dripping from your twitching hole, against your swollen folds; his calloused thumb massaging deep circles on your clit.

And when he stuck another inside your puckered asshole, you writhed out of your binds and squealed, "T-tsumu-kun…!"

Fuck.

"Babydoll," he growled. "Daddy's gotcha, daddy's gonna treat ya so fuckin' good."

He slapped your damp cunt with his long fingers, thrusting them inside to rub and feel at your walls, at the bump that never failed to make you screech. "Daddy's been mean hasn't he? Hm? Been a bad daddy to ya, baby?"

You could only gasp out wordlessly as he slurped the juices off your clit, not stopping until you were gushing, sloppy cum drizzling on the bedsheet, every muscle in spasms, incapable of even stretching out your legs although Atsumu knew you wanted to, you really wanted to so fuckin' bad, resorting to curling your toes instead.

"E-enough, please, please, stop!"

How adorable, Atsumu thought. "My little slut," he cooed, tapping the tip of his hard cock on your pussy. "My good 'lil fucktoy."

He relished it, wanting to draw this on forever, so he slides it against your folds, pussy lips wrapping the meat of his cock, gyrating his hips back and forth, as if he were fucking you, and grabbing your tits to play with your nipples.

"Atta girl," he laughed, licking his teeth when he finally sunk inside your tight cunt, pushing you so far down into the mattress until his chest was rubbing against your tits, your feet dangling against his shoulders.

"I don't-I don't want this, 'Tsumu," you sobbed. "Don't want this!"

Oh, of course you don't. Atsumu knows you don't. He'd fucked you against your will, after all.

But you were taking him so well, darlin'. Your walls were hugging his cock so fuckin' nicely that he couldn't help but shove deeper inside you, craving for the way your pussy twitched rapidly around him.

If you weren't bound, he's also sure that you'd be pushing his hips away. But that's not what's getting to him. Because as he pistoned his cock into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass, you instantly turned your face away.

Did you know that you were breaking his heart? Shattering it to pieces, when you close your eyes like doors, locking them to prevent him from ever reaching you again.

So he gripped your chin. Forced you to meet his eyes as you wept and shook your head.

"Am gonna be better, baby," he groaned. "No more keeping things from ya. None of that bullshit, now."

Atsumu shivered as you came around him, convulsing under him and strained voice still begging him to stop. Because he wasn't. He would never stop. Not when it comes to you.

"Am all yours, angel. All yours." He pounded your fucked out cunt, chasing his own high as he kneaded your tits.

A tear fell from your eyelids. And when he kissed you, it felt like everything in his life shifted back in its rightful place. "You can have it all," he sighed, cupping your cheek.

"So give me all of you now," Atsumu pleaded. "Come back to me."

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x female reader #dark content haikyuu #prompt

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jeonfiles · 3 years ago

Text

better left unsaid - jjk

genre: angst, rebounds

pairings: jungkook x reader (ft. namjoon)

warnings: arguing, alcohol, profanity, break ups, light smut, use of drugs, jungkook is a fucking dick, jungkook has major attachment issues, toxic relationships, oc cries a lot, namjoon has a heart of gold, unrequited love

synopsis: you knew you shouldnt have given him that second chance, not the third or the fourth either. no matter how much you try he always slithers his way underneath your sheets, arms wrapped around you.

word count: 2.7k

music: into your arms, so it ends?, you will fade, thinkin bout you, julia, my insecurities not yours, fuck u, goodluck, my dear i will think of you

note: uhh ive never written a y/n fic so bare with me, if u listen to the music you’ll be able to feel the story a lot more so yeah if u have time u should, not proof read

Light coming through the cracks of the blinds, making you squint your eyes when the daylight beams into your eyes, head resting on the kitchen island Looking up, you saw the clock ticking on the wall, 11:32 am.

You had stayed up till 5 am, waiting for him to come home, but seemingly, he never did. Reaching for your phone, you saw 4 missed calls from the one and only,

Jeon Jungkook, saved in your phone as “Koo <3″, Rows of messages too, all from the same contact.

Koo <3 [05:34 am]

baby pkck me up pleseee

im so wsated

Koo <3 [06.46am]

dont be mad at me jsut pick me up

i dont knw hewere the fuck i am

i love you

Koo <3 [07:31 am]

i got a rde home i’ll be home by 12

i need to talk to someone frsit

im sorry if i woke ypu dont be worried

You took a few moments to collect your thoughts, but there wasn’t much to collect. This whole thing, was a routine by now.

Standing up to make yourself a cup of coffee, you could literally not feel your own backside, you were so sore from the barstool you had been sitting on all night, and it made you groan in pain.

Two coffee cups right beside the kitchen sink, which you couldn’t bring yourself to clean up, because it was from the last time you had coffee together, which was 2 weeks ago.

The inside of the cup had a coffee crust at the top, and both your lip tint marks on the outside.

When you finish your cup of coffee while watching a bad telenovela, you go sit in your favorite chair and pull out a few books from the backpack hanging on the chair next to you, getting ready to get some studying done.

For a few seconds you imagine Jungkook hanging over your shoulder laughing at the way you write your A-s and R-s, or the way you always sign your homework at the bottom of the page.

And when you open them, there’s no one there. The only sound is from the refrigerator, making refrigerator noises.

You had met Jungkook 3 years ago, when you were at college orientation, senior year of high school. He also wanted to attend Yonsei, just like you.

And when he whispered to you about how bored he was, you couldn’t help but giggle, and then you got yelled at.

It was worth it though, because everyone was jealous of you afterwards,the Jeon Jungkook had talked to you.

Jungkook was an all-rounder as they called it; great physique, intelligent, charismatic and great at sports.

And god, he had a beautiful face, and such a filthy mouth, and it didn’t go long before you gave in to his seductive ways and slept with him. The morning after, he wasn’t in bed with you, and your heart sank.

Luckily, he was in the kitchen making you breakfast.

It was all bliss from there, showering you with love, gifts and kisses for two years, and you even ended up moving in together.

And now? You barely remember what he sounds like, smells like and is like.

A distant memory, just as distant as him.

Your train of thought was suddenly interrupted as you heard 3 knocks on your door. The exact same way he had always knocked when he had forgotten (or lost) his keys.

And even though you should have let him suffer a little, you rushed to the door to open it, and in front of you, was your biggest nightmare.

It was your love, crying his eyes out, bleeding from one of many cuts on his face, looking nearly dead. He collapsed into your arms, and you could only utter a few words, along the lines of:

“How could you do this to us?”

As he was laying curled up in a ball on the couch, face plastered up, ice bag on his knee, wrapped up in a blanket, you realized. this was your que to cry.

So, you did. You cried in silence, sitting across the room from him. You weren’t mad at him for coming home late, or getting in another fight, probably the 5th just these past months, you had gotten used to that by now.

There was a whole other reason that made you cry.

He smelled like Victorias Secret Bombshell, you recognized the scent because it used to be your favorite, however, now you’ve moved onto something less sweet, and more elegant, like Caroline Herrera.

He smelled like someone who wasn’t you, his girlfriend.

He smelled like another girl.

It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Maybe because the Jungkook that had come home to you that morning wasn’t your Jungkook.

Your Jungkook was varsity jackets, star of the american football team (which your school was known for), selfless and humorous, and he would always take care of you.

Your Jungkook was not ungroomed hair, cigarettes and worsening grades. He was not cold and lifeless, and he would never make you cry.

Despite this, you were carding your fingers though his hair, thumb wiping away the blood on his lips while he was sound asleep as you slowly fell asleep next to him.

Maybe it was time to let him go.

Maybe.

You woke a few hours later from your phone vibrating.

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:01 pm]

Hey Y/N! Have you started working on the statistics assignment?

If you haven’t, would you be interested in meeting at the library tomorrow? You’re really smart and i’m kinda struggling ://

You [07:03 pm]

i finished it yesterday, but if you buy me coffee i’ll come help you hehe

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:04 pm]

You’re the best, I’ll bring you a machiatto!! :D

Maybe it would be nice for you to get out of the house, even though you hate the thought of it, and you would much rather just swim in your own sorrow.

But you did go out the next day, and you helped Namjoon get a decent grade, enough to pass with good margines, he thanked you by taking you out for ramen at a convenial store not too far away.

You thanked him for the ramen with a trip to the museum, and he thanked you for the museum trip with a picnic in the park at night, which led you to crying over Jungkook in his embrace, telling him every single little detail.

He made you realize it was time to let Jungkook go and make room for new people to enter your life.

You went home that night, and you found Jungkook passed out on the couch, and you could genuienly feel your chest tighten. Soft features which stood out under the moonlight glow, disheveled brown locks which hung down in his eyes.

He was gorgeous, until you saw the credit card on the table next to three bottles of soju and an empty beer can on the floor. And you knew what he had used the credit card for, though you didn’t want to say it out loud.

You cleaned everything up, and you threw the residue of the white powder right in the trash can, and you recycled his bottles and cans before finally, nudging him to wake up.

“Jungkook, wake up.” You spat coldly, or at least you attempted to.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes before opening his eyes, and s huge smile on his face. “Y/N, you’re home!” He reached to kiss you, but you backed away.

“Y/N?” Jungkook questioned, he didn’t quite understand what your intentions were.

“Don’t try anything Jungkook. This was your last chance, and you fucked it up, again.” The room turned ice cold. “I’m getting you help Jungkook, you need help. And then...”

He understood what kind of help you meant, and since he had now sobered up, he agreed, nodding. “And then...?”

“And then.” Your words were ludged in your throat. “And then I’m leaving you.”

His whole face dropped, smile turned into the frowniest frown you had ever seen, and it was all silent before his lower lip starts trembling, and his eyes start turning glassy.

“It’s alright. Sorry for burdening you.” Was all he could say before tears rushed down his cheeks, and he started shaking.

So you did what you always had done, and you wrapped your arms around him, head resting on your chest as he sobbed.

“Is there anyone else?” he cried out before another wave of sobs hit him.

This exact question made your stomach hurt, and your throat burn. You really had no idea.

Or you did, but you didn’t want to.

You loved Jungkook so much, but you couldn’t be with him in this state. So you did what every rational person would do in this situation.

“Yeah.”

You lied.

“Oh ok. I don’t have the right to be mad do I?”

You shake your head no.

“I love you Y/N. I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

“It’s ok.” was all he said before he fell asleep in your arms again.

That night you slither your way out of his embrace and you pack your suitcase in the dark, bringing all your essentials, trying to be as quiet as possible so you didn’t wake Jungkook.

Packing enough for two weeks or so, you make the bed and leave your t-shirt “accidentally” in the bathroom, and you make sure all his clothes are folded, and then you sort his pencil case, throwing out old pens and worn out erasers.

You leave a grocery list on the counter, and you tuck him in good under the blankets after you took his jeans and socks off so he could sleep comfortably.

You placed his vitamins and medicine by the refrigerator so he’ll see it when he goes to grab something to eat.

Puffed up pillows, a pair of sweatpants, t-shirt and underwear is now placed neatly on his bed. Then you walk into the kitchen again, and you see Jungkook still sound asleep, sniffling a little still.

There’s one last thing, and it makes you cry. It makes you sob so loud you cover your mouth and muffle the sound you make. Sinking to the floor, your whole body is in contact with the cold tiles.

Only a year ago you could never imagine yourself even shedding a single tear over something as small as this, but here you were, on the edge of a panic attack.

Two worn out, matching couple mugs still placed by the counter. one if the first things you two had bought together, as well as the necklace hanging around your neck.

Finally, you stopped crying and started cleaning the mugs, lip trembling as you dried them and placed them in the back of the cabinet.

You unhooked your necklace and laid it down on the counter, and the biggest lump formed in your throat.

Actually, there’s a little detail you forget.

You kiss Jungkook on the forehead and leave a note on the coffee table.

“Dear Jungkook,

If you want to make this up to me (this does not mean a new chance!!) you call the number at the bottom of the page. No matter what happens, I’ll always have room for you in my heart. You even have your own little VIP lobby in there. And - if it’s urgent, call. I still care for you, and I always have. You were the best boyfriend I’ve had, but good things always come to and end, don’t they? Anyways, I’m tired so this letter fucking sucks, but deep down you know how much I love you. Remember to get groceries, shower, get fresh air and study. If I forgot something you can keep it, as long as you call the number and tell them you’re my friend. They’ll help you love. Try and get a part time job too, your student loan and your dad’s money won’t last forever. Good luck Koo. Hwaiting!!

-L/N Y/N <33″

You cringe when you think of the letter’s contents, before you roll out your suitcase out of the front door, whispering a faint “Goodnight Love.” as you close and lock the door behind you.

Standing by the elevator, you cry again. This time, louder, but you still reach for your phone and type out a text to the newly edited contact in your phone.

You [02:13 am]

coming outside now, im a crying mess and im super cold, is your car heated?

sorry for making you wait btw :((

Joonie <3 [02:13 am]

dont worry about the crying part, i’ll hold you. and yeah car is heated, so waiting here wasnt all that bad. you ready for this?

You [02:14 am]

i have no idea but i cant stay here any longer and i trust you sooo

lets start our new chapter. eh?

4 months later...

He had been good to you, great even.

You had been on expensive dates, picnics, had heart to heart conversations, and he’d been so understanding.

Today, it was your 2 month anniversary, and he had asked you on a magnificent date, which he had planned every second of.

At the end of the day, you told him how you don’t love him. He said it was alright. Namjoon loved you, so much, yet he understood you needed time.

You went to sleep that day, warm in Namjoon’s embrace, wondering how Jungkook was doing.

You felt bad, but you missed Jungkook.

You were both with someone new now, and you knew he was in good hands with someone stable enough to care for him.

Before your eyes closed shut, you shed a few quiet tears and hoped that you’d fall in love with Namjoon soon, and deep down you knew you would.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #namjoon smut #jungkook ff #bts ff #bts imagines #bts scenarios #namjoon ff #bangtan smut #jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk ff

329 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why��s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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neonlights92 · 4 years ago

Text

RUN: Chapter IV

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for. He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants. So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly. And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook. So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos. How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

WARNINGS: Language, some violence and smut.

A/N: SORRRRRRYYYYY!!!!

You were more confused than ever.

When Jungkook had promised you a loveless marriage, you knew where you stood at least.

And now… Now what?

He had kissed you and touched you - like no man ever had before - and now…. You were hungry for him.

You’d always loved him of course. Always longed for him.

But not like this.

Your mind kept replaying the other evening’s activities again and again. Butterflies soared in your stomach just at the sight of Jungkook’s back.

It was like you had unlocked a second part to your love - this one deeper, more visceral.

It pained you to be close to him. It pained you to be away from him.

And your husband….

Your husband acted like nothing was different.

In the weeks since that night, Jungkook went back to treating you as a friend. He took you in his arms as soon as the lights went off - but apart from that, he didn’t touch you.

You wondered if you’d done something wrong. Had you offended him somehow?

Was it because you hadn’t fulfilled your duty as you should? You wracked your brain again and again and again… But just came up empty handed.

That night had been perfect. Jungkook had been gentle and playful. He treated you as though you were something precious to him.

Your heart swelled once again as you thought of the boyish grin he shot you… His fingers on your skin… His lips on your lips.

God.

You were like a woman obsessed.

“Y/N?”

You were pulled out of your reverie by your husband’s voice. He was sat across the dining room table from you, his eyes scanning your appearance carefully.

It seemed he had caught you out yet again on one of your day dreams…

It happened often these days. Too caught up in remembering your husband’s touch, that you barely even noticed him when he was right in front of you.

“You seem distracted,” His smile was small, “Is everything ok?”

You nodded and tried to smile back, “I’m fine. Just uh… Tired.”

He raised a brow but decided to say nothing, turning back to the sirloin steak he’d just been eating.

You speared a tomato onto your fork as you watched your husband eat, eyes following the planes of his handsome face and heart fluttering around your chest like a hummingbird.

Everything he did seemed to send you into a frenzy, and as his teeth closed around the piece of meat and you watched him swallow it down, your temperature sky-rocketed through the roof.

Suddenly it was too hot. You were seeing stars. You felt like you might explode.

What on earth was wrong with you?

You stood up quickly, chair scraping back loudly against the wooden floor, and Jungkook stopped what he was doing.

He dropped his fork and cocked his head to the side, “Everything alright?”

You cleared your throat loudly, tucking your hair behind your ears and pressing your hands against your thighs.

“Yes.” You bit your bottom lip, “Yes. Everything’s fine. I just. I’m not hungry.”

His eyes moved to your empty plate, “You’ve barely eaten anything.”

You laughed - the sound empty and hollow - and shrugged, feeling the nerves climbing up your spine.

Could he sense just how anxious you were?

“I ate a big lunch.” Your tummy coiled tightly, “I think I’ll just… Go. To bed.”

The word bed sent another rush of heat through you, and your cheeks flushed bright pink. Jungkook’s face was a mask of neutrality. He never gave a single thing away.

Why couldn’t you be the same?

Hadn’t you both been raised in the mob?

“Okay.” He licked his bottom lip and your legs trembled at the sight, your hands reaching out to the edge of the table, to steady yourself, “I’ll come join you after I finish.”

You nodded tightly, moving away from him as quickly as possible.

You felt his eyes following you, even as you left the room, but you refused to meet his gaze.

That would mean things were truly over.

Jungkook’s gaze could cut through you like a beam of light, almost.

It should’ve been embarrassing how he affected you. And yet… You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You reached your bedroom and entered quickly, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the cool surface of it’s wood. You took deep breaths in, calming yourself down, and steadying your pulse now that you were alone.

Your husband was going to be the death of you.

Jungkook seemed to have no idea what he was doing to you.

And you couldn’t blame him for not knowing.

You were being absolutely ridiculous.

Weak at the knees from the sight of him eating?

How old were you?

What was wrong with you? That wasn’t how a woman of your age acted. It was ridiculous.

And yet… You couldn’t hate yourself for it.

Something about this newfound lust for your husband seemed to send the blood in your veins fizzing. You felt like a new woman. Like a lioness had been set free inside of you.

It was cheesy - completely absurd even - but you couldn’t help it.

You wanted your husband to ravage you.

You giggled at your own thoughts, moving towards the ensuite bathroom and running the warm water. Maybe a bath would help you relax.

It felt like you’d spent the entire evening tense in your husband’s presence - waiting for him to do something that would set you off again - and now your muscles were paying for it.

You dropped some lavender into the bath, and ran a bubble bar under the tap, watching as foam formed across the steaming water. This was exactly what you needed.

The water was heaven against your skin as you sank into the tub, closing your eyes and ridding your mind of your husband’s handsome face. You could think about him later, couldn’t you?

Except his long, slender neck kept materialising in your mind's eyes. You watched again and again as he swallowed the steak, and then slowly it was you he was swallowing. Your thighs rubbed against one another in some attempt to quell the heat you felt in your core.

But it was just the same as it had been the last few weeks.

Soon you couldn’t keep yourself occupied anymore, and your hand started to slide towards the apex between your legs. You imagined it was Jungkook’s fingers dancing across your skin, moving against you - lips covering as much as they could.

It wasn’t the same of course but it would do.

Your fingers finally reached their destination, and you arched your back, wishing it was your husband’s tongue on you.

“Jungkookie,” You breathed, giggling at the nickname you knew he hated, “Oh God.”

A throat cleared itself from behind you.

You sat up - ramrod straight - and whipped your head around to find your husband himself standing in the open doorway, arms crossed.

“What was that you called me?” His eyes were dark with lust, “Jungkookie?”

“Oh.” The word slipped out of your mouth without your permission, “What are you doing here?” “I came to check up on you.” He hadn’t moved from his position at the doorway, “I was worried about you. You were acting so strange at dinner.” A smile that was somewhere between kind and cruel played on his lips, “Now I know why.”

Your heart was slamming against your chest, as you remembered exactly where you were.

Naked. In a bathtub.

Your husband didn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t stop on my account,” He rose a brow, “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

You felt yourself trembling. He was enjoying this.

This… Game.

He was enjoying the way you burned for him.

“I - oh… God.” You were mortified - but somewhere beneath the shame was something brighter… Harder, “I’m sorry.”

He licked his lips and finally, finally took a step towards you.

“What for?” He shook his head and came towards the bathtub, kneeling down so his face was level with yours, “I’m flattered my wife masturbates to the thought of me. You only needed to ask if you wanted my help.”

Your cheeks were blazing, but the look in Jungkook’s eyes was dampening your embarrassment.

“I didn’t think… I wasn’t sure.” You licked your bottom lip and his gaze snapped down to your mouth, “I wasn’t sure you wanted me like that. Again.”

His eyes lifted to your own once more, and this time it was like they were on fire.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night Angel.” His words were rough, coarse, “Believe me. I want you like that again. As many times as you want, actually.”

Your heart felt like it might rip itself out of your chest.

His hand reached up to your face, and he stroked a finger down your cheek.

You thought he might kiss you - you wanted him to kiss you so badly - but he pulled away after a moment, and his eyes disappeared down to your legs. He couldn’t see you properly, not with the bubbles in the way, but he seemed to want to devour you.

“Can you touch yourself again for me?” He asked after a moment, eyes sliding back up to your face, “I’ve never seen anything sexier.”

You were sure you were about to hyperventilate.

He had not just said that.

He didn’t mean it.

He couldn’t, right?

Jungkook had been with some many more women before you - older, more worldly… Well seasoned.

And yet, his eyes were looking at you with absolute conviction.

You nodded after another long pause and he smiled - that smile that you loved - eyes crinkling into two crescent moons.

He didn’t stand, as you thought he might, instead moving onto his knees and resting his chin on the edge of the bathtub.

He nudged your hand and you started to move it down the length of your body, watching as Jungkook’s gaze stayed stuck on your fingers.

“God.” He whispered, as though to himself, “So fucking hot, Angel.”

Your hands disappeared under the water, and you felt yourself shiver as your fingers touched your most intimate place. Your eyes closed then, focusing on your pleasure, and after a moment you felt your husband’s lips on your naked shoulder.

You opened your eyes and watched as Jungkook licked his way up your neck to the shell of your ear - biting playfully on it. You groaned at his ministrations, and almost moved your hand away from your centre, when his own fingers enveloped yours.

“Jungkook - your shirt -”

“Don’t care,” He groaned, moving his fingers against your own - soaking his probably very expensive clothes, “Jesus. So hot.”

You arched into his touch and tried to slip your hand away from under his but he wouldn’t let you.

“No, no Angel,” He whispered against your ear, alternating between kisses and licks, “This is a team effort, okay?” You nodded then, desperate to finish - desperate to make him happy.

Desperate that he was touching you again.

His nose nuzzled into the juncture of your shoulder and neck, and that was what did it for you. That act of intimacy - the way he seemed to be enjoying every inch of your skin - tightened the coil in your core until it snapped, and you fell apart into a million tiny pieces.

Jungkook encouraged you through it, landing kisses wherever he could and petting your core carefully, wanting you to enjoy every second of it.

After a moment, when you relaxed, he pulled away and you whined a little eyes still closed.

“C’mon,” He said softly, and you opened your eyes to meet with his, “This isn’t exactly comfortable, is it?”

You shook your head and giggled a little at the look on his face.

So open - so inviting.

His hand was reaching out to yours and you took it, no longer caring that you were naked, and standing up yourself.

His eyes scanned you hotly, and something akin to a blush covered your whole body. When he looked at you again you shivered at the appreciation in his gaze.

“Beautiful.” He murmured as you stepped out of the bathtub, arms tightening around your waist and lifting you up effortlessly.

You laughed again at this, “I’m getting you all wet.” “Don’t care,” He answered honestly, lips meeting your own finally as he kissed you with all the fierce passion of somebody in love.

You tried to tuck your feelings for him away - to enjoy the moment as it came - but you couldn’t help it. Your heart was swelling to nearly double the size, you loved him so much.

Jungkook carried you over to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed carefully and climbing on top of you. His arms caged around you, but you felt safer than you ever had.

You knew he’d never hurt you - never force you to do something you didn’t want to.

“Take this off,” You whispered after a moment, tugging on the collar of his shirt, “I want to see.”

He smirked then, in that way that was so quintessential Jungkook.

“Alright Angel. So needy.”

You didn’t even deny it, nodding furiously as you watched the shirt slide off his shoulders. You gasped when his chest was revealed, not even attempting to hide your astonishment.

He was so… Beautiful.

He groaned at the look on your face, cupping your cheeks and pressing a hot kiss against your mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He whispered against your lips, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I could say the same for you,” You answered back, voice hoarse with desire, “Your pants, Jungkookie.” He pulled away and rose a brow at the nickname. You bit your bottom lip and smiled.

“Please?” The word slipped out of you - sweet as honey. He laughed.

“Alright,” He pressing a hand to your forehead and then started working on his belt buckle, “But only because you said please.”

You watched as your husband stepped out of his trousers - heart hammering against your chest as he stood glorious as ever, in a pair of tight, black boxers.

You knew what tonight might end with. You knew what you were offering up to him.

But the truth was… He’d had your heart… Your body… Your soul, since a long time ago.

So you weren’t scared. Quite the opposite in fact.

You were ready for this.

You were ready for him.

He kissed you again - fervently - and you felt the blood rise to the very tips of your ears. God. You loved him so much, it felt like you might burst.

He tugged his boxers down, and you felt him pressed up against your thigh. It might have made you anxious, were it anyone else, but with Jungkook it just felt… Right.

He pulled away slightly, eyes meeting your own, “Is this… Okay? Do you want to slow down?”

You shook your head quickly, hands coming up to cup his face.

“No. I want this.” You cleared your throat, “I want you Jungkook. Make me yours.”

Your husband’s eyes softened then, and you saw something deeper than just affection or lust. You saw something whole and full. Something you’d felt for him for so many years.

Your heart soared.

Could your husband learn to love you, too? “Okay,” He whispered against your lips, “It might hurt a little Angel. I’m sorry if it does.” You shook your head, “I don’t care Jungkook. As long as it’s with you.” His face seemed to melt then, like butter on a hot day, and his fingers pushed into you - opening you up for what you knew was coming.

And then he was inside you. He slid in gently, slowly, and though it hurt - you knew you could handle it. He stopped and pulled away slightly, hands moving your hair out of your face - eyes roving your features.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, and his lips were so close to your own it was like he was kissing you.

You nodded, “I’m fine. I promise. You can move, please.”

He smiled then - soft and caring - and you knew the love you had for him was shining in your eyes, but you didn’t really care. Not anymore.

When he started moving inside of you, you pressed your hands against his back, pulling him closer, wanting his skin against your own. He was so precious to you. So perfect.

And he was yours, wasn’t he?

He had to be.

His lips covered your own and you felt him tightening, tightening, tightening and you knew what was coming. He pulled back slightly, eyes screwed shut.

“Is it okay if I -”

You nodded quickly, frantically, “Anything you want Jungkook. Anything.” His eyes opened then and they were so beautiful - so open and honest and you felt like you might drown in them.

And the words slipped out of you, before you even really knew what was happening.

“I love you,” You whispered just as Jungkook reached the peak of his pleasure.

His eyes widened as they met yours, and you smiled.

Even if he didn’t love you back… It didn’t matter. Because he was yours.

He had to be.

He collapsed on top of you after he was finished, breathing heavily, and you enjoyed his closeness with open arms - running your fingers up and down his naked back. After a moment he pulled away - a small smile on his face.

“That was…”

“Amazing?” You supplied, grinning.

He pressed a hand to your cheek and kissed the side of your mouth, “Yeah. Amazing.” Your heart swelled.

Maybe all was not hopeless.

Your husband was gone when you woke the next morning.

His side of the bed was cold, and even though he wasn’t there to greet you, you were still warm from his touch.

Everything had changed between you… Hadn’t it?

It couldn’t stay the same.

Not after the way he’d kissed you. Not after the way he’d held you.

You sighed to yourself feeling light and frothy inside. He hadn’t said he loved you - but the way he’d looked at you last night…

He could learn to love you. Your marriage didn’t have to be cold and desolate as he’d promised you. Things were changing.

You stood slowly, legs sore and aching - and pulled a nightgown around you. It had been hours since you’d had a drink of water - and you blushed as you thought of how much exercise you’d actually endured since last night.

You tried to make yourself look as presentable as possible… But secretly, you sort of wanted all of the help to wonder if Jungkook had finally made you yours.

It was silly, maybe, but the thought of others knowing that your husband wanted you in any capacity, brought a glow to your skin.

You slipped your feet into some slippers and smiled to yourself, stepping out of your bedroom and almost skipping down the hallway.

It felt almost like you were floating on a cloud.

You started making your way towards the kitchen - intending to make yourself a quick breakfast - when you noticed that the door to Jungkook’s study was slightly ajar. You crept towards it, intending to surprise him with your presence, when you noticed he wasn’t alone.

Your heart swam all the way into your throat as you noticed that Jungkook was standing in front of a woman.

You couldn’t see her face - only the back of her head - but you knew it was a woman when she spoke.

“You promised you’d wait for me.” There was a tremble in her voice.

“I couldn’t… There wasn’t anything I could do. It was decided for me.”

Jungkook’s eyes were unreadable. You felt your chest tighten.

“This was why you kept me a secret,” You could hear the tears in her voice, “This was why you kept up the pretense of fucking around. So you could marry her?”

Your husband’s eyes widened and he stepped towards her, grabbing her by the arms.

“Keep your voice down Violetta,” His voice was soothing, “She’ll hear you.”

Her shoulders were shaking and you realised she was crying, “I don’t care Jungkook. I thought you loved me. Was I wrong?”

There was a long beat of silence. Your husband’s eyes softened then, and the mask dissolved.

“Violetta…”

And then she reached up and pulled your husband towards her. And she kissed him.

Your heart cracked right down the middle and you choked back a sob. Jungkook pulled away from her almost immediately - his eyes darting to meet with yours.

He’d heard you.

“Y/N!”

He moved away from Violetta and as you turned, your eyes connected with hers.

She was beautiful.

Your world crumbled like dust around you, and you spun around quickly, running towards your bedroom and slamming the door shut. You used the locks your husband had assured you were only a precaution, and fell to the ground - leaning against the surface of the portal.

After a moment, Jungkook’s voice came from the other side.

“Y/N.” You didn’t say anything.

“Y/N. Please. Open the door.”

The sobs started rolling through your body.

“Y/N… Please. Y/N please, let me talk to you.”

It was too late.

Too late.

You felt like you were collapsing in on yourself - like a dying star.

Violetta.

That was who he loved. Not you.

Never you.

#jungkook #kpop #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook mafia #mafia au #bts mafia au #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts arranged marriage au #kpop fanfiction

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viking-raider · 4 years ago

Text

Southern Generation - Part IV

Summary: Sy wakes up in Lily’s arms and shows his gratitude for her comforting him. The mysterious caller is revealed, causing Sy to get extremely protective.

Pairing: Captain Syverson/OFC

Word Count: 7,178

Rating: M - Language, Protective!Sy, Domestic Kink, Stalking, Harassment, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Confession, Smut - Nipple stimulation, intercourse, orgasm, cream pie.

Inspiration: Always wanted to write a Sy fic and this is a re-work on an old fic I wrote several years ago.

Author’s Note: Thank you for all the love and support, @wondersofdreaming! Your ideas, suggestions and encouragement mean the world to me, and my stories.

Sy woke the next morning wrapped around a warm body and a steady heart beat in his ear, he tipped his head back and was met with Lily's sleeping face, his head pillowed on her breasts. He smiled, hugging his arms snugger around her waist and sighed, comfortable and peaceful, nuzzling his face into her chest.

Lily moaned softly, making Sy smile against the fabric of the night shirt she was wearing, her hand moved against the broad expanse of his back, fingertips sleepily caressing his spine, unconsciously soothing him, before moving between his shoulder blades, tickling the nape of his neck and rubbing the back of his head with her palm.

He vaguely remembered her calling his name and holding him after his nightmare, whispering into his ear that he was safe and at home, with her. Lily made the choice to bring him to her bed, comforting him even more, until he fell asleep, and for the first time in years, Sy actually dreamt about something other than war and endless spaces of bloody sand.

Reaching up, Sy brushed his fingers through her bangs, smiling. “My Angel.” He whispered, not wanting to wake her.

Carefully unwrapping himself from around her, Sy slipped out of bed and gingerly covered Lily up, before tip toeing downstairs to the kitchen. Scratching the back of his head for a moment, Sy moved about the kitchen, setting up the coffee maker, pulled out the skillet and started making breakfast. He figured she had been making him breakfast every morning for the last several months, it was time for him to return the favor.

So, Sy went all out, once he had everything made, he brought it upstairs to her.

Lily took a deep breath and moaned, stretching and rolling onto her back, but found Sy was no longer in bed with her. She sat up, panicked that something had happened to him, and was about to get out of bed to look for him, when he appeared in the bedroom door, relieved he was all right.

“Morning.” He smiled, finding her sitting up.

“Did you make breakfast?” She frowned as he approached her side of the bed.

“I did.” He nodded, setting her steaming cup of tea on her bedside table. “I thought, since you always make me breakfast, that I'd make you breakfast this go around.” Sy explained, setting the tray of food over her lap.

“What's better than breakfast in bed?”

“Nothing currently comes to mind.” Lily smiled, a soft blush on her cheeks, actually pleasantly surprised at this change of events, touched at Sy’s sweet gesture.

“I didn't think so.” Sy chuckled, pulling up the chair that was at a small desk in her room and sat down, balancing his own plate of food in his lap.

“So, what's on your agenda today, Captain?” She asked, taking a sip of her tea and was surprised to find it was exactly to her liking.

“I think, it's time I started working on the roof.” He replied, bringing his fork to his mouth. “I want to at least give it some temporary patches, before the weather turns.” He told her, after swallowing. “It'll also give me a chance to find out what all the problems with it are, and if I'll need to re-roof it.”

“I hope not.” Lily frowned, washing down some of her food with a gulp of tea.

“Well, from what I've seen on the ground, it looks to be the original roof that was put on when the house was built.” He chuckled at her, setting his empty plate on her nightstand. “That was nearly a century ago.”

“Unless, you know about it being replaced since then?” He asked her, tilting his head.

“The realtor didn't mention it to me.” Lily replied, searching her mind for any scrap of memory of the day she bought the place.

“That's all right.” Sy assured her, gently touching her hand. “I'll get it done, don't you worry.”

Lily smiled at him, turning her hand to thread her fingers with his. “I'm not worried, since you're the one on the case.” She replied, softly.

Sy grinned at her, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers, before letting go and collecting their plates. “You know, what would you say, if I managed to install a dishwasher for you?” He asked, pausing in the doorway of her bedroom.

“I have a dishwasher.” Lily giggled, holding up her hands and wiggling her fingers at him.

“You know what I mean, sugar butt.” He laughed, smirking even broader at her.

Lily shrugged, still giggling at him, her cheeks coloring at his nickname. “I don't know, Bear. I've never had one before.”

“Well then, Angel, I'll riddle that one out for you.” He promised in a soft voice.

“I believe you.” She whispered back, giddy, and not for a dishwasher.

“I'm going to check the mail.” Lily said, drying her hands on a dish towel, after washing the dishes from lunch.

“All right.” Sy nodded, still sitting at the table.

Sy had stood to refill his coffee cup, when the phone rang. Biting his lip and glancing out of the kitchen, he saw Lily was too far down the driveway to call her back to answer it, so he picked it up instead; clearing his throat.

“Moore residence.” He spoke into the receiver.

“She's a sweet thing, isn't she?” A sinister voice asked from the other end.

“Excuse you?” Sy barked, a flash of hot anger bursting through his body.

“Oh yes.” The voice chuckled, incredibly delighted. “She is sweet as a Lily, so pure and good.”

“Who is this?” Sy demanded with a deep growl, his teeth gritted and bared as he gripped the handle of the phone even tighter in his hand.

“She's mine, you know.” They growled back at Sy, breathing heavily, their own anger mounting. “She's always been mine and she will always be mine.”

“Not anymore.” Sy hissed back and slammed the phone down in its cradle.

“Sy?” Lily frowned, coming into the kitchen as he hung up the phone. “Who was that?”

“I don't know, you tell me?” He replied, turning towards her, brows drawn together.

“I'm not the one that answered it, Austin.” She countered, shaking her head, confused by his anger.

“It was some guy, said you were his, always had been and would be.” Sy told her, pushing his jaw forward.

Lily's eyes glassed over, letting out a shuddering breath and started trembling. Sy blinked at her, his anger at the caller's words melting away to alarmed concern. He took a step forward, reaching out for her, but Lily stumbled away from him, tears finally spilling free.

“Lily.” He whispered softly, his chest tight. “Easy.” He cooed at her, licking his lips.

“I'm not his, not anymore.” She whimpered, shaking her head. “Why can't he just leave me be.”

Sy blinked at her, frowning harder. “What?”

“Nothing.” Lily mewled, biting her lip.

“No, come on.” He coaxed her, resting his hand on her arm and gently pulled her against him. “Tell me.” He whispered, gently rubbing her back.

“I thought I got away from him.” She sniffled against his shirt. “Thirteen hundred miles away from him. I was so careful—so careful.” She mumbled, hands clinging onto the sides of his shirt. “I don't-I don't know how he found me—unless...”

“Unless?” Sy frowned, still slowly rubbing her back and trying to process what she was telling him. “Sit down.” He said, moving them towards the breakfast table and pulled out a chair for her, before bringing the other one around from the other side to sit beside her.

“Start at the beginning.”

Lily cleared her throat and stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. “I was born and raised in Middleburg, Virginia. You know, that I'm an only child and that my mom died, when I was born. I was raised by my grandparents, because my dad was in and out of my life, before just finally disappearing from it, when I was nineteen.” She explained to him, licking her lips.

“He blamed me for my mom's death.” She added, quietly.

Sy reached out and rested his hand on her thigh, squeezing it gently, and gave her a sweet smile.

“When I was seventeen, I met a boy at church, Jak.” Lily continued to explain to him. “It was the only time I really got to interact with others, my grandparents were strict, homeschooling me and only really letting me out of the house, unless they were with me, which was usually only for church on Sunday.” She fidgeted, shyly. “He was the only boy to show any interest in me, which didn't and did surprise me. The little house on the prairie dresses my grandma made me wear, and the glasses I had back then, you could see the moon through them.” She chuckled, cheeks colored.

Sy smiled back at her, even picturing her as a little girl like that, he still found her beautiful.

“But, Jak didn't care, or at least he didn't say or show he did. I would sneak out at night to meet him in the apple orchard my grandfather grew. It had been in our family since the Revolutionary War, the land was given to my, how many times, great-grandfather as payment for his service in the war.”

“I bet it's beautiful.” Sy commented, warmed at the thought.

“They are, so many of the trees are the original ones that were planted.” She smiled back, picturing the orchard in her mind. “The first one that was ever planted, after he cleared away the land, is still there and yielding, there's a plaque staked by its roots, and people come from all around to see it and the orchard, the Warren Apple.”

Sy rested back in his chair. “Your family owns the Warren Orchard Company? You're one of those Warrens?”

“I am.” She nodded, smiling proudly at that fact, but it vanished.

“Anyway, Jak and I would sneak every moment we could to see each other. He even got a job, during the summer, in the orchard, so we could see each other even more.” She took a deep breath, letting it out softly. “But, a year after we met and started being sweet on each other, my grandparents lodged a missionary for his two year mission in our ward. Jak thought he and I were getting close, that my grandparents had actually brought him to live with us, so he and I could court and marry.”

“He grew jealous and possessive. I was stupid, naive and young, I didn't know what was happening, that he was being abusive, until it was almost far too late.”

“What happened, that caused you to realize it?” Sy asked, tilting his head at her.

“I met Jak in the orchard one night, when I was twenty, the day after the missionary went back home to Michigan, because his two years were up. When I got there, Jak was pacing, already angry. Livid. When he saw me, he started yelling about how he had seen me kissing the missionary, how we practically ate each other's faces on the back porch, while everyone else was in the house, during his farewell party.” She said, glancing out the window behind the breakfast table.

“Of course, I hadn't been. Matt, the Missionary, and I had been on the back porch together, I had gone out there to get away from the press of all the people and he went out there to check on me. We had hugged, only the once, since doing so isn't really acceptable, two not courting, unchaperoned kids. But, we did nothing more, before going back inside. The truth didn't matter to Jak though, he had his version of what he saw and it was unchangeable.” Lily bit her lip and gripped Sy's wrist as his hand still laid on her thigh. “He lost his temper and hit me, but in my love sick stupidity, I didn't break it off there or tell my grandparents about it.”

“Instead, I enrolled in a university for Photography and Web Design, moved out of my grandparents' place and into one with him, like an idiot.”

“You weren't an idiot, Lily.” Sy told her, shaking his head and slipping his hand into hers. “It's more common than you think.”

“I know it is.” She sighed, clinging onto his hand.

“He only got worse and it got harder for me to get my school work done, with him accusing me that I was sleeping with my project partners, even teachers.” She huffed, shaking her head at his allegations, that now sounded so ridiculous. “The straw that broke the camel's back was,” She paused, biting and licking her lips, fighting down a bubble of emotions and memories. “One of my project mates called to ask me about the faux website we were designing for a fake company we had to make up, cause she wanted to know what time was good for us to meet up, and Jak answered the phone, claimed he heard a guy in the background, throwing the phone across the living room and went ballistic, saying I was having her call me to set up a time for me and the guy he heard, to try and fool him.”

“He spent the next hour going to town on me.” She said, glancing up at him, the hint and meaning in her eyes.

“Afterwards, he went to work and I packed a bag. I had some money from the family orchard business, so I took a good portion of it, bought a greyhound bus ticket to a cousin I was close to in New Jersey, Maggie, and stayed with her, knowing he wouldn't find me there, my grandparents wouldn't think I'd go there, and she wouldn't ever rat on me. While I was there, I petitioned for a name change, from Liliana Warren to Lily Ana Moore, and finished my degree, then found this place and moved out here.”

“So, how do you think he found you?” Sy asked, worried about her safety and angry that this asshole had the audacity to hurt her and wanted to try and hurt her again, but he kept a lid on his temper, not wanting to frighten her anymore than she already was.

“I've been keeping tabs on my grandparents, mostly through my cousin.” Lily answered, biting her lip. “She called me a year ago, to tell me that my grandmother had a stroke, a pretty bad stroke at that. She's apparently wheelchair bound now. Maggie went down there to visit them, and my grandfather was talking about how he needed someone to work on the company website, when Maggie let it slip that I have a web design business.”

“Oh.” Sy let out, eyes wide.

“Yeah.” She nodded back. “So, of course, they got upset, understanding that Maggie knew what had happened to me and where I was and all that. She called afterwards, apologizing up and down to me for it. She didn't tell them where I was or anything like that, just that I was safe and fine, and if I wanted to contact them, I would.”

“Did you?”

“I did.” Lily sighed, voice tight. “I figured after four years, I owed them a call.”

“So, do you think they told Jak?”

“I don't know.” She shrugged. “But, a week after I called them, I started getting hang up calls, then calls where no one would say anything for a few minutes, before hanging up. Then, two months ago, I got a call that was different from the others, he said something to me, and a month ago, he said something being soon.”

The wires connected in Sy's brain. “That's what caused you to take all those pills.”

Lily gulped and bit her lip, eyes burning, as she nodded her head. “Ye-ah.” She choked, fear and anxiety starting to mount inside of her again.

“Hey, hey.”

Sy cooed, wrapping his arms around her and pulled her into his lap, hugging her against his chest. “It's all right, Lily. It's going to be all right, I promised to protect you and I will. You are safe with me, you will always be safe with me, whatever the cost.” He whispered in her ear, holding her close and planning ways and means to protect her.

“Sy?” Lily called from the open door of her bedroom, just as Sy stepped out of the hall bathroom, in nothing, but a pair of black boxers.

“Lily?” He replied, rubbing the towel over his head, and looked up at her, lifting a brow, inquisitively.

Lily rested her hand on the handle of her door and stepped sideways, giving a little motion of her head into her room, a soft and offering expression on her face. Sy blinked at her, surprised, then down at Aika, who sat in the doorway of his room, feeling like he was picking what lady to sleep with for the night.

He tilted his head at Aika and gave her a sympathetic expression.

“Sorry, Girl.” He whispered to the Shepherd, turning towards Lily.

Lily chuckled at him, smiling and shaking her head as he passed by her and into her room. “You can come too, Aika.” She called to her, then turned into her room.

“You're cool with this?” Sy asked, eyes motioning to her bed.

“It was my idea, wasn't it?” She smiled at him, then stepped inside her closet for a moment and came back in a t-shirt-like nightie with Mickey Mouse on it, before pulling down the blankets and crawling into bed.

“It was.” He nodded, then laid down with her, covering up.

Lily scooted closer to him and Sy draped his arm over her waist, tucking her against him and she let him lay his head on her chest, stroking his arm. She was comfortable with the warm weight of his body against hers, the clean scent of his skin and hair from his shower. She felt Sy's body slowly melt into hers as he fell asleep, it had been her plan. Lily knew there was a high likelihood of Sy having another episode or nightmare, but figured, if he was there, with her, already safe and comfortable in her arms, he wouldn't have it.

That was her deepest hope, at least.

But, the next thing Lily knew, she was being jerked roughly off the bed and pinned underneath Sy's mountainous weight, his heavy and hot breath puffing against the side of her face as he blanketed her with his body, clearly startled and on high alert. The room lit up with a quick flash of lightning and the furious sound of rain beating on all parts of the house filled the bedroom around them.

“Austin.” She gasped, grasping the back of his arms, nails digging into his sweaty skin, thinking he had been set off by the noise of the sudden storm. “Aust-”

“Ssshhh.” He hushed her, lips brushing her temple, the hairs of his beard tickling her skin. “Stay here.” He whispered into her ear, then moved off of her and out of the room, Aika sitting in the open doorway and growling into the darkness of the hallway after him.

Lily sat up on her elbows, knowing that what was happening couldn't have been from one of Sy's nightmares or the storm, because Aika wouldn't be acting like this, she was angry, like she was daring something Lily couldn't see to try and cross her. But, nothing came, not even Sy, and Lily was starting to get worried. So, getting up, she edged around Aika and tip toed downstairs, jerking at another boom of thunder and crack of lightning, until she found Sy standing in the entryway.

“Austin?” She called out to him, over the sound of the rain, which sounded much louder downstairs.

“I told you to stay upstairs.” He barked, not looking back at her.

“What's wrong?” She asked, knowing there had to be something, by the tone of his voice.

“Nothing, just go back to bed.”

Narrowing her eyes, Lily stepped closer to him and her eyes grew wide, seeing what had caused Sy to wake up and react like he had. The large bay window in the den that faced out onto the porch and the front of the property was smashed, the glitter of the broken glass shined in the lightning strikes and left the outline of the brick amongst them, the cause of the broken window. Lily's eyes snapped out the living room window, expecting to see someone, not just someone, but Jak, to be standing out in the yard, staring back at them. But, there was no one, but her and Sy's cars. Her heart started to race and pound, making her feel dizzy and lightheaded, trembling so hard she almost lost her balance, but caught herself on the back of the couch.

Sy turned and grabbed her, picking her up in his arms and carried her back up to bed. “Stay here.” He ordered her, pointing a stiff finger at her, then went back downstairs.

Going out back, Sy grabbed a large piece of plywood he had bought in preparation for repairing the roof and instead used it to board up the broken window, until the storm passed and morning came, so he could find a piece of glass to replace it, leaving him and the den floor mostly wet. He moped the den floor and laid out nearly every towel Lily had in the house in hopes the old floorboards wouldn't warp under the water damage.

He stepped out onto the porch for a moment, glaring into wet dark. “This is my house now.” He growled, knowing Jak was still out there somewhere nearby. “My girl.” He hissed, before turning back inside, going up to the guest room to change into a dry pair of boxers and joined Lily back in her bed.

“It was him.” She mumbled, hugging her pillow to her chest. “It had to be him.”

Sy sighed softly, locking his arms around her waist and hugged her to his chest, curving his body around hers. He didn't know what to say to her, they both knew it had to be Jak, who else would have thrown a brick through someone's window in the middle of a storm like this one, especially after all the other incidents over the last several months; all the lines drew back to Jak on his unhealthy, possessive rampage to reclaim Lily as his own. Sy was afraid that if he verbalized his agreement with her, it would only inflate her already inflamed fear of the obvious.

So, he just clutched her tighter to him, pressing his lips to her shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut against the bright flashes of lightning.

“Lily, I'm going to go to town, I have something I need to pick up.” He told her, searching the living room for his car keys.

“I thought you already ordered the new windowpane?” Lily called back, appearing out of the kitchen, where she was washing the dishes.

“I did.” He nodded, he had found a shop that he could order a replacement windowpane for the den window that morning, but it wouldn't be ready until the next day. “This is for something else.” He told her, finding his keys under a magazine on the coffee table.

“What are you going for, then, Bear?” She asked, tilting her head at him.

Sy paused and regarded her. “Don't worry about it, Angel. I'll be back in an hour.” He told her, then, went out.

“Okay.” Lily frowned, glancing out the living room window, the thunder and lightning had passed during the early morning, but it was still raining cats and dogs.

Sighing, Lily turned back into the kitchen, taking a bucket and mop out of the utility closet, filled the bucket with warm water and soap, before getting down to mopping the floors, with nothing else to do in the current weather.

Sy rushed out to his truck, but was still almost half soaked by the time he settled himself in the driver's seat. Turning on the car and cranking on the heat, Sy pulled off the property and headed towards Celina. He pulled into the small parking center the small town had, scanning the rain blurred signs, looking for the one he was heading for, before opening the door and rushing towards it, pulling open the door, with an electric ding, announcing his presence.

“How can I help you?” the shop owner asked, coming out of a small room in the back and stopped behind a long glass case.

“Yeah, I'm looking for something specific.” Sy replied, stopping on the other side of the glass case, a look of understanding in both men's eyes.

“What specifics would that be?”

“Taurus, PT111 G2, 9mm.” Sy rattled off with familiar ease.

“Do you have a license and ID?” The store owner asked, eyes scanning the case between them.

“Then, some.” Sy laughed, pulling out his wallet to show the man his qualifications.

“You're a retired Captain.” The man noted, seeing Sy's military ID.

“That I am.” Sy chuckled, grinning with some pride.

The store owner got Sy squared away with the weapon he wanted, a secure case and a couple rounds of ammo, while also chattering about the military, being a retired Staff Sergeant himself. Getting back into his truck, he put the case under the passenger seat, pausing to stare at it for a moment,emotions and thoughts brewing inside of him, then shook them off. Satisfied, Sy went back home to Lily, finding her dusting the living room, when he came in, carrying the case and sat it down on the coffee table.

Lily paused, dust rag poised above the mantelpiece, staring at the case. “Is that what I think it is?” She asked, finally looking up at him.

“If you think it's a gun, then yes.” Sy replied, sitting down on the couch and tugging on the soaked laces of his boots.

“Why,” She gulped, arm dropping to her side. “did you buy a gun and bring it here?”

“Because, I wanted to and as a precaution.” He answered her, yanking his boots off.

“A precaution?”

“There is a fucking asshole out there.” Sy barked, jerking his arm up and finger pointing out the window. “Trying to hurt you.” His finger moved to her, in emphasis. “I am a big man. I'm a strong man. I've killed and subdued more than one man with my bare hands, but a personal cost.” He explained to her, standing and jerking up his shirt, showing her a couple of scars on his sides and chest, some were round and puckered, gunshot wounds, others were stripes, like stab wounds.

“If that prick decides to come into this house, to try and put his hands on you. That,” He pointed down to the gun case. “is going to be the first thing he wants to meet, because if he has to get close enough to me, that I need to put my hands on him, then they will be that last thing he will ever feel.” He told her, chest heaving as he got worked up over the situation.

Lily gulped at him, biting her lip, a flash of fear in her eyes at his passionate words, seeing a vein of rage that Jak had also been capable of.

“I just want to protect you.” He said softly, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down; seeing he had scared her.

“I know you do, Austin.” She whimpered back, gulping, eyes shiny. “I know you do.”

Sy moaned, something cold pressing into his neck. “Hm, Lily.” He chuckled, scrunching his head and shoulders together, grinning as the cold and wet touched his bare chest, making him grunt and wiggle away. “Why are you so col-” He started to laugh, opening his eyes, only to meet the soulful and tawny colored eyes of Aika.

“Aika, what are ya doin' here?” He frowned, and sat up, finding it was just him and the German Shepherd in the bed, Lily nowhere in sight. “Lily?” He called out, turning his head towards the master bathroom, but it was empty.

Panic filled Sy as he yanked the blankets back and pounded down the stairs into the living room, then the den. Sy squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths and clenching his hands in and out of fists, trying to keep himself cool and calm, before going into the kitchen, hearing the screen of the back door knocking against the door frame, and found the main back door was ajar.

“What is she doing?” He whispered to himself, biting his lip and looking back, considering the option of going back upstairs and getting the gun, but something in his gut told him he wouldn't need it.

Opening the door, Sy stepped out onto the back porch, a shiver wracking his body as a strong gust of rainy wind rushed by him. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the drenched backyard, the tall, unruly and uncut grass bent from the pelting of the rain and gusts of wind, he caught a quick movement to his left and turned in that direction, stepping off the porch and followed after it, towards the barn, just catching the billowing fabric of Lily's white nightie, vanishing inside.

“Lily, what are you doing in here?” He called out, pushing open the barn door a bit more. “Lily?” He called again, frowning as he crossed the barn and found her huddled in one of the old horse stalls. “What are you doing in here, Angel?” He cooed at her, shaking his head, droplets of rain running down both of their faces, and watched her melt into the corner.

Lily panted, her back pressed against the warped and worn wall behind her, arms pressed to her chest, her nightie so soaked, it was almost see through. Sy bit his lip and gulped, slowly crouching down. He knew what was going on, he had seen and suffered things like this a million times over the last ten plus years. She was having a PTSD episode, running away from the terror that was inside her head, trying to hide and find somewhere safe from it. Everything over the last several months with Jak stalking and harassing her was really starting to affect her, finally breaking her it seemed.

“I'm not going to hurt you, love.” He said softly, keeping his voice soft and low. “Come here.” He gulped, opening his arms to her and biting his lip with apprehension. “It's all right. You know, you can trust me, Sugar.” He whispered, nodding his head as she slowly unfolded herself and crawled over to him.

“Hey, Angel.” Sy cooed, sighing softly, and closed his arms around her, pressing his lips to the top of wet her head. “Ssshh.” He hushed her, rubbing her back and cupping the back of her head, feeling her tears add to the raindrops on his chest.

“I c-can-can't ta-take it an-anymore.” She sobbed, trembling in his arms, overcome with emotions and cold.

“We'll get through this, Angel.” He whispered to her, cupping her chilled cheeks in his hands and tilted her head back to look up at him. “We will get through this. You and I will get through this together. Everything will work out.”

Lily shook her head, her pale lips trembling. “N-no, it wo-won't. He-he always g-gets what h-he wants. All-always.” She mewled, whining. “I don't kn-know why I-I thought I c-could ge-get away.”

Sy's expression was hard for a moment, before he brought their faces together and kissed her, deeply. Lily stiffened against him, taken off guard by his kiss, but she didn't pull away or push him away. Gulping, she shyly returned his kiss, resting her hands on him, feeling the skin of his sides jump and react to her icy touch.

“I've wanted to kiss you.” Sy said, pulling back. “For such a long time.” He admitted, looking into her eyes. “Since that day on the porch, when you woke me up.”

“Since, you gave me your hoodie at the fair.” She whispered back, licking her lips, the warmth of Sy's still lingering on them.

Sy leaned forward, kissing her gently and brushing his fingers through her dripping hair, Lily pushing forward to deepen it for a moment, letting out a breathy whimper. Sy smirked, then looked down at the floor between them, it was still strewn with decades old hay and dirt. He held up a finger and stood, bumping around in the dark barn before a scratching sound sounded among the patter of rain on the metal barn roof. A moment later, a teeny glow filled the space and Sy approached where Lily was still kneeling, holding an old, beat up, oil lantern he knew was in the barn from his many searches of the space, hanging it up on a bent and rusty nail on the stall wall, then disappeared for another moment.

“Stand up.” He said, motioning her out of the stall, holding something in his arms.

Lily frowned at him, but stepping out of the stall and out of his way, catching a glimpse of what it was, it was one of the drop clothes he bought for when he painted the house, keeping the paint off the new porch. Sy unfolded the drop cloth over the dirty hay and stall floor, making sure it was comfortable, then turned back to her.

“How gentlemanly.” Lily complimented him.

“I am a Southern boy.” Sy chuckled, letting his Southern drawl deepen, and wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “Who's in love with Southern Lady.”

Lily blushed as Sy kissed her again, hugging her against him and up off her feet, turning around and slowly dropped to his knees, gently laying her back on the situated drop cloth. Lily wrapped her arms around Sy's neck, moaning softly against his lips, feeling the fabric of her nightie rub against her cold hardened nipples as Sy moved to kiss down to her neck, sinking his teeth into her delicate skin and let out a loud moan, pushing up against him.

“Austin!” She cried out, pressing her cheek to his ear as he continued to bite and suck on her neck, his beard tickling and rubbing against the skin underneath her jaw, leaving it red and sensitive.

Sy chuckled, loving the sound of her calling out his name with the metal patter of rain, his hand gliding over the soaked material of her nightie, bunching and hiking it up out of his way, pressing his palm against her side, rubbing his big hands all over her exposed body, grunting and growling into her neck, like a wild grizzly bear, finally getting his claws on his prized catch. His big mitts were on her plump breasts almost instantly, squeezing and kneading them, rubbing the rough pads of his thumbs over the sensitive nubs of her nipples, making her moan and whimper, fidgeting beneath him and rubbing her legs together, adding to the growing slickness between them.

“You sound so sweet.” Sy moaned back, pulling away from her neck, a set of dark teeth marks left behind, dipping his head for a moment to swirl his tongue around one of her nipples.

“Sy.” She whined, gulping down a moan. “Sy, please.”

“Oh.” He smiled, impishly. “You like that?” He asked, flicking her erect nipple with the tip of his tongue and watched her partially melt. “Your sweet, sensitive, little buds.” He cooed, then closed his lips around one of them, suckling gently, rubbing and rolling his tongue against it.

“Ah, shit!” Lily gasped, gripping his shoulders, eyes rolling and fluttering back into her head, heels digging into the fabric of the drop cloth. “God damn it, Austin.” She snapped, pressing her palms to the back of his head, holding his mouth to her breasts, her moans and whimpers filled the barn, pushing against him, egging and begging him to keep going, her breathing growing rugged and labored, moans becoming more urgent and reckless.

“Ah, fuck fuck fuck.” She cried out. “Suck them harder.” She coaxed and demanded. “Oh shit! Please, Austin!!” She gasped suddenly, body going rigid with a soft tremor.

Sy pulled away from her and dripped a hand between her trembling thighs, finding an extremely wet patch there. “So, you come, when you get your pretty breasts sucked.” He grinned, fully turned on and impressed, licking her juices off his fingers and palm.

“I've also never heard you say such naughty words.” He added, teasingly.

Lily chuckled, slowly recovering and smiling shyly up at him.

“Oh, it's too late to get shy now, Angel.” Sy laughed, leaning down and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Your secret is out.” He continued to tease her, playfully bouncing her boobs in his palms.

“And, I'm not letting you off.”

“I'm going to regret this, I can just feel it now.” Lily huffed, shaking her head, but her smile gave away her true feelings.

“Yes, you are.”

Sy chuckled, his hand dipping back between her legs, rubbing her still dripping folds with his calloused fingers, melting her into a puddle of weak and vulnerable whimpers. “You're so sensitive and sound so sweet.” He cooed at her, licking his lips and watching her face. “So, so sweet.” He panted, mouth slightly ajar, slipping his free hand into his damp boxers, curling his fingers around his thick and rock hard shaft, giving it a few shallow strokes.

Lily's eyes drifted down the length of her sweaty body, watching Sy work his cock inside his underwear and felt herself shiver in want and anticipation of it. She licked her lips and looked up at him, their eyes in a silent communication of what they both wanted. Sy shifted, yanking off his boxers to kneel between Lily's legs, wrapping them around his waist, her hips and bottom resting atop his thighs, with the small of her back lifted off the drop cloth beneath her.

“You're sure?” Sy panted, gulping thickly and already breaking out into a sweat, staring at her with wide eyes and blown out pupils.

“Yes.” Lily sighed, nodding her head vigorously at him. “God, yes.” She moaned, squeezing her legs around his waist.

Sy smirked, pressed a hand to her hip, pushing it up her side to palm one of her breasts, squeezing and rubbing it, while taking the base of his cock in his other hand, pumping it a few times, rubbing the fat and cut tip against her still wet pussy, slowly slipping between her folds, brushing her entrance and pushing inside. Lily let out a moaning sigh through her nose, feeling his wide girth stretch her open far more than she had ever been before. Her toes curled and squeezed his hips between her calves and thighs, back arching and hips shifting against the nearly uncomfortable burn of his length being buried ever deeper inside her core. Sy tilted his head at her, bracing a hand on the drop cloth, beside her head, and leaned over her, causing Lily to let out a raspy gasp as his cock changed angles inside of her, and kissed her, slow and passionately, still pushing his hips into her.

“You are so beautiful.” He rasped against her lips, nibbling on her pouty bottom lip.

“Austin.” She whimpered back, breathy, hooking her arms under his arms and pressing her palms flat against tense and sweaty back, nails digging into his cool skin. “Austin.” She chanted, softly, rubbing her nose against his.

“Lily.” Sy moaned back, finally flush inside of her, and rocked into her, taking his time and enjoying her heavenly warmth wrapped around his cock, like a toasty sleeve. “I love you, Lily.” He whispered into her ear, kissing her jaw and cheek.

Lily blushed and let out an airy chuckle, hiding her face in his neck and broad shoulder, hugging her arms and legs tighter around his body, clinging onto him for dear life and squeezed her eyes shut, taking in the sound of Sy's heavy breathing and loud moans and groans, grunting, and sighing out her name, the still steady pitter-patter of the fat raindrops on the old, rusted tin roof and sun-kissed wood walls, all mixed with her own sounds of pleasure.

“Sy?” Lily whispered, after their shared climax, still feeling the euphoric and relaxing pleasure it gave both of them, as she laid on the drop cloth, half tucked underneath Sy's body for warmth in the drafty barn.

“Hm?” He hummed back, nosing her hair and took a deep breath.

Lily smiled, feeling the vibration in his chest, nuzzling back into him. “I love you too, Austin.” She whispered, turned her head to look back at him.

Sy lifted his head and looked down at her, a smile slowly pulling across his lips, an excited and giddy feeling in the pit of his stomach, reaching out to gently brush her hair out of her face, picking out a few bits of straw that happened to get stuck in it from earlier; before oh-so-tenderly kissing her.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me, Angel.” He murmured against her cheek.

“I'm guessing as happy as it makes me, Bear.” She chuckled back, kissing the tip of his nose.

Lily softly stirred just before dawn, cradled in Sy's arms as he carried her out of the barn, the rain finally letting up, and into the house. He carried her upstairs to her room and gently laid her down on her bed, letting him help her out of her still damp nightie and tossed it through the open door of her master bathroom, before crawling into bed with her.

Both of them were out cold before the blankets settled around them, unaware of the audience they had a good deal of the night.

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