#the lights suck. the paint sucks. the bathroom is a crack in the wall

[roomba-mangga]

trying to cook up more headcanons for modern philippines au but rn i'm stuck on the toudens' house being gross as hell. not even speaking of their habits i mean the house itself is gross, and it's not even a bad house compared to others, it's just going through a midlife crisis

[crookedteethed]

MORESAL of praise | e.m.

Pairing: Up-and-coming Musician!Eddie Munson x Girlfriend Musician reader

Warning: 18+ Cursing, Smut (p in v), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Reader is intimidated by Eddie's size, Praise kink, Pet names, cockwarming, Eddie being a tool, barely proofread, reader and Eddie are both in their mid-twenties, From y/n perspective

Word count: 2.7k

Divider cred → @saradika-graphics

There's a squeak to my door that needs fixing, and a water leak somewhere that needs tending.

I asked my tenant to fix it, but he tells me: "This is what you get when you pay $300 a month."

The Luminary, home of musicians trying to live for cheap.

I sit my guitar case on the creaking floors, and kick off my ten-hut boots.

My apartment had been cold. A dull gray atmosphere manifested itself not only due to the cold weather outside but also the poor insulation through my apartment walls.

The door to my room was slightly cracked and I noticed between the lines of static silence were the faint sounds of acoustic strings.

I opened the door. In my room, there was one dim lamp light lit. It shined a yellow hue on my boyfriend, who sat on the edge of my bed. Eddie had been playing his black acoustic guitar--the one he wrote "This machine slays dragons" in white paint on, his notebook he often wrote in laid open next to him, a black ink pen between the margins of the notebook.

He doesn't look up at me when I tell him "Hi."

His concentration was on the nylon strings of his acoustic guitar as he mutters an "Oh, hey." back.

My boyfriend looked beautiful at the moment, inattentive, yet beautiful. The warm yellow tone reflected his pallor skin, strands of his thick curly hair tucked behind his ear, and a brown celluloid guitar pick between his teeth. Somewhat of a Vermeer painting.

I walk over to my dresser.

"Sorry, I'd broken in." Eddie says. "I needed to be somewhere quiet, my roommates wouldn't give me that." The roommates that had also doubled as Eddies bandmates.

"It's okay." I say, while shimming out of my black satin skirt. "I was going to ask if you wanted to come over tonight anyway."

My skirt falls to the floor, it pools around my ankles. Next to come off is my stockings, then my shirt, and lastly my bra.

I catch Eddies eyes lingering on my bareback as I fish for something I can sleep in. My hands pick a shirt that said "Margaritaville" and was four sizes too big.

When I turn back around to Eddie, he's back to strumming a random chord then he writes it down in his notebook.

In the small bathroom that connected to my bedroom, I don't look myself in the mirror when I take off my panties and throw them into the hamper.

Now getting into bed, I crawled over to where Eddie sat, sitting behind him on the weight of my knees.

Eddie had seemed to form some sort of a strumming pattern with his song, but he didn't seem to like the sound of it by the harsh glare he gave his guitar.

"It sounds pretty." I assure him.

He lets out a low mumble that sounds like a "Thank you."

"Thinking about playing it to the guys, play it at our audition at Beacon records, maybe?"

I hum as I slowly walked on my knees, my calloused hands gripping his bare shoulders. "Mmm-hmm," I say as he kept speaking, but I was too busy stroking his hair to fathom anything he was saying.

I lean in closer to his body, enveloping myself in his warmth.

My boyfriend: the thermal.

I bring my lips to his neck, and in one long hard suck, I kiss the flesh. His reaction is what catches me off guard.

"Babe." he turns to me, he stares at me with the same glare he gave his guitar. "I'm almost done." He continued. "Then we can do whatever you want."

The music continues.

My bottom lip start to poke out, and I probably would've started to cry if he was a bit more harsher.

I start to scoot to the head of the bed. "Take as long as you want. I'm going to bed." I tell him.

I get underneath my cold blankets, lay to my side and force myself to sleep (despite not being sleepy).

Suddenly, his strumming stops.

With one eye opened, I peak at him (out of curiosity). I squeeze both my eyes shut when I feel Eddie get up from the bed, his bones cracking in the mitts.

He leans his guitar on the wall, and places his closed notebook on the bedside table.

We accidentally make eye contact when he turns off the lamp light, I squeeze my eyes in a haste, but l feel the smirk on his lips illuminating in the darkness of my room.

Eddie then slips underneath the covers beside me, his clipped nails and rough hands graze the plush of my slender hips. I feel his smirked lips kiss the dip of my shoulder blade.

"I'm trying to sleep." I mumble.

"No you're not." He says, breathing on the nape of my neck.

I feel Eddie's muscular hands turn me over by the shoulders. When we're face to face I get a glimpse of his shadow covered face, alabaster skin darker then normal.

Eddie traces a finger over the line of my jaw and pulled my body tight to his chest. His body heat makes me feel less cold. Eddie brings a warmness to me that spreads from my temples, to my limps and it makes me melt like ice cream on a midsummer day's night.

"You're freezing." he states.

My lips part as his thump soothes the petal skin of my jawline.

"Lemme make you warm. Lemme make up for before, yeah?" He said in that voice I couldn't resist. It's a low, gravelly tone. A tone filled with assurance and leverage.

And though I wanted to roll over and play sleep, I simply couldn't. With sluggish eyes and a parted mouth (due to his thumb playing with my bottom lip) I found myself nodding to Eddie's words.

As Eddie crawls on top of me, I combed my fingers through his thick dark curls. Eddie's the one to close the gap between our mouths.

The kiss begins with the utmost tenderness. It was long enough that I could inhale his breath, feel the warmness of his skin, and tasted the last thing that lingered on his lips (the celluloid guitar pick).

But, with the hunger of a starving man, Eddie deepens the kiss. I responded to him with a low mewl between the gnawing and the suckling.

When I feel Eddie's hand snake to where our cores met, I stopped him.

He hovers over me with concerning eyes, and red-bitten lips.

"Did I do something wron--"

"I want to ride you." I breathlessly say, earning another smirk from him and glint in his eyes.

In a swift motion, Eddie and I switched places, with him now being on the bottom while I was on top. Eddie rests his back on the metallic bars of my headboard. In this position, the moonlight peaking from my curtains had shined on his face, leaving me in the shadows.

I start to adjust myself by bunching the hem of my shirt around my waist; Eddie adjusts himself by lifting his weight to pull down his boxers, and that's when I feel it.

I feel the warmth that radiates from his cock to my wet slit. His tip nearly meshing with my clit.

Eddie's cock had had a slight curved mushroom shape to it with a hefty girth to it as well, with three large straining veins running along the side of it.

His reddening tip spewed drops of clear pre-cum that leaked down from his dick and to my thighs.

I gawked at his cock, with slightly parted lips.

Oh, how I yearned for Eddie to be inside of me all day. During my yearning, Eddie was on top. It occurred to me then that I'd never ridden Eddie before. Eddie is always the one to do the penetrating.

My eyes met with his, a devious look in his deep, earthy brown eyes.

"Sorry." I mutter.

Eddie looks at me with a condescending grin as I lift myself up by my knees. I give a few tugs to his cock, before aligning his length to my entrance.

I feel the supple wetness of my cunt drip down my thighs and onto the puddle of Eddie's pre-cum that resides there, as I inch him closer to me.

It was either the intimidation or excitement in my lower belly that lead me to stop.

"Can you help me?" I mumble.

"What?" Eddie says, cuffing his hand behind his ear. Whatta prick.

"You heard me." I said.

"I believe I didn't sweetheart, you were mumbling."

He knew for a fact he heard me; we were so close to one another that I could listen to the fluids swishing around in his belly. But for the sake of it,

"Can you help me?" I repeat, this time loud and clear.

"Ohh, that's what I thought you said." He decides to play dumb, desperation pulls on my face. "Thought you wanted to ride me, huh?"

"I do, but I'm scared it won't fit." I say.

"It fit all those other times." He rebuttals.

"But all those other times weren't like this." I stare deep into his eyes and poke out my bottom lip. "Please, just help me."

"Oh, don't cry sweets, you know I was gonna help ya, y'know." He tells me. "But first, take off your top fr'me."

I comply, watching him watch me take off my "Margaritaville" shirt and discarding it onto the floor.

Now completely bare, I feel my nipples start to pebble at the cool breeze of my apartment.

Eddie's mouth latches onto my left breast like a moth to a flame. I feel his hand give my right breast a firm squeeze. As his lips and tongue revolved around my sensitive buds, the tips of his curls tickled my chest.

"Eds." I gasp, bringing his head closer to my chest as if I were trying to feed him.

In the next moment, he spilled a few drops of saliva on my other nipple and flicked the newly wet nub, and started to suck on the puffy skin.

"Eds, baby, you're doing so good." I moan. Eddie hums in acknowledgment, concentrating on my left nipple like it was his guitar and notebook.

"But please, Eddie, I need you inside of me; I'm dripping here." I whine.

Eddie slowly detaches himself from my right nipple, a string of saliva connecting his lips from my nub. He looks down at the slickness that coats his and my thighs.

"Shit." he curses. He looks at me with those chocolate brown eyes of his, and a look of flattery on his face. "And I didn't even have to touch that little clit of yours to have you dripping like this."

"Eddie, please!"

"Alright, alright." He says. "By the way, y'know you're beautiful when you're all whiney and struggling on me."

Before I can rebuttal, I see Eddie gripping the thick base of his cock; as he brings his tip to my entrance, I bite on my bottom lip out of pure anticipation.

A faint sigh of relief died on our lips as Eddie melded inside me. I let out a shaky gasp at the sudden stretch. For a brief second, I sit on his cock, taking in his size, taking in his heat.

Involuntary, I clench around his girthy length as a response his cock throbs inside of me. I think if we knew morse code, our private parts could have a flirty conversation without each of us knowing; I giggle at this thought.

Eddie wraps his arms tightly around my waist "You got this mama." He pecks the skin of my collarbone.

With doe eyes I slowly nod my head, before slowly starting to grinding my hips onto his.

"That's it, baby, keep going." Eddie praises, looking up at me with such admiration. I start to quicken my pace, feeling my slick and clit coat his torso.

As Eddie's lips ravishes the dip of my neck, he breaths against my skin: "You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now."

"Then do it." I say. "Fuck me."

And with the quick placement of his large hands groping the plush fat of my waist, Eddie starts to slam my body up and down on his cock in a bouncing motion.

I mewl at his relentless thrust. Groaning every time I feel his ridged cock dragging inside of my gummy walls, I whimper when I feel him graze my sweet-spot, only for him to draw himself back and slam right back into me.

The only sounds to fill the air was skin on skin, hard smacks coming from each time our bodies thrashed.

"Fuckin' shit." Eddie groans. "Look at my girl, taking me so well." Butterflies swarm inside of my belly.

I look down to where Eddie and I connected once again, I see the lips of my cunt touch the base of his cock and then back up to his tip. Eddie fingertips graze the meat of my ass, he gives my cheeks a tight squeeze.

My cup runneth over.

My eyes begin to flutter close. "M'close." I murmured against Eddie's lips. I was tottering on the edge of my climax.

Eddie switches from mercilessly slamming me unto his cock to grinding, rubbing me against him. With the palms of his hands splayed across my ass cheeks, he rubs me closer to him in fast, greedy motions.

"Eds, M'close!" I whine.

"Finish f'me, sweets." He says, voice hoarse like he was on the edge of his climax too.

It was the hoarseness in Eddie's voice, the bead of sweat sloping down the side of his face, and then the delicious feeling of his cock finally bumping into my sweet spot.

A plethora of moans escapes my lips. My back arches at the shockwaves of pleasure that ebbs and flows throughout my body. There's a ripple of orgasmic delight all over. My cunt starts clenching and unclenching around Eddie's cock.

Accompanied with the sounds of our skin slapping is the wet slick coming from my spent cunt.

Lazily, I collapsed into Eddie's chest and bury my face in the croak of his neck, giving him quick little pecks on the hot flesh--my body twitching every now and then.

Eddie still fucks into me.

"Almost there, sweets." he elongates. "You're so good to me." He kisses my cheek. "Always taking me so well in that little cunt of yours, always letting me use you, even when you're on top."

You would think Eddie was talking me through my orgasm, but he was talking him through his, I think his own praised turned him on twice as much.

I start to feel Eddie's cock spasm inside of me. I'm too spent to do anything but pull him tighter to me.

He pushes himself all the way in and stills himself. I feel his cock swell up, and in those two seconds of stillness I can feel just how large Eddie really is.

With each spurt of cum, Eddie's cock pulsates. I feel the warmth and pressure of his cum coating my cervix. With each spurt, Eddie lets out low (gravelly) groans.

Eddie kisses my forehead.

I lay on his chest, listening to the fast paced pumping of his heartbeat. My eyelids start to fall and I start to feel that post-coital weariness.

I try to move myself off of Eddie, but my sore and stiff hips and limps makes it hard.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks me as I try to move beside him.

"Eddie, I have to get off of you, we can't stay in this position all night." I say.

"Says who?"

And as I snuggled back into Eddie's lap, his semi-hard cock starting to soften inside my warm cunt, I told Eddie he was right.

Who said we couldn't stay enveloped in each other's warmth for the rest of the night? Two lovers wrapped around one another in a cold bed in the cold Luminary. With no money, dead-end jobs, a guitar in hand, and dreams not only of each other but dreams of making a difference someday.

Eddie didn't need to be famous to make a difference in people's lives when he'd already made a difference in mine, my beautiful boyfriend.

[dilf-din]

Look After You

Pairing: Joel/Tess

WC: 1100

Rating: T

Warnings: none, mostly fluff, light language. Title is from the Fray song by the same name.

You’ve begun to feel like home, what’s mine is yours to leave or take, what’s mine is yours to make your own

Tess stamped the snow off of her boots on the worn doormat in the hall to their apartment. She reached into her pocket with trembling hands rooting for the rusted keyring, numb fingers struggling to grasp it. When she finally fumbled the door open, she was hit with a wall of cold air. She swallowed down her disappointment, her body longing for heat to shock it back to life. Growing up in Michigan, she would spend hours playing in the snow with her brothers, the inside of their home always warm and welcoming when they stormed their way in. Wet mittens tossed aside, red hands stretching out to regain feeling in front of a roaring fire.

Today though, her body ached through to her bones with no promise of stopping any time soon. Her bag dropped to the floor in the kitchen. She tugged out a chair and winced as she lowered herself to peel off the snow soaked layers racking her body with shivers. Her laces were damp as she tugged them loose with unfeeling fingers. A hole in her left boot had allowed cold water to seep in, numbing her foot to the ankle. Every bit of skin that had been exposed to the biting wind was painted blood red. Her light jacket had done the best it could to shelter her from the weather, which wasn’t much. Beneath that she had one of Joel’s looser fitting flannels layered over one of her own. Her hands struggled with the buttons when she heard the door swing open.

Joel rushed in and quickly shut the door behind him, locking the deadbolt. He had been lucky enough to pick up shifts inside away from the blizzard the last few days. His eyes met hers. Wordlessly he crossed their small apartment pulling his thick, winter coat off to wrap it around her. She pulled it tighter around her frozen form, thankful for the heat it retained from his own warm body.

“I told you to stay inside today,” he finally commented, fingers tapping on the counter as their faucet worked hard to fill a pot and their kettle with icy water. The clicking of the gas burner igniting echoed off of the empty walls.

“I had a lead on a job,” she said through a shiver.

“Can’t make a run if you have pneumonia,” he said softly.

He ran the back of his hand over her bright red cheek. She wanted to recoil from the touch, his gentle heat burning her skin, but she didn’t want to admit how bad it had gotten, so she sat stone faced. Her hair had been pulled into a tight braid and tucked into her cap to keep it out of the wind, but a few pieces freed themselves, framing her face gently. He tucked one behind her ear, fingers lingering on her neck for a few seconds before he pulled away.

“You should go put on something dry while this heats up.”

She nodded and shuffled to their shared bedroom. With thick socks, dry pants, a clean sweatshirt, and a threadbare towel in hand, she closed herself into the bathroom. The wet clothing clung to her like a heavy second skin, the process of stripping down and drying off taking much longer than it normally would. The chill of the cracked tile barely registered on her frozen feet as she pulled the warm pants over her legs. With the sleeves of her shirt balled over her hands to generate warmth, she exited back out into the apartment. Joel was setting the small metal tub up in the kitchen in front of the chair she was sitting in before. She rolled the bottom of her pants up and set the socks on the table to pull on after. Joel dumped the pot of hot water into the tub, and Tess plunged her feet in, sucking air in through her teeth at the temperature shock.

Joel returned to her side with the kettle to top off the water.

“Thank you.”

He rose to his full height and nodded in her direction, making his way to the bed. He pulled something out from under it and came back into the kitchen, sitting in the chair across from her. He laid a long, dark green winter coat across the table along with a new-ish looking pair of boots.

“What’s this?”

“I was gonna wait till your birthday, but I think you need it now.”

“Joel this must’ve cost a fortune.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What did you have to trade for—“

“I said, don’t worry about it.”

She took the coat and ran her hands over the quilted fabric, tugging on the zipper that easily glided on its track unlike the one on her old one that got caught every few notches. The boots were sturdy, steel toed from the weight of them.

“This is very nice, Joel, thank you.”

He nodded once more and set to clearing up the small mess of dishes that sat in the sink.

“Can’t have my girl running around freezing her ass off,” he said over his shoulder.

He never turned to see the smile that danced across her face. He never looked her in the eye when he called her that. And she didn’t fault him for it. She figured if she was ever brave enough to say something back, she’d look away too. That’s how they worked. Wordlessly, steadfastly devoted.

The redness now in her cheeks was from the weight of his unspoken love, but she would play it off as frostbite if anyone asked.

“Feeling any better?” he asked, returning to her side.

“Yeah, I can actually feel my toes now, thank you.”

She drew her feet out of the quickly cooling water to dry them off, but Joel pulled the towel from her hand to do it himself. Gently dabbing the water off, giving her an almost imperceptible foot rub through the layer of rough fabric. He reached for the woolen socks she had brought out and slipped them onto her feet before unrolling the bottoms of her pants to cover her ankles again.

“Good as new,” he said quietly, squeezing her calf.

“Yeah, good as new,” she breathed back.

She wanted more than anything to reach out and touch him. Run her fingers through his graying hair, rest her head against his strong heartbeat, but even with the chill having been chased away from her bones, she sat frozen.

[gollldrush]

@exquisitexagony | for arthur. feat. eric barlow.

“Are you crazy? The red ones are clearly superior.” Leo’s elbows are propped on the counter as she sorts a bag of skittles into groups. Red with red, green with green, etc. “That’s why there’s less of them in a bag. Too much of a good thing spoils it.” They’d had this debate going for a while; which candy was the best. She had her opinions and it was difficult to sway her from them. If you asked her, she would tell you the blue m&ms tasted the best. And that somehow Twizzlers were better when you snapped them in half. It didn’t make sense – there was no science behind it. But God help anyone that tried to tell her otherwise. Of course, Arthur let her have her opinions, as strange as they were.

“When I was little, my dad wo-“ The rumbling engine of a car outside makes her stop her train of thought entirely. She bristles, pushing herself up to stand and listen. She knew that sound; it haunted her. Tormented her for years and-

The world spins to a halt on its axis. Suddenly, it feels as if the air has gone stale; like the joy has been sucked from the world. A muted-green BMW m3 pulls into the parking lot outside. Her hearing suddenly becomes attuned to every sound – the leaking faucet behind them, the squeaking turn of the hot dog warmer beside them.

A moment comes and goes where the store turns into a blinding blur. She bolts for the back of it, hands scratching and yanking on the bathroom handle as she throws herself inside and slams the door shut. The lights flicker on and she half punches the lock and wobbles backwards.

When he exits the car he stretches, eyes squinting against the harsh sun. This place was a shithole town with ugly ass rednecks. He couldn’t imagine her hiding here of all places. Not when she worshipped the idea of community and belonging.

A tip-off from her mother had led him here. At least Diane didn’t know the truth – that was a start. And even if Leo had opened her mouth it was easy enough for him to explain away. She was an anxiety ridden nuisance. Who could blame him?

The door to the gas station dings open and he doesn’t so much as look at the clerk. He stalks the inside as if he’s looking for something. In the back he helps himself to a six pack, popping the tab on one of the cans before he even gets to the register. His eyes flicker back to the closed bathroom door with the lights on, noting the shadow of feet in the cracks.

Leo’s eyes are closed and she tries her best not to breathe with her hand glued over her mouth. This was impossible; how did he find her? She had been so careful, so cunning. Everything was paid for in cash – everything was handled under the table. There was no official contract with her landlord. Nothing. He shouldn’t have been able to trace her.

At the counter, Eric slams the case of beer down and leans. His tongue passes along his upper teeth as he stares at the curly-haired kid in front of him. Briefly, his eyes flicker to the painting on the wall. Bingo.

“You know a girl named Leonora?” His eyes are dark – threatening. “Short, brunette. Likes to talk.” He’s gauging the situation to see just how much she talked. Eric takes a long gulp of his beer until the contents are empty. “You Arthur?” He motions with one finger to the drawing on the wall as the can crushes in his grasp.

[hawk-rose]

At the WILD point in my life where I'm buying a HOUSE, holy Hestia Batman (with the help of 4 people, one of them deceased, but still).

We're still in the closing phase, so Hopefully Nothing Goes Wrong, but we did the final walkthrough yesterday and this is the nicest place I will have ever lived since I was a preteen and both my parents ended up on disabilty.

There are a few issues, like the dishwasher didn't get hooked up to the new sink, one bathroom fan doesn't work, and we're not 100% sure the garage door works since they didn't leave the clicky thing in the garage and we didn't want to break anything on accident.

BUT:

All the windows open easily and have mint condition screens (including the sliding door)

The hot water is hot right away

All the lights work

The doorbell works

The water pressure is excellent

The kitchen sink has a functional spray nozzle and garbage disposal

All the wall furnaces work

All the faucets and drains work

Functional washer and dryer

The walls aren't covered in grime or smoke

The carpet is soft and squishy with a deep pad (a bit wrinkled, but clean)

The siding is less than 20 years old, looks new, never needs painting, and won't die if a hail storm looks at it funny

There are no cracks in the foundation

None of the doors have been ripped open while locked

It's not trying to fall down a hill

The garage is cleaner than the average living room. And has wood paneling and a polished, uncracked concrete floor.

None of the door thresholds have sticking up nails

The roof and gutters are not my problem (but still look fine)

The front door isn't rotting

No cockroaches, flies, or rodents

All the windows have functional blinds in good condition (except for the sliding glass door that faces a privacy fence, so)

There is no English ivy, invasive blackberries, or poison ivy in the yard

None of the window frames are rotting

There's only about 70 square feet of gravel for a "yard" so bees and chickens and sheep are a no, but we can container garden on the driveway and NO GRASS, WHOOT!

It is a condo with an HOA, so hopefully that won't suck, but we READ THE RULES and they don't suck too much.

[frostedfaves]

Just Like Magic

Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Yelena invites her new best friend to hang out and ends up having to share. (Combined requests from @emilyprentissslut and anon)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!milf!wandanat with younger (21+) reader, dom/sub dynamics and mommy kink, a bit of manipulation/coercion, smut: oral, penetration, bondage, slight edging, nipple sucking

A/N: this took forever to write and I was going to post it where I last left off, but as long as I took with this, I wanted it to have somewhat of a proper ending. although I did leave off in a way that I could add onto this if I decide to later! anyway, can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

-

“You finally made it.”

The blonde girl offers you a sarcastic smile as you pass her on the threshold, your eyes wandering for a moment while she locks the door behind you.

“I told you that I couldn’t come over until 2.”

“As if you have anything more interesting going on.”

Yelena grabs your arm and leads you into the kitchen, giving you a playful shove toward the island as she continues to the refrigerator. You hop onto one of the stools, placing your bag on the floor beside you just in time to catch the bottle of water tossed directly at your face.

“I see your reflexes are still working,” she teases as another voice cuts in.

“That’s no way to treat your guests, Lena.”

The taunting grin on your best friend’s lips shifts to a scowl as two women come into view. Their eyes seem to be glued to your form, one pair holding a welcoming gaze and the other an air of indifference. Yelena gives them your name and identifies the pair as Natasha and Wanda, and Natasha steps closer to you with her hand outstretched.

“Don’t listen to our little dorogoya.” Natasha nods toward the younger blonde with a teasing smirk. “We’re her mothers.”

“That’s not technically true,” Wanda clarifies over Yelena’s incoming protests. “We do love her like we created her ourselves--”

“But mentors would be a more accurate ‘M’ word,” Yelena adds, pushing past the pair to grab your bag from the floor. “Let’s go before they say something else that makes me gag.”

“It was nice meeting you!”

Your words are rushed as you scramble out of the kitchen, trying to avoid staring at Natasha while she subtly unzips her hoodie. Her hand releases the zipper once you’re out of sight, but Wanda grabs it to finish the job.

“You’re a tease,” she comments while raising her tank top, and Natasha places her hands on her cheeks with a smile.

“Tell me what she’s thinking.”

“She’s definitely interested, but she needs more.” Wanda lowers her head and touches her lips to one of Natasha’s exposed nipples. “I think I need more, too.”

Natasha bites her lip and threads her fingers through her lover’s hair to pull her flush against her chest.

“Then take it.”

-

“Wait!” you call out before Yelena can throw the ball again. “Where's the bathroom? I have to pee.”

“You Americans and your weak bladders.” She rolls her eyes playfully as she plops on the ground to take a seat. “It’s the last door on the left.”

You enter the house again through the sliding door of the kitchen, passing through the room to the hallway. The bathroom is easy to locate and you’re in and out pretty quickly, but soft musical notes floating through the crack of a door stop you before you can make your way back outside. Opening the door further reveals a staircase heading toward what you assume is the basement, and before you have time to form doubts, you find yourself descending.

The music guides you to another cracked door, and you freeze in your movements when you notice Natasha and Wanda in the far corner of the room. Making sure you’re still out of sight, you take a look around the parts of the room you can see from the doorway, and it doesn’t take long to figure out what the space is for. There are various ropes, chains and ball gags hanging along the walls, and shelves hold harnesses, vibrators and dildos of all sizes.

“Flavored lube?” Wanda eyes the bottle curiously as she takes it from Natasha.

“Yeah, I figured it would be fun to try.”

“As if you don’t taste amazing enough on your own,” Wanda places her hand on Natasha’s chest, causing her to chuckle.

“It’s not for us, love.” Natasha raises her brow, and her wife seems to have a look of realization.

“Do you think she’ll like it?”

“I don’t think she’ll mind a little help getting this inside of her.”

You nearly give away your position with a gasp when the red haired woman holds up a harness with a protruding length that seems almost as big as her forearm. Deciding you’ve seen way more than you were meant to, you head back upstairs as quickly and silently as you can, trying your best to ignore your wandering thoughts as you join Yelena again.

“What took you so long?” she scowls as she jumps to her feet again. “You were staring at that ugly painting on the wall, weren’t you?”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” you argue, turning your back to grab your water and give yourself extra time to catch your breath.

“If you keep chugging that, you’ll have to pee again.” You hear her laugh before you feel the ball lightly hit your back. “But I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You had yet to discover if she was right or not.

-

“Dinner was amazing. Thank you, Miss Maximoff,” you address Wanda as she collects everyone’s plates, not quite meeting hers or Natasha’s eyes until she stops in front of you.

“You can call me Wanda, honey. I don’t mind at all.” She offers you a sweet smile before looking past you toward Yelena. “Lena, do you mind helping me clean up? I need to show you something anyway.”

Yelena opens her mouth, fully prepared to make a comment about Wanda being able to handle the whole house with a simple flick of her wrist but a pointed look from Natasha stops her.

“Sure.”

You watch her grab everyone’s glasses and follow Wanda into the kitchen, and you release a quiet yelp when you feel Natasha grab your chin a moment later. Your eyes widen when you realize just how quickly she traveled to your side of the table from her chair, and you feel nerves settling in as her eyes study your form.

“You’re a gorgeous little thing, aren’t you?” 

The longer you stare at her, the calmer you feel as the desire to push her away leaves your body. She moves her thumb and presses against your lips forcefully until you part them, her smile widening as she begins rubbing along your tongue and your lips close around her.

“That’s it, such a good girl for me. Do you think you can behave like this for Wanda, too?”

“I would hope so.” Wanda’s voice fills the room again as she reenters, placing one hand on your neck as she lightly kisses the other side, just below your ear. “You wouldn’t want to be punished before you’ve even had a chance to be rewarded, would you?”

“No, Wanda,” you answer the best you can around Natasha’s thumb, and her grip on your neck tightens.

“You call us Mommy now.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Perfect, printsessa,” Natasha praises as she pulls her hand away, Wanda also stepping back as she pulls you to your feet. “Now why don’t you lead us downstairs? I believe you already know where to go.”

“You knew I was there?” you ask timidly and Wanda laughs.

“Why do you think you went down there in the first place?”

Natasha grabs your shoulders and turns you around, giving you a light shove toward the hallway. You cautiously lead the two women toward the basement door, glancing into the kitchen and feeling a knot growing in your stomach when you don’t see Yelena at all.

The door is locked behind you once you reach the intimidating room again, and you’re pushed onto a bed before each woman grabs one of your hands and chains you to the wall. Wanda straddles you and kisses you eagerly, moving her hips to grind her covered pussy against yours. Vibrations pass between the two of you as you moan into each other’s mouths until she pulls away and stands on the mattress to take off her panties.

“You think you can make Mommy cum like this?” She challenges while lifting her dress and lowering herself to sit on your face, a quiet moan escaping when you press your tongue against her clit in response. “Good fucking girl.”

“What about while your other Mommy fucks you?”

You can feel Natasha removing your pants and underwear, bending your legs at the knee as she joins the two of you on the bed and hooks her arms around them. You can already feel yourself clenching a bit in preparation for what you know is coming, and a muffled moan escapes you when she runs the tip of her tongue along your folds.

“What does she taste like?” Wanda cries out to her lover while you suck on her clit desperately, and Natasha pulls away just long enough to answer.

“Like she was worth waiting five months for.”

Wanda continues to ride your face, forcing herself to keep going past her orgasm while Natasha teases you relentlessly with her tongue. Just when you think she might let you cum, she pulls away abruptly, leaving you whining into Wanda’s pussy and grinding against nothing.

“Patience, printessa,” she scolds you from across the room. “You don’t get to have things simply because you want them.”

You jump and let out a sound that’s a cross between a yelp and a moan when her hand smacks your sensitive clit, gasping when the slap is followed by the head of a dildo running through your folds toward your entrance. Bucking your hips toward it causes it to slip inside you a bit, and Natasha groans at the sight.

“Look at my pretty pussy so eager to take me.”

She takes her time easing half of the length into you as you clench around it occasionally, thrusting gently for a bit and then roughly pounding her way in until her hips are nearly meeting yours with every powerful stroke. If Wanda wasn’t keeping you muffled, you’d be screaming right now. From pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell the difference anymore, you just knew something inside you felt amazing.

“Whatever you’re doing to her, Tash, please don’t stop,” Wanda calls over her shoulder through gritted teeth in between groans. “She’s fucking killing me right now in the best way possible.”

“Don’t worry...” Natasha roughly tugs your waist to bring you closer and Wanda scrambles to balance herself on the mattress as she continues to ride your face. “You know I don’t plan on letting her go anytime soon.”

[blooming-violets]

Pinky Promise || TASM Ch. 3

Summary: [Part One] [Part Two] It’s time to add a bit of drama into the end of this one. Why not? That’s not a summary but I’m bad at summing things up.

—————-

Peter.

Peter.

Peter.

Spider-Man’s name was Peter.

You repeated his name in your head as you laid on your bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. “Peter,” you whispered into the dark room. His name sounded nice on your lips. You smiled and rolled onto your side, snuggling deeper into the blankets. 

It had been easy for him to convince you to return home after he eased your worries about your sister. Knowing that she was safe gave you the confidence you needed to leave the hospital. He had helped you into your building and up to your forth floor room. You thought about inviting him inside to get warm but then you remembered where you lived. It was too embarrassing to let someone else into your place. The paint was peeling, there were tiles missing on the floor, mold grew in patches over the walls and ceiling, it was no place to invite a superhero. So you had said your quick goodbyes in the hallway and watched him jump out the window at the end of the hall. Part of you wondered if you’d ever see him again. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you thought to yourself. Spiderman was a man of the people. Just because you felt like you had made a new friend today, doesn’t mean he felt the same way. This was technically his job. He's probably done similar things for people like this all month. You weren’t anything special. 

Just another saved person to add his ever growing list.

Still. You couldn’t help but hope you’d get to meet again. 

Your thoughts faded as you sunk deeper into your bed. Sleep pulled at your exhausted mind. You welcomed it. 

---

A loud alarm jolted you awake. It was still dark in your room. The clock on your nightstand read 5:30. Its red glow bathing your skin in its light as you reached out to shut it off. 

“I hate my life,” you breathed with fatigue. 

You forgot you had to work today. Judging by what time you got home last night, you estimated you probably managed about two hours of sleep total. A pained cry whimpered dramatically out of you. 

“You can do this. You got this. Just get up.” with a loud groan you rolled your body out of the comforts of your bed and into a standing position. 

The floor was cold under your bare feet and your knees ached as you padded towards the bathroom. You flicked on the bathroom light and the single, tiny light bulb did it’s best to brighten up the small room.

“I hate everything. I hate everything. Everything is awful. My life sucks,” you spoke to yourself while turning on the shower. “This shower is stupid. I’m tired. I hate my life.” It was your morning mantra you repeated to yourself every day. Olivia often called you a drama queen when she over heard you but you didn’t mind. Drama queen or not, you were tired and everything hurt. 

Your old t-shirt and underwear were cast to the floor as you stepped into the luke warm shower. The water had worse pressure than usual this morning and it only ever got mildly warm but it was enough to soothe your aching body. You lathered shampoo into your scalp as you let your head fall backwards under the stream. 

Yesterday had felt like a dream. You were still trying to comprehend everything that happened. It was like a lifetime of emotions hit you over the course of a few hours. Poor Olivia. After your shower, you’d pack a bag of her clothes to bring to her. Maybe you could call in sick to work? You really should focus on cleaning your own house instead of a strangers. Surely Olivia’s social worker was bound to make a home visit in the upcoming days. 

Anxiety stirred your empty stomach at the thought. You’d have to make this place look as perfect as you could. Finishing your shower, you grabbed a towel, dried yourself off and wrapped it around your body. You wiped what little condensation had formed on the mirror away and stared back at yourself. 

There were dark bags under your bloodshot eyes. It felt like you had aged considerably in just a short moment. Seeing Olivia fall had probably taken a few years off your life. You huffed and grabbed your toothbrush, tossing on some toothpaste and sticking it in your mouth. 

“We’re going to need to layer on the makeup today,” you thought. You wouldn’t want Olivia to see you looking this haggard. It would worry her. She was always so good at picking up on the smallest of details. 

As you spit your toothpaste into the sink, you turned the water back on to rinse your mouth. It sputtered pathetically out of the faucet. You quickly leaned down and grabbed a mouthful, spitting it back out, before the water disappeared entirely. You turned the tap on and off a few more times. Nothing. 

Hmm. Did you forget to pay your bills? You walked out into the kitchen and tried the tap there too. Also nothing. 

You thanked your luck for managing to get in a shower before the water was turned off. You’d add calling your landlord to your list of things to do today. Not that he would be of any help. That’s all you needed was extra stuff to worry about. 

You flicked on your bedside lamp and sat on the floor in front of your full length mirror, a makeup bag tucked between your legs. As you began to apply foundation, you called your manager, Patty, putting her on speaker phone. There was no way you could work today. You’d need to get things ready for Olivia when she came home. 

It rang twice before an annoyed voice picked up on the other end, “What do you want?” 

“Hey, this is Lucy.”

“I know,” the woman’s voice sounded irked in response. “I have caller id. The question still stands. What do you want?”

You patted concealer under your eyes as you spoke, “I need the day off today. My sister is in the hospital. I have a million things I have to do. I just can’t make it today.” 

Patty laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “Absolutely not. You’ve already taken too much time off. You’re on duty today. We got a new client. I recommended you to her. You need to stop by the office today, pick up the spare key, and go straight to her house.”

“I can’t, Patty. My sister is in the hospital,” you repeated. “I need t-”

She interrupted you mid sentence, “I know. I watch the news. I saw that Spider-thing catch her. She ain’t dead. Therefore, you need to be into work by 8 o’clock if you still want a job. Otherwise I’m firing you on the spot. You’re replaceable, kid.”

There was no joking tone in her voice. You knew she was serious. I hate my life. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll be there. I just have to stop by the hospital and drop off a bag for my sister.”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re here by 8,”  she hung up without saying goodbye. 

The clock now read 6:15. It was time to get a move on. You swiped a mascara wand over your lashes and threw some lip balm on your lips before slipping into your work clothes. There was no time for coffee. Your water didn’t work anyway so it wasn’t like you’d even be able to make it. Your stomach growled. There would be no time for food either.

You stood in middle of your bedroom and looked around with a slight panic. “Okay, think. What do I need?” 

A bag for Liv. You dumped out the contents of her school bag and began throwing clothes into it instead. Some underwear, three t-shirts, a sweater, her favorite fluffy socks, and a pair of sweats. It was just three days. That should be enough. You grabbed her tooth brush and hair brush, unsure exactly what kind of things the hospital would provide for her. As you went to slip into your own boots to leave, you caught of a glimpse of Bobo, Olivia’s stuffed teddy bear. An eye was missing and he looked like he could use a good wash but he had always been her favorite. 

You scooped him up and hugged him into your arms. Tears burned in your eyes. He smelled like her. “Take care of our Livvy,” you whispered into his matted brown fur. “Keep her safe while I’m not there.” 

You gently tucked him on top of her things and zipped the bag closed. You blinked the tears away, not wanting to ruin your freshly applied mascara, and prepped yourself to leave. 

Turning to lock your door behind you, you caught sight of an envelope taped to the old, yellowing door. It was addressed to Olivia. You pulled it down and opened it. You refused to hand your sister a strange note without reading it first to make sure it was appropriate.  

“Dear Olivia,

Hi, this is Spiderman writing to you. I wanted to check in and see how you were doing. You really scared me the other day. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You would be doing me a big favor if you could keep you feet firmly planted on the ground from now on. I’d never want to see anything bad happen to you. You’re too special to get hurt. 

I heard your sister say that you won every science fair you ever entered. I used to win at my science fairs too. Maybe when you’re older, you can be my trusty sidekick. I need someone smart and strong to help out. Until then, stay safe, keep learning, and stop climbing onto roofs. 

From, 

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman

P.S. I hope you know how much your sister loves you. I think she would do anything for you. Remember to tell her you love her from time to time. 

P.P.S. When you get back home, I hope I’m still invited to dinner.”

Tucked into the letter was a polaroid picture of Spiderman giving a thumbs up at the camera as he squatted outside the hospital she was staying at.  

The letter wasn’t helping your growing love for him. He was too kind. You knew Olivia would lose her mind with excitement when she received this. You slung her bag off your shoulder and put it in front of you, opening the zipper and placing the letter safely in Bobo’s arms for her to find later. 

---

The fresh snow that had fallen in the night was already turning to dirty slush on the sidewalks. Snow in the city never stayed beautiful for long. You kicked at the heavy slush with your boot and hurried your way in the direction of the hospital. It was about a fifteen minute walk from your apartment. You doubted you would actually be able to see Olivia this morning, you’d have to wait until visiting hours later, so dropping off her things would probably only take ten minutes at the most if you rushed. Then you’d need to catch the subway to head back to the office in order to retrieve the key and your cleaning supplies. Assuming the subway was on time, you estimated it would take another twenty minutes of travel. Then you’d need to haul everything back into the subway, find out where the new client lived, and hope that it was close enough for you make it there before 8 or else you’d be fired. 

There was no way you’d make it. 

Still, you had to try. Your wet hair slashed across your face in the wind as you hurried towards the hospital. It would be really convenient to have special web powers right about now to sling you forward at a faster speed. What a nice way it would be to travel. Being a normal human sucked. 

You jogged into the hospital, trying to run to the elevator, but were quickly stopped by security. He put an arm out to keep you from moving forward, “Excuse me, ma’am. You need to wait in line with every one else.” 

You looked to where he was pointing. A line of about fifteen people stood waiting to walk through a metal detector before being allowed to enter the premises. You groaned in frustration. You had forgotten about all the heavy security measures that the city added over the years. This would add even more time onto your day. 

You were so screwed. 

---

“Excuse me! Pardon me!” You shouted at you pushed your way out of the subway and through the crowds of people trying to climb up the stairs. It was 7:48. You had spent too long at the hospital talking to one of Olivia’s nurses. Now we were seriously racing the clock.

You sprinted as fast as you could towards your boss’ office. Meticulous Maids had its headquarters in the back section of an old building. Patty worked the phones and computers from there. It was where she housed all the cleaning supplies and orchestrated where each girl needed to be every day. 

She looked up from behind the counter with unimpressed eyes as you huffed out of breath in front of her. “You’re late,” she stated. 

“No,” you gasped for air. “I still have ten minutes. I can do it. I’m super fast. Fastest person alive. Just give me the address.” 

“Hm,” she pursed her lips together and slipped you a piece of paper with an address written on and the key. “If the client calls with any complaints, you’re out.”

You nodded and stuffed the paper into your pocket, grabbing a vacuum, a mop, and large, yellow bucket full of your supplies. “I won’t disappoint you. Promise.” 

“And I don’t care,” she turned back to reading something on her computer while you heaved the vacuum towards the door. 

---

It was always a challenge to carry an entire vacuum cleaner, long mop, and a heavy bucket filled with crap through the city. It was even worse in the winter. Somehow you had managed to get it onto the subway. You had even found a seat for you to rest in, your supplies cradled between your legs, trying to take up the least amount of room as possible. 

It was already 8 o’clock. Technically, you were late, but as long as the client didn’t tattle on you, you were in the clear. You glanced at the map pulled up on your phone. 20 Ingram Street, Queens. You weren’t familiar with that exact street but you knew it was in Forest Hills. A lot of old, beautiful homes there. According to your phone, it was about a twenty minute walk from the station. It’d probably take you longer when you had to drag your vacuum through the snow though. 

The rocking of the subway lulled your sleep deprived body into a sense of peace. You refused to close your eyes. Even on a Saturday morning, you wouldn’t dare make yourself vulnerable to those around you. To keep you from dozing off, you decided to put your hair into two french braids. You worked on the right side of your head when you started to overhear a conversation. Something he was saying caused your ears to perk up and listen. 

A middle aged man in a business suit stood across from you. He was on the phone and speaking loudly. He had that sort of attitude where he was used to being the most respected man in a room. He didn’t care who overheard him. 

“I got a call from my secretary at work an hour ago. She told me the water had been shut off to the entire building. My wife was bitching at me this morning because the water had broke in our house, now it’s not working at my office either. I thought I was going crazy. Then Jim from the station gives me a call. You remember him? You met him at the Christmas party last year. Mhm, that’s the one. He called to let me know people all over the city are losing water. He sent some guys down to figure out what’s going on. He told me he’d give me a call back when he figured it out. I know, it’s ridiculous. You better believe I’m going to start suing people if this issue isn’t resolved soon.” His voice faded back into ambient noise once he began talking about things that didn’t interest you.

“That was interesting”, you mused in your head as you finished the first braid and began working on the second. It seemed you weren’t the only one who was having water issues this morning. It was almost a relief. At least it wasn’t something you did. You just hoped your clients house had running water. It’d be awfully hard to clean properly without it. 

--- 

You doubled checked the address on the paper with the one in front of you. It was a nice house. Brick. A front porch. It looked charming and inviting. You gave a quick knock before sticking in the key and turning knob. In all the years of working as a house cleaner, you never got used to just walking into someone else’s home when they weren’t there. 

“Hello? Meticulous Maid cleaning service,” You called out politely. You took a quick glance around the open rooms from the front hall. When no one replied, you began to set up your things.

Each cleaner had their own method of tasks they liked to start with. You liked to begin by tidying up anything that was on the floor and putting them into neat piles for the owner to sort through on their own. Then you’d do the dusting, window washing, anything up high that would potentially drip below. When those were finished you would vacuum, sweep, mop, whatever needed to be done. Then you’d finish it up by doing any dishes or polishing any surfaces. You liked to move room by room, starting in the back and working your way forward towards the front door. That way you wouldn’t have to trudge your dirty, tired self through all the rooms you had just cleaned when you were finished. 

You pulled your headphones out of your pocket and placed them over your ears. You scrolled to your work playlist and let the music drown out everything else. With your yellow bucket of supplies in your hand, you wondered through the house, inspecting things as you went. The voyeuristic part of your brain loved being a cleaner. Each person’s home was so different and so unique to them. Even if you hardly met the people who owned them, you felt you knew so much about them.

This was a real home. It wasn’t perfectly tidy and showcase worthy. There were piles of things stacked up in corners and clutter on every surface. People lived here. Some of the homes you had been in made it seem like the person staying there lived inside a magazine catalog, not allowed to touch anything or make themselves comfortable. Everything had to be perfect. Not here though. Imperfections were allowed. 

You wondered up the stairs to the top floor. There were only three rooms up here. It shouldn’t be too hard to clean. Out of the three rooms, two had the doors closed. It was Meticulous Maid policy that if you didn’t want a room cleaned, you just had to simply keep the door closed. The only open door on this floor was to the bathroom. You guessed the other two rooms were the bedrooms. Lots of people didn’t like the idea of a stranger invading the room the slept in. You didn’t blame them for wanting to keep it private. 

You pushed open the bathroom and placed your bucket on top of the closed toilet seat. An Albert Einstein poster hung next to the sink. It was that famous picture of him sticking out his tongue. The quote under it read “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” You smiled. It was a cute little detail. You weren’t used to seeing posters in people’s bathrooms. 

The first thing you did was try the sink. You turned the faucet. It made a strange squeaking noise you could just hear over the music in your ears but nothing came out. 

“That’s so strange...” you wondered out loud to yourself. 

Just then a heavy forced knocked you to the ground. Your face pressed against the cold tiles under you. “Ow,” you rubbed your head and rolled onto your back to see what had hit you. 

Standing in the doorway was Peter. It took you a second to recognize him without his suit. He was wearing a dark green t-shirt and black boxers. His hair was a mess and he had a look of utter confusion on his face. It looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. 

“Peter?” you asked with bewilderment. 

He replied with equal confusion of his own, “...Lucy?” 

“Did you just hit me?” You arm stung from where you were pretty sure he had shoved you to the floor. 

“I think I might have. Why are you in my house?” His eyes had a wild glint in them. They darted around the room, trying to search for anyone who might be hiding there. His entire body was on high alert. 

“Dude, calm down. It’s okay. I was hired to work here. I’m a house cleaner. Meticulous Maids...where all your cleaning needs will be met with a smile,” you repeated the company catch phrase with a monotone voice. “Heard of it?” 

You pulled yourself up into a sitting position. Your head still rang from where it had hit the tiles. Your poor headphones lay cracked in half on the ground, music still blasting out of them. “Oh man, I got those for Christmas,” you hit pause on the music and looked at them sadly before turning back to Peter. 

Except he was no longer in the door way. 

“Uh, Peter...or...Spiderman? I don’t know what to call you. You good?” You pulled yourself up and stuck your head out the door. He wasn’t in the hallway but you heard the sound of the tv turn on downstairs. You decided to follow him down. 

He was standing in the living room, the remote in hand, and flicking through news channels. 

You stepped behind him to see what he was looking for, “Are you okay?”

“Something’s wrong,” he mumbled. 

He finally settled on the station he was looking for. It was a local news agency. A woman was frantically reporting down by the East River. She was mid sentence as Peter turned up the volume, “-completely draining the river! He was last seen making his way towards the center of the borough. The mayor has urged Queen residents to stay inside your houses! It is unknown what sort of damage he is capable of causing.” While she spoke her last sentence, video footage played of a giant creature rising out of the river. He, himself, was completely made of water it seemed. He sucked up every bit of water around him causing his form grow taller and wider with each passing second. The thing was massive. He towered above the people screaming under him. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “What is that thing?” 

Peter didn’t reply. He dashed back upstairs. You followed him with your eyes before turning back to the tv. It showed footage of people screaming as huge waves washed down on them. Some lost their footing and were carried away off screen. The creature opened its mouth and screamed with a deep booming voice, “I. Am. Hydro-Man! Get me Spiderman!” Your eyes widened. Whatever this monster-man-water creature was, he was not happy with Peter. 

“Lucy!” he called from upstairs. 

You turned and dashed up the steps, taking two at a time. Peter’s door was wide open and you watched as he threw his mask over his face, already completely suited up. How was he supposed to fight something that was entirely made of water? 

“Stay here! I’m serious this time. Don’t move!” He lectured you as he lifted his window open and crawled out, leaving you alone. 

You didn’t have much time to reply before he disappeared. Silence settled in the house except for the muffled sounds of the tv from the floor under you. You just stood there, unsure of what to you were supposed to do next. 

It was then you heard the loud rattling begin in the bathroom across the hall. You turned your head to the sound. Slowly, you stepped towards it. The shower head was violently shaking as the pipes wailed inside the walls. Something was not right. It looked like it was going to explode. 

“Uhm...Peter...” you turned back towards Peter’s room. He was still gone. You were still alone. 

The shower head shot off the pipe and landed with a loud bang into the tub, cracking the surface. You screamed at the sound and pressed your back against the wall. Water rushed out of the exposed pipe with such heavy pressure you were sure it would burst any second. Waves cascaded over the side of the tub and sloshed around the bathroom floor. It knocked your bucket off the toilet seat and slammed it against the door locking you in. The sound of the water was almost deafening as it filled the room. You felt it wrap around your ankles, like two large hands grabbing you, and pulled you forcefully onto the floor. 

You fell down, water now up to your waist as you were forced into a sitting position, you back still pressed against the wall. Your heart felt like it might burst out of you chest at any moment. 

A figure of a man started to take shape amongst the water and rose up tall before you. He was featureless but you tell he was staring right at you. 

“Now who do we have here?” He leaned towards you, water splashing off him and hitting your face. 

You closed your eyes in fear. 

“Help me,” you whimpered. 

[Part Four]

[avintagekiss24]

—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes

pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4049

warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder

challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”

request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial

author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!

inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts

The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.

There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.

Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.

His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.

You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.

Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.

You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.

Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.

You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.

“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”

You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”

Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.

The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.

You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.

Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.

With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.

You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.

His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.

You sigh, oh well.

The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.

Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.

God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.

“Come ‘ere.”

An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.

His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.

Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...

You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.

“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.

You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”

You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.

Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.

An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

A blink is all you get.

“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”

He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”

Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.

A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”

The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.

It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.

“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”

When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”

“You’re insane.” You hiss.

He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”

The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.

He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.

You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.

Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.

Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.

“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”

He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.

“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”

Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.

Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.

“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”

A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.

“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”

You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.

He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”

Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.

Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.

Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.

Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.

That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.

His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.

“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”

Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.

Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.

He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.

“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”

He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”

“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”

You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”

Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.

Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.

Or not.

Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.

The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”

“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”

“Fuck you!”

He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.

You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.

Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”

“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.

He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”

Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.

“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”

Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.

“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”

Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”

***

If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.

Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”

“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.

You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”

[seraphdreams]

honey.

✯ pairing - connie springer x fem! reader

synopsis - you find connie in the kitchen but you can’t help but think about other things

contains - morning sex, praise, and connie being ridiculously hot, modern au. based on the song “honey” by brockhampton

the warmth of the morning sun dusted over your face, initially waking you up out of your sleep. you lay there, feeling the sheets, in search of the warmth that you fell asleep next to. you got up and tread to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and washing your face.

the air was filled with a sweet smell paired with the light clanging of metal. it urged you to make your way down the hallway and into the kitchen where you caught your boyfriend, shirtless in sweats with a single thin gold chain wrapped around his neck. his back muscles flexed as he cracked eggs, whipping them in a large bowl.

“you’re never up this early” you continue, popping a sliced strawberry into your mouth. he chuckled as he flipped the, now golden-brown, pancake. a flash of his diamond encrusted tooth caught your eye when he smiled.”just wanted to make something for my girl”

he turned his gaze to you, light green eyes shaded with ochre and the glow of the sun. “i can’t do that?” he questions. there’s a thumping in your heart and cunt as he looks you up and down, watching how you squirm uncomfortably. “never said that” you lower your gaze, playing with your fingers.

connie turns the stove off carefully then puts the pancakes on a plate, setting it aside. he makes his way between your legs, lifting your head. he flashes you another pretty smile. “you miss me? i know you do. i can tell” he whispers against your lips. he pecks your lips softly before pulling away and watching your expression. he kisses you again, this time, harder. his tongue swipes against yours as you allow him in, now relishing in the taste of him..

his hands trail over your exposed thighs up to your clothed cunt, pulling down the lace. without breaking away from the kiss, he pumps his fingers into your, now sopping, cunt. you moan into his mouth as he curls his digits inside you, rubbing at just right spot. you grind down slowly as his fingers find themselves deeper inside you. he’s the first to break from the kiss to watch how you suck his fingers in. “damn baby, that’s hot” he gasps. you grab ahold of his muscular arm, moaning softly as you feel your orgasm pool inside you.

he used the palm of his hand to rub your clit, nearing your release. “c-connie, g’nna cum” you mewl, the lewd sounds of your body filling your ears. “yeah? cum for me, girl”. with that, you’re quick to cum on his fingers, melting in the aftershocks of pleasure.

strong arms wrap around your waist as he carries you to the couch, laying you down. his knee is rested between your legs and his chain dangles above your face. you wrap you arms around his neck as he dips his head into the crook of your neck, nipping the skin. he pulls away to free his cock under the waistband of his sweats. “need to feel you” he groans as he pumps his cock, coating it in his precum.

he aligns his cock with your slit before pressing the thick head inside. you claw at his back at the stretch. “it’s too big” you say but with the way he continues to bottom himself out in you, it’s not too much for him. “you can take it, like always”

your cunt is finally met with the base of his cock as he rolls his hips back before gently slamming into you. you gasp at the feeling. he starts off slow, rutting inside of you at a pleasurable pace. “you feel so good” he coos. the way he was splitting you open made you nothing but a moaning mess as each stroke creating the sweetest friction in the perfect area. he took notice of how you clenched around him, only thrusting into you faster, until you were seeing stars. “connie! too much!” you whine out. he toyed with your clit in response, rubbing circles on the bud.

overwhelming pleasure flooded your core as you felt your climax build. you dug your nails into his muscular back, him hissing in response. he could tell by the way you rolled your eyes back and arched your back that you were close, causing him to circle your clit even faster.

within moments you were cumming around him with a exasperated moan. you endured the few more moments of overstimulation as he worked himself to his own release. you feel a warmth pool inside your cunt as his cum paints your walls white. you both lay there, catching your breaths before he flashes that heart-throbbing smile of his,

“let’s eat, ma”

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

all three heartbeats

bakugou katsuki / f.reader

genre: married au (husband/wife), angst, hurt/comfort?, fluff, katsuki being a sap in lowercase

synposis: katsuki works full time as a prohero, but his time working to ensure the publics safety kept him busy- far too busy at times.  he seeks comfort in you and his newborn little girl because the both of you keep him grounded and keep him fighting. he just wishes he could find a way to feel like a better father and husband. 

w.count: 3.6k

a/n: hi hello i aint never written for bnha before and i thought i would never write anime fics again but here we are years after (it has been actual years, someone save me LOL). what better way than to start back out with blasty amiright? 

It was one of those nights.  Katsuki had just walked into his home at an ungodly hour and as he shut the door behind him, he leaned his back against it, He flicked all three locks of the front door shut and dropped his duffle bag at his feet before he tipped his head back to rest on the wood.  He closed his eyes, sighing as he had the urge to just sink to the floor of the entryway landing and power nap. 

Lord knows when his phone would buzz or ring again- his seemingly never ending work calling him to clock in again. It seemed like recently he never clocked out of his job- always working, patrolling, fighting petty villains trying to commit petty crimes and occasionally stopping more dangerous situations that kept him on edge and busy for hours to days on end.  

The duffle he dropped at his feet was full with his gear and his hero suit that was in desperate need of washing and minor repairs- things that if he even muttered to himself about, you would happily offer your aid. 

His closed eyes opened and his chin dropped back down, the back of his head coming off the door as he pushed the rest of his body off it as well.  He heeled off his shoes and ruffled his hair as he finally walked into his home, leaving his duffle at the door as he made his way to the bathroom.  

In all honesty, Katsuki wanted to go immediately to the room he shared with you where he knew you were asleep. He desperately needed a shower though, and he wasn’t planning on crawling into bed to hold you smelling like sweat, smoke and hero work.  

You told him before you didn’t mind his post-work scent, in fact you told him it was charming in it’s own way since it was proof that Pro Hero: Dynamight worked harder than anyone else to one day be the No.1 Hero he’d been dreaming of his entire life. 

Katsuki never told you, but he’d think about that almost everyday and it always made him smile when he did. 

The shower he took was brisk and quick because all he wanted to do was go to bed.  He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t just taking power naps on the couch at the agency. He couldn’t remember the last time he got to go to sleep in his own bed. Katsuki couldn’t remember the last time he got to hold you and it was starting to really piss him off.  

Since graduating UA, getting engaged, married and then having a child with you, is tempter had considerably settled.  He wasn’t entirely tame by any means, he was still a quick fire with insults, refused to use people’s names and stuck to stupid nicknames he thought of, cursed like a sailor and exploded when something mildly frustrating ticked him off- but he wasn’t like he was before.  

When Katsuki can stand to be in the same room as Todoroki and Midoriya and not blow a giant fuse within the first sentence exchange, anyone would call that progress.  

It was no shock that you were a large factor in his settled image- he had to start leaning self control and how to manager his attitude.  The one extremely rocky point in your relationship with Katsuki back when you both were third years and you threatened to leave him if he didn’t shape up made him change.  It wasn’t easy, but the arguments and fights you both had back then serve as a reminder of how far he had come according to you. 

When Katsuki stepped out of the bathroom, he sighed- feeling refreshed- as he walked to the bedroom with a towel around his waist and another over his head drying his hair.  It was way too late to be running the hairdryer, he’d risk waking up his child that he knew was otherwise dead to the world in their crib.

Twisting the doorknob as quietly as he could, Katsuki stepped into the bedroom and his eyes immediately looked to the bed, seeing your body’s shape beneath the comforter of the giant, Alaskan king bed you insisted you absolutely needed.  

He felt his lips twitch as he left the door cracked to let in a small amount of light from the hall without stirring you.  He went to his dresser and snatched a pair of shorts and a tank top and threw them on before he left the room as quietly as he had come in. 

Katsuki went back to the front door and picked up his duffle bag, moving it into the living room and setting it on the couch to fiddle with it in the morning. He grabbed his phone from the side pouch of the duffle and began to shut the lights off and retreated back down the hall.  

Before he went back to the room you slept in to join you, he stopped first in the room that was directly across the hall from his and yours and as quiet as a mouse crept in.  

The nursey was painted in a pale yellow with sunflowers painted on the walls (curtesy of the bakusquad who insisted they were in charge of nursery decorations). Against the wall was a shelved cubby for toys and items for the baby and beside that was a changing table.  Across the room was a tall dresser filled with way too many baby onesies and outfits for the future. 

Katsuki walked to the white, wooden crib at the back of the room as the room itself was glowing in the soft, blue light of the baby’s nightlight.  He leaned over the crib side and looked down to see his child sleeping just as quiet as can be.  

He smiled as he reached down and stroked her chubby cheeks with the back of his knuckles.  She was warm and soft. 

“Hey there, Girlie,” he whispered, barely audible. Just watching his little girl sleep so soundly made his chest warm. God, he loved her so much.  He frowned as he thought about how tough it might be on you while he’s away looking after her by yourself.  She was barely a few months old and he hasn’t even had a weekend with you two yet.  

Katsuki bit his lip to keep from letting the disappointment he felt in himself slip out in the form of growls. 

He stuck around in the nursey for a few more minutes, just petting and admiring his child before he snuck back out and finally, finally went back to his room and as carefully as possible slid into bed.  

You slept in the center of the bed that could easily fit four sleeping bodies, and Katsuki shuffled in further towards you before he was right behind you.  He stared at your back in the dark room, his eyes adjusting more and more as the minutes pass.  

Katsuki lightly grabbed your shoulder before he was pulling you to your back and then reaching over you to lay on your chest.  On an ordinary day, Katsuki would be happy just holding you, but he felt especially worn out and drained. So, for once, even if you were sleeping, he just wanted to be held instead. 

His cheek pushed into your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat beneath his ear. His right arm stretched over your shoulder to rest by your head and his left stayed beside his own body, his right leg hiked over your waist to be as close to you as he could get. 

He felt his eyes roll before he shut them, finally feeling comfortable and warm and safe for the first time in days.  He was finally breathing easy and all he wanted to do was stay here, in your arms, for the rest of his life. 

As he started to finally doze off, his eyes fluttered open at the feeling of something carding through his hair. 

He heard you take a deep breath before you were shifting just a bit to curl around him more and he felt your chin push against the top of his head. 

“Go back to sleep,” he muttered, feeling your sleepy gaze on the top of his head.  The small, sleepy chuckle that left your chest hummed against his cheek. 

“Welcome home,” you whispered, sleep laced heavily in your voice as he felt your lips push against his scalp.  “How was work?” You ask so innocently, but the question only made Katsuki burrow his face into your chest further. He doesn’t answer you, so you prompt him further. “Katsuki?” 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered, lifting his face just enough to speak clearly then pushing it back down again.  

You say nothing at that and instead return to just carding your fingers through his semi-damp hair as you bask in each other and the silence of the house.  You glance over to the alarm clock, seeing the time 4:03 am in orange, glowing numbers. 

You feel like you have loads you want to talk about with Katsuki, things you want to share with him that had happened and things you want to have him tell you that’s happened, but it’s too quiet and too peaceful to bring them up.  They’d have to wait. 

“’m sorry,” he suddenly spoke from where he lay on your chest.  Your fingers stop their mindless fiddling in his hair and he grips onto you tighter. 

“What for?” 

“Not being here.” 

You felt your heart crack at the tone of his voice.  He’s always been more open and mushy around you- as much as he denies it and he only get’s more open and more mushy when he was sleep deprived and just plain exhausted.  

“I’m always working, always gone, always away doing fuck-knows-what out there and not here.  I’m not home and that’s gotta really fucking suck.”  He’s silent for a moment but you dare not speak. You feel like he’s been holding a lot in recently and if he’s choosing now to let it all out, you would silently encourage him to do that.  

“I mean-” he scoffs at himself, “we’re married for fucks sake.  We have a baby and I’m basically leaving you home alone day after day to raise her by yourself.” 

“What?” Your shocked to think that’s how he feels.  “Katsuki, that’s not-”

“It feels true,” he whimpers. “I feel like if I keep doing this, keep leaving you and Misuzu alone,” his voice cracks at the sound of his daughter’s name leaving his lips, “then you’ll both just disappear and I won’t even have the balls to go after you two.” You think you feel something wet seep through your sleep shirt, but you don’t say a thing about it.  “I don’t feel like a husband and I don’t feel like a father. How can I feel like a hero if I can’t even spare the time to be with my god damn family?” 

“Well,” you start.  In truth, all you want to do is console him, but for all you know that could make him feel worse. You had to figure out what he wanted first. “What do you want to do then?” 

He took a deep breath before he let it out again. 

“I think I’m going to take some time off,” he concluded.  It had been on his mind recently and now was as good a time as any.  He just wanted to be home. “Maybe a week or two.” 

“If that’s what you really want to do, then I think that’s a great idea. Just don’t forget to tell Eijirou or else he’ll blow a fuse if he just think’s your late because the great Dynamight is always punctual.” 

You got a hearty puff of air and smile out of him for that little line.  it was no shock that when all came down to it, Kirishima Eijirou and Bakugou Katsuki ended up working in the same agency. 

“I’ll just text the bastard.” 

“You need to tell the agency too, you dolt,” you lightly whacked him on the bed as he groaned.  Getting time off wasn’t going to be hard for him considering the god awful hours he’s been forced into the past however long.  Just going into the office to get that time off is annoying and a process he wish he could get someone else do to for him. “Just head out in the morning and let both your partner and your agency know. It won’t be so bad.” 

“Whatever,” he huffed.  “Just, go back to sleep.” 

You glanced back at the clock to see that only about half and hour had passed.  You sighed as you closed your eyes happily ready to return to sleep before Misuzu woke up. 

You swore Katsuki was out before you. 

-x-x-x-

You woke up three hours later, just after 7 am to the sounds of your daughter’s crying from her nursey. When you opened your eyes and sat up, your husband was no where to be seen.  

You frowned, knowing that he was awake somewhere and he had only slept a few hours. Shaking your head, you got up and went to Misuzu’s room to get her from her crib and bring her into your arms.  

You shushed the infant in your arms as you left the nursey and walked around the house.  Katsuki was no where to be found and his everyday shoes were gone from the shoe rack next to the door.  He must’ve went out already. 

Not thinking much of it, you moved to the kitchen to grab one of Mizusu’s bottles from the fridge.  One plus of pumping was getting bottles for the future- but that was one of the only pros among a number of cons.  

With Misuzu being still so young, she didn’t do much beside nursing, napping and diaper calls.  She would coo and whine and clutch onto your fingers and clothes and hair, but her energy was never prolonged.  

After nursing, burping and playing with her she was yawning again. You left to place her back in her crib in her room as you let he sleep a little while longer. Flipping on the baby monitor, you left the room and went to the kitchen.  Your daughter had breakfast, it was only fair that you got something to eat too. 

As you scrambled the last eggs in your fridge, enough for Katsuki just in case you saw him this morning, you heard the front door open and shut again.  You smiled as you heard footsteps come treading into the kitchen and you looked over your shoulder to see your husband.  

You smiled at him as he rubbed the back of his head. Dressed in jeans that tore just slightly in the thighs and a t-shirt, Wwhen he saw you, he immediately started going towards you. 

“Good morning,” you told him as he was at your side looking over your shoulder. “Welcome home.” 

“Mmn,” he hummed at you. 

“Where’d you go so early in the morning?” 

“Agency.” 

“You should’ve slept in a little bit more.  You didn’t sleep long.”  

“I didn’t want to wait any more to just be able to stay home.” 

You smiled at his answer.  You brought one hand up to pat his cheek as he leaned into your touch.  

“Why don’t you go get comfortable if you’re staying home then?” 

He hummed at you again, nodding before he kissed your shoulder and sauntered back into your shared room. He took his time getting changed and getting into more homey clothes, because when he came back into the kitchen you were placing your food on plates for the both of you. 

This time, when he came to you, instead of standing beside you, he latched onto you from behind as he buried his face into your neck.  You could tell from the feeling of his eyelashes tickling your skin that he was still tired. You had half a mind to tell him to just go back to bed and he could really wake up and eat later. 

The way he tightened his grip on your waist and started to sway ever so gently back and forth in the kitchen made you stay silent though.  It was a serene moment between you two and you just closed your eyes and basked in it.  It had been so long since you just got to bask in him and him in you. 

“You hungry?” You asked as softly as you could muster. He nodded but made no effort to try and move away from you.  “Do you expect to eat with your face hidden?” You teased. 

“Just a little longer,” he muffled, his breath making your skin rise with gooseflesh as it tickled.  

Half and hour later, you were taking his plate from him as he cleaned it of food and went to put them in the sink.  He jumped from his chair at the table before he was gently moving you away from the metal hole in the counter where you were about to wash the dishes you had dirtied this morning. 

“I’ll wash them,” he insisted. 

“I don’t mind doing it.” 

“Don’t be so damned stubborn.  You cooked, so it’s fair.” 

You shrugged as you relented. “If you really insist. Thank you, Katsuki.” You placed a small, short kiss on his cheek before you moved back to the table to sit.  

As he cleaned up the dishes, you sat at the table and fiddled with your phone, scrolling through apps to see what you missed and then flicking occasionally to watch Katsuki’s back.  

“I feel you fuckin’ staring,” he spoke as he shut the water off, shaking his hands before he dried them on a towel.  The dishes all sat in a plastic draining rack as he turned around and leaned against the counter.  You placed your chin in your palm as you laughed at him. 

“Yeah? Got a problem with it?” 

“Not necessarily.” 

You both jumped when a small whine was heard over the speaker of the baby monitor you had sitting on the center of the table.  You pushed your chair out, but before you could even stand up, Katsuki was up and down the hall to check on Misuzu. 

When you made it to her door, he had already lifted her out of her crib.  She had reached up and snagged a tiny handful of her father’s hair as he hissed. 

“Listen you little brat, just because your my baby doesn’t mean you can yank on my hair.” Her small fist only yanked down on his hair more as if to say ‘I can and will’.  You chuckled as you walked into the nursey and started to detangle her hand from his blond hair.  

Katsuki watched as her fingers released his hair and instead wrapped around your finger as you bounced it slightly. Her tiny arm moved in tandem with your finger bounces. 

“Hey,” your soft voice calling him suddenly brought him out of his own mind. You gently pulled Misuzu’s fingers off you as you pushed your palm against Katsuki’s cheek. “Why are you crying?” 

Was he? God, he hated crying- especially in front of you.  He clicked his tongue, whipping his head to face away from you as he used one of his hands to quickly swipe under his eyes. 

“I’m not.” 

You smiled at him, holding back a laugh as you pushed your husband into the living room to let Misuzu play on the floor.  Katsuki sat on the living room floor cross legged as you watched him play with her as she lay on her back.  

Occasionally he would glance at the time and remind you to pump, as if your tender chest wasn’t a constant reminder anyway.  You always just nodded and told him you would when you needed to. 

The three of you spent the morning in the living room until the infant began to yawn back to back and rub at her eyes clumsily.  You let Katsuki put her down for her nap in the afternoon since he never really had the opportunity to.  Through the baby monitor you could hear him mutter and coo at her to go to sleep. 

When she was down, Katsuki came back into the living room and sat himself beside you on the couch.  He sighed, throwing his head back against the couch and closing his eyes, obviously ready for a nap himself.  

“Why not try and sleep while she’s down?” You had planned on getting him to rest while you start to go through the duffle bag you had relocated to the corner of the room a while ago to see what all he needed done with his hero equipment.  

He opened one of his eyes, seeing you eyeing towards his bag and he frowned.  He shifted his body, snatched your waist and threw himself back to lay on the cushions, you following in tow to lay on top of him. 

“Katsuki!” You scolded in a hushed tone as to not wake up your daughter who just went to sleep.  

“I’ll nap here and you will too. No objections.” He brought one of his hands up to start stroking your head. “Just let me take care of my god damn wife for once.” You just shook your head and pushed your cheek further against his chest to get comfortable.  When he says it like that, you can’t really bring yourself to oppose him.  

“Hey,” you whispered. You felt him hum in response to you. “I love you.” 

His legs shifted and his arms wrapped around you tighter, getting more comfortable. He let out a deep, comfortable breath as you felt him push his cheek into the top of your head. 

“‘Fuckin’ love you too.” 

[plush-rabbit]

Sugary Sweet Tears

Warnings: Tentacles (i feel like this shouldnt be warning but more of a grace but some dont like tents so), Somno, Reader is a soft dom Word Count: 4.1K A/N: Tentacles amirite ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

Tamaki huffs, face red and a painful strain tenting against his lower half, he leans against the wall outside the apartment, fingers curling and scratching against the eggshell paint. He holds the key with a firm grip, hand shaking as he struggles to insert the key into the lock, keening with sharp gasps as he presses his forehead against the cool door while he muffles a low moan with the back of his hand, breathing a sigh of relief as the key finally manages to insert itself into the lock. His toes curl and he stumbles into the room, slamming the door shut behind him with his back, head and back arched as he curls his hand, the teeth of the key pressing into his palm, while he takes slow steps towards the bathroom.

His body burns, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, and as he stumbles, hands pressing flat against the wall to keep him steady and the key falls to the floor with a loud clink. His tongue feels swollen, mouth salivating as the grooves of the wall brush against his bare palms and eyes are clouded in lust, mind filled with nothing but anguish and the need to press himself against something- against someone and just move his hips until the quirk wears off.

The bathroom light blinds him and he stares at his expression. Eyes filled with tears, a red tipped nose and face dusted in cherry red, and messy hair that sticks up and clings to his forehead as sweat pours to complete his appearance. His mouth parted and as he leans over the sink, a trail of drool slips past and spills onto the clean porcelain. His toes curl and he slaps a hand over his mouth, muffling the coarse moan that leaves him.

The facet runs and cold water mixes with his spittle and he cups his hands under and splashes the water onto his face, sighing as a bit of relief comes to him, but as quick as it came, it’s gone. He lets out a pitiful, pained moan, tears threatening to spill over and trace down his cheeks. He shakes his head and removes himself from his clothes, opting to take a shower, that perhaps that will provide him with a longer relief away from the way his cock leaks with pre-ejaculate, the tip blushing with red topped with growing pearls and he feels so heavy. In the bedroom, he hears you whine, sharp and quick, a dream that came too close to reality and his cock responds to you. The clothes kick and sweep across the floor as he walks away, mind clouded and his hand shuts the light off from the bathroom.

The bedroom is dark and he walks with memorized steps, movements slow and hands clawing around the door frame as he uses it as leverage, burning fingertips searing against his skin as his hand falls back to his side. He turns on the lamp, a soft, yellow glow lighting in the room and his eyes turn to meet your sleeping frame. You don’t rustle at the heavy breathing and the light does nothing to disturb you and any rational thoughts that he had left vanishes.

The bed squeaks under his weight, the blanket that was wrapped tightly around your body, is thrown to the side. You wear an old shirt of his, faded back in color and in your sleep, the shirt has risen to expose your pink panites, a soft, light color and he oozes out of his cock, tongue coming up to swipe at his lips.

Tamaki feels shameful, whimpering as he lowers his body against you, whines as your body heat compares to his, and his face is buried into your shoulder, mouth parted and darkening the shirt as his cock is pressed flat against your covered slit. If it were any other day, he’d bashfully ask if he was allowed to touch you, but with desire clouding his mind, he cares about his own want, his cock guiding him to your coveted core that rests behind a thin fabric. He gives a hesitant rut, hands fisting over the pillow and bedsheets, and the whine that leaves his mouth is sinful- full of want and shame. He pushes against you, cock staining the bedsheets and parts of your inner thigh as his hips move at a quicker pace. His shaft twitches, burning red and painfully hard, small wails mumbling past his lips as he tries to find any friction. In your sleep, you squirm, thighs coming together for a quick second, pressing and wrapping around his length and then all too soon, they part and he’s left open.

His hands twitch as they lower down your body, sliding over the faded cotton and he turns you on your side, his body immediately coming back to you, his chest against your back and hands sliding under the shirt, scratching at your soft belly and arching over your breasts. His fingers pinch at your soft nipples, tugging on them, palms going to press on them, feeling the way the hardened buds point against him. His mouth attacks your neck, leaving wet kiss marks that make your neck shine and his cock is pressed between the softness of your thighs. He's in a deep pain, his stomach constricted painfully, cock heavy and sore, as he whines and grinds. The pain is dull, pulsing around his entire body, lighting him on fire, every nerves, every joint in his body, screaming as he thrusts. His mind is foggy, clouded in a lustful haze, mouth open and drooling, tears brimming his eyes and he presses deeper into your breasts, cooing at how good it feels to have your nipples pressed into the palm of his hands.

His cock is hot against your thighs, rutting against you as sharp moans are muffled against you. His moans are shaky, nails digging into your soft flesh and his mouth waters at the thought of licking your wounds away, to nurse on your soft, plentiful breasts, to whimper and croon when you hands knit into his hair and push yourself further against his mouth as he grinds against your cunt. But for now, he paws at your breasts, wraps your thighs against his cock and moves in frantic motions, his cock swelling and he shuts his eyes close, biting down on your neck as thick ropes spill and coat you in a sticky substance, the bed sheets, a warm maroon color, stain in white and darken under and yet, the desperation doesn’t leave him, he whines pitifully and continues to move his hips. The sensitivity runs up and down his cock, more of his essence coming out in weak spurts, his mouth aches and he runs his tongue over the indents in your neck, angry and painful looking and he mumbles apologies into your skin and with sharp nails, he removes the shirt from your body, leaving soft, red scratch marks against your body.

Salvia spills from his mouth as he catches a glimpse of your perky breasts coated in red crescents with pert nipples. His tongue lolls out and the heat doesn’t die, his hands reaching upwards and pressing in the front of your neck and reaching past your lips to pinch at your tongue. Your mouth is hot and instinctively, your tongue swipes at the digits that have entered and you suckle softly before letting your mouth relax.

His breath wobbles and his voice cracks. “Sweetheart,” he croaks, “can you wake up for me?” His hips stutter and he spills on you once. “Please,” he cries, body trembling, his hands gliding over your body and hooking over the waistband of your underwear and he pulls down, wincing as he removes his cock from your sweet thighs. “Wake up,” he chants, nuzzling into your neck. It’s an odd movement to remove your underwear and with a keen sense of smell, he can smell your arousal and he brings the panties up to his face, watching with fascination as they shine with your slick, and his tongue peeks out, a distraught look on his face as bends his arm to suck in the taste that you spilled on your panties.

“Tama-chan,” you whisper and his arm freezes, tongue retracting back into his mouth. “What exactly are you doing?” You ask in an intrigued tone, bending a knee and raising it, causing your lips to spread and he groans and rests his forehead against the back of your head. “The bed’s all wet,” you murmur, your hand slipping and touching at the now drying discharge on the bed. “How many times?”

“Twice,” he croaks, cock still hard and he continues to rut against you, whimpering as your hand wraps around his cock and tugs on him harshly. “I’m still- Please,” he moans, cock twitching and he muffles a scream with a bite on his lips. “It hurts. It- Let me fuck your cunt. Please,” he croaks, hands pawing onto your body. “I promise to be good.” Tears spill over and he doesn’t know how he’s lasted without slipping his thickness into your warm cavern.

You move away and he whimpers, rolling on his back, his hand goes down to relieve himself but you catch his wrist and he lets out a strangled cry. “You’re not usually so brazen.” You stroke his hair that sticks to his forehead and he nuzzles into your hand, desperate to feel any type of affection. “What happened, dear?” You press your lips against his nose and he scrunches it, bucking his hips into the air. “Use your words, Tama-chan.”

“Qui- Quirk,” he gasps out. “Aphrodisiac,” he explains weakly. “I-” his eyes water and his mouth parts as your breasts swing gently with the movements, “I’ve been so hard- I need- Please,” he mutters, “ride me, let me fuck you. Please-” his legs pinch together and you glance down to see cum ooze and bubble out, dripping down his shaft- “take care of me.”

“Third one, huh?” You turn back to look him in the eyes and his heels dig into the mattress. “You fucked me in my sleep and now you want to be rewarded for such crass behavior? Dear, I have work tomorrow morning. I’m all slicked and wet and did you even think about my pleasure? Or did you just be a greedy, little boy and think about your own?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Oh honey,” you shake your head and click your tongue in disdain. “Bad, little boys don’t get to stuff their cock.”

“No, no,” he mewls, tears slipping past and curving over his cheeks. Your hand leaves his face and he tries to nuzzle into where your hand once rested. “Let me taste you. Let me eat you out. I’ll make you feel good. Let me suck on your tits, please. I’ll do what you want. Just- fuck!” He hisses out, eyes wide and you grasp his cock in your hand.

“Here’s the deal,” you cunt is lifted over his face and gossamer strings stick and snap apart and your legs spread, “you make me feel good and I’ll work on your pretty, pink cock, hm? Does that sound good?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, breath hot and mouth wet as your sex lowers onto his mouth. “Anything for you,” he murmurs, words quickly muffled by your weeping cunt against his wet mouth.

“Three times and you’re still so hard, Tamaki,” you coo, your hand wrapped around his length. “Must have been a strong quirk.” His tongue lashes out, sliding against your folds, the tip of it parting and teasing your slit. He breathes sharply when a nail glides against a sensitive vein. “Oh, you poor baby. You must have been hard the entire way home.” He nods against your heat and his cock twitches in your grip. “Now Tamaki, there’s no need to be shy. You’re free to eat to your heart’s content. Just no touching, okay? You still don’t get off so easily.”

He jumps and raises his head, neck craning in a dull ache, tongue circling around the rim of your entrance, small bits of arousal staining and dripping on his tongue. His tongue pushes past and enters your soft cunt, a sense of pride swelling in his chest when you curse softly under your breath. He swirls inside of your velvety walls, tongue long and thin, folding and expanding and tracing along inside, your slick spilling past and coating his face and arches his back, breathing heavily when your lips brush against his cockhead.

You’re teasingly slow, lips pressing soft, fleeting kisses against his slit, lips dragging down the mushroom head, and open mouthed kisses warming his cock, coated in a mixture of your slick, his cum and now you’re salvia. He moans when you envelop his cockhead, cheeks already hollowing and tongue alternating between flat and the tip of it, as it moves around him. He moans against you, sweet, strong vibrations against your core and it reaches a heat pooling in your lower stomach, the knot around twisting and coiling and you sit deeper against his face. One hand keeps you held at a slant while the other wraps around and holds his cock, pumping him in soft motions, mouth lowering and pressing your tongue against him.

Your tongue swirls around him, hand fisting what cannot fit and your nails tap against him, lowering your head and removing your hand to lay flat against the bed, coming to a stable position. He groans against you, your soft walls around with thick, gooey arousal dripping and coating you, mixed in with his warm spittle that pushes and leaves you, his teeth bared and slightly nipping at you. He circles your clit and suckles on it, the pink muscle shaky even as he gets his fill. You lower your mouth and his cock slides down the curve of your throat, filling and expanding and with shared pleasure, you moan against him.

You pull away for a brief moment  and he lets out a loud whine, shaking his head and lapping at your cunt. You hear muffled words of pleading and you kiss his slit, pearls painting your swollen lips. “It’s okay, dear. You’re doing so good. Such a good-” you peck his slit- “pretty-” you blow cool air at his slit and watch in interest as he bobs- “boy.” You swallow him in your mouth once more. Your jaw is wide, spread as you try to open it to the fullest extent and as your orgasm washes over his face in full waves, his mouth open and suckling, clicking and eager, he takes it greedily, enjoying the sweet flavor that fills him and with a quick tap against his thigh, his leg muscles tense and his hands claw at the sheets. He’s sweet tasting, no bitter, salty aftermath, full of sweets and clean, as he spills thick cream down your throat, your eyes watering and hands curling over his thighs, scratching him as you try to not gag around him.

You pull away, cupping your mouth, not daring to waste his flavor and you watch as his ock still stands in attention, his tongue still lapping feverishly against you and when you crawl away, he protests, shaking his head and hands coming up to make grabbing motions.

“Please,” he moans, eyes half lidded and face covered in a handsome blush, “more. I’m not done, please.”

You sit on him, his cock hitting against your stomach and your hands grab his wrists. You place his palms on your breasts and he whimpers, bucking his hips, trails of discharge dirtying your stomach. “You’re going to be a good boy, okay?” You lean over and cup his face. “Right? You’re going to listen to me and behave?” He nods eagerly, eyes watering and his breaths coming out in short, heaving rasps. You smile sweetly, lips curving over your teeth and you lean into his ear, whispering in a sultry voice, “Bring out the tentacles, Tama-chan.”

His arms morph, where hands once laid upon your chest are now replaced by candy colored tentacles with soft rose colored suctions. You take in a sharp gasp. Your hand leaves his face and you hold the frim appendages under your grasp; you can feel the power they hold in them, the muscles that twitch and pulse and they wrap around your torso, suctions teasing the edge of your nipples, and he lifts you in the air, watching you with attentive eyes and when you nod your head, your legs spread and you’re filled by his cock.

His mouth encases around a pert nipple, cheeks hollowing as he begins to nurse, his tongue flickering against the bud, coming in short, fast licks, cheeks hollowed and his bottom lip wobbles as your hand covers over his head, fingers parting his tangle hair and he whines appreciatively, eyes closing and around your body, the tentacles slip and hold onto you. The solid mass arches and sticks your body, a suction cup wrapped around the neglected breast. It’s soft and sticky, slip and hold onto the nipple, and his arms pulse and your bud is pulled taut and you let out a soft curse broken by a moan.

“You’re doing so good, love,” you coo, eyes pinching shut as he rocks his hips. “You poor hero, you must have been needy for so long.” Your hands scratch at his scalp and he nuzzles further into your chest. “You’re doing such a good job Tama-chan. I feel so full,” you croon, mouth parted as you let out gasps of pleasure. “My precious Suneater, you’re stretching me so wide.”

The suction pulses and it makes you grit your teeth, another orgasm already trailing and forming. Your walls pulse, gooey and soft around him; his hard member thick and twitching inside and you clench around him, your entrance taut and his teeth nip at your bud, is tongue flicking slowly and flat in a silent apology. His head nudges against your hand and the suction pulls away, leaving your breast with a red rimmed circle and a swollen nipple. His head darts and your bud, drenched in his dribble has a suction wrapped around and you groan at the feeling.

He’s deep inside of you, cock twitching around your walls, sharp clicking sounds filling the room, and a thick tentacle, curls and wraps around your neck, the thickness slimming down as it reaches your mouth. Your head is craned back and the soft, thin tip swipes across your lips and you open your mouth, tongue out and flat and you greedily suck on him. Even with the thin appendage, it still fills your mouth and drool spills out from a corner and slides down your chin. It spills down and presses against the back of your throat, tears fill your eyes as it invades your throat, tongue running over the suctions that twitch and stick lightly to your own pink appendage.

Your hand fists into his hair and the other holds the back of his head as he continues to suckleon your perky tits, moaning and dripping past his chin and pressing you close to him while he bucks wildly. Your eyes grow heavy and the know in the stomach begins to burn. Tears freely spilling over while you grasp the outer part of the tentacle that is exploring your mouth. Another brushes past your clit and you jerk, eyes wide and you struggle to look down at Tamaki, whose eyes are closed while he sucks on your breasts. The tentacle is thin and brushes alongside your clit as if it has a mind of its own and it sticks alongside your slit, wetness slipping out as you pulse and twitch as a smaller suction cup encases your pearl and pulses around it.

You ull on the tentacle in your mouth and it slips out, leaving you empty and with a sore jaw. “Tamaki,” you croak out, feeling the familiar tightness in your stomach, walls clenching and pulsing, “I’m close again.” You let out a whine and your legs jerk against him, grinding your hips against him. He makes a noise of acknowledgement, eyes fluttering open and he talks around your breasts. “You’re so good, love.” You tilt your head and your breaths have started to come out in harsher gasps. “You did so good today. You listened so well. You’re such a good boy. I’m- fuck!” Your words are broken and you close your eyes shut. “Fuck Tamaki, you feel so good.” Your walls clench and you pull on him inside, the suctions around your body, squirming and leaving you covered in bright red spots, that pale around your untouched skin. “You’re so pretty,” you compliment, a lovesick smile taking over your features. “So cute with a flushed face and pretty, pink dick. You’re so good. A good little,” a groan interrupts your words, “boy. My precious little Suneater,” you say in a high pitched voice and as his mouth pops off of your breast, his lips purse and he blows cool air over the pebbled nipple.

You groan and buck against him, walls gooey and soft clenching and tightening around him, pulsating and twitching as your high rolls over in harsh waves and as if following your movements, the suctions pulse and vibrate against your body in time with your rapid breaths. You lift away from him and he calls your name, holding you painfully tight with the tentacles and warmth spreads throughout your body. His cock spasms, and you’re filled with white, hot discharge, the thick cream, filling and swelling deep in your belly, his hips still moving through both of your orgasms. He chokes out feeble attempts at your name and when you stare down at him, tears are trailing down his face, crying out as you press your palms against his chest, brushing against the pert nipple and he whines and shakes his head.

“‘S too much,” he mumbles, hips still moving and rocking the both of you. “Too much,” he moans, hiccuping slightly as his face deepens in his blush, the tip of his ears now matching.

You force yourself to still above him, locking your hips down and you bend over, taking his face in your palms and you steady yourself with your knees, his tentacles now morphing back to arms and hands.

“It’s okay, Tamaki,” you whisper softly, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. “You did so good. You feel better now, don’t you?” He nods and his face pinches in pain as his ejaculate spills over and stains the both of you. “How are the effects? Do you still feel them?” He mewls and his hips stutter against you. “Use your words,” you request, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips.

He’s quiet, breathing harshly and biting down on his lip. “Tingly,” he breathes out after a pause. “It’s too- too much.”

“Too much what?” You press, tentatively, sliding up from his cock only to still and fall back down as he lets out a pained cry, tears sliding and leaving him red in the face.

“Sensitive,” he mumbles, opening his eyes into a squint. “I’m still-”

You shush him with a kiss and he groans as you lift your hips, seed leaving your body in large amounts. It’s heavy and warm and slides out of you and leaves you hissing. “Do you want me to ride you?” He shakes his head. “Do you want help?” He nods and he lays still with short, breathy cries filling the room as you pull away and wrap your hand loosely around him.

He spurts out small ropes that coat your hands and you coo softly at him, pumping him lazily, as you mumble words of praise, pessing fleeting kisses over him, watching as the rapid twitches of his shaft come to a stop. The red in his cock has faded to a light pink, his cock going limp in your grip, and when you rest his length against his thigh, you grab at the old shirt and huff in disappointment at the thought of having to throw it away as you clean around him, dabbing at the stains. When you turn back to face Tamaki, he’s asleep, chest rising and lips parted, the harsh red faded and you smile softly, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose and moving away the strands of hair that persistently stick to his face. “Feel better, Tama-chan,” you whisper softly.

[crymeariveronceagain]

I'm just waiting for the day sophie finally say fuck reputation and cracks down on Cassius's shity parenting

She just leaps to the shores of solace (bad name choice) with a bunch of weapons and drags Keefe and Ro to Cassius's trophy room and destroys everything with them

Cassius is in tears by the time he sees it

The three of them charge in and Sophie has a metal baseball bat slung over her shoulder and her eyes glint with something dark and dangerous. Things are crashing, breaking, she may have started a small fire in a corner to burn certificates.

Ro has a full on sledgehammer. She looks like a gray-skinned Harley Quinn, in a way. All her pointed teeth are glinting in the light.

Keefe stands there quietly for a lot of it, watching as his older ogre sister and girlfriend just destroy his dad's favorite room.

Then Sophie hands him a can of spray paint.

His face lights up.

Because, if there's one thing that Keefe Cassius Sencen loves, it's graffiti. He's drawn on the walls of the school's bathrooms. One of the theories of the Great Gulon Incident involved a giant gulon painted on the ceiling of the headmaster's office. He loves making things messy, loves telling the system to suck it. Maybe his favorite thing in the world isn't making things crash into shards, maybe it's subtle, or something, usually. He's too subtle, too Slytherin, too something to full on break things, but if there's something the blond boy cannot resist, it is an opportunity to deface something with a can of spray paint.

Yellow drips of paint trail down the walls, red drips like blood from the glass panes of the windows. Keefe sprays his father's name and draws lines through it.

He paints over metal trophies. He puts an extraordinary amount of effort into one of the statues, making it a real work of art, red and blue and purple and black making it impossible to see what the plaque reads.

Keefe paints a rude word on the butt of one of Cassius's favorite statues.

Ro wanted to cut up the family portrait on the walls, but Keefe beat her to it.

His father has a pink bow tie, devil horns, and glasses. He sprays on a tiny neon green mustache, and moves onto his mother.

Carefully, he sprays the entirety of her out. Black, green, blue, brown, yellow. Every color bleeds together, and Gisela Sencen is a muddle of shadow and spraypaint.

Keefe cuts his own face out of the painting, folds it up, and quietly puts it in his pocket.

Sophie grabs his hand, stained with paint, and they take a step back, looking over the room.

Keefe smiles, in a dark, sad kind of way.

Sophie's grip around his hand tightens. He looks at her. "Thanks," he whispers. "This was... oddly therapeutic."

She grins. "You're worth it."

He kisses her cheek.

Ro closes the door behind them, and they leave the fire burning in the corner.

Needless to say, Lord Cassius called the police, the council, and the Black Swan to try and scream at someone.

It didn't work.

He had to cry alone in his bedroom for a long while, like the baby he's always claimed his son is.

[kenmascatears]

kuroo’s birthday

description: your morning and night for kuroo’s birthday

genre: soft and smut (the soft is the first part and the smut is the second)

warnings: slight choking, daddy kink, creampie 

a/n: happy birthday kuroo😩

 treasured mornings

your boyfriend’s usually carefully arranged hairdo was in disarray, with pieces sticking up in all different directions. you reached up to play with it, toying with some silken strands, all while marveling at how smooth it was, gliding between your fingertips. 

kuroo’s eyes cracked open, and sleepy eyes peered up at you, hazy with the recent return from dreamland. 

“how did you sleep?” you whispered, pressing a sweet kiss on his forehead. 

humming in reply, kuroo wrapped his arm tighter around your torso, hands stroking your sizes while his face nuzzled into your neck.

you laughed at the sensation of his hands tickling you, chime-like giggles filling the air. kuroo’s heart soared at the sound, he always loved hearing you laugh and loved being the cause of your laughter. 

stilling the movements of his hands, he looked up at you. “princess, what time is it?”

you craned your neck to look at the clock on your nightstand, “mmm it’s 8:27. do you have to get up soon?”

kuroo sighed, burrowing his face into your neck again. “sadly.”

he was supposed to get today off, to spend the day with you, but had gotten a call last night from his boss begging him to come in.

the two of you fell back into the stillness of before, with you falling back into a light slumber while kuroo relished in the rare peaceful moment. between kuroo’s busy work life and you finishing up your last year at college, the two of you rarely got to spend a peaceful moment together.

just lying together, watching the sunbeams filter through the flimsy curtains and fall on you, the sunlight painting your face with a golden haze, was a moment kuroo would relish forever.

but sadly time couldn’t stay still forever. once it became 8:45, kuroo felt the urgency of work creeping upon him.

grumbling, he got up, extracting himself from your grip. 

as you whined at the loss of contact kuroo frowned, gently placing his pillow in your arms. you snuggled into it, burying your face into the familiar scent of your boyfriend. 

kuroo wanted nothing more than to lie in bed with you all day, stealing kisses and watching the sunbeams dance across your face. but alas, he had to go to work.

as he walked towards the bathroom he heard a soft voice call out. 

“tetsu?”

kuroo paused at the doorway, turning to face you, a drowsy smile covering your face.

“happy birthday”

this morning was a birthday treat he would relish forever.

birthday cake

you were currently bent over the counter, fingers scrabbling to grip the slippery surface as kuroo pounded into you from behind. 

he had come home early today, having had a rough day at work, and wanted nothing more than to just cuddle with you and try to patch up the rest of his birthday. 

what he didn’t expect to come home to was the sight of you preparing his birthday cake in his t-shirts and your little panties. 

“ah tetsu so deep!” you cried out, hips desperately trying to move away from the overwhelming sensation. 

kuroo tutted, pulling you back towards him, his dick filling you up, pressing against the little spot inside of you that made you gasp in pleasure.

“i thought you could take my cock princess,” he spoke, voice filling the sound of the kitchen, “you were so eager for it last night after all, but now i’m not even all the way in.”

eyes widening, you reached between your legs to feel. kuroo was right, his cock wasn’t fully in. he still had a couple of inches to go.

whimpering, you rocked your hips, desperate to feel all of him in you. even if you were already stuffed full, you wanted more. your brain was full with the thought of kuroo. kuroo pounding into you, kuroo praising you, kuroo cumming.

sensing your neediness, kuroo reached his hand around to your neck, pulling you up so your chest was flush against his back.

“can you be good princess and take my cock in that tight little pussy of yours? after all, you can take it. i know you can.”

the tone of his voice, so deep and commanding, went straight to your cunt. you clenched around him, slick dripping down his cock.

the added lubricant helped kuroo bottom out, groaning at the feeling of being fully sheathed inside you.

“good girl. see? i told you you could take it. daddy’s always right after all”

resuming his previous tempo, kuroo began to fuck you, one hand wrapped around your neck while the other played with your little bud. 

you thrashed and moaned against him, babbling praise to him.

you were so tight, kuroo thought, gummy walls greedily sucking him in with each thrust, almost as if you were trying to keep him there forever. 

slick was dripping everywhere, leaking down his cock and balls and onto your thighs.

you turned your head to face kuroo, eyes glazed over. 

“daddy ‘m close” you moaned out, hand reaching up to tug at his hair.

“is that so princess? you wanna cum all over my cock?”

you nodded frantically at the words, cunt tightening with each second you got closer to your high. 

it only took a few more thrusts for the coil building up inside of you to break.

you looked almost picture-esque, mouth parted as a silent cry left your lips, eyes rolled back and tongue poking out of your mouth as you twitched and gushed juices onto his cock. 

kuroo didn’t stop, continuing to thrust into you until he came, hot ropes of cum coating your insides.

kuroo moaned, forcing your head towards him for a kiss. he could taste the chocolate frosting from the cake on your lips. craving more, he bit your lower lip and your mouth opened with a silent gasp. 

as your tongues battled for dominance and the two of you came down from your highs, kuroo slowly pulled out.

once kuroo had cleaned the two of you up, he turned to you smiling cheekily.

“so whats this about cake?”

[abused-sides]

Hungry [dead dove: do not eat]

    Trigger warning: someone dies from a food allergy and it’s VERY graphic, it’s an unsympathetic character. This is also written from someone who has a ton of severe food allergies, including the one that’s used, so it’s not some random asshole making light of a situation. Abusive relationships, death, murder, unsympathetic character is murdered

note: please read the trigger warnings and do not fucking read if it’ll bother/trigger you, this is the last warning

    xxx 

    Every morning, Janus ran out to buy him and Remus coffees while Remus stayed behind and burnt their breakfast. 

    Logan woke up to the smoke detector screaming and the rest of their roommates groaning while Roman frantically waved a blanket and snapped at his brother (Janus still smiled when he came home). It was as good of an alarm clock as any. 

    Every morning, Logan scraped together breakfast for a boyfriend he didn’t love. 

    Remus and Janus’ voices carried over from the living room as they ate on the couch. Logan used the burnt remnants of their stove to make bacon and eggs, something he could cook in his sleep. He wasn’t sleeping, though—He was focused on Remus and Janus. 

    “So,” Remus stole a piece of bacon and talked with his mouth full, “when’s the oaf getting up?” 

    Janus sipped at his coffee. “Obligatory defensive comment incoming,” he murmured, and Remus wrapped an arm around his waist. 

    “Don’t make fun of him,” Logan announced. 

    As much as Patton begged everyone to get along, Remus was never one to hide how he felt. Neither was Jaxon. 

    “You know he doesn’t do it on purpose, and you know he’ll be down here any second,” he whispered, and bumped Remus with his hip, who laughed. “Get out of here!” 

    Remus finished the bacon and said, “I gotta get to work anyway.” 

    That didn’t stop him from making out with Janus a good few minutes before leaving. 

    Jaxon stumbled into the kitchen sleepily. 

    “Morning, J,” Logan said quietly. 

    He hated Jaxon’s first appearance—he was too tired for Logan to tell what type of mood he was in. He used to stay quiet until he knew for sure, but Jaxon snapped at him once and said, “When you don’t say good morning, it feels like you’re mad at me or you don’t care about me.”

    Logan always said good morning now.

    Jaxon ignored him, took his plate, and went back upstairs. Logan relaxed. 

    “Just let me know when you want me to kill him for you,” Janus sneered, then ducked into his and Remus’ room. 

    Roman left for work next, singing on his way out, followed by Patton, who kissed Logan’s cheek and told him to stay safe. Virgil worked nights and didn’t wake until well after 3pm. Janus used noise-cancelling headphones while he worked. As much as Logan tried, he couldn’t get a shift today. He was essentially alone with Jaxon. 

    His stomach churned. 

    He went to his computer. 

    It didn’t take long for Jaxon to come back downstairs. He wrapped his arms around Logan’s shoulders and nuzzled into his neck. 

    “What’s going on?” Jaxon asked. “You’re tense.” 

    Logan’s shoulders relaxed. “I just have a lot of work to do.” 

    “So? Take a break. Come hang out with me.” 

    “Jaxon…” Logan frowned at the screen. “I have a deadline.” 

    Jaxon yanked his arms back. “Are you mad at me or something?” 

    Logan looked over his shoulder. “What? No. Why would I be mad?” 

    He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, brown eyes hard. “Because you haven’t hung out with me all week. I never see you anymore.” 

    “I work right here in the living room because you wanted to see me more,” Logan insisted. “And we watched three movies last night. We can watch three more tonight.” 

    “Well I don’t wanna force you.”

    Janus’ door creaked open. “That’s exactly what you want to do. Can you two quiet down?” 

    “Come with me,” Jaxon growled under his breath and grabbed Logan’s wrist. 

    Logan stumbled after him. 

    “HEY!” Janus stormed forward and grabbed Logan’s other wrist. “He has a deadline. He needs to work. Have you no manners?” 

    “Sorry, princess, I wasn’t raised in a castle.” Jaxon yanked Logan hard enough for his shoulder to ache. 

    “You’re hurting me,” he said desperately. 

    “Let go of him.” Janus’ eyes were deadly slits. His teeth were fangs, his grip of a Boa. 

    Logan pulled—he’d get punished for that later—until Jaxon let go and he stumbled back into Janus’ arms. Janus quickly righted him then took his hands away. Logan shivered. 

    “We’ll talk about this later,” Jaxon mumbled, “when the snake isn’t around.” 

    He turned and stomped up the stairs. The door slammed, and Logan flinched. 

    “I’m sorry,” he spouted as he turned to Janus. “I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.” 

    “Don’t worry about it.” 

    “And what he said—” 

    “I am a snake. It’s great. Is your wrist okay?” 

    Logan held it up. The skin was clear, but a bruise would surely show. “It’s fine. He almost…” He forced a laugh, “almost dislocated my shoulder, though.” 

    “Let me take a look at it. Sit down.” 

    Logan sat and Janus tugged his loose neckline down enough to expose his shoulder. Janus hummed. 

    “Is it hurting?” 

    “Just a little. I’m okay.” 

    “Let me get some ice.” 

    Janus came back a moment later and settled the icepack on Logan’s shoulder. 

    “Why haven’t you kicked us out?” Logan asked quietly. 

    “Because if he left, you’d go with him. And we like you a lot.” Janus ran his fingers through Logan’s hair, who leaned into the touch. “Besides, we have better plans for him. We’re killing him, remember?” 

    Logan laughed, and prayed to God Jaxon didn’t hear. 

    xxx 

    Logan didn’t see Jaxon again until dinner. Roman and Remus were play-fighting in the kitchen, yelling over the boiling of a stew. Patton and Virgil were watching a horror movie on the couch, Janus sat at their feet. Virgil kept kicking him. 

    Jaxon came down the stairs as Logan asked to help with dinner. Remus quickly took Logan under his arm. 

    “Yeah! Stir this for me. Hey, Jaxon. I’ve got Logan helping me here.” 

    “I missed you at lunch today,” Logan said over his shoulder. “Are you okay? Feeling sick?” 

    “A little,” he mumbled. “Will you eat with me?” 

    Logan melted. “Of course. Remus, is this safe for him?” 

    Remus grabbed Logan’s shoulder. Logan furrowed his eyebrows as they locked eyes. 

    “Yes.” Remus tapped something on the counter. “Janus and Roman helped me.” 

    Logan glanced down. 

    Peanut powder. 

    He swallowed. 

    “It’s perfectly safe for Jaxon.” 

    Blood rushed through Logan’s ears. 

    “No, actually.” Logan sucked in a shuddering breath. “No, I want to make him something myself.” 

    Remus’ shoulders slumped. “I understand. I guess.” 

    “But…” Logan grabbed his hand. “You can make it again if I ask?” 

    Roman set a hand on Logan’s lightly purpled shoulder. “We absolutely can.” 

    Logan got to work making Jaxon grilled cheese sandwiches, and they ate in the living room with everyone else. Jaxon kept wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips like he was rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

    “Everything okay, Jax?” Patton asked sweetly. 

    “There’s no peanuts in that, right? Something about the smell is setting me off.” 

    “Nope.” Janus laid his head in Remus’ lap. “We know about your allergy, Jaxon. We’re careful.” 

    xxx 

    That night, Logan stayed up late with Jaxon watching movies. Logan fell asleep cuddled against Jaxon’s chest and woke up the next morning snuggled with him in bed. 

    He hauled himself out of bed, heavy with exhaustion, as the smoke alarm screamed. Janus kissed Remus on the cheek before leaving for their coffees. Remus cracked another egg in the pan. Roman sang Disney at the top of his lungs as he got ready in the bathroom, Virgil pounding on the door demanding that he needed to piss. Patton snapped that there’s another bathroom upstairs and that if those two didn’t stop fighting he’d lose his mind. 

    Logan found a path in the kitchen to grab the stuff for French toast. He pushed aside Remus’ used dishes and ingredients to set his own down. 

    “How are you feeling?” Remus asked as Logan whisked. “You know, about the decision you made.” 

    “Good,” he admitted. “I think it was the right call.” 

    Remus set the spatula down hard. “So how else do you wanna proceed?” 

    Logan’s whisks slowed. “I… I don’t know. Last time I talked about maybe taking a break, he—” 

    “Hey, Jaxon!” Patton greeted cheerfully. 

    Logan snapped his mouth shut. 

    “Morning, handsome.” Jaxon kissed the back of Logan’s neck. 

    He smiled as Jaxon poured them both juice. “It was the right decision.”

    xxx 

    “Logan!” Jaxon bounded down the stairs. “When are you stopping for lunch?” 

    “Um…” Logan shifted in his seat. “I had lunch.” 

    Jaxon stopped. “What?” 

    “It was quick.” Logan pushed back in the chair to face Jaxon. “Just a snack, really. Then I got right back to work.” 

    “Why would you eat without me? I knew it, you are mad at me. We always have lunch together.” 

    “I know, I’m sorry—”

    “If you know, why did you eat without me? What did I even do?”

    “You didn’t do anything!” 

    “But you’re mad at me.” 

    “I’m not mad at you!”

    “THEN WHY WOULD YOU EAT WITHOUT ME?”

    Logan flinched. 

    Jaxon grabbed his wrist and hauled him to his feet. “Don’t be a baby! Just tell me!” 

    He slammed Logan into the wall just as Janus’ door opened. Logan’s head bounced off the paint, his eye erupting in pain. 

    “Get off,” Janus snapped. 

    “This is none of your business! Go back to work!” 

    Janus pulled his phone out of his pocket. He dialed three numbers. 

    “Put the phone down!” 

    “I need someone here right away, my roommate—”

    Jaxon leapt ten steps back. Logan crumpled in on himself, pressed against the wall where Jaxon left him. 

    “I think he’s calming down now,” Janus said into the phone. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I would like you to remain on the line.” 

    Jaxon grabbed his wallet and keys, and stormed out. The door slammed and Logan flinched. 

    “He’s gone now. Thank you for your help. Let me ask.” He pressed the phone to his shirt. “Do you want to press charges? Do you want the police to come?” 

    Logan shook his head, eyes watering. “I want to make dinner.” 

    xxx 

    “That again?” Jaxon asked, peering over Logan’s shoulder. 

    Logan stirred the thick broth. “You didn’t get to try it. It’s good.” 

    Jaxon shrugged. “Is your eye okay?”

    “It’ll heal.” 

    He left. Logan grabbed the peanut powder and dumped in a generous amount, then left it to boil and cook down. 

    Everyone stared at Jaxon as they ate. Logan finished his bowl and grabbed seconds. Pale blotches appeared on Jaxon’s face. His lips swelled. 

    “Are you sure this doesn’t have peanuts?” He asked nervously. “I don’t feel great.” 

    “My eye hurts,” Logan announced. 

    “I have some medicine for it.” Remus kissed Logan’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.” 

    Jaxon glared. “Kiss your own boyfriend!” 

    By the time Remus came back, Jaxon’s throat was swelling shut. “Drive me to a hospital,” he demanded in a hoarse voice. 

    Patton knelt between Logan’s legs and applied the cream Remus bought to Logan’s browbone and the top of his cheekbone. 

    “Dinner was good,” Virgil said. “Are you gonna finish yours, Jax?” 

    He glared and stumbled for the door. “What the hell is this?” 

    Virgil shrugged and grabbed Jaxon’s bowl, downing the rest. Roman leaned against the door with his arms crossed. Jaxon threw a punch, but Roman easily ducked against Jaxon’s weak, wobbling frame. 

    “Oh, God, are you okay?” Patton gasped. “Call an ambulance!” 

    Jaxon collapsed to his knees as his body convulsed. His hands dug into the carpet. He vomited, elbows and knees locking. 

    “Shit, did we add peanut?” Roman asked. “Old habits.” 

    “What’s the number again?” Remus stared at his phone in confusion. 

    “What’s… wrong… with you… all…” Jaxon gasped through his throw up. 

    “911, I think,” Logan mumbled. “Are you okay, love?” 

    “I need someone here right away. My roommate is having an allergic reaction. He was eating alone, we didn’t catch it very fast— yes. Okay, I understand. Mhm.” He gave them the address then hung up. 

    Janus, Remus, and Roman turned on the T.V. Logan and Patton got to work cleaning up after dinner. Virgil stared Jaxon down. 

    He was dead before the paramedics arrived. 

    xxx 

    The smoke alarm blared. Logan hauled himself out of the warm bed and came out of Janus and Remus’ room. 

    “Slept long enough,” Janus said, wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist. 

    Logan leaned his head on Janus’ shoulder. “Coffee?” 

    “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

    “Breakfast is almost ready!” Remus called. “Hurry up!” 

    “I HAVE TO PISS, ROMAN!” 

    “THERE ARE TWO BATHROOMS!” 

    Logan got into the car with Janus. Janus pulled out of the driveway and headed towards the nearest coffee shop. 

    “How are you feeling?” Janus asked, reaching over and taking his hand. 

    “Hungry.” 

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 8 - Hypocrite

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal @sunwoowuvbot​ @suzy-rainbow​​

“Why did you come back?”

Jang Won’s consciousness had been flitting in and out of a state of being awake when Juyeon slides the door of her bathroom open, the rolling noises waking her up from her drowsy trance. 

“Sorry, just go back to sleep,” Rubbing his damp hair with a towel, the pajamas that Mr Ro managed to salvage from the Manor’s guest closet (that part of the closet used to belong to Younghoon) somehow fit him better than expected. “I know you had a long day, so.”

“It’s been a long day for the both of us so just shut up and get in bed,” Jang Won mumbles, loud enough for him to hear. Her back rests against the bolster placed in the middle of the bed, and a light clicks off somewhere in the room as Juyeon turns it off. The room was painted in a gentle mandarin shade from the nightstand lamp on his side; it reminds her of sunsets and fruit baskets. 

She feels the mattress on the extreme end sink as Juyeon shuffles in, then the room dims when he turns off the lamp on the nightstand. 

The distant chirps of crickets in the courtyard down below where the wedding was held manages to seep through the gaps of the balcony doors, and Jang Won could just barely make out the glowing ring of the moon if she pushed her head into the pillow a little more. 

“Jang Won.”

She sucks in a deep breath, eyes still fixated on the glow in the sky. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

Surprise. Chirp. Blink. 

“What for?”

“Calling you a hypocrite.”

Jang Won turns, and Juyeon turns as well, upon hearing the shuffling. His eyes are two orbs of glass from the bare illumination from outside.

“I... can never understand how much you’ve gone through, and so I have no reason to call you that, and I’m sorry.”

“Forget it-”

“No, please,” There’s a hint of desperation in his voice that keeps her from turning away. Chirp. “I said something I cannot take back and-”

“I know. And... I’m sorry you were dragged into this mess. I really am.”

“Fruits from the same tree,” He whispers, and Jang Won can hear his gentle scoff. “Look forward to our Guatemala honeymoon. I promise you’ll have the time of your life.”

“I haven’t heard someone make a promise to me in a long, long time.”

And even in the shitty lighting, Jang Won can make out the little smile he has on his face. 

“I’ll be the new standard. Trust me.”

“That’ll probably the first and last thing I’ll do.”

Juyeon quietly chuckles in the darkness.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

If Jang Won had a choice, she definitely would’ve had chosen another way to last remember her mother, even if it meant the same outcome. It had been any normal day for her - school at one of the most prestigious academies. At the time, Juyeon’s name had already been spread far and wide for being both a chaebol and somewhat of a likeable personality in school. Jang Won would know, since she’s spent countless of days listening to the likes of her friends swooning about Lee Juyeon from the Stanford Academy. 

On the days they were a little bolder, they’d ask Jang Won to strike up a conversation at one of the events The Board likes to organise. Of course, being the girl she is, she doesn’t care. 

“Sure,” She’ll always say, but empty-handed she’ll return to her friends. Jang Won would be lying if she said she didn’t gain some kind of sickening pleasure from seeing disappointment wash over their faces when all she did was basically nothing.

That should’ve been the prime thing about being 16. That should’ve been it. Teasing each other about boys, boys that she couldn’t care any less about. 

That really should have been it.

But the ghastly outline of her mother’s skull had been etched into her head as the days passed, and before she could realise it, Jang Won had lost all memory of how her mother used to be like; how she even looked like within the walls of The Kim Mansion. 

Her mother belonged within the cream, marble walls of the monument erected in the corner of street where the country’s tycoons all lived in. She belonged in the safety of a living hall with a rug made from bear fur and a fireplace keeping her and the cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table warm. 

Not here. Not letting the amber strips of light pasted into the ceiling shine through her paper-thin skin, as if Jang Won couldn’t already see the blue veins under her mother’s forehead. 

The first major thing that Jang Won would never forget was watching her older brother fight with her father. That was the one time she had seen Younghoon yell at Kim Jo-Pil, as if they weren’t related, as if Kim Jo-Pil wasn’t the adult in the room.

While Jang Won wished with all her heart that she could remain angry with what her brother said, she knew that it was the best choice. Her mother was on a ticking time-bomb anyway. It had been a matter of time before she took her last breath.

Yet, for some reason, it was the one time that she had seen Younghoon been so coldly caring, and her father so warmly unbothered. The scent of the expensive, first-class hospital ward is still stuck in her nose, and probably would for the next year or so. As she listened to her brother beg her father to let her mother go peacefully, without having to live through the pain, she let her tears stain the bedsheets by her mother’s hands. 

“Won-ie.”

Jang Won looks up upon the hoarse voice, eyes tearing when she can see how resigned her mother is. The fight is no longer glimmering in her eyes, because she knows she’s fighting a lost war. 

“After this, you’ll only have your brother left, and you must promise me you will do everything you can to protect him, like he will for you.”

Jang Won shakes her head, fingers interlocking with hers, and for a split second, she’s almost afraid she could tear her skin. “No. You’ll do that for me. I’m not old enough to take care of him.”

“You’re a smart girl, Won-ie,” She manages a grin, and it tears Jang Won apart to see how hard she had to try. “I know... that this wasn’t what we wanted.”

“Yeah, it’s not,” Jang Won frowns, swallowing the chunk of tears and snot in the back of her throat. “Nobody’s gonna help me build Hera’s Manor if you don’t. What’s Younghoon gonna do? Sit by and eat popcorn?”

“He probably would, wouldn’t he?”

Jang Won can feel her lips quiver, brows furrowing and her head slowly becoming heavier. 

“Listen, Jang Won. The Board will not be kind to you, and we’ve lived by The Board for more than 7 generations. Things will not go your way but I promise you... not everyone is as venomous as we think they are. Some, yes... but not everybody is out for blood. These people will come and help you when you most need it, and you must be kind, whenever you can.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jang Won’s voice cracks and she doesn’t notice that the bickering outside the ward has ceased. Younghoon enters alone. “Tell me this again next time. I’m not gonna remember it.”

“I’ll always be with you, whether you know it or not, okay? I love you, Hera’s princess. Oh, my little girl.”

It’s a monumental effort on Jang Won’s part to keep herself from physically doubling over as she sobbed, her mother’s hand pressed into her cheek. 

She shuts her eyes, letting her face contort into a horrid mess of emotions when her mother turns to look at her son. 

“Hoon-ie... Promise me you’ll take care of Jang Won?” She holds out an arm, and her son cannot bring himself to take it, in fear that it would be the last. 

“I’ll always take care of her anyway,” His voice cracks, only worsening the hiccups in Jang Won’s chest. “You can remind me some other time.”

And again, with more effort needed, she smiles. “Come here, my Prince Artemis.”

Younghoon feels like there are roots coming from the ground and holding him to the concrete, but he manages to drag himself to her bed, kneeling down to rest his arms on the mattress. 

“You both... have been my everything. Thank you for teaching me what love is, when I thought I’ll never know what it is. Thank you for teaching me how to be a better mother than any other role I could ever have.”

Younghoon winces and looks down. “Stop-”

“I am... so proud of the two of you, and I’ve been so lucky to have the two of you as my children. There’s nothing I would change. Absolutely nothing.”

Finally, Kim Jo-Pil enters the ward. Hands in his pockets. Eyes unable to look at the breathing corpse on the hospital bed.

“Jang Won, Younghoon, let’s go. The two of you still have school tomorrow.”

“No, wait, please,” Jang Won shakes her head, tightening her grip on her mother’s arm. Her father already has one arm around Younghoon’s shoulder, but even the most obedient son looks reluctant.

“Father, please,” Younghoon frowns, tears brimming. 

“Let us stay for the night, please?” Jang Won’s brows furrow back, pushing herself back towards the wall as her father rounds the end of the bed.

“Father,” Younghoon anxiously tails his father, now trying to get a hold of Jang Won. “Just let us stay for this one night.”

“No, your mother would not approve of you staying here tonight.”

“Mom,” Jang Won whines, wrist already being pulled. “Please...”

“Mother, please. Please, please, please let me stay.”

Juyeon halts the brush in his mouth, instantly turning to exit the bathroom. The late morning sun drizzles across the length of the room as he watches Jang Won twitch and shudder under the thick blanket.

“Younghoon... do something...”

He frowns, returning to the bathroom just to get the toothpaste foam out of his mouth. Walking around the bed, he now notices the pool of tears stained into the pillowcase beneath her cheek. Her face is puffy and her cheeks are pink from the anxiety.

It’s a pinch in his gut, when the only time he sees this vulnerability in her is in her sleep.

“Jang Won,” He whispers, resting one knee into the bed and gently tapping on her shoulder. “Hey.”

“No, no, no... don’t make us leave...”

“Jang Won.”

“Mr Lee.”

Juyeon turns to the bedroom door, surprised to see Mr Ro already entering. Automatically backing off, Juyeon watches as the butler presses a warm cloth to her cheek and shove a mini canvas into Jang Won’s hold.

It was painted, with bumps from acrylic paint, and signed Yoo Se Kyung. 

Her breath slows, but her grip around the canvas tightens, and she stops talking. Mr Ro shifts back, clearing his throat and gathering his palms before his abdomen. He bows to Juyeon, eyes plastered to the floor.

“Does this happen often?”

Mr Ro resumes his upright stance, eyes glancing at Jang Won. “Every year, around late spring into summer, it comes back to her. The memories of visiting her mother in the hospital. I wouldn’t disclose too much - that’s for her to share when she finally trusts you, but I’ve been meaning to tell you about it before you leave for your honeymoon. I just didn’t expect it to come so quick.”

Jang Won’s tears have stopped, and her grip around the canvas has loosened. Mr Ro removes the cloth and bows to Juyeon, turning on his heels to leave the bedroom.

“Mr Ro.”

The butler halts, head turning to look back over his shoulder.

“‘Finally’ trusts me?”

Mr Ro offers a weak smile. 

“I haven’t seen her share a bed with anybody, nor care so much, ever since her mother passed.”

Juyeon sighs exasperatedly, scratching the skin on his cheekbones as his eyes flit to her for a split second. “That’s only because you have nowhere to house me, and that she needs me for the marriage.”

The elder lowers his head and shakes it gently. “I’ve known Jang Won for the entire 22 years she’s been alive. Some part of her trusts you, and I know you don’t see it, but I can.”

Pity washes over Juyeon first, then pleasant surprise, and finally, obligation. Is this how it feels like to have someone you want to protect?

“Breakfast is in the dining hall. Jang Won will wake up soon and she’ll confirm the itinerary for your honeymoon in Guatemala next week.”

“Oh, did she say if I needed to be there?”

“Only if you want to. Jang Won’s instructions were to keep it optional for you in case you had other obligations to tend to.”

Mr Ro walks off after giving one final bow to Juyeon, leaving him awkward by the bed. His heart sinks when he turns to her, sound asleep and holding almost no hint that she had been previously crying, having nightmares.

It’s a punch to the gut when he realises he’ll never be able to fully comprehend her pain, and even then, he wouldn’t have the autonomy to tell her that he knows how it feels - because he doesn’t.

Sitting by her edge of the bed, his brows furrow across his forehead as he gently pushes her hair out of her face. He needs to remind himself that sympathy and pity is the last thing she would want, so he makes it a point to remember the promise he made Younghoon.

Juyeon’s care for Jang Won has far exceeded his own expectations, and thus, will far exceed hers. Unable to erase the idea of himself that Jang Won had previously implanted in his head, that he was a coward, from that conflict they had in her office the previous day made Juyeon a little more rigid and his head a little clearer. The resolution he makes to protect her will far supersede his ability to care for her.

Kim Jo-Pil’s gaze cannot be torn from the sight of Lee Juyeon, gently stroking the head of hair of his daughter. The door had been left ajar when Mr Ro left and he had partially heard the conversation between his new son-in-law. He had expected Juyeon to be colder, conservative, as poisonous as his daughter had seemed to be.

So when Juyeon touched Jang Won with the weight of feathers and cotton and looked like he was memorising all the features on her face, the exact color of every strand of her hair and making one of those silent promises in his head, Kim Jo-Pil cannot help the twist in his left eye-lid. 

He pulls away when Juyeon finally removes himself off the bed, backing away from the door and hurriedly scurrying away. Just before he can reach the stairs that lead down into the main hall, he hears the door down the corridor he was just in creak open.

“Mr Kim.”

Kim Jo-Pil stops, turning to face the source of call.

“Juyeon,” Kim Jo-Pil bows deeply. “I... Didn’t know you were staying for the night.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Juyeon shakes his head. “But... I must ask.”

Kim Jo-Pil sucks in a deep breath, already knowing what was in his head.

“Why did you come back?”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly. 

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

 Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

 The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you. 

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall. 

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in. 

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499. 

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face. 

 I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

 Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

 Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

 He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

 If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

 His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

 If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

 "It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

 Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

 Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

 Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

 You’ll learn.

 His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

 He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

 Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

 Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

 Um, how, how do we-

 I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

 Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

 He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

 It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

 Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted.. 

 Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm? 

 On your back, gorgeous boy.

 On your knees, pretty pet.

 What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

 No isn’t an option for you any longer.

 Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

 “You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

 He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

 He’s so happy-

 She’s so proud of him-

 There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

 Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

 Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

 No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

 I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

 The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming. 

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

 Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

 He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

 What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

 Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

 I’m just being silly, Aki. 

 It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

 Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway. 

 He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

 He wants his body back.

 He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for. 

 A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

 Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

 Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

 Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

 It’s okay, baby-

 Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

 “It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

 There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

 He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all. 

 He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

 He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin. 

 He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

 “I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink. 

 The look is ruined by what he’s done.

 Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

 “Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

 Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

 Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love. 

 You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

 How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

 If it weren’t for you...

 The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring. 

 It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

 Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

 Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

 Open up, 499.

 He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

 You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word. 

 You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

 You want it-

 I, I don’t want to-

 No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

 A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle. 

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted. 

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

 Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface. 

 They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

 Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

 Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

 Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

 You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

 I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

 You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

 I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.  

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them. 

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.” 

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you 

I love you 

I’ve got you 

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp  , @finder-of-rings  , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker  , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript