#w one hand under his arms so that they’re just sticking forward and the other supporting his lower back

[driaswrld]

cash in, cash out — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 1.7k

summary : the one where the boys pick the kids up, satoru loses his wallet, megumi almost throws up, the twins argue color theory, tsumiki gets the aux and suguru has a coupon.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : this had me cackling a bit as i wrote it i love the family dynamics esp since this is when the trio is new to the kid thing (around 2009) ALSO yes, suguru has a love for y2k girl groups : pussycat dolls being one of em don't @ me gege told me it's canon.

other : fem!reader, rs label undefined so can be read as platonic or poly (they're lowk dating w/o knowing) mentions of unsafe (?) driving?? mentions of bribery and also tomfoolery and shenanigans

current casette : father stretch my hands pt.1 - kanye west

“—now we do headcount.” Suguru turns in his seat as Satoru slows the car and shifts the gear stick to neutral. “If you’re hungry, say I!” Satoru raises a hand up, his knuckles smacking against the roof of the interior, and Suguru internally dies.

“You’re hopeless.” Tsumiki laughs to herself, rolling the window beside her down, leaning against the frame, spring breeze warming her cheeks.

“I…” Mimiko raises her tiny fist upwards, mimicking Satoru, all while Nanako unclicks their joint seatbelt and breathes a puff of air, exasperated and hair a mess.

Megumi grunts, giving a weak thumbs up. He almost looks like he’s about to throw up.

The car ride was… something to say the least—

“—buckle the seatbelt already, brat!”

“—swallow your spit before you talk, you pig.”

“Steer the car for me, Suguru.”

A click reverberates through the car as Satoru unclicks his seatbelt and turns, ready to dive out of the driver's seat and into the backseat of the car, with arms outstretched to grab ahold of six year old Megumi’s neck.

Suguru’s arm flails to the side as he steadies the abandoned steering wheel from the passenger seat.

“Why didn’t name pick us up?” Mimiko mumbles, clutching onto her strawberry colored doll to her chest.

Ignoring the repeated smacks of Megumi’s foot to the side of Satoru’s cheek, Tsumiki shrugs, gaze fixed outside the window at other cars passing by. “She had work, I think—”

“So we’re stuck with the idiots.” Megumi grunts, and Suguru’s head whips around, lips morphed into a thin line.

Pride, oh sweet pride. Nanako, busy typing away at some cute game on her tablet, looks up for a second and locks eyes with Suguru, who withers a little under her gaze.

“He called you an idiot, Geto-san.” She says, ever the little instigator.

“Take the wheel, Satoru.”

But anyways.

Satoru huffs, almost pouting as the car in front of them stalks forward into the KFC drive thru. “It wasn’t even that bad,” he murmurs as he shifts the gear stick once more, moving the car forward.

Suguru can only chuckle nervously. “Yeah, not too bad…”

Behind Satoru’s back, he gives the kids a funny look, and they all snicker quietly. Well, save for Megumi who’s bordering on car sickness from that messy car ride.

“Alright,” Satoru mumbles to himself before he pushes his sunglasses up to rest in his hair, one arm hanging out the window, looking over his shoulder for a brief moment to check everyone over. “What does everyone want off the menu?”

Honestly, he’s a little proud of himself and Suguru.

Usually, you’re the one who handles picking all the brats up after school, but somehow, the boys managed to do it.

Although, it did take a bit of crisscrossing with seatbelts shared in pairs of two— hey, at least they’re all in one piece, right!

“Twister!” Nanako exclaims with a grin and Mimiko nods along with her twin sister, setting her doll down in her lap with a smile that Suguru mirrors, something so small making him feel so… soft inside. “I want the one with the sweet flavored chicken inside—”

“I want the spicy one.” Nanako nods along, turning her attention back to her tablet, clicking away.

Satoru hums, turning his head a little to the side, and Tsumiki mumbles, “Maybe just a chicken sandwich… with some coleslaw too.” He looks to Megumi, who still has his mouth twisted into something between a frown and a pout, so cute—

“And what do you want, Megs?” Suguru asks before Satoru can, as the car treks forward in the drive thru line, drawing closer to the order speaker.

“Whatever Tsumiki gets, I’ll get that too.” Megumi shrugs a little and a smile stretches on Satoru’s face — though he hides it well, straining his head forward.

(Mimiko can see him through the side mirror but he doesn’t even remember that.)

After ordering and making it halfway down the length of the drive thru, there’s only two cars ahead until the pay window.

Suguru is helping Tsumiki plug the aux cord into her ipod touch — a birthday gift from Satoru.

“I don’t think the cord’ll fit,” Tsumiki mumbles, peering over his shoulder, head leaning against the headrest. “It’s probably too big or something.”

All while Mimiko and Nanako are arguing over a dress up game on their tablet.

“She looks better in purple—”

“But I like the yellow better—”

Megumi narrowly dodges Satoru’s elbow as he bends his arm to rummage through the storage compartment of the armrest.

“Don’t worry too much, Tsumiki—” He mumbles, haphazardly searching for another aux cable, and his wallet, because for some reason he didn’t feel it in his pocket just now. “Suguru’s good at making all kinds of things fit—”

A smack to the side of his head sends his sunglasses flying off his head into Nanako’s lap, and the twins share a look with each other. “We should try sunglasses on her—”

“I don’t want her to look like Gojo-san—”

Megumi snickers just as Suguru snatches the shorter aux cable from Satoru’s hand.

Tsumiki tilts her head to the side, a grin reaching her lips once Suguru finally gets the aux connected. “Hold on,” Satoru whispers to himself, shifting back in the driver’s seat and moving forward to take the place of the car that was just in front. “Suguru, I can’t find—”

“Check under your seat or something.” Suguru cuts him off, scrolling through the sheer ridiculous list of songs on Tsumiki’s ipod touch — most of which are Taylor Swift and a few J-Pop groups. “It’s not there.” Satoru huffs in defiance.

From where Megumi’s sitting slumped in the backseat, he can see the shadow of Satoru’s billfold laying under his seat.

Naturally, Megumi wants to watch him squirm a little. Afterall, Suguru told him to look there and he was too proud to, so…

Satoru’s phone vibrates from inside the open glove compartment where it’s charging.

“I’m sure I had it in my side pocket…” He mumbles to himself, and Suguru gives him a look of absolute defeat with a hint of nonchalance.

“Well I don’t have any money on me—” The timing couldn’t be worse really. “Of course you don’t. Because all of you freeload off me—”

Megumi rolls his eyes, “As if you don’t make six figures.”

The phone vibrates again, and it’s the least of Satoru’s problems, really.

“Is that all I am to you? Some bank?”

Because here he is, next in line to pay and he doesn’t have his card in his hand, Suguru is still flat broke as always, you aren’t here and it’s not like the brats in the back have a steady flow of income coming in.

Why didn’t he just set up his damn online accounts when you told him to?

“Maybe you should answer that,” Suguru shrugs, damn near unable to hide his little smile when he comes across a song by the Pussycat Dolls. He has half a mind to say out loud that he’s raising Tsumiki right.

The phone vibrates again.

“Satoru—”

“Jeez, fine, damn.” Satoru is shifting around in his seat like he’s possessed, patting down his pockets, all while the phone keeps vibrating.

He reaches over with a frown, yanking the charger out and answering the phone with a single tap and a curt, “I’m busy right now, what is it?" Putting it on speaker as he leans over in his seat again to search his pants.

“Hello to you too, sunshine.” Your voice echoes through the phone and Satoru winces, pink tinging the tip of his ears. “Sorry name, I just—”

“He lost his wallet and we’re going to starve.”

Megumi leans forward, sticking his head out and leaning against the passenger seat.

Tsumiki and Suguru stifle a laugh, and Mimiko lifts her head with a pout. “But— I don’t wanna starve!”

“Oh, Mimi…” You sigh, damn near ready to punt Satoru into the sun. “That’s not going to happen, Megs is just making fun—”

“I have a coupon for a biscuit from that magazine yesterday,” Suguru says and he locks eyes with Satoru who glares straight at him. “Hey, I’m just suggesting solutions!”

Shoko, who’s sitting beside you in the vacant classroom looks up from the mission report she’s signing up for the both of you and bellows a huge laugh. It really doesn’t help Satoru’s pride at all, and he grabs the phone, clicking it off speaker and hugging it against his ear.

Suguru watches as Satoru slumps in his seat, one arm hanging over the steering wheel and another out the window. A grown man, twirling the side of his hair and pouting.

He doesn’t even think twice before snapping the photo — he ends it off to the twins’ tablet, and they exit their game to open it, giggling into their tiny fists.

“name…”

“I’m not sending you money, Satoru—”

“Please! I promise I just misplaced my wallet,”

The twins pass the tablet over to Megumi who folds his lips to hide his laugh, nudging Tsumiki who leans over to giggle at the picture too.

“Pleaaasee! C’mon, I promise I’ll even set up my account like you told me to—”

Suguru sends a sneaky wink to the kids and they all burst out laughing, to which Satoru whips his head around, only to find everyone ducked down in their seats, suspiciously minding their own business.

Suguru’s even gazing out the car window, a guilty whistle leaving his lips.

“I let you two pick them up one time and—”

Satoru cranes his head out the window, his voice lowering to a whisper. “name, I’m begging you. This is a man’s pride we’re talking about here—”

“You can always use Suguru’s coupon—” You murmur.

“I’ll get a chocopie with your order.”

"I'm literally paying— hey, what do you take me for? I have some semblance of self respect—”

“Two chocopies and a twister.” He looks around before ducking his head again in a whisper, “I’ll even pay for all your meals this month— matter of fact, you can just take my card—”

“Two months, including takeout.” You grumble. “And add an egg tart, I’m sending the money to Suguru right now.”

[tonowarii]

Ocean Eyes

PART TWO TO "HONEY BLUE"

Pairing: Tsireya x Fem! Human! Reader

Summary: Sully's stick together. Lessons begin and friendships bloom. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

Reader has heterochromia and could breathe Pandora's air, no longer needing an exopack.

Word count: 2.6K

Warning/s: ATWOW spoilers, violence, swearing, bullying

Note: I'm in love w Tsireya nobody touch me. Likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are appreciated! Let me know what you think and let me know if you want to be tagged in part three!

Tag-list: @laurensmabel1 @jellybear455 @navilover @imthefunniestpersonalive @gummygummy18 @tulipatheticee @jayxxace @octavias-next-meat-bite @slutforjakesully @aonungs-tsahik

GIF is mine

Sully’s stick together

When the sun had set, you were already nervous.

Of course, you swam before in the forest, but for only a limited time. But here? It’s what they do, its how they live.

You weren’t sure if you could even hold your breath longer underwater. So when your siblings finally called for you, your breath almost hitched.

Walking with them towards the platform where Tsireya and the same two who noticed you, Ao’nung and Rotxo were standing, you inhaled a sharp breath as they saw you again. “Hey, it’s you.” Rotxo said. “Oh, she’s here.” Ao’nung said in amusement.

“Yeah, I’m here.” You spoke. Rotxo gave you a look of acknowledgement, having stopped the teasing. For Ao’nung however, he was still cautious of all of you.

“Are you guys ready?” Tsireya asked everyone.

You inhaled, giving a nod as your siblings did too.

“Follow us!” Tsireya smiles before diving off the edge of the platform, followed by Rotxo and Ao’nung.

“Last one to enter the water is a skxawng!” Lo’ak challenged, running and jumping in with Neteyam.

“No way!” You followed, running and jumping off the edge and into the water, followed by Kiri and Tuk.

Once your eyes adjusted underwater, it was the most incredible thing you ever saw. You swam forward, eyes following the fish that swam around you. You then spot the three under, Tsireya swimming backwards, looking at all of you.

You pointed towards them as your siblings followed you. You swam and swam, your muscles started to ache and you knew you were already losing air.

Lo’ak could notice as he gives you a tap on your back, making you look at him as he points upwards.

The four of you reach the surface, gasping and breathing for air as you bobbed up and down in the ocean, your arms swaying to keep yourself afloat. Looking back down, you see Tsireya doing something with her hands, making you tilt your head.

Then she smiles, doing a ‘Come here’ motion with her hand and you understood.

You dove back down again, reaching a much deeper foot. You couldn’t help but let your eyes watch over her form as she gracefully moved underwater, her body swaying as she propelled forward, her hair flowing.

You were stuck looking at her when your brothers once again motioned to come up for air.

‘What’s wrong with them?’ Ao’nung signed underwater to Rotxo.

‘They’re bad divers’ Rotxo replied, signing.

‘Stop’ Tsireya intervened. ‘They’re leaning’

Once they appeared above water, Tsireya’s eyes immediately lock on yours. “Are you alright?” Her gaze lasted on you for a few seconds before switching to the others. “You’re too fast! Wait for us!” Tuk said, wiping her eye.

“Just breathe… breathe.”

You took her command as you inhaled through your nose and exhaled deeply out your mouth. “You’re not good divers, maybe good at swimming through tress—”

Tsireya gives Ao’nung a good smack on the head, making you laugh slightly as her brother’s expression changed.

“What were you doing earlier? I couldn’t understand what you were saying.” You asked Tsireya.

“Yeah, we don’t speak that finger talk you guys are doing.” Neteyam followed. Tsireya looked at you again, her eyes blinking “I will teach you.”

“Wait, where’s Kiri?” Rotxo asked from beside you.

“Who?” Ao’nung said, brows furrowing at his friend.

“Kiri.” Rotxo repeated. You looked around for your sister, she was no where to be found. “Did you see her?” Tsireya’s voice asked.

“No, where could she be?” You asked your siblings.

After finding Kiri and her nearly giving you a death-scare, you all were done for today.

The rest of your siblings walked back to the shore as you found yourself walking a lot slower than to keep up with them. Rotxo and Ao’nung had just left, laughing to themselves as they walked to the other side of the village.

You fixed your hair, wringing out the water, sighing.

“You are… I have not learned your name.” A voice spoke out behind you, making you turn your head.

Tsireya.

You look at her for another second before shaking your head and responding. “(Y/N).” You respond, offering your hand.

Tsireya, again, tilts her head at your motion, looking at your hand then back at you. When realization had set, your eyes widened. Retracting your hand into a fist, and bringing it close towards you, you swore, making yourself look stupid again. “Ah, shit- sorry I- that’s just how I introduce myself… I forget you guys don’t do that…” You said the last part in a mumble, looking everywhere again but her. You absolutely sucked at this.

“No, no. It is okay, how do you do it?” She asked.

Wait, wasn’t she just going to brush it off? You guessed not.

Smiling sheepishly, you gave your hand again. “It’s like this,” Tsireya followed, reaching her hand out, “Well- actually you use the opposite hand.” You shyly corrected her as she lets out an ‘Oh!’

“Then what do we do?” She asked. You couldn’t absolutely believed you were teaching the chief’s daughter on how to shake hands right now.

“If I may?” You ask, looking straight up at her. She nods, yet she was entranced by the glint in your eyes, the sun hit your eye perfectly, almost looking like you had gold in your eyes. However, your other eye was just as blue as the ocean, striking, like a strong wave about to swallow one whole. She was curious, it was getting the best of her. And the way you kept eye contact with her sent tingles running down her spine.

“It goes like this,” You say, inching your hand towards her much bigger one as you tried fitting your hand to hers. Tsireya observed the difference. Your hands were too little, yet she watched earlier how you were able to swim quicker than your brothers. “Uhm- since my hand can’t exactly fit-“ You shyly chuckle, trying to grasp her hand, which now you realized, felt soft and light, and certainly felt cool.

“We take each other’s hand and shake.” You say, holding her hand and slowly shaking it up and down. You then feel Tsireya follow as her hands held yours gently, as if any tighter that the bones in your hand would break, to be honest, it probably would.

“And we introduce ourselves like this,” You smile “It’s nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N).”

Tsireya makes an ‘o’ with her mouth and her eyes, almost, happy that she’s learned something new from you. “It is nice to meet you, I am Tsireya.” She copied, your hands still shaking one another which was sending warmth throughout your body.

“Yes! That’s good, perfect, even.” Your sheepish smile returned, politely breaking the handshake off.

Tsireya then clapped her hands together, smiling widely. “That is great!”

“Yeah, it is, so now we finally know each other.” You say to her, looking up.

“It excites me to know more about you!” Tsireya added out of excitement, but she tones it down, clasping her hands together.

Your jaw hanged lose as your mouth was parted before you smile and nod. “I can’t wait to learn more about you guys too.” You said, subtly making so that you were excited to learn the following lessons, but you were more excited with the fact that she didn’t shove you away like she’s learned with the Sky People, no.

She sought past the tales she’s heard from her parents and the villagers; you were different, she felt and knew that. It didn’t scare her interacting with you, she had hoped that all Sky People may not be as dangerous and destructive as Pandora knew, even Jake, your father was once one of the Sky People and here he is now.

She could sense the determination and gentleness of your heart, you meant no harm, she believed. So, once she shook your hand and felt a certain tingle, she knew you were innocent.

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

The following day.

You were back in the ocean, standing, waiting for something as Ao’nung called for something. Neteyam was carrying Tuk while you and Lo’ak were goofing off again.

“These are Ilu. If you want to live here,” Ao’nung explains “You have to ride.”

You srunched your nose. So much for that. “Yeah, I think I’d sit this one out.”

“Sis, c’mon.” Lo’ak said, looking at you. “Dude, trust me, go for it.” You encouraged your brother. Anyway, you can’t even bond with any creature here on Pandora as much as you’d like to. A painful reminder that what ever you did, you were still human.

So, you watched, still in the water with Tuk as Tsireya guided Lo’ak, while Neteyam was with Ao’nung. “Make the bond gently.” Tsireya commands Lo’ak, he did as what he is told, forming tsaheylu with the ilu.

You watched as the creature squirmed before calming down. “Look at his legs.” The other commented.

“Hold here.” Tsireya guided him.

“Hold on.” The other said.

You watched as your brother took off, you were almost believing in him until you saw him tumble off the creature, making you all laugh.

“Everything all right, forest boy?” One teased.

The lesson kept going and Tuk even got her own little ilu to ride, Neteyam got the hang of it pretty easily as he was now gliding around you with a confident look on his face.

You stayed watching from the sidelines, smiling. Even though you wanted to feel what it felt like, bonding with the various creatures here on Pandora, you could only dream.

“Look, she can’t even do anything.” You then heard their voices again, Ao’nung and his gang.

“That’s because she’s human, what is she even doing here in Pandora? And her eyes are weird.”

“She’s a freak, I bet.”

You tried your best to act like their words weren’t affecting you, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat. So much for feeling welcomed.

Once they focused laughing on Lo’ak once again falling off, you started walking where your feet took you.

“(Y/N)?” You hadn’t realized you were hugging your arms, in a form of keeping yourself together, so you look and spot Tsireya, on her own ilu, you assumed.

“Tsireya, hey… shouldn’t you be with them? Look, Lo’ak’s ilu seems to be getting annoyed at him already.” You say which made the two of you laugh.

“I should, but you are also my student, are you not?” She asked you.

You froze for a moment.

“Yeah… but I kinda don’t have the… requirements for it?” You say, motioning to her bond with the ilu.

Tsireya shakes her head with a ‘tsk’ before opening her mouth. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be a part of it too.” You felt like a plan was already in her head the moment she offered her hand. “Come, I’ll let you ride with me.”

Was- was she serious?!

With your mouth agape, you stare at her in disbelief. “No way, are you- really?”

She laughs at your disbelief, nodding multiple times. “Yes, yes really, (Y/N).”

The way her name rolled off your tongue sounded so heavenly; how could you refuse?

Taking her huge hand, she carefully guides you to sit on the back, the ilu squeaking happily, making your lips curl into a smile, heart warming at the thought of the ilu comfortable with you.

Once you were positioned, Tsireya turns half her body to look at you. “Are you all right?”

You, not knowing where to put your hands, nodded unsurely. “I think I’m good…”

Tsireya senses your doubt before she grabs your hand, placing your arm around her waist, your hand resting on her stomach sending you bouts of electricity through your nerves at how close you two were. “You can hold here, okay?”

Hadn’t had the time to gather courage to reply, you nod.

“Why are you…pink? Do you feel unwell?” Tsireya noticed, although maybe she was just that focused on you.

“Oh no, I’m fine, really.” You reassured her.

“Okay, let’s go? Remember to hold your breath.” Tsireya reminded.

“Yup, noted ma’am.” You absentmindedly reply, making Tsireya giggle that you could almost feel the vibrations on her back from how close you were.

Then you two started moving, being nervous, you suddenly tightened your grip around Tsireya’s waist. Tsireya could feel it and it made her giddy.

You held onto her as the ilu went for a dive, and it started moving faster. You could see other fish duck out of the way as you moved through, the whole ride making you happy. You figured, is this what it felt like for the rest of your siblings? In that moment you felt like you were free, gliding through the ocean.

Then you suddenly come up, to the surface, you breathe out as you blinked.

“That was- wow that was fun Tsireya!” You said, giving her a toothy grin. Tsireya smiles with you, her hand reaching to touch yours that was still on her waist. “I told you (Y/N).”

She did. The feeling of her hand on yours was enough to make your heart race again. What were you feeling? Why were you acting like this around her? You wanted to give yourself a smack on the head.

While you and Tsireya were having fun on her ilu, the rest of your siblings plus the others watched on theirs.

“Bro, look.” Neteyam said, tapping Lo’ak on the chest and pointing at the two of you.

Lo’ak spots you enjoying, and he couldn’t be happier for you, in a way, you were also able to experience what they did. But this time, they could already tell that you, their sister, had already grown a crush.

But for Ao’nung and his gang, he wasn’t having it as he stared daggers at your back. There is no way he’d let his sister be with someone, let alone one of the Sky People!

When the day had ended, you felt like you’ve grown closer with Tsireya than before, sharing what it was like to live in the other’s world.

“Your world’s more pleasant though, even if I hadn’t been to earth and basically grew up here.”

Tsireya nods, looking at you as you pat her ilu who nudged its head against yours. It was funny, the ilu was much larger than you yet it fell to your touch. “I am very glad you like it here.” Tsireya smiles.

“Definitely.” You say.

“But do you ever miss the forest?” Tsireya suddenly asked. Your face dropped suddenl before switching to its neutral expression.

She felt like that question crossed the line as your face dropped. She frowned, already feeling guilty that she had once reminded you of your own home. She reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I should not have asked.”

You look up at her, giving a pursed smile. “It’s fine, but yes, I do miss it… kinda miss jumping over vines and branches-“ You joked in hopes of making her also feel better. “But you know? It’s fun here, you know why? Because you’re the first person here to ever look at me like I’m just- a person. Not a demon or a freak due to my eyes…”

Tsireya pouted again, rubbing your shoulder in comfort. “You are not like what they say Sky People are, you are different.”

You smile at her, not having realized the ilu has left and that it was the two of you standing in the ocean.

“Thank you, Tsireya.”

[oblongblockofsteel]

On a small patch of wildflowers 2

Bill wants answers from Trelawny.

Part One

He stares at the tree line for what feels like days. His mind running a mile a minute, his heart seemingly trying to catch up with how fast it’s beating.

B. W.

Bill Williamson.

Trelawny likes him. The thought alone sends a burst of vertigo through his head, and on instinct his hand reaches out to grab a tree, head still spinning as he steadies himself. Trelawny likes him. It don’t seem right. Like the start of a bad joke, one that they’re about to spring on him any second.

He stares at the pocketknife.

It’s a damned expensive joke.

“I bought this for him when he'd needed one three years ago, I'd fancied the idea of giving it to him and declaring my undying love.”

And like a brittle twig, his anger snaps, whirling through him in a blaze burning up all good will as his mind slips in the pieces. Love? Fuck that man he’s absolutely fucking with me! Trying ta make fun of me! Just another joke –

That gets Bill moving. Through the trees, between the bushes and out he bursts into the camp. The sun is setting, casting the world in those bright golds and reds. Around him the gang is getting ready for dinner, bustling between tents and fire, chattering and laughing. But he can’t see Trelawny. Getting an inclination he storms to the man’s bedroll. It’s up the slope, to left and –

It’s empty. Bag is missing, as is that fine blanket the man seems to carry with him wherever he goes. Bill gnashes his teeth, his hand tightening around the pocketknife tight enough to bite into his skin.

“Hey, Bill where’s the fi– hey!“

He shoves past Morgan and heads straight for the horses. His heart pounding, hands sweating, if that snake has left –

“He thinks I’m a snake.”

Shoving the thought down, he marches on, past a startled Javier –

And finds Trelawny just sliding his foot into the stirrup, ready to mount up.

“Trelawny!” he yells, startling a few birds from their perches. He can feel the eyes of the gang on him, but he doesn’t care. Trelawny yanks his foot out of the stirrup and quickly backs up. But there is no fear in his eyes, they seem almost expressionless.

“Yes, Mr Willi-ah!”

Grabbing the man by the arm he drags him away from the horses and deep into the trees where he knows the others won’t find them. Far from patrols, from prying eyes and curious ears, and if they want to find him, and they most likely will, he’ll blow their faces off.

A good forty paces he marches them both, hand gripping hard enough to bruise, to leave marks on his skin, but Bill doesn’t care. His anger is only mounting with each step. Yanking hard on his arm, he practically tosses Trelawny forward, watching the man stumble and grab for a tree to stop from falling. And then he’s storming up to him like a raging bull, his nostrils flared, and chest puffed. With a sharp move he sticks the pocketknife under the man’s nose and –

“This some kind of joke?”

It’s really the only thing he’s been able to think of. It has to be some kind of perverse joke to make him do something stupid. Everyone knows Bill Williamson is fun to tease and to rile up, cause you always get a damned reaction.

Trelawny looks at the pocketknife then back at Bill, “Will it make you feel better or worse if I tell you it is?”

His other hand grabs Trelawny’s jacket without thought, pulling the man close enough to see the flecks of blue in his green eyes, “Don’t you fucking start! What’s your damn angle, Trelawny!”

“I do not have an –“

“Bullshit!” both hands curl into his lapels, wrinkling the fine material, “You always got some kinda fucking angle, a con, a deal, a lie, a trick, and I wanna know what the fuck you’re trying to pull!”

“I like you, Mr Williamson, that’s all there is to it.”

“Oh! So you like me do ya?” His anger warps, plucking at that dark corner of his mind that often rears its head when he’s angry enough. When he becomes spiteful, daring, ugly and murderous.

“Wanna be my sweetheart? Cuddle up at night? Make me feel good?”

Trelawny’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. Taking a firmer grip on his jacket Bill grins, pressing Trelawny against the tree hard enough to make him wince.

“Then I guess you’ll just love this, won’t you Josiah?”

In the next instant he leans in and slams their mouths together. It’s stiff, and soft, and tastes like peppermint. But Bill is smiling, satisfied and waiting for him to yank away, to spit and curse at him for being so stupid. To prove to him once and for all that –

Oh.

Trelawny kisses back with a fervor that catches him off guard and he stumbles back a little, but Trelawny follows, hands now curling around his shoulders, dragging him back in against him and Bill is suddenly pressed up against his chest. Their mouths meet again wet, slick and rough, sending pulses of delicious want down to his groin.

It’s been too long, he thinks, his hands sliding up to Trelawny’s neck to feel the texture of his skin. Trelawny moans soft and sweet, his mouth sliding over his own, pulling away for a sharp breath and leans back in –

Bill turns away abruptly, stumbling back, his eyes wide, anger blown away in the aftershock of such a bombshell.

“Satisfied?” Trelawny asks, voice hard but eyes soft, almost contented. It’s too soft, too much sweetness. Bill shakes his head and staggers back another few steps.

“You’re a damned snake, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told, Mr Williamson.”

“Fuck you, Trelawny! Jumping this on someone is damned messed up!” The anger pulses and all he can think of is to shout, “You never said anything!”

Trelawny doesn’t answer right away, a rare instance where the conman seems to be at a loss, but Bill is too riled up to appreciate it. “I never even considered that you would have reciprocated.”

“I wouldn’t and I don’t!”

Trelawny shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as if the situation was as irksome as waiting for a train that’s a little late. “Like I said, I never considered it.”

Bill marches a few paces, stops then turns back. Trelawny is watching him, the softness from before completely vanished.

“It makes no goddamned sense!” he finally settles for, grasping at the first thought that flies by. “You expect me to believe that you, a stinkin’ cockroach that rubs shoulders with high society, likes me?” he laughs, mirthless and bitter, “A big old bastard who can get real fucking nasty?”

Again, Trelawny shrugs, “Believe what you will, the pocketknife should be evidence enough.”

His eyes snap down to said pocketknife. It’s glittering in the dying sun, catching the fine feature of the bear standing by the water. The eyes are now golden. It’s still as beautiful and intricate as it was ten minutes ago when it was pushed into his hands. His anger dims, leaving him with a feeling of something he can’t quite identify. But it’s warm, and flutters in his chest.

Bill frowns, rubs his brow –

“Kieran likes you, Bill.”

Bill’s head shoots up, his heart hammering. Trelawny, arms now crossed is staring at the ground expression hidden by shadows.

“What?” Bill manages.

When Trelawny speaks again his voice is softer than Bill has ever remembered hearing it. “After he left you, he was quite distraught. I bumped into the lad, and he told me what had happened. He was quite upset, you see, because he felt like he’d ruined it.”

No, that can’t be right. Kieran had told him…

“He told me he don’t feel that way about me.” He manages, voice cracking at the edge as the memory tightens around his heart.

“Because he’s terrified,” Trelawny sighs, “You are a force to be reckoned with when you are having one of your gnashes. When you’re drunk, when you feel someone has slighted you. You are a bastard, Bill Williamson. He’s willing, but terrified of what a relationship with you would entail.”

“I’d never hurt him…”

“He doesn’t know that! All he knows is what he sees, and what he sees is a man quick to anger with a chip on his shoulder.”

“Well, gee thanks.” Bill sneers, “Glad to know what you see in me.”

Trelawny shrugs, waving a dismissive hand, “It’s what he sees,” he tucks a hand into his pocket, the other now used to gesture, “And it’s up to you to get him to see past that, see you for the man you are! Not the one you’ve molded yourself into through bitterness, resentment and drink.”

The words flash another burst of anger straight through him, and Bill steps closer, slamming a finger into the man’s chest. “Fuck you Trelawny! I still wanna know what’s your fucking angle! You just telling me this out of the goodness of your heart?”

Trelawny stares intently at his finger. Bill glances down and quickly removes it.

“I do wish to see you happy for once,” he says after a pause, “and Kieran might be that catalyst you need.”

Bill snorts, “So you don’t mind me fucking other men then?”

Trelawny looks away, and when next he speaks it feels measured, almost tight. “It’s not about what I want, it’s what’s best for the both of you.”

Bill has no idea how to respond to that. What even could he say? The man just confessed a three year old crush, just handed him a pocketknife worth a good deal of money and now he’s pushing him into the arms of someone else because ‘it’s best for him’.

What the fuck could he even say to that? It’s love if he’s ever been a judge, if Trelawny is being honest then that must be love. With a hard sigh, Bill walks a few paces glaring at the ground. How does one even handle something like this?

Should he accept?

Should he give the knife back?

Watching the sun glitter over the silver, a thought begins to niggle at him. It’s been waving at him for a while now, trying to get his attention through his anger and suspicion. Coming to a stop a few feet from Trelawny, he turns a hard glare on him.

“If you like me so much, why the hell didn’t you ever take the damn time ta get to know me? You just said it’s what I should do! Why didn’t you?”

Trelawny surprises him with a burst of laughter, “I did, I tried many times.” Bill stares at him, his anger dissipating under the rush of confusion.

“I often would try and sit with you by the fire, but you were quick to get up and leave when the others had left.” He clears his throat, “I asked Dutch to pair us up and you well, complained so much that Dutch stopped me from asking again. Then I ah, tried to talk you from time to time around camp, but you were always damned eager to be out of my company. After around two years of this, I just stopped trying.”

A sharp heat rushes over his cheeks, and he looks away. He remembers that. He remembers his own discomfort of being seen with Trelawny, remembers thinking how much he hates spending time with him. Remembers when he went and complained to Dutch that he hates going on jobs with that ‘goddamned snake’. If he was honest it was never anything Trelawny did, it was more just being associated with a man that had such a poor reputation in the gang – making him in turn look worse than he already had. He feels sick…

He gets angry instead.

“That’s your own Goddamned fault for being such a nuisance!” Bill snarls. He’s ticked off, feeling scruffy and vulnerable and he wants to beat someone, and Trelawny is standing right there. But the words felt tainted on his tongue, heavy and difficult to spit out.

 “It ain my fault that you were such a fucking …” he hesitates.

“Snake?”

“Fuck you!”

Trelawny laughs, and pats him lightly on the shoulder, pulling back quickly as if he doesn’t want to bother him. “I know, Bill. You didn’t know, and you don’t feel the same way, I can’t make you think differently, but that’s my problem. Just don’t leave Kieran for too long, the lad won’t wait forever.”

“You did.”

Trelawny freezes as if stung, and Bill instantly regrets letting that slip. “Sorry.”

Another brusque wave of the hand, but it feels sharper. “C'est la vie, but now you can give Kieran the chance to get to know you. To see in you what I do.”

The words swirl into him, landing in his chest and blooming outwards like a large pulse or wave rushing over the rubble of his soul. What does he see in me?

Trelawny clears his throat. “In any event, I believe we’ve each said our piece. I am sorry for dropping this on you, but at least you can –“

“What do you see in me?”

Trelawny freezes, the sun catches parts of his face making his expression downright murderous. The words had shot out without much thought or consent, but Bill had to know. Why someone actually liked him. Not as a joke or a few dollars pressed into a silky hand, but why they liked Bill. He had to know, what in the world could a man like Trelawny even sees in him. What had he done right?

 “Not for your social graces,” He says, voice hard. “You can be a bull in a China shop, and your insecurities can turn you into a petty, vicious man.”

Bill’s fists curl up into hammers, but he swallows and then nods, feeling his chest expand in an almost painful way. What had he expected? He shouldn’t have assaulted and attacked the man. But then, Trelawny shouldn’t have jumped this shit on him.

The shadows lengthen further as the sky darkness, swallowing the warm reds and leaving them in that cold ugly part of dusk where the colours become muted and soft. Fitting, he thinks. First he gets rejected and now he loses a man that actually liked him.

Idiot.

“It’s fine, I’ll just –“

“But certainly for your fire.” Trelawny cuts him off.

He glances up, heart racking up in beats. Trelawny, arms crossed behind his back is staring off at the bleak horizon.

“I like you because you are stronger and fiercer thank you know. Your doubt cripples you, a constant need to be what others want you to be, to fit in, to be accepted. But when you forget yourself? You are a sight to behold.”

The wind whispers, beyond the trees he’s vaguely aware of the bustle of camp but it barely registers, all sound and life fading away as his whole being focuses on Trelawny.

“You can be …fiery and fantastical, few can match your skill in battle. I’ve seen you blast a man’s face off at fifty paces with a pistol that should have been in a museum.” He smiles, faint and soft, “I also remember how little you cared of achieving that fantastical feat, as if it was a day as any other.”

“So, you just like the way I fight?”

“I like the way you are,” he says, now finally looking at him, eyes again that sweet softness that makes Bill’s throat go dry. “I like your candor and vigour, your honesty which is a breath of fresh air in a life of cons and lies. I like the fact that you care about this camp, so much so that I have seen you give up food to ensure others will eat.”

Bill flushes for the second time that night. At the time he thought no one had noticed. It had been a bad time for the gang, a drought had struck the land and soon after they couldn’t find a rabbit to shoot. He’d take his food to his tent, wait a few hours and then go back to scrape it back into the pot, giving someone else the chance to grab a bite should they need it.

“Your wish for comradery is endearing, despite how you protest about how much we mean to you, and I know for a fact that if anyone in this band of merry men was in trouble, you would race to their aide. Even myself, despite what you think of me.”

Of course I would, Bill swallows down the words.

“I care about you Bill Williamson, because despite that bastard exterior, when you stop caring about what other people think, there is a sweetness in you that’s too hard not to… care about, and a strength I can’t help but admire.”

The soft hum of the forest settles around them, and in the silence Bill realizes he’s practically panting. Taking a deep breath, it shudders out from his lungs in a jagged sigh. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest, but handled like a fine porcelain doll. He feels raw, torn open, bleeding but the kind of bleeding that’s good, that lets the ugliness out.

It hurts, but it’s a good kind of hurt.

And he wants to stay there. He wants to stay in this little bubble where someone is telling him that he’s wonderful, like he matters, like he’s not just a dumb fuck with more muscle than brains.

He wants to treasure it, to keep it forever.

A gentle takes his own in his, lifting it to wrap his fingers properly around the pocketknife. And Bill presses hand over his eyes to hold back what he hopes isn’t tears.

“Go to Kieran,” Trelawny says, voice rougher than before, still soft and sweet. “And go and show him the man I know you are.”

“I … waiting … tell me the ….”

 “Mm?”

Another hard breath and Bill finds his voice, “I keep waiting for you to tell me what the joke is.”

A wry smile comes as answers, “No joke,” he pats his hand. “Perhaps a little foolishness on my part for jumping this on you, but no joke.” He pauses, fingers still wrapped around his fist. Bill can feel the texture of his hands, the heat from his body –

And then they fall away, and all he can feel is their impression still burning on his skin. He swallows again, feeling lost.

“I am very sorry for dropping this on you, dear boy,” he shakes his head, “I could have handled it better, to be sure.”

“It’s fine, no one’s ever…” and his mouth slams shut as embarrassment washes over him. No has ever desired him like this. Never like this. “It’s fine.”

Trelawny eyes him for a moment, as if searching for something, and then nods satisfied. “Good. Now I must be on my way. I wish you luck with Kieran!”

Bill glances around; the sun has died, leaving them in the murky dusk. “It’s getting dark,”

“Gwydion knows the way.”

“But it’s dangerous out on the roads.”

Trelawny snorts and steps around him, “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was thirteen, I can handle myself. And you’d be surprised how far you can get with a pen knife! Good evening to you!”

He swaggers off to the tree line, confident and comfortable, as if riding at the dead of night is ordinary. That’s what I like about you, he thinks suddenly, you’re tougher than you look. And despite what others say, you really care about us.

He wonders if he’s always seen that or just tonight.

“Oh, and Mr Williamson.”

He startles and looks up, Trelawny is bathed in moonlight, his eyes shining and bright. For a moment he looks ethereal, Bill’s heart begins to race.

“In my experience, when something bothers me to the extent that I feel ashamed of it,” he runs a hand over his own hair, greasing it back, deliberate and firm, “I get rid of it.”

And with a quick bow he disappears between the trees, leaving Bill pondering a lot more then Kieran Duffy. His fist curls lightly around the pocketknife, and he feels the sudden sting of loss.

A/N I was surprised by the positive feedback for the first part, so I decided to write up a second. I'd love to know if this worked or not and get some honest feedback, as it was a surprisingly difficult piece to get down. Thank you! ♥

[windmill-ghost]

Me finding out about a widely-loathed video game character nearly a decade out from his last appearance

[cruelsuhmer]

syzygy

This is a repost of one of the fics from my previous blog. I am the original author of this fic and thus have full permission to post it here. Minor revisions have been made.

word count: 1.6k

pairings: johnny x reader x jaehyun

genre & au: beach au

warnings: cursing, implied/referenced sex acts, implied polyamory

a/n: inspired by the johnjae w korea shoot. thank you romeo and juliet (1996) for saving my life.

syz·y·gy (n.) - the nearly straight-line configuration of three celestial bodies (such as the sun, moon, and earth during a solar or lunar eclipse) in a gravitational system.

Having grown up on the beach, you’ve seen plenty of strong, sun-kissed, shirtless guys in your life. But none like these two.

No one you’ve seen can even compare to these two.

You’ve never seen them before, likely a pair of vacationers, some out-of-state summer surfers looking to spend some time in the sun and the waves before having to head back to the mainland. It makes you almost sad, knowing your time to—not ogle, you’re more respectful than that, but at least... get to look at the two is limited.

“You should talk to them,” a voice—your friend—says from beside you suddenly, making you jump and nearly knock over your water bottle.

“What?” you ask, a hand automatically coming up to rub at your arm. “No. Nah. They know what they’re doing. See?” You motion to the pair, one of them already in the water, the other unbuttoning his shirt, his friend’s shirt tucked under his arm. Your hand gives another jab in their direction, as if you’re really driving your point home, but your friend just raises a brow.

“The one on the board just fell off,” she says, making you turn around to see him rising out of the water like Aphrodite, just... male... and not in a shell. And just shirtless. Not naked. Fuck. You nearly snap your neck with how fast you turn back to your friend.

“So? Maybe it’s windy.” Why are you defending him? Why are you avoiding talking to him? He’s a total stranger. Just hot. So what? Lots of hot people go to the beach. It’s fine. It’s—before you can get too caught up in your thoughts, a breeze flows through the small hut the two of you are standing in. “It is windy.”

“You know damn well that pathetic little huff isn’t enough to send a grown man off his board.” And she’s right. “Go talk to them. See if they need help, or something.”

You groan, echoing, “or something,” but give in. You feel undeserving of being in their presence honestly, but at this point, it’s not even a matter of personal attraction, you’re just doing your job. As you trudge over to the pair, you’re so in your own head that you completely miss the plastic shovel sticking out of the ground, catching on your flip-flop and sending you tumbling forward...

... right into the warm chest and strong arms of one of the hot vacationers. Fuck.

Near immediately you lean back, shoe still caught on the shovel, making you attempt to kick it off as discreetly as you can. It only makes the plastic drag against your skin. You hiss before realizing the guy still hasn’t let you go. While normally this would make you uncomfortable as hell, your discomfort at the shovel makes you instead simply take advantage of the situation, gripping at the man’s arms and using him as leverage, finally managing to get the shovel away from both your shoe and you. When you look up at the vacationer, he’s staring down at you with wide, honey-brown eyes.

“Uh,” he says.

“Your friend fell off his board,” you reply. One of your hands reluctantly lets go of a defined bicep to point at the water.

He whips his head around to see Hot Vacationer #2 now walking back to shore, water and sweat making his tanned skin glow in the sunlight.

“I was wondering if you two need help,” you continue, taking a step back, the other’s arms falling to his sides as he turns back around. “I... don’t actually know how to surf, definitely don’t know how to teach it, but I can get you someone who can.”

“That’d be nice,” the vacationer says. “Really, we’re here for pictures—my camera is in the car right now, actually—but we wanted to see if we could actually... you know, surf before we get that aesthetic.”

“You’re here to take pictures,” you echo, now looking between the two, the other finally walking on the sand, making his way steadily over to you and his friend. “Okay. So was that a... yes to learning how to surf or...?”

The vacationer is silent as you stare at him for another second before he turns to call out to his friend: “Jaehyun! Do you want to actually surf?”

“I just tried!” Jaehyun calls back. His voice softens as he gets closer. “It didn’t work.”

“I know someone who can teach you,” you tell him, making his eyes immediately move over to you. You take a step back at the natural intensity of his gaze, and thank you of the past for completely moving the shovel away from you, knowing that you would’ve tripped over it again had you not. “I was just asking...,” you trail off, not knowing the other’s name.

“Johnny,” he says. “Hi.”

“Y/N,” you reply before looking back to Jaehyun. “I was asking if you two wanted to learn.”

“Will you be the teacher?” Jaehyun asks, and you shake your head. Jaehyun glances to Johnny before shrugging. “I can go without them. We’re just taking pictures, right, John?”

The two of you look back at Johnny, who’s staring at some point over your shoulder—definitely not you, only breaking out of it when Jaehyun clears his throat. “Oh, uh, ha ha, yeah.”

Ack. You swallow. He has a really cute laugh. Okay.

“So, no?” you ask, one last time, just to be sure.

Jaehyun nods, and Johnny nods too, so you give them a smile, pivoting, ready to head back to the hut, content that you could stand next to them, even hold a conversation with them, but then Jaehyun calls you back.

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Actually, Johnny and I were thinking...,” he smiles, and you’ll deny it to anyone who asks, but you definitely lose your breath at the sight, trying not to faint at the appearance of deep dimples, “well, we’re going to be in town for at least a few more days, so maybe we’ll be back, you know?”

You nod, not entirely sure where this is going. When you glance at Johnny, all he does is smile, and you hope they assume the blush on your cheeks is... fucking sunburn or something.

Jaehyun continues: “So we were wondering if maybe you could give us your number? That way we can just give you a call if we change our minds about the lessons.”

Your throat is completely dry, heart pounding in your chest. Something doesn’t add up in his explanation, but maybe it’s the heat clouding your intellect, and you find yourself nodding and accepting their phones, putting your number in both. When you’re done, you give them a final smile. “All good, then?”

Johnny hums, locking his phone and slipping it into his shorts’ pocket. “Yup! Thanks a ton, Y/N.”

You give a small laugh. “Yeah. No problem.” You nod at Jaehyun, who simply smiles back, eyes squinting, and not only the already-breathtaking dimples appearing, but also (holy shit) whisker ones. You turn away, giving a little wave to the pair after you do. You don’t know if they wave back as you hightail it back to the hut where your friend stands inside still, grinning.

“What was that little phone thing, there?” she asks as soon as you reach her.

“Fuck off,” you answer, breathless, glancing behind you to see Jaehyun and Johnny nudging each other and laughing. “Shit.”

Your friend laughs, bright and loud. “This is too good.” She grips the edge of the counter tight. “What’d they say? They want to run a train on you?”

“What the fuck?” you immediately snap, though all the words manage to do is send even more heat to your cheeks. “No. They didn’t. They said they’d call me if they decide they do want lessons.”

“So that’s what they’re calling it nowadays,” your friend jokes, and you send her a desperate look, begging with your eyes for her to please stop. “Okay, okay,” she finally says, “I’m done.”

You let out a breath.

“But you really should’ve seen the way they looked at you. There was no way they had pure intentions in mind.”

Fuck.

The next day, you get a call from an unknown number.

“Hey,” the voice on the other side says, familiar, “it’s Johnny.”

“Oh,” you straighten up, fiddling with the hem of your loose t-shirt, “did you change your mind about the lessons?”

There’s a pause before you hear Johnny let out a breath. “Actually,” he begins, “we were wondering if you’d want to... hang out later? Or something?”

So that’s what they’re calling it nowadays, your friend’s joke from before echoes in your head. Shit.

It’s nothing like you—you’d never agree to meet up with two guys you’ve just met, but at the same time, this is too good of an opportunity to waste.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

A beat, and then what sounds like Jaehyun speaking, Johnny’s voice mixing with his as they talk over each other. You close your eyes for the briefest of seconds, wondering what you’ve just signed up for. Wasn’t it them who were supposed to be signing up for things?

“We’ll see you later, then,” Jaehyun’s voice comes clear through the speaker. “Sorry about the lessons, but this seems better, don’t you think?”

Holy shit. You agree, though.

The last thing you hear is Johnny saying be there or be square and a second of Jaehyun’s laughter before the call ends, leaving you with red cheeks and a racing heart, ready for whatever the rest of the day holds.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the events portrayed in this story are fictional and do not reflect on the actual people written about. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended.

[missdawnandherdusk]

Slytherin!Muggleborn X Draco Extensive Dating Headcanons

requested by the ever lovely @mimsyisgianna​

A/n: Hi, this is super long and I’m in love with it.

oh this is going to be fun

As a muggle born you have absolutely no idea what’s going on 

But you guess magic is cool? And your parents said that you don’t have to stay at Hogwarts if you’d rather a muggle school and forget all of the magic stuff

Which quells your anxiety a bit

Then there’s this asshole

Draco Lucius Malfoy: arrogant asshole extraordinaire, even as an eleven year old

You’re over his entire personality in about 0.2 seconds and you haven’t even talked to him yet

So maybe this magic thing wasn’t for you, because good god these purebloods are awful

Then you’re in the same House as Draco and you really just want to go home, but you decide you can try it for a semester and you shouldn’t let some prissy rich boy ruin your fun

Because, well magic is a lot of fun--and you’re pretty good at it

There are a few other half-bloods and muggle born in Slytherin, not many, but enough that you don’t feel alone

And maybe you become best friends with a muggle born hufflepuff who lives up the road from you back home

Draco, on the other hand, has made it his personal mission to make sure that you know you don’t belong at Hogwarts and you definitely don’t belong in Slytherin

he tells you as much. in so many words. in front of the entire great hall

You’re not hurt, you’re livid

“You know what you’re right!” You snap back, “I’d rather be anywhere but here with your vain racist arrogant ass!”  

The entire Hall goes quiet and Snape breaks the two of you up

Now you both have detention together on Saturday 

Draco yells something about his father hearing about this and you roll your eyes and go back to your dorm, dinner forgotten

Detention with Snape could be worse. All you’re doing it organizing potions ingredients onto the shelves 

“That doesn’t go there,” You point to the misplaced vial of newt. “Yes it does,” Draco snaps, “Don’t tell me what to do little mudblood,” 

“Don’t call me mudblood, asshole. Newt goes over there,” You point to a different shelf. “With the rest of the reptile related ingredients,” 

You and Draco stare each other down, both convinced you’re right. You scoff and go back to your own ingredients letting him be wrong. It didn’t matter to you. 

Draco would never admit that you were right. But you were. 

You smirk at him when Snape points out the mistake

Since you’re Slytherin, it’s unavoidable that sometimes Draco is your partner in class

You mostly ignore him and try to focus on the professor, but sometimes he gets under your skin and you just want to deck him in his perfect face

“That’s not how...” “Good lord Draco how are you still alive...” Draco that’s not what the professor said...” “What in the world are you doing?” “I don’t think that’s how...” “He said 1354CE not 1435CE,” 

“I don’t need a mudblood telling me what to do,” He always snaps. 

“What about a Slytherin?” You fire back. He never has an answer to that. 

It’s the end of first year and late one night after exams and you’re alone in the Common Room, staring at the murky lake water outside the stained glass, well almost alone. 

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear him the first time he speaks to you

“Oi, Y/n,” He calls. It was the first time he ever used your name. It caught your attention. 

“I’m not really in the mood,” You hug your knees barely glancing at him. “I’m sure Hermione is somewhere in a library if you want a mudblood to taunt.” 

“I’m here as a Slytherin actually,” He leans against the wall adjacent to the window seat. “How were exams?” 

You shrug. “Fine. I guess.” Sighing you rest your head against the wall, closing your eyes. “Mom thinks I should go back home... go to a normal--muggle,” You mend, “school, and give up all this magic stuff,” 

“What?” He demands. “Why would you do something so... so stupid?” 

This time you do look at him, confused. Sure, he had called you a lot of things and mocked you more times than you could count but they had always been about your blood status, never about you inkling to leave this magical world. 

“It’s not stupid!” You argue back. “How--all year you’ve given me hell for not belonging and now that I might actually want to go, you’re telling me no!?” 

You don’t let him say a word, instead you rush down the hall and to your room, slamming the door shut and locking the door, confusing your roommate, but she sees the tears in your eyes and decides not to question it. 

Draco sort of hates himself for making you cry, but he can’t quite figure out why. He can’t figure out why the thought of you leaving for good bothered him so much. His friends couldn’t figure out why he cared so much. And neither could he. 

You’re not at the End Of Year feast, nor on the train back to King’s Cross, and Draco gets really worried that you have left for good. 

The more he thinks about it over the summer, the more he thinks that you weren’t so bad for a mudblood. And maybe sometimes you were actually brilliant. And maybe you’re the only one who can see right through him and yet you still help him when you can even though he’s stubborn about it. And maybe you did belong in the Wizarding world with him.

But he had to go and screw all of that up. 

He does a double take when he sees you September 1st with a few other Slytherins on the Hogwarts Express. 

“You came back,” He blurts out. “You can’t get rid of me that easy Malfoy,” You grin at him. 

You still snap at each other but now it’s more of an inside joke rather than malicious. It’s a game that you both like playing. 

“Happy now Y/l/n,” Draco grumbles after you correct him in front of the entire class. “Ever so more, now that you’re put off Malfoy,” You laugh. 

Boy does Draco freak out when he hears that mudb-muggle borns are the target when the chamber of secrets is opened

Now he’s constantly worried about you and still doesn’t know why. He chalks it up to “you’re a slytherin and slytherins take care of their own,” 

Not that he cares about any other slytherin muggle born, just you

Not that he admits that to himself either

So maybe he stalks you a bit in second year. You notice but shrug it off. Draco’s weird, that wasn’t new info to you. 

This year you go to Quidditch games, one because Draco mentioned he was the new Seeker, and two... well, why not? 

You go to one, then swear them off. Good lord they’re dangerous and give you unnecessary anxiety. Especially the amount of times people get hurt. Magic or not, you didn’t want to watch that. 

After the first match that Draco sees you there, he always looks for you in the crowd again, but never sees you. It throws off his focus more than he cared to admit

he liked showing off to you okay?

He finds you in the common room after one victory, enjoying the party with your friends. You wave at him and after a while congratulate him on catching the snitch. It’s blushing and awkward but then Pansy comes and draws Draco’s attention and you can barely get out goodbye

The fact that you’re a muggleborn hardly bothers him anymore. You’re just... you. 

After one particularly aggravating quidditch match you find him afterwards, sulking in the library. 

“Draco?” You ask, confusion in your voice. 

“Go away,” He grumbles, more or less hiding behind his book. 

“I heard about what happened today...” 

“And you’ve come to mock me, brilliant,” 

“No,” you offer a smile. “Though the thought is appealing... I was wondering if you were okay,” 

“I’m fine,” He snaps, taken aback that you came to check on him. No one did that. Ever. 

The summer still gives him anxiety because there’s always the possibility that you won’t come back to Hogwarts the next year. And Draco can’t have that

But his fears are put to rest when your in his train compartment that next year (you have the same friends after all--and Slytherins stick together)

You notice that Draco’s wearing his hair a bit different this year and maybe he’s a bit taller...

and you have no idea what feeling is in your chest because of it. was it nervousness? No... was different... but what was it?

You shrug mentally and the game is on again with Draco. 

“I was going to insult you but it seems like you’re doing just fine on your own,” You grin and Draco is livid. And it makes you laugh. He’s just so cute when he’s mad.

“I can see that you’re failing at attempting to mock me Y/l/n,” Draco smirks. “Oh you’re completely right,” You smile innocently, and Draco’s eyes widen because did you just say he was right?. “I’m not attempting, I’m succeeding at mocking you.” You giggle and make a face at him before heading down the hall with your friends. 

and maybe Draco’s heart skips a beat

Animosity between the Gryffindors and Slytherin is real and even though you’re a muggle born the self righteous golden children don’t seem to care

Hi Dracos protective of you

“You don’t have to defend me. I’m just fine on my own,” you huff one day after class. “Slytherin take care of their own,” Draco shrugs and walks off.

Did Draco just call you a Slytherin genuinely? Did he just call you one of his own?? What the f—

Okay but Buckbeak terrifies you?? Like sure horses you could do but this??

Draco laughs at your apprehension before he realizes what you really are terrified and ducking behind him and the other Slytherin.

Hagrid picks you to come forward and greet Buckbeak and you can’t seem to get out the words “no thank you”

Draco, being over dramatic and now protective goes forward instead (you know the scene) and despite your fear of Buckbeak you’re scolding Draco that he’s going to get hurt if he doesn’t do it properly

Then he does get hurt

“It’s killed me!” He cries and you have to laugh, crouching down beside him.

“You’re fine drama queen,” you help him up and take him to Pomfrey. “Thanks,” you whisper as his arm is getting wrapped.

“Sure, I save you from a bloody chicken and all I get is a thanks?” He grumbles.

You rest your hand on his and your eyes meet.

“Thank you,” you say softly and boy does Draco melt on the spot

He still scoffs and plays it off. “Whatever,”

The same thing happens again with the boggarts but this time the roles are switched. Draco is terrified to go up but you’re pretty brave and reckless for a Slytherin

But holy heck does this backfire

Because your Boggart is Draco...

“You don’t belong here and you never will! You filthy little mudblood! Just go home and don’t come back! No one wants you here!”

You can’t manage the spell—because honestly you didn’t expect it to be that—and Lupin has to rescue you and you rush out of the room, tears in your eyes and everyone is just staring at Draco.

As you can imagine, things get pretty bad. Draco avoids and ignores you to the best of his ability because he had no idea how scared you were of him... sure maybe a little bit... but to be your greatest fear? It didn’t sit well with him. 

And you figure out pretty quick why that was your boggart but you don’t know if you can admit it to anyone. 

Until Lupin pulls you aside after class one day to ask if you’re okay and if Malfoy is giving you any trouble about being a muggleborn. 

“I can give him detention,” Lupin offers. “Maybe it’ll straighten him out.” 

“Stars, no!” You gasp. “Professor, please, Draco’s never...” You can’t exactly say he’s never said that, because he did, in first year. “It’s not for the reason you think, but Draco really... it’s not...” You don’t know how to explain without telling Lupin the entire thing. 

“Alright,” Lupin appeases. “But if you have any trouble with anyone, you come to me you understand?” 

You nod and leave, accidentally running into Draco in the hall. He barely looks at you before rushing off again. 

“Draco, wait!” You call. “Please,” 

Apprehensively he pauses and turns to face you. He waits for there to be fear in your eyes, but all he can see is desperation and sadness. 

“I thought you were afraid of me,” He meant it as a snarky reply, but it comes out broken. 

“No,” You shake your head. Biting your lip you decide to tell him why he’s your boggart. “You’re... you’re the only one I... I trust enough to believe... if you told me I didn’t belong... It only scares me if it comes from you,” 

“What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with that!?” He demands. 

You shrug, sighing thinking about the same. “I don’t know... I’m sorry Draco,” You turn and walk down the hall. 

It’s gone from bad to worse because not the awkward tension between you two is tangible and about every Slytherin is over it. So are most of the other students but they don’t have to live with you two. 

Draco barely sleeps at night. He’s just thinking about how he actually said that to you in first year and how you still held onto his words. He never meant for them to hurt you that badly. At least now he didn’t mean it. 

Then there was the matter of what you had explained to him. That he was the only one who could hurt you with those words. Because you trust him? Why the hell would you trust him? Why was it him of all people? 

Maybe his thoughts shifted to the panic in your eyes the day with Buckbeak, or the smile when you helped him off the ground, or the gentle kindness in your eyes when you thanked him in the infirmary. 

Or maybe it was the determination in your eyes when you volunteered yourself to face the boggart so he didn’t have to. 

Or maybe it was every taunt and tease that had you both smiling and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Every name calling, every insult. 

Maybe it was the day he saw you at King’s Cross, telling him that he couldn’t get rid of you that easily and grinning at him like it was some sort of inside joke. 

Or maybe it was the soft apology you gave him for the mess you were in.

You didn’t really talk for the rest of the year, but the tension seemed to ease after Draco’s epiphany that night. You smile at him and he waves to you in the halls... it’s nice. It’s friends. 

Draco still thinks that this is finally the year that you don’t come back to Hogwarts and it really does crush him over the summer not being able to ask you or contact you at all. The disconnect between wizard and muggle was very irritating because he just wanted to talk to you. 

His fears are again quelled when you’re on the Hogwarts Express. He sits with you this year. 

Fourth year means the Durmstrang students are being hosted by the Slytherins and more than one has their eye on you and you just feel creeped out

Hi, Draco is jealous

Now he was your partner in every class, and constantly beside you in the halls, glaring down whichever guy dares to come near you. 

Not that you notice. Again, Draco was weird. It wasn’t news to you. Besides he’s cute when he’s grumpy

Until one day you’re irritable and Draco just happens to be the person closest to you when you’re pushed over the limit. 

“I don’t need you to protect me okay! I can handle guys just fine on my own thank you! God what is with you Draco!?” You scream at him during study hall and storm off. Against his better judgement, he gets up and follows you. 

He finds you in the library leaning against a bookshelf in the back, your eyes closed. 

“Go away Malfoy,” You sigh. 

“How did you know it was me?” 

“Because I know you,” You look over at him. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel...” He looks down. “I... You’re...” He turns a slight shade of pink and trails off. 

“It’s alright,” You offer a smile. “It’s actually kinda sweet,” 

Now you’re both blushing. 

You go to the first task together with the rest of the slytherins and Draco can barely watch the task because he’s watching your face light up at the sight of dragons, because your little muggle self has never seen a dragon before and it’s amusing and cute

Then Draco asks you to the Yule Ball for before any of the imbeciles from Durmstrang can in front of the entire Great Hall.

“Malfoy’s got himself a muggleborn girlfriend!” It’s some Gryffindor mocking you

You turn bright red and run off, finding yourself in the Forbidden Forest hiding behind a tree. You’re crying because you’re embarrassed and you’re mad that you’ve even crying, which makes you cry more.

You hear his voice calling your name and you pray to whatever god existed that Draco wouldn’t find you or see you cry. 

He does find you. 

“Go away Draco,” You beg, hiding your face in your hands. 

“Now where have I heard that before?” He teases softly. A silence falls again. 

“You never answered me,” His voice is soft and gentle. “Do you want to go to the Ball with me?” 

You dare to look at him, confused as hell. He sitting beside you, staring at the grass and tree roots beneath you. 

“Do you really mean that? Don’t give me that look. I know you don’t exactly hate my existence, and things are different... but asking me to the ball? I...” Shaking your head you rub your face. 

“I can’t blame you for questioning my motives, though a part of me thought... maybe hoped you wouldn’t, but I really do mean it. I know I was an ass to you in the beginning, and sometimes I still am, and I’m sorry for that. I really am trying.” He nervous and rambling and you know it. “But I really do want to take you to the ball, because you’re kind, and sweet, and a brilliant slytherin and an amazing witch-” 

He’s cut off because you pulled his tie and pressed your lips to his. 

of course it’s awkward and weird because you’re kissing him and... he’s kissing you back? 

You pull away, thoroughly confused, and you start to apologize, but he’s not having that, so with a bit more elegance, he pulls you in for another kiss. 

This one is softer and slower and it gives you both time to figure out what kissing is now that it’s a thing you’re actually doing. 

“Will you please go to the Ball with me?” He asks again, when the perfect kiss is ended. You nod and smiling giving him a “yes,” 

“And maybe go out with me?” 

You grin. “Whatever you want Malfoy,” 

maybe he kisses you again

You to eventually head back inside, hand in hand and all of the Slytherins sigh in relief because finally

You’re a nervous wreck because all you can hear is “Malfoy’s got himself a muggleborn girlfriend,” on repeat and you can’t help but feel wrong

“You’re thinking about it again,” Draco raises an eyebrow at you. 

“And you’re not?” You challenge. “It feels... wrong. How could a pureblood, a Malfoy no less, choose a muggleborn, a mudblood,” 

“Don’t you ever,” Draco gets dangerous with cold fury. “Don’t you ever call yourself that. You hear me?” He’s towering over you, his grey eyes trained on yours. “You are a Slytherin,” He cups your face, his demeanor softening, “You are a brilliant witch. Pureblood or not, you’re mine. You hear me?” 

You nod, and he wraps you into a hug, sighing. “I’m so sorry,” He whispers. 

Your dress for the Ball is a bit more muggle than wizard, and you’re nervous about what the others in your house will say, but all of the worry goes away when Draco stares at you, turning pink and stumbling over his words

Not that you’re faring much better, because good lord is he gorgeous

It’s awkward and weird to be officially dating, but soon you fall back into your familiar game but now it’s harmless banter and lowkey flirting

Because Draco is protective and jealous of the Durmstrang blokes gaping at you maybe he’s okay with holding you closer than strictly necessary, or kissing you in a way that not completely polite in the company of others. 

You roll your eyes at his antics, but allow it because you don’t like the way a few girls are staring at Draco. 

Boy is Draco a goner when you get jealous and just as protective. He’s a stammering blushing mess if he can even make a word out at all

At the moment, Draco’s parents don’t know about you--partly for your safety partly because neither you nor Draco are ready for that battle

Draco and you spend free nights acclimating each other with wizard or muggle culture. Some nights are fun and carefree, some not so much... 

Draco gives you a very strict rundown of the looming war and the threat of the Dark Lord and how very serious it is and how easily you can (and will) be killed for simply existing under Voldemort’s regime

Maybe once Draco agreed with his father that muggles shouldn’t exist and muggle born wizards were preposterous, but now? How could he look at you, your family, who welcomed him with open arms, and say that? How could anyone believe that? 

He says “I love you” first. It’s an accident but you’re studying kne night and your eyes light up—like they always do when you learn something magic related—and it just slips out.

You gawk at him for a bit. Draco turns bright red and stares down at the books in front of you trying to play it off.

“I... I love you too,” you finally get out.

His eyes flash back to yours and your homework is forgotten and you’re in your own little bubble of a world in the epiphany that you love each other

“Of course I love you Draco,” there are tears in your eyes as he pulls you into his arms and now you’re both crying and kissing and mumbling “I love you”s

This summer, now that Voldemort is back, Draco goes about insane thinking about you, sending you owls almost daily to make sure that you were alright as well as hiding you from his parents

Except his mother finds out. Well, more like she knows her son and can see that he’s changed and casually asks “who is she?”

It’s a quiet conversation held behind closed doors and silencing charms. Draco explains who you are to him, and what you mean to him and now Narcissa is on your side, to be your protector from his father and the Dark Lord 

I can throw Snape in there too right? Cuz he’s your head house as well as being close to the Malfoy’s and sees how much you mean to Draco. Yeah, sure, why not?

It’s harder for you as a Slytherin because no one outside of your house sees what kind of danger you’re truly in because they don’t want to take the time.

But you’re still fericely protective of the younger Slytherins who still get berated despite being eleven with no choice of a house

You and Draco as prefects?? Hello?? The CUTEST thing because you’re now the honorary parents of Slytherin younger years. And Draco seeing you take care of the first years does something weird and paternal to him. It’s the same for you.

Which means you might go toe to toe with Harry a few times because once after a quitting match when you’re waiting for Draco he says “how can you be with someone like him? You’re a muggle born. He’s a Malfoy, you don’t exactly belong,”

Cue you hexing Harry for saying that. Then Draco coming between you two. You explaining what Harry said and then Draco turns on Harry and then it becomes a muggle brawl and you have to drag Draco away from it before you get in trouble. By the end Harry has clearly got the message that yes you do belong, and no it’s never up for debate again

You both have detention again. But that’s fine, it’s just uninterrupted time you can spend with Draco and get some homework done

You are 100% over Umbridge and her rules. Especially when she gets between you and Draco with her eight inch rule but then again you’re slytherin and she seems to favor your house so she’s not as strict, especially with Draco as her golden boy

You don’t join the Inquisitional Squad, but you still look after your own house as a unofficial prefect as Draco works as part of the squad.

With the news of Draco’s father in jail, you comfort him that night, not leaving his side. He feels so conflicted because on the one hand it’s his father but on the other hand you’re safer with him locked away

Draco loathes that you leave him in the summer to go back home but he agrees it’s safer for you to be back in the muggle world. Until Voldemort starts to attack your muggle world and dementors hover over your town.

Draco writes to you, begging you to come and stay with him where it’s safer and you can use magic to defend yourself but you refuse because you won’t abandon your family

Draco takes the Dark Mark to keep you safe and to keep his facade up.

But he doesn’t tell you. Not for a long while. You know something is up because Draco looks like the embodiment of death but he won’t tell you why.

“Draco,” you confront him one night as you sit and watch the stars. “Please?” You don’t even have to ask the explicit question. There are tears in your eyes as you plead with him silently.

“I can’t,” he whispers hugging his knees, not daring to meet your eyes.

“Draco it’s me,” you lay a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just me. Whatever it is... I’ll always love you,”

“How can you... how can you love me when I became the one thing who’s truly meant to hate you?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you cup his face softly, his eyes meeting yours. “Do you love me?” Then mend. “Forget what you are... or what I am... or what should be. Look me in the eyes and tell me you love me,”

“I... I love you,” he gasps out, pulling you close. “Merlin of course I love you,” he’s sobbing into your arms and you hold him, letting him cry in peace and comfort.

You two sit in the quiet for a while, both lost in aimless thought.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says pulling away from you. “I’m so sorry,” he tugs up his shirt sleeve and you see the Dark Mark etched into his skin

“Draco,” your eyebrows furrow, your hand running over the mark. “Are you okay?”

“Why is that your first thought?” He laughs hopelessly, cupping your face delicately. “You never cease to amaze me,”

“Now what?” You ask softly after some time in silence. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t think anyone knows,” he admits. “It all became so complicated,”

You chuckle. “Oh the days when our biggest problem was my blood status,” you rest your head on his shoulder, tucked into his arms.

“I mean that’s still a relevant problem,” Draco points out, pulling you in tighter. “I don’t want to lose you. Not because of some stupid notion that pure bloods are better than muggle born,”

You smile at that and close your eyes, relaxing in his arms. “Did it hurt?” You asked after a while. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” there’s still pain in his voice.

You’ve become more protective of Draco now and he of you. It might go back to the core that Slytherins look out for their own, or maybe it was because your to loved another. All of the Slytherins seem to stick together lately.

In an attempt to protect Draco, Harry’s sectumsempra hits you instead

And stars above Draco would have killed Harry if he wasn’t so focused on keeping you alive until Snape arrived

Draco has the dark mark and you had dark magic scars all over your skin. That was a hard one to explain to your parents

If anything your scars make you more confident and self assured because they show the true nature of the precious “chosen one” and you’re not keen on letting Harry forget it from tank tops to shorts and skirts, you boldly show off your scars

Of course Draco takes his sweet and gentle time praising and adoring all of your scars. It leaves the ghost of his lips on your skin for days on end until he does it again

In all honesty you and Draco are a force to be reckoned with, both scarred by a war that hasn’t truly begun.

You’re beside Draco when he’s face to face with a dying Dumbledore. You’re gripping his other hand, a snarled look on your face because you saw his manipulative nature for what it was

Though you couldn’t bare to think of killing another, you didn’t stop Snape from doing the final action

You and Draco fled with the rest of the Death Eaters, both running into the Forbidden Forest before apparating away.

You share a desperate kiss at the Manor behind his locked bedroom door before you have to apparate back home, safe from Voldemort and his other Death Eaters

Now that both you and Draco can apparate legally, you have rendezvous points that you meet during the summer for a few hours a week. Sometimes it’s sunny afternoons in the countryside, sometimes it’s desperate nights in lavish hotels, sometimes it’s lazy mornings in comfortable beds

Seventh Year is hellish. On the one hand it’s great for the Slytherins, on the other hand it’s terrible for muggle borns. You escape a lot of the torture because of being with Draco but you can barely stomach watching it happen to others... especially first years.

“This is wrong Dray,” you whisper one night. “I... I can’t keep pretending like it’s okay. They’re just kids,” there are tears in your eyes.

It’s the first night that the room of requirement opens its doors to you letting you in on the renegade camp. Almost everyone is baffled to see you there.

“So...” Neville starts. “Yeah,” you nod looking around at all of the battered and bruised faces. Your heart breaks a little more.

You use whatever magic and muggle skills you have to help the younger years get patched up and feel safe again, soon becoming a co-leader along side Neville and Ginny.

The fact that you’re a Slytherin gets left at the door.

In fact after a while the room itself gets rid of all of the house banners and just becomes a communal space

You tell Draco where you are and what’s going on but despite how hard he tries, he can’t get into the room

Until one night, the night after Luna is kidnapped and he’s made to torture her, does he become desperate enough that the room opens for him and offers him a safe haven from the war as well

Boy was everyone shocked to see Draco stumble through the doors on the verge of tears.

Wordlessly you stand and go to him, wrapping him into a hug and pulling him to your cot, again letting him break down in peace and comfort

Soon more and more Slytherins start to trickle into the renegade room.

You move your parents far away from England and London while the war is happening with help from Narcissa and Draco

The day comes and the battle of Hogwarts arrives and the Slytherins stand with Hogwarts, knowing that family doesn’t start or end with blood.

You and Draco lead the Slytherins into battle against the Death Eaters with a furious vengeance

No one budged when Voldemort offered to reconcile after Harry was pronounced dead. You and Draco shared one last loving look and prepared to face death together

But then Voldemort is gone

You almost collapse in relief into Draco’s arms and he sinks to the floor unsure of the world himself.

Many lives are lost and many are wounded. You both go around healing and helping where you can, never far from the other

You break down crying when you see Lupin dead before you and Draco holds you tightly shedding a few tears of his own

You and Draco are both acquitted in the trials because most of Hogwarts comes to your defense in testamonies.

Your story makes headlines a few years later....

“Pureblood Ex-Death Eater Malfoy Proposes to Rebel Muggleborn Sweetheart”

It’s not happily ever after just yet, but maybe it’s a step in the right direction

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masterlist

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ko-fi

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~ ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣!𝔽𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕩 ~

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: SMUT! sub!felix x gn!reader. Pillowhumping, panty sniffing, exhibitionism?? (getting caught alright?), masturbation (m), orgasm (m), cum, dumbification, hickies, mommy/daddy kink, sliiight humiliation, sliiight fear kink. 

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 1,6 k (oops...me intending on the series being drabbles)

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: clothes don’t have gender and so that is why this is gn!reader.

also sorry for everyone that wants to see felix as pure. we dont do pure in this household AKSHASJKASH

Felix looked up at the clock in boredom. 

“20 minutes left” 

He mumbled under his breath, impatiently shaking his leg as he zapped through multiple TV channels, trying to find something to pass time and distract from his ever growing that created a tent inbetween his legs. The minutes on the clock ticked unsufferably as his erection became harder to ignore. His hand trailed down his abdomen eventually landing on his bulge as he palmed himself through the rough fabric of his black jeans. Felix knew you’d be mad but his desire for release was stronger than his pride leading him to turn off the TV and sneaking into the bedroom. 

The room was a mess. Disorganised piles of papers and mugs that had been left in the window sill were crowding up the cozy room. With not a care in the world he stripped himself off his pants and underwear, pulling them down swiftly, causing his dick to spring free from their clothed prison. The pretty pink tip beaded with precum as veins cascaded down his length, the cold air brushing up against it causing shivers down Felix’s spine.  

He layed down in the unmade bed, shuffling under the covers as he took one of the many pillows that decorated the bed and straddled it, putting the soft fabric against his already twitching dick as he covered himself with the duvet. His sweet release waited for him but before he could begin humping the pillow like the dirty puppy he was Felix noticed something hanging off the side of the bed. He stretched his arm out to grab the piece of fabric, his gentle eyes widening upon realizing what he held in his grasp;

A pair of light pink lace panties.

He let out a questionable scoff, laughing at your disorganized self that happened to leave stuff everywhere, almost as if you made a trail with your belongings. Funny enough, those were Felix’s favorite panties on you. The thought of the semi-see through panties hugging your plump butt didn’t help with his painful erection that was resting against the pillow. 

Hesitantly, he lifted the fabric closer to his face, being hit with your familliar smell. His breath hitched, momentarily scared that you’d walk in and see him smelling your underwear like a creep. After many hesitant glances at the door he placed the soft fabric on the pillow, his sensitive head rubbing against it as he shifted in a quest to find a comfortable position. 

Small whines escaped his soft parted lips as his hips rolled against the pillow, the friction making Felix bunch up his fists. The contrast between the soft pillow beneath him and his rock-hard erection made the boy roll his head backwards, his neck on full display as his adams apple bobbed, harshly swallowing from the suspense his looming orgasm brought. 

“mhm,,, y-y/n,, j-just like that”

The horny boy kept on blabbering incoherently, occasionally forming a sentence as his pace increased, the crimson tip leaking with a string of precum, creating a wet patch on the pillowcase. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, more specifically of you naked, standing infront of him as you pushed him down onto the bed. How your hair fell in your face as you looked down at the poor boy that was whimpering for you wrapped around him, so desperatly wanting to be inside you. His whines turned to moans as his dick was helplessly rubbing against the pillow, imagining that you were here to see how dirty of a boy he is. 

“f-faster y/n,,, pleaseee~” 

His breathing got heavier as his orgasm was approaching faster than he thought, his abdomen tightening as a flash of heat spread throughout his body. His knuckles whitened upon holding the pillow, bunching up the fabric in his small hands. A haphazardly smile contorted on his lips that were now red from him biting them repeatedly, trying to stifle the loudest of many moans. 

Felix didn’t succeed in that since the faint moans hit your ears as soon as you stepped into house. This was unusual for Felix. He was always such a good boy for you, letting you ruin him however you pleased so for him to masturbate behind your back made you wonder how much he’d fantasied about you. 

“y-yn,,, im gonna c-cum,,, please” he stuttered out, his eyes tightly shut as his hips slamming against the pillow that was decorated with your panties.

“Don’t think so” you clicked your tongue, lifting up Felix’s face by his chin. A tiny shriek ensued in the room, Felix hopelessly pulling the covers in order to cover up his shameful act. 

“W-when did you...?” He tilted his head, confused and pale as a ghost. 

“Since when did you have a thing for panties?” you asked, pointing at the bit of lace fabric that was sticking out from under the duvet. A bright blush fanned out on his freckled cheeks, his hand hastly grabbing the fabric and hiding it inside of his duvet fort which he surrounded himself with. You laughed at his pathetic attempt to hide away from your sharp gaze. The weight of the bed shifted as you sat down, putting a hand on his back and smiling at him before you snatched the lace fabric from his grasp, making him throw himself after your now standing figure. 

“What? You want these?” you swinged the panties in front of his wide eyed face, his brows furrowed upon your humiliating laugh. 

“G-give them back!” he stammers nervously, his ears turning a deep shade of red as he looks up at you from the bed. 

“They’re even wet” you cooed at the boy, feeling the fabric in your right hand, looking briefly at the panties before looking at the blushing boy whose gaze had dropped to the carpeted floor.

“Did you cum, babyboy?” 

Your voice ringed in Felix’s head as he quickly shook his head, his sweet brown eyes filling with dispair, desperate to feel you. You inched closer to the boy, bending down to look in his teary eyes, his orgasm in ruins. 

“Open,,, ahh-” 

You grabbed his face in one hand, prying his mouth open by squeezing his hot cheeks. His eyes twinkled as his mouth opened, shoving the panties into him. He tried to complain, whining but only being able to get out a couple of muffled sounds. 

“You’re way prettier when you shut up, lixie” 

He nods diligently, quietly slipping his hand to his sore dick underneath the covers. The covers moved slightly from his hand pumping his length and it didn’t take much time until you realized what he was doing. Yanking the covers from him you saw his throbbing dick, his hand wrapped around it as the tip glistened in the light. His hand rested on the fluffy pillow as he swallowed harshly, scared of what cruel fate awaited him. 

“Ride it”

Your voice was deadpan. Fear crawled in Felix’s skin as his whole body froze. 

“You must be stupid babyboy, I said ride it” 

You tsked, putting an emphasis on the last two words to which Felix snapped out of his lewd thoughts, shaking his head slightly, causing the part of the panties sticking out of his mouth to shake with him. His hips timidly yet again rolled against the cushion, his arms shaking from supporting himself as he felt the contact he’d been yearning for, rutting infront of you like a puppy. His hair bounced in his face, the poor boy sweating bullets underneath your intense stare. 

The orgasm for earlier made it’s way back, causing a tight knot to form in his abdomen which could unravel at slightest touch. You traced lightly along his thigh with your fingertip, goosebumps forming on his skin as a couple of muffled whines were let out from between his soft lips. His inaudible murmur got louder, eventually calling out your name weakly. 

“mommy/daddy,,, p-please” 

He clenched his jaw, biting down brutally on the thin fabric as the tension in his stomach built up from your touch. You leaned down to the side of his head, putting your lips on his ear before nibbling on it slightly, your hand automatically wrapping around his flushed neck. The bed shook from his slamming of the hips, hunting down his heavenly release. 

“hnng,,,mhhhm,,” 

Felix was struggling to keep himself focused on not spilling his seed everywhere, wanting to appear perservering infront of you but failing as his body cowers over the pillow, rounding his shoulders. The poor boys shakes as his pace quickened, longwinded whines dripping down his fragile body. 

You could tell that he was close by the way his spine arched forward, the cold air hitting his already erect nipples. You moved down to his neck, placing light butterfly kisses over his warm neck, licking tiny strokes before placing your lovebites precisely, marking him as yours. The last couple of grinds were uneven, the red tip leaking all over the pillow as his dick pulsated. The knot in his stomach resolved, melting him into a whiny puddle of hormones. Felix’s entire body shook as the white liquid trickled down his tip and creating a wet stain on the pillow. The overwhelmed boy panted heavily, his figure leaning into your arms slowly, wanting nothing more but to cuddle and make you forget about his sinful action but you had other plans. As soon as the thousands of small sparks in his brain went out and his eyes were no longer clouded with lust you removed the panties from his mouth, the poor boy panting and coughing. 

“t-thank you,,, mommy/daddy,,, i’ll-”

You scoffed causing Felix to feel scared once again, scared that he’d done something wrong. The panties were now slightly damp, coated by his saliva and bunched up into a ball in your tight grasp. Felix’s doe eyes dilated upon hearing the words coming out of your mouth. 

“I’d think you’d cuter wearing these” 

[hobidreams]

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

[elysianslove]

in between you; gojō satoru, kuroo tetsurō

requested by anon; ❝ initially i was thinking that the reader is w satoru and they’re out together on a mission or vacation? they tryna have some fun together, and even possibly include a third party just this one time cause they’re feeling esp freaky, adventurous, but still wanna keep this experience private~~👁 👄 👁 they see tetsu (aged up plss! i mean technically he already is now, right? o:) & have this instinctive feeling that he’s the perfect choice for whatever reason hahaha 😂 but honestly tho, take it as you want it! i would just be ecstatic to see these two in one story for the first time<3 ❞

pairings; gojō satoru x reader x kuroo tetsurō

genre; smut

warnings; threesome, double penetration (vaginal and anal), oral (fem!receiving) under the cut

note; this took me over 5 hours, and i haven’t entirely proofread this 3.5k+ worth of filth so i’m sorry for any mistakes! i hope everyone enjoys <3

━ the air in brazil is considerably more humid than tokyo, and it’s evident in the way your clothes stick to your skin, despite the general lack thereof. still, you don’t falter for a moment as you walk through the crowd, fingers linked with your lover’s as you lead the way. you’re not entirely sure where you’re headed, or what your exact destination is, but instead of filling you with nerves, it lights your nerves with excitement. it could be the humid, or the alcohol you’d downed not too long ago, or simply the unfamiliarity of the area and language, but time seems to move slow, you with it. the people around you are a blur of tan skin and colorful clothing and bright, ecstatic smiles, and it feels like the only two people that exist in this very moment are you, and your lover.

and him.

you’re breathless for a reason you’re unable to pinpoint at when you pull satoru aside, fisting at the shirt he dons, pushing your body flush against his. you lift yourself up slightly, the height difference between the two of you significant, before you murmur, “i want him.”

it’s not an off-putting statement to hear from you, at least not after your discussion prior a few weeks ago. after agreeing that inviting a third person into your bedroom, even if just for one night, would be an interesting addition, the conversation had faded away, and your private life was left in fate’s hands. it had only been when your lover had surprised you with a plane ticket and a long since needed vacation had the conversation arisen again, and ever since two nights ago, you’d wandered the streets in search of the perfect candidate.

“hm,” satoru hums amusingly, a teasing smile on his lips as he thumbs at your jaw gently. he looks over the man twice. he’s tall, possibly as tall as satoru, with dark hair a complete contrast to satoru’s own white wisps of strands. he wears simple clothing, yet it remains as fashionable as ever with the stance he takes, the smirk he wears on his lips, the confident aura that surrounds him as he thanks a vendor for a shot, downing it straight. he’s the exact image of a man he’d assumed you’d choose. “you sure, doll?”

you nod firmly, your gaze fixated on the dark haired man. satoru’s eyes have returned to you; he’s not sure why you’re as certain as you are, but he’s never been one capable of ever saying no to you, so he turns you around, arm thrown over your shoulders, and walks the two of you towards the man.

it’s almost as if he had been expecting you. empty shot glass disregarded, he lifts a hand to run his fingers through his hair, shaking them out, inviting smile never faltering. subconsciously, satoru’s arm slips off your shoulders, hand falling to grasp at your waist as you almost tip over, clumsy and heavy with desire, nearly falling into the man’s arms. small fingers grip at his shirt lightly, teasingly, and with wide, pleading eyes, you say, “come home with us tonight.”

one of the man’s large hands crawl up to rest above your palm, and he meets satoru’s eyes from behind you. they seem to speak to one another through simple, barely noticeable expressions, their eyes talking up a novel. until the dark haired man tightens his hand around yours while lifting the other to cup gently at your chin, before he leans down closer to you, whispering, “call me tetsurō, pretty girl.”

you kiss him before satoru  manages to shut the hotel door behind you. permission and consent fully granted from your lover, you pull yourself closer to the man, hands gripping helplessly at the collar of his shirt, pressing your lips harder against his. daringly, your mouth falls open, tongue easily slipping out and into his own mouth, twisting your tongue with his. you continue to kiss him open mouthed, your hands snaking up roughly from his collar, up to the nape of his neck, to his roughed up hair. naturally, it had seemed tousled, and you can’t help but picture the way it would be when you finally get to play with him.

from behind you, satoru’s arms wrap around your middle, hands groping at whatever skin is revealed from your clothing, sinking beneath your shirt. his hot mouth is upon your neck immediately, his teeth biting and his tongue licking and his mouth sucking as he paints a pretty bruise on your skin. he can feel your pulse burn alive beneath his abusing mouth, but it only encourages him, his hands traveling higher to grope at your breasts.

the slowness of the pace infuriates you, and you whimper against testurō’s mouth, pulling back breathlessly to lean into your lover’s arms. you lift one arm to run it through his hair, tugging lightly just the way you’ve learnt he likes it as he continues to taint your skin, while you drag your other free hand down tetsurō’s chest, thumbing at the buttons of his shirt impatiently.

lips leave your neck suddenly, satoru’s hands tightening around your breasts as he encourages directly by your ear, “use your big girl words, doll.” tetsurō watches with amusement as you shiver at his words, his fingers already working at unbuttoning his shirt.

with a hitch in your breath, you reply, “i want to fuck you both, please— please want to be stuffed full, please!”

at your words, tetsurō’s eyes widen slightly, an eyebrow raised in cheerful shock. “you’re gonna be a fun one, aren’t you?” he wonders out loud, finally freeing himself of his shirt, grabbing at it and pulling it off his shoulders. the movement of his arms flexes his muscles even more, and you’re sure he’s showing off properly, but you decide you can’t entirely blame him, not with the body he hides beneath. he’s toned, muscular and big and strong and so perfect.

it’s a blur as the three of you rush to rid yourself of your clothes, tetsurō being the first to finish, quick to sprawl on the king bed in the middle of the room. his cock stands shamelessly hard against his stomach as he leans up on his elbows, watching as satoru easily lifts you on his shoulders, his own cock twitching as you squeal loudly, before he tosses you on the bed.

“mmm,” tetsurō approvingly hums, “pretty tits. bet your pussy’s pretty too.” he’s leaning on one elbow now, hovering by your side as his fingers ghost over your chest and between your breasts, dancing around your nipples teasingly, leaving an array of goosebumps in their wake.

satoru’s hands are on your thighs, slowing spreading them open, crawling lower till his face hovers by your cunt. your chest is heaving with anticipation as you stare at him between your legs, as he leans his face forward slightly to lick a stripe at your folds, up to your clit, before he latches his mouth around it. his head tilts as he sucks harder, reveling in the way your hands scramble to cover your face in embarrassment, breathless, desperate cries leaving your lips repeatedly. tetsurō’s mouth occupies itself with one of your nipples, his technique eerily similar to the way satoru sucks and licks at your clit.

“come on, doll,” satoru urges between licking and sucking at your folds. “let him see you. you know you have the most gorgeous face when you cum.”

to reinforce his statement, pulls your clit between his teeth, rolling it softly. your back arches, pushing your hips harsher against his mouth, your eyes completely shut even as your hands fly to his hair. tetsurō’s fingers graze your lower abdomen, but you barely have half a mind to register this with your breasts bruised and your nipples sore and aching, that when his fingers dip past satoru’s mouth on your clit to find your entrance, you let out a choked scream, fingers tightening impossibly in satoru’s hair.

“you gonna show me how pretty you look cumming?” tetsurō praises, his other hand twisting in your hair and pulling slightly, urging you to open your eyes. they snap open, meeting his momentarily, before they fall onto satoru’s hungry ones. fuck, the feel of them both, the sight of them both, it’s dizzyingly overwhelming, that your high hits you within seconds, beginning at your core before traveling all across your body, leaving you a trembling and sobbing mess as your eyes roll back. “yeah, that’s it,” tetsurō encourages as satoru moans around your clit, both his mouth and tetsurō’s fingers milking you of everything that you have to offer. “cum all my fingers and your boyfriend’s mouth. such a good girl, making a mess of us.”

mercifully, at the feel of your attempt to shut your legs, satoru lifts himself up from between your legs, grinning up at you the way he always does, his lips a complete mess. and just like always, you reach over to cup his face, pulling him in for a kiss. against your lips, muffled slightly by the way you greedily kiss at him, he says, “tasted so good, baby.” you kiss him harder, losing yourself within the familiar taste and feel of him, your hand mindlessly reaching out for tetsurō, resting upon the nape of his neck and pulling him towards you. you unlatch your mouth from satoru’s, urging tetsurō closer until his lips are on yours.

from the position you lay in, you can barely feel the graze of satoru’s cock against your sensitive clit, the tip nudging the bundle of nerves unintentionally. it reminds you of what you really want, what you truly desire, forcing you to pull back, either hand resting on either man’s cheek, eyes honest as you look between them and say, “can i please have your cocks now?”

in true fashion of your lover, he laughs lightly, leaning down to press a kiss to your jaw. “since you asked so nicely,” he replies.

“how do you want us, beautiful?” tetsurō asks, both him and satoru allowing you space to sit up.

“however way you want me,” you tell him, and unable to hide it, he visibly sucks in a sharp breath at your words.

satoru hums amusingly at his reaction, hand resting on tetsurō’s shoulder and pushing him back onto the bed, before he turns to you, leaning his body closer to you. one arm encloses you within him, his other hand cupping at your jaw, thumb at your lips. “i want you to ride him. will you do that for me, baby?” he asks, but the way the question is stated has tetsurō guessing the older man had already known the answer prior, and his theory’s proven when you nod eagerly, no second thoughts given. his cock hardens impossibly at the sight of you almost cowering in front of satoru, staring up at him with faux innocence and unbelievable desire. “can i fuck your ass too, pretty girl?” satoru continues, smiling proudly when you nod again.

with just as much enthusiasm, you crawl over to tetsurō, lifting one leg to straddle him properly. at the sight of your glistening thighs and drenched cunt spread above him, tetsurō curses lowly, hand flying to fist at his cock slowly, twisting his wrist at the head, smearing his precum all over. after a few seconds of fumbling from his left, a condom lands on his chest, and a bottle of lube falls to his side on the mattress beneath him.

as he picks up the plastic, eyeing the lube, he quirks an eyebrow at the couple before him, smirking with the package between his teeth, ripping it apart. when he tosses the plastic wrapping away, he wonders with a teasing voice, “you two planned this?”  

satoru’s eyes lock with his, with his lips on your throat again, kissing along the bruises he’d painted upon your skin. “you planning on fucking her before she regrets her decision?” satoru taunts, hands returning to twist at your aching nipples while tetsurō rolls the condom onto his cock.

“so impatient,” tetsurō tuts, smearing some lube on his cock as his hand reaches out for your thigh, resting there while you lean up on your knees.

he lines himself up at your entrance, tip teasing between your folds momentarily, before he hears you let out a pained sigh, a whiny, dragged out, “tetsu.” his fist tightens at the base of his cock and he steadies it, watching with mesmerization as you sink slowly onto it, his cock disappearing into you inch by inch, your cunt stretching to accommodate him. tetsurō knows he’s big, and has multiple partners in which they’ve done nothing but stroke at his ego with the way they struggle to take him all in. but despite the way your hips stutter ever so slightly, the way your body’s impossibly tense, the way your cunt is spasming around him, the way your eyes screw shut, even as satoru’s guiding hands remain on your waist — you don’t falter. you continue to take him in, easing him into you, your cunt sucking him in until he’s completely bottomed out, until you sit all pretty and perfect on his lap, stretched out and full of his cock.

“good girl,” satoru praises from behind you, and tetsurō’s thankful he’s said it, because the way you’re feeling around him, he doubts he can conjure up proper words. “such a good girl. took him so well, baby, m’so proud of you.”

you whine, tossing your head back on your lover’s shoulder, hands grabbing at his large ones at your waist. tetsurō’s hands are still on your thighs, squeezing and caressing the flesh soothingly and encouragingly. he wants to praise you, but satoru’s said it all.

“ready for me?” satoru asks, smiling proudly when you nod and your head falls forward, your body slowly with it. you lean down, curling in on tetsurō, and he gratefully accepts you in his arms.

you rest your head on his chest, his cock shifting slightly inside of you at your movement, while his arms move to wrap around you, watching over your shoulders as satoru’s fingers, wet and glossy with lube, meet your other hole. he feels you flinch, tightening and clenching around his cock instinctively, and he’s quick to shush you as he sees satoru’s finger slowly sink in. “you wanna be good for him too, don’t you?” tetsurō gently coerces, cooing as you nod in his hold, mumbling incoherently.

as tetsurō’s cock twitches desperately inside of you, satoru continues to finger your ass, adding a second finger, then a third, once he feels content enough to. with your ass gradually stretching around satoru’s fingers, tetsurō, mindlessly, begins to roll his hips, shallowly thrusting into you. the languid pleasure of satoru’s fingers and tetsurō’s teasing strokes have your hands tightening into fists, your lower lip tucked between your teeth as you swallow your moans. you don’t speak up when you feel ready enough for satoru’s cock, knowing that he knows you even better than you do yourself, aware that he’s capable of understanding your body and its reactions better, completely giving into him, until finally, his fingers slip out of you with a loud squelch, the tip of his cock replacing them before you could mourn the loss.

slowly, his cock wet and cold from the lube he’d poured, he eases himself inside of you, a guttural groan slipping out from his lips as your ass clenches around him. he hisses at the sensation, hand resting on your lower back kindly. “relax, doll,” he soothes you.

tetsurō’s own large hands move to grip your ass, spreading it more for satoru, and using it as leverage to start thrusting up properly into you. you lift yourself slightly, moving your hands to rest by tetsurō’s head as satoru bottoms out inside of you, your body shifting slightly along tetsurō’s as he fucks up into you. at the feel of both cocks stuffing you, you cry out, your stomach feeling heavy with the overwhelming pleasure, your mouth falling to hang open in an endless, helpless sob as they both start to fuck you at a desperate pace.

“fuck, fuck,” tetsurō chants from beneath you, panting with every slap of skin against skin. “fuck, you feel amazing. can feel your cunt gushing ‘round me, shit.” with every push of satoru’s thrusts, your hard nipples drag along tetsurō’s chest, heightening your sensitivity. you choke at his words, hands fisting at the sheets by his head. 

tetsurō’s thrusts are precise, harsh and diligent, fucking into you with fervor and want, sharply and shallowly. you never are properly rid of his cock from inside of you, each drag more earth shattering than the last. satoru’s thrusts, although they match tetsurō’s pace almost eerily, are teasing and taunting, feeding into your desire for him, forcing you to become more and more desperate, forcing you to rock back your hips searching for more.

“wanna cum, wanna cum, wanna cum,” you beg, arms weakening, your head falling into the crook of tetsurō’s neck as you let them use your body. “please, wanna cum,” you wail against his skin, pleading at either one of them. satoru’s hands grip at your hips, grip bruising, careful blue eyes watching as you tilt your head on tetsurō’s chest, body rocking in time with each of their movements as you say, “please, satoru. please, baby.”

his breath stops at his throat, and he snaps your hips flush against his shockingly hard, looking over at tetsurō momentarily. then, simultaneously, voices scarily similar and deep, they instruct, “cum for us, pretty thing.”

and obey you do.

your body convulses impossibly, your screams scratching at your throat, echoing around the hotel room. your holes clench around their cocks, immediately sending them over the edge as your insides spasm uncontrollably, milking them of their cum. with a low shout, and a ‘fuck,’ tetsurō spills into the condom, while satoru fills you up, and you’re left a sticky mess.

and just as you feel satoru’s fluttering touch to your lower back, the world dims around you, and you succumb to it gratefully.

when you awaken next, you’re both clean and dry, dressed in a loose shirt that’s easily identifiable as satoru’s. with the deep ache that’s settled in your bones and muscles, and the tiredness that’s completely overtaken you, you make no move to leave the comfort of the warm bed. your eyes are shutting steadily, your body sinking deeper into the mattress, before you feel a presence before you by the edge of the bed, before you hear said presence kneel by you, reach out to brush away at your hair, before poking at your nose jokingly. you scrunch it up, eyes falling open once more. at the sight of your grinning partner, you can’t help but smile back, fists tightening in the blanket that surrounds you.

satoru looks up momentarily, nodding at a figure by his side and confirming, “yeah, she’s awake.”

not wanting to be completely clueless, you urge yourself to move, sitting up on the bed and stretching your arms up as you finally identify the figure that had been standing by satoru’s side, and you’re immediately taken back by hours — hours? — earlier, and the position you’d been in with him. “oh, hey,” you say a little awkwardly.

tetsurō laughs lightly, hands settled into the pockets of his trousers. “oh hey,” he mimics you jokingly. “i wanted to wait to leave after i said goodbye. and thank you for the great night.”

you scoff teasingly, replying, “or you just wanted free hotel food.”

he shrugs. “not denying nor affirming,” he says, and you chuckle, shuffling along the bed to allow space for satoru to sit by you. “but thank you; it really was great.”

satoru leans by you, hand resting behind you, shoulder brushing against yours. “no worries,” he says brightly, adding, “take care, yeah?”

tetsurō only nods with a smile, waving at you, before he walks himself to the door, leaving you finally alone with your lover. satoru leans into you, resting his chin on your shoulder, tilting his head slightly to glance at you. you lift up a hand in response, slightly ruffling his hair, and whispering a low, “thank you,” before placing a soft kiss to his forehead.

he breathes out softly, smiling a little tiredly at you. “always love making you happy,” he reassures, leaning more into you to kiss your cheek. despite the low grumbling of your stomach— no doubt had you worked up an appetite— you let him push you back, let him wrap his arms around you, let him nuzzle into you. and despite how you’d just been with another man, as you fall back into a deep sleep, the only one that graces your dreams is satoru gojō.

[palbabor-writes]

Lá Bealtaine

Pairing: Choso x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, cunnilingus, SMUT, NSFW/18+only, loss of virginity - if you squint, using sex to mask feelings & trauma, mild JJK manga spoilers; but if you’ve seen the anime you’re pretty caught up on this stuff

Word Count: 4732

“Why do you let them––us, stay?”

You lift your head, blinking at his obsidian surveyance. “What am I supposed to do? Say no? Not like I put an advertisement on the door: seeking dangerous men and nefarious spirits, inquire within. I’m not wanting to die, you know? Besides, it’s not all bad.”

“Name one thing that’s not bad about this,” Choso demands, his tone clipped.

Why? Why does he care? You’re not someone he can save. There’s no room for you. You aren’t family.

“Only one thing? Well, that’s easy,” you continue, the steady lull of your voice jerking him out of his musings. “You.”

Notes: hehe, when i said i had Choso brain rot i was not joking. this dude has been on my mind for weeks, ya’ll. WEEKS. special thanks to @libiraki​ & @kugutsuu​ for beta editing! if you haven’t checked out their works please stop what you are doing & scuttle yourself over there bc you are missing out.

Lá Bealtaine [l̪ˠaː ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə] 'the bright or yellow day of Beltane' - a time of fire and fertility.

It started with a touch. A simple interaction; but it sticks to the back of his mind and the heat of your hand lingers, a remembrance that he can’t shake.

He’d returned to the dingy bowels of the hideout, boots echoing over the well-worn floor as he made his way to his customary seat; unaware of the blood that oozed from the strip above his nose. Legs and arms are heavy as he slots himself into the chair, his eyes drooping closed as he leans his dark head against the cushions. 

Two weeks.

Choso’s younger brothers were killed two weeks ago. Leaving him alone; adrift in his loss, his failure as an elder brother. The remembrance of them stung in the morning and was an ache by afternoon, but in the night’s darkness it burned.

He will have his chance, he reminds himself, furrowing his brow; seeking the faint traces of the other six who need him to press on, and the hollow twinge of the two who need vengeance. The 31st is only fourteen days away; he can wait. He can–

The pressure of the sudden touch makes him jerk; coal-dark eyes snapping open, searching for the source. You’re standing above him, hand outstretched, the pad of your thumb delicately catching the long forgotten drip of blood against his cheek. 

“You shouldn’t touch that,” he says, voice gruff in the vacant emptiness of the space; but he doesn’t shift, meeting your frank gaze unblinkingly. 

“Oh?” you question, swiping the sullied digit across your pants, tacking the deep crimson into the material of your jeans.

“It’s poison,” Choso clarifies. The spot you’d stroked your thumb down is tingling. Exhaustion, he muses, itching his nails into the thick fabric of his loose pants. He’s imagining it; there’s no other explanation.

“You’re not going with the others?”

What? How can he? They’re dead. Ah, no. He’s not thinking clearly. You don’t mean his brothers; you mean Getō.

“No,” he quips, lifting the back of his hand to his cheek, wanting to quell that spreading warmth that you’ve left him with. 

“Then you don’t need this, right?” You gesture to the mess of game pieces and the forgotten board that is scattered across the low table in front of him. He shakes his head and you begin the steady process of tidying up, collecting the mismatched jumble into your arms, folding the rest into the tattered box before you step away. 

Choso closes his eyes again, steadying his breaths, finding the pulse of the blood that thrums within him. Nothing is out of place. So why does his cheek feel like it’s on fire? There’s no reason for it. Is he this starved for a connection that he’s latching onto the first interaction he receives? 

His onyx eyes follow you as you walk across the matted flooring. You own this space; have struck some kind of deal with Getō and the others, permitting them to come and go, quietly cleaning up their messes, and ducking out of sight when they gather within the confines of the darkness; talking through the plans, the ins and outs of the sealing and the massacre that they hope to spread throughout the underground station of the pre-ordained prefecture. 

In the grand scheme of things you’re nothing. Why waste energy focusing on you? It won’t matter in fourteen days.

The clink of the cup on the table rattles him out of his thoughts and Choso peers into the depths of your clear gaze once more. “What is it?” he queries, running a broad hand down his face, hoping the pull will make him forget the persistent warmth that’s radiating from the spot you’d touched. 

“You look tired. Drink that and get some rest.”

“Giving orders now?”

“Sure,” you grin, cocking your head at Choso’s curled lips and wrinkled nose. “That’s a good one. Like any of you would ever listen to me.”

What’s this called? Self deprecating humor? Well, whatever it is, Choso doesn’t enjoy the brittle tone your voice has drifted into. It doesn’t suit you and that low annoyance that’s been brewing under his skin is coming closer and closer to the surface. His fingers are on the cup before he can properly sort through his mismatched emotions, but he doesn’t miss the lift of your lips when he gulps the scalding tea down his throat. 

Why does he care? You don’t matter. You’re no one to him.

“Easy,” you tut, shaking your head at his sharp gaze. “You’ll burn yourself.”

So? He’d rather feel something burn than linger into the uneasy pull of an ache. 

Choso looks for you when he enters, shifting past the others. You’re tucked toward the back, brows creased and head down. It’s a smart move, but the frightened hunch you’ve adopted bothers him more than it used to.

“We have a few minutes,” Getō announces to the gathering, dark eyes bright as they fall on his impassive face. “And Mahito is always late.”

There’s an implication behind it, but Choso opts to ignore that uneasy instinct, already turning. He’s just going to ask you for tea; that’s all. When you spy him, you smile and that spot on his cheek flares, remembering the sweep of your thumb.

“Lucky you caught me,” you tell him, hands busy with the rattling cups. “I was about to go.”

He narrows his eyes, watching the curve of your neck, the stretch of your fingers, and the uneasy twitch of your shoulders. This sort of existence doesn’t suit you. You’re the antithesis of this; normal, kind, unabashedly human. So why do you… 

“Why do you let them––us, stay?”

You lift your head, blinking at his obsidian surveyance. “What am I supposed to do? Say no? Not like I put an advertisement on the door: seeking dangerous men and nefarious spirits, inquire within. I’m not wanting to die, you know? Besides, it’s not all bad.”

“Name one thing that’s not bad about this,” Choso demands, his tone clipped. 

Why? Why does he care? You’re not someone he can save. There’s no room for you. You aren’t family.

“Only one thing? Well, that’s easy,” you continue, the steady lull of your voice jerking him out of his musings. “You.”

Choso shakes his head, openly scowling at your answer. “Me?” he sputters, sucking his teeth and pressing his clenched fists into the long table that you stand behind. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, pouring the steaming water over the leaves, wafting the fragrant essence of the tea between his clenched jaw and your ducked head. 

“I don’t… that is...I...” Choso begins, but fumbles into silence when he catches sight of your eyes, half hidden behind the sweep of your lashes. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. “You’re strange,” he finishes, huffing a belabored sigh between his pursed lips, but when you laugh he can’t help a faint smile. 

It will feel disloyal later, that burst of momentary happiness, but right now he doesn’t mind the distraction; cupping the yunomi between his palms, catching your fingers before they can pull away, enjoying the warmth you transude into his chilled hands. 

Nothing holds. Choso knows this better than most. All things, given time, change. It is an inevitability. Something he’s known intrinsically, and clung to, all those years; when the only constant was the beating of his brother’s hearts beside him. But change rarely announces itself, content in its own emergence; the omnipotence of its bite.

Something has shifted. 

“You didn’t go again?” You ask one night, sitting beside him, a cooling mug between your fingertips. 

“Didn’t see the need,” he tells you, an outstretched legs brushing against yours. 

“You’re different… you know that?” A smile hidden within your words. 

“So are you.” He likes that, he thinks. He likes it more than he should.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

You bite your lip and he watches the press of your teeth, hoping you’ll split the skin. 

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.” You bargain, coyly shaking your head.

“I’m close enough and I don’t like games,” he grumbles, hoping you won’t leave it at that, because while it’s true that he doesn’t like games, he’s enjoying this give and take. 

“Please?”

There’s something intoxicating about that gentle sound and he turns, wordlessly following your crooked finger. He towers over your seated form, but you don’t let that imbalance hang, hands tugging against the white of his shirt, urging him to kneel between your spread legs. When he settles, you curl your fingers against his jaw, smoothing that blistering heat over his icy skin until he’s pressing forward, resting his heavy forehead against yours. 

You’re so warm, he inwardly gasps, his breaths coming in pants. So warm he fears he might grow addicted to this heady intimacy. “What do you want?” Choso asks, the deep timbre of his voice quaking. 

“You.” It’s such a simple answer; how like you.

“I am here,” he replies, half drunk on the feel of your skin.

“Yes, but what if I told you I want more?”

That question casts him into the darkness. He’s unused to this; doesn’t know what to do, what to say; he’s been sealed for so long, too long, and he feels wobbly, lightheaded, but he tries to reach, his fingers grasping at the base of your neck, pulling you toward... toward…

The clatter of the front door startles you both, and he’s on his feet, eyes wild as they look down on your parted lips, and the furrowed confusion of your brow. Your hands are still upturned, waiting for his.

The others step into the space and when he blinks again you’re already gone; your chair vacant, the warmth you’d shared evaporating into the unfeeling cruelty of the chilled air. Shit, Choso curses, grinding his teeth.  

Something has shifted; it will be impossible to tear himself away from you now.

It’s only been a day, but he can’t stop staring at you. He doesn’t hide his blatant gaze, obsidian eyes tracking each step, hungrily snapping to yours each time you come near. You do nothing to lessen this itching want that’s raging within him, leaning close, pressing your hand against his shoulder as you gather the discarded cups that are scattered between them, asking him if there’s anything else he needs, your breath hot against his ear. 

He’s unsure if he likes this. 

But each time you shift away he wants to drag you back. 

When they leave, used to his excuses, and his protestations that as long as the mission doesn’t involve Itadori Yuji or Kugisaki Nobara he’s uninterested, he stands; head turning, searching for you. 

Ah. There you are. 

He’s against you in an instant, stiff hands cupping you, greedy to touch, to hold. You squirm, a laugh bubbling from your lips, swatting his wide palms from the tempting swell of your hips. “What’s gotten into you?” As if you don’t know.

“Tch,” he scolds, “you’ve been toying with me all evening. You said you wanted more yesterday, so show me.”

You breathe out a chuckle, bemused by his enthusiasm and take his hand in yours, leading him down a hallway. He’s never been back here, but he follows, trying to steady the thudding of his heart. Controlling his life’s blood is second nature to him, so why does this feel like it’s a losing battle? 

The room you open is dark, but he can make out the shape of a futon, stark against the mats, and his eyelids flutter, too overwhelmed by the realness of this befuddling situation to look. To distract himself, he pulls you against the slope of his chest, splaying his fingers against the sweep of your collarbone. You twist in his loose hold, folding your arms around his powerful neck.

“Do you still want this?”

Choso unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, gulping down a wavering breath. “I already told you,” he begins, his voice gravel, “show me more. Show me what else you want to do with me.”

“Can I kiss you?” you inquire, dipping your head enticingly, catching his wandering attention, urging him nearer. He doesn’t answer, electing to tap his lips against yours, clumsily pressing until the tip of his nose digs into your cheek. It’s easy to feel your heartbeat like this, and he wraps his arms around your lower back, eliminating the meager distance that was trapped between your heaving chests. 

You let him steady himself, careful to keep your movements slow, but the squish of his face and the jerk of his hands tugs a bated humph of discomfort from you and he breaks away, elegant brows crumpled as he searches for the source of your discontent. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you amend, smiling at his obvious pout. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Hmm?” Choso questions, stroking a palm up your spine, a smirk quirking the corner of his mouth when you draw in a gasp. 

You cup your hands beside his ears, fingers sinking into the dark tangles of his hair as you lure him back to your parted lips. “Open your mouth.”

He does as he’s told and you mold him against you, lapping your tongue over his, earning a shuddering moan and a sharp caress as he coils his hand around your throat. It’s easier this way and Choso steadily follows your lead, mimicking your sucks and teasing bites. Teeth clash when he reaches for more but he eases the sting with a flick of his tongue, and you nibble his lower lip in retaliation, pleased he’s so malleable. 

Your fingers fall to the sash that rests above his stomach and he grunts when you pull at it, easing it away with a stable unwinding. His breaths are heavy against your kiss shined lips, but he keeps perfecting his new found techniques, sweeping chapped skin until it’s worn smooth by the wetness of your tongue. His own hands are preoccupied with your neck and the gentle underside of your jaw, fingertips pressing until you can sense the pound of your heart within his grasp. 

“What are you trying to do?” you ask between his frantic presses. “It’s like you wanna match my pulse, or something.” 

“Worry about yourself,” he grouses, ill-pleased with your answering laugh. “It’s going to take forever if you go that slow.”

You shove your palms against his chest and he stumbles backwards, his booted feet loud against the heavy mats, dark eyes flashing up at yours as his face falls into a deep-seated glower. “What?! What was... why did you…”

His angry retorts melt into nothingness when you fling your shirt over your head, sending the thin fabric fluttering to the ground. The sudden exposure leaves him gaping, unsure of himself once more, but you ease the shock, grasping his limp hand in yours, guiding it over the dip of your stomach, and up the flow of your side. 

“Let’s play fair, huh?” you tease, tapping a kiss to his cheek, careful to land it in the same spot your thumb had touched weeks ago. Choso nods, obsidian eyes wide as his fingers trace over your goose-prickled skin. “Alright, well, it’s your turn.” 

His gaze snaps back to yours, whisking over your face; as if he’s searching for some kind of answer in the lift of your nose, or the plushness of your lips. Whatever it is, he seems to have found it because he ducks his head to yours, resting his brow against the crown of your temple, hands lifting to his own clothing, making quick work of the intricate knots and folds of the fabric.

The gleam of his skin in the moonlight takes your breath away, and you reach for him as he eases the black off of the white, sliding your warmth over the coldness of his bared pectorals. He’s smooth; skin as soft as freshly cleaved talc, or a scattering of downy feathers, and you keep stroking until he’s shaking under your touch, his exhales unsteady against your face. 

“I think I have more blemishes on my fingers and arms than you do on your entire body. You’re so soft,” you tell him, tracing an outspread hand against his muscled abdomen. 

“I’m... this is a new manifestation,” he answers, hoping the strangeness of him, of his half human, half cursed being, won’t drive you away. 

“Hmm,” you nod, pulling him down for another kiss. “It feels nice.”

He’s slow to undress. Not because he doesn’t want to see more of you, he’s simply distracted, too focused on touching what bits of you are revealed; the arc of your hips, the tipped buds of your breasts, and the line of your legs. But you’re like water; slipping through the gaps of his fingers, leaving him wanting, unsatisfied with his fragile hold.

When the last scrap of clothing is off, he waits, his cheeks flushed and mouth dry. “Now what?”

“Do you want me to touch you first?” you ask, that tantalizing smile lifting your lips. 

“No,” he asserts, shaking his dark head. “I want to learn you before that...so show me.”

“You’re very unusual.” Tilting your head as you take his hand, leading him to your futon. “You know that?” you continue, tumbling him over you as you splay across the crisp sheets. 

“Says the woman who is letting me between her legs,” Choso smarts, finding your lips in the gathering darkness. “Stop stalling; show me.”

With a pleased sigh, you reach for his hand again, looping your fingers around his as you guide him to the juncture of your thighs. You work one away from the others, gliding it along the ridges of your folds, showing him how you like to be touched. After his initial gawping and mystified rumblings of, ‘so wet,’ and half croaked, ‘fucks,’ he shifts closer, easing onto his haunches as he curiously follows your lessons.

“There,” he hisses, onyx gaze catching your twitching stomach and jerking hips. “Teach me how to do that.”

You work him to that apex, using your other hand to lift the slippery hood of your clit, showing him how to press and tap against the spongy nub. He’s a quick learner, his eyes falling from yours to watch the flutter and quaver of your cunt. 

“Move your hand,” he tells you, resting his lips against the hollow of your neck, his tongue lapping over your pulse. When you untwine your fingers from his he waits, lips too busy sucking a bruise into your skin; reaching for that unsteady thump of your heart. 

Bump-bump-ba-bump.

Yes. This will do. He’s caught the rhythm; can almost sense the flow of your blood, and see the surge of your clit under his touch.   

The next frig of his digit has you gasping out his name, legs unfurling, knees shaking beside his ribs, your head flopping back onto the futon with a dull thump as you arch into his hold. Choso reapplies the pressure, adding the pad of his thumb, leaving it opposite his seeking forefinger, squeezing until you’re clawing your blunt nails down the sheets. 

“You look good like this,” he smirks, looming over your heaving figure, licking his wet tongue along the valley of your breasts. “What else can you show me?”

Your fingers’ grip into his hair and you yank him from you, one brow delicately arched as you take in his irascible scowl. “You could put your mouth to better use…”

There’s no need to elaborate, and he’s wedged between your thighs before you can fully blink, ravenous lips slurping kisses and bites into the tender skin; he’s asking another question, but you can’t hear when he’s touching you like that, his fingers doggedly pressing at your clit, jerking more moans from your throat. 

“Wh-what?” you ask, breath stolen before it’s past your quivering mouth.

“I said,” Choso pants, lifting his inky head and fixing you with a dazed stare. “I can feel your heartbeat.” 

“Does that matter?” you laugh, popping onto your elbows to regard him inquisitively. 

“It helps,” he answers cryptically and you jab your toes against his arm.

“Helps with what?”

“You’ll see. Do you care if I experiment?” He lifts his fingers from you, sucking the dripping pads into his mouth as he waits for your answer.

“Knock yourself out,” you gape, biting your lip between your teeth.

His dark eyes glaze before he averts them, an appreciative smile gentling his sharp features. “Good,” he replies, easing one bent leg over his broad shoulder, sparing you a last glance before sealing his lips to your throbbing folds.

It starts slowly; a deep shudder that seems to radiate from your core before pooling against your extremities, making your fingers twitch and your muscles spasm incrementally. But Choso is mindful of the power that he’s found, and he eases you onto his tongue, helping you to relax with steady sucks, avoiding that all important button that is distending above his nose. He can almost hear the rush of your blood, can sense where to press with each swell of your slick folds, and he follows unquestionably; pleased he can lose himself in this, in you.

He taps his thumb against your entrance, eyes opening, searching over the curve of your breasts to see you, to watch what kind of expression you’ll make when he finally breaches this boundary. The sheer heat of you takes him aback, and he groans, his low voice vibrating over your twitching cunt, and you reward his elation with another moan, his name falling from your lips. 

What is this? 

He’s drowning and all he’s done is taste you. Will he die if this goes further? Or will it burn? Lapping away the remnants of his regret until there’s nothing left of him but splintered bone. 

“Choso,” you breathe, fingers latching into his wayward hair. “More, please… it’s not enough.”

He rotates his thumb before easing it out, making room for the wide push of his index finger, tongue lifting to swirl around the pulsing nub of your clit, and teeth grazing until you’re squirming.

“There!” you cry out, bucking into his open mouth. “Oh, god… I... I can’t––”

Something inside you shudders. He can feel it in the comforting thump of your heart and it makes him clutch you to him, his own hips rutting against the edge of the futon as he finds himself awash in the sheer intoxication of you. 

Fuck. Is it supposed to feel like this? Like he’s half himself and half you? Or is he simply drunk on the rush of your blood?

Your cunt sucks his finger deeper, gummy walls pulsing in time with your heart as he gulps down your essence, tongue greedily catching it before it has time to drip onto his upturned wrist. It’s good. It tastes so fucking good. 

He’s so winded by the sensations that he barely notices you pulling from him, his dark head lolling over the crinkled sheets, an inaudible moan slipping between his clenched teeth. Choso doesn’t resist when you ease him upward, warm fingers tracing up his heaving body as you press him onto his back. Only when you press a kiss to his fevered temple does he find himself, eyes bleary in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, straddling his hips, your hand reaching for his straining cock, palming some of the leaking pre-cum over your fingers as you stroke him. “I can’t wait… I want you… can I? Choso?” 

This part will burn, he thinks, helping you to hold yourself steady, eyes slipping closed when he feels the slick heat of you gliding teasingly over his tip. When you sink down, his back arches, and he hopes that the whispering shadows, the lingering remnants of his guilt, will be tossed onto this fire you’re stoking. Your hips still when they reach his base, legs twitching around him, your nails catching against his smooth skin, working nicks into the clean slate. 

You’re clutching onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you down, and he opens his shuttered eyes to watch, hoping he can glimpse you past the smoldering of his want. You’re beautiful, he thinks, hand lifting from your hips to fiddle with the necklace that sits around your neck, admiring the glint of metal in the gloom. 

He wishes he could see more, that he could wait a little longer, but he wants to put an end to this ache; he wants to burn.

The lift of your knees leaves both of you gasping, and Choso stifles a moan, legs tensing restlessly under the steady push and pull you’re establishing over him. It’s so warm inside you, and he can feel the thrum of your blood again, so he tries to match his to yours, controlling his pulse, right down to the multiplicity of his cells, eager to feel that potent tug of release once more. 

“Does it feel good?” you ask, leaning back so he can admire his engorged cock as it plunges in and out of your sodden pussy. 

“Do you have to ask?” he grunts, lifting a hand to your breast, tweaking the tender bud of your peaked nipple between the knuckles of his fingers. 

When you call out his name again, he snatches you to him, dragging you to his parted lips as he digs his heels into the futon, rutting into you until you’re squelching lewdly around his pistoning cock. The world feels like it’s narrowing; the shadows lessening as he engulfs himself in you, his teeth working bruises into your neck, your shoulder, the tops of your breasts, anywhere he can reach; but it’s not enough. 

With a huffed groan he’s gathering you into his arms, robust thighs helping him to flip you onto your back, hands splitting your legs as he drives himself back into your welcoming heat. It’s deeper in this position. He can feel more of your twitches and pulsations as he steadies his arms beside your ears, bracing himself over your prostrate form. 

“You want me to touch you again, don’t you?” he asks, voice broken. “Do you want me to touch your clit? Will that make you cum for me? Will it?”

“I-I can do it,” you gasp, easing your fingers between your grinding bodies, knees spreading so he can watch. “Tell me when,” you murmur, head dropping as you arch, slipping him further.

“Now,” he moans, grabbing your jaw, forcing your lips to his as he slams his cock into you, setting himself alight; easing the incessant tug of his guilt until it’s a blunted thrum resting close to his heart. 

When you shatter around him, he follows, wholly caught in the ebb and flow of his release; lost in the depths of this unsteady solution.

He stays with you through the night, eyes following the line of your body as you sleep. His hands are cold, he thinks, easing them beside you, but not for much longer. 

The 31st is only four days away.

“Did he question you? Ask you for anything?” Getō’s words are lanced with care, his voice honey sweet as he steeples his fingers, peering at you with an avariciousness that makes you shake.

“He didn’t. I doubt it will happen again. I didn’t...I don’t want to...to… hurt––”

“What? Hurt him? He’s a half-breed monster. His feelings don’t come into this. Nor should yours; you have a family to think of, a mother who’s an invalid, a younger brother who can’t be depended upon, a father who’s a drunkard; too far gone to notice, or care, his eldest is missing; hasn’t attended her college classes in weeks... and your sister. Well, she’s still a child... much too young to suffer from your mistakes, don’t you think?”

“You’re the monster,” you grit, hands folded into your lap, nails pressing until blood wells under your fingertips. 

“Perhaps,” he smiles. “We’ll be out of your way soon enough. Let me know if you show any signs of impregnation, would you? Any spawn you whelp will be useful; very useful indeed.”

notes: i was gonna name this something else, and i know the dates i am describing don’t match with the sabbat, but Beltane felt like a smoother fit. 

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Hey Vaunna, if you ever want to try and write something to make me cry, hit me up. Imma start making a list of things I’ve almost and actually cried over in fics-

Make me suffer, I dare you.

welp here we go! good luck everyone LOL

summary: Team ZIT face a blast from Zedaph's past

...

“I dunno about you but I think having only a set of coordinates sent to our communicators with no explanation is never a good thing,” says Tango, gazing around the clearing.

Impulse nods. “Agreed. Especially considering it’s been five minutes and… nobody’s here.”

As if on cue, someone walks out through the trees. The two jerk in surprise but relax when they register who it is.

“Oh, Zed, it’s you,” breathes Tango. “Why did you send us these coords?”

Zedaph doesn’t reply as he walks over to a tree on the edge of the clearing and pulls a lever.

Immediately, a glass box springs up from the ground and closes around the two.

“Hey!” Tango snaps, hitting the glass with his first. “What the hell are you doing, Zed?!”

“Tango?!” comes Zedaph’s voice from the opposite side of the clearing.

Tango and Impulse turn sharply to find… Zedaph running into the clearing.

After a stunned moment, they turn back. Zedaph is standing by the lever he just pulled, but he doesn’t look EXACTLY like Zedaph anymore. His eyes flash red, his hair more tousled and a slightly darker shade of blond.

“What’s happening here?!” Tango demands. “Why are there two of you? Who’s the real Zed?!”

“I am,” says the newcomer Zedaph immediately. “He’s…”

His face pales as he properly registers who’s standing on the other side of the clearing.

“I’m Helsaph,” the first Zedaph says. “Your dear Zedaph’s hels counterpart.”

“What’s going on?” asks Impulse nervously. “Why have you locked us in a glass box?”

“Oh, cuz I thought you might want to hear about what Zedaph did to me,” Helsaph responds aggressively.

Zedaph slowly moves forward towards Helsaph, but stops several blocks away. “I…”

“What the hell could Zed have possibly done to YOU?” Tango growls.

Helsaph jabs his finger at his counterpart. “You wanna tell them what you did or shall I?”

Zedaph’s mouth opens and closes uselessly for a few seconds, before he squeezes his eyes shut and looks away.

Helsaph turns to the two in the box. “Let me see if this jogs your memory of anything.”

He pulls out a pink item from his pocket and holds it up to his eyes.

Tango and Impulse freeze in horror.

“Look familiar?” says Helsaph challengingly. “Huh?”

Impulse stares helplessly at the helsmit. “I don’t… understand.”

Helsaph barks a laugh. “What, you don’t really think it was the real Zedaph under that mask, do you? Surely you don’t really think the mastermind behind the PR stunt that was Wormman would be out there risking his OWN neck?”

“Zed, what is he saying?” Tango demands.

“I recruited Helsaph to be Wormman and then I abandoned him in Season 5 when we moved on to the next world!” Zedaph bursts out suddenly.

Silence falls. Tango and Impulse exchange a look of horror.

“You didn’t know that, huh?” Helsaph taunts. “Guess your precious little best friend never told you that he’s not the moral angel you think he is.”

“Zed…” Impulse gazes at his friend in disappointment. “Why?”

Zedaph doesn’t answer. Instead, he murmurs, “There. I said it. Is that what you wanted, Helsaph?”

Helsaph grabs Zedaph by the collar and yanks him off the ground. “Is that it?! “Is that what you wanted?”?! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A GHOST WORLD FOR THREE YEARS!”

He tosses Zedaph away as if Zedaph weighed nothing. No sooner has Zedaph landed on the ground than he looks up to find Helsaph charging at him. He can’t react in time to stop Helsaph from slamming his boot into his stomach, yanking all the air from his lungs and causing him to dissolve into a fit of coughing.

“ZED!” Tango screeches, hitting the glass wall with all his strength. It starts to crack under his blows.

“You made me play the hero!” Helsaph yells at his counterpart. “You trained me and spent time with me and made me CARE about you and then you just tossed me aside like I was NOTHING to you! Do you have any idea how much it hurts to learn that the person you thought loved you actually didn’t give a DAMN about you?!”

“I…!” Zedaph’s voice fails and he hangs his head. “I’m… I’m sorry...”

“Oh, you’re SORRY?”

Helsaph grabs Zedaph by the throat and slams him against a tree, the pressure on Zedaph’s windpipe abruptly cutting off his breathing.

“You think SORRY is going to make up for what you did?!”

“Get off him!” screams Tango’s voice.

A second later, Tango himself barrels into Helsaph, knocking him to the ground and releasing his grip on Zedaph, who drops to his knees, gasping for breath.

Impulse appears at Zedaph’s side and envelopes him in a hug. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Zed.”

A little way off, Tango is kneeling on Helsaph’s back, keeping him pressed to the ground. As Helsaph struggles against Tango’s grip on his arms, he screams, “All I wanted was to be loved! ALL I WANTED WAS TO BE ACCEPTED!”

“Shut up!” Tango snarls at him.

“Tango, don’t hurt him!” pleads Zedaph hoarsely, his vision blurred. Weakly pushing Impulse away, he stumbles blindly towards the hazy figures of Helsaph and Tango. “Let him go!”

“Let him go?!” Tango echoes in disbelief. “HE TRIED TO KILL YOU!”

“Please, Tango! Let him go!”

Tango stares at Zedaph in disbelief for a moment, before huffing and releasing Helsaph, though he keeps a firm eye on the helsmit. “Fine.”

Helsaph slowly pushes himself to his knees, his eyes fixed on Zedaph. All his anger seems to have vanished, replaced by despair. “Why did you not want me anymore?” he cries. “W-Was I not good enough…? Did I do something wrong…?”

“No…! I never intended to hurt you.” Zedaph’s voice cracks with emotion. “This is all my fault. I should never have abandoned you, I… I was just so scared of what you might become that I never considered I could help you not become it. And instead… my worst fears came true, and it’s all my fault. Helsaph, I’m so sorry.”

Zedaph slowly moves forward and, kneeling down in front of Helsaph, brings him into a hug.

And after a few seconds, the dam breaks.

Tango and Impulse stand together a safe distance away, watching their best friend hug his crying Hels counterpart.

“All he ever wanted was a family,” says Impulse quietly. “People to care about him the way we care about Zed.”

Tango hesitates for a moment, then makes a decision. He joins Zedaph and Helsaph on the ground and wraps his arms around both of them. Impulse does the same on the other side, both he and Tango holding their Zedaphs tightly.

“I wanna be a hero again, Zedaph,” croaks Helsaph. “Have I messed it up?”

“No no, you haven’t messed anything up,” Zedaph says reassuringly. “If anything, I’M the one who messed everything up. Can you forgive me, Hels…?”

Helsaph sits back on his heels, regarding Zedaph with wary eyes. “But… But how do I know you won’t abandon me again if I stop being useful?”

Zedaph anxiously clasps his hands together. “I know you won’t trust me again for a long time, and that’s… that’s completely valid. But I… I refuse to judge your worth based on how “useful” you are again. From now on, you’re my brother and I’ll stick by you, no matter what.”

“B… Brother…?” repeats Helsaph shakily. “You mean…?”

“You’re part of the ZIT family now,” Impulse chuckles, tousling Helsaph’s hair. “Double Zedaph.”

Helsaph stares at Impulse with wide eyes. “I… Why would you want me here after everything I did…?”

“Because Zed made some mistakes and he’s my friend so I want to help him fix them,” Impulse replies kindly. “Right, Tango?”

Tango nods back. “Absolutely. Plus, I mean, you can never have too much Zedaph, know what I mean?”

Sensing that Helsaph is about to cry again, Zedaph quickly steps in and says, “You know, Hels, you actually arrived at a great time. We could do with a hero right now. You remember Evil X?”

Helsaph nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Very well.”

“They’re back on the server causing a bit of mischief, running a scheme that’s definitely a scam. The server could use a hero to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t do anything evil.” Zedaph grins. “What do you think? You up to the challenge?”

“I…” Helsaph hesitates. “I’m out of practise.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” says Tango. “We’ll help ya.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna train you back up into the best superhero on the server,” Impulse adds happily.

Zedaph hands Helsaph the pink mask the latter dropped earlier. “Welcome back, Wormman,” he says softly.

After a moment, Helsaph takes the mask and puts it on.

And with this action, Helsaph’s road to recovery, surrounded by his brand new family, begins.

[joaquinwhorres]

doodles (Joaquin Torres x Reader, Soulmate!AU)

PAIRING ››››› Joaquín Torres x GN!Reader

REQUEST ››››› ya know the soulmate au alphabet? Could i request Torres + b and w from the alphabet?

b...ody art (doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin). g...uardian (it is said that the person who saves you from a near-death experience is your soulmate—drowning, car crash, etc.)

WORD COUNT ››››› 1,255

WARNINGS ››››› none

A/N ››››› Sooo I kind of cheated by combining the two letters. Also the writing style is kinda different from my usual story work, but hopefully both risks pan out.

The first picture to ever blossom on his skin is a bird.

The other boys in class have flowers and suns and clouds and little stick figure girls and boys, but he has a bird. And while theirs are sketchy and smudged and disproportionate, his looks as if it's been plucked from a picture book with its steady lines and cartoonish detail.

He'd been surprised to find it, nestled into the crook of his elbow, only appearing when he raised his hand to answer a question. He's so used to seeing his friends with images that littered the backs of their hands and wrists and thighs, he’d never thought to check anywhere else.

A thought crosses his mind.

More than crosses.

It takes over.

He knows he isn't supposed to.

If his teacher catches him, he'll get into trouble. He's not even supposed to have a pen in class. The rule's supposed to help kids avoid the temptation of sending off doodles to their soulmates. Of course, like all school rules, kids find a way around it, keeping pens tucked away in pockets and backpacks and lunch bags.

He's never been one to break the rules, but this feels like he has to. His soulmate's out there somewhere, waiting for him. It only feels right to assure them that he's waiting for them too.

Joaquin pulls the pen he keeps tucked in his desk in hopes of just such an occasion and quietly uncaps it. Carefully and stealthily, he drags the pen tip across his skin, eyes darting up to track the teacher’s movements and make sure he doesn't get caught. As a result, the drawing isn't very good. The head's too big for the body and the feet too long. He’d attempted to draw the wing twice, leaving the lines thicker than the rest of the bird. But it's there, facing the first and chirping out a note, so they know he's alive and thinking of them in this moment. And that had to feel nice.

He sticks the pen back in his desk, looking up at the board and quickly copying down the problems he’s almost missed. It's not until he reaches forward to pass in his paper that he notices the addition to the doodle. Two eighth notes tweet out from the first bird.

He smiles.

It becomes increasingly clear that his soulmate’s an artist.

Most people don’t have doodles on their arms and palms anymore. Instead they have drawings sketched into places only they can see--secret notes passed between soulmates. But his body is littered with art.

Intricate patterns bloom across the back of his hand, and twist and twirl up his arm. His forearm becomes a comic strip. Constant commentary on their day or whatever social issues are on their mind. Sometimes they leave a panel open for him to finish. His drawing hasn’t improved much from the first bird.

He wishes he could send along words of praise or encouragement even though he knows words won’t go through.

He wishes that they would use this gift to pass along messages like just about everyone else his age does. But all attempts at starting a conversation like that have gone unanswered. Instead, he simply gets to witness their art and their life play out across his skin. And Joaquin has learned to be content with that.

Because while other kids are coordinating their futures around their soulmates and tailoring all plans to match the other’s, he gets to make his decisions free. He gets to sign up for the Air Force ROTC without a shred of guilt or pushback like some of the other cadets have to deal with.

Their doodles are what keeps him grounded. Throughout basic and his first deployment, their delicate designs and drawings keep him company in those moments when he feels absolutely alone. They make him feel human in moments where he’s asked to be inhuman.

Their art has saved his life more than once too. The obvious doodles keeping him from doomed missions and distracting him for just long enough to avoid disaster. But more than those obvious, blood running cold, vomiting from how close it was moments, the doodles save his life because they are a constant.

He’s not the only one who appreciates the art either. The others in his unit laugh at the comics his soulmate still draws on his arms. They marvel of the intricacy of his soulmate’s work. On how they’re able to create such a detailed band of wild flowers around their own tricep. They laugh as he attempts to draw a bird amongst the flowers. He wonders if his soulmate knows they’re a bit of a celebrity amongst the 547th.

He wonders if he’ll ever get to tell them.

That’s the thought that weighs heavily on him as he watches his friends on base turn to dust around him. As he watches planes fall from the sky and plummet to the ground. As he watches the gentle waves and roles of the ocean that cascade across his forearm disappear.

It's five years before another doodle appears on his skin. He almost cries when he sees it. A small cartoon bird wipes sweat off of its forehead as if relieved.

He lacks all creativity in terms of response and just surrounds the bird in a cloud of hearts.

And that's their reunion. After this, life continues on, and their established routine continues. While the rest of the world still feels like a mess, the familiar rhythm of waking up to a new comic, of finding a new illustration branded on his shoulder makes him feel whole again.

The art maintains its affects on others as well. Both Sam and Bucky like to tease him for the "garden on his arm" or tell him he's a "human gallery." But he notices the way they practice drawing on their arms, watches as the other eyes the spot it appears on their own skin and mercilessly roasts it. Bucky has asked Joaquin if he's willing to trade soulmates more than once.

Joaquin's not.

Ideally, Joaquin would have met his soulmate under calmer circumstances.

Maybe they could have met at a Starbucks when they accidentally reached for the same drink and noticed the matching patterns on each other's arms.

Maybe they could have met while his soulmate was taking a tour of the base, and he just so happened to stop and say hello to the guide and realized that he had the same three birds on his shoulder.

Maybe they could have just finally coordinated a time to see each other face to face.

Instead, he catches them as they're pushed from a stolen helicopter.

Later, they tell him that they wish he'd just walked into their tattoo shop. That his first impression of them wasn't screaming and crying and just about ready to vomit all over him. That they wouldn't have blamed him for keeping the connection a secret when the first thing they said to him after saving their life was "Ow! I think you broke my back." (Which, for the record, he didn't. It was just bruised.)

But when he sees the band of flowers encircling their tricep, he can't keep it in. He can't believe he's holding his soulmate in his arms. The person who's kept him company for almost two decades.

So he says something almost as idiotic as they do: "You're the bird."

And that pretty much solidifies the fact that they're meant to be.

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

Payback ~Hiccup x Reader smut for anon~

So can I request reader teasing hiccup a lot and in the end a lot of smut with Dom! hiccup and dirty talk and the next day they're in bed starting round 2 👀👀 but the others walk on them and hiccup gets very protective??

Taglist: @belleknows

Your name: submit What is this?

You were definitely in for it now. The look on Hiccup’s face told you so. You’d been teasing him all day and he's about to make you pay for it.

The reason for your teasing started when you woke up in bed alone...again. You often had to beg Hiccup to stay in bed with you in the mornings but he seemed to always want to get up and go to the forge or get right to training. You, on the other hand, preferred to sleep in for a few extra hours and be cuddled until you were rested enough to start the day. But once again, you awoke to Hiccup’s empty side of the bed. It was cold, indicating that he had left even before the sun was up. You groaned and sat up, rubbing your eyes and figuring out how you were gonna get back at Hiccup. Once you were freshened up and dressed, you headed towards the dome where you assumed Hiccup would be training with the others. When you arrived, you found him surprisingly alone with Toothless. He looked up when he heard you coming and gave you a warm smile. “Morning milady.” He greeted you. Instead of responding, you strode towards him quickly and threw yourself into his arms. Hiccup let out a surprised moan as your lips met his. His arms wrapped around you as your hands caressed his face. His eyes fluttered closed and you tangled your fingers in his hair, lightly tugging just how he likes it. As soon as you felt Hiccup’s hands start to slide lower on your body, you pulled back, shoved his hands away from you, raised one eyebrow at him slyly, and turned to walk away from him. “W-wha-?” He stuttered. You glimpsed his confused expression before you walked briskly back out of the training area.

You didn’t expect Hiccup to follow you and he didn’t. He found you a few hours later in the mead hall talking with Fishlegs. Fishlegs was talking about his work perfecting Gronkle iron for some new weapons. You had actually been listening until you saw Hiccup stroll in. You grinned as an idea came to you. You quickly sat up and tucked your legs under you so your ass stuck out more. You waited until Hiccup looked your way and then leaned forward sticking your chest out. Fishlegs’ eyes immediately glanced down at your newly exposed cleavage but, being a shy gentleman, he cleared his throat and looked away just as fast. Hiccup noticed it though and his face turned pink when you looked up and winked. Everything was working out nicely.

This time, you knew Hiccup was following you. He kept a good distance, not wanting to look suspicious. But the way you left the mead hall, the way you deliberately swished your hips so the skirt you were wearing flipped up, he had to follow behind you. You were teasing him and he couldn’t help but fall into every single trap you set for him. You led him through the trees towards your secret spot. He knew this path. The two of you had snuck off here plenty of times. He could find this place blindfolded if he had to. But this time he just followed your graceful movements as you led him deeper and deeper into the forest. He watched as you entered the clearing. He looked behind him to make sure he hadn’t been followed while he was preoccupied with watching you. When he turned back, he gasped. You had completely stripped down and were wading slowly into the shallow water of the clearing. Hiccup felt himself get hot and he swallowed hard, tugging at the collar of his shirt. His pants grew tighter the longer he stared at you. The two of you had bathed in that water together many times and he thought back to the first time you let him take you right there in that glen.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you call his name. “It’s rude to stare at a lady while she’s bathing, Hiccup.” You purred. You turned to him, water dripping down your full chest. Hiccup felt his mouth water just looking at you. “You mind if I join you?” He asked, breathlessly. You grinned and beckoned him with your finger. Hiccup stripped down and waded into the water with you. When he got close, you pulled him into another kiss. He hummed against your mouth and began to kiss down your neck. “Hiccup..” You sighed. Hiccup hummed against you again and you felt him get harder as his hips pressed to yours. “I think you’re teasing me milady, and I don’t know why.” Hiccup murmured, his face still in your neck. You pulled back and looked at him. “You haven’t figured it out yet?” You asked, innocently. Hiccup’s confusion showed on his face. “Well, my love, I think...” You leaned close like you were about to kiss him. “I think I should leave you here to figure it out.” You finished, grinning. You pushed away from Hiccup and leapt from the water. You snatched up your clothes and his and charged back through the trees. You giggled as he yelled after you. You chucked his clothes behind you, scattering them, and pulled your own on as you continued to run. You had a good head start on Hiccup and you were counting on his confusion and arousal to slow him down.

You made it back to the house and slammed the door shut behind you. You were up the stairs and trying to find a place to hide when you heard the door burst open. Hiccup was faster than you had expected. You let out a squeak of surprise when you heard him shout your name. You didn’t have time to hide before he was up the stairs and pulling you into his arms. “You’ve teased me enough today. What’s the deal??” He growled, his lips attacking your neck. You gasped as you felt his teeth graze your skin. “You keep...leaving me in bed...alone!” You sighed. Hiccup’s grip tightened on your hips and he let out a frustrated growl. “That’s why you’ve been teasing me all day?!” He walked you back until your legs hit the bed, causing you to fall backwards onto it. Hiccup stood up straight and began pulling off his clothes, keeping his eyes on you. “This was payback, Hiccup. You always make me wake up alone.” You answered quietly. Once he was fully naked, Hiccup grabbed your legs and yanked your bottoms down. “Payback, huh?” Hiccup pushed your knees apart and sank down between them. “We’ll see about that.” He muttered.

Hiccup’s mouth attached to your clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. Your back arched and your hands flew to his hair, tugging on his soft braids. “Hiccup....” you breathlessly whispered. His name was replaced with moans as his lips devoured you hungrily. His hands reached up and began to twist your nipples. You cried out as bucked your hips against his face, urging him to keep going. “Gods...Hiccup! That feels so good!” You moaned loudly. Hiccup grunted against you as you tugged his hair harder. The only sounds were your moans and the wetness of his mouth on you.

Suddenly Hiccup pulled back and stood up. You didn’t have a chance to protest before he was grabbing your arms and yanking you to your feet. “Turn around and bend over.” Hiccup grunted, his eyes staring into yours, daring you to refuse him. You were so surprised by his attitude that you didn’t move. Frustrated by you not listening to him, Hiccup spun you around and pushed on your back so you were now bent over the bed. You jumped as you felt him land a sharp smack on your ass. His hand twisted in your hair and yanked your head up before landing another smack to your ass. “I thought I told you-” *smack* “-to turn around and bend over.” He growled. He leaned down close to your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck. “You really wanna disobey your chief, Y/N?” He questioned. You whimpered and shook your head. “N-no Hiccup..” You cried out as he spanked you again. “That’s not how you address the chief, Y/N. Do it properly this time.” He demanded. “I-I’m sorry, my chief. I didn’t mean to.” You whimpered, your ass stinging deliciously. “That’s better.”

Hiccup let go of your hair just long enough to line his hard cock up with your dripping pussy. You moaned softly as he rubbed the head up and down, nudging your clit. Hiccup gave you no warning before shoving into you. The two of you moaned loudly together and Hiccup immediately fell into a rhythm. The bed creaked beneath you as Hiccup pounded into you. His hands gripped your ass and he pulled you back into him as he thrust forward, ensuring he was as deep in you as possible. You balled the sheets in your fists, the corner of your pillow clenched between your teeth. You felt so full and Hiccup was pounding you so hard you were sure there would be bruises on your thighs in the morning. You could hear him moaning your name, grunting out how tight and wet you were around him. You couldn’t even focus on anything except how good Hiccup felt inside you. “H-Hiccup....please..d-don’t stop!” You begged. Hiccup groaned when he heard you whimper out his name like that. “Does it feel good, Y/N? You like how your chief is just taking you like a whore?” His words made you clench around him again and you nodded quickly, nearly sobbing with pleasure. “Yes!! Oh yes, my chief!! I love it when you take me like this! Please don’t stop!”

Hiccup smacked your ass a few more times before tightening his grip on it. “You’re close, princess. I can feel you squeezing me.” Hiccup moaned. He somehow managed to speed up and fuck you even faster than before. You screamed as your orgasm coursed through you. Hiccup continued to fuck you after you had collapsed among the blankets. All you could do is hold on as he used you to bring about his own release.

His thrust became more sloppy and slower as he came inside you. He collapsed against your back, holding you to him. The two of you were panting heavily and your eyes were too heavy to stay open anymore.

~The next morning~

You awoke the next morning and were surprised to see Hiccup next to you. “Good morning, milady.” He said, propping himself up on one elbow. “You stayed in bed this time.” You joked. Hiccup shrugged. “I figured I should spend more time in bed with you. I don’t want you to feel like I’m neglecting you.” He admitted. You smiled at him and pulled him into a kiss. It quickly heated up as his hands quickly roamed over your body. You grinned and gently nibbled on Hiccup’s bottom lip. “Take me again, my chief.” You murmured. You felt Hiccup harden at your words. “As you wish, milady.”

You and Hiccup were completely wrapped in each other’s arms, your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands tangled in your hair as he rolled his hips against yours. The house was filled with the sounds of your love-making. But somehow that wasn’t enough to deter your unwelcome guests.

“HEY GUYS!!” You both looked up to see the rest of the Dragon Riders piling into your bedroom. You screamed and yanked the blanket up to try and cover you both as much as possible. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” Hiccup shouted. Snotlout and the twins raised their hands in surrender as Fishlegs blushed and avoided eye contact with the two of you. “We were wondering what was taking so long.” Ruffnut admitted. Hiccup smacked his forehead and groaned. “Get the fuck out! We’re clearly busy! And keep your eyes to yourself before I poke them out for looking.” He growled. Seeing Hiccup aggressive and very protective like this turned you on even more and you couldn’t wait for the others to leave so he could finish ravishing you. The other Riders were apparently too shocked to move. “GET OUT!!” Hiccup shouted, throwing the hardest object he could reach across the room to scare them. The Riders quickly got the message and scurried from the house. Hiccup rolled his eyes, sighing. “Sorry about that. Now where were we?” He asked, turning back to you. You giggled and pulled him back down into a kiss, letting him make love to you all morning long.

[nectarous]

TOOTHSOME ⇋ OJIRO ARAN X F!READER.

TAGS: strangers to soulmates. suggestive themes [no smut]. constant changes of pov. slowburn fluff with angst ending.

W/C: 3.3K

SUMMARY: a simple study of intimate bonds and tasting love.

⇦ SEWER SOULMATE SYNDROME COLLAB MASTERLIST ♡

there’s something about the world that’s absolutely and wholly dull. waking up to blistering rays glaring through open windows, working at a lackluster club, coming home to your barebones apartment that you’ve never bothered decorating. you only look forward to collapsing into a steaming bath, dreading the fact you’ll have to repeat this all over again once the sun starts to peek up from the horizon.

it’s what’s deserving of such an uninspiring, miserable personality. you’re not interested in much outside of the bubble you crafted. you’re indifferent to the fickle things; love, bonds, and that mouthful of flavor when you meet your soulmate for the first time. it doesn’t interest you in any capacity. 

you know that there’s a lot to be desired with you. your people skills need tinkering and while your work ethics are respectable enough, all you can think to describe yourself is boring.

you’re interested in surviving and supporting yourself. living long enough to enjoy yourself, but short enough to not have to work hard—you’ve never been interested in the company and passing affections of others.

the idea of a soulmate is a delicate one to some, daft to others. you’re more indifferent on the topic, leaning closer to disdain, about the idea of a fated second half. 

how naïve you are for thinking that you’re lucky enough to escape it, unaware that in a short twelve months, it’ll only take one stranger to ruin your perception of love, of the world, of yourself. 

just like everyone else, you’ve been taught about soulmates, raised around the idea that finding them would finally open you up. from an outsider's perspective, you understand how they work, how they feel. you’ve spotted that glazed over look in their eyes more times than you care to count. you’ve witnessed soulmates bumping into each other for the first time, seen how eyes light up, and heard the crashing of heart beats from across rooms. you swore you could hear them salivate at the taste of each other’s presence. 

you’re certain that’s something you’ll never experience. you hope you’ll never meet them, hope that they're dead or far away in some other continent, or that they’re as much as a homebody as you are. you covet to be in the majority that never meet their soulmate, and have to settle for yourself and 

you’ve made it this far alone. why bother searching for your other half now?

• • •

even at 27, aran’s still hopeful he’ll find the person he’s supposed to spend his life with. it’s a silly little fantasy, one that has settled deep in his core, meeting the love of his life and instinctively knowing. all through his teenage years, he’s been teased for being a hopeless romantic. but who could blame him? what’s more serene, more absolute than the idea of finding the person who will love you for who you are, for the rest of your life?

his romanticism has mellowed out over the years, and he’s become a reasonable man with a successful career and lifelong friends and a dog he spends a fortune on every month. he’ll let life take its course, pray for the best, and continue on.

everyone has a soulmate. he hopes it’s only a matter of time before he meets his. but it’s not a necessity for him.

• • •

the first time you see him, your soulmate, is outside some onigiri shop, bathed in the purple shadows of sunset. you instantly turn the other way, stumbling into some random convenience store and ignoring that lightheadedness, and the urge to gag at the rich flavor soaking into your mouth, hoping he doesn’t feel your proximity. 

all of a sudden, you’re not that hungry anymore.

• • •

aran feels it. his knees grow weak, his heart swells twice as big, there’s a pressure in his sinuses that almost has him stumbling back. and then that feeling’s gone. when he looks around, no ones there, but the residual feelings still linger.

this is the taste of aran’s soulmate. he always expected love to taste like bubblegum or the strawberry mochi he used to split with his sister. he expected to savor the color pink, or red, delicate colors that remind him of spring and joy.

instead, there’s a bitter, heavy metallic soaking into his mouth; like antimony and lemon rinds. it clashes against his taste buds causing his face to scrunch up in distaste.

it tastes like gray.

• • •

the overwhelming taste in your mouth is pastel green, tooth-decaying sweet, and tart. it drips down your throat, makes your gums and your heart ache and throb. it feels like you’re going to choke right here, in the snack section of a convenience store.

granny smiths, heavy molasses and acerbic echoes of sumac sticks to the insides of your cheeks. the emotions so saturated it starts to burrow deep in your teeth.

you hate how warm it makes you feel.

• • •

you recognize him immediately when you’re flicking through the channels waiting for your dinner to reheat. of course the universe decides to pair you up with a fucking olympic volleyball player with amazing things going for him. you can’t change the channel, can’t ignore that he looks a little too good panting and covered in sweat. his voice rumbles smooth, his eyes glimmer, his quiet chuckle makes you throb. 

you’ve been laying in bed and trying to push out the sneaking thoughts of him, trying to erase the green flavor that creeps back in ever since. 

it’s been two weeks since you’ve been anywhere near that shop. the fear that you’ll bump into him again is… overwhelming. but you’re exhausted, working through the day for the second time this week. and of course, you forgot your umbrella at home, forcing you to run through the muggy rain in a ratty shirt and soggy sneakers. 

you told yourself you’d take the long way home, but now that cutting through this block will get you out of the rain faster, knowing it’ll get you back home in time to catch that cooking show while you take a bath, tempts you too much.

but of course, nothing that life hands you seems to go your way.

and of course he’s out there again. out of all days. you hope he’s not some mindless sap that waits outside of the shop everyday, aching for the chance to bump into his soulmate and live happily ever after. that might be the only thing that would make this soulmate bond even more painful.

you really should’ve just gone the long way home.

he looks happy and, you begrudgingly admit to yourself as you wait for the crosswalk to turn green, even more handsome than on your tv. big. he’s on the phone, protected from the rain under the shop’s awning. the taste of green’s already oozing it’s way back in.

apparently, that perspective ability you admired while watching one of his first matches bleeds outside the court too, because he immediately makes eye contact with you. eyes widen, he hangs up immediately, and his hand raises in a wave.

and the first thing you can do is run.

• • •

he can sense that his soulmate’s near, that sharp tinny taste overpowering the onigiri osamu forced him to finish. it has his nose crinkling up before he whips his head up, staring at a girl. his heart soars a bit, finally he gets to meet you, before crashing down upon seeing that expression of horror on your dripping face, before you trip your way into some alley. he doesn’t second guess running into the sheets of rain, not hesitating at the sudden chill of rain.

he can tell that you’re scared, terrified, disgusted at the idea of having a soulmate. is it because of him?

the taste of each other is overwhelming, gunmetal grating and foiled and loud crashing into his. can barely swallow it down, eyes rolling back. 

you can’t handle the onslaught of pungent syrupy sour, it’s soaking into your head more than the rain. it makes you hunched over and soaked, retching bile and the remnants of breakfast, you want to die.

you want to tell him to fuck off, let you drown in apples, in the vomit and the rain, but he’s insistent. he keeps a polite distance, a safe distance, from you. arms flex in his soaking pale t-shirt while he looks at you like some kind of wounded, rabid animal.   

“let’s get you warmed up, ok?”

that tart taste eats away at the rancid bile in your mouth, and you hate to admit that his charcoal eyes start to slowly thaw you.

you’re a mess of chattering teeth, goose pimpled skin. your nipples are poking stiff peaks into your shirt and your fingers are shaking, but he politely ignores both, stepping over the puddle of vomit to pick up your dropped bag, hot hand on the small of your back as he leads you in through the back entrance of the onigiri shop.

two identical faces, the only thing separating them is the shock of pale blond hair, are watching you from a distance as aran presses soft cotton into your arms and leads you into the locker room. they both feign boredom as you shuffle by them, but even in your bleak state, you can’t ignore that interested glimmer in their eyes from behind the register.

the sound of slopping clothes dropping against the cold tile makes your skin crawl, your eyes sting, and your head ache like it was just banged into the concrete. you don’t know whether to be humiliated or thankful, unsettled or grateful that ojiro aran’s actually nice. such a simple word. just these last 10 minutes has proved his heart of gold and, as you tread back into the main room, you think you’re going to cry.

no one talks as you collapse and curl up on one of the farthest seats, as you start to lose yourself in the sounds of thunder and the stifled radio, the cold bleeding it’s way into your brain. you can start to feel yourself dissociating, vision starting to blur, losing yourself in the numb. 

the delicate placing of six onigiri snaps you out of it, aran’s look of concern makes you curve over your knees as you drag the plate closer. his eyes tickle at your soul, baring deep into your bones, as if he can see how much you're hurting, how much you don’t care. compared to him, you look like a drenched rat, hair still damp and feet bare. 

you really might cry. 

because it hurts. the thought that he’d treat you good like this, every day, for the rest of his life. you can tell he’s kind, the way he sets down a cup of tea and brings you some food. the way he offers you a change of clothes. he’s a gentleman, and you feel pity for him, that he’s attached to you. 

the tilt of your lips in gratitude probably translates more as a grimace than a smile.

he waits until after you finish eating to start talking, “i’m ojiro aran.”

“i know,” you respond back. “that volleyball player.”

your droning voice doesn’t make him flinch back as you hope.

“i hope i’m not overstepping, but i can tell that you’re not the happiest with — ” finally he hesitates, flicking the sugar packets, eyes tracing over your face. you make it a point to not return the eye contact. 

“look. i’m not sure if it’s because of me, or you’re not happy with the idea of soulmates in general.” he overlooks the way your fingers twitch around your mug. “and i’m not going to force you to do anything, because i can tell that you’re on edge right now.”

he lowers himself so he’s not towering over you, balancing on his toes, still toying with the condiments on your table.

“to tell you the truth, i’m a bit of a romantic,” something sweet starts slipping into his voice. “i can tell that you aren’t. we don’t have to rush into anything, say the word and we can forget we ever met. but i think this can work out. we just need to pace to our comfort levels.”

and as you stare into his eyes, him squatting in front of you and holding your still shaking hands, the utter care, eyes almost pleading, and a soft smile that he’s emitting, it makes you feel peace for the first time. the stains of melancholy in your bones start to fade, and pastel green leaks from the sides of your cheeks making the corners of your lips involuntarily twitch up.

maybe, just maybe this’ll work out.

• • •

it’s been months, and aran’s learnt more about you than you know. he’s picked up that you despise physical affection just as much as the rain, but that you crave the heat from his body.

he thinks about you constantly. he replays your ‘dates that aren’t dates’ on repeat at practice, printing your face in his head on his morning runs, and he welcomes that metallic bitter that comes with you before he goes to sleep.

you’re standoffishness is soft and appealing at first glance, like antimony you taste like. the more time he’s in your presence, the more that lack of intimacy burns at his eyes, and his lungs. his hands sting with rejection every time you inch and shrug away from his touch or grimace when he laughs at your half-jokes. he knows there’s a separate woman bedded underneath. he saw her at the restaurant, he sees it whenever you watch the sunset. he notices it most behind the closed doors of his apartment. 

he’s come to appreciate your hands. your hands convey the things you’re too nervous to say. he can feel the adoration pulsing underneath the fragile skin in your fingers and your wrists, whispering the things you can’t always say out loud. they speak to your sense of comfort with him, the vulnerability you only show with him. the way they sneak under his shirt to run down his smooth back when you're cold, only to pull back and hope he didn’t catch your slip up. 

he notices the chipped polish that you pick at when you're stressed over deadlines. how your hands shrink in comparison to every part of him, tracing the callouses and scars from decades worth of volleyball. he loves how you bring his hands up to kiss on his knuckles after hours in bed, before you make up excuses as to why you can’t spend the night.

much to your annoyance, it makes him want to try that much harder. 

• • •

love. a complicated, sinister, four letter word you never thought you were built for. you think about it a lot, in tandem with aran. probably too much to be healthy. he’s the first thing you think of when you wake up, plaguing  your mind as you work, and leaving you always wondering what time he goes to sleep.

it's embarrassing. the three hours you spend with him every weekend has turned you into some sort of sap, haunted with his musky scent, that soft smile and that embarrassing craving for him to pat your head again. like your some fucking puppy. and you swear, that syrupy green apple taste is stained into your taste buds, it’s seeped into your bones and ruined you.

the last thing he deserves is you. you know that. but he doesn’t think that, he’s letting that metallic taste run him around lovesick. he makes you feel blistered; every touch and adoring glance burns into your flesh in permanent, achy reminders. he has your number, knows where you live. but he respects you and the distance you’ve placed.

he’s getting too comfortable too quickly, and he keeps surprising you with how patient he is. he’s adaptive, tenderhearted, almost philanthropic with the way he took in the charity case of you. 

it didn’t pan out the way you expected the first few months. you expected failure, for him to snap at your constant rejections and complaints. apparently, experiences with his childhood friends prepared him for you.

he's too helpful of a person, wanting to talk about feelings and cooking you food when you didn’t ask for it. it scared you, how fast he accepted this soulmate thing, how fast he was able to care. his hugs lasted too long. he's suffocating you in adoration and care, and you can tell he’s almost to the point of being in love with you.

poor aran. you’ve been destined to be with this man, who’s been destined to be alone since birth, all because the universe promised you to him. 

you know you’re going to destroy this beautiful bond that the universe crafted. you’re bitter and mean and unable to open yourself up to him; he almost knows nothing about you, and you know almost everything about him. you know how his younger sister wants to become a physical therapist, how the owner of that little onigiri shop has been one of his best friends for almost two decades. and you know his favorite food’s ritz crackers, that he’s a morning person. he loves dogs and hates horror films, and his two greatest joys are his family and volleyball.

there’s an unspoken hint that he wants you to join the former.

and it’s unfair; who wouldn’t fall in love with that scar on his neck. you try to focus on his bad parts, of which he only has one. his stupid dog, adzuki. that mammoth of a german sheperd that follows you around, places it’s paws on your lap when you come over for dinner.

he laughs every time you grimace at him, looks like we both have a weak spot for you.

• • •

you shatter his heart on the first year anniversary since you’ve been bonded. you were already dangling by a heart string, and that little band of gold and red he gifts you is where you force yourself to draw the line. 

all you can think about is how you need to abandon him before either of you get too attached. you’re teetering on the edge of ignoring your gut instincts, of collapsing into him, wanting to let him see the shattered pieces inside you. but then he’ll do something as mundane as calling you over for dinner, and you remember.

he terrifies you. 

there’s a reason you haven’t spent the night again. the intimacy of you and him, and his ugly dog, and that picture frame of your date at the beach hung right next to one of his family portraits. 

he loves too much and too hard, he’s too intense. he makes your skin prickle in hot fireworks, the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight with unease. he’s beautifully passionate about everything he lays his eyes on. he lives life to the fullest and all of a sudden, you want that too. he makes you crave domesticity, waking up next to warm umber hands tracing patterns in your skin, cooking breakfast together, a house in tokyo. a wedding band on your finger.  

this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

you remember the dulling of gray eyes, and his hunched over figure bathed in the ashy violet rays of the sun setting. you try to hold onto that flavor of green before you swallow it for the last time, saliva and tears welling up, before you press one last kiss on his cheek before stepping out. pastel green fades to emerald fades to black. you can’t taste apples or sumac anymore.

no, as much as you wanted to be, you weren’t built for love.

[punkpresentmic]

Traitor Aizawa AU Pt. 5  — 1,  2,  3,  4

Hizashi goes into school the next day, starting his morning as usual by grabbing a cup of coffee. Nezu meets his eyes there in the teacher’s lounge, holding his gaze, nose twitching. Hizashi smiles, wishes him good morning. Nezu does the same. They go about their days. 

After school, Hizashi sets out to pick up Eri as scheduled, but she’s not in her room. A quick call to Nemuri reassures him that Eri is with Nezu; they’re having a tea party. 

Nemuri was also under the impression that she was supposed to watch Eri this afternoon, which is odd because Hizashi knows it’s the opposite—it’s his day. 

They go together. They’re greeted warmly. Nezu mentions that he wants to talk to him, so Nemuri takes Eri with a small joke about how ooh someone’s in troublleee!

Eri doesn’t like this joke.

The two gone, Nezu offers Hizashi a cup of tea, has him sit. Nezu asks the same question as before: “What do you know about Eraserhead’s motivations, Yamada?”

It’s the same answer as before: honestly, nothing. 

Nezu hums, interested. “I was reading back through Eraserhead’s resignation letter:” Hizashi’s skin prickles as he places the creased letter on the table between them. Nezu’s up to something here & he doesn’t know what. Nevertheless, Nezu continues,

“I must resign my position at UA on the grounds that I am the UA traitor. I willingly supplied the time and location of the USJ incident. Though I was not at the time aware of the connection to the League of Villains, I am guilty of continuing my arrangement after it became clear. It was my ongoing secret communication with my contact that was responsible for the Vanguard Action Squad receiving the location of the training camp, leading to the injury of several students and the kidnapping of Bakugou Katsuki. There was a failed attempt at a subsequent deal prior to the events at Kamino Ward. I maintain my arrangement with my contact and the League of Villains. I have provided evidence of my communications to remove suspicion that I am writing this against my will.”

It hurts to read, it hurts to hear, but Nezu reads through it all again anyway before tucking it away. He already knows Hizashi practically has the thing memorized, that Hizashi tore through it & the evidence over & over, his denial strong despite it, imploring that the investigators consider that Shouta wasn’t a criminal, that he must be held under some kind of duress, that he wouldn’t just do this... “His letter to you is of course more regretful, as you’ve seen.” 

There’s a standoff of sorts as they look at each other. Nezu sighs. “I’ve already expressed my concern about Eraserhead taking advantage of the connections he’s built here. Yamada, it’s clear to me you still have a… significant amount of trust remaining in our Eraserhead. I want to discuss—”

“ —That’s not fair,” Hizashi cuts in. “Nezu, that’s not fair. He’s my husband. Yes, we know what he did. & we don’t know why. Asking me not to trust that he has good reasons for—”

“—Yamada. He is the legal definition of a villain. I am not asking that you refuse to forgive him for what he’s done. I am asking that you think very… carefully about how you proceed with your own actions involving the ex-hero Eraserhead, especially when we are as of yet in the dark about his reasons.”    

A spike of adrenaline shoots through his blood. He feels caught. Is he caught? In an instant of panic he realizes he can’t lie to Nezu. But he gets a hold of himself, pushes his glasses up with a showman’s laugh. “I’m not sure what you mean, principal—do you have something else you’re not telling me?”

Nezu’s eyes sparkle. “Do you?” 

His mouth is dry. “Are you insinuating something, Principal Nezu?” 

Nezu clasps his paws on the table. “Yamada, we don’t have to do this. I can quite literally smell him on you.”

It’s like a punch to a gut. He sucks in a breath. He’s quiet for a long, long time. Finally, he takes a long drink of tea. “So you definitely knew about us way before we started telling people we were together, huh?”

“You were never particularly subtle.”

Hizashi gestures with his tea cup, sits back with his legs out in front of him. “So what now, Nezu?”

“What indeed,” Nezu sighs, taking a sip of his own tea. They sit for a long moment. “For me, this confirms Eri’s story. He wanted to take her with him?”

“He did. He said he wanted to help with her Quirk. I told him no.”

“& Eri has not reported a visit since.”

“She hasn’t been having issues since,” Hizashi points out, despite himself. “But I think he… saw reason.”

“So you are likewise confirming multiple unreported visits with Eraserhead,” Nezu notes. Hizashi winces, doesn’t deny it. “This is a major security breach, as we are being visited repeatedly by an undetected villain—whether or not this is one we trust is not the issue at hand.” 

There’s a pause. Nezu meets his eyes. “Are you willing to assist with bringing him in?” 

Hizashi saw it coming. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “He’s after something, Nezu. I don’t know what it is. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“But you trust his judgment,” Nezu finishes for him. ‘Despite everything,’ goes unsaid.  

Hizashi taps the side of the teacup w his wedding ring. “Through the good, the bad, & the ugly hair days, principal.”

“Even recognizing that this is a reasonable plan to bring him back, to bring justice to the situation, to return safety to UA, & potentially find out once & for all the reasoning behind Eraserhead’s actions?”

“You know I want him home. You know I want answers. You know I want these kids to be safe.” Hizashi leans forward. “But I love him. & your way won’t bring him home. It could land him in Tartarus. That’s not justice. & that doesn’t feel like assuring any safety for my students. & it can’t ensure those answers. We don’t know what he’s dealing with.” He shakes his head. “I can’t do that to him.” 

“I figured as much.” 

Hizashi stands, legs shaky. “Now if you don’t mind, principal; it’s my day with Eri.” 

“I do not think,” Nezu stops him without looking away from his tea, “that you have fully thought through the consequences of siding with a villain, Yamada. That’s not how this works.” Nezu stands too. “I called Kayama here for a reason.”

Hizashi’s heart is in his throat, pulse rising like a scream. “Don’t do this. The kid’s already lost so much.” 

“I don’t disagree.” Nezu’s tone is exhausted. “I have a duty to those at UA: to keep this school safe from villains. That is the first and foremost thought around which I must make my decisions.” 

Eri. Hizashi could throw himself under the bus here. Easily. His conduct hasn’t exactly been the shining picture of heroism lately. But he can’t do that when Eri is in the mix. Shouta’s leaving hit her so hard. He can’t let her lose anyone else. She can’t go through that again. 

& Shouta... Shouta trusted him to look after her, not to stick up for him when he made his own choices.  

Nezu sees his indecision. “Will you accept the conditions to help us if Eraserhead is given a chance?” Nezu asks. “I am not able to grant him full legal immunity, but I do have significant say about what happens at our fine school. My input on the investigation holds considerable weight. If you agree to assist us, this exchange stays between us, business can continue as normal until Eraserhead is located, & when that happens… We will do what is in our power not to treat Aizawa Shouta as a villain. We will hear his side of the story.” 

Hizashi looks away. Bait. They want to use him as bait to capture his husband. 

Nezu steps forward, unafraid. He sets a paw on Hizashi’s arm. “Yamada,” he says, “Let’s bring him home.” 

Hizashi is just in time for the tea party with Eri & Nem.

(pt. 6)

[pascalpanic]

At Last (Frankie Morales x gn!Reader)

Summary: you, Frankie, and your fur baby go camping! Little does Frankie know what you have planned.

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: flirting, innuendo, alcohol, food, language, otherwise, this is toothaching fluff!

A/N: SAMMY MY BELOVED @sanchosammy GAVE ME THIS IDEA! I hope it’s as cute as I think it is :) also, Charlie (Frankie’s pup) isn’t involved in this fic but she is still part of the fam :)

Pine trees surround you on either side, tall and majestic. You can see the blue-gray sky patching through the canopy; the clouds are leaving, but some linger a little longer to clog up the sky. The air is warm and slightly humid, but a wonderful breeze rustles through the trees and rushes across your bare arms. Your trail shoes squelch underfoot in the damp ground. You sigh, totally content with this moment. 

Frankie’s flannel is tied around his waist, leaving him in his khaki cargo pants and t-shirt. A couple of curls peek out from under his ball cap, turning into little ringlets at the nape of his neck. He walks in front of you on the trail, his boots pressing prints into the soft ground. His back profile is beautiful, even with the large camping pack, and you can’t help but grin. 

Foxtrot embodies her name- Frankie is holding her leash, and the auburn and white dog trots up ahead of him, sniffing along the mulched and muddied path. The air smells of humidity that’s just passed over and that wonderful accompanying petrichor. Fox’s white paws are surely getting dirtied, but that’s only to be expected. You don’t care, too excited to watch your boyfriend and dog walk ahead of you. 

Frowning at the bend of Frankie’s back, you catch up and take his free hand. “Let me carry something, baby.”

“No,” he shakes his head, lacing his fingers through yours. “You have important cargo,” he teases and pats your back lightly. 

Strapped to your back, in a backpack-style blue case, is your ukulele. One hand carries the cooler, slung over your shoulder, filled with food and drinks for tonight. Frankie carries the heavy-duty stuff- the tent, stakes, more essential supplies. “At least let me take Fox.”

Her red ears perk up at her name and she stops, turning and growing excited, as if she forgot you were there. “Yeah, hi Foxy!” You coo as she runs towards you, jumping with her front paws in the air in excitement. “Yeah, you love it out here, don’t you?” You ask her in a baby voice, scratching behind her ears as she circles around your legs and prevents you from moving. Frankie drops her leash in order to prevent your legs from being tourniqueted by it, and it drags behind her in the mud. 

When you pick up the leash, it’s sludgy and damp, but you don’t mind too much. You continue the hike forward and Frankie and Fox follow at your sides, both beaming ear to ear and enjoying the serenity of the woods. 

Frankie picked the campsite, so he’s technically leading the way, but the trail is fairly straightforward, meaning you don’t need to be led. Frankie points out wildlife here and there: chipmunks, rabbits, cardinals and chickadees flitting through the pine-needled canopy. He’s in his element, and you’re in yours: with him. 

The mud gives way to drier ground ahead, and luckily enough Frankie pulls off to the side. It’s the perfect spot, with a beautiful little field of wildflowers. “Welcome to your five-star hotel for the night, babe,” he assures you and kisses you softly, making you giggle and kiss him back with excitement and a pinch of nerves in your stomach.

There’s a routine the two of you have silently adopted. Frankie sets up the small tent, just big enough for the two of you and Fox. You gather kindling, set up a fire, arrange the chairs and all-around make the outdoor area of your campsite ideal.

Frankie is a man of patience, truly, but sometimes the little portable tent proves to be a challenge. You allow Fox off of her leash, knowing she’s well-trained enough to stick around the site, and find your way to the mess of fabric and stakes covering the man. “Baby. For the love of God, we do this all the time,” you tease.

“Well, something must’ve fucking changed,” he grumbles as he fiddles with the parts. You get on your knees on the soft bed of dried pine needles and help him out. With your help, the tent takes no time at all to put up, and you stand and brush off your hands. Frankie gives you a sheepish smile and you give him a kiss. 

The two of you don’t need to converse while you set things up. You enjoy the woods, the rustling of the wind and chirping of birds. Fox curls up on the blanket you set out for her, and when everything is done, you unzip the cooler and hand Frankie a beer. “Well, now we’re all set.”

“Let the fun begin,” he chuckles and twists the top open, clinking his glass bottle to yours. 

“So, Francisco,” you smile over at him. “What do you have planned for this trip? I know you have some sort of plan laid out up there,” you tease and rap on his head softly, through the trucker cap resting there.

He blushes a little and looks away. “I don’t always have a plan.”

“Hey.” You turn his face back to yours by the chin. “You do and I absolutely love it. Now tell me about it, please, baby.”

Frankie removes his hat and runs a hand through his curls. “Well, I figured we could start the fire soon, cook dinner over it. It’ll get dark pretty quick. Then hang around the campfire, maybe play some of the games I packed.”

“Is a quiet tumble in the tent on the cards?” You ask him with a teasing grin, nudging his side. 

He shrugs, jokingly, as if he’s considering it. “I don’t see why we couldn’t squeeze that in. We only have, oh… three hours of time in between these plans.”

“Then we’ll use all three of those hours,” you shrug and steal a kiss, smiling into his lips. “I love you. And I love it out here.” You were never a nature person before Frankie, usually preferring indoors adventures to hiking or camping. Frankie looks like he belongs out here, and he probably thinks he does. Even if you didn’t enjoy the fun of outdoors adventuring, you’d have at least one thing to enjoy: Frankie’s excitement and enthusiasm over it. “Thank you.”

Fox is curled at Frankie’s feet, and he bends over to scratch her ears, running his fingers through her scruffy fur. “Thank you, baby. For coming out here with me and putting up with all of this. I couldn’t ask for a better adventure partner.”

-

You do, indeed, cook dinner over the fire. You’d prepped all kinds of chopped vegetables to be grilled over an open flame, and had additionally packed pre-cooked hot dogs as well as s’mores ingredients. Frankie is a firm believer that it’s not camping if it doesn’t include graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows.

Luckily, your Frankie is a skilled griller. He always is, always has been. He takes care of the cooking part, since you prepared everything else, though he lets you hold the hot dogs over the fire to roast. “I feel like I’m at camp again,” you laugh as you slowly rotate the food over the fire.

Frankie is taking charge of the vegetables, expertly. They’re getting a beautiful char, you notice. “It’s much better, because you don’t have to sneak around to make out with your boyfriend at night, huh?” He teases and tosses you a grin. 

“But I get my boyfriend all to myself,” you nod and confirm. “And I have my baby girl with me,” you coo as you rub Foxtrot’s head, where she’s resting at your side.

The meal is delicious, of course, when the two of you work together and each used your strong skills. Frankie slips bites to Fox when he thinks you’re not looking, of course, but it’s endearing, the way the dog’s big brown eyes mirror those looking down at her.

There’s not much conversation while you eat, mouths occupied with food rather than speaking. That’s alright. There’s plenty of time for that tonight and tomorrow.

The sun starts sinking lower when Frankie brings the marshmallows from the tent. “Guess what time it is!” He exclaims as he rips open the bag, skewering two marshmallows and holding them over the fire.

Like he’s a skilled griller, he’s also a wonderful marshmallow-toaster. Frankie toasts yours to perfection, just the way you like it, and you do your part as the s’more-sandwicher, shoving the marshmallow between the graham crackers and chocolate.

There’s no signal out here, and you agreed neither of you would use your phones unless an emergency happened. Frankie frowns as he sees your phone. “Hey. Put that away. Don’t use that.”

“There’s an emergency, Frankie,” you whine, opening the camera app with one hand and eating the sugary dessert with the other.

“And what’s that?” He asks, taking a bite of his s’more. 

Strings of gooey marshmallow connect the sandwich to his lips, making him laugh, and you snap a picture at the perfect moment: Frankie’s closed-lipped smile as his s’more falls apart on him. “You’re too damn cute, that’s the emergency,” you laugh and set the photo as your lock screen, tossing it away.

Frankie’s schedule actually worked itself naturally. After the s’mores and a wet-wipe hand-washing to remove the endless marshmallow from Frankie’s hands, you find yourself sitting around the fire, no light left in the sky. When you look up, all you can see is inky blue and pine trees, the stars yet to make their nightly rise. 

“I have a song request,” Frankie asks and raises his hand like a child in a classroom.

“Yes, Francisco?” You tease as you walk to the tent, grabbing your ukulele and returning with it, sitting back in your lawn chair with it. “Hit me.”

“Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel. No, wait- Country Roads.”

Laughing, you noodle around with the strings for a moment. You knew this moment would come, and here’s the opportunity. “I can play all of those and more, Frankie. We’ll do the Billy Joel first,” you nod decisively.

Frankie sounds like the forest wolves at night when he sings along. He absolutely howls, taken away by the song, taken to a place where his voice isn’t just a little on the rougher end of good. He belts the words and dances along in his seat, like you do.

Then Country Roads. You thought the last one was bad before you hear Frankie’s booming voice echoing the ballad of West Virginia through seemingly the entire preserve. But you don’t care in the slightest. You sing along proudly, strumming your ukulele harder and harder until you’re sure you can’t add any more volume before snapping a string. 

After the song, you pause and rest your ukulele flat on your lap. “Frankie, baby. Can I ask you something?”

He nods, smiling over at you. “Any time. What’s up, buttercup?” He asks, taking one of your hands and kissing the knuckles.

“Will you marry me?” You ask. The question is straight and to the point, blunt and honest. Your face conveys your hope, and the grandiose speech follows. “I love you beyond belief, Frankie. I love you almost as much as you love these woods. I know you love me too. I just… think it’s time. We’ll be perfect for it. What do you say?”

You can feel Frankie’s slightly-chapped lips curve into a smile against your hand. He’s grinning and then he’s crying, soft water droplets forming in the corners of his eyes. “Of course I’ll marry you,” he grins, grabbing your ukulele and setting it aside.

Once the ukulele is on the ground, Frankie stands in front of your chair and lifts you to your feet, kissing you with such fervor you can’t help but gasp. When he breaks away, you smile, eyes watering too. “I know it wasn’t the most elegant of proposals, but-”

“It was the most us,” Frankie cuts you off with a teary grin. “I would be honored to be your husband, my love. You really want me enough to do that?”

“Frankie,” you coo, cupping his face in your hand. “You are the best husband I could ever want, could ever dream for,” you assure him and kiss his nose gently.

The man laughs, wiping his tears away. “Then let’s get married,” he whoops excitedly, then lets out an excited shout to the woods. “We’re getting married!”

You laugh at his loud and booming declaration, but nothing can detract you for the love and joy in your heart.

When you and Frankie settle down in your chairs again, you pick up the ukulele and finish off with one last beautiful song that you and Frankie have always adored, with a title that truly fits: At Last.

-

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