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cafedanslanuit · 4 years ago

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[ k i n k t o b e r ] d a y 10 - masterlist

↪ character: takami keigo / hawks [boku no hero academia]

↪ tags/warnings: +18, female!reader, praise kink (giving and receiving), mentions of scars, manga spoilers, a bit of angst but also sweet moments.

↪ a/n: set after the war arc in the bnha manga, so spoilers up to 271.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Keigo whispered against your lips before he kissed you hungrily. The fact that the first thing he saw when he got home after a particularly long day was his girlfriend dressed in black lingerie waiting for him had him seeing stars.

You chuckled in between the kiss, but let him push you on the bed as he kicked off his shoes. His jacket followed right after, your hand immediately caressing his arms. You hummed contently when you felt his muscles twitch under your hand.

"Long day, baby?" you asked, helping him take off his shirt.

"Longest ever," he groaned. He pulled away from you to take off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. His pants followed soon after and your legs immediately parted, making space for him to settle between them.

"Look at you, babe," he breathed out, his hips bucking against yours. "You're so goddamn beautiful. How did I get so lucky to have you waiting for me in these?" he asked, his fingers caressing the fabric of your bra. "You look so fucking delicious," he grunted, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck to your shoulder.

"You're not so bad yourself," you teased him, squeezing his biceps, to which he just laughed. You closed your eyes for a second and basked in the sound of his warm laughter.

"Maybe," he said, propping himself up and taking a look at your entire body. "But I can't compete with that. You're gonna make me lose my mind over the memory of you in this lingerie. Fuck, it's like you're doing these a favour," he exhaled, grabbing them hem of your underwear and snapping it against your skin playfully. "Makes me want to take care of every single part of your body,” he said, looking straight into your eyes.

He started leaving small kisses on your neck and your hands travel to his hair, ruffling it a bit and smiling. In a quick movement, you pushed him on the bed and straddled him. The absence of his wings made it no longer uncomfortable for him to be in that position. You held his head with your hands and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“What about you, my favourite birdman?” you said, looking at him tenderly. “You’ve worked so much today-- hell, you’re always working so hard,” you sighed, caressing his scarred cheek with your thumb.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re waiting for me at home,” he argued, but you put your index finger on top of his lips, silencing him.

“Shhh, no. Tonight is about you. I want to spoil my perfect boyfriend. My perfect, loving boyfriend with the most beautiful golden eyes I’ve ever seen,” you smiled. “My perfect boyfriend and his hair, always looking amazing even after a long flight. My perfect boyfriend with his beautiful face,” you sighed, kissing the scar on his cheek. “You work so much and always come home so tired, yet you always ask how my day was.”

Your hands travelled down to his shoulders and rubbed them with care, your fingers taking their time to knead the knots that were formed there, preventing him to relax fully.

“I got you now, baby. You’re mine and I’m yours, right?”

Hawks nodded and you kissed him again, your tongue stroking his bottom lip as he opened his mouth for you. The kiss was slow and sensual, your bodies flushing together as he held you by your waist firmly.

“I’m so in love with you,” you whispered against his lips, feeling your heart flutter like the first time you kissed him. “You’re so beautiful. You’re so kind. You’re such a good person.”

“I’m definitely not a good person,” he huffed, stroking your sides softly.

“You are,” you said firmly. “I know what you’re thinking and please, don’t. I know you’ve done some bad things in the past, but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. The Commission may have taught you a blotched version of this society, but you’ve seen the truth now. And even when you didn’t, you still were kind. You always tried to help out and do whatever you thought was the right thing to do. And I will always love you for that precious heart of yours that only wants what’s best for everyone. Even when it may not be the best thing for you.”

You stroked his chest softly, and took a deep breath.

“Even after losing a part of yourself,” you whispered, remembering the crimson wings that used to be sprawled underneath him. “You still go out there and try to do your best for everyone. And then, you come home to me. No, I’m sorry,” you corrected yourself with a chuckle. “You come back and create a home with me. So yeah,” you shrugged with a smile. “I’m in love with who you are, Takami Keigo.”

Remembering your earlier intentions, you began leaving small kisses on his neck and then lowered to his chest. You took your time in covering his entire skin with kisses, your hands caressing and squeezing his arms softly as you took care of the man underneath you. You whispered more praises and words of love to your boyfriend as you trailed down to his abs, your mouth watering a bit at the sight of his toned muscles. You pressed a small kiss right under his belly button and giggled when you felt him trembling under your touch.

“Hmm, you like that, baby?” you asked, looking up. As soon as you saw his face, your smile disappeared completely.

He was crying.

You quickly crawled back to his face, your eyes filled with worry as you saw the tears falling from the corners of his eyes.

“Keigo, what’s wrong?” you said, cupping his head and wiping his tears with your thumb. “Baby, did something happen today?”

He shook his head, but the tears didn’t seem to stop. Keigo gently pushed you to the side and sat up on the bed, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to control himself. You crawled to his side and kneeled beside him, scared about his current state. The image of your boyfriend crying on his underwear made your heart clench in pain, even more when you didn’t know what was happening.

“Talk to me, please,” you whispered, pressing a kiss on his shoulder. He turned and looked at you, his face damp as he was unable to stop crying.

Keigo pulled you closer in a tight hug and buried his head on your chest. Your arms quickly embraced him, stroking his back softly, trying to comfort him the best way you could. You gently caressed his hair, doubting whether it was a good idea to ask again what was going on.

“Please don’t ever leave me,” he muttered in a broken voice.

“Leave? I won’t leave you,” you assured him, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“No, no. I--” he started, but fell silent again. You felt his back rising as he took a deep breath before talking again. “What you said. Just took me off guard, I guess,” he sniffled, his arms still around your waist.

You immediately recalled the previous compliments and love promises you had made just moments ago. Even though you thought it was obvious how much in love you were with him, it seemed this was the first time he had taken your comments seriously. Your heart broke at the idea he had been so appalled by your loving words, his emotions had taken the best of him and he didn’t know how to handle it.

“You are the best man I’ve ever known and I’m hopelessly in love with you, Keigo. Leaving you would be my worst nightmare,” you promised, kissing the top of his head. “I will always be by your side. Always.” You felt him nod against your chest, and the tears followed soon after once more.

That night, when you both finally decided to sleep, you made sure to hug him a little tighter, promising to yourself that from that moment on, you would do everything in your power to fill the rest of his days with all the love he deserved.

#hawks x reader #bnha x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #takami keigo x reader #bnha hawks #keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo #bnha smut #hawks smut #allie after hours

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kozumekenza · 3 years ago

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house of memories :: six

:: kageyama tobio x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 2.0k ::

the last you had heard of kageyama tobio, he was following his grandfather’s footsteps and leaving you behind to join the syndicate. a chance meeting throws him back into your life, along with all of the memories.

tw: mafia elements, profanity, kidnapping, drug use, guns

Kageyama Tobio paces in front of your lab building. You should have been done an hour ago, and normally you text if something comes up. Maybe you’re studying or had to do extra lab work. He shouldn’t worry himself yet.

Six hours later, Kageyama finds himself at his desk, looking over security camera footage with Miwa leaning over his shoulder. His phone buzzes next to him; a simple picture is the only message. His shaking hand causes the phone to slip from his grip, falling to the floor. His stomach drops as his heart cracks.

---

Your first thought is that your head hurts. Your second thought is that you need to figure out what the hell happened.

You keep your eyes closed; if your attackers are near you, you don’t want them to know that you’re awake yet. Instead, you focus on what information you can gather from your other senses.

You’re laying on your back, on what you guess is a bed. It’s soft underneath your back, which is a slight relief. You can’t be in too much danger if your kidnappers have given you a comfortable bed, right? The room isn’t completely dark; your eyes are able to register that something is emitting a soft light. If you focus, you can hear muffled voices, probably in a hallway outside the room you’re in.

You slowly open your eyes; there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger. Most of your assumptions were correct. You’re in a small room, lying on a bed, blankets covering you. There are no windows, but a lamp on the bedside table casts the room in soft yellow light. A closed door is to your right, and you can hear the voices that way. Besides missing your shoes, you’re still fully dressed in what you were wearing. The backpack you were carrying is missing, along with your phone. There’s no telling how long you were out for or what time it is now. You can only pray that Kageyama knows you wouldn’t miss your lunch date without telling him; that he realizes something is amiss.

The lock on the door clicks, and you sit up, preparing yourself for whoever enters. It’s the man who was leaning over you before you passed out; you recognize his sickening grin. His smile only widens when he sees that you’re awake, and he comes towards the side of the bed as you try to crawl away from him.

“I’m glad to see that you’re finally awake, darling.”

His voice drips with sweet venom, making you cringe. “Get the fuck away from me.”

He cocks his head to the side. “No can do, darling. You’re mine now.”

“I don’t even know you. Let me go.” You really wish that you had anything to use against him; a weapon, a knife, even something to throw at him.

“You know me. Well, maybe you don’t, but Tobio sure does. Isn’t that right?” Your eyes widen as he pulls a cellphone from his pocket, your cellphone, you realize. Kageyama’s not on speaker, but you can hear his voice. He’s shouting, screaming at this guy in front of you, and it all suddenly clicks.

These are the people who have the files. This is Seijoh. This is who Kageyama was worried about.

You don’t know how you didn’t realize it from the start; getting drugged must have slowed down your brain. Now that you know the situation you’re in, adrenaline starts to kick in. This is the mafia, and these people will kill you. You know this, and you need to escape before that can happen. Seijoh will do anything to get to Kageyama, and you can’t allow him to risk anything to get you back. You will have to escape yourself.

“Give me the phone.” The man glances up at you, eyebrows shooting up at your request.

“Why would I do such a thing?” Kageyama’s still shouting, even louder now. The man hums thoughtfully, then presses a button. “I guess I could put him on speaker.”

Kageyama’s voice is now clear, but all you hear are threats and a lot of shouting.

“Tobio?” You call his name, hoping he’ll hear it through all his yelling, and vaguely, it crosses your mind that this is the first time in four years that you’ve used Kageyama’s given name.

“Y/n?” His voice is frantic, and you can almost picture him, disheveled and pacing back and forth. The thought brings tears to your eyes. You have to escape, if only so that you can see him again, tell him you love him, call him by his first name to his face.

“I’m here. Listen, don’t do anything stupid. I’ll find a way out, I promise.”

“Y/n, I’m going to come get you, don’t listen to anything Oikawa tells you. I’ll give him whatever he wants in exchange for you returning safely, he knows that.” You look to the man, Oikawa.

“Tobio, don’t you dare do anything stupid. Don’t give him anything. I’ll kill you myself if you do. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I’ll find a way out.”

Oikawa grins. “Alright, that’s enough.” Kageyama’s shouting as Oikawa ends the call, pocketing your phone. He extends his hand to you, and you grimace.

“Come on. Why don’t we chat for a bit, darling?”

---

Kageyama Tobio tosses his phone across the room in anger. You are so, so brave and he is not worthy of you. You were taken right from him, in broad daylight, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Even with your warnings, he is willing to do anything to get you home, to bring you back safe.

Miwa brings him tea as he pours over every piece of information he has. She calls his associates; his most trusted men, any and all rival gangs he has alliances with.

He can only pray that you are safe, that Oikawa wouldn’t harm his most powerful bargaining chip.

---

When Oikawa reaches for you, you grab his hand and pull him towards you, punching him in the nose. He’s shouting for someone, but you’re too focused on doing all the damage you possibly can. You don’t notice when another man comes into the room, syringe in hand, and pricks you in the arm. As the world fades and tears form in your eyes, you can only hope that you’ll have the chance to wake once again.

---

When you wake again, you are thankful. You’re in the same room with the same surroundings. There is no telling how long you were out for this time, but you’re mercifully alone. That is enough to encourage you to get up, to start thinking of a plan. You try to sit up, but your muscles are weak. It takes minutes to pull yourself into a sitting position, and you’re exhausted by the end of it. You can’t do anything like this. You collapse back down again, praying that whatever drugs they’ve given you will be worn off by the time you wake next.

---

The Artura roars as Kageyama presses down on the gas, one hand on the gearshift. It’s nearing dawn; he’s been out all night looking for clues and a way to see Oikawa without provoking him. None of his efforts have proven futile, so now, he does what he should’ve done first: gone straight to the source.

There are no bodyguards are security outside the lavish mansion, not even a gate. He parks at the top of the driveway, just outside the garage. There have to be security cameras, but he doesn’t care. He’ll get what he’s here for regardless.

Oikawa’s personal residence is an elaborate estate on the outskirts of Tokyo. It’s quite the commute, Kageyama thinks, for someone who works in the heart of the city. He himself prefers living where he works; it’s an easy way to oversee all of his assets and ensure that everything is running smoothly.

This isn’t his first time here, and when he goes to push the front door open, it is unlocked. Kageyama’s mind screams that this means danger, but it doesn’t fully sink in until he walks into the foyer, a gun pointed at his head.

Oikawa Tooru stands leisurely, even when pointing a glock at someone’s forehead. His smile is the same as ever; a chilling, too-nice thing that has always given Kageyama the creeps. His finger hovers on the trigger, and Kageyama immediately realizes that he has made a grave mistake.

If Oikawa pulls that trigger, he will be dead, and there is no way of knowing what will happen to you.

---

When the blanket of sleep lifts again, you are feeling significantly better. There is no one in the room and the drugs have worn off. You rifle through the nightstand’s drawers first. There seems to be nothing of importance, all of the drawers are empty, until you hit the bottom one.

You dig your fingernails into the edge. The depth of this drawer was significantly less than the rest, and your suspicions are proven correct when the false bottom pops out and a handgun is revealed.

Laughing, you grab it, popping the safety off. It’s a miracle, really, that you were able to find such a thing. You stand and head to the door, expecting it to be locked, another challenge to face. Instead, it opens with ease, and you step out into the hall with chills crawling down your spine. Someone is allowing you to leave, and that is unusual.

You stick to the walls as you make your way around. You can hear faint voices, and you follow them through the confusing layout of the house. You look around a corner, gun poised and ready to shoot, when someone grabs you from behind.

You shriek as an arm is snaked around your body, one of your attacker’s hands coming up to cover your mouth. Your eyes are wide in fear when they turn you around, and you remember the gun in your hand. You bring it up to shoot, closing your eyes and hating yourself for what you’re about to do, but your attacker knocks it from your hand easily.

You recognize him, he was there when you were first kidnapped. He puts a hood over your hand and leans in close.

“Stay quiet if you want lover-boy to stay alive.”

Goosebumps prickle on your skin at his words. He can only mean Kageyama, right? You pray that Kageyama is safe, that he didn’t do anything stupid, that he’s alive and well and not here.

You’re led around the house; you can’t see anything, and you’re thoroughly confused with all of the turns by the time you’re led down a set of stairs and towards the voices you heard earlier.

Your heart drops when you’re close enough to distinguish the voices.

“Anything, really? You’d give me your business, your assets, your life?”

Oikawa’s voice is smooth, and you can tell he’s finding humor in the situation at hand, but it isn’t his voice that concerns you.

“Anything.”

No. No. No.

You silently cry when you hear Kageyama’s voice. Why is he here? Why didn’t he stay away like you told him to? Why is he risking everything?

“Hm. Well, if I’m going to kill you, wouldn’t it be better to have an audience?”

You’re thrust forward, nearly stumbling without anyone’s hands to keep you steady. The man from before rips the hood off of your head, and you come face to face with Oikawa, a gun in his hand, aiming for Kageyama. You can’t run to either of them, someone will shoot you if you do. Instead, you hold your ground.

“Let her go.” Kageyama’s voice is thick with anger, and you let your tears fall. “At least don’t make her watch this.”

“You aren’t in a position to make demands right now. I could just as easily kill her instead. Actually,” Oikawa’s easy smile makes you want to scream, “Hajime, why don’t you show poor Tobio how bad this could really get.”

The man behind you, Hajime apparently, grabs you again so that you can’t move. Kageyama’s eyes widen in fear; you aren’t sure why, Hajime just grabbed you, that’s all.

Everything makes sense when you feel the cold press of a gun against your temple.

taglist: @lilith412426 @itoshibaby @wallywaffle @princess-sunshyn @zukoslosthishonor @fatal-impact @kageyamakock

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 4 years ago

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Promise Status, Broken

Warnings: fake death, blood, taking shirt off, drugging, hospital setting, needles,conditioned response, mention of torture

He plunged the knife into Hero's abdomen and pressed. He pressed until the hilt was hardly visible under the layer of blood that pooled around the open wound. He pressed until Hero's stuttering breaths stopped.

And he let the dead body fall to the ground with a thump. Villain put his boot onto Hero's dull face and kicked. She didn't deserve kindness, dead or alive. Villain pulled the knife out.

Suddenly, the dark shed that he committed the long overdue murder was infiltrated by an eerie white glow.

"Hero," came a breathless gasp. Then the shocked voice changed into a professional order, "Hands up where I can see them!" A gun clicked.

Villain slowly turned around. His smug attitude and cockiness was apparent as he held the bloody knife deftly between his fingers. The blood dripped to the ground with a splatter.

"Drop the weapon," a young police officer yelled. "Drop it."

Villain smirked. The police officer was so tiny. Villain was muscular and very agile. He could've just tossed the knife and mortally wound the officer if it wasn't for the sudden flash of white in the back of his head.

Villain collasped forward, falling onto his side. He blinked, trying to dispel the dizziness and stars. The dark room seemed even darker like a black abyss. The moonlight he saw earlier was all muddled into a blob.

Through his swimming vision, Villain saw the young police officer swoop down to pluck the prey off the ground. He cradled Villain's lolling head with a fake concerned look on his face. Villain blinked, squinted, did everything in his power to focus on the young face.

The officer must've realized Villain's effort because he said, "Do you know who I am?" Villain shook his head. To him, it was an effort, an effort that cost the room to tilt and Villain to sway. But in reality, it was the weakest thing.

"Recognize me now?" The officer said in a deeper voice. Villain's brain very slowly placed the voice with the face of Hero's sidekick.

"Sidekick," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good boy," Sidekick rubbed the side of Villain's head. It sent a new flare of heated pain through his body, centering on his head. Villain tried to jerk himself away, managing to break free of Sidekick's grasp. The only thing it added up to, however, was two more arms catching him before he toppled to the ground.

"Dizzy?" Sidekick said in a babyish tone. Villain didn't answer. Everything burned and ached and it was getting harder and harder to stay conscious.

"You just murdered Hero, Villain, why?" Sidekick asked.

Villain's cognitive skills weren't one hundred percent, so his tongue spoke before his damaged mind had a chance to catch up.

"P-promise... m' status... broken," Villain whispered. He just wanted to fall backwards and die. Oh, would that be sweet. But the arms supporting him kept him up and awake as nails dug into his skin. It was a new sensation, one Villain never experienced before. Nails into the skin.

Sidekick's once serious face turned into one of pure childish curiosity. "Walk," he sneered. "We are walking to the car."

Villain felt himself being lifted onto his feet. Then, he felt all of his weight relying on those two support beams. He swayed, determined to stay upright.

Dizziness once again ran its course as Villain stepped forward- one teetering step at a time. He let out a groan, and a moan, and a whimper, and a- the list goes on.

Villain did not remember stepping into the car. The second his body touched the seat, he was out. Sidekick had to move his head so that he wouldn't break his neck going over a bump. He sighed and stared sadly at the poor Villain's head. It was necessary, very necessary, or Hero wouldn't have been able to escape.

"Thank you," came a pained voice. Sidekick spun around to see Hero limping forward. She had her hand protectively covering a bruise on her stomach. Sidekick sighed in relief and embraced her. The extra padding and fake blood worked well.

"I should be thanking you," Sidekick laughed. "If you didn't hit him, I would be dead."

Hero's happy face contorted into a much more serious expression.

"Why did you make Villain walk like that?" She asked. It was very rude, and practically unnecessary. She couldn't help but think that Sidekick wanted to offend Villain. She glanced at the sleeping, limp figure in the back of the car. Villain's blood from a nasty gash that Hero caused with a metal bar, pooled around him. She grimaced in guilt.

"Hero?" Sidekick asked.

"You never answered my question," Hero snapped. She ignored the painful bruise and glared at her sidekick.

"If we didn't have that protection on, you would be dead," Sidekick defended himself.

Hero scoffed and said, "Don't make excuses for your actions. We both know that it wasn't his fault that he turned out like this."

"He could've control his emotions, turned to goodness, not anger," Sidekick pointed out and pursed his lips. "He's not the innocent one."

Hero closed her eyes shut for a moment, replaying a memory that haunted her for a long time.

"I promise to always be there for you," Hero told Villain as she hugged him under the stars when they were nineteen, three years ago.

"Promise?" Villain's sweet voice cracked, absent of the usual sarcasm. Of course, he wasn't a villain then.

"I promise."

The next week, Villain was kidnapped by Supervillain.

"Don't look for him Hero, he's as good as dead anyways," her sidekick told her. Sidekick always saw the practical side of everything, so Hero assumed he was right.

The next year, Hero stumbled upon a broken body in an alleyway. Her heart lurched as she examimed the countless injuries. Broken ribs and nose, bruises littered the torso and his lungs struggled to take a breath. Hero tentatively pushed the skinny arm of his face and she gasped in horror. It was Villain.

Villain was alive, not dead.

Hero didn't hesitate to lift Villain's severely underweight body up and bring him to a hospital. She sat by his bed until he woke up a couple days later. She was beyond exhaustion at this point, and was so relieved to see Villain conscious that she nearly broke down in tears.

But a small, weak voice stopped her emotions from letting loose.

"Promise status," Villain murmured, his eyes already closing. Hero didn't register the words right away, she just tried to shake Villain awake. "Broken," he finished his sentence. Only then did Hero realize the meaning. She never looked for Villain. She just left him for dead, assuming the worse. After Villain's eyes slid closed, she noticed how conditioned the sentence was. It wasn't even a complete sentence. More like a robot repeating its task over and over, "Cycle One, Complete. Cycle Two, Begin. Cycle One..."

Hero, knowing she really shouldn't, laid her head on the bed, too tired to stay awake anymore. She hated the way Villain spoke to her, but was ecstatic to know he could wake up. So she slept.

Maybe two hours later, she woke to Villain scrambling up in fear. All the monitors started screaming. Without thinking, Hero pressed the HELP button, which only added to the piercing noise.

"Villain, hey, hey," Hero tried to soothe, which only resulted in Villain jerking back so hard that the IV ripped from his arm. Blood splattered everywhere, but that was the least of Hero's worries. Villain's hands went up to his mouth, yanking the oxygen mask off. In one split second, the previous rage settled into a slight panic. His chest heaved, unable to breathe properly.

Shortly after, the nurses rushed in with a syringe that contained a clear liquid.

"What is that?" Hero asked, instinctively stepping between the nurse and the terrified Villain.

The nurse hesitated before replying, "We need to calm him down before he hurts himself and others. It's just a sedative."

Hero shakily stepped out of the way. She felt useless watching the nurse inject Villain with the needle. She felt useless seeing his eyes widen in fear.

After a few minutes, the wildness in Villain's eyes were replaced with a tired look. His muscles loosened and relaxed as his breathing deepened. Another nurse rushed in with an oxygen mask.

Very soon, Villain's eyelids slipped completely shut. Hero and the nurse slowly lowered him into the bed.

The nurse laid their hand on Hero's shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. When she left, Hero sunk down into her chair and took Villain's hand in her's. She brought her finger to the bandage that covered his wrist and rubbed it. She thought of how she just left him to suffer under Supervillain's wrath. It wasn't fair.

A horrid thought struck her. What if Villain wouldn't trust her anymore? He already seemed to be terrified of her. However, that could also be due to the hospital setting.

"Hero!"

Sidekick's voice dragged Hero from her flashback and so did the repetitive snaps of his fingers.

"Oh sorry," Hero gave a half-smile and walked to where Villain was sleeping. She sat down next to him, crunching his legs so she could fit.

"Are you seriously sitting back there?" Sidekick asked, leaning against the open door.

"Yes," Hero said, bringing Villain's feet onto her lap. "Of course." When she saw the look on Sidekick's face, she added, "He can't do much at the moment."

Sidekick still gave her a doubtful look, but jogged over to the driver's side and hopped in. Hero shut the door.

They drove in silence until they reached Hero's base. It was a small buidling, but had a couple cells, medic lab, and many bedrooms. It was mainly known for the gorgeous decor, both outside and indoors.

Hero and Sidekick worked together to bring Villain into one of the medic rooms. When Sidekick rushed to find Doctor, Hero took the time to examine Villain's physical health other than the bloody wound on his head.

Hero gingerly lifted his shirt, but then put it back, too scared to actually see what was under there. When Villain was discharged from the hospital, the doctors told her that the psychological healing would take awhile, especially since he would be reminded everyday with the scars. She took a deep breath and looked.

The criss-crossed scars made her want to vomit. They lined his muscles, putting unnecessary dents into the perfectly lined abs. Trying to ignore the marks, she tried to find the positive things. He was much more physically in shape than she had ever seen. All the lost weight was returned to him.

Footsteps sounded so she put his shirt back, trying to dispel the image now engraved in her mind.

"You whacked him hard," Doctor commented, examining Villain's head. "But he should be able to recover with minimal damage, but we will see. I do want to take tests and do a scan when he wakes up." Doctor cocked his head and then asked, "Is he better?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has he recovered from Supervillain? The last time I saw him-"

"No," Sidekick interrupted. "He was trying to kill Hero."

Yeah cause we let him, Hero thought, but remained silent.

"Hmm," Doctor mumbled. "Expect confusion for a couple days." Then he left.

Sidekick and Hero hovered over Villain's bed, silently. Hero recognized that things seemed to be more quiet between them, but didn't dwell on it.

After a moment or two, Sidekick left, leaving Hero alone. Again.

She sat next to Villain and held his hand like she did a couple years ago. It was the same setting, just a different hospital.

Suddenly, Villain's hand jerked away from Hero's touch. She looked up at him, fear coursing through her body. He just tried to kill me, she told herself over and over.

"Promise status, broken," Villain said. "Promise status, broke. Promise status, broken! Promise, promise..." Villain voice trailed off as he looked around the room. "Promise status, broken," he whispered and closed his eyes. Hero gently shook him.

He looked at her, evil eyes meeting righteous eyes. Hero couldn't help but feel yet another twinge of guilt.

Villain, in his delirious state, could not recognize the figure in front of him. She was pretty, was all he could think, and the same words. "Promise status, broken," was the only thing his tongue allowed him to say. Nothing made sense, nothing at all.

But what didn't make sense the most was when the girl leaned forward and took Villain's head in her hands. He wanted to recoil backwards and escape the misery, but she was stronger and the blinding headache made little things impossible.

"Don't worry. I am gonna fix you up... I promise."

#conditioned whumpee #hero caretaker #injured villain #villain whumpee #hospital

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

Text

HASO, “A Gift.”

Ok, so someone somewhere, I thought asked for Adam/Sunny Fluff. I don’t know where or who that was, either that or I am remembering incorrectly, but either way here it is whether you wanted it or not :)

Thought I’d focus a little bit on Sunny.

Ignore if you are NOT interested in the relationship subplot.

I am trying to do this right, but who knows if that is going to work because I don’t usually write this sort of thing.

The humming of the ship’s engines reminded her of Anin, and reminded her of the distant roaring of the volcanoes as she slept in their family’s little hut at the center of the fertile belt. The feeling the memory provoked in her was a fond one despite being tainted by years and years of her mother's overarching disapproval, disapproval she was only now casting off, shedding it like an alien might shed a second skin.

It was a thing slow in coming, after years and years of constant disapproval, but becoming a Saint had been her last push into shaking off the insecurities of her childhood. The spirits of Anin had chosen her, and that was something even her mother could not deny, it was something sunny herself could not deny, despite her own fears and insecurities telling her otherwise.

She was worthy.

Finally worthy.

It felt good to wake up like that, felt good to sit up in the dim light of her little room aboard the Omen, and know that she was enough. She lay there in the quiet for a moment, in her own small room, with her own little window that looked out on the stars to her side. She rolled over to stare outward watching a distant galaxy spinning past in all of its glory. Adam liked to park the ship in places like this, places that would remind the crew of where they were and what they were doing.

From this distance that spiraling galaxy seemed so small despite being billions of lightyears wide, dim and distant, though still shedding a faint light upon her from so far away. As she lay there another light pulsed over her body, luminous purple-blue LED strips around the bottom and top of her room, dimmed for the proper ambiance.

She sat up slowly stretching and flexing her feet.

She sat up looking around her room and the familiar space lit by the glowing purple blue neon.

It was a strange mixture of things alien and things familiar.

Beside her bed, a tall, climate-controlled glass case held a large armature upon which her saint’s armor was proudly displayed, little white stage lights shining pearly waves of rainbow across it’s outer metal, beside that a metal rack on the wall held a collection of spears, some worn and used with age, others sharp and new, one glittering with the same pearly white sheen as her armor.

On the headboard of her bed rested a pair of lime green headphones.

There was a Holo-screen on the wall across from her bed and a couple of photos tacked up on the wall across from her. They were hard to make out in the dim bluish lighting, but there was one of Anin and a few of her and her brother, a couple more of her and Adam, and a single image in the middle.

It wasn’t as refined an image as the others, having been hand painted by a crewmember as a commission for her….

An image of a tall golden Drev in mighty war armor.

Just below that image, set back into the wall, there sat a small, almost-shrine, with a spirit light and a few other odds and ends from Anin.

Sunny stood and stretched rolling her muscles and joints as she walked over to the little shrine and knelt before it.

She reached out and cupped the spirit light in her two lower hands as she bowed her head.

She stayed there for some time as the minutes ticked away.

A clock on her nightstand gave her the time in human hours tiny numbers glowing green.

As the clock hit 30, she opened her eyes and turned to the side dipping a rag into the sink and proceeding to rub it over her body.

Drev didn’t need to bath as frequently or as…. Heavily as humans. Where humans relied on natural oils to keep their skin healthy, the Drev had no such problems, and rarely produced the amount of bacteria that humans did. For that reason, Drev didn’t tend to smell, and if they did it had more to do with what they ate than it did with their own festering nastiness.

She set the rag down and stood, pulling on her headphones and scrolling through her playlist using the implanted chip in her arm, like the humans she had taken up one of the devices to store her information and money, along with the implanted translation system just below her ear. She kept it off most of the time, but she could turn it on when needed.

Scrolling through the list, she paused at one and then hesitated before clicking on it.

Sunny knew a lot about music for someone who grew up without it. It was a piece of art she thought the Drev were sadly lacking, and listening to the drums and rasping vocals of humans two thousand years dead, she wondered why they had never thought of it.

The playlist, had been one she hadn’t touched in a while.

It tended to make her sad despite it’s upbeat and powerful music.

It reminded her of Adam.

It was his playlist after all, but she really did feel like she needed something to get her going this morning,

With the music going, she grabbed one of her spears from the wall, and then stood at the center of the room.

She closed her eyes as the blue neon light glowed over her. WIth her eyes still closed she began to move slowly, one foot forward one foot back dropping into a crouch pulling the spear back and then beginning to move slowly remembering the forms, remembering the mountain and the voice of Naktan as he urged her through the new and emerging steps.

***

0400

Adam sat up, cool air blowing on his skin from the vent above.

Outside the window the vast spiral of the Milky way glowed in from his viewing window casting delicate yellow light over his skin. He stretched muscles flexing and tensing as he extended his body to a brief maximum before relaxing.

He sat there for a moment taking in the view, allowing it to bath him in cosmic light.

And some people wake up to a sunrise.

He reached down to the side of the bed, gripping the cool metal and carapace surface with his left hand before socketing it into place over the stub of his missing leg. There was a sharp whirr and then a sudden rush of sensation. He flexed the two toed alien foot of his right leg and stood stretching his legs as well.

He turned and walked to stand before the full length mirror by the window. The light was dim, but it still cast enough illumination that he could see the hills and valleys of his own body set in sharp contrast in the light.

He stood straighter lifting his chin and surveying himself in the mirror.

He was almost proud of what he saw. Never a slouch, he had always been active, and during training he had been in good shape, but a few years as captain of the ship, with more duties and little time he had neglected his physique for other matters. It hadn’t done anything horrible to him, but he had seen better days.

That was, of course, until his breakup with Sunny. Granted a week of binge drinking hadn’t exactly helped matters, but his following vacation time that had included a stint of time with a human colony of Neospartans had kicked his ass back into gear. A few months and a couple of personal revelations later, and he had made it his goal to mold himself into the best version of himself he could conceive. His body was just beginning to show that dedication.

He bent down, tugging a pair of shoes from one of the drawers under his bed, and sat down to tie them on.

He stood and walked over to the side of the room pressing a button on the wall. There was a sharp whirring as the floor rotated and three large screens slowly pulled down from the ceiling.

Off to his left waffles opened one sleepy amber eye before heading back to sleep.

He flicked his arm once and stepped onto the small rectangle of floor.

The screens lit up in front of him showing an open mountain landscape and a trail.

The floor below him slowly began to move, and he broke into a jog. The music flipped on at his request as his feet began pounding against the moving floor. He kept his back straight and his arms against his sides as the floor tilted and rolled slightly below him, mirroring the trail on which he now ran.

Sweat rolled down his bare back as, forty minutes later he dropped to the floor, hands held at shoulder width pushing himself repeatedly up and down and up and down. When his arms shook, he stood and leaped upwards, catching onto the padded black bar on the ceiling. The muscles in his back flexed firing as his teeth clenched and sweat dripped down his face onto his shoulders.

He repeated that sequence for some time before returning to the side of the room and picking up the silver metaled spear.

Still breathing hard he pulled on the VR glasses and followed the Drev training simulation twice before putting the spear away.

Waffles at up and stretched.

He patted her head once before passing into the bathroom.

Water cascaded down his body where he sat washing salt and sweat down the drain, only to socket his leg back on again and dress himself. Eyes stared down at him from the walls, vintage movie posters from years long gone.

A replica lightsaber glittered dully in the light where it sat on his nightstand.

He adjusted his uniform cap before the mirror, and whistled once for waffles, who ran up to stand at his heels.

He opened the door just as Simon was raising her hand to knock.

She stepped back in surprise, and he smiled, “Beat you again, Simon.”

She opened her mouth nonplussed and then closed it again holding out her clipboard, “Morning, Sir.”

He took the clipboard and marched with her up to the bridge where he got his work done. Waffles lay at his feet as he gave the morning crew their orders, and inspected their trajectory, reading their orders from the UNSC and the GA,before sending off a few reports. He read through the reports of his chief staff and approved a few important changes.

Once upon a time a day like this might have overwhelmed him.

He stepped down from his chair and turned to Simon, “Command is your Simon, I have a few things to attend to this morning.”

She saluted crisply and traded seats with him as he turned and stepped down the stairs.

***

The sound of the engine was louder down here and his heart thrummed along with her as he stood with his back to the cold metal. At his feet Waffles stared up at him with her big brown eyes, waiting.

Deep breath.

He turned stepping into the doorway and looking into the small workroom, lined on all sides by unfinished projects and hanging blueprints. He stood quietly in the doorway, watching the light play over her blue carapace, rolling down her like rivers of sunlit water. The way she moved was so steady, and so sure, that it seemed as if she herself were the waters of a mountain river, steady, changing only with the greatest deliberation.

The movement of her hands on metal was so precise and so predictable he might have been able to pound out a beat to her movements, but this was hardly the time. He stepped forward silently over the metal.

“Someone once told me you can only find Gemstones in the darkest of places.”

Sunny turned her head and rolled a great golden eye when she saw it was him, “You know you flirt like a…. Hut being tipped over in a windstorm.”

“How’s that?”

“A mild disaster.”

“How ironic, so are you metaphors.”

She eyed him up and down with one golden eye, “Where is he and what have you done with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“My Adam is a stuttering idiot, where did you put him.”

My Adam.

He walked over and sat on the bench next to her leaning back against her work table, “Tied up and locked in the closet for the time being.” he smiled and scooted a little closer, “He tends to get nervous talking to pretty girls.”

“Oh, does he?”

She leaned forward a little bit one of her hands brushing up against his leg.

Shit

Dammit! The stuttering began in earnest and he felt his face go red to the tips of his ears.

She hummed deep in her chest, “That was a good try, you almost made it a full minute.”

***

Sunny hummed in mild pleasure as she watched him squirm, her superior cones and rods picking up the delicate change in skin tone as subcutaneous blood rushed into his face. The Delicate pattern of UV light that played over his face glowed in green blue pearl patterns, swirling over his cheeks and face.

She knew those pattern well, and guessed she could probably have drawn them from memory if someone had asked.

He ran a hand through his hair, and as he did she could pick out the individual strands of hair and the color changes. A few of the hairs at his temples had bleached white. She wouldn’t tell him that, but the number of white hairs had been increasing rapidly over the past few months. Weather it was stress or genetics she didn’t know.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I tried.”

“You did.”

He continued to rub the back of his neck, “I um…. I brought you… s-something.”

“Oh?”

He reached down beside him and pulled a long black box from the floor offering it up so she had to pull back to let him set it down on the table before her.

He turned to look at her, his one green eye so alive with worry she wanted to reach over and take his hand just to calm him down.

But he remained even, and with a smile of his face, he reached over and flipped the case open. She glanced in, eyes wide with surprise, “What…. This is all for… me?”

“I thought you…. Might like it. I mean they aren’t really my thing you know, but they did, they did make me think of you and I, well I picked up a few things but I…”

One look from her silenced him and he wilted back into his seat, “It was during my little vacation…. I was going to give them to you earlier, but I didn’t want it to seem like I was trying to buy you back. I really just thought you’d like them.”

“Tell me about them.”

He scooted over to sit next to her, and he was close enough now that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, “This knife, I won in a bar fight with an outlaw, stole it off him while he was unconscious.” She watched him blush again a little, “I would have felt bad about it accept he was kind of an asshole.” he pointed to the next item in the velvet lined box, “That is the revolver of another outlaw I met by the name McBride, bested him in a boxing match on the back of a moving train. That spear was given to me as a gift by the NeoSpartan king for prowess in battle, and that triton was something I picked up free hunting alien sharks.”

He turned to look up at her, “I’m not pushing or anything,” he held up his hands, “Jupiter knows I don’t deserve it, but, it is a gift, and I want you to have them-”

He trailed off.

She stared at him.

He stared back.

She leaned down a little lowering her head and lightly touching her forehead against his. He wasn’t speaking any longer. Her eyes were half closed. She leaned forward, one of her hands resting on his real, human leg. He was warm below her hand, almost burning. One of his hands rested over hers.

They sat like that for a minute.

And then she felt him move. Something brushed over her cheek, soft, human lips depressed against her skin warm and humid. She hummed softly in her chest until the pressure pulled back, and she opened an eye. Before she knew what had happened she was on his feet, gone from underneath her hands.

He stood about two or three feet away skin on his face and hands bright with blood flow.

“I-I have to…. To do a.-something, a- about a thing, but I hope you like…. The gift.” He turned.

“Watch out for the-’

There was a clattering noise as he caught his toe on the step, pitched forward, landed on his hands and knees and then scrambled out the doorway with all the grace and beauty of a meteor collision.

“Step.” She finished to the empty air

She could still hear him clattering his way up the hall.

ON the floor below her Waffles looked after him with a comically confused expression for a dog.

“Well go on after him, and make sure he doesn’t accidentally kill himself.”

Waffles yipped low in her throat and charged off after him

Sunny hummed and turned back to her work bench staring down at the box of items, reaching up a hand to rest on her cheek.

They were getting there.

Slowly.

But they were getting there

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years ago

Text

Zephyr

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Word Count: 2,696

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to Exes and Supher-o’s. This drabble takes place before the events of Exes and Superher-o’s and follows Jungkook as he’s rescued by a superhero love interest.

A/N: The reader in this drabble is not the reader in Exes and Superher-o’s.

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

While standing in line at the check-out counter, Jungkook examined the oranges he’d picked out in his basket. Idly, he recalled Minutia saying the color orange came after the fruit, not before. She loved to spout factoids like that; Jungkook did a pretty good job of tuning her out, but her random facts always seemed to stick in his head.

Minutia was the superhero Jungkook was assigned to as handler. She was fairly loud, fairly opinionated and fairly dedicated to kicking people’s ass on the regular.

She’d mentioned the orange fact when ISA – International Superhero Agency – had recommended Minutia change her superhero suit color to orange. She’d felt very strongly about this and in the end, Minutia had won.

Usually, she did.

Realizing the line before him had moved, Jungkook took a step forward. No longer distracted by thoughts of the color orange, he took the opportunity to scan the grocery store around him.

It was a habit of his – an unfortunate side effect of both his job and the knowledge which came from it. After high school, Jungkook attended an elite military academy on the east coast, but it only took six months before ISA found him.

He’d been out for a morning run when two men in suits cornered him for what they called an opportunity. They’d explained about a different path than the military; an alternative from merely serving his country. Both agent and handlers at ISA held no national loyalty – they merely protected civilians from absolute evil.

Barely had the offer left their mouths before Jungkook accepted.

Of course, Jungkook learned soon after superhero handlers were little more than baby-sitters, but that was beside the point. He genuinely cared about Minutia and knew the work they did together was important – even if his position kind of sucked, since Jungkook was more than capable of defending himself.

Handlers were required to be proficient in various martial arts; they often trained the newbie superheroes who arrived at the Agency. Jungkook was a ninth-degree black belt in Taekwondo, a red belt in Jiu Jitsu and a tenth-degree black belt in Judo. He also had a blue belt in Krav Maga, but this had more to do with lack of time than capability. Jungkook could assemble and disassemble most weapons in the time it took most people to fire them, but all that meant nothing in the face of superpowers.

Minutia could simply freeze Jungkook and kill him if she wanted to; he’d never see it coming.

Not that Minutia would kill him, of course. Stifling the image, Jungkook moved up in line. His super was relentlessly moral, even if she had some rough edges and enjoyed pushing boundaries.

It was the rest who worried Jungkook, like the supervillains they fought. Aided by supernatural powers, supervillains were capable of great destruction. It was the main reason Jungkook stayed at his job – if anyone stood a chance against supervillains, it was superheroes.

“Bag?”

Surprised, Jungkook looked up. “Huh?”

“Bag,” the cashier girl repeated, rolling her eyes. “Do you want a bag?”

“Oh – no.” Jungkook shook his head. “I have my own. I –”

An explosion rocked the street outside, shattering the windows in a hailstorm of glass.

On instinct, Jungkook dove to protect the rude cashier with his body. There was bulletproof lining beneath his clothes, for which he was grateful. He’d just come from shooting practice at Headquarters and hadn’t had a chance to change out of his gear.

Glass harmlessly bounced off his torso, although a few shards sliced his face, leaving blood as he winced. Reaching up to grip counter, Jungkook surveyed the damage.

All the windows of the supermarket had been blown in. The blast seemed to have originated from the street – at least, Jungkook assumed this based on the direction of people running.

“Stay down!” he yelled, and launched himself over the counter.

People obeyed, crawling towards the store’s interior aisles. Jungkook hoped there was a door in the back, otherwise they’d trap themselves like fish in a barrel. He wasn’t surprised when people followed his command. People tended to respond positively to authority in times of chaos.

Yanking a Glock from his jacket, Jungkook dashed from the store. Cocking his head to one side, he surveyed the street for danger.

There – at the end of the block, he saw a cloud of dust settling.

Keeping his gun steady, Jungkook rushed towards the scene. Halfway there, he realized he’d left his groceries behind and nearly groaned. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. Such was the life of superheroes and handlers.

As though in response to his thought, someone emerged from the chaos.

Only one person; tall, with hulking muscles and what looked to be three arms. Nope, wait – that was machine gun. Fuck.

Jungkook lunged to the side as the man opened fire. Luckily, much of the street was deserted from the blast and few people were hurt. Propping himself up on one knee, Jungkook squinted from behind an overturned car and fired.

Five shots, each in quick succession aimed at the man’s torso. Three of them hit, sending the man to his knees, only for him to snarl, his gaze snapping upwards.

Jungkook watched in horror as the bullet wounds began to heal, pushing metal from flesh with alarming speed.

Of fucking course, he was a supervillain.

Flipping around, Jungkook pressed his back to the car and considered his options. He should call for Minutia, or another super – teeth gritted, Jungkook pushed this option aside. He could do this on his own; this was a fight he could win.

Winning against rejuvenation wasn’t unheard of for someone like him. It meant his opponent healed abnormally fast from their injuries, but they could be overwhelmed if Jungkook kept up momentum.

Before he could finish this thought, the car Jungkook sat against flipped overhead.

Eyes wide, Jungkook watched it crash and roll down the street. A small crowd darted away as they screamed and Jungkook stifled an eye roll. Civilians were so predictable. They never got out of the way like they should; instead, they pressed closer and tried to video it all on their cell phones.

Twisting around, Jungkook found the supervillain grinning at him while he flexed a muscle.

The machine gun lay discarded in a pile of rubble. Jungkook’s heart sank, since it meant the villain was out of ammo, which likely meant he’d been using it in other locations.

When the villain wrenched a storm grate from the ground, Jungkook came to his senses. Survival was priority number one. Fighting someone with only rejuvenation would’ve been hard enough; it would be near impossible to fight someone with rejuvenation and strength.

Rolling away, Jungkook managed to escape said trajectory of the grate.

Metal smashed into the space he’d just occupied, leaving a human-sized dent in the pavement. Flipping himself upwards, Jungkook shot as he moved. This was a move best left to the movies, unless you happened to be an obsessed-with-video-games-superhero-handler trained in four different kinds of martial arts.

Jungkook was just that.

“Catch me if you can!” he yelled, taking off down the street.

He zig-zagged as he moved, craning his neck to peer overhead. The new plan was: keep the villain’s attention on Jungkook until help arrived, which wouldn’t be long. Given the immediacy of the destruction, ISA would likely dispatch someone with the ability to fly.

All he had to do was stay alive until then. Smirking a little, Jungkook dug in his heel and spun around.

Luckily, he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Pushing up the sleeve of his jacket, Jungkook waited until the villain was within fifteen feet, then pressed a button. 70 mA of electrical current shot out from his wrist, arcing with blue-white light to hit the villain in the chest. A product created by Namjoon, otherwise known as the superhero, Brainblast.

The volt was enough to stun or kill any other man, but the villain simply gasped and sunk to his knees.

He writhed for a moment, clawing at skin which simultaneously burned and healed. The distraction was all Jungkook needed to run, aiming his gun and – someone swooped down to blast the villain back with air.

A smirk on your face, you lowered both hands to your sides.

Jungkook skidded to a stop. Your superhero alias, Zephyr, was one of the most popular superheroes on the face of the planet. Intelligent, formidable, and rated a seven on the ISA power scale, despite only having one superpower: control over the air and winds.

You were also ridiculously hot; Jungkook had harbored a crush on you for years.

He still remembered the day you arrived at the Agency. Higher-ups said Zephyr (the Greek god of the west wind) was traditionally a male name and wouldn’t make sense to serve as your moniker. You’d said to fuck off and written it down anyways.

This memory made Jungkook smile, even as you sent another wave of wind down the street. Shaking his head, he pulled himself back to reality.

Hovering a few feet off the ground, wind whipped at your hair. You’d explained to him once you didn’t really fly – it was more the wind currents obeyed your commands and took you where you needed to go. Jungkook didn’t really get the difference, but he couldn’t deny you looked badass doing it.

While the villain struggled to stand, you glanced down at Jungkook.

“You alright?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

Jungkook tried not to frown. “I’m fine,” he said, despite the disheveled state of his hair and clothes. “I had him, you know.”

“Right.” Your expression turned dubious. “It’s just that –”

You were cut off by said villain throwing a car at your head, which you managed to stop with a thrust of your hand. The winds obeyed your command, wrapping around the car to set off to one side.

Gaze narrowed, you rose even higher. “It’s not that you’re not capable!” You yelled to be heard over the wind. “But –”

A sewer grate flew through the air and, without turning, Jungkook shot it down from the sky. Pieces rained around them like confetti.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Right.” Sheepish, you smiled. “Just keep doing that. Distract him and I’ll try to knock him out. Keep him alive, though!”

Jungkook nodded, giving a grim smile before moving forward.

He broke into a run, alarmed by how fast the villain seemed to heal. Even if two supers had the same power, they tended to vary in intensity. This villain must be rated high even without his super strength.

The device on Jungkook’s arm wouldn’t recharge for another five minutes, so he relied on his gun to keep the villain occupied. A shot to the kneecap; another to his shoulder. Keeping your words in mind, Jungkook tried not to hit anything vital. Even rejuvenation might not be enough to heal the man if he shot him in the heart.

High above, you flew gracefully upwards. Jungkook nearly stopped to stare; you arced through the sky like a dancer, claiming the winds as though you owned them. Caressing the breeze with one hand, you turned around and – fuck.

Jungkook had let himself get distracted. Swearing aloud, he dove behind the nearest car and heard something shatter.

Rolling to the other side, he propped himself up on one knee and shot. The villain yelped, stumbling forward as the bullet hit his elbow.

This time, it took greater concentration for metal to be squeezed from his skin. The villain panted as he stood, clearly winded and Jungkook’s heart leapt, realizing they’d tired him out.

This turned out to be the opening you needed.

Swooping down, you reached out a hand, and – wind whipping about like a force field – slowly closed your palm.

The villain gasped, his eyes going wide as he clutched his throat.

Shakily, Jungkook pushed himself upwards to stand.

One of the most dangerous powers associated with air manipulation was creating a vacuum. You achieved this by removing the air entirely; a feat which required great skill and concentration.

It only took a few minutes for the man to be so deprived of oxygen, his eyes rolled backwards. His legs wavered a second, then he slumped to the ground.

“Saoirse!” you yelled, floating down. “Cuffs!”

A woman with red hair – your handler, Jungkook presumed – ran from the nearest subway station to quickly cuff the man’s hands behind his back. Jungkook could see the moment the villain’s power drained from his limbs.

Standing before them, you watched, although it seemed to pain you.

Picking his way through the wreckage, Jungkook came to a stop by your side. Glancing your way, he noticed the breeze continue to play with your hair, as though it couldn’t bear to be parted for long.

“Do you ever wonder what this does to us?”

Confused by your question, Jungkook blinked. “What do you mean?”

“This,” you said, waving a hand at the wreckage. In the distance, Jungkook could hear sirens screaming. “All the death, the destruction… even the people on the other side. Does it ever hurt you sometimes?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Truthfully, it did bother him when he saw himself in the villains they faced. Sometimes he was fighting genuine evil, but occasionally the villains had reasonable grievances – worse, sometimes they’d merely been raised to see the ISA as evil.

Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to hate those kinds of villains and yes, it did hurt when he took them out.

Sensing his hesitance, your shoulders slumped. Jungkook’s stomach twisted, wanting to fix whatever it was you were feeling. He hesitated, wanting to say you weren’t alone.

“Never mind,” you said, managing to smile. “Another bad guy defeated, right?”

“Right.” Jungkook’s gaze remained upon yours. “I guess.”

Before you could say anything more, Saoirse called your name.

“Guess I should go,” you said, rising into the air. When you glanced his way, Jungkook found himself wondering what you were thinking. “I… thanks for helping today, Jungkook.”

“Anytime.”

This time when he smiled at you, it was genuine.

You rose another few feet, then hesitated. “It’s been awhile since I came by the training arena, huh?”

Jungkook shrugged, as though he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Of course, he had.

“You’re still the one they’ve got training the new recruits?”

“Yep,”

“Hm.” A small smile crossed your lips. “Maybe I should stop by. Show the newbies how it’s done. We could work up a sweat.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly stopped when you dropped him a wink. Before he could speak, you rose further into the air.

“Bye, Jungkook!” you called, and zipped off down the street.

The sound of your voice faded into the sounds of the city and Jungkook stood there another moment before coming to his senses. His phone began to ring in his pocket.

Fumbling for the device, he sighed when he saw the name on the ID.

“Hello?” he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

“YOU’RE ALIVE.”

Wincing, he held the phone further away. “Minutia?”

“Who else would it be? Of course, it’s me, you idiot! I had just gotten my morning coffee and was passing that pizza place when I happen to catch a glimpse of the TV – and what do I see? You, fighting a fucking supervillain alone!”

“I wasn’t alone,” Jungkook shot back.

“Yeah, those cowering civilians looked real intimidating.”

“Zephyr showed up at the end, it was fine.”

“Oh,” she said, somewhat mollified. “Alright, then. She’s cool. But seriously, JK – be more careful, would you? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Pulling his hand away, Jungkook squinted at the receiver. “Huh?” he said, returning the device to his ear.

“Yeah, who’d pick up my dry cleaning?”

“Bye,” Jungkook grunted, and hung up the phone.

Still, he smiled as he turned to walk down the street. People stared as he passed, pointing and whispering about the state of his clothes. Jungkook heard the word super being muttered, although he didn’t bother to correct them.

He was too busy turning your words over again in his mind. Does it ever hurt you sometimes?

The truth was it did. All the time.

He just didn’t know if there existed a better path than the one he was on.

#jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook drabble #bts drabble #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook superhero #bts superhero

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flamminghotweedos · 5 years ago

Note

could ya do #44 w john b plzzzz

A/N: first John B. one! I feel like, because of the “get in the bike Topper,” scene, John B. only uses “sweetheart” when he’s being sassy and cheeky and it got pretty saucy so I hope you enjoyed! Also it’s 5:23 am I haven’t slept and didn’t spell check this so sorry it there’s mistakes!

Word Count: 1393

Requested: yes, #44 “what’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Pairing: John B. x Reader

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking, smoking, some saucy making out and sexual tension but no full blown smut

~Bone Yard~

Maybe it was the few beers you’ve had. Maybe it wasn’t. John B. just looked so incredibly good right now. Nope. Definitely just him. You’d be thinking the same thing even if you were fully sober. You watched your boyfriend of a few months poor another tourist a beer, smiling and nodded to him as he did. His opened button down shirt flapped in the wind, the moon light bouncing off his shiny, exposed torso. You couldn’t take you, you need a hand on him, a kiss from him, something.

You lifted yourself from the branch you were sitting on at the Boneyard and began to walk over towards John B.

“Hey baby,” you greeted, causing him to turn at the call of your voice. His face lit up, having not seen you for a few minutes once different islanders had stolen him for a beer game.

“Hey,” he whispered through his grin, pulling his arms around your waist and bringing you against his chest. You could feel eyes on you. You knew the group of blonde tourist were watching you from their branch. You watched them drool over your boyfriend all night. That was also part of the reason you wanted to climb your boyfriend right now.

Your hand fell on the side of John B’s face, feeling his jaw clench underneath it. You finally looked him in the eyes, blinking a few times as you felt your drunk self wobble.

“Everything alright?” He asked when he noticed the blacks of your eyes were bigger than usual.

“Yeah just...” you suddenly got bashful, not drunk enough to come right out say you need John B. right now. But John B. knew, and pulled you closer, if possible, and pressed his beer covered lips on yours. You nearly moaned at the sudden kiss, since you wanted it so badly. But it quickly ended when he pulled away.

“What’s up?” John B. asked again, smirking as he watched you give him a look that said ‘please don’t make me say it’.

“I think...we should maybe head home soon,” you mumbled and watched John B’s jaw clenched again, his eyes now growing with lust to match yours.

“You do?” He cocked an eyebrow up and you knew you were screwed. You felt you stomach start flutter and you took a deep breath. Of course right now is when John B. had to be in one of his “sassy moods” as JJ likes to call it. But it wasn’t sass. John B. just loved to tease you and watch you suffer.

“John B,” you said softer now, almost embarrassed with how needy you suddenly sounded.

“John B! Y/N!” Kie had yelled and waved you over, a familiar, groovy song came over the Bluetooth speaker, Pope and Kie were sitting on a tree near the fire with some others from The Cut. JJ was somewhere off, getting some tourist to challenge him to chugging beers. John B. looked to and smirked, keeping his arm around your waist he tugged your towards your friends. You groaned and saw John B. laugh at it, slightly pinching your side making you jumped slightly. You lifted your hand and hit his chest. He smiled over and leaned into your ear as you kept walking.

“Be good and we’ll go home sooner,” your breath hitched and moved your hand from hitting him.

“We were just talking about that time John B. broke his hammock and ended up rolling into the water,” Pope told you two as John B. sat on a tree. You looked around, seeing no empty spots and decided to sit in front of him. This then lead to John B. playing with your hair for a majority of the jokes and conversations that were going on. But once he noticed how relaxed you were getting, his left hand tugged slightly harder at your roots, sending a chill from the back of your neck down to your core, almost gasping if you hadn’t remembered you were in public. After that, the rest of the night was worse. You caught John B. running his fingers softly around your neck, making you have to move and squeeze next to him on the branch. The lead to him putting his arm around you, coping a feel of your ass before he fully wrapped his arm around. Muscle memory kicked in and your hand moved up and whacked his chest. You turned and pained attention to the story being told, but felt John B. lean in and whisper in your ear again.

“We’re staying longer now,” you clenched your jaw, knowing this night was going to be longer than expected.

Later in the night, Kie has started to get tired, leaning against Pope and JJ was nearing the point of blacking out.

You were talking to a tourist, giving her tips on where the best places to eat at this hour was and said a goodbye when she left the party. You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, and a pair of lips find their way to your neck.

“You ready to go home?” John B. finally asked making you turn around.

“Please,” you smiled and leaned to close the space between you. Your hands trailed up to his hair quickly, and tugged at his roots knowing it always got him going. You felt him smirk into the kiss, you both moving in sync, knowing which way to go and when. His hands slipped around to your hips, gripping tightly just to let go as a voice caught you two up.

“Johnny boy!” JJ slurred and kicked sand up as he approached you two.

“Y/N!” Kiara let out a little whine and leaned on to the drunk JJ, drunkenly smiling at you.

“John B. we need rides home,” a sober Pope said for the two drunk teens next to him. The two giggled and you felt a light tap on your ass as you looked to John B. You watched as he happily agreed to take his friends home. You let in a deep, frustrated sigh and walked towards the van before anyone else could.

You tried to compose yourself, not knowing what it was about John B. tonight that drove you absolutely mad but it was there.

You leaned against the driver side of the van, wanting to drive so you could get to John B’s house fastest. You watched your boyfriend and best friends help each other flop on the back of the van, Pope chuckling as JJ began slurring how much he loved everyone. You let your head lean on the van. You felt John B. slide the door shut and the light went off. John B. walked over and smirked while standing in front of you. You looked at him and forced a smile. Just to have it slip away as John B. got closer to you, his right arm pressing against the van, flexing slightly as his face was inches from yours.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” His voice was low and quiet over the three talking loudly in the van. You took a deep breath after you felt it get caught in your lungs.

“John B,” you whined again and rolled your head to the side, just to have it snapped back, John B. making you look at him.

“Y/N,” he smiled as he mocked your whiny voice. “What’s the matter?” He asked again.

You weren’t gonna win.

Or...you could win...you’d just have to admit what you were too bashful to say.

John B. lifted his eyebrows up at you, giving you one more chance, watching his eyes trail down your body.

“John B...I really need you right now,” you trapped your bottom lip between your teeth and watched your boyfriend take a deep breath in, a smirk growing on his face.

“Well then let’s get you home,”

~~~~~~~

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spicycreativity · 3 years ago

Text

Intertwined - Chapter 6

Chapter: 6/8

Additional Notes: Fic published in full on my AO3, WizardGlick. This is my favorite chapter 😁

Chapter Content Warnings: Blood, respiratory distress

The record player was still in the kitchen, surrounded by puzzle pieces. Patton switched it on and watched the vinyl spin in a daze. He missed Roman's boastful chatter, missed Logan's even keel. Maybe he should just give up. They clearly didn't want him around, and at a certain point, maybe it was selfish to keep badgering them.

God, he was a mess. Virgil had been too tactful to say anything during last night's Ghost Adventures marathon, but he had kicked his feet up in Patton's lap, and that was telling. It wasn't the reassuring full-body contact he longed for, but Virgil had never been big on touch. He couldn't be what Patton needed, and that was fair. It wasn't Virgil's job to take care of Patton. It was no one's job.

Janus' voice sounded unbidden in his head, reminding him in a distinctly annoyed tone, ' It's your job.'

So Patton picked himself up off the kitchen island and opened the fridge. He liked the work of cooking and cleaning. The domesticity was reassuring and sweet and safe. He cooked and cleaned because he loved. He loved Logan, he loved Roman, he loved Virgil. He wanted to see them safe and fed and contented, free to fulfill their functions because Patton fulfilled his.

As he cracked eggs into a bowl, he wondered if he loved Janus. He probably did. How could he help it?

Janus' smile was a rare thing, and that much sweeter for it. And he was so clever, so self-assured, so determined to help. This whole time, that was what was driving him. He wanted to help Thomas the only way he could, and now he was helping Patton. Because… Because he was just good. Even if he, like Virgil before him, kept that light hidden behind walls of sarcasm and bitterness. Janus was good. And Patton loved him.

He had forgotten to turn on the stove. Patton smiled at himself, because what else could he do, and turned on the stove. As he stood there, anxiously eyeing his half-finished omelette, his fingers found their way to the friendship bracelets around his right wrist. He had two there, Logan's and Roman's. They were both made of soft embroidery floss. Roman's had a little charm, a small silver 'R' that sometimes caught the light and made Patton smile when he noticed it.

He and Janus should have friendship bracelets. It could go on his left wrist next to Virgil's. Virgil wouldn't be happy about it, but… But Patton wanted it. He wanted Janus to feel accepted and loved. And there was no way to do that and spare Virgil's feelings. There was just no winning and Patton wanted, wanted, wanted more than he'd ever wanted anything.. Would it really be so bad to indulge this?

After breakfast, Patton relocated to the living room and asked the mindscape's halls for Janus. Janus did not appear, but the fog of the subconscious at the edges of the walls solidified into a hallway. Patton got to his feet and started to walk. He had never really ventured into the space that Roman referred to as 'the Dark Side,' but there was really nothing foreboding about it. The halls were still well-lit, the carpet still plush beneath his feet.

Eventually, the hall opened up to a cozy little alcove. Janus was huddled up against the wall, staring into the depths of a pure black coffee mug. He flinched when he noticed Patton, then smiled.

It was a slow, unfurling thing: first sheepish, then courteous, and finally, genuine. It lit a fire in Patton's chest, made him feel like he was glowing.

"Patton." Janus tipped his hat, peering out coquettishly from under its brim.

"Sorry," said Patton, "am I interrupting?"

"Oh, yes," said Janus, getting to his feet, "I need to have my coffee in utter silence of the caffeine doesn't take."

He sounded a little hoarse. Patton felt himself cross his arms and draw back to examine Janus, but couldn't stop it from happening. His scales looked the same as ever, more yellow than green under the light, but both eyes were glassy in a way that indicated lack of sleep. He looked tired, Patton decided, but not sick.

"Did I button my shirt wrong?" Janus asked, not actually looking down to check. He kept his eyes on Patton.

"Is there something on your mind?" Patton asked.

Janus countered this question with another question, which Patton supposed was fair: "Did you come down here just for that?"

"Well, actually…" Patton tugged at the tight, precise braid of Logan's friendship bracelet. Why was this so hard? "I thought we could-- If you wanted to--" His nerves were taking over and he was helpless to stop them, couldn't control the way his voice trembled. He started over. "So, no pressure, obviously, but I just thought it might be nice if we, you know, made friendship bracelets together." Patton held up his forearms so Janus could see. "If you want."

Tears were forming in Janus' human eye; his chest hitched with uneven breaths. Patton was already raising his arms to offer a hug when Janus turned away and started to cough. Oh.

The fit, though it sounded terrible, ended quickly. Janus straightened, drawing a yellow handkerchief back into his sleeve like a magician. "What," he said, pretending to look at his fingernails, "are the odds of you believing that was nothing?"

"It didn't sound like nothing," Patton said.

Janus sighed and leaned back against the wall, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. "Look, I didn't want to say anything, but I think that our dear benevolent prince might be a little angrier than he let on."

"You think Roman's doing this to you?" That didn't sound like him. He could be stubborn, sure, maybe even bull-headed, but it really wasn't like him to make someone sick. At least, not on purpose.

"It's not Remus," Janus said, crossing his arms. "There's nothing else wrong with me."

"It's just a cough?"

"Just a cough."

Patton tapped his fingers against his leg, thinking. "Roman's not really talking to me at the moment--"

"Typical," Janus muttered.

Not wanting to fight, Patton let this go. "But I'll see if I can… Well, I'll see what I can do."

Janus nodded, then seemed to remember something. His jaw worked for a second, his eyes darting everywhere except Patton's face. "Thank you."

Patton nodded, still inexplicably afraid. Now was his chance to leave, since Janus hadn't acknowledged his offer. If he sank out fast enough-- But what exactly was he running from? He wasn't Logic, but he couldn't deny that it made no sense to run from something he couldn't even identify. "So, um. Did you want to…?"

"Where?" Janus asked.

The trapdoor to the speakeasy opened beneath their feet. Patton's door appeared down the hall. He and Janus looked at each other in silence.

"The lighting might be a little better in my room," Patton said finally. He wasn't sure which of them had caused his door to appear. The subconscious was tricky like that sometimes.

"By all means," Janus said.

It was a little nerve-wracking to have Janus in his room. Patton wasn't quite sure why. Maybe the idea that Janus might not like it, and by extension, not like him. After all, Patton's room was as much an extension of himself and his function as his body was.

Janus stepped quietly over the threshold, holding himself still except for his eyes, which darted from object to object.

"Let me know if you start feeling all sentimental," Patton said, a thrill of nerves tingling his spine. "I don't have a lot of practice controlling my room." Janus probably didn't want to cry today, or ever. Not that he seemed like the type to get caught up in nostalgia. Like Logan, he was ruthless, cutting away what didn't serve him with the precision of a surgeon. Or so it seemed.

Janus nodded. Patton frowned. He'd been awfully quiet since Patron had extended the invitation. He almost seemed scared, which didn't make sense. They were safe in here. Too safe, if Patton let them be, sequestered in this hall of nostalgia's anesthetic haze.

"Are those California poppies?" Janus asked, striding forward to a dresser (the design of which had come from a memory of sleepovers at Thomas' grandmother's house).

"Where?" Patton asked, turning on his heel to look. It was difficult to move without tripping over the odd bin or crate of memorabilia. He found himself faced with a choice to either bend backwards to see around Janus or to stand right next to him. Far too close for propriety, they would be wedged right up against each other like the yearbooks on the far bookshelf.

Patton's heart started to race. Why? Why should he be nervous? He bent backwards, muscles aching in protest at the awkward pose, and peered around Janus' body. "I can't tell."

Janus turned, squinting at Patton's predicament, before looking down at the bins on the floor. He seemed to grasp the issue and extended a hand for Patton to take. "Come here."

Come here. Innocuous words, but the same ones he'd used to bring Patton into his arms that terrible night. Patton's heart fluttered.

He stepped over a stack of textbooks and entered Janus' space. Janus' capelet was soft and velvety against his bare arm; his sleeve a little rougher.

"Are they?" Janus asked.

The poppies were already wilting a little and Patton couldn't help but feel sad about that, even though they were imaginary. "Yes."

"How did you get them?"

"California," Patton said, the memory coming to him on a warm breeze that smelled of the outdoors. "Thomas sees them every time he gets to go."

Janus stifled a cough into the back of his hand, nodding all the while. "He wore them in his hair once."

Patton smiled, mind awash in golden light. Thomas and his friends were making a brief pit stop as they journeyed down I-5 and someone, it didn't even matter who, had spotted the blooms growing by the roadside. And they had all worn flowers in their hair for the rest of the day, bright faces made brighter by the addition of something so beautiful. "Do you like California poppies, Janus?"

"It's funny," Janus said, in a tone so devoid of sarcasm and teasing that Patton nearly did a double-take, "It never occurred to me to like them. But seeing them like this…"

He trailed off, coloring slightly, and Patton's breath caught in his throat. He understood perfectly, too perfectly, and it made him tremble.

It had never occurred to him to love Janus, until one day it did. But this-- Oh, no. Oh, no. Not like this. This couldn't be allowed. Janus glanced over at him and Patton felt his smile snap into place despite the newfound ache of wanting beneath his ribs.

"And here I thought you were going to keep me safe from your room," Janus teased.

"Oops!" Patton ran a hand through his hair. "Give me a second here; I can make a space." He thought for a moment before sitting them both down at a wooden picnic table. He imagined embroidery floss in every color, bins stacked with beads, scissors, and two rolls of masking tape just to be safe.

"Summer camp," Janus said, smiling that crooked smile.

Despite his best efforts, Patton blushed. He tried not to hate himself for it because Janus wouldn't want that. But he also knew he was being far too selfish now, wanting Janus all for himself. There was a line and he had crossed it. "Do you remember what to do?"

Janus was already pawing through the embroidery thread. Loose strands clung to his gloves and Patton watched, intrigued, as Janus' mouth curled into that not-smile he sometimes wore when he was making fun. He withdrew his hands, trailing rainbow strings despite his efforts to shake them off, and glanced at Patton, startling a little when their eyes met.

Patton wasn't sure what to say. 'It's okay' felt hollow, less than a lie. Utterly meaningless. Janus' gloves meant something to him, something that went deeper than just aesthetics. Patton understood, in that moment, what it was all for: the gloves, the high collar, the hat, the sarcasm, the biting remarks, the exaggeration. All guarding Janus' heart. He must have been very afraid. Suddenly his irritation at Patton's inability to prioritize himself made perfect sense.

"I can help you," Patton said, not wanting Janus to feel pressured into taking off his gloves. "You can keep them on, just tell me what colors--"

"Don't be stupid," Janus snapped. "It's just clothing."

"Oh," said Patton. Heat flooded his face, impending tears burning in his eyes. Understanding didn't make it hurt less.

Janus didn't say anything, couldn't, because he was muffling those awful, barking coughs into his sleeve. They sounded so much worse than yesterday. Patton stared at a skein of auburn embroidery floss. He would have to find some way to get through to Roman.

"That was inappropriate," Janus said when he resurfaced. He was a little out of breath; his breath caused loose strings to flutter.

"I understand," Patton said.

"You do?"

Here, Patton hesitated. It seemed a little rude to read Janus, as Roman would say. He had obviously lashed out because he was scared of something.

Janus winced, pressed his lips together, shifted where he sat. "I'm sorry." He wouldn't look at Patton. "I shouldn't have said that."

"We can do this another time," Patton said, "if you're not ready. I just wanted…" It seemed stupid to say it out loud now, stupid and manipulative. "I wanted you to feel accepted."

Janus tugged his gloves off without fanfare, folded them neatly, and set them down on the table. His left hand was scaled, which Patton supposed he should have anticipated. "Don't look," Janus said. Patton frowned, trying to parse this, and Janus elaborated, "I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh!" Patton said, relief flooding his chest like morning sunlight through an eastward-facing window. "Okay." He stared at the embroidery thread, thinking. He had never been all that good at color theory, but… Maybe he could do a dark green for Janus's scales, and gold because they shimmered. To represent himself, he would of course use blue thread. And for the two of them, gray. But what shade of green…? Patton picked up a skein of army green floss, then kelly green, then moss green. "Janus?"

"Hm?"

"I need to look at you."

"Oh, Patton, I'm flattered, but need?"

"Can you just give me your hand for a second?" Patton asked, blushing.

"Which one?" Janus asked archly.

"The left one."

"...What for?"

Patton, still not looking at Janus, held up the three skeins of embroidery floss. "I need to color match."

Janus let out a huff of air through his nose. "I'm much prettier than that."

Then an idea struck. "Ooh, I know what to do! I still need your hand, though."

"Alright, alright." Janus leaned over, extending his hand to Patton. He flinched a little when Patton held it in his own, but did not pull away.

"Hmm," said Patton, examining the scales and the way they reflected back the light. It took a bit of thinking, but he managed to imagine a skein of thread in the same glossy green-gold color.

Then Janus stiffened and started to cough again, his hand curling around Patton's fingers until his nails dug painfully into Patton's skin. The fit was low and ragged and rough, left Janus teary eyed and gasping.

"You're sure this is Roman?" Patton asked, dimly aware that he was still holding Janus' hand.

"Forget it," Janus said, his voice like tattered silk. "You said you'd talk to him."

"I'll go right now if you want me to."

Janus shook his head. "Are you done with my hand? If not, I have a few to spare."

"Oh!" said Patton. "Yes. Sorry." He let go of Janus's hand, knuckles aching where Janus' nails had dug in. Janus' cough must have hurt far more than he was letting on.

Right. Compartmentalize. Friendship bracelets.

Patton picked his colors, eyeballed the thread length, cut them down, and taped the ends to the table. He decided on a simple striped pattern, flat, so it could slide easily under Janus's sleeve or the cuffs of his gloves.

"So you and Remus?" Patton said after he had fallen into a rhythm and didn't need to focus quite so hard.

"We're friends, yes."

"But you said--" Patton cut himself off, embarrassed. He certainly didn't want to be reminded of that awful night, and Janus probably didn't either.

"I know."

Patton was pulling too hard. He set his threads down and added another piece of tape. "I don't get it."

Janus sighed. "I'd rather not talk behind his back, but I will say this: He was on his worst behavior when he introduced himself."

Patton considered this but couldn't think of anything to say other than 'thank God.' That seemed rude, so he just kept his mouth shut. The silence that ensued felt equally as rude, and words slipped out of Patton's mouth before he could stop himself, "Do you love him?"

Janus didn't answer. Patton was tempted to look at him, to try to read his expression, but didn't want to risk ruining the surprise. Finally, Janus sighed and Patton heard the gentle rustle of his clothing as he shifted in his seat. "Defensive sarcastic quip."

Patton dropped his threads again so he could muffle a laugh behind his hands. "Sorry, was that too personal?"

"No, no, I love talking about myself. Maybe next you can ask me about my deepest fears."

"I didn't mean to be pushy," Patton said. It was hard not to be; he was so full of love love love he just wanted to give it away like Tupperwares full of snickerdoodles, like wildflower bouquets. He wanted Janus, wanted his whole fam-ILY to know and feel it as deeply as he felt it.

And Janus especially, Patton wanted to tell him with his lips, with his hands, with his tongue. His whole body radiating love.

But just because he wanted didn't mean he could have. He ached with a selfish desire to be held again, safe in Janus' arms. But even Patton was smart enough to understand that that moment was over and done with. They had shared it, and now it was another snapshot for the shoebox Patton kept in his closet. His own memories, separate from Thomas. A testament to his personhood.

They worked in silence after that, until Patton's wandering thoughts came to rest, inevitably, on the trouble at hand. "Hey, Janus?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think we should do now? Thomas can't keep going like this for much longer, I don't think. He hasn't done anything. And I-- I'm not saying-- I'm not trying to say it's, you know, immoral to rest, but this doesn't seem healthy." And also, it did chafe Patton a little, to see Thomas being so lazy, but he could keep that to himself.

"The sooner Logan and Roman get over themselves, the better," Janus said.

"I haven't checked on them yet today." Patton heaved a sigh and tried to focus on his pattern. He had the matte gray hooked around his finger at the moment, his own deliberate reminder to compromise.

"They haven't checked on you at all."

"So, what, then?" Patton asked, struggling not to look up. "I should get mad and ignore them right back?"

"That's what I would do," Janus said. "And you did ask. But…" A long-ish pause. "As we both know, I'm always right."

Oh. Patton closed his eyes, trying not to fold over and bury his forehead in the rough wood of the picnic table. He'd never wanted to see the worst in Janus, but he'd been bracing for it all the same. And every time he held his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, it never happened.

That didn't mean they were never going to fight. Patton knew he was naive, but he wasn't that naive. But he had been bracing for something so much worse than this.

It was for Thomas. He had to remind himself. Janus had even said so, down in the parlor. It was all for Thomas. And Patton was sure, when it came time to make the next big decision, they would be at odds again.

But maybe… Maybe it didn't have to be so hostile. Couldn't they disagree without being enemies?

"You are always right, Janus," Janus said in Patton's voice. "And you're so handsome, and smart, too."

It was equal parts creepy and amusing, but Patton appreciated what Janus was trying to do, so he smiled. "I mean, you are smart. And h--" The word caught in his throat. They did all look very similar, though the subtle nature of the subconscious altered their appearances somewhat. It sharpened up Janus' features some, took away several inches of height, made his eyes dark and flashing. "And handsome," Patton finished weakly.

"You already said that," Janus said, voice dripping with faux-innocence.

"You're sweet, is what you are," Patton teased back.

"Finished," said Janus.

Patton blinked, thrown off, before he realized what Janus meant. "I'm almost done. Give me juuuust a second." He finished the bracelet with a practiced hand. "Can I look now?"

"Give me your hand. Then you can look."

Patton extended his left hand and finally looked over at Janus for the first time since they had started. The bright colors of the bracelet caught his eye immediately; it was an intricate weave of only two colors: bright yellow and true blue. Janus fingers were deft and gentle around Patton's wrist. He made no remarks about the purple and black bracelet already tied on.

"Oh, Janus, it's perfect!" Patton said. Hot tears welled up in his eyes. He let them fall, unashamed. It was nice to cry happy tears for once. "Your turn."

Janus pushed up his sleeve, tilting his head at Patton's bracelet. "What does it mean?"

"The green is for your scales," Patton explained, positioning the bracelet around Janus' right wrist. "The blue is for me. And the gray is.." He paused, suddenly embarrassed. "Well, it's a reminder."

One of the ends brushed against Janus' forearm and he twitched, nearly pulling out of Patton's grasp. "That tickled," he explained.

"You're ticklish?"

"No," Janus said, far too quickly for it to be the truth.

Patton smiled at him, though he knew they were a long way off from friendly touches. It struck him then just how badly he wanted that future. He wanted cuddle sessions with Janus on the couch, just the two of them. He wanted stolen kisses in the kitchen and tickle fights in bed. He wanted Janus, body and soul, consequences be damned. "Noted," Patton said. "Janus: totally not ticklish, even a little bit."

"Gospel truth," Janus said.

Patton finished tying on the bracelet and sat back. "Well…" He didn't want to leave his room, which was a sure sign it was time to go. "I'd better go check on my kiddos."

To his surprise, Janus didn't scowl or nag. He tugged his gloves back on, carefully sliding the bracelet inside the cuff. "What do you say to them?"

"Just that I'm here," Patton said. "And I love them.

"You know, Patton--" Janus got up and held the door open, breaking the spell of Patton's room somewhat-- "sometimes I think you're too good for the likes of us."

And then he was gone, sinking out before Patton could ask him what he meant by that.

Patton went first to Logan's room. Logan had maintained his silence after the meeting, not even answering to tell Patton to go away. The only hint Patton had that he was still in there was that Thomas hadn't gone completely off the rails.

"Hey, Logan." Patton knocked gently. "I'll go away soon, because I know you don't want me to bother you. I just wanted to say… Well, I'm not sure what you need right now, but I know this isn't it. So whenever you're ready to come out, I'll be here." It was so hard not to spill his guts to that plain white door. Almost like a confessional, only that Logan stubbornly refused to tell him what he had to do to earn forgiveness. "I'll go now. Come get me if you need anything, okay? I love you and I miss you." He waited a few seconds for any signs of movement within, but there was nothing.

Down the hall to Roman's room then.

The sight of Virgil seated on the floor with his back pressed up against Roman's cherrywood door made Patton pause, breaths stuttering in his chest.

He kept his distance, but Virgil had startled at the sound of his steps on the carpet.

Patton flashed him a thumbs up and cocked his head.

Virgil nodded.

Patton sank out. What else could he do? If Roman would rather talk to Virgil than to him, well… Patton couldn't blame him.

He sat down heavily at the kitchen island, staring down at the half-finished puzzle. Tears blurred his eyes and he took off his glasses as they started to fall. He was so, so sick of crying. He did it all the time. Every strong emotion moved him to tears.

He wanted to crawl back to Janus' room, relive that tender night. Just once, he wanted someone else to pick him up off the ground. He was thoroughly sick of being his own hero.

He had mostly gotten himself under control by the time Virgil popped up by the fridge. It was only his breathing that still troubled him, heavy and painful in his chest.

"Hey, Virge."

"Since when do you call me that?" Virgil asked, opening the fridge.

It was reflex more than anything that forced Patton to his feet. "I can make you something."

"You don't have to," Virgil mumbled, cheeks going scarlet under his foundation.

"I want to," Patton said. That much was still true, at least. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Uh, I was just gonna make a sandwich," Virgil said.

"BLT?"

"Sure."

Patton nodded, clenching his left hand into a fist by his side. Virgil was incredibly observant; he was bound to notice Janus' friendship bracelet. Patton wasn't sure whether to let him or to bring it up.

Virgil saved him from having to decide. "Where have you been all morning?" Patton wordlessly held up his arm, feeling for all the world like a guilty child. Sure enough, Virgil's eyes narrowed. But to Patton's surprise, no lecture followed. "Janus made that?"

"Mm-hm." Patton nodded. "I made him one, too."

"Is he wearing it?" Virgil asked, looking dumbfounded.

"Yeah," Patton said, a little emboldened now that he knew Virgil wasn't angry. "Tied it on myself."

"He let you do that? Janus?" Virgil ran both hands through his hair, looking at Patton like he'd just expressed a desire to go cliff diving while blindfolded.

"I mean, I didn't have to tie him down."

Virgil sighed through his nose and wandered to the kitchen island with a lost expression. "That's weird."

Patton opened up the fridge. "Are you okay?" he said to the condiments rack, not wanting to make Virgil uncomfortable with too much eye contact.

"Watch him," Virgil said. "Watch him like a hawk… A hawk with binoculars."

"Aww!" said Patton, picturing it. "Oh! How's Roman?"

"Conflicted," Virgil said. "I told him you've been hanging out with Janus."

Patton bit his tongue and pulled a head of lettuce out of the crisper drawer. It wasn't wrong to spend time with Janus. He loved Janus. Love was never wrong. "How'd he take it?"

"Nnnot that bad?" Virgil said. "I think it helps that Thomas hasn't gone full, y'know, Squip."

"You know I wouldn't let that happen," Patton said. He moved over to the counter and paused to take a few deep breaths. His chest hurt a little. Probably just from crying too much. But that reminded him of Janus and that worrisome, mysterious cough. "By the way, does Roman seem… in control?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, he accidentally made it super cold for a little bit."

"Oh," said Virgil, "yeah. He apologized for that. He's okay now."

Patton nodded, trying not to let his worry show on his face. But it crept into the corners of his mind and kept him silent as he made two BLTs. If Janus was sure it wasn't Remus and Virgil was sure it wasn't Roman… Who else could it be? Or what else?

No answers sprang into Patton's mind. He bit his lip and stabbed one fancy toothpick each through sandwiches. He slid one plate over to Virgil, mindful not to upset any stray puzzle pieces, then rounded the kitchen island to sit next to Virgil.

"You…" he started, and paused to catch his breath. "You're not mad, are you?"

"I mean, I don't love that you're hanging out with Janus. I wish you wouldn't. I wish he'd leave us all alone and go back to slinking around in the shadows like the snake he is." Virgil turned his head to look at the new friendship bracelet on Patton's arm. "But you're your own Side. It would be wrong for me to try to control you. I just really hope he doesn't hurt you, Patton."

"So you're not mad?"

"No, pop star, I'm not mad. Just worried about you."

"Thanks, kiddo."

It seemed that these days, the mindscape was just made up of one crisis after another. After spending a pleasant day with Virgil, albeit with his breaths dragging in and out of his body like the air was too thick to breathe, the next morning found Patton doubled over in a fit of coughing so intense it knocked his glasses off. He ducked right back into his room, kicking his glasses in before him, and spat out a mouthful of heart-shaped flowers onto the floor.

Hm. Uh-oh. He wasn't an expert on biology, but he was fairly sure that wasn't supposed to happen.

The blooms were pretty, though, bright magenta hearts with little white tails. Bleeding hearts, they were called.

Patton frowned. Hadn't Janus said… Yes. 'I want you to protect that bleeding heart of yours.' How ironic. Maybe. Patton could never seem to use 'irony,' right, something Logan was always quick to point out.

He coughed again, but no flowers came up this time. That was good, probably. Coughing was bad, coughing up blood was worse. Surely coughing up flowers had to be somewhere in the middle.

He stood up straight again and banished the flowers into nothingness. Was it coincidence that Janus had a cough? Was it contagious? He hadn't said anything about flowers, though.

Patton sank out, grabbing his glasses on the way. If he was coughing, then he was probably sick. He knew how to handle that.

Since Virgil rarely spent time in the living room, Patton could hole up there with tea and toast and Adventure Time on the TV. Just until he was better, and then it would be right back to trying to fix things. He wondered if Janus would be proud or whether he would just push for Patton to rest more. Maybe both.

Virgil made an appearance a few hours later, about the time that Patton felt his patience running thin. The cough wasn't getting better, but he had no full-body fatigue to make the cartoon marathon bearable. Sitting still for too long made him antsy.

"Roman invited me in," Virgil called from the kitchen, dashing any hopes Patton had for conversation. "I just wanted to let y-- What are you doing?"

"I think I'm getting sick," Patton explained, wincing as the words seemed to claw their way out of his torn-up throat.

"Are you okay?"

Patton nodded. Aside from the cough, he really did feel fine. Maybe this would pass quickly. "Tell Roman I said hi."

"Will do." Virgil gave one last, lingering look before he sank out.

This left Patton alone with the ache in his chest and the vast loneliness threatening to swallow him whole. He tried not to think too much about Janus, lest he inadvertently summon him again, but it was so hard now. He didn't ever want to be apart from Janus. It was such a pure and simple yearning that Patton couldn't even feel guilty for it (though he did feel an echo of guilt that he didn't feel guilty). But it was a desire born of love, and how could that be bad?

The only bad thing about it was that Janus didn't love him back. Of course he didn't. How could he? All he ever did was run around babysitting Patton through crying spells, desperately trying to get him to pull himself together. There was nothing remotely attractive about that. In fact, with Janus, it seemed that all Patton did was take, take, take. He was guilty of the exact behavior that had him so wrung-out and desperate in the first place. How embarrassing.

Patton coughed into the crook of his arm, catching flowers and leaves in his mouth and banishing them without looking. He'd been sick before, they all had, but never like this. He almost wished for fatigue or a headache, something to make resting a little more bearable. Right now, he just felt lazy.

A bottle of NyQuil appeared on the couch next to him, nestled up against an embroidered throw pillow. Patton looked at it. He could already hear Logan lecturing him about the dangers of misusing medication, but… Patton was sick. And he was imaginary. And Thomas probably knew better than to chug NyQuil at the first sign of illness.

It would be fine. Patton poured out a dose and drank it down with his nose plugged in the hopes of masking the alcohol-tinged artificial sweetness. He still shuddered at the syrupy sensation on his tongue. Then he sank out, changed into his pajamas, and buried himself under his covers to slip into a coma.

#sanders sides fanficion #sanders sides #moceit #spicywrites #spicywrites intertwined

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lethargicsunlight · 3 years ago

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'Demon' Chapter 3 : For The Mission Bakugou x Fem!Reader (book 1)

Hello~

First of all, Thank you for reading!

You can also read this chapter and the previous ones here on my AO3.

Or, you can find the previous chapter here.

I will come up with a better linking system soon, but I gotta get back to work real quick :(

WARNINGS: Injury, bodily fluids, angst, SFW

Please enjoy!

👹🖤⛓🔪💣

You knew running was a losing game, as speedy as you could be. He was saving his energy by using his mutation quirk for movement.

You pull loose a throwing knife from the holster on your side, keeping the blade bared outward to defend yourself as you take in your blurring surroundings. You make a turn, decidedly veering away from the direction of the bar you'd just left; the last thing you needed was for your pursuer to call in reinforcements that could teleport.

Despite sliding through sharp turns, you couldn't manage to get far enough ahead to fake him out. With the tough exoskeleton they possessed, he was easily driving his extra limbs into the walls and using them as leverage to fling himself forward--closing in on you much faster than you wanted.

"What is it little Demon?" He screeches, mandibles scratching and gnawing together as his mouth stretches open. "I thought you would be a much more riveting opponent than this!"

...Sometimes, you gotta give them what they want.

Mid-run, you locate a window going into an abandoned office building. Throwing your knife, it punctures the glass and leaves hair-line fractures across the surface--you can see the reflection of Sting's eyes within the shards as you thrust your weight into the opening.

In a circular motion, you manage to unsheathe one of the longer blades at your back and parry his limbs in the air before you're tumbling over the broken glass. It hurts, but you don't allow yourself to slow down. You roll back up, unsheathing the second blade with your free-hand as you crouch, ready to strike.

Now you at least had one advantage over him. More cover.

"Heh," he seems to hesitate, finally setting his body back upon solid ground as he evaluates you. His gaze is filled with confidence after watching you run away from him. Like prey. In his pause, you have a few seconds to analyze his structure. The exoskeleton would to be too hard to cut, so your focus had to be the areas you could see flesh exposed. You were aware the legs could retreat into his back, which guaranteed a lack of access there. All you could see was his face and his hands--though peaking out from beneath a tucked scarf, was the smooth skin of a throat.

You had made an oath long ago that you would never kill again. But in defense of your mission... you could manage an exception. It would all be over soon anyway.

Instead of coming at you straight on, he throws another knife at you to get everything back into motion. It has you leaping backwards unto a filing cabinet--and he's charging at you finally with the ferocity of essentially four swords. Due to his extra limbs' reach, you realize you won't get a hit on him this way.

It becomes a tangle of blades as you parry and block and twist around his advances, kicking up papers and folders to distract him as you move up and down over obstacles. The venom in your arm begins to dance through your veins, tingling beneath the skin--you are running out of time.

You can see his face twist into a smile; he's sure he's going to win.

Good.

As he makes the mistake you were waiting for, drawing one of his limbs back for a final attack; his mouth is open to announce his triumph. As the air begins to leave his lungs and form syllables in his mouth, time slows down for you. Your blade held up to parry drops from your hand, sending his stinger forward to scrap across your shoulder; close but not too close to your neck. You grab the knife on his belt that you had been eyeing since his first advance in the alleyway, and slice through the joint.

It brings him to a halt, howling as he moves backwards. Green ichor sprays across your face and drips from his new amputation, his other three limbs curling around his body while his hands grope his shoulders.

You pocket his knife and retrieve your blade from the floor.

"Noo! Nonono..!" He's wailing--it sounds grief-stricken now. While there were questionable 'doctors' among villain society; no one has the ability to bring back a limb. Especially one like that. You had mired him, for the rest of his life.

You prepare for a death blow--but the flash of skin beneath the fabric of his shirt causes your hesitation.

You don't have to kill him. It's relief that floods through your tense and calculating mind; briefly before being replaced with pain. As you had expected, a minute in and his neurotoxic venom has seeped into the muscles of your arm. It feels like a chemical burn--acid turning flesh to sizzling nothing. The arm goes limp, but you force your grip on the blade--you had to appear stable.

"I'm going--I'm going to kill you!" He screeches, and there's a squeal behind it like the voice of the insect part of him was a separate entity.

"...You can't kill me." You say slowly, approaching with your good arm raised. You swallow, then let your voice drop an octave as fear seeps into his eyes. There's a button you managed to press a moment ago, that makes the eyes glow from your mask. A cerulean color--a color that was a remnant of your past. "I'm not human."

From the look on his face--he believes you. Your charade is working. You grit your teeth, forcing your shaking and screaming arm to lift and move to the back of your head. It's a movement that suggests you'll remove your mask.

"N-No, no!" He shifts back again, and unaware of his surroundings he trips and lands among the broken glass. His remaining extra limbs curl in close to his face, leaving his abdomen bare. "You're lying! You can't steal people's souls, you're just--you're like us!"

"Then why are you hiding your face?"

"Wh--" With the distraction of speech, he doesn't block when you throw the hidden blade from your hood down into his abdomen. It's a solemn thwack, and then the harsher crack of his skull when you flip the blade in your good hand and swing it between his stinging limbs to ram into his bare temple.

He's out. He's internally bleeding, and he'll never be the same... but he'll live. Maybe when he wakes, he'll have a different outlook on life. Or, most likely, he'll want to hunt you down.

You suppose that should scare you. But given the note you had received from the hero agency you worked with, your time was going to end anyway. He wouldn't have a chance.

"Hrk--" You crumple to the ground, clutching the arm that felt like it should be bare bone rather than flesh. It's like the nerves are exposed; the grip from your clothed hand sending shockwaves down your spine.

You couldn't help but brood--seeing as how moving was so difficult--at how opposite this situation had been compared to what it seemed.

While you had delivered a blow based on skill--you won the fight by lying. Like an illusion, you'd expertly hidden behind the smoke and mirrors to make him believe you were bigger than you actually were. Like you had won easily, rather than by the skin of your teeth.

You wheeze, tears pricking at your eyes while you force yourself to rise. You needed to get back to base. Especially before he did, and preferably before anyone decides to investigate the noises of your chase earlier.

You stumble out of the building through the window you had broken, and slowly creep through the alleys of Yokohama once again.

---

Every television in the base was alight with the bright colors of the Sports Festival.

You were pretty sure that H.H. kept cameras within those screens, ever watching the faces of his lackeys and agents--judging their actions and expressions. Another advantage to always wearing a mask.

You stood, back pressed to a wall in the shadow of a corner as you side-eye the screen. Watching the students filter out unto the field causes a bitter-sweet fluttering in your stomach.

You remembered the first time you had watched the event. You were much younger, sitting with your knees pressing into the floor and palms crushing a few stray sheets of paper. Really, you had never been all that interested in television, mostly because the other kids at the foster-care center were rambunctious when they sat in front of it.

But this time, the only two souls whose eyes were glued to the flat surface were yours and your new foster brother's, who had been the one to convince you to watch it in the first place.

"You gotta watch it--I'm gunna be on it one day!" He says, arm extending to offer his hand. You stare at it, bug-eyed.

"Oh," you meagerly utter, taking his hand and letting him lead you. He laughs and pulls you along until your both sitting in the living-room floor.

"Don't worry," he leans in towards you, "I'll keep the volume low. Trust me though, kay? You gotta watch it, it's really fun!"

You don't believe him, but before long you're both cheering with the crowd and talking avidly about your favorite contestants. He--

You draw yourself out of the memory as large letters appear in your peripheral. The first game had been announced. A race.

There was a sinking feeling in your chest to know that he should have been there amongst them, maybe a year ago. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that he would have won. Maybe even every challenge.

Even at that young of an age, he had always been so full of righteous fire.

He could have been a hero of heroes...

If not for you.

----

You catch pieces of the Sports festival as you move through the base in search of an old 'escape plan' map. Head Honcho had certainly made modifications since the water-treatment plant had been adopted as his new lair, but you could draw them out if only you had a layout of the place.

Chemical spills did happen, so you could only hope that the escape plans had been forgotten when everything was moving in. In a storage closet somewhere, on the door of an outlet box, above the water control panel--somewhere.

Moving through an old lounge, large screens portrayed the ongoing of the race that had long-since started above the heads of a few agents. They were newer, but they noticed you when you walked in.

The looks in the eyes of those whose faces were exposed was that of mixed admiration and loathing. But, fortunately for you--Head Honcho had made it very clear that you were to be left alone. Treated as exalted, as though separate from everyone else on a holy level. Not that they worshipped you--but that he wanted you to be considered the entity you played as. A demon.

The rumor was as much to his advantage as it was yours.

Their eyes follow you in the dark as you move around them, but something suddenly has their eyes whipping back to the screen as the closer viewers make noises of surprise. You decide to look too, selfishly; and you're rewarded with something familiar.

A freckled green-haired boy. He's flying through the air after a massive explosion, rivaling the two that had been effortlessly charging towards the finish from the beginning. The three of them are suddenly close together, faces etched in the effort to win--and you find yourself openly admiring them.

Beneath your mask, you're smiling. Your heart is pounding and you want to cheer like old times, throwing popcorn in the air and rejoicing--no matter who won. You could practically feel your foster brother's spirit next to you, tugging on your heart. You should be there, enjoying this. You hear him say.

Your breath catches in your throat as there's another explosion--Midoriya had managed to throw the bit of metal he'd carried with him all this way and use another surge of momentum to carry him forward. Everything stills as you wait, holding that breath until finally--finally--it is him that enters the arena in first place.

Adrenaline explodes and rockets around your ribs and your heart--but you're still. You mouth the word 'yes', but didn't dare utter a syllable. Controlling yourself, you make for the exit of the room, intent now more than ever to carry out your mission. To help ensure the safety of those three boys that fought so hard to be recognized as heroes.

For those three boys that reminded you so much of him.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x f!reader #bakugou x female reader #bakugou x fem!reader #katsuki x you #bnha fanfic slowburn #deku

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purplesauris · 4 years ago

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Fool Me Once (Fool Me Twice)

With the King of Mandalore rising to power and the Empire in shambles, the New Republic reaches out to build a relationship- using Luke Skywalker as their proxy.

Read it on AO3 here!

Yavin was muggy. The thought had stuck with Luke ever since he'd set foot on the planet again, this time to search the ruins of what was left of the Great Temple. It had been used as a base of operations during the Rebellion and decimated soon after, and despite Luke's attempts to get information while he was a pilot, he'd come up short.

Like he was now.

Luke had hoped that he could remember his way, but Artoo couldn't fight through the brush and so Luke had gone it alone, tramping through the underbrush and ducking under branches. the temple, despite being nothing more than a pile of rubble for the most part still called to him, and Luke followed the faint ache and tug in his chest that only grew worse the closer he got. His robes stuck uncomfortably to his lower back, damp with sweat, and Luke cursed himself for not wearing something lighter. He’s still begrudging his poor foresight when he breaks through the purple treeline, stopping short at the sight of the carnage in front of him. Stones are strewn about, ten times his height and just as wide, jagged and scorched by whatever explosive wreaked havoc on the structure.

Luke feels the agony of the people who died here, the resounding sadness and confusion that clings to the stones as Luke carefully picks his way through the ruins in the hope of finding something left. A book, a scroll, even a holo recording or merely a painting would suffice. Anything that Luke could use, could draw inspiration from for his own idea of what his Jedi Order might be like. Luke shivers in the afternoon heat when something in the force cries out for him, drawing his attention to a hole in the ground that when Luke walks up, peering inside, shows the lower levels of the temple. Luke knew it ran deep into the ground, but he was hesitant to drop down into an unstable hole with no way out other than the hole which would surely collapse on him if he so much as sneezed wrong.

"Well, can't go too wrong, can it?" Luke's voice echoes far louder than he means, but nothing stirs around him, not even the predators that had trailed him since he'd landed the x-wing.

Luke takes a deep breath, steadying himself before slowly picking his way down, slipping down the collapsed floor that made a somewhat decent ramp. If Luke didn't know better he'd have thought someone made it themselves. Which, upon a second glance, someone definitely did. Luke draws his lightsaber, using the green blade as an uneasy light source as he pads through the room, careful of each step but curious nonetheless. There isn't much- these look like what were once living quarters; all of the valuables were on the higher levels, including the library, but Luke can hope and the force hasn't steered him wrong yet.

Luke takes his time searching the room, avoiding the dank stairway descending further into the ground in favor of shuffling smaller bits of rubble around. Searching this temple, after all it's been through is a long shot, one that Luke knows won't pay off, but seeing the rows and rows of beds, picking up an old tattered blanket and sweeping a finger over the stitching on the edge makes him feel closer to a heritage he was only given a crash course in. Luke keeps the blanket with him, as old and moth eaten as the one edge is, and Luke is nearly finished with his slow search of the great room when he spots a stack of books bound together and tucked neatly under a rotted bed frame.

He thinks he’s hallucinating for a minute, but when he crouches down, reaching out to slide them closer the leather bound books are as real as anything else. The leather strap binding them together disintegrates when Luke slips a finger underneath them, so he opts to use the blanket, wrapping them up tightly to keep the moisture from ruining the already delicate books. Luke presses the books close to his chest, scaling the ramp that led him down into the room and breaking out into the hazy light of mid afternoon. Now that he’s gotten the books the temple is silent, only the whispers of what happened singing to Luke as he makes his way back to the ship.

He wonders if leaving the temple behind to fade into obscurity is cruel.

Much like the Jedi of old, the temple is from a time when things were wildly different, and Luke knows that even if he were to come back, to rebuild, the memories and dreams of those who inhabited it before would only haunt him and whatever students he found. No, it was better this way, to finally let the temple rest, after all it had been through to bring Luke to this moment.

His walk through the jungle back to his x-wing is just as sweaty and annoying as the trek in, but Luke’s irritation is tempered by the books pressed to his chest, the chance at something more hidden within the crumbling pages. He wants nothing more than to plop himself down in the cockpit, to crack open the first one and read until the light of the day leaves him fumbling. Luke is sweating all over again by the time he catches sight of the faded red splashed along the hull of his ship, and the ladder lowers automatically, Artoo beeping a greeting as Luke hauls himself up into the open cockpit.

He leaves the blanket and the books in his seat while he shrugs out of his heavy robe, folding it and tucking it in the space behind his chair. It leaves him in only the black fatigues underneath, but the faint breeze that rustles through the clearing he landed in is blissful and Luke sinks down into the seat with a lazy sigh.

“I found books, Artoo! Not sure what they hold yet, but I’m going to-”

Artoo whistles, makes a whirring sound, and Luke scowls.

“What do you mean there’s a communication for me?”

Sure enough the small holo relay on his dash is blinking slowly with an incoming recording and Luke groans, leaning back in his seat and staring up at the stars. He’d requested one thing from them when he’d agreed to help. One thing, something that was easily given should they choose to do so. Luke sits there a moment more, debating on if he should ignore it when Artoo beeps inquisitively, offering to turn it on for him. Luke waves a hand dismissively, sitting up with a grunt and slapping the play button. Leia’s face shimmers into view immediately, kind but pinched with annoyance, and Luke squints. The slope of her shoulders hold an undeniable tension, a worry that betrays her calm demeanor.

“Luke, the Senate has a new task for you. Please rendezvous on Coruscant at your earliest convenience.” Leia pauses, glancing at something to her left before her shoulders slump as she turns back to face the camera. “You aren’t going to like it. I’ll hold them off as long as I can- take your time coming home.”

Luke sits there mulling over the words as the holo with his sister’s face fades out. He isn’t going to like it? The thought brings with a strange pang of anxiety, curling in his gut and making his heart kick up a notch. If he’s not going to like it and Leia is willing to hold the Senate off then Luke is going to take his damn time getting back to Coruscant. As much as he wants to call it home, to let himself have a place to stop, to settle, Coruscant isn’t it. Leia is as close to home as he thinks he’ll ever get- his one constant, someone who won’t back down just because of who he is. She’s strong and smart, but where he shirks political messes, half because of the Jedi Code and half his own disinterest, Leia rises to the challenge. Blossoms with each situation she maneuvers through. The fact that she seemed so much like a wilting flower, petals all but ready to fall betrays just how badly she hates what is going to be asked of him.

“Artoo, bring us back to Coruscant. Slow and steady.” Artoo whistles merrily, bringing the cockpit down around Luke and sealing him inside. Luke slips his helmet on and straps himself in, intent to do a bit of reading before they make it to the technocity. Artoo’s ascent through the atmosphere is a bit choppy, but Luke is used to that, bracing his feet along the bottom of the ship and tensing the muscles in his stomach. He hardly moves, and only once they’re in the vacuum of space, moving toward Coruscant does he open the first book.

The spine creaks eerily in protest at being opened, and most of the ink is faded or obscured. What Luke does manage to read is mostly journal entries, from a padawan by the looks of it. The entries are sporadic, messy, but Luke follows them as best he can.

They have us lifting stones. Stones! I can crumple an entire army of people under fist and they have us lifting pebbles. I tried to tell them, to show them just what I could do, but they urged patience. That’s all they ever go on about! “Be patient, be calm, the Force guides in all ways.” Well, if this is the Force guiding me, what was guiding me before? What called me to this cursed moon to sit with stuffy old men in scratchy robes who ignore my skill level and train me with children?

Luke feels his own earlier training mirror the thoughts of whoever owned this journal before, and Luke can’t help but remember his masters. They’d been right in almost every way, in the way they were training, but Luke, like this person, was too blind to see. Luke was too blinded by emotion, by worry for his sister and his friends and everything to care. Luke still feels like it will choke him now sometimes, but he can never let the feeling quite catch up to him. He tucks the journal away for now, knowing that he isn’t going to get anything analytical from that particular volume. The next one that Luke cracks open is smaller, denser, and the ink on the paper is dark, as if fresh. The pages are crumbling at the edges, deteriorating with age, so the fact that everything else is holding up is intriguing.

Luke loses himself within the pages.

Pages upon pages of Jedi training, rituals and rites of passage- all that Luke has ever dreamed of knowing is here, in this book. His heart soars with the implications, the knowledge he holds in his hand, and he reads greedily. There are entire passages on things he can do with the force, from growing plants to healing to reading someone’s mind- Luke had already been finely attuned to feelings, but the thought that he could read thoughts? That opened a can of worms he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell anyone about. Granted, the thought of invading someone’s privacy like that leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but the thought of all that Jedi were able to do, able to specialize in, makes him giddy, flushed with anticipation and nervous all over again.

It’s almost enough to distract from the fact that whatever the Senate is about to have Luke do is dangerous and potentially life threatening. Luke flips through the rest of the book, skimming more so than reading, until Artoo whistles and chirps, alerting him that they’re about to break through hyperspace and into the artificial atmosphere around Coruscant. Luke braces himself for the descent and the flashing lights of the city, letting Artoo communicate with the tower as he brings them down to a private landing pad reserved specifically for Luke. He hardly uses it, more content to be off-world than among the smog and people who bother him for pictures and stories from the rebellion. He takes his time gathering his things and shrugging back into his robe, figuring he’ll be here long enough to at least go home. Luke wants to take his time walking to the Senate building, but he feels Leia before he sees her, and he drops from the cockpit nearly into her lap.

“Leia-” He hardly has time to steady his feet before Leia is hugging him tight, arms squeezing around his ribs and cheek pressed to his chest. There’s no hesitation in Luke’s response as his arms go around her, Luke pressing his nose into her hair and closing his eyes. He holds her there as she shakes in his arms, fingers digging into his back. “Leia…”

Leia finally pulls back, dashes her hands across her cheeks and smiling weakly. The smile doesn’t light up her eyes like it normally does and Luke pulls her into another hug, this time letting her arms go around his neck as he squeezes her. He feels her shudder again, and finally she speaks when Luke sets her down, chucking her gently under the chin.

“I don’t like what they’re doing to you, Luke. Haven’t you done enough?” Luke doesn’t let his own anxiety bleed into Leia’s, instead merely raising a brow.

“I’m the last Jedi, Leia. There are things they have to ask of me.”

“Not this. When is enough enough?” Luke feels Leia’s anger surge in her like a rising storm, but it’s tempered by her own confusion and heartache, and Luke reaches to take her hand. Leia stares down at his gloved hand, taking a deep breath before her shoulders square again, and this time when Luke looks at her, really looks, he sees the same hot-headed, determined Princess he saw on the Death Star so many years ago.

“Let’s go see what they have to say.”

Luke allows Leia to keep hold of his hand while they slip into the city, Artoo following along dutifully even as they hop from speeder to speeder. Luke’s landing pad and apartment are about as far from the Senate building as he can get without them throwing a fit, and Luke needs that distance. Craves it. Luke doesn’t miss being in the city, even with the cool breeze that’s so unlike the humidity of Yavin IV. The smog and din of people milling around him, of holorecorders snapping pictures as he moves through the crowd makes his skin crawl, and he fights the urge to pull his hood up. They’ve already gotten half a dozen pictures and headlines by now, Luke is estimating, so what’s a dozen more?

What’s one more moment stolen from him in the grand scheme of all the ones stolen before?

The Senate building looms like all the other buildings, built of twisting steel and glass and overwrought opulence. Half of the budget that went to the building could have fed planets of people, but Luke tries not to see the waste in it. Tries to pretend that stepping foot into the building doesn’t make his stomach clench with untold anxiety. Leia is a steady presence beside him, having recovered from the landing pad, and she straightens her clothes and brushes a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Once her armor is once again set in place she squares her shoulders, pushing into the main meeting room and ignoring the way that silence falls around her.

Luke slips in behind her, hoping not to be noticed as she takes her seat. It doesn’t work, never has before, and Luke descends onto the floor as the desks of the senate rise above him in a slow wave, a sea of faces staring back. Luke folds his hands in front of him, aware that he is in no way in trouble, and projects serenity as strongly as he can manage. He sees the front row of senators relax, and knows he’s doing something right at least.

“Master Skywalker, it’s good of you to join us.”

“I’m sorry I couldn't come sooner, I was preoccupied on Yavin IV.” Luke inclines his head toward the body of the Senate, hiding the scowl that wants to furrow his brow.

“Did you find anything of import?” The question is innocent enough, curious even, but Luke can hear the double edged blade he’s balancing on, and he straightens up, giving a careful, bored shrug of his shoulders.

“The ruins of the temple were in far worse shape than I thought. It will take quite a few visits to search through the whole thing.”

“We can have a team sent, if it would ease your struggles, Master Skywalker.”

Luke smiles, easy and warm, and shakes his head at the man who has deigned to do most of the speaking. “The temple is in poor shape, and I fear sending someone nor versed in the Force would only cause it’s gradual collapse to speed up.”

“A good point. Well…” Luke watches the way the crowd shifts, all at once glancing toward Leia before glancing back at the man asking the questions. Luke has dealt with him before, many times, but for the life of him he cannot remember his name. “We have a task for you, if you are willing to undertake it.”

“I believe the Senate gave me leave to resume my search for Jedi artifacts.” Luke points out, trying not to let his irritation rise when the man nods, fake sympathy etched into the wrinkles around his mouth.

“That was… Before this newest problem had arisen.” Luke’s hands clench in front of him, fingers curling around each other, and he eases back with his right hand, careful not to crush his other fingers. Luke dips his head in a motion meant to tell them to go on, and to his annoyance and relief, they do. “There is a new king on Mandalore.”

“The glass planet? I thought it was inhospitable.”

“It was under the Empire’s control for quite some time.” The man agrees, steepling his fingers against his chin as he leans back in his chair. “But a mandalorian has claimed the Darksaber from Moff Gideon, and by extension, risen to power.”

“And what am I to do about it? Mandalore is a ghost planet, a myth more than anything else. Why bother them?”

“Mandalorians are by far the greatest warriors this galaxy has ever seen.” Luke’s eyes widen marginally, flicking to Leia only to find hers steely with resolve. Growing horror mounts within Luke, gnawing at his heart and scraping across his ribs. “They despise the Empire and Imperials nearly as much as we, but we cannot risk them doing something out of desperation.”

“So reach out to them.”

Smiles among the Senate turn sharklike and Luke feels like a piece of bait lobbied into a sarlacc pit. Waiting with resigned dread to be eaten alive. “We have. We have offered the help of our greatest asset and commander of the Rebellion to aid their fight in retaking and rebuilding their planet.”

“You aren’t seriously thinking of sending Leia with me.”

“No, Master Skywalker.” Relief floods Luke, making his knees go weak, but it’s drowned out by the sudden rushing in his ears. “We’re only sending you.”

Luke freezes at that, head emptying, stomach dropping away from him all at once. He feels hollowed out, dizzy with disbelief, and he can’t breathe standing under the lights and hungry gazes of the Senate. Luke does the only thing he can think to do: he turns on his heel, robe flaring out behind him as he turns and slips from the room, letting the door close with a final, resounding click.

He’s running after that- thoughts a blur and faces passing him by in messy smears of colors and concern. Their feelings flood in him in waves of curiosity, awe, admiration that he doesn’t deserve, and by the time Luke makes it over and down to his apartment his heart is beating from his chest. He can’t go to Mandalore- it’s a death wish, certain and swift. Luke locks himself away in his apartment, moving through the dark of the living room without needing sight, ignoring the lights and Artoo’s quiet beeping. He has to think- there has to be a way to say no, to tell them in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t feel like dying on a planet no one has set foot on in decades. On a planet so steeped in agony and death and betrayal that Luke feels sick just at the mention of it.

He knows Mandalore’s history, knows it and does not want to see it.

Luke is sitting on the floor in the living room, legs folded and eyes closed when the lock on his door beeps before the door itself slides open. There are only two people with access to the apartment, so Luke isn’t surprised when Leia’s aura brushes against his, watery and weak with sorrow as she sits across from him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the way she slips into her own meditative state, breathing in and out in time with Luke to calm the raging of her heart and her emotions. Luke allows his own power to brush against hers, to gauge the way she’s feeling and offer his own steady calm in the absence of hers.

“You don’t have to go.” She whispers, voice shaking in the dark of the room.

Luke sits there for a moment, throat tight, before he answers. “You know that isn’t true. If they don’t send me, they’ll send you. And when you don’t come back they’ll send me anyway.”

“They wouldn’t hurt me. Not with the strength the New Republic holds.”

“You don’t know that.” Luke hears Leia’s mouth open to protest, but she stops short, unable to say anything truthfully and aware that if she lies Luke will feel it. “How long have they been planning this?”

“I don’t know. The rise of the new king was abrupt- one moment Mandalore was a barren planet, and the next? An old Imperial Remnant was blasting each and every Empire base into obscurity.”

“Moff Gideon’s ship.” Luke parses that much from the little the Senate gave him, and Leia makes a noise of affirmation. “How quickly did they take the planet back?”

“A matter of hours. They took out the air bases first: all the tie fighters, their best military outposts. It was a textbook take over. I doubt we could have done anything better.”

Luke huffs out something resembling a laugh. Even in the face of the unknown Leia finds something to learn from, and Luke loves her more for it. “Why me?”

“You’re a status symbol. A mark of the New Republic’s power. For you to willingly step foot on the planet, to go and talk to their king? It’s-”

“Monumental. A moment in history.” Luke finishes, words twisted and bitter on his tongue. As if he hasn’t had a lifetime of making history. Of bleeding and bleeding and bleeding for a cause.

“I tried to fight against it.” Leia says softly, voice full of iron. “You’re one man, surely they could find a contingent of people to represent us. But once your name was suggested no one listened to anything else.”

“It’s okay.” He says, even though it’s far from okay. This is the path that he’s been placed on, and there’s no way he can get out of it. He knows deep in his heart, in the very core of him that this is inevitable- like the rising and falling of the tides, Luke is on a direct course toward whatever destiny is in store for him, and he’s only holding on in the desperate hope he makes it out relatively unscathed. “Go, Leia, tell them that I’ve decided.”

“What have you decided?” Luke smiles, leaning forward to nudge Leia’s knee with a hand and shoo her up to her feet.

“You’ll hear in the morning, when I tell the council.”

#dinluke #alternate au #post chapter 16 #slow burn #prince au #Adri and I said what if luke was a prince #and here i go

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samsexualdeancurious · 3 years ago

Text

Release | Chapter Three (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam x Dean

Words: 2,190

Summary: When Sam's hit with an incomplete curse, Dean is more than happy to lend a hand in breaking it.

Warnings: WINCEST, genital swap (not a gender swap since Sam still identifies as a man), oral sex, vaginal fingering and sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), this is legit like 95% smut and I have zero regrets. This chapter includes none of the previous mentions but it does include bottom!Dean, anal sex, and some angst that I hadn't planned when I started this series but here we are.

Betaed by me

---

Dean wakes to his brother slipping from bed, silent as can be but not quite silent enough to fool years of hunter instincts. He blinks in the dim light of the lamp Sam’s switched on and twists to squint at his brother.

“Where’re you going?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes to ease the sting of the light.

Sam has his back to Dean and is pulling his workout clothes from the dresser. “For a run.”

“Everything okay?”

When Sam turns a little to the side, bending to slide his boxers up his legs, Dean catches a glimpse of the soft curve of his morning wood against his thigh. “Yeah, all normal.”

Dean rolls over fully to run an appreciative look over his brother. Sam’s grown more slender in recent years, focusing more on feeling good with his workouts than any specific goals like bulking up the way he did during the four months Dean was in Hell. Instead, Sam is all lean, powerful muscles and long limbs, and the sight of him stirs Dean’s cock into awareness.

“I could think of a better morning workout to do,” Dean says with a smirk, propping himself up on one elbow.

Sam glances at him once and then turns away again, shaking out his pants. “Not today.”

As soon as the drawstring is cinched around his waist, Sam’s out the door, pulling his t-shirt on as he goes. Dean frowns and throws the blankets off to follow him, pausing in the doorway when he remembers his own nudity. He’s not sure if Rowena’s still hanging around or not. She’s probably buried herself in her bedroom or a storeroom to do whatever the hell she’s up to but he’d rather not risk her seeing his junk.

“Any specific breakfast requests?” he calls after his brother but Sam just gives a halfhearted wave and disappears around the corner.

Still frowning, Dean snags his own clothes from the dresser, throws on his boxers from last night, and heads for the bathroom. Sam will probably be gone an hour or so, which gives Dean plenty of time to shower and get a good breakfast going. There are still fresh peppers in the fridge, as well as eggs. Sam does love an egg white omelet, especially after a run. Maybe a smoothie, too? Yeah, that’s a good idea. Butter Sam up a little with his favorite foods and then maybe he’ll tell Dean what’s going on in that big head of his because clearly something is up.

Dean showers quickly, ignoring any lingering morning arousal as he tries to work out what could possibly be bothering Sam. Everything had seemed fine when Dean fell asleep last night. Sam must have stayed up too late thinking about something but what that something is, Dean doesn’t have the faintest idea.

By the time Sam finally returns, making his way into the kitchen to refill his water bottle before his shower, Dean’s well into cooking their breakfasts and has just poured the mixture for his own omelet into the hot pan.

“Shower quick,” he tells Sam, greedily taking in the heaving of his chest as he catches his breath and the way his sweat-dampened hair curls and sticks to his skin. The imagery reminds him of last night, Sam stretched out on their bed with Dean above him, and Dean’s cock stirs at the memory. He’s going to be jerking off to that one for a long time to come. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sam replies without looking at him and there’s nothing that can kill Dean’s boner faster than an angsty little brother who’s clearly too wrapped up in his thoughts about something.

“You just ran how many miles? Five? And I know you haven’t eaten since before we got home last night, so don’t give me that.” Dean reaches out to grab the sleeve of Sam’s shirt and pull him closer. “Are you feeling nauseous? You’re not coming down with something, right?” Sam gives a little shrug. “Well, you should try and eat just a little bit. You don’t need to eat it all but try a few bites?”

“Okay,” Sam answers softly and Dean leans in to kiss his cheek. Sam hasn’t shaved yet and his stubble is rough against Dean’s lips but he doesn’t mind.

“Go get cleaned up. You reek.”

Sam rolls his eyes, lips curving in a small smile, and heads off down the hallway again. Dean returns his attention to his omelet, once again frowning as he mulls over that interaction. Getting Sam to talk might be harder than he expected.

Dean’s just transferring Sam’s omelet from pan to plate when his brother returns, fresh from the shower and dressed in his usual jeans-flannel combo. Today is that soft red and black one that clings to his chest and shoulders just so. His hair is still damp, soft curls falling against the back of his neck and around his ears. Dean wants to run his fingers through them but suppresses that urge, choosing instead to sit across the table from Sam with his food. The omelet only gets a few bites but the smoothie is a hit, thankfully. At least Sam’s getting some calories today if he’s not planning to eat solid food. The not-eating thing is a huge red flag, though.

“Okay,” Dean says as he finishes his own omelet and pushes his plate aside. “Tell me what’s going on in that big beautiful brain.”

Sam shakes his head, poking at a bit of pepper with his fork. His body is tensed and Dean knows if he’s not careful, Sam’s going to bolt. Sam may be the more “talk about our feelings” one of the brothers but he still has his moments. This is shaping up to be one of them but Dean needs it to not be. Letting Sam stew in his thoughts too long is never a good idea. He ties himself up in anxiety knots that they’ll both spend weeks, months, sometimes even years untangling.

“Don’t run away from this,” Dean says softly, reaching across the table to take the fork from Sam’s hand. He hooks one foot around Sam’s ankle under the table, a small defense to keep Sam from running. It won’t do much to actually hold him but, hopefully, it indicates to Sam that Dean genuinely wants to talk about this. “And eat your food. Do I have to pull out the airplane move?” He gets a bite of omelet on the work and holds it up in front of Sam’s mouth. “It worked when you were little.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sam protests, all pouty little brother. “And I’m not running.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean nudges the fork against Sam’s lips. “Sam.”

“Dean.”

“Sa-am.”

Sam huffs and accepts the bite of omelet, chewing slowly before speaking again. “I just - I don’t know. I guess I’m having some doubts.”

Dean frowns, cutting the omelet with the side of the fork and loading up another bite. “Doubts? About us?” His stomach twists at the thought but Sam shakes his head and lets Dean feed him this second piece of omelet.

“No, not about…” Sam hesitates and then blurts out, “Do you miss sleeping with women?”

“Women? No. Why?”

Sam shrugs. “Something about last night… how much you enjoyed yourself. I guess it got me thinking. It’s been so long since either of us slept with women and I know that’s not a big deal for me since I’ve never been very… you know. But you’ve always…” He trails off and Dean’s heart breaks a little at the expression on his face. Like he’s just waiting for Dean to kick him while he’s down.

“Sam.” Dean nudges Sam’s shin with his toes under the table. “For someone so smart, you can be pretty fucking dumb. Last night was hot as hell but I didn’t think you were hot because you had a vagina or because you were a man with a vagina. I thought it was hot because you’re you and I love you no matter what’s between your legs.”

Sam’s cheeks are an adorable shade of pink. “Really?”

“What did I do to prompt that thought besides really enjoy fucking you?” Dean asks and Sam chews his lip, shrugging. Yeah, that answers that question. Overthinking is a cruel spiral to get trapped in. He wants to lighten the mood a bit, though, and maybe move this past the talking stage. Dean’s always been more about actions than words. “Did you miss me eyeing up your cock this morning?”

Sam rolls his eyes but that sass melts away when Dean lifts his foot to rub his toes along Sam’s inner thigh, sending a shiver through the younger man.

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, watching Sam’s eyelids flutter as he presses the ball of his foot against the bulge in Sam’s jeans. “I want this in me. Can I?”

Sam nods, breathing out a “yes”, and Dean grins.

They make it to the bedroom somehow, stumbling through the door and falling onto the bed together. They barely remember to lock the door behind them. Dean fumbles with the buttons of Sam’s shirt only to find a v-neck underneath.

“So many layers,” he complains as he pushes the flannel from Sam’s shoulders and yanks the t-shirt up and off.

“You’re one to talk,” Sam laughs, shaking his hair out of his face and getting to work on Dean’s shirts while Dean’s fingers find Sam’s belt.

“Yeah, yeah, just get naked.”

They do accomplish that. Their clothes are scattered all over the room but Dean can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s pushing Sam onto his back and crawling up to straddle Sam’s hips as he reaches for the lube in his bedside table drawer. Their erections rub against each other with the movement, drawing twin sounds of pleasure from both men.

“Gonna ride you,” Dean promises, pouring lube on his fingers and reaching back to start working himself open. He groans, a sound echoed by Sam. “I love the way you fill me up.”

“So fucking hot,” Sam says, reaching up with one hand to hook his fingers around the back of Dean’s neck. “Where’s the lube?”

The bottle has rolled to rest against Dean’s calf. He scoops it up and passes it to Sam, who doesn’t hesitate to slick up his own fingers.

“Let me?” Sam asks, his lubed hand slipping between Dean’s thighs to brush against where Dean’s rim is stretched around two of his fingers.

Dean is more than happy to let Sam take over. He wipes his hand on the sheet again - they’re definitely going to have to change them later - and leans back to brace himself against Sam’s thighs. Sam’s fingers are long and thick, stretching Dean open in all the best ways. Dean’s head falls back and he hears Sam make an appreciative sound at the sight.

“Gorgeous,” Sam growls, twisting his fingers just so to pull a moan from Dean even as his cheeks burn.

“I’m not-” Dean starts to protest but Sam silences him with a shake of his head. His hand has drifted down to rest on Dean’s belly, just above his cock.

“I will win this argument.” Sam’s hand slips lower to curl loosely around the base of Dean’s cock. “If I’m ‘fucking stunning’, then you’re gorgeous. I don’t make the rules.”

Before Dean can respond, the introduction of a third finger drives all semblance of coherent thought from his head and all he can manage is a low, broken sound that might be Sam’s name. Even Dean himself isn’t entirely sure.

“Think you’re ready?” Sam asks with a knowing smirk.

It’s going to burn a bit, Dean knows, but part of him craves that. The knowledge that Sam’s cock is just that big. Dean’s no shrimp himself but his little brother is proportionate and Dean loves it.

He may be a bit of a size queen.

“Give it to me,” he answers, voice breathier than he’ll ever admit as Sam pulls his fingers free.

Sam slicks up his cock blindly, eyes never leaving Dean’s face, and then guides Dean back to finally get what he’s been craving. Dean moans openly as he’s split wide on the fat head, the slight burn making his cock throb. It always feels like it takes an eternity to sink all the way to the base but he gets there. His ass presses tight against Sam’s bony hips and he’s filled to the brim, deeper than any other man has ever gone, in more ways than one.

“You take me so well.” Sam’s hands stroke up and down Dean’s thighs, soothing the tremble of his muscles before one palm strikes Dean’s ass with a sharp crack that makes Dean clench and moan. “You promised you would ride me. Go on.”

Dean draws a deep breath, nodding, and his hands flail a second before finding their grip on Sam’s forearms. With Sam to brace against, Dean gets to work fulfilling that promise and reminding his brother exactly how much Dean loves him just the way he is.

—

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—

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#sam x dean #wincest #samdean #my writing #supernatural

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transsergio · 4 years ago

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Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 1/3 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 1893 words

Hotch and Emily have a drunken night together that Emily wants to forget, but Hotch can't let go. She and her girlfriend Penelope make a plan to get him out of their lives.

There's a brief paragraph describing Emily's dissociation in this chapter.

This started out as a parody of H*tchniss but then I got really into it. Hotch is pretty out of character and I'm picking on him this entire fic. There is no actual Hotchn*ss involved, which is why I didn't tag the ship, and because I don't need to fight with straight people today.

Emily’s head loathes her. She’s been hungover before, obviously, but this is something different altogether – she’s half-naked and her memory has completed ghosted her. There was tequila, she guesses, maybe vodka, shots, Hotch was going to give her a ride home because there’s something dangerous about a wasted agent wandering the city at night; snippets that don’t explain much beyond the ache hammering at the center of her skull.

At least Emily knows where she is. This is her apartment, her bedroom, her matted skin and grimy oils. The sheets reek of alcohol, so maybe she spilled some, or maybe it’s been sweat from her very pores. She’s missing a bra and she forgot to close the blinds last night. Only, she never forgets. It’s muscle memory. Did she…open them at some point?

The sink is running in the kitchen. And her toaster oven is beeping. Oh my god. She brought someone home last night. Hotch never would have left her in a cab with a stranger. How could Emily have picked someone up between the curb and her front door? She was a flirty drunk, but in no way smooth.

Emily moves on a slow incline, craning her body into an upright position. She winces. Sunlight beams directly into her eyes. It’s been a minute since she remembered exactly why she kept the windows covered. She pushes the duvet aside and swings her long, bare legs to the floor. They’re not bruised (yet), so she must’ve remembered to skip the stairs and go for the elevator this time. She’s tumbled down them before. Penelope made her promise she’d wear shin guards the next time she went out, Emily remembers, laughing under her breath.

Penelope, who definitely did not go home with Emily last night. She couldn’t have. She implemented a strict curfew after spending three consecutive nights in the batcave – bed by eleven, sharp. Unless Emily made a distress call sometime in the night. Emily scrunches the sheets between her fingers. A distress call, something like, “Come help me puke into my toilet for an hour and a half,” would bring Penelope running. Well, not running, but speed-walking, half awake. And it would be too late for Penelope to get home, with no one to text that she made it safely (except everyone else in the BAU, but that wasn’t the point). The point was, it could be her in there, popping Toaster Strudel in for the both of them.

Emily wobbles to her feet and kicks her crumpled slacks from her path. Oh, there’s her bra, launched to the other side of the room. She runs her fingers through her hair and hopes she made a difference, though it’s unlikely. Feet shuffle over her wooden floors, and someone opens and shuts the fridge door. Penelope uses fridges, coincidentally. That very well might be her.

There’s a cough, a low clearing of the throat. Emily stands upright like she’s been called to duty, and palms her forehead. Her headache makes it clear it did not like that. The cough does not sound like Penelope. Fear drains the strength from Emily’s limbs. Please, dear god, tell her that’s not a man.

Emily wants to crawl back into bed and have nothing to do with whoever’s in the other room. She wants to huddle under her covers and listen until the front door opens and shuts and it’s safe to emerge. She wants to have been sober last night. Instead, her phone vibrates on her dresser. Emily hadn’t realized that when it reverberates against the wood, her cell sounds exactly like a jackhammer, but she does now. She hears the same sound echoing in her kitchen.

Emily lunges for the text, from Garcia alerting them to a case, and slams all one hundred of those tiny Blackberry buttons to make it shut up, shut up, shut up. The bedroom door swings open.

“Two murders in Kentucky, looks like,” Hotch says. What? No.

Emily rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands. They come away streaked with dried mascara flakes and last night’s eyeshadow, but Hotch is still there. He’s standing in his boxers, a white undershirt, and five o’clock stubble. He doesn’t flinch at the fact that Emily is bare-chested in a pair of black boyshorts. This is bad. This is so bad.

Hotch says softly, “Can I…” Can he what? Can he call later tonight? Can he leave a toothbrush here? Can he have a drawer for his pajamas? “Can I get my shirt, please?”

“Oh.” Emily steps aside. His blue button-down is in a wrinkled pile beside Emily’s nightstand. Should she cover herself in the meantime? Would that make it weirder? He’s already seen what he’s seen, after all. The thought makes Emily gag.

“I’m going to get ready in your bathroom,” Hotch tells her. He makes too much eye contact. “There’s toast in the kitchen for you, if you want any.”

“Great, thanks.” Emily is tightlipped and dedicated to looking anywhere but his face. That leads to his boxers, and his dick inside his boxers, and the knowledge that they clearly had sex, and Emily might need the bathroom first if she didn’t vomit everything out last night.

Hotch disappears, and so does Emily’s presence in her physical body. She autopilots herself into her clean clothes, grips her dresser and stares into the mirror above it. C’mon, Emily, come back down to Earth. She tries what her therapist taught her in high school, focusing on a texture, on the feel of the woodgrain under her hands. How could she have come so far, a continent away, and still need the same techniques for the same problems? Hotch was an exercise in self-loathing and misery. Only this time, that exercise would be staring her down for extended periods of time while they mutually hunted killers.

Hotch reenters in the same suit he wore last night. Did he seriously have to wear a suit to the team’s night out? He couldn’t loosen up enough for a polo shirt and golf pants?

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again in this capacity,” he starts. “But I had… a great time, honestly, and I’d be open to another meeting.”

Emily’s eyes are dead. “No, thanks.”

“You’ve decided already?”

“Yep. I’m good. See you on the jet.” Emily yanks the bedroom door open. His cue to leave. He takes it, if not wearing the look of a kicked puppy.

He makes it into a cab, and the cab leaves, and clears her block, and turns the corner. Emily stays for another five minutes just to be sure the car doesn’t loop back around, looking for a second chance. She washes her face clean and falls to her mattress. This will only take a second – she stabs her face into her pillow and screams. And one more time. And maybe a long one, just to be sure. Emily comes to work that day hoarse, unbathed, and willing herself into another life.

A month later, they’re gathered at Haley’s funeral. Hotch gives a beautiful speech, and Emily’s all but forgotten the number of texts she’s received since their hookup. The sheer volume of “Thinking about you.. do you like Thai food?” and simple, two-word messages like “Good work..”, alongside “Hey. Horny?” are a thing of the past, at least for today. Maybe not tomorrow. Emily doesn’t really know how grieving works. She does, however, know what it feels like to want.

She ushers Penelope into a storage closet while the rest of the team (plus Kevin) is at the funeral reception’s buffet. They’ll make up some story about going to the bathroom and try to defuse JJ later, assuring her that she wasn't left out intentionally. Right now, life is for living.

Emily’s lips move across Penelope’s jaw, her neck, her chest. She presses them to Penelope’s like she’s made of china, set on keeping Penelope’s lipstick intact. Penelope grips Emily while her own wrist is between her teeth to stifle her sound. Emily is gasping for breath when her fingers reach for the button of Penelope’s sweater. She is desperate to have her undone.

“Wait, wait,” Penelope huffs, putting an arm’s length of space between them. Her chest is heaving. “I can’t do this here, not today.”

“Today is why I want to do this,” Emily counters.

“We have time.” Penelope’s voice breaks. She fusses with her little hat and rights it atop her hair. “We have time that Haley didn’t –”

“How do we know?” Emily interrupts. “It could be me next. You’ve already been shot once before, and I just can’t… I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with you on the fringe of my life.”

Emily wipes a tear streaking down Penelope’s cheek. Before Penelope can reach for her compact, Emily passes her hers. She says, “I don’t mean we have to do anything right now in… what is ironically a closet,” Penelope laughs and dabs at her makeup, “but I want you. And seeing you with Kevin today, having to be next to you while he holds your hand? It’s maddening.”

A quiet passes. Penelope sniffles and the crowd outside makes somber conversation. Penelope whispers, “I’m scared.”

Emily closes the distance between them and cradles Penelope in her embrace. “I know; so am I. Can we be scared together?”

Penelope nods into the crook of Emily’s shoulder. They sway in the warmth of one another, in the cramped haven that is shelves of industrial cleaner and mop buckets.

“So what do we do?” Penelope asks. “Should I break up with Kevin, or tell him the truth? Neither option feels, uh, super-duper.”

Emily snorts some of the hat’s feathers from her nose. “If you want to be outed, I think telling Kevin he’s your beard is a great idea.”

“Stop. Kevin wouldn’t do that.”

“Penelope. He’s a man. He’s going to feel used, emasculated, and plenty bitter. I don’t see a reality in which he doesn’t out you.”

“I know, I know, but I don’t think Kevin’s like that. He’s sweet on me.” Penelope further buries herself in Emily. “On the off-chance that he would, though, I guess I’ll dump him.”

Emily hums in agreement. They keep themselves safe in their darkness a little longer, resistant to go out and face the mourning. Emily’s heart is busy fluttering, anyway. She and Penelope might remain a secret, but this is officially more than a hook-up. It’s all Emily could dream of when she stormed Penelope’s batcave the morning after Hotch. When she spun Penelope around in her desk chair and strung their mouths centimeters apart – a question and a dare all in one. Penelope leaned through the divide and they were kissing, slow and tender but driven by a force that urged them on. Emily had wanted Penelope for so long, but that morning, she needed her.

When they return to the team’s table, Kevin is at Penelope’s side. Emily puts her focus on Morgan, on caring about Hotch’s well-being, anything but Kevin’s soft, drooping face. It’s like his skin could slide right off at any second. No, Emily will ask what they can do, will let the team explain that their power extends to waiting Hotch out, will squeeze Penelope’s hand as they leave for their next case in Nashville.

#penemily #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #cm fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm fanfiction #mine

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sweetiejunie · 5 years ago

Text

sHE’S brOKen

Summary: I guess this is better than nothing, right?

Genre: smut, angst

Yeonjun x reader

=====================================

You’ve known him for as long as you could remember. You’ve seen him fall in and out of love with so many girls you couldn’t even count anymore. You’ve talked him through every crush, every slump and every heartbreak he’s ever had. And the worse part? You knew he would never fall for you. Why?

Because, you had fallen for him first.

—

“You know what? Fuck her!”

Yeonjun had recently broke up with his girlfriend of three months. He had found out that she had been cheating on him with another guy so no doubt, he ended things. And that’s how he ended up here, ranting to you once again. It was the usual, you sat on the couch listening while he paced around your living room. He had gone through almost ten thousand different emotions in the span of ten minutes. Okay, maybe that’s exaggerating. But you get the point.

“I don’t need her anyway!”

You wanted to tell him how much more he deserved. He didn’t deserve to be cheated on, no one did. Especially him. Three months doesn’t seem like a long time, but yeonjun treated her like he wanted her to be his last. He always did that. Every relationship was as if they were his first love. But time and time again, he ended up in your apartment heartbroken. This boy deserved everything. He deserved someone kind that, for once, would treat him like the king he is. And you wanted to give him that. But you could never admit that.

“I’m fucking done with relationships. I should just go find someone to be friends with benefits with.”

He said this every time. But every time he tried, he just ended up coming back to you crying over his ex and how being friends with benefits wasn’t satisfactory enough for him. Days later, you would see him walking hand in hand with someone new he picked up. And every time, you wished you were the new girl with him, but you never were. It was just an endless cycle. Whenever yeonjun was heartbroken, you felt hopeful that maybe he’d pick you. And whenever yeonjun felt hopefully about his relationship, you were heartbroken.

Sighing, you realised you had been quiet this whole time. Maybe if you said something it would put an end to this. Interrupting his rant, which seemed more like a soliloquy by this point, you took a breath, “fuck sake yeonjun, you say that all the time. You want a friends with benefits but that always only lasts for like a week! You always end up just dating another girl that never treats you right! Either find someone to fuck or find someone better, I wish for once you could just make up mind!”

And then yeonjun went silent. He stood there, just staring at you, biting on his lips. Looking as if someone had just kicked his puppy. Shit.... Were you too harsh? Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.

Just as you were about to open your mouth to apologise, yeonjun beat you to it, “you know what? You’re right. All my relationships always fail and i guess I haven’t found the right person to be friends with benefits with. I know the point is to have no strings attached but i think i still need to find someone that i know and trust.But this time i think i found the right girl.”

You listened to his words carefully. Realising that his tone was smug rather than remorseful. A smirk pulled at his lips as he made his way closer to you. Your eyes widened as you studied his actions. Once he reached the edge of the couch where you were seated, he leaned down to look you in the eyes, his arms on either side of you, caging you between the cushions and him.

“You.”

You swallowed hard. Coming from him, that word was intimidating, making your heart race.

“I’ve known you for forever, we trust each other and we see each other all the time. I know you haven’t had a boyfriend in god knows how long, you must be really needy by this point. And friends got to help each other out right?” He spoke, the same smug grin still on his face. “Only if you want to, of course.”

A thousand thoughts ran through your head. You knew this was a bad idea. Feelings and meaningless sex should never mix but... you wanted him. If you could never be with him romantically, maybe this was the next best option. The only foreseeable future was one of you being hurt and heartbroken, wondering why yeonjun doesn’t love you the way you wanted him to. But as you mind was clouded with every pro and con you could think of, your body, or maybe it was your heart, acted for you and pulled him into a kiss.

Fuck.

Taking that as your answer, yeonjun grabbed the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. It wasn’t a rough, sloppy kiss. Instead, it was soft, gentle and passionate. After a few seconds, you pulled away. Wanting to tell yeonjun that this was a mistake, that you shouldn’t be doing this but when you looked into his eyes, you saw lust. Lust, that your heart wanted to, so badly, mistake for love.

“Let’s go to my room,” the moment that line escaped your lips, you regretted it. But no matter how much your mind was telling you to stop, your body wouldn’t.

Smiling, yeonjun picked you up bridal style, kissing you again as he made his way to your bedroom. He had been over to your place so many time, he practically knew the entire layout by muscle memory. Throwing you onto the bed, he stripped himself of his shirt. Grinning when he felt your gaze on him.

“See something you like doll?” he asked rhetorically, smugness behind his voice.

Leaving his shirt to fall to the ground, he climbed on the bed, hovering over you, getting you to wrap your legs around his waist. Connecting your lips once more before littering kisses along your jaw and neck, lightly sucking and licking on the skin as he went. Sneaking one of his hands underneath your shirt, he lifted your back slightly and unhooking your bra with ease. Gently massaged your breats, pinching on playing with your nipples until they were fully erect.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” halting his kisses and he looked up to your face.

Afraid that your common sense could kick in at any time, you chose to reply him with a small whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pushing his head back to your neck wanting him to continue. Getting the hint, yeonjun continued with his assult. His hand moving further south, slipping under your shorts. Feeling and teasing you through your soaked panties.

“Baby girl already so wet for me?” He said, satisfied with the mess he’s created.

You threw your head back, whimpering at the feeling. You knew the pet names he was using was just for the sake of the moment but how you wished he actually meant them. It was playing your heart and you hated it. It hurt, but you could get yourself to pull the plug. You really wished your body could listen to your head instead of that thing in your chest.

Yeonjuns fingers circled your clothed clit, adding the pressure you so desired. Watching how your expression changed, he loved the way your mouth hung open as struggled moans left your lips.

“Don’t tease yeonjun, please.”

“So eager. If i had known, i might have thought of this earlier. Get out of your for me will you?” He replied, tugging at the waist band of your shorts. “Your shirt is so thin i dont know why you bother to wear one anyway,” helping you get rid of your clothing, discarding them somewhere in the room.

You had been naked in front of yeonjun before. Not completely butt naked but you two were so close you would practically change in front of each other at times, with zero hesitation. You figured this shouldnt be too different, since feelings weren’t supposed to be involved. But you could help but feel self conscious, this meant more to you than yeonjun would ever know. Returning to his position above you, he kissed his way down your body and stopped right under your belly button and skipping to your inner thighs. Placing slow, open mouth misses until he reach your pussy. Pausing just for a second to admire the glory in front of him, right before placing a final kiss on your clit.

“Fuck, yeonjun,” you moaned.

You had no idea how yeonjun was still in his tight jeans, it must have hurt like crazy right now. Yet, he was still able to keep his composure. While your mind was preoccupied, Yeonjun had started darting his tongue in and out of you, lapping up any of your juices there was, his nose pressed against your clit. Your thoughts cleared as all you could focus on was how good he was making you feel. You knew it was wrong, but it felt so right.

Reaching down, you grabbed his hair in your fists, attempting to pull him closer to you, as if that was possible. Moving his mouth back to your bundle of nerves, he replaced his tongue with his finger, pumping in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“Faster, yeonjun. Please. You feel so good,” you pleaded, kicking you head back against your pillow, hoping he would give you what you needed.

“Whatever you want, baby girl,” he replied, adding one more finger and pumping faster, curling and massaging that sweet spot inside of you over and over.

As your moans got louder, yeonjun felt you contracting around his fingers, using his free hand to keep your thighs apart. The next thing you knew, yeonjun pulled his fingers out and crawled back up to meet you face to face, sucking his fingers clean.

“So sweet. I would ask you to return the favour... But you could always do that next time. And i really just want to fuck you right now,” he leaned down to growl in your ear, “is that alright?”

Nodding, you heard him start to undo his belt. The metal clinking and hitting the floor, follow by the sound of his zipper and his jeans joining his belt shortly after.

“Shit...,” you heard him cuss.

“What?”

“Do you have condoms?” He asked, you could tell he was frustrated with himself.

“Don’t worry, I’m on the pill,” you assured.

“Oh? Were you expecting this? You’re filthier than i thought.”

His statement made you blush. Well, you weren’t expecting this specifically. But you did hope one day it would have got to this, just in a more romantic way.

Lining himself up with your entrance, he rubbed the tip against your folds, gathering the wetness from your previous orgasm before slowly sliding just the tip in. His leaned down, kissing you again to distract you from the pain as you moaned into his mouth. Giving you a minute to adjust before pushing all the way in, groaning at how warm and tight you felt around him.

“You feel so good. Are you alright?” He asked, seeing your eyes screwed shut, your mouth agape, your breathing heavy.

A nodded a second after he asked, wanting him to start moving. You knew shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as you were, but you couldn’t help it. The stretch he gave you felt blissful and you just wanted to remember this moment.

Noticing that you were starting to relax and calm down, he took it as a sign to start moving. Pulling out to the point only his tip was still in you and then snapping his hips back. He repeated this action, loving the way your moans echoed in his ears louder and louder the faster he got. Admiring how his dick would disappear in you, coming back out covered in your slick juices. You wrapped your legs around his waist once more, allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The new angle allowing him to continuously rub against your g spot.

“You take me so well baby girl.”

“Yeonjun dont stop.” The exact opposite of what you should have been staying. “Fuck, im cumming.”

“Come for me baby,” Yeonjun said between grunts, slowing his movements momentarily to help ride you through your high.

A high pitch whine coming from your mouth as you came undone, breathing quickening. Feeling your walls spasm around him, yeonjun knew he wouldn’t last any longer. He thrusted into you hard one last time, burying himself to the hilt before filling you up to the brim.

You stayed like that for a while, your sweaty bodies pressed against each other, lungs struggling for air. After your breathing had stabled a bit, yeonjun pulled out. Sitting back, watching his cum leak out of you. Noticing his stare, you started to get insecure, trying to cover yourself up with your blanket.

“Oh, don’t get shy with me after we just did that y/n,” he chuckled.

Plopping down next to you, he grabbed the blanket out if your hands and draped it over the two of you. There it was, he was back to calling you by your name. You shouldn’t have bothered you as much it did, but the more you tried to shut your thoughts, the louder they became. You rolled over so that your back was facing him. Tears had started to fill your eyes and you weren’t sure why. Well, thats a lie. You knew why. You knew exactly why. Burying yourself further into the blanket you tried to hide your sniffles. But of course, yeonjun still noticed. He always noticed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, concern laced in his voice. Propping himself up on his forearm, he leaning over you, trying to get you to face him.

Shaking your head, you answered with a simple lie, “nothing.”

“Y/N... if i hurt you, you should tell me. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“No, you didn’t. I promise. It’s... something else,” you lied again. This time turning to face him, giving him a reassuring smile. He did hurt you, just not in the way he thought. And for the most part, it was your own fault.

“If you want to talk about it, you know I’m always here to listen,” he smiled, stroking your hair gently. A feeling you loved over the years. One you got used to, but you knew was nothing more than a friendly gesture.

Once again you nodded. He laid back down, pulling you into his chest and right then, all you could focus on was his heartbeat. How perfectly synced it was with yours. And that was it, the end of the conversation, the end of the night. The next day you woke up and yeonjun was gone. Off to practice you presumed, he always had practice on a Saturday morning. You knew you would still see him later that day, but your heart ached.

Yeonjun was so close, yet so far. Laying in your bed, you realised that maybe you were just destined to be friends.

Huh, friends. You never thought a word could sound so bitter.

=====================================

Wrote this at 4am one night. Was feeling kinda sad so figured why not make the most of it and write to get my mind off it~ Hope u liked this! ♡

Masterlist

#yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun au #txt yeonjun #txt fanfic #txt smut #txt imagine #txt au #txt post #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun smut #yeonjun #yeonjun angst #yeonjun ff #txt angst #txt ff

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animetrashlord-007 · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s Keep It Casual

Word Count;; 3k

Genre;; Smut

Pairing;; Kabuto x Reader

Summary;;

“No names. Let's get one thing straight: I don't care who you are. I'm not looking for anything serious, I just want to have a good time.”

Or that fic where you pick up a certain ninja at a bar. Kabuto x Reader

Warning;; Explicit language and sexual content.

Notes;; Published: 2017-05-06

My Masterlist

You had been on the road for weeks, travelling from village to village without any particular goal. It had started as a sort of pilgrimage to learn more about the other regions. Over time that objective faded only to be replaced with the desire to be free of obligations and expectations. Every town started to blend with the last and the finer details were lost on you. You could care less about their cultures or their ideals. You had no intention of returning home nor did you wish to find a new one.

One thing you could always count on was the constant flow of people. Person after person would pass you on the crowded streets, each spewing some polite yet distant greeting before disappearing from your memory. Walking down alley after alley, through village after village - it was always the same. Everyone seemed happy. Their lives were perfect and you knew you didn't fit in. It wasn't until the sun fell that your spirits lifted. It wasn't until you found the grimy underbelly, the part of the town that no one wanted to admit existed, that you felt a tinge of joy. This part of town attracted the wrong crowds but the right attitudes. It attracted the kind of people that responded to their primal instincts. These people didn't give a fuck about where you came from or where you were going. They were scum and you despised them, and they felt the same about you. There was nowhere else you'd rather be.

With a sigh, you sat down at the end of the bar. The bartender didn't bother to take your order, he just poured you a shot and moved on to the next customer. It didn't matter. All of the shitty bars you had been to (and fuck, had you been to a lot) only served one drink: cheap, throat-burning whiskey. You threw some crumpled bills down next to your glass before downing the alcohol. Throwing your hand up in a lazy, beckoning gesture, you flagged the ragged man back to your end of the bar. No words were needed once he examined the wad of cash. With a hearty chuckle, he slid the bottle into your awaiting hands and left you alone to get absolutely shitfaced. You respected men that knew to stay the fuck out of your face when they weren't wanted.

It didn't surprise you, however, when someone sat beside you. You had downed half of the bottle already and it never took long for the vultures to make their move. You weren't drunk enough to fall into anyone’s bed just yet, but, for whatever reason, people assumed you couldn't hold your liquor. Groaning, you turned your head to face the young male next to you. His grey hair was tied back into a ponytail and he wore the nerdiest pair of black glasses you had ever seen. His attention wasn't on you but rather on the bottles lining the wall. Throwing his head back, he finished his drink in a swift gulp. Giving him a once over, you scoffed.

“Pretty boy, what's up with the clothes?”

He peered at you from the corner of his eye, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Would you prefer them off?”

That sounded like a challenge, or perhaps an offer. Fuck if you knew, you weren’t at your brightest after all the alcohol you had consumed. You took a swig from your bottle, basking in the warmth that burned its way to your gut, before turning your whole body to face him. This time you observed him at a slower pace, humming in approval when your eyes fell to his ass. Humoring your curiosity, he swiveled his stool in a complete circle before stopping in front of you. He didn't bother attempting to conceal his smirk as your eyes scoured his entire body once more. Though his clothes weren't form-fitting, it was obvious that he was athletic. He didn't have a large build, but rather a lean and defined one.

His skin looked like milk, smooth and delectable. You were beyond grateful that you were sober enough to restrain from running your fingers across his pale cheeks. His eyes glistened as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a motion you found oddly arousing. You were intrigued, to say the least. There was something about the way he presented himself that screamed danger and truth be told, it only turned you on more.

His dark eyes darted to your lips as you ran your tongue across them and whistled. A smile threatened to break across his features as he shook his head, and you couldn't hold back your own grin. Filling his glass to the rim, you placed it within his grasp as you raised the bottle in a mock toast. The thought of seeing him naked was etched into your mind, courtesy of his earlier comment, and you couldn't shake it out. It had been awhile since you'd been laid and there was no one else in this joint that you'd ever give the time of day to. He was a mysterious stranger that you'd never have to see again. He was young, strong and carefree; he looked like the type that could fuck you into oblivion and be gone before you woke up the next morning. If the burning desire in his eyes was any indication, he wanted it just as much as you did. In short, he was the perfect candidate for a one night stand in an unknown village.

“Drink up, pretty boy. We've gotta finish this before I let you take me home.”

His smirk returned in full force as he poured the drink down his throat. Slamming the glass down, he nudged it in your direction. “Don’t go easy on me, then. My name isn't pretty boy, it’s Kab-”

“No names,” you interrupted, placing a finger against his lips. “Let's get one thing straight: I don't care who you are. I'm not looking for anything serious, I just want to have a good time. Let's fuck and leave it there.”

“Just how I like it.”

He held his liquor better than you did. By the time you reached the bottom, your words were beginning to slur. Your feet didn't carry you in their usual graceful manner. Your body felt heavy and burned with the aftertaste of the whiskey. You appreciated the arm draped around your waist that helped guide you through the dark streets. While you didn't care either way, you didn't know whether he was taking you to your hotel or his home. In fact, you didn't know if he even lived around here. He could have been passing through just as you were. If he did live in this village, he may choose a hotel for privacy anyway. Perhaps he had a family back home or he didn't want people to know that he brought any old woman home. Asking would make the situation more personal and, honestly, you didn't care about his life. You pushed the thoughts to the back of your mind where they belonged.

He let go of your waist and you leaned against the door frame. He pulled out a single key and unlocked the door, throwing it open. He stood aside as he extended his arm in a welcoming gesture. You rolled your eyes before stepping within the room. It was plain and impersonal. There wasn't a single item of his in sight. You couldn't any luggage or even an empty food wrapper or bottle. Kicking off your shoes, you continued to explore the small space. You tugged off your jacket and tossed it on the floor. The lights were on, so it probably wasn't a new room. You pulled your blouse over the top of your head and headed over to the bed. While it was still made, the covers were ruffled from someone sitting on the very bottom edge. The door closed and the lock clicked, which you ignored as you continued to examine the room.

“Find anything interesting?”

“No.”

You turned on your heels to face him. The sudden movement didn't make you feel queasy. You weren't inebriated any longer, much to your dismay. You never wanted to wake up sober next to a stranger, let alone fuck them when you knew you'd remember every detail. Your only hope was that he was hiding some experience behind those geeky spectacles.

“Why are you still dressed? Pretty sure I already told you I came here to fuck.”

His eyes landed on your chest, clad only in your lace bra. You raised your hand and shook your head, frowning. He stepped toward you, slipping off his white waistband. You nodded once before pointing at his collar, trailing an invisible line to his crotch. He disregarded your silent request as he pushed you down onto the bed, standing between your thighs and eyeing your body with an undeniable hunger. In an instant, he yanked both his purple and white shirts off. You grinned and attempted to drag him down onto the bed with a quick tug at his pants. He held fast, however, taking a long moment to observe your curves. His eyes locked onto yours as he lowered himself to the ground.

Hovering next to your knees, he wrapped his hands around your waist. He didn't waste time on the buttons as he lifted your hips and pulled your pants off in one swift motion. He snickered at your scowl, and ignored your feet that were pawing at his trousers. His fingers ran circles along your inner thighs as he kissed your stomach, the act so gentle it sent shivers up your spine. He continued to place kisses on your skin, working up toward your breasts. Licking along your collarbone, he kissed your neck as his hands raised up to your hips once more. His nails pressed into your sides and you grinned at the sensation. You wanted to feel his body under your fingers as you massaged his toned muscles. You wanted to feel his body pressed against yours as he pounded into you without hesitation. He, however, wanted to explore every inch of you. His mouth reached yours, kissing just the corner before you placed two fingers against his lips.

“Who said you could kiss me?”

His eyes widened in shock before narrowing. It was his turn to scowl as he cupped your breasts, placing chaste kisses on both through the material of your bra before moving back down to your navel. His lips lingered on your right hip and he sighed, “You don't seem to mind when I kiss you here.”

You laughed as he hooked your underwear between his fingers. His glare was intense as he ripped them off, earning yet another scowl from you. Pushing your knees out to the side and opening you to his view, his fingers trailed up your legs. One hand lifted your left knee over his shoulder as the other ran gentle circles on your clit. He bit your thigh without warning, earning a gasp, before moving back down. His tongue took over the work on your clit as his hands kneaded the soft skin of your ass. The pleasure increased as he slid one finger inside your hole, your natural lubrication easing the transition as he pushed a second finger inside. He continued at a steady rhythm as he waited for a reaction, tongue switching between sucking on your clitoris and plunging within your walls. You bit your cheek to hold back a small moan but no sound went unnoticed. He withdrew with another heavy sigh, “You didn't mind me kissing you there, either.”

“You're pretty cute when you're pouting, you know that?”

“Try not to get too attached.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” You quipped before kicking his leg. “Enough with the foreplay, take your pants off.”

“Has anyone told you you're impatient?”

“Will you just fuck me already? Stop screwing around.”

His signature smirk graced his features as he let his purple pants fall to the ground. Your eyes lit up as his hand toyed with his boxer’s waistband. You could see the outline of his cock, not yet fully erect but hard enough to get the job done. You gave him a thumbs up and he shook his head with a disgruntled huff. Reaching to the bedside table, he pulled out a condom and some lube. Emitting a loud groan, you kicked the tube out of his grasp. He rolled his eyes at your impatience before unwrapping the condom and rolling it on. You slid further back onto the bed, beckoning him forward with a wink. Positioning himself between your legs once more and aligning himself with your entrance, he paused.

“Are you sure you’re-”

“Are you going to take your glasses off?”

“Huh? No.” He frowned as he pushed his glasses up. “I want to see your beautiful face as you're moaning and begging for me.”

“I have bad news for you, handsome. That's not going to happen unless you actually fuc-”

Your sentence devolved into an awkward hiss as he entered you. His hand gripped the underside of your thigh as he threw your right leg over his shoulder. He pushed his entire length inside as his hand dug into your ass cheek. Leaning forward and grabbing your hair, he yanked you forward. The roughness of the interaction left you moaning as he bit your bottom lip.

“Shut up,” he growled, “and kiss me.”

You didn't retort this time, instead choosing to smash your lips against his. His lips felt soft when they were pressed against yours, yet somehow rough and animalistic at the same time. The kiss wasn't unpleasant. In fact it was electrifying, which made you hate it even more. His hand was still tangled in your hair, so you decided to return the gesture. Snatching his ponytail, you pulled him back away from you. He snarled at the loss of contact. He looked gorgeous and vulnerable, like a wounded puppy. Caressing his cheek with your free hand, you leaned forward to place a peck on his forehead before you slapped him. He jerked backward, pulling out of you slightly as his eyes widened. Licking your lips, you bucked your hips down onto his cock.

“I didn't expect you to be so intimate, pretty boy.”

“Well, I am gentleman,” he replied, shrugging off his initial shock.

You scoffed, “Don't make me laugh. Now will you hurry up and fuck me hard enough that the rest of the hotel hears?”

One thing you could say about the guy, he was good at following orders. He pulled out to the tip before thrusting back in, setting a fast and rough pace as he continued to hammer into you. He maintained a firm grasp on your arse, hard enough to leave bruises, while pulling your hair at random intervals and biting down on your neck and shoulders. Within the short time of knowing him, he'd already figured out the exact spots to touch to trigger those little pleasurable sounds you tried so hard to hold back. He'd smirk whenever you moaned, his eyes never leaving your face. His stamina was impressive; he showed no signs of slowing down as you felt your orgasm building. It was a nice change considering most of your flings ended without that high you craved. Your nails raked down his back before you pulled him down to your chest. He winced but continued slamming into you. He nibbled on your ear as his dick hit a spot that had your toes curling and your breathing coming out in pants.

“Fuck, yes, right there!”

“You like that, do you darling?”

“I hate you, just- fuck, just keeping hitting that spot, you bastard!”

He opened his mouth to respond but you were tired of banter. Seizing the opportunity to lock lips, you slipped your tongue inside. His surprise faded as quick as it came. He battled for dominance over the kiss, tongue twirling around yours until you caved and gave him the control he seeked. Breaking the kiss, he grinned at the sight before him. You were panting and sweating, eyes gazing up at him with nothing but lust, and your body was trembling. You were close to your limit. He picked up the pace. The sounds of wet skin slapping together filled the room, alongside the creaking of the bed and thudding of the headboard against the wall. He thrusted harder, deeper. Every time he hit that spot, you just about melted in his hands.

“I'm gonna cu-”

“Cum for me, beautiful.”

“God, fu-fuck you!”

He was ready to cum as well, but continued to fuck you into the mattress as you rode out your orgasm. The sounds you made were music to his ears. The way you shuddered and quivered beneath him was exquisite. He couldn't hold out any longer, spilling into the condom as he fell on you with a grunt. You groaned at the added weight, pinching his shoulder. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he lifted himself enough to look back into your eyes.

“You're heavy, get off me for fucks sake.”

“You swear too much.”

“You smirk too much.”

“You make this really adorable face when you're about to cum.”

“God, will you just get off me already?”

“It's not as sexy as this blush you're giving me now though,” he whispered into your ear. “Fine. Just give me a few minutes and we can go for round two, since you insist.”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, glaring at the man smirking above you. “This time, fuck me hard enough that the whole street hears.”

“I'll fuck you hard enough that the whole village will hear.”

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aurora-the-kunoichi · 4 years ago

Text

The Forgotten - Part Three

Here is part three of The Forgotten

Here it is in its entirety

The Aquarium

Raphael had always been….overwhelming, the one to leave her breathless, boneless and tied up in knots after a rough session of love making. He knew what buttons to press, the right pressure to touch at just the right places. Raphael was a master of breaking down walls and getting exactly what he wanted by making Aurora realize she wanted the very same thing. This Raphael was no different.

Aurora could feel her heart in her chest as his sinful lips found the pulse point bringing the skin into his mouth and sucked until the blood vessels burst. As he continued to molest the skin in his mouth Raphael’s left hand moved to her backside gripping the apple of ass and squeezed. Aurora tried; she really did, but found it impossible to stop the moan escaping between her parted lips. Memories flooded back as he pressed her into the side of building with his immense frame while licking at the now red mark that spread across her skin.

Raphael did this regularly when they were hers and hers alone. He’d mark her mostly in the mornings when they’d get a few moments alone and he take the first fuck of the day and the subtle mark on her neck would remind Fearless that he had, had their kunoichi first. It was a game the alphas played on the regular always trying to one up each other which Aurora didn’t mind being the object of their attentions. Being on the receiving end of their insatiable sex drive was something she would never complain about. Mike and Don were nearly as bad but they tended to be a little more submissive to her.

“Raphael.”

“That’s so fuckin’ pretty, say it again.” Raphael husked pressing his knee between her thighs to widen her stance. “Why the fuck do I want ya so bad? Like I’ve been starving for years and you’re the only thing to satisfy my hunger?”

Aurora fought with her body as it responded favorably to his impatient treatment. Her hands shook reaching for the rim of his shell and willed herself not to pull him closer but to keep him at bay. She had to get her libido under control, this was not her Raphael. She took a deep breath and pushed; the mouth that was sampling the column of her throat was detached and growled its warning of displeasure.

It was now she could hear his labored breathing as the disconnect from his body allowed some of her senses to return. Even in the low light Aurora could see his pupils dilated, Raphael’s ravenous sex drive was in full gear and his sights were locked in on the kunoichi. She needed to be quick and utilize all of her tricks because despite the throb between her legs Aurora wasn’t going to give him what he wanted and she could tell he really wanted it.

“Come girly, I can smell ya, I know you want this too. And if we’ve fucked before I know ya can take me.” The eager mutant moved forward again his hands searching to reclaim the roundness of her backside.

Aurora jumped gripping the lip of the roof’s overhang and lifted up and out of range of those gifted three fingered hands. Her legs spread clearing his towering height and using her stomach muscles reared back and launched herself over the mutant landing just behind him.

Raphael fist slammed into the wood siding and whirled around with a manic smile widening over his scarred lips. “Playin hard to get huh? That’s ok cause I love the thrill of the chase. When I catch ya I’m gonna make you scream my name and mark you inside and out. That way Fearless will know who had ya first.” Just then the brute stopped his forward motion and blinked eyeing Aurora carefully. “I’m havin déjà vu right now, like I’ve said those words before. But Leo and I have never…….”

He looked confused running his hand over his scalp before clamping both hands over his skull grunting in pain. “God my skull, it hurts all of a sudden.”

Aurora took the moment of his distraction and kicked the solid turtle in the chest sending him back on his shell. With the quickness of her training she moved over the enormous turtle and pressed under his left arm pit and above his plastron to the right of his clavicle, right where she needed to immobilize the deadly terrapin. The mutant hissed in discomfort as his body succumbed to the pressure points and every muscle in his cumbersome frame let go of its tension leaving him helpless to the tempting woman.

Despite his arms and legs useless his lips still worked just fine, “Ain’t you full of fuckin’ surprises. Pressure points, I’ve only seen Leo use those. Looks like I seriously underestimated your abilities. I promise that won’t happen again. That is unless you plan on killin me beautiful.”

Aurora straddled his hips and leaned down settling her elbows on his chest and her head in her hands. “It’s Aurora, and don’t worry handsome those pressure points will wear off in about 15 minutes. I don’t want you dead I just wanna have a few words. You are having déjà vu because you and Leonardo have both had me, but so has Mikey and Donnie.” Saying his name out loud still hurt but the furrowing brows and a grunt of pain that came from Raphael indicated his brain was trying to access the suppressed memories. “You and Fearless would play a game practically every day. It was called ‘Who fucked the kunoichi first.’ It was a game I enjoyed being included in. You see, I know a lot about you. I know you’re just a little bigger then Leo with a slight curve to the left. You have a long scar that runs from the top of your thigh down to your knee. I know that you love your adonis line stroked.” Her right hand disappeared between them dipping under his waistband to find the well defined line of muscle just under his plastron connecting to his groin.

The immobilized turtle tried tilting his hips up into her fingers as they ran the length of the line coming to a stop just before his cock. “Fuck!” his head dropped back to the tar roof and rumbled as her fingers moved down bypassing the rock hard rod of flesh and the hanging green globes. “Ah come on!”

Aurora leaned down ghosting her lips over his, the tip of her tongue darted out running along his lower lip and he leaned up to catch the appendage sucking it into his mouth. She allowed it briefly having her first taste of Raphael in years. She opened her mouth and swept her tongue into his mouth giving him a deep kiss and broke free. “I also know your little kink.” The pad of her finger ran just under the green sacks tracing the line of flesh just under them. “I know when you get head you love to get your prostate massaged.” Just then her finger ran over the puckered entrance and the brute gasped as the soft pad of her finger pressed against the flesh just enough to make him groan.

“Fucking impossible…ugghh…..fuck……”

“I know every inch of your body Raph.” Her hand moved up again and the palm of her hand finally gave him the attention the mutant had been craving and gripped the pulsing cock firmly. Aurora closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, this was getting way out of hand but she needed his attention, his full attention and she had it now for sure. “As much as I want to ride you until we’re both sweaty and satisfied…”

“Please, dear gods, please do blondie.”

“Your boss isn’t who you think he is Raphael. Bishop took you from me, from the resistance and put something in your bodies to make you obedient.” Her fingers slid down to the base of his shaft and twisted just the way he liked it. “And you Raphael are anything but obedient.

“Fu—hck….What the fuck are you talkin about? Fuckin shell, just-t like that!”

“It’s small and metal or some kind of alloy, we’re not sure. It moves around your body somehow keeping you and your brothers under his control. Keeping millions under his control.” Her hand released his cock and Aurora leaned up much to Raphael’s displeasure.

“I ain’t got nothing in my body controlling me. I ain’t no one’s puppet!”

“Oh I know. You’re not one to take orders, at least without questioning their validity first. It was the main theme of yours and Leo’s fights. But why do you think it hurts when you try to remember? Why you and your brothers are drawn to me? Why the name Donnie pulls at something deep inside you? You had another brother but he disappeared and we had no idea what happened to him. It still haunts us to this day. Can you remember anything prior to five years ago? Your childhood?” Suddenly out of the corner of her eye Aurora could see his finger twitch, it was time to leave.

Her fingers rested on his chest and ran over the hard lines letting out a shaky breath and stood.

“Hey, wait! Where ya going? You can’t leave me like this? Fuckin tease!”

Aurora moved off of him and took a few steps back edging the shadows of the roof. “The feeling is coming back in your body and I can’t be here when it does. I’ll be seein you red…” And with that she disappeared from his view and began her escape listening to the roar of her name fade with the distance.

She didn’t stop; Aurora ran and ran bypassing home base just in case he would take chase. She wouldn’t take any more chances; she did enough of that tonight. Keeping to the darkness Aurora slipped below the streets and made the trek to her own personal hideout.

The lair had been abandoned shortly after Bishop earned his edge in the war. The turtles and Aurora moved to the resistance’s hideout to stay close to the news and the help. So the lair was still only known to a select few. Since the five original tenants were either gone or unable to remember its location only Aurora, Casey and April knew of its existence.

Aurora made a trip to the lair at least once a month to make sure everything was running and that it was still stocked just in case of emergencies. Just in cases the resistance fell and they needed a new place to lay low.

The vacant rooms still hurt to look at, Donnie’s lab sat with abandoned machines and projects never to be finished again. The room with the rice paper doors had been missing its owner for the longest. Running her fingers along the teak wood frame Aurora pushed it open and kneeled at the opening. In the middle of the room was a beautiful ornate Japanese table and sat upon it was a green urn filled with the remains of Master Splinter.

“Good evening Sensei, I know it’s been a while since I’ve visited but I figured you’d like an update on your sons. I had a run in with Raph this evening; he didn’t try to kill me this time so that was a bonus. I had to use a few of my tricks to get him to listen but I think I might have moved a few brain cells around a bit. I..may have kissed him but it was unavoidable. “Her eyes lifted to the vessel and let out a heavy sigh. “Ok maybe it wasn’t but….it’s been so long and I was weak. He did have something interesting to say. Supposedly I have been a regular topic of conversation with those three. That’s something I guess.” Getting back to her feet Aurora bowed. “Sensei.”

She moved about the lair until she entered their room looking at the giant makeshift bed. She remembered the day Mikey had suggested the consolidation of their sleeping arrangements. He had been so proud of himself he was simply beaming from ear to ear.

“What the fuck did ya do shell for brains?” Raphael was circling the massive arrangement of mattresses, blankets and pillows. Even though he was a bit annoyed Aurora could see the wheels spinning in his head.

Mikey took a few steps back and rushed his creation grabbing Aurora as he went. Aurora screamed in shock as the youngest hurtled her and him onto the mass with a very comfortable collision of bedding. “No more fighting over who gets to sleep with Rora. Now it’s just gonna be a giant turtle pile with her in the middle.”

Leo stood in the doorway with his massive arms crossed over his chest; his face was unreadable as he watched Mikey molest Aurora with his signature enthusiasm.

“I don’t usually say this but…..” Donnie was right next to Leo but his expression was much more readable. The big toothy grin widened and the genius followed the two into the bed helping Mikey strip the kunoichi of her clothes. “This is probably the best idea you’ve ever had Mike.”

“Leo! Raph!” Aurora squealed mock fighting off two of her lovers. “Are you gonna just sit there and let them take advantage of me like this?”

The two alphas finally found each other’s gaze and stepped from their positions. Raphael rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck while Leo slipped a kunai from his thigh holster.

“It looks like you two are taking way too long to rid her of her clothes. I think you need to let a master take over.”

Raphael moved with Leo and lunged, “Not if I get to her first Fearless.”

The introduction to the new bed was christened with their first fivesome leaving Aurora walking a little funny the next few days. She still found it unbelievable she was once in a relationship with four mutant turtles. Aurora remembered how good it was and how amazing each of them were to her. Something that good wasn’t meant to last. Life could be so cruel sometimes, a taste of heaven before it was ripped from her grasp.

Aurora crawled into the bed and pulled the covers over herself. The interaction with Raph had left her shaken and emotionally drained, something she was not expecting for the nights events. She had nearly given in to his advances and that worried her. But then again the closer he got and the longer he was in close proximity he seemed to lose more and more control. As she mentioned things from his past Raph’s head began to hurt as if the memories were trying to resurface. Maybe she should have given in?

Their scent had left the room long ago but the indents from their shells remained. Her fingers trailed along the massive divots imagining their slumbering bodies just next to her. She imagined Raphael turning to her and his honey eyes opening to find her staring at him.

“Can’t sleep?”

“I’m just imagining you guys here with me.” Her hand reached out and ran her palm across his cheek smiling as he leaned into the touch. “I miss you.”

Raphael moved closer running his fingers through Aurora’s hair gripping the back of her skull gently, “We may not realize it but we miss you too. But I’m hopin’ you guys can figure those fuckin little things out. I wanna come home; we wanna come home to you.”

“We’re working on it I promise. It’s just gonna take a little longer without Don here to head the charge. We’ll get you home; we’ll get all of you home or die trying.”

“Nah Rora don’t do that. I can’t fuck you into next year when I’m free of this bullshit if you’re dead. You need to stay alive and strong cause this isn’t gonna get easier, it’s only gonna get harder.” Raphael leaned in giving her his signature smirk. “Speaking of harder….”

Aurora closed her eyes and waited, but like all of her other day dreams those lips never came. No arms came to claim her. By the time she opened her eyes Raphael was gone and his indent cold as death. Tears began to form in her eyes as she stared at where bulky terrapin had just been laying. She was tired, so fucking tired.

The next thing Aurora knew, she was being jolted awake to the com flush in her ear blowing up with a familiar worried voice.

“Base to White Skull, base to White Skull. Where the fuck are you!?” April’s angry voice boomed in her ear. Just under the irritation Aurora could hear the fear in the back of her throat clawing at her subconscious praying her friend wasn’t captured or worse….. dead.

She must have fallen asleep, poor April had enough to worry about. Pressing the com in her ear Aurora yawned and replied quickly, “This is White Skull to base. My apologies I had an unannounced visit from Red Bear. I was unsure if I was being followed so I took refuge in the aquarium just in case. I didn’t want to compromise the base just in case he had gotten the best of me.”

“Are you alright?” April’s voice instantly softened understanding the code words and knowing she was safe.

Aurora let out a heavy sigh and nodded to mostly herself, “Yeah I’m ok, I must have fell asleep. I’ll return at dawn.”

“Be careful White Skull, I…..we’ll see you in a few hours. Over and out.”

As the com went cold Aurora sat up pushing the blankets from her body. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she made her way to the kitchen for something to drink.

The genius’s sewage powered generator was still working like a dream. As long as the human race still occupied New York City there would always be an endless amount of human waste. Donnie had figured out a way to harness that power and turn it into unlimited power for the Lair. The lights remained functional, along with all the kitchen appliances as well as the bathrooms. God she missed him.

The fridge was the least supplied appliance. It held perishables and in a secret lair uninhabited most of the time it was unwise to keep it stocked with items that would go bad quickly. The freezer held most of the food and the fridge held water, pop and butter.

Pulling out a bottle of water she cracked the top and downed the whole contents in one gulp.

“Fuck!” Aurora growled throwing the now empty bottle in the trash. “My thermos! Now I gotta go get it.”

Just then a burst of light from Donnie’s lab distracted Aurora from her lost item. In a flash her hands went the hilts of her katana and unsheathed them with a low sing. Her feet made no sound as the kunoichi made her way to the partly closed door currently displaying a spectacular show of multi colors.

She could hear electricity snap and crackle and a low hum of some kind as the light show pulsed faster and faster. As she reached the partially open door to Donatello’s lab Aurora peered through the crack and felt her heart stop and burst all at the same time.

Her katanas slipped from her grip clattering to the ground at her feet. In a hurried burst of energy her fingers found the edge of the metal doors and pushed with all her might.

“DONNIE!?”

@imthegreenfairy88 @alonia143 @ravn-87 @waterstar2016 @tmnt-bucklover

#tmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fandom #tmnt fic #TMNT TMNT fanfiction #The Forgotten #Part Three

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