#let me know if i missed any trigger tags

[leninisms]

I’d love to hear more about your interpretation of bttws as being about trauma - no pressure (and you don’t have to share anything personal ofc) but I love your hoax posts & I want more of your opinions

hi! thank you for asking so nicely, i really appreciate it!! i’m sorry this took forever, i’ve been Contemplating(tm). and also super thank you for saying you love my hoax posts and want more of my opinions— i’m giggling and twirling my hair and kicking my feet<3

so i’ve had the post below in my drafts for a month now, and i just didn’t really know how to finish it & also it’s super personal. i know there’s more i want to say, but it’s really hard for me to put this into words. i’m gonna try to go more in depth under the cut but it might make no sense idk. ((and i’m just going to talk about my own experience because i don’t feel comfortable generalizing))

so for those of you who might not know, when someone experiences childhood trauma/ACEs and goes on to receive mental health treatment in adulthood, they’re often told to “grieve their childhood.” the idea is that, when someone is traumatized at a young age, they’re forced to grow up faster than is considered normal and/or healthy, and that does have lasting negative effects on one’s mental, physical, and emotional health. one of the ways you can try to heal from that is by grieving that loss of childhood, of innocence, of whatever it was specifically that was taken from you. (note: i am not an expert on the grieving of one’s childhood! i have been told to do it and i’m refusing right now).

the chorus especially stands out to me in this context, specifically the lyric, “i’m never gonna meet… what should’ve been you.” it’s probably not the healthiest, but i spend a lot of time wondering who i would be if i hadn’t been abused for so long. i was taught that asking for help makes me a bad person. i was taught that nothing i do will ever be good enough. i was taught that i deserve to be mistreated. the list goes on. it’s easy to assume that if those ideas and beliefs hadn’t been drilled into me for so long and at such a young age, i would be a fundamentally different person than i am today. and since i’m of the belief that no one should be abused, i think that’s the version of myself that should exist.

i’m sorry if this is confusing— this stuff is so complicated and different for everyone and i don’t know what i’m talking about. but this is the general idea. there’s a bit more to it, but i don’t have it in me right now lmao<3

[inkely]

I had a vision while listening to the song delirium tremendous (it’s very Lazarus pit Jason coded to me) and then this happened. It wasn’t this creepy in my sketch, it just kinda happened but it’s in time for Halloween so imma roll with it

Also this is my first post after lurking for awhile!!! Hi tumblr :)

[missrosegold]

always the fool with the slowest heart

I apologize for not being able to post all three chapters of ATF on here! All three parts are very long, and tumblr just can't support the length of them, so I've finally made a post to link all of them together! (I would break them up into parts like I did with and if my body should fade, i'll trust you with my soul, but it would be multiple parts for each chapter, and I try not to spam the desktops of my mutuals lol)

Once again: thank you to @candycandy00 for editing this monster for me, and thank you to miss. @kimkaelyn for making this beautiful banner for me! I love it so much!

Title: always the fool with the slowest heart

Rating: Explicit. 

Paring: Merman!Dabi/Touya Todoroki/(Female) Reader

Synopsis: After a few particularly grueling years of working nonstop, you broke down and burnt yourself out. To escape the rat-race, you left for the island where your aunt and uncle live; back to the beach house you spent your summers at as a child. As you slowly work on building yourself back up, you start to realize some things on the island are not quite as you remember them to be.

Little did you know, there was a surprise waiting you in the shallows when you returned to the island nearly a decade after you last left.

Part I can be found here

Part II can be found here

Part III can be found here

All of my stories are cross posted on A03. If the formatting on here is hard to follow, feel free to check out my A03 account!

*See A03 for more descriptive tags/warnings. It's explicit for a reason.

[brotherlysuggestion]

Hey, for any of my little sibs trying to learn to eat salads/vegetables but running into a lot of unhappiness/failure/sensory issues, I recently started learning to eat veggies after a lifetime of struggling due to autism and sensory issues, and I have some tips that I’ve collected along the way!

Forget all about the “healthiest varieties” or “most nutritional salads” elitism.

A lot of that talk is based on bogus science or half-truths to begin with, but even for anything that’s true, you’re trying to eat in a way that is sustainable for you. You don’t need to be like anybody else. If you like iceberg lettuce, screw the people who say “well that doesn’t have any nutritional value”. It’s fiber and roughage if nothing else! You like a lot of dressing or add ins and people tell you that isn’t a real salad/isn’t a healthy salad? It’s more vegetables than no vegetables! It gets the greens in your body! Do your thing, you don’t deserve guilt (external or internal) for figuring out your own path.

This is about habit forming and breaking bad associations to form better ones.

Think of this as practice! I eat salads nearly daily when available because I genuinely look forward to them now, but I used to want to retch at just the thought of salad. When I used to think of salads, I always thought of being a kid and trying not to gag while forcing sensory hell so that adults wouldn’t get mad at me. It was punishing for me, and it took a lot of gentle work to change that association! So if you hate salads, really try to identify why. Are they bland and tasteless to you? Conversely, are the bitter flavors too strong? Is it a textural thing? Do you have some highly negative experiences with them in the past?

Don’t force yourself to keep trying something you know you hate.

I personally can’t stand a lot of “ultra healthy” salads that have a lot of different textures/flavors mixed in, and years of trying to suffer through salads like that never made me like them more. Back to the first point again, forget about what you’re “supposed” to be eating and eat what you find the least repulsive tbh.

The greens you choose can make a massive difference, so try a lot of different things!

This is especially important if texture or flavor is an issue for you. Personally I find iceberg lettuce the “easiest” because it has a very mild taste. I started out my adventures in learning to eat salad eating EXCLUSIVELY iceberg lettuce. Butter lettuce or romaine (especially romaine hearts) are others that are popular for being pretty palatable, and I’ve come to love them! And you don’t even HAVE to have lettuce! You can have cabbage, beets, carrots, whatever! Pick a vegetable you like and search for salad recipes using it!

Find a dressing you really like and drench that bad boy if you need to!

Some people really like ranch, or poppyseed dressing, or vinaigrettes, or even sweet dressings with honey and fruit! You can use mustard or honey in dressings! Look up different types of salad dressings and try them all out if you want. Personally, I really like zingy dressings like Italian vinaigrettes or blue cheese, but everyone’s different. You can make a lot of dressings at home, too, and if you have the stuff already it can be a cheap way to find what you like. I know dressing freaks some people out, but referencing my very first point again; some salad is way better than no salad. You may even eventually find yourself able to use less and less once you’re more accustomed to eating salad! So use as much as you need, whether it’s just for now or forever.

Toppings! Salads are allowed to be goodies with obstacles!

Use a protein like chicken or fish (I like tuna a lot) or crumbled bacon, use croutons, hummus, little cubes of cheese or shredded cheese, sliced hard boiled eggs, whatever! If there’s vegetables that you know you like, put those in! I love some sliced cucumber or shredded carrots in my salads. Some people do nuts like almonds or cashews in their salads, some people use chickpeas and corn from a can, and if you’re feeling super adventurous you can try some fruit to sweeten things up! If you like variety then mix warm foods and cold foods, creamy textures and crunchy textures! Make it totally your own. Personally, I’ll sometimes eat around my croutons so that once I’ve eaten all of my greens I have a big, crunchy reward. There’s no rules for how you have to eat something!

Conversely, be as simple as you need to be.

If you need to get used to salads by eating just iceberg lettuce and ranch for a while, you don’t need to be embarrassed! You don’t have to throw the kitchen sink at your salad, even if that’s what helps some others! This is about what works for you.

Don’t be afraid to have salad ingredients… not as a salad!

You can make a green smoothie by blending ingredients if texture is your big issue! Or make a fruit smoothie with some spinach or lettuce thrown in to help you ease into it. Or try dicing up some lettuce, cabbage, and a preferred vegetable or two (avocado, bell pepper, tomato, or cucumber would all work!). Drizzle that with a generous amount of dressing or sauce, and you can use it as a chip dip! Tortilla chips work especially well for this. Or maybe make a vegetable wrap in an actual tortilla? Or throw some chopped up vegetables in your next soup. Even if it’s as simple as putting some lettuce, carrots, or tomatoes into a sandwich, that’s awesome too!

Even outside of salads, experiment with texture for vegetables!

You can roast most vegetables on a sheet pan in the oven (or in an air fryer) for a crispy and crunchy experience! Or you can boil or steam them on a stovetop (or in the microwave) to different levels of softness; you can get most vegetables pretty mushy with enough time, if crunchy textures are hard for you! Looking up vegetarian versions of your favorite meat-including dishes can sometimes also offer great ideas for getting different textures out of vegetables! Try everything that you think you might like: grilling, griddling, roasting, steaming, boiling, sautéing, braising, stir frying, and blanching (which also helps reduce bitterness!) are all different methods to look into, and different methods have different results with different vegetables!

Big takeaway…

Be patient and kind with yourself. Working through food aversions is hard. The goal is gently pushing/testing your boundaries and expanding your comfort zone, NOT forcing yourself. Forcing yourself into extreme discomfort, distress, or pain typically only makes aversions worse! So it’s in your best interest to be patient and go as slowly as you need to. Be proud of yourself for trying, and don’t let anyone (including yourself) make you feel shame for doing what you can.

And obligatory disclaimer:

Please don’t get discouraged if none of these tips work for you! This isn’t an exhaustive list, and I’m not any kind of professional. This is just a mix of tips I’ve seen online, and what worked for myself and my own sensory issues, and I’m still learning more about myself all the time! If you’re struggling, there’s still more out there! You can achieve your goals, I believe in you. 💖

[never-forget-viva-la-pluto]

For the people in my asks

Yes the last of us 2 is still my favorite game and the article being shared is from a perspective of someone being hypercritical of the zionist message(rightfully) while completely ignoring that the game is actually NOT a zionist message.

My main arguments against this article:

-Dina being proud of her Jewish heritage happens long before the game even introduces the serephites and wfl, thus there is no narrative tie-in to Dina being Jewish and the conflict among the two factions. Free palestine is not an anti jew thing, its an anti-israel apartheid state thing. And by extension, acknowledging that anti Semitic genocides did happen and still do, is not anti palistine, like the article author implies the game is suggesting.

-"at the end of the day Ellie's journey of revenge seems especially cruel, even idiotic, because we are never given a good reason for why she keeps recommitting to it" Yeah, only if you don't know what ptsd is or that she recommits to revenge because she grew up in a world that simply COULD NOT churn out anyone well adjusted.

-this is an article from a jewish-pro palestine woman that argues that this is a bad take from a guy who clearly took his own interpretation as the only interpretation there was. She is the same author as this article that's been on many anti zionism posts going around this website. She asserts that the game itself is not actually pro isreal, but is "a catalyst for more difficult conversions."

-the main point of the article is that the game is bad and zionist bc it treats the conflict as essentially a cycle of hate in us people and that that is a mentality that is learned, not inate. Which is bullshit bc there are many stories that have those exact tropes that aren't zionist at all. And the last of us isn't either.

THAT BEING SAID: NEIL DRUNKMANN IS A ZIONIST BASTARD! Outright he has supported Isreal despite the irony that the game he made was the condemnation of exactly what he is now supporting. This guy in the video puts it best how drunkmann accidentally made a game that went against his own beliefs along with some other good things to say on the topic of celebrities sudden support of isreal:

The last of us 2 is still my favorite game and i stand by that. HOWEVER, I will likely NOT be watching the second season of the show bc the game was so phenomenally good, by accident, it seems. I have no doubts that the show will be more pro isreal as drunkmann doubles down on his pro genocide stance, and that is kind of the opposition of the game's point.

If you like the last of us 1 and 2, then support Palistine!(or if you hate the game, there is a fucking genocide happening and this all feels very small in comparison to the war crimes being committed. Do something more productive than hang out in my inboxes or tell me to off myself):

[somelazyassartist]

obsessed that harmony has a collection of organs 😭 i love her

Her collection grows!!! I'm sure what she's doing with all this will start to be obvious soon but for now.... Still an itty bitty secret wink wink ;]

(also I'm really happy you like her your comments mean so much to me thank you!!!!!! 🌟🦁🌟🦁🌟🦁🌟)

[ghostsbrokenbyfairytales]

Big man down!

ft, Duck (@containatrocity) and Matt (@wanderinglcst)

(tw for medical condition and injury mentions)

with the earthquake and what felt like non stop patients rolling into the clinic for treatments, HAWK was working as much as he could. he knew the moment the shaking had stopped he needed to be there and making sure matt was fine first he ended up dragging him there with him since he figured extra hands wouldn't hurt to have around. he wasn't taking any moments for himself to breathe before he was moving onto the next person, the thought in the back of his mind the entire time of hoping they had the supplies needed to treat whatever came through the front doors next. hawk was feeling it, the stress getting to him and the tightness he usually felt when he was about to have a fainting episode but he ignored it for now as he went from each bed to check up on people and their injuries. the only pause he did was when he saw matt and flashed him a quick smile as his way of saying 'thanks for helping' before he moved onto the next person.

MATT had been handing out blankets to newly turned up, frazzled people and telling them that they need to head to a triage point as the clinic was being used for the worst of it. The less non emergencies here, the better so he pointed out the diner nearby and sent those that way. He had been lingering near Edgar's bed, making him more comfortable when he glanced over at Hawk, he did not look too good at all. "I'll be back." Matt headed over to Hawk and kind of nudged him to one side. "Babe…. you need to sit down for a bit in the office." He tried to keep his voice low.

HAWK almost hadn't noticed matt at first when he felt the nudge, pausing to look down at matt with a half smile. "i'll be fine it's not that bad right now anyway." a lie that anyone could tell just by the look of him but he was stubborn, leaning down to give matt a quick kiss to the top of the head before trying to head to the next person. there was a bit of a stumble but he managed to correct himself as he turned back to matt. "mind helping me with this next one?"

MATT frowned when Hawk simply said he was fine and that kiss? Nah. He followed him to the next bed, taking hold of his arm when he stumbled. "Baby… you're no use to them at the moment, there's plenty of others to help." He glanced over at another doctor and gestured with his head for them to take over. "Come on." He tugged him slightly.

HAWK hated the feeling of not being useful all the time but he hated more that matt was right and if he didn’t listen he’d just add to the mess of patients. “yeah, yeah alright.” he finally said when he saw the other doctor come over. hawk was feeling it more every second and had to wrap his arm around matt’s shoulder to help him walk to his office and focused on the door. “just five minutes then i need to be back out here, no more than that.”

"We'll sit for as long as you need." MATT stubbornly told him then led him towards the office, helping him every step of the way. It was a good job that Matt had no issues with holding his weight because Hawk was pretty heavy right now. "Nearly there." He used his foot to push the door open then let Hawk go in first. "Right behind you."

HAWK removed his arm from around matt’s shoulder to let himself walk in, well stumble in really at this point, somehow making it to the desk to lean against while he waited for matt to close the door. it wasn’t until he turned around to face the room that his legs finally gave out and fell straight down, somehow using the desk to stop himself from falling completely to the ground. “i’m- jesus fuck.” he mumbled and rubbed at his chest, his back resting against the front of his desk now. it wasn’t long before hawks vision started to blur, causing him to blink quickly a few times trying to adjust but soon all he saw was darkness as his hand felt into his lap.

MATT helped him into the room and was just closing the door when he heard Hawk mumble so quickly went over to him, the door left slightly open still. "Come on, you can do this." He didn't actually manage to stop him from falling and swore when it happened. "Fucking hell." Looking around, Matt then hooked his arms under Hawks shoulders and tried to drag him towards the couch, then he looked up and saw Duck standing there. "Well don't just stand there, mate! Help!"

Everything hurt. Maybe he'd overdone it, maybe he was still overdoing it, wandering the clinic and checking on the rangers, on Claire, on his brothers propped up on a poorly fitted crutch- a brace locked on his left leg. DUCK hurts, and even the usual dose of tincture, downed desperately in his hospital bed the moment Hawk and the nurses had left him alone wasn't touching the dull roar in his knee. It made sense though, didn't it? He'd ruined it this time, overexerted already damaged and failing hardware to their limit- he was lucky he could stand at all, and he was using that luck to pace, the thunk of his boots and the crutch coming up the hallway- just in time to pass hushed voices he recognized. "What th-" He's cut off, when Matt calls out, brows arching all the higher as he gathers what's happening through the haze of painkillers keeping him upright- this time for good reason. "I'm not exactly much help Matt." He reminds, but props his crutch up against the door, shifting to bend his knees- teeth gritting through the pain as he hoists Hawk's lower half- and with a little swearing and coordination- getting his brother on the couch. "Do either of you wanna explain what the fuck just happened? One second I'm watchin' him race around like his dick's on fire- the next he's…" He motions at Hawk, prone. His bandages are hardly covered, white button-up partially open and usual dark jeans marred by the presence of a heavy black steel brace. He staggers himself- but retrieves his crutch and remains upright.

HAWK was only out for a minute or two, pretty much by the time his back would hit the couch he was already groaning and shielding his eyes from any light that was coming in with his arm. he was coherent enough to catch the tale end of ducks words which only made him realize he’d been caught, there was no lying his way out of this one. “i thought you closed the door babe.” hawk mumbled though he wasn’t upset, he’d genuinely thought he heard the door close before he made any attempt to move. “duck i can explain,” he sighed and groaned as he slowly sat himself up, “just.. gimmie a minute first.”

There was a wave of relief when Hawk started to come around but MATT quickly went to grab the chair from behind the desk and placed it behind Duck, helping him down onto it before hurrying back to Hawk, crouching down next to him. "I thought I did." Matt brushed his hand through his hair then glanced back at Duck with a grateful smile for helping then helped Hawk by propping him up against the arm rest.

DUCK doesn't look particularly convinced. Or impressed- or terribly happy at all. "Well, I know this ain't related to the fresh hell goin' on outside." He reasons. "Which means somethin's been eatin' at you for a while, and I am, once again, prolly among the very last to hear about it." His nose scrunches. "No bullshittin me, either of you. I got people dyin' out there in the clinic, people who's lives ain't never gonna be the same. I want t' know what this is without bells 'er whistles. soon as you can manage it."

HAWK finally looked up and over at matt, giving him a soft smile as he squeezed his thigh and rested his head back against the wall behind him. turning his attention towards duck he frowned at the look on his face and the implication he’d be the last person he’d tell this to. “you’re not one of the last people to hear about this, you’re one of the only actually.” hawk finally spoke and was being truthful just like duck asked. “matt and bowie are the only people who know and it’s only cause they found out the same way you just did.” he sighed and ran his free hand through his hair this time. “wasn’ somethin’ i’ve been wantin’ to share honestly.”

MATT put his hand on top of Hawks and gave it a squeeze in return while he made sure he was comfortable as he spoke to his brother. "I've been begging him for months to tell you guys." Matt followed on then he got up and sat next to Hawk on the couch, staying as close as he could.

"Hawk, you're a fuckin' idiot, you know that, right?" DUCK sighs. "We're yer fucking family- you didn't wanna tell us you were what- sick? dyin? what's goin' on with you?" He's not angry- Matt likely can't tell the difference, Duck gruff and harsh even in regular conversation. "I got blown up and I at least fessed up t' it t' the few a' you the doctors could track down. You been keepin' somethin from us in the same damn town?"

“yeah well i didn’ want to.” HAWK mumbled. the questions from duck were expected after witnessing something like that, shaking his head at the things listed off. “i didn’ fess up to anyone cause i thought it was fixed. it had been for years up until i came back here, i didn’ even know i was havin’ faintin’ spells again until i woke up to bowie hangin’ over me.” again being as honest as he could with duck since that much was owed to him. “i got a heart condition duck. i hadn’ been takin’ care of myself for a long time and basically lost all the progress i had. hell matts the one who convinced me to finally stop smokin’ after i’d almost smoke myself outta a pack every two days.”

MATT held onto Hawks hand when he told Duck what was going on with him. It was never any easier to hear it. He looked between the two of them and sighed a little. "This is the first time it's happened in in a while. Not that I'm surprised, you're doing too much."

"You knew you had it and you were smokin' like a freighter? Yeah, Sounds like the typical romero problem solvin." DUCK sighs, pushes a hand through his hair. "You should have told me, Hawk." He insists. "You don't gotta suffer in silence or whatever-" He pauses. "You knew 'fore either of us were back in Huntsville, We'd talked, Hawk. You shoulda told me then." Maybe Duck wouldn't have smacked him with a rifle that day. He thinks about it, though, and realizes yes, he probably still would have.

HAWK looked at matt when he said that and sighed. “i know i just.. i can’ help it. this has been the worst thing to happen yet.” he squeezed matt’s hand avoiding looking at duck even if it’s just for a few extra seconds. “i’ve known since i was in my twenties actually..” hawk admitted as he finally turned back to duck. “i didn’ want the family to know or be worried about me. you all had your own shit you were goin’ through i didn’ wanna add my own shit on top of it.” he wanted to reach out when he had the surgery, it was a long recovery process that he chose to go through alone so he wouldn’t feel like a bother to anyone. “it’s triggered by stress, mostly lots of stress put on all at once hence why i had an episode today.”

MATT nodded a little and leaned in to kiss his cheek just before he finally looked at Duck and sat back, listening to them and keeping hold of his hand. "That's why I've been hanging around him the entire time, keeping an eye on him. I've only left to fetch some bits and pieces he's needed."

"So since just after ya left. When we were talkin' more. Hawk…" He sighs, brows creasing. "you make it real hard t' be your favorite brother, ya know that?" DUCK groans. "Wrenny's right, this self-sacrificial sufferin' in silence shit really is annoying." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Our own shit was like, an unfaithful wife, or not bein' home at all, or bein' a literal child- we would have supported you, dumbass." He closes his eyes a moment. "I was in recovery for three years after the IED. And most everybody I called just didn't answer. Do you know what I woulda done, Hawk? for even a single shoulder t' lean into? And you chose that." He shakes his head. "you're a shithead." Declared flatly. "I love you, you're the stupidest motherfucker I ever met and that's impressive 'cause I was a jarhead and yer a learned doctor." He turns to Matt. "Thank you at the very least fer havin' at least one damn braincell t' spark off the other and keep him from killin' himself to prove a point."

“i still didn’ have a great relationship with the family at the time so it’s not like any of y’all woulda showed up anyway. you were already stationed somewhere and the one i was closest too i wasn’ gonna make you come all the way back for me.” HAWK rolls his eyes at the stupid comment, moving to stand up off the couch slowly. “speakin’ of provin’ a point, can i get back to word oh do i need permission from my brother and fiancé first?” he had a bit of an attitude, he was aware. it wasn’t on purpose he was just trying not to hit the point of exhaustion and the longer he sat there the closer he felt like he would hit that point since he wasn’t working on anything. “also duck, im trustin’ you not to tell anyone else, ‘specially not anyone else in the family.”

MATT just looked between them, not sure how to de-escalate if things took a turn so he just let Hawks hand go when he started to get up, nearly protesting for him to sit back down but the attitude just made him shrug. "Don't need permission from either of us." Matt just sat back on the sofa. "But try take another rest at some point." With that, he got up and headed over to the door. "I'll help you back to bed." He told Duck and offered his arm for extra support.

"Maybe you do." DUCK grunts, but he rolls his eyes. "But who cares, right? You know best, for you, for everybody else." He picks up his crutch, struggling back onto his feet with grit teeth. "I know it's your job, Hawk, but you're no use to anybody dead. And nobody out there is gonna die if you sit down a minute." It sure sounds like arguing, escalation- Duck's just talking, truly. His expression is more gentle as Matt offers to help. "Ah, I got it, I have th' crutch, just, get the door for me and help me swing m' leg back up into the bed once I get there." He insists. "Still tugs at the stitches t' do it myself."

HAWK already felt bad about the attitude, towards matt, not towards duck, duck was used to hawk being a dick to him but he’d apologize to matt for it later. he was only trying to help and he knew that realistically. “yeah… yeah i know just, i’ll come check up on ya later make sure you’re doin’ alright and matt, mind comin’ back here in ten? i’ll take an actual break instead of well, a forced one.”

"Okay." MATT held the door open for him and waited till he went through it to look back at Hawk and nodded. "Of course I will." With a slight smile, he then followed Duck out.

"Alright." DUCK sighs, shifting his weight against the crutch to avoid pulling at the stitches running his chest. It's slow going, making it out of the door, his knee's in rough shape, the rest of him is tired, bruised. He still finds it in him to shoot a glare over his shoulder. "If you don't sit the fuck down in ten minutes I'm gonna start doin' jumpin' jacks in the middle a' the clinic. Really fuck up yer hard work." He threatens- and then he nods, passing Matt. "I don't know who'll help me outta bed, but I'll do it."

[theeccentricmrwinter]

hey folks, none of you must be wondering why I haven't really been reblogging the latest big international conflict!

well, theoretical asker, I've got a few words about that!

I've had enough of the constant bad news! The constant global decline of living conditions for the downtrodden, be it by first world problems like food getting ever more expensive hatecrimes and wars, or third world problems like the hatecrimes and wars, is really starting to make me want to actually kill myself!

There is barely enough good news to go around, and to see it I have to scroll through things like "Downtrodden people being genocided by a government", "help I can't afford rent/food/medical care/etc", and "world superpowers actively hate your existence and are getting away with erasing you slowly but surely"!

While I can't control whether I see this kind of content or not, I can at least control if you, theoretical asker and follower of me and only me, see it by not reblogging or liking those kinds of posts! If they make me want to kill myself, I can't imagine what someone with depression and anxiety worse than mine would feel after all!

So no, it's not heartlessness. It's just that I would rather not inflict this upon my followers any more than it's already being inflicted upon em. Also I really don't wanna kill myself, so avoiding being reminded of the things via reblogs and comments is nice too.

[mapofthewrld]

guess who just finished season 1 of vita carnis

[dearestaeneas]

Body

tw: gore, body horror, body dysmorphoria [please let me know if i’ve missed any potential triggers!]

starting my process of transplanting deviantart posts here! fuck AI art! support artists!

Whether the pounding was at the apartment’s door or in his head didn’t matter. August stood, palms flat to the sink countertop, leaning forward ever so slightly until his nose was centimeters away from its reflection. It was strange for him to hear a noise and not freeze at it, but the thing about fear was that it can’t stay fresh forever. It can change, sure, but when you experience the same fears day in and day out, you hit a point of exhaustion, resignation. Let there be someone in my house, fuck it. August was tired.His eyes sure as hell showed it. The scleras housed a collection of red lighting bolts, all pointing towards the iris. The skin beneath was a deep purple. Pounding continued, this time coupled with muffled voices calling out. He clicked the lock on the bathroom door. He was a quiet tenant, his truly fatal flaw being that he liked to take night showers. The voices at the door never identified themselves, so until they did, the apartment would remain “empty.” It was 9am, didn’t they know he was at work?

Right hand raised, he touched his face. He felt the gentle squish of his cheek against teeth. Left hand joining in, he felt all the soft parts of his body: running his thumb along his second chin, feeling the excess skin of his arms pinched between his fingers. And then he started pulling. Clawing, scratching, gouging, he ripped off chunks of flesh, the sink becoming filled with fatty, yellow substances and blood. He didn’t remember crying out. The pounding at the door had either stopped or had faded behind the terrible sound of flesh ripping.

And then he blinked. And the sink was clean. And his face was intact. And there was still a pounding at the door. He seemed almost surprised to find himself in the mirror. A deep breath, followed by another. Again he inspected his body: holding the folds of fat on his stomach, feeling the dimples on his thighs. Gentle, this time. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could, tiptoeing into the bedroom. He dressed himself the way a child would dress a doll: deliberately and careful. The thick, grey sweater covered his stomach in a way that bordered on flattering. Overall, it was a preferred outfit of his.

Dressed, and certain the door was on its last hinge, August found himself standing in front of the peephole. And finally, just as he was about to put his bloodshot eye up to the lens, it stopped. He stepped away, confused and beginning to bubble over into unsettled. Moving to the couch, he sat, looking warily at the triple locked door. He became aware of how his body settled. How his stomach’s overhang rested on his thighs, who had been pushed up by the act of sitting to meet the stomach, anyway. He became aware of his double chin’s compression as he looked down to the cell phone he pulled off the cushion. His chubby wrists meeting proportionately chubby hands.

The sweater hugged him more than he realized. He looked nice in it.

[aquaticmercy]

In Another Life

Summary : Bucky is certain you only see him as a friend. It only took him travelling to a different reality to realise otherwise.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : slight cursing, very slight suggestion of sex, Yelena being a third wheel, and multiversal travel!!!

Requested by : anon

Word count : 3.9k

Note : This was really fun to write. And yes, I slipped Yelena into this because I can. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

“I’ll miss you,” you mumbled as Bucky handed you a knife to sharpen. As he sat there in your living room, the evening light reflected on your curtains, casting a soft shadow across his face. You sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, so close yet not quite close enough. He had asked if he could come over the day before his mission, claiming he needed help sharpening his knives. He has said ‘no one sharpens knives as good as you’. To some degree, you both knew it wasn’t the only reason he was here.

“Weren’t we supposed to see that new World War II exhibit at the museum tomorrow?” you asked, your voice riddled with a tinge of disappointment.

“We were,” Bucky admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. If there was one thing he hated, it was letting you down, especially over a mission he couldn’t refuse.

“Who does Strange think he is anyway— that lunatic wizard?” you quipped, with a little gossipy tone. “Showing up at your doorstep and just… demanding you drop everything last minute?”

A small smile tugged at Bucky’s lips, enjoying this sassy part of you. “It's a bit annoying, but I can’t exactly turn him down.” 

You sighed, leaning back against the couch as you worked. “What’s so important that he needs you and Yelena for, anyway? This isn't one of those ‘end of the world’ things, is it?”

Strange had basically asked him to commit theft, and not just any theft— he wanted Bucky to steal something from a multiversal variant of himself in another reality.

Still, Strange had made it sound urgent. It would be most obvious to partner him with you, since you were proven to work well together, but you had just returned from another mission in Antarctica. Both Bucky and Strange knew you needed time to recover.

That left Yelena and Sam. Sam, with his unmovable sense of duty, would’ve questioned every detail and repercussion. He was growing more and more into his Captain America mantle, and that wasn’t a bad thing— it was just inconvenient sometimes. Yelena, on the other hand, would do what needed to be done and ask fewer questions, which was why Strange approached her instead.

If the mission worked out, Bucky would have earned himself a favour owed by one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. That was a card he couldn’t afford to pass up.

Bucky hesitated, feeling the familiar weight of secrets settle on his shoulders. “It’s classified,” he finally said, which was technically true. He didn’t want to trigger your anxieties with the details, especially when he didn’t fully understand the whole multiverse mess himself. 

You gave a small nod. You’d been around the hero-type for so long to know there were things you weren’t always allowed to know. Even though you were laser-focused on sharpening another knife, you could tell something was off.

“Are you okay?” you asked, watching his fingers dance along one of the blades, tension flowing through his body like a wave he cannot tame. 

He didn’t answer immediately, but you could see the conflicting spark in his eyes. He didn’t mind the danger. But the multiverse, something that was so unknown to him? That was a different kind of fear. 

He didn’t want to leave things unsaid with you. Not when there was a chance he might not come back.

He called your name softly. “Can I talk to you?”

There was something in the way your name left his lips that made your chest tighten. Bucky wasn’t the nervous type—not with you, anyway. Your hands stilled on the sharpening stone. “Of course,” you said, setting the tools aside.

He took a deep breath, glancing down at his hands, gathering the courage to speak. “You mean a lot to me,” he started, his voice low but steady. 

Your heart skipped a beat. Bucky’s hands reached out to gently clasp yours, the cool metal was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his human hand. It was such a Bucky thing to do, to find a simple, human way to connect, even as he struggled with the mechanical parts of him.

“I need to tell you—” 

A loud, insistent knock thundered the door, startling both of you. Bucky’s fingers slipped from yours as you turned towards the sound.

“Yelena!” you exclaimed, standing up. 

“Yelena?” Bucky echoed, blinking in confusion. 

“Did I not tell you?” you asked, biting your lip. “When you asked if you could come over, I asked if she needed her knives sharpened too. She did, so I invited her. I hope that’s okay?”

Bucky’s heart sank, but he forced himself an unreadable expression. Of course, You’d invited someone else. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to say what he wanted to say, if it ever was. In fact, maybe this was a sign to never tell you. 

You invited Yelena, your friend. Which probably meant he was also a friend—just a friend. It probably meant you would never see him as something more.

Before he could respond, you were already at the door, revealing the deadly assassin packed into a 5 '4 vessel of human fury. She gave you a sisterly smile in greeting before her eyes landed on Bucky.

“Hello, Bucky,” she said, her russian accent a little too cheerful as she dropped a heavy duffel bag on the wooden floor with an echoing thud. 

“Yelena,” Bucky replied, somewhat coldly. He didn’t dislike Yelena. He knew better than to make an enemy of her. Besides, they had saved each other’s life before. But at that moment, he resented her. 

He resented that she had unknowingly interrupted something he might never get the chance to finish. 

“Drink?” you offered, already heading towards the kitchen. 

“Just water,” Yelena shrugged, flopping down into the armchair with the casual confidence of someone who could kill you with both hands behind her back. As you left the room, Yelena turned her mischievous gaze to Bucky, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. 

“I’m not third-wheeling today, am I?” she teased, pulling out a couple of dull knives and placing them on the table in front of her. 

Bucky’s ears burned red. “Shut up.”

Yelena chuckled, twirling a knife like a baby would play with their dummy. “I can see the way you look at her, you know. If you put half as much effort into flirting as you do into those knives, you might actually get somewhere.”

He clenched his jaw, the frustration building. He hated the insinuation that he wasn't trying. But now? He might stop. He might just give up because clearly, he was a friend to you, the way Yelena was a friend. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it is when I’m sitting here watching you blow your chance, Barnes.” Yelena’s tone softened, just a touch, before she glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s oblivious, but she cares.”

Bucky stared down at the knife in his hands, knowing he had to deal with this teasing all day tomorrow. A constant reminder that he will always be too afraid to tell you. “It’s not that simple.”

Before Yelena could respond, you returned with glasses of water in hand, completely unaware of the exchange between the widow and the soldier in your absence. You handed Yelena the glass with a smile and settled back down beside Bucky, completely oblivious to his racing heart.

—

The multiverse… wasn’t as confusing as Bucky had expected it to be.

Sure, he didn’t understand how it functioned or what the exact mechanics were—something about a teenager named America Chavez punching a star-shaped hole through space-time. Or something like that.

But what really threw him off was how familiar this reality felt, how similar it was to his own. The streets, the neighbourhood, the people, the world around him—it was all the same, yet different in subtle, uncanny ways he couldn't quite point out.

America had opened the portal in an alley near Bucky's apartment in this different reality. After he and Yelena stepped through, America warned them: "I will open a portal again in two hours. Don’t miss the window." America was still so young, but she had a grim seriousness in her voice. Bucky wondered what her story was.

Now, Bucky and Yelena sat perched on a fire escape across from his own apartment—or, at least, a version of it. It was the same address as his was in his reality. The mission was simple: retrieve an artefact that belonged to this variant of Bucky—a blue stone embedded in a gold ring—from his apartment in this reality. Strange had briefed them on it: the ring was a powerful protection charm, and he needed it.

He just had to wait until his variant went out for his daily run, slip inside, find the ring, and get out. Yelena would be backup, keeping watch in case things went south. Maybe in case the variant of him decided to return early.

“I can’t imagine your girlfriend approves of this dangerous multiverse stuff,” Yelena quipped, resting her sniper rifle on the edge of the fire escape. “She’s very protective of you.”

Bucky’s cheeks turned bright red. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered, though the title felt strange on his lips. 

“Whatever,” Yelena grinned, clearly unconvinced.

Only thirty minutes later, variant Bucky stepped out of the apartment for his run.

“Radio silence unless it’s an emergency,” Bucky instructed before slipping his earpiece in, turning it on. He didn’t want distractions. Not today.

Sliding off the fire escape, Bucky quickly made his way to the apartment. To his surprise, his keys worked just fine. No need for breaking in. As he stepped inside, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being somewhere both familiar and alien.

Everything was almost identical— just almost. The couch was a lighter shade of blue, the TV a different brand, though it looked the same. It was like staring into an uncanny mirror of his own life. 

Focus. He needed to find the ring.

He began searching the usual spots—safes, drawers, anywhere he’d hide something important in his own apartment. But no luck. Think, Barnes, he thought to himself, where would you put a protection charm?

Then, something caught his eye— a framed photo on the mantle of his fireplace that wasn’t supposed to be there. A photo of him and… you.

His breath hitched. It wasn’t just any photo. You were kissing his cheek, a lake in the background. The warmth in your smile, the easy comfort between you both... It was a picture he'd never seen in his reality. 

Were you together in this one?

Suddenly, everything clicked. The extra clothes in the closet, the toiletries. In his reality, you had a drawer in his apartment, since you stayed over sometimes, as a friend. But this? This was different. Here, you shared a life.

He spotted a camera, instantly recognizing it as the same model you had back in his reality. He knew he should stay focused on finding the charm, but curiosity got the best of him. Before he could stop himself, he turned it on, eyes shifting through the photos. Image after image appeared—of him and you together. Holidays, long walks, intimate dinners. Kisses and comfortable hugs. 

His chest tightened with a hollow ache of jealousy. Was this what he could have? What he might be missing?

Before he could process the feeling, a buzz in his earpiece snapped him back to reality.

Yelena’s voice came through, saying your name urgently. 

“What?” Bucky asked. Why would Yelena say your name like that?

“She’s here. She’s entering the building.”

Panic surged through him like a thunderbolt. “Don’t shoot her,” he ordered.

“Yeah, didn’t plan to,” Yelena answered, annoyed that he thought she was thinking of it, “but what are you gonna do? She has keys.”

Of course she does, Bucky thought, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Frozen in his place, his mind raced. What now?

Suddenly, the door opened, and there you were, a version of yourself he had never met before.

“Buck?” the variant of you said, startled, eyes widening. “I thought you’d still be on your run. And why are you wearing your tactical suit?”

You closed the door behind, placing your bag on the couch.

“I—” he stammered, completely unprepared for this, unable to move. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound tangled in his throat. He glanced at your hand. There, on your finger, was the ring. The protection charm.

Of course. He should have known. He’d do anything to protect you.

His mind spun with conflicting emotions— jealousy of his own variant, longing for you back home, and guilt that he was even here.

You took a step closer, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not that I’m complaining about the tactical suit... You know I like it when you wear it to bed.” You flirted with a tender laugh, that soft sound that always made his heart stutter filling the air around him.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as you leaned in. It would be so easy to give in, to just pretend for a moment that this was his life, that this variant of you was his. To feel your lips on his. 

His hand twitched at his side, wanting to grip your waist, to pull you closer. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let this continue.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, stopping you. “I can’t,” he whispered, voice strained. “There’s nothing I want more. But I can’t.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. The variant of you pulled back, studying him more closely now, noticing the subtle changes. There was a subtle scar on his neck that wasn’t there before. “You’re not my Bucky, are you?” 

Yelena’s voice crackled in his earpiece again. She had been able to hear everything. “Bucky, I know she’s your weakness, but we need that ring. Do not tell her—”

Bucky switched the earpiece off, ignoring Yelena’s warning. He’d deal with that later. You deserved better than half-truths.

“This is Strange’s doing, isn’t it?” you asked, taking the revelation surprisingly well. “I thought he was done with all this multiverse shit.”

He nodded, guilt twisting in his chest. “Yeah. But… not your Strange. Mine.”

Silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken words. The variant of you looked at him carefully, as if searching for a trace of the Bucky you knew.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved.”

“What does Strange want?” you asked, frowning. “And why is he sending my fiancé to do his dirty work?”

Bucky blinked. Fiancé? His heart stuttered. That ring wasn’t just a charm. It was your engagement ring.

You noticed his shock. “We are engaged in your reality, right?”

He swallowed hard. “No. I—I haven’t even told you, uh, her… how I feel.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “So, all the Buckys are like this then? Huh.”

Bucky’s heart raced, his mind still reeling from the idea that you— at least this version of you—were engaged to him in this reality. It was everything he wanted but didn’t have. 

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, guilt laced in his whimpering voice.

You tilted your head like you were trying to piece the puzzle pieces together and came to a conclusion that you were safe. As if you convinced yourself that no variant of Bucky would ever hurt any version of you.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “You’re still him. In some way.”

He wasn’t your Bucky, and yet, you spoke to him like he was. You spoke to him with the same compassion, the same love. His eyes flickered to your hand again—the ring. 

Focus on the mission, he reminded himself. But how could he? Your eyes followed his stare, and it landed on the gold band around your finger. You let out a small but heavy sigh.

“Strange wants the ring, doesn't he?” you asked. Bucky nodded, feeling his heart twist in his ribs. He didn't want to take anything away from you.

“He said it’s a powerful protection charm.” 

The variant of you stood still for a moment, “I know.” You gently slid the ring off your finger, holding it in your palm. 

You stepped closer. “If Strange wants it, I know it has to be important. I trust that lunatic wizard— and I trust you.”

You were trusting him— this version of him who wasn’t even yours— with something so personal, something tied to your bond with his variant. “But, it's your engagement ring,” he said. He knew he got what he wanted, but he can't help but wonder why you gave it away so willingly. “I—Your Bucky gave this to you to protect you.”

The variant of you smiled, taking a necklace chain from under your shirt. There it was, the same stone that was on the ring also sat on your chest.

“My Bucky asked this reality’s Strange to split the gemstone,” the variant of you said, “He knows I have this tendency of misplacing my jewellery.”

Bucky can't help but chuckle. His version of you had that quirk, too.

“I’ll explain everything to my Bucky when he gets back. I know he’ll understand.” You hesitated giving him the ring for a second. “On one condition.”

His brow furrowed. 

You gave him a knowing smile, one that was all too familiar. One that made his heart swarm. “Go back to your reality, and tell me—her how you feel.”

His heart twisted. He does not make promises he can't keep, especially not to you— any version of you. “I can’t—"

“You can,” you interjected with that stubbornness he knew and loved. “If she means anything to you, you will.”

He stared at you, and no words came out. All this time, he had kept his feelings hidden, afraid of losing you if he told the truth. But here, another version of you telling him to just suck it up.

Bucky’s voice wavered above a whisper. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

A soft laugh escaped your lungs, and you shook your head, knowing something he doesn’t. “Trust me, she does.”

He could tell that this variant of you knew him so well, even if you were from another universe. Slowly, he took the ring from your hand. It felt heavier than it should’ve, weighted with more than just its magic.

“I will tell her,” he whispered a promise, “thank you.” 

You nodded, giving him a small, encouraging smile.

Bucky clenched his jaw, putting his earpiece back on.

“There you are,” Yelena’s voice crackled back into life. “Our window’s closing. We’ve got about ten minutes before the portal opens again. Move it.”

A shaky breath left his lungs. “Ring secured. On my way.”

He gave you one last look, his heart full of a thousand swirling emotions he couldn’t even begin to put a name to. “I hope your Bucky knows how lucky he is.”

The variant of you smiled. “I think he does.”

Without another word, Bucky slipped out of the apartment, the ring safely in his pocket. 

—

Bucky had knocked on your door after the day of his mission. When he saw you, your name escaped his lips like a prayer as he hugged you. 

Now, this was you. Not another version of you.

“Are you okay, Buck?” you chuckled.

Bucky held you a little tighter, his chest rising and falling against yours as he tried to ground himself in the present— this present reality. He pulled back slightly, eyes scanning your face like it was the first time he’d seen you in years. The both of you slipped into your apartment, closing the door.

“I missed you,” he admitted softly, though it had only been two days. The words now  carried more weight than they ever had before. His mind was still reeling from the alternate reality, from the life he could have had with you, and from what the variant of you had told him. He found some comfort and confidence, knowing that there was a version of him out there who had done what he was too scared to do—tell you how he felt. It was his turn now.

You smiled, but concern flickered in your eyes as you noticed something different in his touch. “You’re acting weird. Did something happen on the mission?”

Bucky hesitated, but he knew he couldn’t let this opportunity pass him by again.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Bucky said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but you stayed silent, giving him the space to continue. You’d known him long enough to recognize when he was on the edge of an emotional breakthrough.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped closer, his fingers brushing the side of your arm. “I’ve been afraid of losing you if I told you…”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realised where this was going. You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I care about you more than anything,” he continued, his stormy blue eyes locking with yours, vulnerable and frail. “I’m in love with you, and I’ve been too scared to say it.”

Your breath caught itself before it left your lungs. You could feel the truth of his words in the way his voice wavered, in the intensity of his gaze, in the flutter of his touch.

“I’m sorry if this is too much, too fast,” Bucky added quickly, misreading your silence for rejection. He cursed at himself, wondering if the variant of you had been wrong. “If you don’t feel the same, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. It was soft and tentative at first, but as soon as your lips met his,the hesitations, the doubts, the fears all fell away. 

Bucky’s metal hand settled at the small of your back, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. His soft lips moving against yours with a mix of relief and urgency, taking each other in for the first time as if it was your last. The warmth of your body against his, the way you fit perfectly in his arms— it was everything he could ever ask for.

You finally pulled back breathless, your foreheads rested against each other as you let the adrenaline settle.

“I love you too, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I was just waiting for you to see it.”

Bucky chuckled softly. 

You playfully shook your head. “I owe Yelena ten bucks.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“She was here yesterday night, after your mission,” you said, “She bet me that we’d be together by the end of the week. I took the bet because I didn't think you’d feel the same.”

Bucky let out a low laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing as a grin spread across his face. She had been pestering him after the mission yesterday, insisting on knowing what the variant of you had told him. But he had not volunteered any information to her.  “Yelena knew before I even said anything? I’m losing my edge.” he teased himself, shaking his head.

“Please, Buck. She’s like a human lie detector,” you quipped, rolling your eyes fondly. 

“Well, ten bucks is worth it, right?” he smiled.

You kissed him once more, short, sweet, and fleeting this time. It drew a giggle out of you, “Definitely.”

Maybe one day, he’d tell you about the mission, about the variant of you. 

But for now, he only wanted to enjoy the moment.

-end

[missrosegold]

and if my body should fade i'll trust you with my soul part II

Part I can be found here

Synopsis: You’ve always been able to see the man with white hair and charred skin around your village, even though it seemed that nobody else could.

Or, you ended up making a deal with death, and now he’s come to collect.

Word count: 30k

Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death, strong language, smut, so Minors or ageless blogs DNI. This is rated 18+ Additional tags listed below. This does take place in a somewhat medieval inspired AU so there are some misogynistic tones in some parts of the story.

Playlist: Sparky Deathcap – September (we got fire) instrumental version, slowed.

Thank you once again to the lovely @candycandy00 for editing this for me, and another massive thank you to miss @kimkaelyn for making the banner for me! (I love it so much!)

You sigh to yourself as you check medical supplies in your village’s apothecary, making a mental note to tell the healer you’re training under that you’re running low on Feverfew and Echinacea.

Fall has arrived in full swing. The dense forest that surrounds your town has changed its leaves from vibrant green to beautiful shades of red and yellow. It’s beautiful, but you’ve never been much of a fall person. You know what comes next. The autumn months mean winter is close behind, and you’ve never liked the cold. For some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that this upcoming winter is going to be a particularly bad one.

You shake your head and return to your task at hand, but you can’t stop your mind from wandering as you continue to take stock of the medical inventory.

After the mysterious disappearance of your betrothed, your parents didn’t try to engage you to anyone else, and you can’t help but feel relieved. Marrying one of the men from your village was never in the cards for you, a fact that you made very clear to them after your formal betrothal’s disappearance. You weren’t interested in marriage or raising a family of your own. Not right now, possibly not ever.

In the end, you decided to train under your village’s healer – a kind old woman named Chiyo, who’s been the town healer for longer than you’ve been alive – as a means of getting out from under your parents.

Despite word of your betrothal’s mysterious disappearance quickly spreading throughout your village, there had been some other potential suitors that had come to you after you had started training at the apothecary. While none of them were rude or malicious, you always turned them down with a gentle smile before sending them on their way.

Besides, none of them held your heart the way a certain pyromancer did.

You haven’t seen Touya for a few months now, not since the disappearance of your betrothed. You’re not completely sure what happened after Touya found him – you’re not sure if you want to know, even though you have a pretty good idea of what happened if the fresh burns he had come back with had anything to say about it. You know better than to ask though, knowing full well that Touya will never tell you the full truth, even if you already know without him having to say it.

You sometimes wonder if there’s anything left of the blacksmith’s son.

You know that you should feel shocked, horrified even, that your pyromancer was capable of doing such an atrocious thing. But all you feel when you think about it, is a strange sense of relief.

You wonder if that makes you a bad person.

Inwardly, you know it probably should, especially when the blacksmith came looking for his son not long after his disappearance. When he had asked you if you knew anything about why his son had seemingly taken off without so much as a word to anyone, you had said no, of course, because what else could you have said to him? It’s not like anyone aside from you could see Touya to begin with, and there no way to explain to the blacksmith the fate that had most likely befallen his son.

Regardless, all you knew was that you’d never see him again. Touya had made sure of that.

There are still search parties that go out every once in a while, looking for him and a part of you wants to tell them that it’s a waste of time, that he’s nowhere to be found, but you won’t. It’s yours and Touya’s dirty secret to share now, and it will stay that way until you take your dying breath.

You suppress a sigh as you take a break from checking inventory, and your thoughts wander back to Touya of their own accord. He had warned you that he wouldn’t be back for some time after he had brought you home – he had serious business to take care of in the eastern part of the country, and he wasn’t sure when he’d be back. You hope he’s doing well, wherever he is.

Your heart clenches when you think of him. You’re not sure what you are anymore. You told him that you loved him, and even though he didn’t say it back to you, you’re certain that he loves you too.

“You know why.” Those words have echoed in your head since he said them to you. You’ve known that the two of you have been bordering on the cusp of something for a while now, and that solidifies it.

You promise yourself that the next time he comes to see you, you’ll ask him what you are to him. What this is.

Eventually, Chiyo dismisses you in the midafternoon, and you find yourself taking the lonely path up towards Dabi’s temple. You’ve started going there a lot more in Touya’s absence. Ever since you kissed the white-haired pyromancer in Dabi’s temple, you had started making a habit of coming back to the derelict temple, in an effort to clean it up a little.

For some reason, Touya seems to have a fondness for the place, and you’re starting to understand why. Despite its outward appearance and dust covered insides, you’ve never once felt unwelcome in the temple itself. It’s calm and quiet, and the more you visit the abandoned shrine, you realize it’s really a shame that it was abandoned by the priests, because it was probably quite beautiful back in the day.

With that thought, you had decided to take it upon yourself to try and restore the temple back to its original glory.

When you had brought up what you wanted to clean Dabi’s shrine to the priests at Hawks’s temple, you had been met with disbelieving looks, as the temple itself had sat vacant for well over a century. But once you had assured them that you weren’t there to cause trouble, and that you only wanted to clean it up a little, they had relented, and even gave you cleaning supplies, telling you that if you needed help, all you needed to do was come and get them.

You had laughed to yourself as you took the cleaning supplies back with you to the temple. The only reason why you had gone to them in the first place was to tell them what you planned to do, regardless of whether they liked it or not. Hawks’s temple was the closest to Dabi’s, and you’d end up walking past it to get to the secluded shrine more often than not. The last thing you needed was them assuming that you were doing something strange, when it was the exact opposite.

You soon found yourself in front of the large double doors once more, but unlike the first time you had entered the temple, you didn’t hesitate to let yourself in this time, shutting them softly behind you. You set your shawl down by the entrance and take off your shoes to avoid tracking any dirt in from the outside. You breathe in deeply as the faint smell of incense hits your nose, looking around the large room with a content smile on your face.

It’s not perfect, but its far better than what it was previously. You’ve washed and cleaned the floors and walls, sweeping out almost a century’s worth of dust and other debris. You’ve scraped the ancient remains of melted candle wax off the alter in front of Dabi’s statue, and replaced the melted down prayer candles with new ones. You brought in some pillows and plush rugs from home that your mother was about to throw out, not wanting them to go to waste, and also wanting to make the temple more homey, in case anyone aside from yourself wanted to visit. You keep incense burning constantly to get rid of the musty smell that has always lingered around the temple, and it finally seems to be working. Lastly, with the help of two priests from Hawks’s temple, you were finally able to fix that damn hole in the ceiling above the statue of the Cremation God.

Now you’re at the temple to do one last thing: clean the giant marble statue of the Death God himself. You didn’t see much of a point cleaning it before the hole got fixed, but thankfully, the sculpture doesn’t seem to be very dirty. Still, you want to go over it, and wash down what you can reach – it’s only polite after all.

Besides, after what you learned about him from Touya, you figure that it’s not a bad idea to stay in the illusive god’s good graces--

“Hello Princess.”

You jump at the sound of a familiar smoky rasp, and whirl around, only to see Touya standing a few feet behind you, a smirk plastered across his dis-coloured lips.

“Touya! When did you get here? I thought you said you didn’t know when you were going to be back! Did you finish with whatever you were doing in the East early?” you gasp delightedly, as the tall man strides towards you. He shakes his head.

“No, the situation there is a bit more… serious then I originally thought. I’m probably going to be there for a while yet, but I had some time, and I wanted to see you.” He stops directly in front of you, and his smirk becomes softer. “How have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been… keeping busy.” You tell him, lacing your hands together in front of you. “I’ve started working at the village apothecary. Chiyo runs a tight ship, but I’m learning a lot from her and she’s good to me.”

“What did your parents think about that?”

“Well… they weren’t pleased, but that’s more to do with me telling them that I won’t be courting anyone anytime soon. I told them I wasn’t interested, nor will I ever be. My mother isn’t happy, but at least she hasn’t forced me into any other engagements… not after what happened before you left.” You tell him honestly, and Touya only nods, his expression not giving anything away.

“Glad they’ve finally taken the hint. What else have you gotten up to, pretty girl?”

“Take a look around, you tell me.” You tell him with a tiny smile. You watch his brows furrow together in confusion, and he looks around the room, only for his eyes to widen, like he’s seeing the temple for the first time.

You watch as he investigates the plush rugs and pillows you have scattered around the base of the alter, how he takes in the sight of fresh prayer candles lit at the bottom of the statue – how clean and bright and warm you’ve managed to make it, since you were both here last. He seems overwhelmed, like he’s at a loss for words.

“I did it for you.” You admit softly, feeling your face heat up with your admission.

“You did this… for me?” he asks slowly, not looking at you, as he takes in everything that you’ve done. You smile softly at him even though he can’t see it.

“You seem to be pretty fond of this place, and you know so much about its history, I thought that maybe I could fix it up a little so I could have something to show you when you came back.” That gets his attention, and he fixes his azure eyes on you, locking you in place.

“You did this for me.”

“I… yes… Do you not like it?” you sputter, suddenly worried that you’ve done something wrong.

“No, Gods no. You did this for me.” He says breathlessly. “This is more than I could have ever hoped for.” He closes the remaining space between you, and his obscenely warm hands find your waist, while yours automatically come rest on his chest. “God’s you did this for me.”

“Yes.” You whisper. “Touya? I don’t understand--?”

The words die on your lips as Touya surges forwards and presses his rough lips to yours. You feel the grip he has on your waist turn bruising, as he kisses you hard and deep, bordering on desperate.

“I love you.” He tells you, pulling away momentarily to bring one hand up from your waist to cup the back of your neck. “I love you. You were the first person to see me in so long – I knew you were different, I knew you were for me, and then you did this-“

He smashes his lips back onto yours, and you wrap your hands around his neck. Normally, you’d be mindful of his burns, but you’re so engrossed in his feverish kisses that you squeeze him tightly, and feel him moan into your mouth in response. He pulls back slightly for air, and pants heavily against you.

“Let me have you.” He growls against your lips. “Right here, right now. Gods help me I can’t wait any longer. I need to have you. I need you.”

“Okay, I—okay—yes.” You hear yourself gasping, and suddenly you’re swept off your feet. You feel your back hit something soft. Turning your head slightly to the side, you realize that Touya has placed you down onto a small pile of pillows. The realization of what you’re about to do hits you full force, but you don’t feel scared. You want this, you want him. You’ve wanted him for a long time.

Touya looms over you, caging you in, and runs the back of a heavily scared hand over your cheek. You shiver from the sensation of his feverishly hot skin and the cooler tones of the staples in his hand running over your skin. He gives you a wicked smile, as he sits back on his haunches, and starts to push your skirts up, revealing your bare legs.

You lurch up and grab his hands, forcing him to pause. He chuckles low in his throat at your actions, and pries your hands off of his own, placing a kiss on the back of one as his azure blue eyes meets your flushed face. “Relax my love. Let me take care of you.”

“It’s just- I mean, I’ve never done this before. I’m-“

“I know.” Touya damn near purrs, and you feel heat pool in your belly. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll be so gentle with you, I promise.”

You nod shakily and lower yourself back down onto the pillows, as Touya hikes your skirts up, revealing your legs and bottoms. He groans deeply as he kneads the plush of your thighs. “Fuck Princess, you’re perfect. Just like I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about me?” For some reason, his words of endearment strike a chord with you.

“Of course.” Touya murmurs, coming up to kiss you briefly, before taking your hand in one of his own. “Whenever I’m away, or I’m in the middle of a mission – alone and lonely – I think of you.”

He brings your hand down to his crotch, and sure enough, you feel a bulge underneath his pants. “See what you do to me?” he growls as he releases your hand so that he can work on shimmying your panties down your legs. You go to move your hand away, but he fixes you with a stern look. “Keep it there. Don’t move until I tell you to.”

You nod as he hooks his fingers into the band of your panties and leans back slightly to pull them down your legs, almost ripping them off in his haste. As soon as the offending material is gone, Touya gently wraps his hands around you knees and pulls them up so your feet are planted on the ground, before nestling his way back in between them, not taking his eyes off of the junction in between your legs.

“Gods.” He whispers. “Fuck.”

You feel him throb in the thick canvases of his pants as he runs a finger through your folds, causing you to shudder and clench around nothing. “God love, you’re fucking soaked.” Touya hisses, as he pushes your hand away from his hardness and rips his cloak over his head, revealing his bare chest to you.

In all the years that you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him this exposed. His chest is a patchwork of scars and staples just like his arms and face. Most of the skin is dead and badly burnt, but you do see some spots where there are still glimpses of healthy skin amongst the mess of purpled burns. Just like you suspected, his body is lean but ripped with corded muscles that bunch and flex with his every move. He looks like he was built by a god – a god with a twisted sense of humor – but you could care less. You think he’s perfect.

“You’re beautiful.” You tell him honestly – not wanting him to think you were focusing only on his burns – and he looks almost bashful at your words, letting a small chuckle escape him as he gently picks up one of your hands to press a quick kiss on the back of your knuckles.

“Look who’s talking.” He fires back at you, as he uses his thumbs to spread your lower lips apart. It should be embarrassing how wet you are from a little teasing, but Touya looks absolutely enthralled. 

“Is all this for me?” he muses to himself softly. Before you can ask him what he’s doing, he bends down and swipes his tongue through your folds, causing you to moan loudly and try to slam your legs closed on impulse, but Touya is faster – forcing them to stay open with a hand on each inner thigh as he continues to lap at your pussy.

You whimper involuntarily from the ministrations, and Touya squeezes your thighs as he comes back up. “I know, I know love. I can’t wait any longer either. Goddamn-“ he almost snarls; his hands immediately going to his belt, as he unfastens it and tosses it to the side somewhere.

“I can’t believe someone as beautiful as you is letting someone like me do this to them.” he mutters as he pushes his pants down to just past mid-thigh, allowing his dick to spring free – and through you’ve never seen a man’s cock until now – you’re certain that it’s the prettiest one that you’ll ever see.

It’s long and thick and curves slightly upwards. It’s as pale as the undamaged parts of his skin and you think it looks quite lovely. You’re a little nervous about the size of it, but Touya doesn’t allow you to look at it for long, before he’s lining himself up to your entrance.

You swallow thickly as you feel how big and hot the head is pressed up against your tight entrance, and Touya must sense your hesitation, because he drapes himself over you, supporting himself on his hands, as he takes both your hands in one of his own, and gently pins them above your head, stooping down to kiss you once more.

“Breathe.” He murmurs, his breath ghosting over your lips hotly. “I’ll make you feel so good. Just lie back and breathe for me, my love.”

And with that, he slowly pushes himself in.

The stretch is delicious and you know that he’s ruined you for any other potential man. But there’s never been anyone else, has there? From the moment you officially met, it’s always been him. It will only ever be him.

Touya is cursing above you, but you can’t hear him – too lost in your own pleasure. It isn’t long before he’s picking up a steady rhythm, his hips hitting against yours with a wet smack. You’re so wet from his earlier teasing that he glides in and out with little resistance, and you feel your legs starting to shake from the waves of pleasure he’s inflicting upon you.

“Gods, how are you so tight?” Touya groans as he leans down to capture your lips with his. You kiss him back eagerly, wishing that your hands were free so you could wrap them around his neck, but he only tightens his grip on them when he feels you start to resist against his hold. He pulls back after a moment to take in your pretty face and glassy eyes, his hips not slowing down, as they continue to rut into yours.

“You’re mine.” He snarls hotly, swooping down to suck a mark onto the junction of your neck and shoulder, causing you to cry out and clench around him.

“You’re mine- fuck it, you’re mine, no one else’s.” He sucks another mark onto the other side of your neck, and you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head, as something in your lower stomach snaps – the wet sounds of your union becoming louder as you cum around his cock. Touya’s hips falter for a fraction of a second as he registers what happened, before he the last shred of restraint he had snaps, and starts pounding into you relentlessly, ignoring your sobs as he stimulates your already oversensitive insides.

“When you told me… that they had engaged you to that bastard-” He hisses lowly in your ear, as you continue to sob. “-I almost burnt your damn village to the ground. How dare they try to take what’s mine?”

A dark look enters his blue irises. “I wanted to fuck you right here in this temple afterwards – send a message to your parents and anyone else who thought they could have you, that you were spoken for.”

“Touya- I’m-“ you barely manage to choke out in between sobs. Your body feels like it’s on fire from his words. You feel the tell-tale signs of another orgasm quickly approaching, and you didn’t think it was possible for you to feel so good with the way he’s now mercilessly drilling into your insides. You had talked with your married friends about sex before, that was a given, but even they didn’t describe it as feeling this good.

“Tell me who you belong to.” He pulls away, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me who you belong to, and I’ll give you everything.”

“You!” You manage to scream out, voice cracking as he hits a particularly sensitive spot in you. “It’s you! I’ve always belonged to you—you alone! I’ve only ever loved—Oh GODS!” you wail as you cum around his length again. The glint in Touya’s eyes become frantic and his hips stutter as you spasm violently around him. He finally let’s go of your wrists, in favour of grabbing your hips with both hands to pull you down onto him and meet his powerful thrusts.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He breathes. “Fuck love; I’m going to fill you full of me. Let the whole world – the gods – all of them, know you belong to me-“

You keen at his words, and he manages to grind out a breathy, “Shit-“ as he spills himself inside you, swooping down to capture your lips with his rough ones again, as he fucks his cum into you. You’re so blissed out, all you can do is wrap your arms tightly around his leathery neck, until his hips still; still buried deep inside of you.

Eventually you break the kiss, but Touya makes no move to get off of you. He moves his hands up from your hips, so he can take some of his weight off you, and rests his head on your collarbone, as he struggles to calm his palpating heart. You wriggle your hips and Touya grimaces, mouthing over one of the marks he sucked onto your neck.

“Wait.” He mumbles. “Give it a minute. It’s sensitive.” His comment pulls a laugh from you, and you feel him grin against your skin.

You stay joined like that until you feel his dick soften inside you, and Touya gently pulls out of you. You whimper at empty feeling, and close your legs as you feel a rush of fluid that you already know is a combination of both of your releases, leak out from in-between your legs. Touya smiles at your reaction, the staples in his face pulling slightly as he strokes the leg closest to him gently.

He rolls onto his back on the pillows beside you, and pulls you onto your side, so your head is on his chest. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart, and watch as his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes. It almost lulls you to sleep, but Touya suddenly speaks up after a moment, catching your attention.

“I am the only one allowed to see you like this.” He rumbles low in his throat, running a warm hand down your side, feeling the muscles jump underneath his touch. “No man, no one. You belong to me. I’ll take such good care of you.”

“But you’re going to leave me again.” You whisper, hating how you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “You said so yourself: you have unfished business in the East still. Who knows when you’re coming back…Besides… No one can see you aside from me. How can I possibly explain this to anyone?”

“It’ll be different this time, I swear it.” Touya shushes you, smoothing a hand over your hair. “I’m going to be in the East for a while yet, but when I come back, I’m going to stay here with you, for a long time. No more disappearing acts for a while.”

You lift your head off his chest to stare at him in shock, to gage if he’s saying it to make you feel better, but you see nothing but honesty in his eyes. He touches your cheek. “I promise little one. I’ll make it work. I will stay with you. For as long as I can.”

You don’t mean to, but you can’t stop the tears that well up in your eyes and spill past your cheeks at his promise, as you place your head down on his scared chest and cry. You don’t know how long you stay like that, but Touya makes no effort to get up – simply holding you close and murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as you weep.

It’s getting harder and harder to say goodbye to him every time he leaves. You feel like your heart is breaking inside of your ribcage, whenever he has to go. This time is no different, but it will certainly leave you feeling hollower than the other times that came before.

Eventually, once your tears have dried, you separate to get dressed and fix yourselves up. You’re straightening out your skirts as Touya tosses his dark traveling cloak back over his torso, obscuring his muscular chest from view. He must see you blushing, because he tosses you a grin over his shoulder at you, moving to grab your shoes and shawl for you from the front of the temple.

He kisses you as you wrap your shawl around yourself, and rests his forehead against yours. “Thank you.” He tells you, gesturing around the temple. “For doing this. It means more to me than you know.” You nod in response, and he intertwines your hands together as he leads you to the temple entrance and you exit together. 

He kisses you deeply once more outside the temple. He has a pained expression on his face when he pulls away, and he looks like he wants to tell you something important, but something is holding him back. He’s quiet for a moment before he squeezes your hand.

“I need you to promise me something while I’m gone.” He tells you seriously, and you nod, signaling for him to continue. He sucks in a sharp intake of breath.

“Promise me that you’ll take care of your health while I’m away. If someone comes to the apothecary with a strange sickness, or any signs of odd infections outside of a normal fever – I want you to go home and stay there.”

You furrow your brows, not understanding what he’s saying, but one look at his face tells you that he’s deadly serious and it’s not open for discussion.

You agree that you’ll be careful, and you’ll keep your eyes open for anything strange, and that seems to put him at ease. He kisses you once more before letting go of your hand, and slowly backs away from you. Once he’s a good distance away from you, he smiles sadly at you, before a raging torrent of blue flames engulf him once more, and he’s gone.

Life in the village goes on as normal for the next two months. The brightly coloured leaves that once decorated the trees surrounding your village have started to fall off the branches with large gusts of wind as winter draws closer.

You throw yourself into work at the apothecary, grateful for how busy it keeps you. You haven’t heard anything from Touya for a while now, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in the East that has him so tied up. You haven’t heard any news from the Eastern part of the county in a long time, so if something big is going on, your town will probably be one of the last places to know. You don’t see much sense in worrying about it though, so you divide your time between visiting Dabi’s temple, and Chiyo’s teachings.

You’ve almost forgotten about Touya’s cryptic warning – until the stranger shows up in town one day. (Or rather, stumbled in – since he didn’t even make it three feet from the town’s entrance before collapsing in the streets, leading to several concerned townspeople finding him and bringing him to the apothecary for treatment)

He’s malnourished and sicker than you’ve ever seen anyone in your life. You and Chiyo spend days caring for him, with no results.

He dies one week after arriving in town, and is buried just outside of the village borders. An unfortunate tragedy, but you can’t save everyone. A harsh lesson that your mentor has drilled into you. You never even figured out what was afflicting him, though Chiyo think’s it may have been an advanced case of pneumonia.

At first, it was just him.  

Then, another man got sick with symptoms eerily similar to what the stranger had.

Then it was two.

Then three.

Then twelve people in one day.

The number of infected only skyrocket from there.

Before you know it: there is an entire epidemic in your small town. Chiyo eventually figures out what it is, but by that point, eight people are dead and the number of people sick is quickly spiraling out of control.

Plague. The black plague of decay. Death.

Your parents beg you to come home, as they don’t want you around such a deadly sickness, and truthfully, you don’t want to be anywhere near it either – but you can’t leave Chiyo by herself. She’s the town’s only healer and she’s old. You know if something happens to her, the whole town is screwed, so you grit your teeth, mask up, and stay by her side.

For a while, things are going about as well as they can be. People are still dying at an alarming rate, but you and Chiyo somehow manage to stay healthy, and you keep trying to treat those who aren’t as sick the best you can with what you’ve got.

Then one day, you feel light-headed and nauseous out of the blue and you look down, only to notice an alarmingly dark black spot on your arm that you know wasn’t there the day before.

Everything goes downhill from there.

-----

Winter has arrived in your village full force, but you can’t see it. You haven’t seen anything outside of the four walls that make up your room for a while now.

You had caught the plague. The second you had shown Chiyo the black mark on your arm, she had immediately sent you away with some herbs crushed into a tablet for you to take to slow down the spread of the sickness.

Slow down being the key words. There was no cure for the decay plague. Once you had it, it was a death sentence. It was only a matter of time before it took your life.

Your parents had grabbed you and locked you in your room the moment they had seen you stumbling back from the apothecary. You hadn’t seen them face-to-face since. You only saw brief glimpses of them when they opened your door to slide food into your room on a tray, or when they came back to collect your dishes, though these days, you didn’t have much of an appetite.

They didn’t even have to let you back into the house once they saw the mark on your arm. But they still did without any hesitation. Despite knowing how ill you were going to become, they still insisted on taking care of you. You may not have agreed with their choices when it came to your personal life, but it was comforting to know that at the end of the day, your parents still loved you. Even if you went against everything they wanted for you.

A violent fit of coughing racks your frail body, and you automatically lift your arms to cover your mouth. When you pull your arm away, you cringe at the sight of red splattered across your forearm, before dropping it back down beside you on your bed with a muffled thud.

You can’t even look at your arms right now. Your skin, which used to be sun-kissed and clear, is now pale and speckled with ominous looking splotches of black, as the sickness makes its way through your body. You don’t even want to know what the rest of you looks like. You haven’t looked at yourself in a mirror since you were confined to your room. You’re not sure you’ll be able to handle what you see.

The room starts to spin around you and everything hurts. You close your eyes in a weak attempt to stop the jarring movement, but it does little to help you. Opening your eyes doesn’t make things better – your vison has become burry lately, and you can’t focus on anything anymore. Normally this would upset you, but you don’t have any strength left in you to care.

You know that you don’t have much time left. You don’t want to say it out loud, but you know your time is drawing closer. Based on the few times you’ve heard your mother – and on occasion, your normally stoic father – sob outside your door as they collect your untouched dishes, they know it too. You’ve held out longer than most people have, but you know that soon you’ll be making your way to the Underworld, it’s inevitable.

You only pray that all the visits you’ve made to Dabi’s temple over the last few months have paid off, and the Cremation God will be kind to you once he comes to collect you.

Dabi. His temple. Touya.

You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the thought of your white-haired lover, as a single tear falls from your eye, and crashes onto your pillow, humble and silent. 

You’re never going to see him again. You don’t want to acknowledge it, but it’s true. As far as you know, he’s still in the East while you’re here, dying in your room. As tempted as you’ve been to use his name to call him to you one last time, you won’t.

Powers or not, you don’t want him to potentially end up with the plague too. Not to mention, you don’t want him to see you like this. You don’t want him to remember you sick and frail as you are now. You’d rather have him remember you fondly: full of life and happy. There’s no need to put him through that kind of anguish.

Still, it doesn’t stop you from wishing you could see him one last time-

Suddenly, your room feels unnaturally warm. It’s been very cold lately, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re dying that it makes your room feel colder than it should, but now your room is borderline sweltering.

You swear that you see a faint blue glow out of your blurry peripherals, followed by the tell-tale smell of something burning, before the glow dissipates into nothing. The intense heat remains and even though you can’t see very well, you know that someone is in the corner of your room.

“Who is it?” you manage to rasp out and you hear the stranger’s breath falter, as if they weren’t expecting you to be awake. The stranger takes three slow, purposeful strides until they are at your bedside, hovering over you. You blink hard, trying to see who the intruder is, but your vision must be getting worse, because all you can make out is a tall, white being above you.

You have no idea who, or what you’re looking at and are about to panic, until the figure bends slightly, and two familiar, warm, rough hands cradle your cheeks like you’re the most delicate thing in the world.

Choked sobs rack your body despite how much the movement hurts you, because you know who’s by your side, even if you can’t make out his finer features. Your suspicions are confirmed the second you hear his low, gravelly voice.

“Beloved… what has happened to you?”

“Touya… is that you?” you whisper, and you feel his fingers tense under you. His thumbs swipe at your cheeks, even though you can’t seem to make any more tears to shed.

“I’m here beloved. I’m here now.” he rumbles quietly. He falls silent for a moment, then you hear him ask “ Why didn’t you call me to you?”

He sounds… sad… heartbroken even.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this…” you trail off, not knowing what else to say. Touya doesn’t seem to know either, but from the way he sighs, you think he’s holding back tears as well.

“Did I not tell you to be careful?” There is no anger behind his words. Just defeat. You don’t think it’s directed at you though.

“I know.” You tell him, wishing desperately that you could lift your arms up enough to touch his face like he is doing yours. “It just happened so suddenly. There was a strange man who got sick, and then the next thing we knew, almost the whole town was plague-ridden. I couldn’t leave Chiyo by herself.”

“I know.” Touya sighs. “Are you… are you comfortable?”

“I can’t see very well anymore… I think I’m dying very soon.” You admit softly. You manage to reach up to cover one of his hands with your cold one. “You shouldn’t be here… as much as I love seeing you one last time, you might catch the plague as well – I don’t want that for you.”

“The plague doesn’t affect me. Don’t worry yourself about it.” Touya murmurs gently, and you swear you faintly see something red and thick, roll down his face. He leans down to press a light kiss to your forehead, and you’re not sure why, but suddenly your vision clears, and you’re able to see the best you have in weeks. You look up at him in wonder, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

Instead of his normal dark clothes that you’re used to seeing him in; Touya is dressed in a flowing, white burial shroud that exposes his chest. It makes him look eirthral, like a ghost that had come back from the grave. What really concerns you though, is the right side of his face – the side closest to you. The burnt flesh on his lower jaw by his mouth is gone, and you swear that you see the bone underneath starting to appear.

“Touya—Touya what happened to you? What have you done to yourself?”

“Don’t worry about me. It looks worse than it is.” Touya grumbles, dismissing your concerns. “The person that you should be worrying about, is you.”

“I think it’s a little late for that, love.” You tell him softly. “I’ve been sick for a while now… I’ve held out longer than a lot of other people have, but I think my luck is running out fast.”

This time you know you’re not seeing things. You watch in shock as a large droplet of blood oozes out from underneath the burnt skin under his eye and slowly rolls down his face, leaving a shiny red trail behind it as it makes its way down his ruined skin. You try to bring a hand up to wipe it away, but Touya beats you to it, releasing your cheeks long enough to turn away from you and compose himself.

“That crusty bastard. He promised me that he would keep it away from here… guess it got past him too-“ you hear Touya mutter under his breath. “It doesn’t matter now, gods… fuck.” He turns to face you again, and you see a red streak running along the side of his face, where he tried to wipe the blood tear away. His hands return to yours, and he wraps them up tightly.

“I tried… I tried so fucking hard to keep it contained. I thought, if I could contain it to the East, then it wouldn’t spread and it wouldn’t come here, to you. Even though I’ve seen it happen, so many times over the years. I thought I could change it.”

“Touya what are you talking about, you’re not making any sense.” You beg him, but he doesn’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in his own head, as he squeezes your hands in his own.

 “It’s not fair. You’re so full of life. I don’t want you to die like this.”

Something in his gaze shifts and the sadness from earlier is gone. Instead, a determined look has appeared in its place. He cradles the back of your head and neck with one of his hands as he gently lifts your head up to him, flinching at your pained whimpers.

“Do you trust me?” he asks you urgently.

“Of course.” You whisper, your vison is starting to darken again, but you try and keep your focus on Touya’s bright blue eyes.

“I can stop this.” He murmurs. “I can stop this and save you and what’s left of your town. But you need to make a deal with me. Do you accept?”

“A deal…? Stop this… I don’t…” you whisper, and Touya squeezes your hand, desperate to keep your attention on him.

“The full extent of my abilities come with a price. I can save you, but at a cost.”

“What’s the price?” you find yourself asking. You’re not sure how he intends to save anyone from something as severe as the plague with no cure; much less yourself, considering that you’re almost certainly on death’s doorstep, but you’re curious. Even if you’re beyond saving, maybe your town still has a chance.

“You.”

“Me.” You echo, still fighting to keep your gaze on him. “Why?”

“I told you already, you’re mine, you’ve always been mine. But this will bind us to each other indefinitely. Your life will become mine in exchange for me removing the sickness from you and your village. Do we have a deal?”

“Am I really worth that much?” you tease hoarsely, as you feel your eyes start to close against your will.

“You mean more to me than anything in this pathetic life.” You hear Touya grind out. “Let me do this for you. Please.”

He squeezes your hand, and his next words sound almost desperate. “I’ve never begged anyone for anything in my lifetime and I’ve lived a long time. Please let me do this for you.”

You know that under different circumstances, you wouldn’t agree to anything like this. Touya’s words are carrying an underlying weight to them, and you know there’s something that he’s not telling you. Normally, before agreeing to anything, you’d make sure everything was out in the open and that there weren’t any catches to your deal… but really, how much time did you have to ask about the finer details?

You were out of time. You knew it, and he knew it too.

Really, how bad would it be being his? Wasn’t that what you always wanted anyways?

“I accept.” You whisper, as your world fades to black, not even sure if Touya heard you or not.

He did.

The next few moments are a whirlwind. You feel Touya stand up above you and his hands go to your left forearm – to the spot where you first noticed the sickness. It’s arguably the worst spot on your body. The darkness has spread underneath your skin and takes up almost your full forearm now.

You feel his warm hands press into the skin of your forearm, and for a moment, nothing happens. Then his hands start to heat up, hotter and hotter, and you can smell something burning. You don’t know whether it’s your flesh or his, but you don’t have the energy to scream out, even though the pain is excruciating.

There’s a bright blue flash and you feel something being seared into your arm – in the same spot where your original plague mark was. Heat spreads through your body like a wildfire, and you feel like you’re being burned from the inside out. Suddenly, as quickly as the pain started it’s gone.

You’re shaking, gasping for air as you try to control your rapidly palpating heart, but you can’t open your eyes. Exhaustion hits you full force, and you feel what little strength you had left in you bleed out. Touya is still there, and you feel him slowly ease you back down onto your pillow, placing your arm down at your side once more.

“Rest now beloved. I’ll see you soon.”

No sooner than he says those words, you feel yourself slip off into slumber, and you allow the darkness to take you.

You wake to the sun streaming across your face

It’s the first time you’ve seen any hint of the sun in months, and at first, you think that you’ve died, but the tell-tale signs of stiffness in your muscles tell you that you’re still very much alive, if not very dehydrated.

The thought draws you up short.

You’re alive. You’re alive when you probably shouldn’t be. That means… Touya… he’d done it.

A burning feeling races through your left forearm and draws you up short. You slowly bring your arm up to look at what’s causing the pain, only for your eyes to widen impossibly.

The dark stain under your skin caused by the plague is gone, as are all of the other signs of sickness that had marked your body. What is on your arm, is nothing short of confusing.

A strange symbol is on your arm, in the spot you remember Touya gripping the hardest. A long, straight line runs horizontally done your forearm with three smaller lines running through it. Another long, straight line along the top of the first line completes the marking, and you stare at it in shock.

It covers the spot where you had your original plague mark, almost as if you’d never had it at all.

You reach out and gingerly touch the mark, only for your door to open suddenly – causing you to yank your nightgown sleeve down in a hurry. You glance over to see both of your parents standing in your doorway. It seems to take them a moment to process that you’re awake, and seemingly plague free, before they rushed to your bedside and have pull you into a tight hug.

“You’re awake! Thank gods you’re awake! We thought that we lost you for sure!” your mother sobs, as she clutches you to herself. You’re shocked, and you ask her what she means, only for her to hold you tighter.

“You’ve been asleep for three days. You wouldn’t wake up! Nothing we did worked.” Your mother cries, and you feel your heart drop.

Three days? What did that mean for everyone else?

“We’ve heard from Chiyo that all of the patients at the apothecary have also recovered. She’s not sure how, but the plague seems to have disappeared.” Your father states gruffly, as he strokes your hair. “It’s some sort of miracle.”

Yes, and his name is Touya. You think to yourself. Just what was he, to be able to have the power to dispel a sickness as deadly as the decay plague from an entire town?

“We do have a visitor downstairs, if you feel up to meeting with him.” Your mother informs you as she passes you a cup of water. “Some of the priests are visiting homes on Chiyo’s orders, to check in on families and see if anyone is still sick. The head priest from the Endeavor temple is here. I’m sure he’d love to check in on you now that you’re awake.”

You don’t particularly want anyone to see you right now, knowing that you must look awful and you would much rather go find Touya, provided that he was still in town somewhere – but you nod anyways. Your mother tells you to take your time getting ready, as she and your father leave your room, saying that she would tell the priest to wait downstairs.

The process to get ready is painfully slow. Your muscles are weak from a lack of use, but you’re able to wash yourself if you move carefully. You slip on a clean dress, making sure that the mark on your forearm is fully covered, and run a brush through your wet locks before deciding that was enough, and gingerly make your way downstairs.

You slowly make your way into the living room where you see the priest from Endeavor’s temple sitting in one of the armchairs, waiting for you. He’s a large man, dressed in Endeavor’s traditional colours: dark blues and fiery oranges and reds. Your parents leave when you enter to give you some privacy and the priest points to the chair across from him.

“Have a seat girl.” He tells you, and you sit without a word. You fidget uncomfortably as he looks you over carefully, before finally speaking. “Chiyo specifically asked me to come check on you and see how you’re doing. She wanted to thank you for all your help at the beginning of this mess. She wanted to come herself, but she has a few things to take care of at the apothecary. She sends her regards.”

“Oh, it was my honor. I couldn’t leave her there all alone.” You tell him, lifting your arm to wave off his praise without thinking about it. You realize your mistake too late, as the sleeve covering your forearm slowly rolls down to your elbow, revealing the mark etched into your skin.

The priest stops dead the second he glances at your forearm, ad his eyes widen impossibly. He points shakily to the mark etched into your arm. “Where did you get that from girl? Who did that to your arm?”

You hesitate. How can you possibly explain Touya to him? No one aside from you could see him. They’d call you mad if you tried to be honest, and would cast you out from your home. What would you do then?

‘I… I don’t know if you’d believe me if I told you.” You mutter, clutching your arm close to you. “Why, what’s so special about this mark?”

“That is Dabi’s seal.” The priest hisses as he snaps his fingers at you, and you feel your heart drop into your stomach. “I haven’t seen a mark like that for decades now, but he is closely connected to my lord Endeavor and I’d recognize it anywhere. It has been rumored that he puts that mark onto people who enter into deals with him. I’m wondering how you ended up with it on your arm.”

Your world crumbles around you at his words, and the illusion that you had unknowingly walked into, shattered.

Dabi, Touya, Dabi, Touya, Dabi, Touya, Dabi, Touya-

Touya is Dabi.

How could you not have seen it sooner? Looking back on it, the signs were obvious: how he knew so much about Dabi – or rather, himself. How he could seamlessly travel across large areas with very little effort. How he had powers that far surpassed any mage or race you’d heard of. How he never seemed to age… How his body had lasted so long despite the burns that were very clearly getting worse as time passed by-

The thought draws you up short. A hazy memory of Touya standing over your deathbed. A chunk of his flesh missing from the side of his mouth… looking more worn down than you could ever remember seeing him… Suddenly, you have to find him.

And you think you know exactly where he is.

“I-I have to go.” You mutter, shakily rising to your feet. The priest tries to get you to sit back down, but you shove him off. You barely have time to throw a light shawl around your shoulders and put your shoes on, before you’re running out the door in the direction of Dabi’s temple, ignoring the surprised shouts of your parents.

You are reminded how weak your body currently is, as you have to stop and catch your breath several times on the way to the temple, ignoring the looks that a few curious townspeople are giving you, as you eventually make your way to the temple.

This time, you don’t need to reach for the doors, since they seem to open on their own for you. You step through the entrance and they close behind you softly, shutting you away from the sunshine outside. You notice the temple is seemingly empty, but the prayer candles are lit at the base of Dabi’s statue, and the flames are blue.

He’s here, somewhere, you know it, you feel it, but for some reason, he hasn’t shown himself to you yet. It makes you worry and prompts you to call out his name softly.

“I’m here, beloved.”

The familiar rasp of his voice echoes from behind the larger-than-life sculpture. You smile in spite of yourself, and move closer to the sound of his voice, where you can just make out a shadowy figure partly concealed behind the base of the stature.

“Don’t come any closer.” The harsh growl makes you pause.

“Why?” you ask the shadow and you see two familiar blue eyes staring back at you from the gloom.

“You’re not going to like what you see.”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before you shake your head. “I don’t care. You know I don’t care about what you look like.” You swallow before adding on. “I think you and I need to talk about some things… about you.”

“So, you figured it out?” the figure rumbles, and you nod.

“There are some things I need to know. Things that I need to understand. But please, I just want to see you. Come out.” You extend your hand towards the shadow, and hear him sigh deeply, before shuffling closer to you.

A burnt hand takes hold of yours, dwarfing it, and the man—no, the deity, pulls himself into the light provided by the candles. He watches as your face changes from confusion, to shock realization, then to—

He doesn’t think he can do it; he can’t watch as you reject him. He knows that he doesn’t look pretty. He looks like a walking corpse and he knows this. He looks more dead than alive and honestly, he is. He knew he shouldn’t hang around the temple, knowing that you’d eventually come looking for him once you had recovered enough, but he’d wanted to see you one last time before he made the inevitable trip back home to the underworld – even if it meant you seeing him like this—

“Oh, Touya. Did… did you do this to yourself to cure me?” you whisper so softly; he wasn’t sure if he heard you correctly. He risks glancing back at you, only to see that your face hasn’t twisted in disgust upon his reveal. You’re holding his hand so tightly, like you’re afraid that he’ll crumble to ash if you don’t, and maybe he would, he’s not sure anymore.

Your eyes meet his, and he sees unshed tears in them. There is no repulsion or fear in your eyes like he thought there might be, there is only concern and worry for him, and he feels his once dead heart thunder in his burnt chest.

He wishes he could feel the texture of your soft hands on him again, but the burns are deep and have spread everywhere now. All he can feel is pressure on his hand where you’re holding it in your own. Suddenly, he feels more vulnerable than he has in a long time.

You stare back at him, trying your best not to shed the tears you feel forming – knowing that they won’t help anything. What remained of Touya’s once beautiful, pale skin is gone. His entire body is covered in deep russet scaring. The mess of staples that he hadn’t bothered to remove or replace, were scattered across his body where they had once held the damaged and healthy skin together. Parts of his body – where you assume the skin had been thinnest on him – are burned almost completely down to the bone. The skin by one side of his mouth is almost gone, and the flesh near his wrist on his other hand – the one that he didn’t give you – has been burnt down to where you can see the tendons flexing when he moves.

He's still wearing the white robes from before. He looks like a wraith, a sight that would terrify even the bravest of people, but it stirs no such feelings in you.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, not knowing what else to say. He shakes his head.

“I can’t feel anything anymore.”

“Oh.” You croak, not sure if his answer made you feel any better. It doesn’t, but you try not to let it show on your face.

The deity gently removes his hand from yours and moves several paces back from you, as if he’s trying not to upset you. You feel a lump rise in your throat, but push it down. “Did you do that to yourself to cure me from the plague?” you ask him again and he only nods once.

“You and what’s left of your town. I told you; I make good on my promises. It’s the blowback that gets me. Shigaraki won’t like what I’ve done, but he can’t do anything about it.”

You frown at the mention of the other name. You swear that you’ve heard it before somewhere, but you can’t place where from. Maybe if you remember, you’ll ask him about it later, but right now, you have other things you need him to clarify.

“Can I ask you something, my lord?” Dabi snorts at your formalities, and waves you off.

“Please. None of that from you, Princess.  If I wanted you to call me by my titles, I would’ve made you do it when we first met.”

You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips. You’d been slightly worried that knowing his identity would change the dynamic of your relationship with him. Thankfully, that didn’t seem to be the case.  

“How come I could see you when no one else could?” you question him. Dabi pauses for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out how to explain himself.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” He responds after a moment. “We walk amongst mortals all the time; we’re just hidden in plain sight. Some humans are different than others, and are able to see us for what we really are, but most mortals can’t see through our disguises. I choose to be invisible, it’s much easier to do my job that way. Normally, the only time humans can see me is when I come to collect their soul, or when I let them see me purposefully. But you,” he fixes you with his intense stare that you’ve grown used to.

“you were an abnormity. I’ve only ever met one or two other mortals in my time alive that were able to see me, even when I was invisible to everyone else.”

“What did you do to them?” you don’t know what prompts you to ask. Dabi looks away from you.

“I killed them.”

“Why though?” You’re not sure if you want to know his reasoning, but this may be the only time you get to ask him.

“Because no one is supposed to see me – it’s taboo. The only time I’m supposed to be visible to mortals is when I come to take you to the Underworld with me. I can’t let people wander around telling others that Death himself is coming. Do you know how much chaos that would cause on the surface?” Dabi snickers to himself.

“But I could see you, and you didn’t kill me.” You press. Dabi lets a small smile pull at what remains of the muscles in his cheeks.

“No, I didn’t.” he agrees quietly.

“Were you going to?” you ask, remembering how tense he was the first time you met face to face.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?” You’re not mad about the revelation. You’re just curious. What made you so different from the others that came before you?

“I was going to… But something told me not to.” Dabi trails off, seemingly not having the words to describe why he did what he did. “I couldn’t tell you why I hesitated back then… but I’m glad I did.” The hint of a smile ghosts across his face. “You’re so beautiful. I couldn’t predict everything else that came afterwards. But I’m certainly not complaining.”

Your face flushes a brilliant shade of crimson when you realize he’s talking about when you fucked in this temple… his temple.

You can’t bear to bring yourself to meet the smug look in his eyes, so you try to compose yourself best you can, but it’s hard when you feel his oceanic eyes boring into your being.

“I… I just have one final question to ask you.” You stammer out, trying to fight down the colour in your cheeks that you know he can see. The burnt deity nods, signaling for you to continue. You suck in a breath, suddenly nervous for some reason.

“What… what exactly does this mark that you’ve given me mean? To you, that is.” You ask, touching the mark on your arm with your other hand, and you swear that you hear Touya- no, Dabi, bite back a moan.

“It marks you as mine. To humans and other gods alike, it means you are mine and under my protection.” He growls, a possessive edge in his raspy voice.

“Is that all?” you probe softly. Dabi bites back a laugh, and fixes you with a warm expression, blue eyes glowing like a cat in the dimly lit temple.

“What do you think?”

He answers your question with another question, but it’s weighted. The mark definitely has another meaning to it, you’re sure of it, but you want to hear it from him.

“I think it means something more… but I want to be sure. I don’t remember the finer details of our conversation, since I was… well… dying.” You shrug, trying and failing to look nonchalant. You don’t particularly want to be reminded of that time.

Dabi must see it in your expression, because he immediately drops the teasing act and takes a hesitant step towards you, slowly, as if he’s trying not to scare you.

He points at your arm and you lift it up so he can see the symbol burned into your skin. “That is my personal mark. It means that you’re not only under my protection… but it also marks you as my consort.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and you can tell that he’s not joking. He’s deadly serious.

“Your consort? You mean, like… like a bride?” you breathe, hardly daring to believe it. Dabi cracks a smile.

“So that’s what you humans are calling it these days. Yes, you are. Unlike some of my kin, I don’t take multiple wives. It’s just you.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but when they do, you have to fight yourself to stay upright.

“Oh gods. I’m the bride of a god.” You mutter, swaying slightly in place. “You’re a god. You’re an actual god.”

The burned deity only chuckles. “I can’t believe that you never figured it out. It’s not like I was trying to hide it from you at the end there.”

“I mean… It’s obvious you weren’t human, but I didn’t think you were a God.” You mutter. “You just… you acted so… casual. Not like what I’d expect a God to act-- not that I’m complaining of course!” you add on as you hear Dabi let out an amused snort.

You point up at the statue of Dabi- or rather, him. “Besides, it’s not like I knew what you looked like. You’re always depicted with a hood over your face.” You frowned. “Why is that exactly? You’re not wearing a hood. You’ve never worn one when you’re with me. The only time I ever saw you with one was when you were traveling. Not as you are now. You never let any of your disciples see you?”

“They depict me like that because it’s easier that way.” Dabi explains smoothly. “My face changes depending on what part of my… cycle I’m in. Sometimes I look like how I did when we first met – other times I look like… well, this.” He gestures to himself after a brief pause. It makes your heart ache.

“My kind are supposed to be divine beings. Perfect. I am not. I don’t need to be depicted looking like a walking corpse to the few people who still worship me and visit my temples.”

His gaze flicks back up to you. “You were never supposed to see me like this.”

You know that you shouldn’t psychoanalyze him, but you can’t help but find him endlessly fascinating. He may be a god – a divine, primordial being – but his emotions were so very human.

He may go by many different names, but Dabi was Touya. Your Touya, the man you fell in love with over the years you spent getting to know him. The man who would willingly burn down your village to keep you by his side, only to save it in its time of need, for you.

What he looked like was irrelevant.

“What you look like doesn’t bother me.” You tell him softly, taking a hesitant step closer to him. “It never has. You know that.” Touya’s muscles flinch, like he’s fighting against moving away from you, but he stays rooted to the spot as you slowly advance, until you’re close enough to place a hand on the exposed part of his chest – right above his heart.

“I will love you no matter what form you take, because no matter what: you’re still Touya. You’re still the man I love. God or not, you always will be.”

You lean forward and press your lips to what is left of the flesh around his mouth, and you feel him release a shuddering breath, as his arms come up to wrap themselves tightly around you. You pull away slightly to tuck your head against his chest, returning his embrace, ignoring the burnt smell that always clings to him; and you feel him rest his chin on your head.

You don’t know how long you stay like that for, but eventually Touya reluctantly removes his chin from his spot on your head, and lowers it so he can speak directly into your ear.

“I have to go.”

You try and pull away so you can look him in the eyes, but his arms keep you tightly pressed up against him, like he’s afraid that if he lets you go, you’ll turn to smoke and disappear.

“But… you said that we’re bound to each other now? You promised me that you wouldn’t leave again-“

“I know, but this will be the last time I leave without you, I promise.” He rasps in your ear. “This cycle is at the end. I’m dying.”

You feel your heart clench painfully at his words, and suddenly, you’re taken back to the spring, where he took you to his temple for the first time, and where he unknowingly to you, explained his history. Where he also revealed that gods themselves could die, however difficult it was.

“You’re… you’re dying? How, why? I thought you said it was almost impossible for you to die?”

You feel Touya shake his head and squeeze you again. “It’s different in my case. I die a lot. But the difference is: I come back. It just takes a while.”

“I don’t understand, please Touya, what do you mean?” you feel frantic, and cling to his robes like small child. “I-I can’t lose you!”

“You won’t.” Touya promises you firmly, pulling back to fix you with an unwavering look. “It’s difficult to explain, but I’m more like a force of nature then a ‘traditional’ god. My power is great, but it destroys my body and I ‘die’. However,” his eyes narrow dangerously as he thumbs over the mark on your arm, “I’m a god of the Underworld, and we play by different rules than those that reside upstairs.” He points a finger mockingly up to the roof of the temple.

“I have what you humans call a ‘cycle’. Whenever I ‘die’ I return home, so that I can rest and regenerate my body. Eventually I come back to how I was before I got all of my scaring, and start again. The cycle repeats itself over and over again on an endless loop.” He sends you a crooked grin.

“That’s the other half of my secret: Cremation and Reincarnation tend to go hand in hand. But nobody needs to know that except for you.”

“How many times have you done this?” you breathe, but Touya only shakes his head, shooting you a forced smile.

“More times than I can count. I’m not the oldest God in the pantheon Sweetheart, not by a long shot, but compared to you, I’m ancient.”

“Oh.” You murmur. trying to fight down the blush at the stark differences in your ages, and Touya’s smile becomes more relaxed. You fist your hands at the front of his robe and try your best to return his smile. “So, you’re going to come back… for me?”

“Yes. I’ll eventually return to my original form. But it’s going to take me a while to regenerate.”

“Oh gods, you mean I’m going to be an old woman by the time you come back to get me.” You joke, trying your best to lighten the somber mood, and Touya barks out a laugh.

“No, no. It won’t take that long, I promise… but, that being said, it won’t be anytime soon either. I’m sorry.”

You nod, and try to relax your grip on his robes. You smooth your hands over the soft fabric, and inwardly you hum in delight, as you feel Touya’s abnormally warm hands run down your waist. He brings one hand up to your chin and gently tilts your face up to meet his.

“I will be back for you. Make no mistake about that.”

You feel his other hand glide up to your left forearm, the one that now bares his mark, and press on it possessively. “This binds us together. I’ll make good on my promise, and when I come back for you: I’m going to take you around the world with me, just like I promised you I would. I’ll give you everything.”

You feel your eyes water with his declaration. The sincerity in his eyes tells you that he’s not bluffing. He will be back for you the next time he comes to your humble village, and he will show you the world if you so choose it.

“…How will I know?” You finally manage to ask him quietly.

“How will you know what?”

“How will I know that you’re coming back to get me?”

Touya lets a deep laugh rumble out of his throat, and pushes his face close to your ear so he can whisper directly into it:

“Oh, don’t worry… you’ll just know.”

-----

Three years have passed since that day.

Spring has come again, symbolizing rebirth and renewal, and yet seemingly nothing has changed in your little village. You still work at the apothecary with Chiyo, but now you spend most of your time at Dabi’s temple, keeping it clean, and trying to educate those who visit it, more about the reclusive Cremation God.

More people have started to visit the temple in the three years since you last saw Touya, and you’d like to think that he’d be pleased if he could see it. You’re headed to the temple now to do your daily cleaning, and make sure that everything is orderly, before you head back home for the night.

You smile as you watch a group of small children run past you, as you think back to the day that Touya had left you one final time.

Word had spread like wildfire after you had returned from the temple that day – about how you had made a deal with the elusive Cremation God himself to cure the town of its plague, and how you now bore his mark on your own skin, binding you to him.

You thought that you’d be ostracized, a pariah in your town – but surprisingly, the majority of people seemed to accept it with very little backlash. You suppose that’s the closest to thanks that you’ll get for playing a part in saving your town from destruction, but you’ll take it.

More people do tend to keep their distance from you now, largely in part due to your lover’s fearsome reputation, but you don’t hold it against them.

They’ve started calling you Shaoha – Death Woman. Normally, it’s a derogatory name for a demon or witch, but you know they don’t mean it in that way, and you can’t help but find it fitting given the circumstances and your ties to the Death God himself.

You smile sadly in spite of yourself as you make your way through the forest trail towards Dabi’s temple, leaving the village behind you.

You dress mostly in black or deep blues these days, mourning the fact that you haven’t seen your god in years now. He promised you that he would eventually be back for you once he had healed, before you were old and gray, but you wished that he would have given you a rough estimation of how long that would take, because with each day that passes, you miss him more and more.

Your friends have started families of their own, and while you never had the urge to have children of your own, seeing them happy with their husbands makes you wish that Touya was here with you. Your friends give you sympathetic smiles, and try and comfort you best they can. While you’re grateful that they try, it’s not the same.

It’s strange: you’re surrounded by people who care for you, and yet; you feel more alone now then you ever did before.

You reach Dabi’s temple and push the doors open, finding a few people milling about, paying their respects inside, and the sight pleases you greatly. Ever since it was revealed that he had been behind the disappearance of the plague, the townspeople had started coming to the temple more frequently to pay homage to him. You’re glad that you had cleaned up the temple beforehand, even if it was just for you and him initially.

Several of the people take notice of you, and they quickly file out to allow you to do your daily inspection. After deeming everything to be orderly, you make your way back to your home, just as the sun is starting to disappear behind the tree-line.

You reach your house just as dusk has fallen, and you talk with your parents over dinner for a while before heading to bed. As grateful as you are for their company and their efforts to keep you occupied, the constant ache in your chest never fully dissipates, even when you aren’t alone. 

As you lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take you, you send out a silent goodnight to Touya, hoping that he can hear you, wherever he may be. Just as you have done every night for the last three years.

You hope that wherever he is, he knows how much you miss him.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You open your eyes again and your room is pitch black, letting you know that it’s the dead of night. For a moment, you lay there confused, wondering why you’ve woken up at a seemingly random time, only to realize that you feel different.

You don’t feel physically sick, and the sensation that is coursing through your body like liquid fire in your veins doesn’t feel ominous or wrong, but you suddenly have the intense urge to get up and leave. Like you have to go somewhere urgently.

Your forearm – the one that bears Touya’s mark – feels hot. You trace it absentmindedly, quietly musing that the last time it burned like that was when he gave it to you--

Something clicks in your sleep addled mind, and you slowly sit up and push the covers off of you as you stand. You get dressed in long, dark skirts, and throw a traveling cloak around your shoulders for good measure – knowing deep down that you won’t be coming back.

As you walk through the hallways of your dark home like a ghost, you crack open the door to your parents room to gaze fondly at their sleeping figures. You send them a silent I love you, before closing their door, thanking them for everything. You pad silently through your house until you reach the front door, and pull it open soundlessly, stepping out of it for the final time, before shutting it firmly behind you.

You don’t look back.

You feel like a wraith as you walk through the deserted streets of your town, taking in each and every shop as you pass. The bright, pale moonlight is your only source of light as you walk, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of Dabi’s temple.

The burning in your forearm has lessened considerably and you know this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. You step inside, and slowly make your way to the foot of the hooded god’s statue. You smile slightly and take a seat facing the entrance doors that you didn’t bother closing, allowing moonlight to spill into the dark temple. You sit and you wait. You vow that you’ll wait all night if you have to.

You don’t have to wait for long.

There’s a tell-tale flash of blue outside the temple and a blast of searing heat follows, before everything stills again. The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps approaching the temple makes your heartbeat quicken, and the tall silhouette of a man spills across the floor to where you’re sitting at the altar.

A familiar man dressed in white funeral shrouds enters the temple, and makes his way towards you. You can’t help but smile lovingly as you take him in. Even though he looks incredibly different from the last time you saw him, you’d recognize Touya anywhere.

Gone are the dark scars and staples that wreaked havoc on his skin. The man, the god, that stands before you, has skin as pale as snow, almost blending into the white of his shroud. He looks like he’s bathed in moonlight, with eyes as bright and blue and beautiful as the flames he wields. Upon closer inspection. you still see faint seams in his skin where his burns were previously. A remanent of his past life, and one that you find incredibly endearing.

He is not perfect, but neither are you. You selfishly think that maybe you were made for each other.

He stands before you, seemingly at a loss for words, but his deep turquoise eyes tell you everything you need to know. You, however, have quite a few things you want to say to him. So, you start with the obvious.

“I’ve missed you.” You tell him quietly, and he smiles, cerulean eyes looking sad.

“I know. But I’m here now, so that’s got to count for something right?”

“It means everything.” You confirm breathlessly as he cups your cheek, running his thumb across your soft skin. You shamelessly lean into his touch and watch as he smiles at you.

“Ready to go?”

You nod. “I’ve been ready for a long time. You kept me waiting long enough.”

He laughs, the sound deep and rich in your ears.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. There are so many things I want to show you.” His free hand sneaks down and intertwines with yours. “I make good on my promises, you know.”

You give his hand a squeeze. “I do.”

His heart – the organ in his chest, that he was sure had stopped working after his fall from grace – thunders into irregularity in his chest. Now he’s sure that it beats for you, and you alone.

You, the first person in a long, long time, who’s made him feel something aside from hatred and scorn. The first person to see past the scars, the first one to see him at his worst and still show him unconditional love where others couldn’t, or wouldn’t.

He loves you, and he always will.

He lifts the hand that’s still laced with his, to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles, sending you a smile that makes you melt.

“Let’s go home.”

FIN

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[grunge-mermaid]

grunge rewatches midsomer murders pt 1

this was bound to happen. especially after the second use of "cunt-stable" within the first half hour

1x01 The Killings at Badger's Drift

"you've got yourself a right cunt-stable there" beautiful

"you are politically correct as a Nuremberg Rally"

you know what? I chose to rewatch this because it's boring and a good background show but it's off to a real strong start

I know Dennis is either a murderer or gets beheaded (gimme a break it's been 15 years since I've seen this ep) but I'm living for him repeatedly calling a surprisingly homophobic Sgt Troy "cunt-stable"

I completely forgot about the incestuous mother/son dynamic

I really don't remember Troy being such a homophobic sexist dipshit

can i skip to the episode with Orlando Bloom?

ohhh he got his throat slit this ep ok he gets beheaded as another character in a few seasons?

aw man now that the creepy incestuous blackmailers are dead and no one is openly calling Troy a cunt, we're back to just plain boring village gossip

which tbf is why I put this on in the first place but like come on

you can't give me a gay undertaker serving cunt (literally and figuratively) with a totally inappropriate relationship with his nosy neighbour mother who make Gladys Kravitz look like she minds her business

and then just... go back to boring nothingness murders

oh god

late 90s high society wedding

yikes

lord god what are those bridesmaids dresses

are they supposed to be ruched at the back or are they just really poorly made?

oh thank god it was a nightmare

as were those dresses

and those hats

that corpse is breathing pretty deeply fellas you sure she's dead?

Barnaby sure is discussing a lot of details of the case with his family. shouldn't some of this information be confidential?

WHY IS THERE SO MUCH INCEST IN THIS VILLAGE

oh no those actually *are* the bridesmaids dresses

I have 2 questions

1) who in-universe is responsible for dressing the bridesmaids and why do they not own a garment steamer or an iron?

2) who on set is responsible for dressing the actors and why do they not own a garment steamer or an iron?

like holy shit those dresses are wrinkled af

that ending was... well, an ending.

1x02 Written in Blood

ok is this ep gonna go hard like 1x01 or

I do appreciate when murder mysteries tell you who the murderer is right off the bat and the fun is all in seeing how the detectives piece it together

god these houses are so pretty

oh this is a village populated entirely by mediocre writers

I really hope MM is intentionally leaning into the inherent cheesiness of the murder mystery genre and this isn't just low production value

Killmouskie the Russian blue kitten. cute.

wait so what does Liam killing his father have to do with this writing group?

is one of these writers Liam using a fake identity?

wow this guy's one hell of a dick can he get murdered please

I love how this show manages to be so dull but still get you hooked on the village gossip

what's the deal with Max and Gerald? if this isn't Lovers To Enemies I'm gonna be pissed

(I know it won't be this is a show for boring boomers)

FINALLY

a murder that's definitely relevant to the plot

still no hint as to who Liam is or why the cold open

another Very Clearly Breathing corpse come on lads

NOPE THAT IS NOT AN OKAY WAY TO BEHAVE AROUND YOUR UNDERAGE STUDENTS PLEASE GET MURDERED

living for the students giving him shit and laughing at him because he is a fucking creep and deserves it

why can the subtitles not spell Causton correctly or consistently

ok so Gerald is Liam?

that's not what I expected a secretary called "Bouncing Barbara" to look like

ok. so if Max was a therapist before he became a writer, Gerald is actually Liam and was Max's patient after murdering his own father?

idk but it's 50 minutes in and there has been no other mention of Liam since the cold open and I'm all for suspense but come on you've got to at least give me a dot that will be connected in the next hour

FINALLY

JOYCE TO THE RESCUE

only took 60 minutes

I don't know if my theory is completely right yet but I'm definitely not entirely wrong

you know what? it was totally worth the wait

oh look a corpse that isn't visibly breathing wow

ok so not only was I right but Gerald/Liam was also a transvestite and that plot point was treated with more respect & dignity than I'd expect for 25 years ago... until Troy had to open his transphobic mouth

while their methods are ethically questionable, I do enjoy the group of 15-year-olds trying to take down their pervy drama teacher

oh man if this is going to be an eleventh hour AIDS reveal

character's brother who died of a sudden illness in the 80s "knew" the transvestite murder victim

OH HOLY FUCK I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THAT

WHO KEEPS THEIR DEAD BROTHER'S BODY IN A FUCKING BED LIKE IT'S A SHRINE JESUS CHRIST

"hatters are sane compared to Honoria Lyddiard" is one hell of a fucking understatement good lord

oh yep there's the eleventh hour AIDS reveal

not just of the dead brother but she was keeping it from her sister-in-law not to protect her from her husband's cheating but because she was hoping her sister-in-law was HIV+ and going to die soon

yikes

fuck man that episode was a wild ride with one hell of an ending

but did it ever stick it

amazing

1x03 Death of a Hollow Man

creepy choral singing and a licence plate that says "boo"? alright lets buckle up

Salieri, prime, not Sally Arie. Salieri.

they're putting on a production of Amadeus, or is context not enough for you to get the captions correct?

camp gay men being gossipy bitches? yes please

ok now that is what I expected "Bouncing Barbara" to look like

ostrich feather trimmed coat, lots of makeup, bouncy blond curls

of course her name is Kitty

she looks as much like a Kitty as she does a Bouncing Barbara

love it when they find an actor who can hold their breath for a single take as a corpse

STOP BEING SUCH A HOMOPHOBIC DIPSHIT TROY

why are you so uncomfortable just being in the same room as a visibly queer person?

gulping, pulling at your collar

go fuck yourself

you walked into a bookstore and he is trying to sell you a book

he's not even being flirty calm down

oh and now you're surprised at how heartless the deceased's only living relative is? you're not exactly an emblem of compassion yourself

do they only have one lawyer's office set?

ex wife keying the ex husband's new wife's car is some satisfying petty revenge but then discovering the new wife is having an affair? delicious

that fascinator sure is A Choice

actual line: bloody hell caption: oh dear

actual line: I'll frigging kill him caption: I'll fucking kill him

inaccurate captions are amusing for me but this is like an actual accessibility issue

at least the meaning isn't drastically different for those lines but transcribing "can" or "did" when the actual line is "can't" or "didn't" or they can't spell character or place names correctly, it's not great

who is proofreading these

"everyone liked Esslyn"

previous 50 minutes: everyone hates Esslyn and they are right to do so

{duolingo break}

"he wasn't always gay" baby boy. baby boy let me introduce you to the concept of being attracted to more than one gender it will blow your mind

that is some flawless hair and makeup for a supposedly grieving widow less than 24 hours after her husband's murder

ok I gave up on the last 15-20 minutes of that episode, it wasn't as compelling as the previous 2 sorry

1x04 Faithful Unto Death

opening with Morris dancing and a village fete this feels boring

yeah this one's boring

nothing salacious about the village gossip this time

please let there be a twist

I'll just be over here knitting and scrolling pinterest and waiting for this to get interesting

POT BROWNIES

THEY JUST FED THE COPS POT BROWNIES

their "daily bake" amazing

still a boring af episode but thank you Bunny and Elfrida for feeding the cops pot brownies without telling them

I do appreciate the sometimes not at all subtle anti-cop undercurrents

54 minutes for Troy to say something homophobic that's a record

I know I said I was rewatching this because it's boring & good background content but this episode was far more boring than I remember any episode being

but I remember it being like delightfully boring

charmingly boring

not a fucking drudge

and the first 2 episodes went so hard like you can't really compete with incestuous undertakers blackmailing incestuous siblings and dead brother's corpse enshrined in his childhood bedroom like some twisted Edith Finch shit

1x05 Death in Disguise

please god be more interesting than the last episode

sidenote: I really appreciate that streaming services play each story as one episode unlike TVO that played them as 2-parters

"Barnaby investigates a string of deaths at a local New Age commune run by ex-cons"

keywords: Suspense. Drama. Beautiful. Sensual.

I'll give you suspense and beautiful but I'm not sure how I feel about this show being described as "sensual"

buddy. my guy. just because you live a new age commune doesn't mean you have to give up conditioner

he's breathing but is he a corpse yet? or just severely injured?

yep

he dead

and breathing

"light slinking music" A+ description

I do appreciate the overarching message of "just let people be weird, it's fine"

was not expecting scenes of cocaine use

Ken: "Heather honey" Heather: "what?" Ken: "no, it's heather honey" Heather: "oh I just thought you were being affectionate"

what a weird little beekeeping couple they're so cute

this is more intriguing than the last episode but not much to comment on really

I take that back the adorably weird beekeeper couples used to run a brothel

they're still weird and cute

nothing inherently immoral about running a brothel even if it was illegal

especially since they seemed to make a point of profit-sharing with all employees (I'm assuming on top of wages otherwise that would be immoral)

oh so the non-verbal autistic kid miraculously speaks for the first time ever and it just happens to be the one word that's the key to solving the case

so that's season 1. sorry? you're welcome? idk take your pick.

episode 2 was definitely my favourite because what the fuck was that ending. the pacing was perfect, the plot twist was executed beautifully, perfect murder mystery

I'm probably going to do this for at least the next couple of seasons but god help us all if I manage to do the entire fucking series.

[flowersforbucky]

moth to a flame

bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader

"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

word count: 4.9k

summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only

“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”

You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.

The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.

It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.

Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.

Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.

You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.

Useless.

You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.

Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.

“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”

“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.

“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.

If only things had been as simple as he had expected.

You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”

“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”

Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.

“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”

Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.

“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”

“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”

You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.

Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.

“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.

And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.

Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.

“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.

“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”

“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”

The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.

You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.

You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.

Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -

Benign. Homecoming. One.

You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.

Freight car.

You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.

Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.

It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.

He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.

Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.

Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.

The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.

You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”

“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”

“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.

“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”

A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.

You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.

“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.

“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”

You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.

“You look–”

“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.

“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?

“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.

You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.

“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”

She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.

“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.

“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.

“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”

“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.

Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.

“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.

You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.

Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.

Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.

They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.

They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.

You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.

Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.

“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”

“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”

“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.

You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.

Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.

Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.

Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.

You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -

You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.

I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–

There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.

Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..

You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.

Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.

“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”

Silence. No hint of any further movement.

You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”

Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.

Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.

You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.

Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.

It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.

“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.

He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.

“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.

“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.

His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.

Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.

The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.

His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.

“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”

You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.

Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.

“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.

You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.

You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.

“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.

You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.

Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.

The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.

He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.

You have to trust that.

He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.

You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.

When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.

He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.

Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.

And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.

Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.

“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.

You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.

You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.

You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.

You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.

He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.

Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.

Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.

He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.

His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.

You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.

He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.

He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.

He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.

“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.

You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.

Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.

You don't know which you find hotter.

You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.

You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.

He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.

His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.

He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.

You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.

Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.

You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.

He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.

You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.

“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.

“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”

He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.

Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.

He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.

He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.

You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.

"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:29」 — c.san

» ateez menu | san menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ werecoyote!San × fem chipmunk hybrid!Reader wc: 2.9k summary: San’s favorite thing about his roommate is that as a hybrid, she triggers his prey drive which makes him want to chase her around their apartment, and even if it’s not her favorite thing ever, she doesn’t mind indulging him. It usually ends with her pinned on the couch or wall before San will playfully nip at her and let her go but this time, it ends with her pinned against his bed, triggering more than just his predator drive. genres/themes/au: fluff, smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female hybrid reader, supernatural and horror themes, MC is scared of San for like a brief moment, mentions of: fear, hiding + seek; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this San was an absolute joy to write and I absolutely adore this couple. I may or may not come back to them in the future but only time will tell! Only two more parts in the original line up after this and they're both Seventeen! This has been a wild ride from start to finish and I'm sad to see this come to a close but excited to move onto new things! The days that have been skipped will be added on at the very end (Mingyu, Woosung, Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Jisung, & Christian) so please stick around for those! If you'd like to see what I've got planned for the holidays and rest of the year, please stay tuned for the final parts of Kinktober! Thank you so much for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), predator/prey dynamics, hybrid!Reader, oral (f receiving), biting (f receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do this pls), use of pet names (hers: little squirrel, baby; his: Sannie), and that's all of them! If I missed any, please let me know and I'll fix it! kinks: predator/prey + hybrids dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Why are you shaking? You’re not scared of me are you? ❜❜

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

“Come out, Y/N,” San called, his voice low and full of excitement as he stalked through the house, keeping his eyes open and listening for even the slightest movement. He stopped, turning slowly on the spot as his eyes swept the hall. He raised his head, taking a few sniffs, the smell of your sweet scent mixed with the stench of fear permeating the air.

He followed the smell, moving slowly and cautiously while listening for any movement or any sound.

This had become the new norm, coming home from a stressful day at work to the house you shared together and spending the weekend playing this little game of hide and seek. It helped him with his insane predator drive.

Most of his friends had said it was a bad idea, moving into a house with a chipmunk hybrid but you and San had been best friends since you were kids despite your differences. San would never hurt you. You were far too precious to him. He just liked to chase you around and hunt you down to let the predator drive out of his system so he could enjoy the rest of the weekend and spend the week not worrying about it. As he moved, keeping his steps as light as possible, he passed the door to the laundry room where he was hit with a sudden blast of your scent. San hesitated, turning towards the open door. He cautiously leaned in, peering into the room. He stepped in, checking every hiding place he could think of.

As he was searching under the counter in the hamper, a creak overhead caught his attention. A grin spread over his face as he exited the laundry room, darting down the hall and climbing the steps as quietly as possible. Your scent was even stronger up here and he was certain you were hiding somewhere on the second floor.

It was only a matter of time before he found you.

Your tail twitched nervously as you hid in the darkness of your closet, hiding deep in the corner behind clothes hanging and your hamper. You’d taken a few blankets and pillows off the top shelf and stacked them in front of the hamper and sat down in the small area between the wall and the hamper.

It was a good hiding spot, one you’d never used before so you hoped San would have a harder time finding you, especially after purposely leaving your scent all over the house.

Initially, you had taken cover under your bed when you had gotten his text that he was on his way home from work. You worked from home so it wasn’t an issue. You quickly went around the house, peeling off your clothes and leaving them in random places like the laundry room, the garage, the pantry, his room, the office, and even the closet downstairs by the front door.

You’d raced upstairs, pulled on clean clothes and scurried under the bed, leaving your phone on silent, turning off the vibration and turning down the brightness. Your bed had one of those frilly bed skirts that hid the underside of your bed and you from view.

You stayed there for at least an hour before you heard the front door open and San’s voice calling out, announcing his arrival. Not that he expected you to answer. He knew you were already hiding and ready to run at any given moment. He had a method to his search with this game you played. He always started in the garage. Not that there were many places to hide but he still took his time searching thoroughly before moving onto the basement which was only accessible from the garage.

If you had wanted to change hiding spaces. This is where you would have done it. But as you contemplated, you ran out of time and heard him exit the garage entirely, shutting the door behind him. You could hear him move through the house, no doubt following the scent of your expertly placed bait in the form of flinging your clothes into random rooms.

You heard him call out again, telling you to come out but you knew that he knew you weren’t going to do anything of the sort. No, he needed to find you. That was the point of this game. You decided the bed was no longer a good hiding spot and considered leaving your room entirely but as you made your way to the door, the floorboard creaked and you cursed mentally.

You knew San would have heard it and immediately made for your closet which was where you were currently sitting as he climbed the stairs. Despite being as quiet as possible, you could still hear the wood give under his weight. After hearing his steps carry him past the office and his room, you heard the door to your room creak open and San slowly entered the room.

“You’re in here, aren’t you little squirrel?” he whispered, a tone of excitement in his voice. You stayed quiet as he neared the closet, sniffing before he threw the doors open. “Are you in here?” he whispered, starting to move your clothes aside but somehow he missed you cowering behind the hamper as he pulled back and shut the doors.

“Or are you under the bed?”

As he made his way to the bed, you quietly and carefully moved from behind the hamper, making sure not to make a sound as he neared your bed. You watched through the slats of the closet doors as he slowly knelt down beside your bed. “The scent is strong here,” he murmured as he reached a hand down to grab the edge of the ruffled bed skirt.

You quietly turned the knob of the closet door, making sure to keep quiet as he leaned down to peer under the bed. Once he was part of the way under your bed, you threw open the closet door and bolted for the door with a squeak. San let out a whoop and gave chase but you were took quick, darting into his room and sliding under the bed.

San followed you into the room and as he dove for the bed, you scrambled out from under it as he tumbled over the opposite side of the bed as you made a break for the door. San was hot on your tail as you tried to take the turn to head down the hall for the stairs. He tried to catch you but you ducked, slipping from his grip as you doubled back for your room as he tried to scramble to his feet.

You made it to your room but before you could find a hiding place, San tackled you onto your bed, laughing as you tried to wriggle free. “Not this time, little squirrel,” he said as he wrestled with you. Your ears flattened back against your head as you tried to free yourself from his iron grip.

“I’ll bite you!” you threatened, your voice coming out as a squeak. San laughed as he overpowered you easily, pinning you down against your mattress as he held your wrists on either side of your head. “So feisty today,” San said as he stared down at you, that familiar excitement in his eyes as you tried to squirm out from under him.

The two of you stared at one another, your ears flattened against your hair. San tilted his head, a wolfish grin appearing on his face in place of the smile that had been there before. “You’re shaking,” he noted, moving his hands up to yours, lacing his fingers with yours but keeping them pinned against the bed. “Why are you shaking?” he whispered as he leaned closer. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

You said nothing but he chuckled, knowing he was right. On a normal day, San was anything but scary but during these moments, when he had you pinned with that excited look in his eye, your subconscious couldn’t tell what was real and what was pretend. For a brief moment, you truly were scared. San leaned down, using his weight to hold you down.

“San,” you whined as he pressed his nose against the skin under the shell of your ear, inhaling deeply. You felt him nip at your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. The feeling of his lips against your skin and his weight on top of you had an unintended side effect and as he moved, his groin brushed against your cloth covered sex and you let out a moan.

The atmosphere changed in an instant, almost like with the snap of your fingers. San lifted his head, eyes meeting yours. In addition to the excitement, there was curiosity, confusion, and what you could only assume arousal. “Y/N,” he started, his voice soft as you stared up at him, cheeks burning in embarrassment, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as your shorts started to grow damp.

“Are you… turned on right now?” he asked. Before you could answer him and try to deny it, his pupils widened as he sniffed the air. “Oh,” he finally said, chuckling darkly. “You are,” he confirmed as the scent of sexual arousal started to fill the room. “Sweet little squirrel,” he murmured as he moved your hands above your head, holding your wrists with one hand as the other moved to cup your cheek.

“Likes it when I hunt her down? When I chase her? When I overpower and pin her down?” he asked, his thumb moving to brush over your bottom lip. “Why did you tell me sooner?” he asked as his eyes dipped down to look at your lips. “We could have implemented a new part to this game.”

“Wh-what part?” you asked, stuttering over your words as his hand slid down the side of your neck. “Had I known, I could have spent more time teasing you after catching you instead of immediately letting you go,” he continued, his eyes widening suddenly as he came to a realization you were about to hear.

“Is that why you always insisted on taking a shower afterwards?” he asked, chuckling as he leaned closer, his lips mere inches from yours. “Needed time to rub one out before you could face me again? Wash yourself off so I wouldn’t smell how much I affected you? And all this time, I thought it was just the smell of fear coming off you. Never would have expected it to be the scent of lust, too.”

You let out a whine, staring up at him and trying to free your hands. His grip tightened. San’s lips ghosted over yours. “I just need you to answer one thing,” he whispered, his breath hot against your face. “Do you want me to stop?”

You stared up at him, your heart beating against your chest. That was a good question. Did you want him to stop? After all, San was your housemate and your oldest friend, not your boyfriend. You lived together. If you said yes, you didn’t know how to come back from this. You weren’t sure if you could ever partake in this game of his ever again but If you said no, then everything would change between you. So you asked yourself again; did you want him to stop?

You shook your head. “Absolutely not,” you whispered, eyes flickering between his. “Don’t you dare stop Choi San.” With your permission to continue, San let out a relieved groan, capturing your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss as he released your wrists, moving his hands to the sides of your neck as he parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth, groaning at the taste.

You let out a whimper as you felt him rut against you, grinding against your cloth covered core. “Mmmfmmh,” San mumbled against your lips and you moved your hand to his chest. “What?” you asked incredulously. “I said do that again,” he whispered as his hands moved down to your hips, pulling you against him as he grinded against you again.

You let out a moan, head falling back against the mattress. San leaned over, pressing kisses down the side of your neck to your exposed collar. “Can I take this off?” he asked, fingers skimming the lacy hem of your tank top. You nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he sat back, hands sliding up your sides. He pushed the fabric up until he could tug it off, tossing it aside and leaving you half naked under him. 

You hadn’t had time to put on a bra or bralette when you dressed in haste earlier and now you felt extremely exposed under his heated gaze, moving your hands to cover yourself out of instinct but San grabbed your wrists and pulled them away. “Don’t,” he said simply, giving you a pointed look.

“Don’t you dare hide yourself from me,” he added as he leaned over pressing a kiss to your collar, leaving a trail of scorched skin as he kissed his way down your chest, stopping to take one of your pet nipples in his mouth, the tip of his tongue swirling around the nub before he sucked lightly.

You let out a gasp as you felt his teeth lightly graze the sensitive flesh, your fingers tangling in his hair as you guided one of his hands up to your neglected breast. He cupped the mound, kneading gently as he teased your nipple, drawing soft moans and whimpers from you.

He pulled back, dragging his tongue over your skin before he glanced up at you, giving you a grin and a wink before he continued kissing down your stomach until he settled between your thighs. He met your gaze, kissing over your thin shorts. “No panties?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t have time to put them on,” you whined, cheeks burning in embarrassment once more.

You heard San chuckle before you felt his tongue press against you over the fabric. “I’m just teasing you, baby,” he murmured as his hands moved to your hips, fingers curling under the elastic of your shorts and starting to pull them down. You lifted your hips as he slid them off, leaving you truly bare and exposed to him, the cool air of your room hitting your throbbing heat.

San licked his lips as he settled back down, eyeing your glistening cunt as he spread your folds. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about this,” he said in a low voice as his tongue slipped out, licking a wide strip up your sex before he licked his lips once more. “Tastes better than you smell. Almost sweet,” he added.

You tried to respond but your words died in your throat, replaced with a moan as you felt his lips wrap around your clit, the tip of his tongue teasing it as he threw himself into it. Your cheeks and neck were burning from embarrassment from the sounds he was making. Groans and grunts as well as lewd slurping sounds came from him as he ate you out like he was starving.

Your thighs tried to close around his head as he drove you closer and closer to orgasm but he held them open, giving your clit a few more slow licks as he looked up to meet your gaze through heavy lidded eyes. “Saaaaan,” you whine, head falling back. He chuckled, his breath hot against your sex. “You’re so cute when you whine,” he said as he pulled away, kissing up your stomach and between your breasts before taking you in a searing kiss. 

You tasted yourself on his tongue as his hands moved to your hips. “Roll over for me.” he whispered against your lips. You did as he asked as he pulled back, peeling his own clothes off until he was just as naked. He reached over you, grabbing one of your pillows and folding it in half. “Lift your hips for me, little squirrel,” he said. You did as he said, lifting your hips so he could slip the pillow under your stomach.

You rested against it, your ass propped up as he moved behind you, spreading your legs with his knees. “You sure about this?” he asked as he took his cock in his hand, giving it a few strokes and spreading the precum that gathered at the tip as you nodded. “Yes,” you breathed. “Please Sannie,” you added, wiggling your hips, your tail swishing out of the way.

San guided the head of his cock to your slit, brushing the tip against your sex, gathering the wetness that was basically dripping out of you before pushing into you. “Oh fuck,” he hissed as your walls sucked him in, guiding him deeper until he bottomed out. “S-Sannie,” you whimpered into the sheets, fingers curling into the material as your cunt stretched around his cock.

“You okay, baby?” San asked, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. You nodded silently, licking your dry lips. “I need to hear you say it, little squirrel,” San said, squeezing your hips. “Yes,” you answered immediately. “I’m okay. F-feels so good,” you gasped as you felt him start to pull out. He gave you a hard thrust, hips snapping forward and his skin hitting yours, making you cry out.

“That hurt?” he asked, stroking your skin gently. You shook your head. “N-no,” you replied. “Feel good, Sannie. Just surprised me, that’s all.” San leaned over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Good,” he murmured, giving you another harsh thrust and quickly setting a rough and relentless pace as he rocked into you, his cock repeatedly hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Cause we have a long night ahead of us, little squirrel.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.