#It was in an Early Middle Age dig and the body was in the wrong stratification

[kiwicopia]

🔞 MDNI | Kinktober: Gloryhole/Stuck 🔞

🎃 Dilf!Gojo x Babysitter!Fem!Reader 🎃

TW: Mentions of cheating (not reader), creampie, squirting, orgasm denial, cunnilingus, Gojo eating out from the back, a bit of roughness, Gojo taking advantage of reader, age difference (early-thirties Gojo, mid-twenties reader), mentions of breeding, Megumi is adopted.

tags: @shes-so-insane @stygianoir @uzxotic

For as long as you could remember, Gojo was always a respectable man and employer. He paid you more than what you thought was the regular amount for babysitting little Megumi, yet he always dismissed your words whenever you told him how you thought it was too much. The man was well off—very well off—and he didn’t mind being more than a little generous to the woman that took care of his child while he was at work. Honestly, if his wife hadn’t been caught sleeping with another man, you wouldn’t have this job in the first place. You felt bad about what happened, even if it was two months ago, yet you were grateful for the job opportunity that came out of it—but then came changes.

Longing glances turned into small, fleeting touches when being handed things or giving him stuff. It wasn’t noticeable at first, but it didn’t take long for you to eventually piece things together. Honestly, it felt like something to be expected after having divorced his wife, but you couldn’t do that to your employer. Could you? No, it felt wrong, especially since he was already more than generous with your pay. Still, you could never forget the looks or gentle touches he gave you. 

A small huff fell from your lips as you cleaned up the playroom. Megumi had already been put to bed after feeding and bathing him, so now all that was left to do was to tidy up the house before his father came home. Most of the toys had been picked up off the floor and put away, yet there were still a few that remained inside the little cubbyhole the child liked to hide in. You huffed again, lowering yourself to your knees before crawling inside to retrieve the last of the toys. It was a tight fit, considering it was meant for a toddler, so you panicked when trying to crawl back out, only to realize that you were stuck. 

No matter how much you pushed your body backwards, your position in the cubbyhole didn’t change, and you frowned. For what seemed like hours, yet was just mere moments, you struggled to get out of your little predicament. It was embarrassing, and that feeling intensified when the lock on the front door jingled before the door opened. Gojo’s footsteps were faint as he traipsed through the kitchen, and your heart pounded in your chest when his footfalls came closer and closer to the playroom. The door slid open, and your body froze as he spoke. “What are you doing?” He asked. 

You bit down on your bottom lip, almost reluctant to answer, considering how embarrassed you were. “I’m stuck,” you answered. He chuckled and you felt your face heat up. “I was cleaning up the playroom, and Megumi left some toys in his cubbyhole.” The explanation of your predicament only made him chuckle even more, and you felt a shiver run up your spine after he approached and trailed a finger down the middle of your back. 

“Mm,” he hummed. You couldn’t see the way he stared down at you with tired, yet hungry, azure eyes. His poor, little babysitter got herself stuck. The man felt like it was his lucky night. His hands then placed themselves against the curve of your ass before he gently squeezed, pulling out a small yelp from your lips. “I bet you want me to help you.” His hands squeezed again, his fingers digging lightly into you. “Do you want some help?” He asked. 

“Yes,” you answered softly. Honestly, you shouldn’t have expected him to outright pull you out of the cubbyhole, because he didn’t. In one swift move, his fingers hooked themselves underneath the hem of your pants and panties, yanking them down without hesitation. “S-Sir?” 

“Shh,” he cooed. His hands slid down to your pussy, and he chuckled as his thumbs pulled apart your folds, revealing a hint of wetness. “Naughty girl. Must have been waiting for this, yeah?” Your lips parted, yet rather than words that came out, a sharp gasp took their place as his tongue licked a thick stripe up your cunt. His tongue repeated the action again, only this time the tip of the muscle pressed down against your clit as he licked. It brought forth a soft moan, and your ass wiggled as you squirmed against him. Gojo chuckled again before his tongue plunged inside of you, tasting you fully now. You couldn’t help it when another, albeit louder, moan slipped out, which prompted him to pull away from your sopping hole. “Quiet,” he told you. “We don’t want to wake Megumi, now do we?” 

Your front lowered as your chest settled against the floor of the cubbyhole while your hands clamped over your mouth. This caused your ass to rise a little higher, and the man smirked lightly at that before he resumed eating you out. It had been too long since he last tasted another woman and having to juggle work and his child left little to no time for him to hook up with anyone. Then you came along. The memories of your sweet smile and soft giggles when he caught you playing with his son, or even tucking him in. Fuck, just thinking about how much you mothered his child got his cock hard. You were so good to little Megumi—better than the whore that cheated on him—and a sudden thought caused him to groan against your cunt as he now lapped at your folds. 

You moaned into your hands as his tongue licked you relentlessly, and the thought of how wrong this was turned you on even more. Your stomach knotted as a rush of heat swarmed your body, lighting every single nerve on fire as pleasure steadily filled it. Why his wife ever cheated on him, you would never understand. He knew exactly what he was doing; applying pressure to your clit every so often while his tongue constantly dove in and out between your folds. Gojo’s pleasing felt better than any of your exes ever did, and it wasn’t long before your body felt like bursting right then and there, and he knew it. 

A small whine slipped from your lips when he pulled away. You were close, so close, and he just stopped. It felt unfair. “Not yet,” he told you. His body shifted and you heard the zipper of his pants before feeling the head of his cock at your entrance. He rubbed it against your folds, coating it with your slick before sliding in effortlessly. The way your warm walls enveloped his cock had him groaning, and his hands squeezed your ass the further he pushed himself into you, stopping only when he bottomed out. The entire ordeal felt so unreal, and you moaned into your hands when he pulled back halfway, only to slam back into you with enough force to rock you forward. You then removed one hand from your mouth and gripped the small, plastic chair within the cubbyhole as he fucked into you. Gojo groaned again at the way your cunt kept pulling him back into you. “So tight and needy,” he breathed out. 

Your other hand fell from your lips, your nails scraping against the flooring of the cubbyhole as the mixed sounds of your moans, his groans, and his balls slapping against your ass filled the playroom. “Gojo,” you mewl, eyes half-lidded and back arched slightly the more his dick bullied your hole. 

“Satoru,” he said, correcting you. His jaw clenched the more your pussy swallowed him, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way your ass jiggled the more he pounded into you. “You better call me Satoru from now on.” From then on, all that left your lips was a series of wanton moans and his name. Over and over, up until the end. “Fuck,” he groaned, slamming into you one last time. Your cunt squeezed him hard, milking him for every drop of cum he had, and you cried in pleasure as you came with him, coating his cock in your juices. The two of you stayed like that for a little longer before he slowly pulled out, and he gently tugged your body backwards, pulling you free from the cubbyhole. The man zipped himself up as your worn-out body slumped back against him, and he chuckled before scooping you up into his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

You hummed softly and stared up at him with tired eyes. Gods, you looked so cute all fucked out, and the thought of keeping you entirely filled his head. He could knock you up. That would let him keep you, and you were already great with Megumi. Yeah, he could do that. 

[dollwrites]

ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʀᴀғᴀʏᴇʟ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!bff!reader, sex toys mentioned but not used, noise control, dub con technically ( for him… kinda TRUST THE PROCESS ) prank gone wrong for reader lol, creampie, has absolutely no spoilers or deep lore, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. HAPPY 4/20! i was gonna do some dizzy drabbles but i couldn’t get this out of my head. not proofread ( and written when i was in the clouds ) so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

what had started out as a fun prank on your best friend for revenge ended with you completely at his mercy, unbeknownst to him.

picking up around the studio wasn’t something you did too often, considering it a breach of Rafayel’s privacy, but when you got there and he wasn’t home, you let yourself inside like you usually did. you were about an hour early, anyways. you hadn’t taken two steps when you stumble over a pile of crumpled sketch paper. you scrunched your brows as you gazed around your environment. scattered brushes, broken pencils, and a canvas half-painted in the middle of the floor. you sighed; perhaps Rafayel had hit a wall with his muse and had gone for a walk on the beach. the least you could do for him, you’d decided, was to clean up a bit. after all, a clean space is a productive space, right?

that was when you came across it, left carelessly on his bed, swaddled in a sea of white sheets and the comforter. you’d never seen one in real life until this moment, and at first you mistook it for a woman asleep in his bed with her butt sticking out of the blankets— but, it was fake. a plump, nearly life sized ass sitting atop the mattress.

does Rafayel really use something like this?

you found your cheeks heated up with embarrassment when you pictured him mounting it, both of his smooth palm against the cheeks, svelte digits digging into the silicone to spread it open wide enough for him to push inside…

shaking your head to snap yourself out of the fantasy, you look around, making sure no one was around to see you get lost in your own desire for him. “S—stupid.” you muttered to yourself, stepping closer to touch the fleshiest part of it. surprisingly soft, as soft as your own skin. your brow quirks, fingers sliding to the waistband of a pair of cerulean, lace panties that adorned the faux lower body. it seemed so strange to have clothes on something that was meant to stay hidden and used in private, as if the silicone slab had been laid out meticulously…

no, Rafayel didn’t use this for his own pleasure, you decided. this was a prank. an elaborate one, but one meant to fluster you when you came over.

he was such an ass!

“Oh yeah?” you challenge under your breath, grasping the panties and tugging them off of the toy, “You want to play games? I can play, too.” determined to outprank Rafayel, you toss the panties on the bed and stash the toy beneath the bed. it was surprisingly heavy, and made a splat when it hit the surface of the floor, you had to stifle a chuckle as just hilarious this was. you didn’t want him to win, even if he wasn’t there to see it. quickly unbuttoning your pants, you discard them and the panties you were wearing, kicking them under the bed, too. then, you grab the cerulean lace and pull them on— perfect fit! you took a moment to glance in a nearby mirror, turning slightly. your ass had a similar curve and complexion, and you hoped it was enough to fool him, at least long enough for you to scare him when he least expected it. then, you climb into the bed, scrupulous as you nest your top half under a pile of blankets, the pillows resting on the top of your shoulders to hide your head. there was also the issue with your legs. it took a great amount of wrapping sheets around your thighs as you kick and squirm, before you’re finally perfectly positioned— identical to the way he’d left the fake ass, your own sticks out as if inviting him, as you wait for him to return.

at first, it had been difficult to keep yourself from jittering, too excited to see the look on his face when you jump out, effectively one-upping his lewd joke. but, as the minutes ticked on, with your entire body hidden within his bedding, you’d started to sweat, breathing in the dense air trapped under the pillows with you, and you had to readjust several times. it took so long that you were just about to give up on the prank and unbury yourself, before you heard the door open.

showtime.

you felt knots of excitement tying themselves together in your belly as you willed yourself to be as still as possible, and appear as the lifeless, silicone toy.

you could hear him moving about the studio, sighing, and your heart was starting to beat faster in your ears— you hoped that he would hurry to his room, so you could reveal yourself soon, and you could get out from under this suffocating duvet.

when he’d stepped into the bedroom, you hear the door close behind him, and you have to physically keep yourself from kicking your feet in excitement. it was almost time to scare the living daylights out of your best friend. your muscles tighten, ready to jump up, but a sound abruptly stops you.

a zipper.

you freeze, listening silently to the sound of rusting fabric. soft thuds as he kicked out of his shoes, and a whoosh that follows towards the floor.

was he undressing?

your eyes widen only when you hear a heavy breath, followed by the click of a cap. squeezing, then a low moan coming from behind you. it was Rafayel. your eyes widen. you’d never heard such a sound from his mouth, and you had a pretty good idea of what he was doing. the subtle skin slapping that started slow, but sped up shortly after, his breath getting heavier simultaneously. you realized how wrong it was to hear Rafayel pleasuring himself, especially when he didn’t know that you were there. you should really say something, open your mouth and let him know that he wasn’t alone, but when your lips parted, you couldn’t force any sound from it. you were too stunned by these sounds to give him any kind of warning. you listen, mouth agape and eyes big, staring into the headboard of his bed as he takes a few steps towards the foot of it. your mind races, realizing that he had not placed the toy on his bed for you to find it—

this had not been a toilet-humor prank that he was putting together. he simply hadn’t had the time to hide his private toys before you stumbled upon them.

to solidify this revelation, you feel one hand tracing over the shape of your ass. his fingers were warm and slick, and you nearly gasped, sealing your lips just in time for his digits to curl around the panties and tug on them, inching down your thighs. he would definitely discover you were disguising yourself as the toy when he couldn’t take them all the way off, and that thought was equally humiliating and comforting. you didn’t exactly love the idea of him finding out now, after exposing your cunt to him, and now that you’d gotten an earful of him jerking off, but at least things wouldn’t go further. Rafayel doesn’t, however, try to pull the panties down completely. instead, he seems content to leave them around your thighs, and his fingers trace upwards, slowly and skillfully, until they trace your netherlips, slathering your sex in what had to be lube, cool and wet.

oh, god. your top teeth sink into your lower lip as his fingertips swipe full laps between your folds. the pads rub against your most sensitive nub, leaving it throbbing and begging for more attention before they drag downwards, teasing your opening. he didn’t seem to notice that your cunt spasms, attempting to clamp down on his fingers, before they run another lap. he lets out a heavy breath, the sound of his palm smacking against his abdomen as he fucks his own hand in tandem to the way he was unknowingly teasing your pussy making your head spin.

this was so wrong.

you had to tell him right now.

your tiers part once more, this time determined to stop this before—

the swollen, slippery head of Rafayel’s cock rubs against your slit. one hand covers your mouth to keep any sound, words or otherwise, from escaping as you realize that it’s too late to expose yourself now. you’d look like a total creep, taking advantage of your best friend by pretending to be his sex toy. “Huh—uhh…” Rafayel emitted a low moan as he rubbed his dick against you a few more times, before planting one palm on your ass, the other holding tight to his base as he plunged inside.

it took all you had within you to not let out a cry of surprise at the sudden entry. your free hand grips the sheet so tightly you fear your nails will rip holes in it, and your toes curl beneath the mattress. Rafayel had been under the impression that he could be as rough as he wanted, because the pussy was nothing but a silicone replica, and so his rhythm was steady, deep pumping almost immediately upon bottoming out in your guts. “Fuck,” he breathes out, hips thumping against your ass, both hands grasping at it. “F—feels good… yeah,”

he was right about that, and you wished you could vocalize it. your walls fluttered about in delight as he pounded into you, his cock was longer than you’d thought it would be, the tip bold in its deep exploration, prodding against your g-spot with every, full thrust of his hips. you fought the urge to bounce back, meet his movements with equally eager grinding. instead, your eyes began to roll and your lids flittered, and the grip on your own mouth tightened to keep any of your stifled mewls and whimpers from escaping. you couldn’t, however, keep from gushing when he hit the perfect depth with his fervent stroking, and you could only hope that his thorough drenching you in lubrication would be enough to mask this.

you could hear him panting, moaning, swearing, as he fucked you with reckless abandon. his fingers digging into your warm, satin skin, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you. it was as if you felt every, single vein as they rub your walls, autographing your insides, claiming them as his as he uses you.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…!”

he was getting louder, his hips bucking more powerfully, more erratically, and the throbbing in your core was a testament to just how close to cumming he was.

you knew how wrong this was, but all rational thinking was dissipating; you were enjoying being fucked like this; greedy, careless pounding, by your closest friend too much to ruin it, now. you didn’t want to stop it, not until he was fully satiated.

“F—fuck, yeah,” Rafayel swoons, grabbing full fists of your ass, pulling your ass back to meet his hungry hip-snapping, “more, more, more!”

you couldn’t take much more, and you push your face into the mattress to keep quiet, both hands scrambling to hold on to something, squeezing the edge of the mattress with your nails sinking in— anything to relieve the pressure he was forcing as deep into you as he could. your feet wanted to kick, your back wanted to arch, and you wanted to scream out in pure pleasure, so you clung to the bed as tightly as you could in hopes that you could ride out the orgasm he was ripping from you.

he didn’t even seem to notice your twitching and subtle squirming beneath the blankets as he made you drop off and come undone, which you were thankful for, because he was too caught up in chasing his own high. “Gonna cum, gonna cum!” Rafayel was sputtering, desperately trying to get there, pressing all of his weight against your ass as he pumps a few more, deep and hard, thrusts into you before he grunts, and releases. as if he’d been pent up for quite a while, you felt a spattering of warmth, and then it spreads as he fills your belly with his essence. you nearly lose it in this moment, and almost blow your cover, your walls clamping down on his cock as he starts to retract. it felt so good to be full of Rafayel that you didn’t want him to pull out, but he does so with a ragged moan. there’s an uncomfortable emptiness that follows his abandoning of your cunt, the feeling of being fucked deep and left there, your oblivious best friend’s cum dribbling out of your used pussy as it twitches and your muscles stay tense. you knew you were leaving a small puddle on his sheets below you, but you could hear him milling around the room instead of focusing on you, now.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself, and you his phone unlock, then the rapid-fire tapping of his fingers on the keys. was he… texting?

you were answered when you heard the faint vibrating of your phone in your pants pocket, hidden under the bed. he texted you?! at first, you think he must’ve heard it, because everything went silent, and you waited for him to start shouting, but he doesn’t.

a few moments later, the door opens, and his footsteps fade as he swaggers down the corridor, satiated, and a moment later, you hear the shower turn on.

for the first time in several minutes, your muscles relax for a moment, before you swim out from your heated prison in a hurry, scrambling under the bed to grab your phone. every move you made, you could feel his release swirling around inside you and dribbling down your thighs, and you groan at the sensation, and the trail you made before you pulled the panties up to keep any more from leaving evidence. staring at the screen, panting and fucked out, your eyes barely focusing, you read the message in disbelief.

just woke up so i’m running late. stop on the way and buy lunch or something i’m starving

liar.

but you didn’t have time to dwell on the message; you get dressed as quickly as you can, what with your legs trembling like shaken jelly and your insides sore from Rafayel’s eager plowing, and hoist the fake butt back into place on top of the bed. you had to make a stealthy exit before he got out of the shower. stuffing your own panties into your pocket, you decide the best way to avoid an even stickier mess on his floor that would certainly be noticeable, you had to wear the panties meant for the doll. you could only pray he didn’t realize they’d gone missing right away, and later today when you could sneak away to the bathroom, you’d put them back in place.

so, stumbling and trying to catch your breath, freshly fucked, you leave through the sliding back door, the one that faces the shoreside, and closes it behind you to complete your escape.

once outside, you exhale deeply, lean against his car, hidden from windows’ views, to evaluate the damage, beyond the mess of him in your panties. you groan, covering your face with both hands in belated guilt.

you could never, ever tell him about this!

[cckaisen]

୨ৎ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 𝓙𝓔𝓩𝓔𝓑𝓔𝓛, nanami kento !

an indulgence in nanami, his sweet intern, and their shared insanity.

ಇ. summary. fem!reader, smut, dark content, age gap (reader early 20s, nanami late 30s), mildly dubcon, power imbalance, boss/intern relationship, daddy kink, dubious morality, dom/sub elements, seduction, internal conflict, corruption. minors do not interact !!

ಇ. notes. believe it or not, i love nanami, but with that comes my desire to absolutely ruin his life. sorry hun 🩷

nanami's index and middle eagerly dip into the cavern of your mouth, swimming in your saliva as it fills up the crevice between his thick fingers. his features contort in anguish at the way your tongue swirls around him. the noise he lets out is almost wounded, bringing up his other hand to cover his mouth.

digging your knees into the carpet, you tighten your lips around his digits, sucking him in like a whore, gruesome imagery that has his cock straining his pants. every logical bone in nanami's body aches to push you away, yet here he is, ensnared, watching with a strange contained horror as you drool around him.

watching. like a monster lurking in the shadows, knees spread as he sits back in his wanton throne.

he lets your eyes roll back, thumb poking against your cheek as you suckle on his jaded fingers.

it's so much easier to keep from thinking with your satiny mouth enveloping him, soothing him in a violent sear all through his body.

experimentally, nanami pushes his fingers back just enough to trigger your little reflex, watching you gag, lashes fluttering in brief panic as he lets out this awful, guttural groan—he's endeared.

what is wrong with him? what the fuck is wrong with him...?

and why can't he stop?

he's reigned in from bliss by a slurry of soft sounds that drench his hands, the cold steel of his watch bumping your chin.

"what is it?" nanami blurts, question incongruous with his own dizzied tone.

"wanna tashte yoh..." you mumble, fluttering your lashes even though they're thick with globs of tears from where you gagged around him. "please, nanami..."

no. he can't let you. he can't. he's already let this go too far—

nanami bites the inside of his cheek. before he can even reply, you're unfurling his belt, metal clinking darkly.

"fuck..." he pants, wet hand moving out of your mouth to slide across his face. his nose-bridge glistens with your sticky saliva, "goddamnit..."

his lets his eyes shut briefly as you free him from his cotton confines. leaning forward with intent, you take his cock into your palm, noting the way your fingertips struggle to meet around him. he pants harder, gasps for breath, grits his teeth.

"s—sweetheart..." nanami breathes.

open your eyes. see how disgusting i am.

you only answer him with a soft exhale, hardly a sigh. he's alerted to the pink of your lips first as your mouth pools around his tip, and then a shaky, untried breath, and then a barrage of images strike him, a violent, vivid list of things he wants to do to you. his muscles seize up in an attempt to keep himself restrained.

strategically flattening your tongue against his tip, you watch for any kind of reaction like a hawk snatching up its prey. made-up eyes sparkle while inspecting the new crease in his brow, drowning in his destruction.

he stares at you, despairing, a large hand coming up to brush against your cheek. you lap up the affection, crooning into it, insatiable greed spilling out in the form of syrupy saliva. it dribbles messily to the base of his cock, a token of your yearning, the same that held him in his chair as you puddled at his feet.

there was nothing right about this. nothing remotely, possibly, vaguely right. nothing that nanami could scramble to find while taking advantage of your naivety, surmising that perhaps you two could be together, fleetingly, as two adults in two very different stages of life.

because it's so easy. it's so easy to take you when you're so willing, so eager. all his. you leap for his attention, at any cost—how high is never a factor in your decision. his greedy little intern.

his precious little girl.

he's cradling your head in his palms, feeling the heat pooling in your cheeks, nesting in your hair when he breaches your throat with a strained grunt.

squinting your eyes, you rush to take it all, inviting nanami to meld you to his will. he grimaces when your nails dig into his skin through his pants, imagining the terrible thoughts gushing through your mind about wanting to please him more than anything. then, pleasure lurches through him, his own body betraying his morals.

you rut your mouth up and down on him, slobber drenching his thighs. nanami's touching you, holding your head, but not for better use—his hands are hot and gentle, like sapped concrete.

"it's okay. you can be rough," you ebb him on, popping off briefly with a smarmy look. "i'm not made of glass, you know."

nanami sneers at the comment. "don't."

"what? don' wanna hurt me? c'mon, i can take it." you pepper kisses up the side of his cock, flushed and magma-hot, rubbing against your cheek.

"god," his hips roil in response to your torment, his breath labored around the words, "the mouth on you..."

"mhm. i'm good with it, right?" you giggle before getting back to your little task. in dizzying motions, you roll your tongue along him, sweet kitten licks souring his conscience, all his fantasies rolling into one diabolical act.

nanami's brain fizzles in dying sparks, eyes rolling. he attempts to let go of you in order to sink his grip into the chair for crushing purchase, but you refuse; little fingers snatch his and bring them to the back of your neck.

kento chokes on a moan as your nose brushes his pelvis, your body floundering weakly for a moment. your instinct for air is obstructed by a growing pressure against the back of your head.

"good girl, that's it..."

pride flourishes in your chest when you're given praise, panties growing stickier from under your skirt. you can't breathe, but it feels too good. the way he keeps you there, maintaining the invasion in your throat, selfish, unchecked lust bleeding out through the cracks of his dignity.

and it's too easy. when he tugs you back, lets you bob your head, gagging on needy gulps and whines, it comes so easily he hardly knows why he was ever so reluctant. so hesitant, and for what? what's the point in holding back if you want it? when you want it rough? when it's exactly what you're begging for? when it's clear that all you want is to be treated like those girls in porn, those girls with fathers who don't care for them, those girls who ask for it, who don't know any better, who get found shot dead in a ditch, legs askew and panties twisted around their ankles, one of those girls.

nanami thrusts forward. shoves his cock down your throat, really, punching a gasp from deep inside your body. he comes with a strained grunt, a ragged whisper of your name, croaked out into the cosmos.

your throat squeezes, something hot and thick gushing into the tight space. gargling, swallowing, spluttering as you thrash for air, nanami's grip slackens.

"s-stop," he jerks, gritting his perfect set of teeth until they creak under the pressure. "stop it, don't—"

the second his grasp on you loosens, the yearning floods again tenfold. in an attempt to regain his rugged affections, you suckle at his cock, panting greedily, tearful eyes wide and owlish with glutton. "d—daddy..."

nanami hisses, overstimulation pricking his nerves. in an instant, he flares up, acid in his gut fizzling, lurching at you.

a choked noise—a squeak—jumps from your spit-glossed lips at once, barely reaching his ears. you're balking at him, not in your usual girlish inflection. this was different. it was scared.

it takes him a few beats to make out the jaunted figure of his knuckles squeezing around your neck, calcifying. a milky rapture. the sight ingrains itself in his mind, carving the image of your wobbling pupils into the shadows of his careful persuasion.

that simple pleasure dissolves as quickly as it came. guilt rears its ugly head, a pit of ice settling in his stomach. nanami churns. had he just...?

recoiling at his own affliction, kento shudders, releasing you at once.

relief is immediate. your lungs swallow up all the air they can, chest expanding for a giant gulp of air. fright begins to subside, but that foreboding darkness in his eyes flashes through your mind in harsh, bright bursts. willowy fingers tremble on-top of his knee, the same that had just lured out that murk in him he desperately despised.

a necklace of torrent red rises to the surface of your skin in the wake of his foul touch. you paw at it weakly, stunned turmoil heavy in your gaze as you blink up at him.

"i—i'm sorry," nanami chokes out, "god, i'm sorry... i don't know what came over me."

"it's okay," you dispel quickly, wiping off the wet trails along your cheeks, because you liked it—his cruelty. it's been your goal since the very beginning. to break him down, to expose that carnality that simmered in his veins. you'd done just that. and even though it had only been for the briefest of seconds, the wound it left was raw, broiling and morbid.

but you liked it.

right?

"no, it's not okay. i went too far." nanami's blood pressure slides as he makes the admission. "i hurt you just now."

"yeah? so what?" you shrug a 'couldn't care less', holding his careful gaze, "i liked it."

a line of revulsion carves into nanami's forehead, deep and unmistakable. fear that it's aimed at you pangs in your chest until he suddenly groans, palming his chiseled face. thin brows sinking, that new wrinkle exaggerated by the untimely turn of events. "god, what the hell have i done to you...?"

your breath hitches at the self-imposed question. it's engrained with frustration, gaunt and responsible. so nanami of him.

and yet he leers inwardly, venom rising in his throat. "can't you see i'm ruining you?"

nanami's words teem with unvarnished emotion, corruption burbling in his deep baritone voice, the corruption you share so blindly, so willingly. it wreaks turbulence unto your vision, wetting your eyes again.

"nanami..."

"i'm so sorry," he pleads. "forgive me. i didn't want this for you. please believe me... you believe me, don't you? that i didn't want—i don't want to be like this."

you fall quiet again. you're still below him, knees starting to ache as you catch your breath.

"i'm sorry," kento mumbles, lifting you so gently upright and pulling you towards him. your head meets his firm chest as his hands come up, one cradling the back of your skull, the other at the small of your back. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm so, so sorry."

"it's okay. i forgive you." you whisper, wrapping your arms around him. despite the soggy shards of concern that lay in pieces at your feet, you croon into him none the less, giving chase once again. to him. to his touch, his protection, his patience.

you want it all.

the anguish, the control, the lacerations of his love.

hurt me.

hurt me.

and i promise i will like it.

likes n reblogs are appreciated !! 🩷

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @contemporarybardess, @realmackross TIMING: Early November (directly after this thread) SUMMARY: After being attacked by Chris, Mackenzie goes to get help from the one person she trusts most with her life - Elora. WARNINGS: Eye trauma tw, Food poisoning tw, Vomit tw, Unsanitary tw, Murder mention tw, Gun mention tw

Nervously, Elora kept glancing at her phone for any new messages from Mackenzie. “Hey, had a great time the other night. Would love to see you again, if that’s okay? Maybe we can just relax, get some coffee?” Delivered. No read receipt, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t seen it. Was she being too clingy? It had been a few days since their last date and she had definitely felt sparks. But now she was beginning to doubt if those sparks were felt both ways. She waited a couple days because she didn’t want to seem desperate, but maybe that made Mack think she wasn’t interested? 

She had to get a hold of herself. She hadn’t ever let herself get this worked up over somebody before, even with Jake. There was a certain kinship the two had developed, especially now that both of them were aware that each of them had something that made them special. 

—

Her face had claw marks running down the middle of it and dead skin hung from scratches on her body, including a good portion of her back. Mackenzie was struggling after managing to escape from the motel room she had been in with Chris. But with all her strength after shambling around an empty motel room all night, she had found her way out into the morning light, the sun sending a pressure through her cloudy, graying eyes. She needed food. Anything that would sustain her from going on another rampage through town. And luckily for her, she was out far enough away that maybe she could avoid hurting anyone.

Air hitching in her throat as she gasped in and out, Mack stumbled around aimlessly, until she made her way back into the woods. The sounds of birds chirping around her and the rustling of leaves and brush had her spinning around as a feral instinct started to once again kick in. It was the smell of blood lingering in the air that guided the young zombie until she had reached the dying body of a deer that had been shot, and without hesitating, Mackenzie found herself digging into the flesh of the animal as it cried out.

“What the fuck?” Hearing the words behind her, the wounded and blood covered zombie looked up to find a bulky middle-aged man dressed in camo staring her down with a gun aimed in her direction.

—

Her knuckles wrapped hard on the door, as Mackenzie anxiously stood outside Elora’s home, “Please be home. Please be home…” It looked as though she had been through Hell and back, and without any means of a doctor, the deep claw marks from the werewolf attack still remained visible, but not as worse for wear as they had been earlier in the day. Finally pulling out her phone, she noticed the text message from Elora. In all the commotion, she had missed the notification, and now, she desperately stood at the woman’s front door needing her help yet again. Mackenzie had felt like the worst person on the planet, and without wanting to do any further damage to their relationship that was just forming, had turned around and started to walk away.

—

It had been far too long, and Elora got the feeling she was being ghosted. Maybe that night in the pumpkin patch was just a fun one off thing but nothing more regular or serious than that? Maybe she had said something wrong? Maybe…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hard knocking at her door. Elora was a bit slow to get up, just because in Worm’s Row a knock at the door when you weren’t expecting one is usually trouble. As she slowly approached, she looked through the peephole. Only to see the back of a familiar blond head slinking slowly away from her door.

Quickly, Elora flung the door open and called out. “Hey! Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting co-” her words cut off as she saw the bloodied and battered woman in front of her. Here she was worrying about if Mack still liked her, meanwhile the poor woman looked like she’d been to hell and back. Fear, concern, and rage all built up inside Elora at the sight. Whoever had done this to her would pay. And they would pay dearly. 

“Oh my God. Who…who did this to you? Get inside, please. Let me help you.”

—

When she heard the door open and heard the familiar voice, Mack reluctantly turned around. She had hated that she was bothering Elora with a “needing saved” problem yet again. But at least this time, she was well aware of her surroundings and wasn’t in a state of not being able to function. No, this time, she was actually coherent and for the most part, doing okay. But it didn’t help that she had just knowingly consumed an innocent man. There was a first time for everything! And it was for the greater good right? If she hadn’t, things could have been worse right? She had to keep telling herself that, and in fact, letting Elora know was the last thing she wanted to do. In fact, Mack hadn’t got to flex her acting muscles in a while, and now would be the chance.

“It’s…I’m fine. Just a little bloody and scratched up is all. I’ll be okay. You were the first person I thought of, and I’m not here…I don’t want to mess anything up. I just didn’t want to be alone…” That was all true, but Mackenzie wasn’t fine. Had she ever really been though, since the day she turned? “Plus I can’t really reach my back, so…Doctor Elora to the rescue again…” Her words faltered and soon fell flat as she looked down at the ground, “I’m sorry. I really am.” She blinked a few times, blood seeping into her eye and giving it a nice, red hue, before walking inside with her metaphorical tail tucked between her legs.

—

As Mack spoke, Elora looked on at her incredulously. A little bloody was definitely an understatement, although she wasn’t covered in as much blood as when they had first met. Still, the ever apparent wounds on her body told Elora that this blood was at least mostly hers. She carefully took the zombified woman and ushered her inside the apartment. It was a good thing there was no carpet to get any bloodstains on. 

Thankfully, she kept a basic first aid kit on hand at all times. She took some peroxide and gauze and started dabbing at Mackenzie’s wounds. 

“What happened, did you start to get into a frenzy again? Did your food fight back this time? Or did you come across a slayer?” There was anger in Elora’s voice, but none of it was directed towards Mack. It was directed at the unknown assailant who could cause her such harm. She had hoped it was a hunter so that she had more of an excuse to give them hell. “I swear hunters are fucking bottom feeders, just taking out whoever they can for a quick buck. Tell me who it is and I swear…” she stopped, noticing her vindictive side was starting to emerge. 

“Sorry, I’m not helping your nerves much, am I? I just…can’t believe somebody would hurt you like this.” 

She came around the back of Mackenzie and slowly lifted her shirt to assess the damage. The sight that met her nauseated and shocked her completely. 

“Oh my-” she began, but couldn’t finish her sentence. Her flesh hung like ribbons from her back, as if a wild animal had attacked her. She didn’t figure Mack had gone poking around in the woods aggravating bears, so she figured it must have been a shapeshifter of some kind. She assumed it must have been a werewolf; she dreaded the idea of this being done by another siren. She wanted to say something, to ask her, but instead she just stared in shock at the extent of the damage her back had taken in her attack. 

—

Mackenzie followed Elora into her place. It was the first time she had been in there, and despite the situation she had just come from as being gnarly, she couldn’t help but take in her surroundings. It had a chill vibe to it. It seemed welcoming and safe – something Mack had definitely appreciated in this very moment. And as she followed Elora’s lead, she found a place to try and relax as the redhead pulled out her first aid kit and started to administer care to Mack, “No, it…I was jogging and me and this guy ran into each other and one of my earbuds got trashed. He said he had another one, so like the trusting idiot that I am, I went back to his motel…” She paused. Did she tell Elora that he had murdered somebody? She didn’t want her caught up in all of it. She would skip that minor detail. “Turns out he was a werewolf.” She shrugged, not thinking, but wincing at the immediate realization.

A small smile graced her face as she listened to Elora carry on, but it was the hunters being bottom feeders line that made her laugh. Emilio was a bottom feeder. That much was accurate, “I’ll be fine. It’s just flesh wounds. Yeah, they kinda hurt, but I’m dead. And they’ll probably be as good as new in the morning.” Most everything else had been it seemed like. And Mack did enjoy a nice plump hunter before coming – Wait…What?

Had she just recalled eating someone.

Not the after effects of eating someone, but actually eating someone.

As the thoughts came flooding back, Mackenzie suddenly felt queasy. The warm taste of blood, guts, organs, and…the fresh taste of brain matter sliding down her throat. Not the usual refrigerated stuff doused in hot sauce or cinnamon, “I think I’m gonna be sick…” Leaving Elora, who seemed to look pretty queasy herself, Mackenzie darted towards any room that held a sink, before…

The noises filled the room and then some as Mack left any undigested hunter parts in the sink.

—

Elora couldn’t help but marvel at Mack’s healing powers. She figured since the woman was technically dead that any damaged flesh wouldn’t heal at all. After all, weren’t all the cells that helped with healing supposedly dead? Regardless, even if she didn’t quite understand her healing powers, she was very grateful for them. She wouldn’t want her undead flame to be killed (re-killed?).  

“A werewolf? Holy shit, Mack you’re lucky to be alive. How did you escape? Is he still alive? Who was it?” She had so many questions, but she didn’t want to overwhelm her with them after what she assumed to be a pretty traumatic experience.

While she was normally pretty good with blood, she was absolutely awful at things like vomit. And unfortunately, her lovely other half has decided to drop a bunch of it directly into her kitchen sink. Normally vomit smelled awful but never this bad. It almost smelled like there was something rotting. Though she dreaded it, she approached the sink to assess the damage. 

Was that…blood? And definitely some unidentifiable viscera of some sort.

“Did you…eat him? That’s more impressive than anything, it’s not like werewolves are easy to overpower!” She got a little rush of excitement, even though the smell was still overwhelming her. Her girlfriend was a badass werewolf slayer! Only in self defense though, of course. 

“Do you need anything? Water, pepto bismol? If you’re hungry again after that I have raw chicken in the fridge, maybe that might help? 

—

Mackenzie had totally disregarded the conversation as she hung her head over the sink. How had she remembered this experience? How was it even possible? All the other times she hadn’t. All the other times, like with Brody and the Flats Reign of Terror, she was left in the dark. Was she starting to be more aware with experience or was this just a fluke? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it. She didn’t like being able to see in her head everything she had done to an innocent man out deer hunting.

Raising up from the bent position she was in, she looked over to Elora with sad eyes and a face covered in claw marks and bloodstains, “I remembered…” She ran her arm across her mouth trying to wipe off the parts of the man refusing to look back in the sink, “I remember seeing this man in the woods after finding a deer he had shot, and attacking him. I don’t know how…but I…I don’t like it, Elora. I don’t want to remember what I do to people…”

Mackenzie pitifully walked back over and sat down at the kitchen table, before letting her head drop to the table letting out a scream of frustration and rage, “FUCK.”

Raising back up, she looked back over at her girlfriend, “What do I do? I know it was because of the stuff with Chris and…” Shit. She said his name. Hopefully Elora didn’t know him. “What do I do? Do I turn myself in?” Mackenzie had just had this same conversation with Alex not too long ago after the rampage, but the difference then was that she couldn’t remember what had happened. This time she could.

—

The excitement that Elora had been feeling quickly faded. Her girlfriend was not, in fact, some badass werewolf slayer. Instead some poor sap in the woods was the owner of the guts that now decorated the inside of her kitchen sink. She had her own opinion on deer hunters, or really any animal hunters, but didn’t think they deserved to die like that. Still, she knew it was in Mack’s nature to feed out of necessity. Coming from a race of supposed “man eaters”, she could certainly relate. She still struggled at times to avoid the hunger herself. 

As Mack rose from the table, Elora met her and held her in a comforting embrace. She didn’t really know what to say. “It’s not your fault, you wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for…” Chris? Did she hear that name slip out? She thought the name sounded familiar but couldn’t quite place a finger on where exactly she had met somebody with that name. However, the list of candidates was narrowed down significantly. How many werewolves named Chris could there be in this town? 

“You’re not going to turn yourself in. This isn’t who you want to be and I know that. It’s just…some things seem to trigger these types of attacks. Besides, think about if they lock you up. One prison riot or yard fight could turn into a major bloodbath. It’s best to stay away from a place that’s prone to violence” Then, she grabbed Mackenzie’s hands in her own, interlocking their fingers. “Stay the night here. With me. You’ll be safe here. Stay as long as you need until everything blows over. We’ll figure this out, trust me.” 

—

When Mack felt Elora wrap her arms around her, she couldn’t help but bury her face in the woman’s shoulder. Just having someone hold her like that had felt comforting and was well needed in her moment of distress. Mackenzie had missed just feeling the touch of another person, and since becoming a zombie wasn’t something she often got anymore, “I know. And I just keep telling myself it might have saved so many more people…” She spoke the words into Elora’s shoulder, before pulling back to look at her.

The woman standing in front of Mackenzie had been a Godsend, like her own personal angel that had saved her more than once now, and she didn’t know how she could make it up to her, “Alex said the same thing months ago at Monty’s farm. You’re right. I can’t go out there.” She looked down, chewing on the side of her bottom lip that didn’t have a claw mark through it. Staying with Elora was probably the better option. Besides, she wasn’t sure if Chris had still been out there looking for her, and the last thing she wanted to do was encounter him again.

Looking back up, Mackenzie squeezed Elora’s hands, despite barely being able to feel them, “Okay, I’ll stay. But I am gonna have to go back home and get more…food.” She felt queasy at the word, “I don’t want to risk hurting you if I get hungry. And you can tell me to leave if at any point you don’t feel safe with me here…” She looked in the redhead’s eyes. She was falling hard for the woman and couldn’t stand to bear the idea of hurting her like she had hurt Brody.

—

Elora couldn’t help but feel bad for the young zombie in front of her. She clearly hated what she had become and what her nature had driven her to do time and time again. It was a level of humanity that was absent in much of the population, even in many of the humans she had    met. It was a clear pang of regret that meant she wasn’t really the monster she regrettably had to act like from time to time. Elora knew this. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to convince Mack of the same. 

“‘Food’, eh? Well since you’ve already turned the inside of my sink into a crime scene I guess you can bring over whatever brains and body parts you want. Just…try to be discreet about it if you can. There tends to be a bigger police presence over in this neighborhood.” 

Elora wasn’t a man eater. Hadn’t been for many years. Yet she couldn’t deny that having Mack’s “food” would still present a strong temptation to her. After all, she still hadn’t forgotten the taste, the level of satisfaction that regular food just couldn’t supply for her. If she was really in this for the long haul, she’d have to learn ways to overcome that temptation on a consistent basis. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I mean, I know a hospital’s out of the question. I just… I’m worried about you.” 

—

Mack was trying not to let this bother her. Not to put more on Elora than she already had. It would just be something else she could tuck away and deal with later when she got back home. Late nights and loneliness were her middle names. She had become a pro by this point since sleep was clearly for the weak, “Since when have I ever not been discreet?” She smiled softly at Elora throwing in a wink considering she graced television screens and computer monitors all across the world. Plus, her little Zombie Fun Run was definitely one to turn heads.

Letting go of Elora and moving towards the sink reluctantly, she peered down into the mass of zombie sludge. It was hard to believe that was once a human life. Someone with thoughts and feelings. It hurt something kinda fierce knowing that Mack was well aware of what she had done to the poor man and the deer he had shot, “I’ll clean this out, okay? Dispose of it on my way home, like it never happened.” She looked back to Elora, who had a look of concern on her face, “I’m fine. This will heal up.” Hopefully. “I mean…my acting days might be out of the question for a while, but I promise you I’m fine. If you could just throw some bandages on my back, and I might snag a t-shirt and some sweat pants if that’s okay. Don’t exactly want to walk out looking like The Walking Dead…” She forced a laugh trying to ease Elora’s mind.

—

Considering the vicious attack she survived, Elora was very impressed at Mack’s resilience. She watched her trudge over to the sink and assess the damage. 

“Just worry about getting what you need, it’s no biggie” she said, offering a warm smile back. “I’ll clean this up, let’s just say it isn’t my first time disposing human remains.” 

Mack would need more than a fresh change of clothes to make it look like she hadn’t just been through a war. But all wounds would heal in time, of course. Elora applied more peroxide and bandaged up Mack’s back as best as she could. It wasn’t perfect, but it would at least make do. 

“You can use my shower too, before you change. Y’know, get some more of the bloodstains off of you before heading out onto the street. “ While the residents in this town were used to seeing weird shit, a woman walking around covered in blood stains would still draw a lot of attention. And considering that she had to go about hiding a mostly digested body, attention was something she really didn’t want on her. 

—

Mack wasn’t thinking as clearly as she probably should have been, because when Elora mentioned taking a shower, she blinked a few times. “Wow. See this is why I’m so grateful to have a girlfriend like you…” Realizing what she had said, she paused. “I…I mean, you know, cause you’re a girl and you’re my friend and…” She quickly looked away from the woman, focusing on some random picture hanging on the wall.

Mackenzie didn’t know if it was too soon to call Elora that or if Elora even wanted to be her girlfriend. And then there was that odd sensation of being in a relationship with someone that wasn’t Brody Stevens. It was all a mixed bag of emotions, and of course, having just fought off a werewolf followed by killing a man and eating him didn’t help the situation, “Uh, think I might take you up on that shower first. You’re probably right about me needing to get cleaned up.” Her laugh was uneasy as she moved away from the kitchen, “Is it just..It’s this way right?” She pointed down the hall not paying attention to the table as she ran into the side of it, “Fuck. Sorry.” And without stopping, she rounded the corner determined to find the bathroom on her own.

—

While Elora found the other woman’s shyness cute, she couldn’t understand why she was being so coy still about defining their relationship. I mean, they had made out in a cornfield, it wasn’t exactly something most people did with their friends.

“Sure, just gals being pals. Like Joan Crawford and Mildred Pierce, the closest of friends,” she replied back with a wink. She wanted to push the envelope a bit, but still didn’t want to make Mack uncomfortable if she wasn’t comfortable slapping a label on things yet. After all, she clearly had a lot of other things going on.

She ran up behind Mack as she banged into her table, although she kept walking and seemed really flustered. She wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt but Mack’s own panicked movements were making it hard to calm her down. She made a grab for the other woman’s hand again and gave a gentle pull, urging her to face her. 

Quickly, she gave her another kiss. This one wasn’t shy or cautious like their first few, this one had purpose behind it. It conveyed a message. I am yours, and you are mine. 

“Take a breath,” she finally said after a brief pause that felt like eternity. “You’re safe here, and you can never say the wrong thing to me.” 

—

Mackenzie was so focused on everything else and on top of that, feeling like she had made a fool out of herself in front of Elora, that when the other woman grabbed her hand and pulled her back, it was somewhat of a surprise. A nice one though. But what made it even better had been the kiss.

The kiss had been so full of love and compassion that it was hard for Mackenzie to deny that Elora didn’t want to be with her. It was the solidifying thing that Mack had needed. She would always love Brody, but if she kept dwelling on him and the past, she knew she would never be able to move forward. She would just constantly be circling the drain of guilt. And while she was still afraid of the possibility, Mackenzie knew that Elora could handle herself. She was different and knew what Mack was. An advantage that Brody never had, because Mack was too afraid to tell him.

Pulling back after the kiss, she closed her eyes and took the suggested breath, which seemed to have a calming effect. Just say it, Mackenzie. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked into Elora’s, “Will you, Elora…be my girlfriend? Like officially. No fumbling around the subject. We both have baggage, and I know that things will come out in time, but I want to try this, and I want to be with you. Like really be with you. Not just making out in a cornfield, but dates, Netflix and chill, snuggling, picking out puppies together…the whole thing.”

—

She had finally said it. Elora didn’t want to be the first to fully ask about a relationship, but she was glad they could both be open about the idea now. Trusting somebody would be scary again, especially since she learned the hard way what misplaced trust can lead to, but she could feel that something was different. She knew that Mackenzie had a genuine kind heart and would never betray her trust the way that Jake had done. 

“Mackenzie Ross, I would be honored to be your girlfriend. Officially.” She couldn’t help but smile the biggest and dopiest smile she had allowed herself to in a very long time. It was officially real, no longer a hopeful what-if. “Damn, that feels good to say. Your girlfriend.” She then started laughing, not that anything was particularly funny. It was just from the amount of joy she was feeling. “Everyone's got their baggage, it’s how you know you’ve lived your life, you know? Life loves throwing bullshit our way. But no matter what comes out, it’s better to go through everything with someone else instead of alone, right?” 

There was something nice about the images of domesticity that flashed through Elora’s mind when she mentioned cozy nights in and getting a dog together.

“I’d like that a lot. But for right now you need to clean yourself up and get all your things together. I’d say we can get real familiar with each other now seeing as you’ll be staying here for a little while anyway.” 

—

Mackenzie couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling that had washed over her in that moment. It was official. She wanted to cry, shout it from the rooftops, curl up in a ball, do all the things really. Just all the emotions. It had been a whirlwind of a day so far, and now she was official with Elora. She had hoped it wasn’t too soon or rushed or in the heat of the moment, but most days she had found herself thinking about Elora, so that definitely had to have meant something right?

“I’ve got a girlfriend. The most amazing and beautiful woman in the world. Girlfriend…” She let the word roll off her tongue, and for the first time in a long time, it had felt right. “You’re right, and if there was ever a great cure for loneliness, it would be you Elora Spiros.” But the moment was cut short, and, surprisingly, that was okay, because Mackenzie’s girlfriend was right. She did need to get cleaned up and get her stuff.

Not hesitating or second guessing herself, Mack leaned in and kissed Elora again, before pulling back, “You’re right. Shower. Stuff from home. And then it’ll be just you and me, Babe.” Everything she had been feeling earlier had been replaced with hope and positivity. If she was going to be hiding away and laying low for a while, at least it was going to be with the person she loved and wanted to get to know better. And not back at home in her huge empty and lonely house.

[flaxtonst]

Every fucking night now I have to fight my own mind. I’m so sick of myself. Everything is a struggle for me for no fucking reason, because I can’t get myself together.

I make no sense. I’ve never made sense. I heard my mother tell someone once, when I was a teenager (the person she was addressing was a stepfather who was, at the time, actively terrorizing me) “Stop screaming at her, C is weird! She’s always been weird!”. It was one of the few times I felt defended by her. And it always stuck in my mind. It started the long process of coalescing things that had happened in the past…

The multiple times in early childhood where I had been pulled out of classes for weird testing or even weirder sessions with school counselors, none of which I really understood. I remembered people saying “autism” or “a.d.d.”, but nothing was ever really done. Nothing was confirmed. I got no treatment, or help, or accommodations. No one explained to me that I wasn’t just a terrible unlikeable person. I went through the entirety of school STRUGGLING. I was constantly overwhelmed and terrified. I ended up just slowly fizzling out until I dropped out because there was no point in going any more.

Eventually I learned to cover up much of my unacceptable weirdness. I learned to put on a new face. I made a few friends, most of whom were as weird inside as me. Then I made a couple of extrovert friends, and through them was able to have a bit of a social life and masquerade as a real person. For a while, anyway. Through it all was always the constant feeling of terror, of being overwhelmed, and it was exhausting.

And I was very poor, and on my own except for my friends, and had no way to get myself help, and would have had no idea how to go about getting help anyway. And it was very hard for me to pull off my mask and be myself with anyone except a few of my closest people.

And so it went, for decades. I would try to find a way to put myself on a path to SOMETHING, to dig myself out of it. And every time, I fizzled out and fell apart, either physically or mentally (or both). I feel constantly trapped in my own head, and like my body is in constant rebellion. I’m an observer of life instead of a participant. I’m always lost.

And now I’m reaching a milestone birthday, and everyone is old now, even my baby siblings are middle aged. Nieces and nephews are becoming adults. Parental figures are dying off. Close, important friends who were like family are dying off. Life is passing me by at an alarming rate. I’m THIS old, and I still haven’t fixed myself, I still haven’t figured it out, and I’m still lost. I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do. I learned the term “executive dysfunction” several years back, and it was a REVELATION. It explained so much…

But it still didn’t help. And my husband also has similar executive dysfunction issues, and can’t help either. I don’t know a way out of it. My life going to just slowly fizzle out, and nothing will ever change and I’ll never know what the hell is really wrong with me.

So I guess I’ll just keep fighting the crippling despair, every night, alone. I guess I can live with it.

[pleasantanathema]

Dirty Old Man

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Dubcon themes in the beginning (it’s later all consensual), Knifeplay (to remove clothing), Captivity/Kidnapping, Slapping, Daddy Kink, Some Assplay, Gagging (on fingers), Choking, One mention of blood, A little bit of bondage, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Age Gap, Kenny is a dirty old man.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: It’s late, but it’s here! Here’s my part to the Smut Pile’s Western Collab! Please heed the warnings. Kenny is disgusting and I’m disgusting but here we are, fucking Kenny.

           “I told you to stop running away. I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of chasin you down.” Kenny spit the words out like poison, crouching in front of you to place the tip-end of his knife against your corseted chest as a warning.

           You attempted a protest, but the makeshift gag made out of a torn piece of your skirts kept you virtually silent. Your wrists were burning, the rope around them scratching against your skin behind your back. The inn he’d taken you to for the night was damp and dirty, the floor you were tossed into reeking of piss and sour bourbon.

           He had come for you again. You’d had some wistful doubt that he wouldn’t, but like always, he’d tracked you down as easily as hunters do footprints in thick snow. He’d followed your trail and bound you with that thick rope of braided hemp he always kept at his side. Evading him was never easy, but you thought you’d gotten away with it this time when you’d found a meager orphanage to cook at. He hated children—you thought he’d never set foot in the place, but reckoning had come for you in the early hours of the morning, with a dark shadow moving in the corner of the kitchens.

           “You never fuckin’ learn. Maybe this time I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

           The sharp point of his blade dug into your clothes, the cutting edge purposefully situated between featherbone channels so it could slice at cotton threads.

          You swore against the cloth in your mouth, your curses soaking into the spit-damp fabric. He hooked a finger under the gag digging into your cheek, pulling at the material with a smirk.

          “Got something to say, kid?”

          Slowly, he pulled the torn cloth from your mouth, your head twisting to shake away strings of drool that had attached to the textile.

          “Maybe I like the chase, Kenny,” you hissed out his name, not bothering with the Mr. Ackerman bullshit you’d called him at home.

          He had once been a rather removed presence in your life; he was just that outlaw in the corner who did the terrible things the rich families in your town had the money but not the gall to do. But now he’d become the bane of your existence, the dark thread that always pulled you back into the oppressive home life you were running from. He never seemed to care. If anything, he seemed to take a sick joy in finding you quicker each time you snuck out and ran in a new, farther direction.

          “So we’re on a first name basis now, huh? Good, cause we’re about to get real intimate.”

          “You could make this real fun and actually untie me.”

          “I’m not untying you, ain’t fucking happening. I didn’t spend weeks tracking down a stupid maiden for her daddy for you to run off into the woods the moment I turn my back to piss.”

          You winced a little at his harsh words, still very aware of the cold steel carefully skating through the middle of your chest. The threads of your corset were popping and curling back toward the bone linings.

          “I’m not some fragile maiden.”

          “I don’t give a fuck what you ain’t, what you are is a big pain in my ass. I don’t get paid enough for this shit, so I’m takin’ what I’m owed.”

          The reality of your situation settled in when you felt cool air sweep across your freshly exposed breasts. Your initial thought was to kick him, but when you felt him dig the blade a little too deep into the clothes at your belly, you hesitated. One wrong move and he could be slicing you open accidentally.

          Your wrists pounded with lack of blood flow as you painstakingly tested the knots for slack again. Of course, there wasn’t any. He’d probably tied up hundreds of unfortunate souls in his miserable lifetime.

          A thrill raced across your skin as you heard the knife clatter into the floor, Kenny peeling away the layers of split clothes on your body like he was prudently opening the petals of a rare flower.

          “Well, well, look at you, kid.”

          Grey eyes swirled with mirth and mischief under the brim of his hat, a wicked smile curling across bearded cheeks.

          You felt vulnerable and far too hot, the heat of embarrassment licking over your chest, up your neck, burning at your ears. Worse, blazing excitement was pooling between your legs, the dull thump of pleasure beginning to pound in your head.

          A calloused hand began to paw at the fat of your breast, testing the weight of it in his palm.

          “You’re a fucking pervert.”

          “Never said I ain’t.”

          He flicked your nipple with his comment, chuckling as you gasped. The slight twinge of pain sent a jolt of lightning down your spine, making your fingers dig into the thick rope at your wrists and your head tilt back against the wall. Kenny repeated the motion, rubbing his warm thumb over your nipple before flicking it again. You sucked in a quick breath, making your lungs expand and breasts inch closer to his hands.

          “You like that?” He teased, a finger tracing the sensitive underside of your breast.

          “No.”

          He laughed, “Liar. Your pretty nipples are harder than my cock.”

          Kenny proved his point by cupping both your tits and making you moan, back arching toward him instead of away. Seeing the opportunity, he moved in closer, making the remnants of your skirts bunch around your hips as he pressed himself between your legs. You turned your face away from him when he dipped down to kiss you, making his wet lips and wiry beard press into the curve of your throat.

          He sucked at the tender flesh of your neck, teeth and growls gently scraping against skin.

          “What’s my pa going to think about you taking advantage of me like this?”

          You knew you made a good point—unless Kenny had decided to pack some petticoats and powder into his saddle bags, he couldn’t cover up the carnage he was creating.

          “I’m your daddy for tonight, kid. Maybe if you’re good I won’t even take you home this time.”

          “Really?” You knew your voice portrayed your enthusiasm, but you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to be free of your family and go make a life of your own.

          Kenny took his time thinking over his response, too busy licking and sucking at the delicate column of your throat. It felt good, too good, even the scratch of his beard had you holding back whimpers. His long fingers were still groping your tits, thumbs rhythmically petting over your peaks.

          You felt like you were engulfed in flames, like the hellfire and brimstone that bible-thumpers warned about were taking over your senses. All because of fucking Kenny Ackerman, the dirtiest old man you’d ever come across.

          Though you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined something like this before, it was hard not to when most of your time had been spent tied up on a saddle with him. The pervert always had the audacity to have his half-hard erection pressing into your lower back as you shifted on the smelly horse. It was difficult not to imagine how it would feel to have him inside of you when the horse’s trot had his cock sliding too perfectly against your ass. You’d spent a few nights imagining how he would manhandle you, rough and impatient, and far more skilled than the boys you’d fooled around with.

          Kenny was a dirty old man, but you had no doubt he could fulfill every naughty fantasy women like you weren’t supposed to dream about.

          You shifted forward a bit, draping your thighs over his so you could get closer, press your aching core against that familiar stiffness in his trousers.

          “I’ll be a good girl, daddy,” you let the name roll off your tongue as you tilted your face down to his, “I promise.”

          You sealed your vow by pressing your mouth to his, a victorious frisson tingling at your nerves when he groaned into your lips. His kiss was rough, one of his hands snaking up to your neck with a vice-like grip to keep you from changing your mind. It made your vision go blurry behind your eyelids, grey spots dancing in the corners of your lashes. He tasted like booze and smoke, remnants of his addictions tainting your tongue. But you kept up with his pace, eager to show him that you would be good, that you wanted this, that you’d let him have you. Even if he did take you back home anyways, at least you’d get a thrilling fuck out of this arrangement.

          “You ain’t never been a good girl,” he rumbled against your lips, “daddy’s gonna have to teach you how to behave.”

          You gasped when he used his leverage on your neck to push you farther into the creaking boards of the wall. Your wrists were trapped between your back and the floor, going more numb by the second. He caged you in completely, had you sitting in his lap with his cock pressed against your damp drawers and one hand tangling into the mess of your skirts.

          “Women and all their fucking clothes,” he snarled down at your half-dressed body. Your eyes went wide as you noticed him reach back for the discarded blade, his other hand still content to press against the sides of your neck.

          “W-wait, I don’t have anything else to wear!”

          “You ain’t going to be needin’ em anyways, kid.”

          Time slowed down like the creeping slush of molasses as you watched Kenny begin to slice through your dress and petticoat, each tug of his wrist sending cotton fibers spilling into the floor. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and sweat beading on the back of your neck every time the spine of the knife grazed the freshly exposed skin of your thighs. You struggled against the rope and the hand holding you back when he began to cut through the length of your drawers. The blade was too close to your intimate places, grazing against your sweltering flesh and making you whimper.

          “I ain’t gonna cut you, darlin. As much as I wanna carve my name into your skin, I couldn’t stand hurtin’ you.”

          You swallowed thickly and he must’ve felt it, his thumb petting at your neck like he was trying to soothe a scared animal. He stopped cutting at your clothing, lifting his pointed chin so he could look up into your face. He grinned, soft but still wolfish, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes.

          “Gimme a kiss, it’ll make you feel better.”

          You complied, perhaps too happily, slanting your mouth against his and moaning at the rough feel of his black hairs against your cheeks.

          Kenny ripped the rest of the threads from your body with his strong fingers, finishing the work that the knife had started. A weight was lifted off of you when your heavy skirts and the skeleton of your corset finally slipped into the floor to be forgotten. He took particular care in relieving you of your cotton drawers, the shadow of his hat obscuring his face as he marveled at the juncture of your thighs.

          “Look at that pretty pussy, all wet and sloppy just for me.”

          You cried out when he brushed a knuckle between your dripping folds, finger slowly uncurling so it could prod at your tight hole.

          “You always get this wet when you’re around me?”

          “Hard not to when you’re always groping me like some animal.”

          His gaze flickered back up to you, the mixture of a frown and a smirk tugging at his lips. He pressed his palm more firmly against your windpipe, making you choke.

          “Don’t know why I bothered to ungag your smart mouth.”

          “I’ll be goo—” you didn’t have the chance to finish your plea, his long fingers uncurling from your neck only for two of them to abruptly slide past your open lips. Your eyes watered a bit from the thrusting motion of his digits and you could feel your moans vibrate against his skin. He started to push his fingers farther into your mouth, seeing how far he could go before your throat tightened, smirking the whole time. His skin tasted like rawhide and copper, like leather and blood, and you breathlessly traced your tongue along his slim knuckles.

          “Your mouth looks better stuffed,” his other hand resumed teasing your lower lips, “Let’s see how many fingers you can take.”

          You almost bit the knuckles in your mouth when he shoved his middle and index fingers into your tight cunt. You muffled out a squeal, eyes rolling shut when a wave of pleasure splashed over your body with the timing of his fingers pushing inside of you. He wasted no time in stretching you, spreading his strong fingers as he withdrew and pressed back inside of you over and over again.

          Your tongue went still and flat in your mouth, spit pooling around slim fingers that still pressed farther back into your throat with every thrust of his hand between your legs. You could practically hear him grinning like a madman with both of his calloused hands pressing into two of your wet holes. You sucked around his fingers when he touched a sensitive, fleshy patch inside of you, fingers curling against your walls and stroking the spot repeatedly.

          Weightless, you felt weightless in Kenny’s lap, like each thrust of his fingers into your mouth and pussy was sending you higher into the clouds. Even your own fingers had gone limp behind you, no longer clinging to their binds.

          “Not bad, kid. How about another?”

          You screamed around his hand when his ring finger stretched your opening wider, your pussy burning from its invasion. He laughed, a sadistic rumble from his chest that vibrated against your tits. At the feel of your cry, he pushed the fingers against your tongue even farther down to the back of your mouth, making you fight your gag reflex and sputter. Spit was falling from the corners of your mouth and you could feel your slick drooling down your thighs and onto his pumping wrist between your legs.

          “Good girl,” he praised, picking up his already merciless pace, “daddy’s got a big cock, need you to be ready for it.”

          Kenny groaned when you nodded your head, eyes fluttering open to catch his gaze. Some twisted pleasure brewed in your lower stomach as you noticed his lopsided grin, pearl white teeth bared over his full lips.

          “I bet you look so fucking pretty when you cum. Think you can? Can you cum from an old man stuffin’ you full of fingers, darlin?”

          You shivered at his words, your thighs shaking as you felt like you were being pulled apart. The three fingers inside of you knew exactly how to make your head go fuzzy and your nerves wild with pleasure, and it only got more intense when his thumb began to circle your already aching clit. You whimpered around his fingers, finding a momentary reprieve when he pulled them from your lips and admired the drool flowing over his knuckles. But he slid them back in after you caught a quick breath, pumping them at the same speed as the fingers buried into your cunt.

          It was like you were brimming and boiling over with the taste and feel of Kenny. Your mind could barely keep up with the shots of ecstasy stemming from your belly, your toes curling against the cold floor, your wrists rubbed raw from rope. Your lower muscles were starting to clench, spasm, shake, and he groaned.

          “Fuck you’re gettin’ tight. But I’ve got one more place to try.”

          Your brows scrunched together when you felt his ring finger slip from your pussy, only to feel his slim pinky finger prod at the tight pucker of your ass.

          “Kemmy, mf, umph,” you struggled to speak with his fingers stuffed in your mouth.

          You finally bit against his skin when you felt the length of his smallest finger slither into your ass.

          The new sensation rocked you, had you gasping and leaning forward and gagging on his fingers and cumming all at the same time. You screamed as you felt your asshole tighten around his digit, the pleasure of it sending you raring into bliss at full force like you’d just been slammed into a wall. It felt so fucking good, every hole stuffed with him, every muscle clenching and unclenching as he had the nerve to laugh at how easily you came from feeling a finger in your ass.

          “Heh, seems you like that, don’tcha?” He let you ride out the remnants of your orgasm for a few moments, fingers still and just feeling you contract around him.

          Finally, he worked on setting you free of his hold. He took his time with it, each finger sliding out of you painfully slow like he was slowly uncorking a pent-up bottle of champagne. With your mouth free first, you took your time breathing and gathering your wits, looking down into the floor as shame crept over your body. It was all so nasty and dirty, and when he pulled his fingers out from between your legs, you knew all you wanted was more of it.

          “Fuck,” you breathed, surprised when he lifted your chin and placed a rather chaste kiss against your messy mouth.

          “I take it you’ve never had somethin’ in your ass?”

          “N-no, but it…”

          “Feels good, yeah?”

          You shot him a suspicious look, “How would you know?”

          “I’ve been around, kid.”

          Kenny groaned as he sat back, moving you off his lap.

          “My knees are too fucking old for this. Get on the bed.”

          You didn’t know how you could. Your legs felt like pudding and your hands were completely numb behind your back. Kenny walked to the corner of the small bedroom, pulling his suspenders down so he could toss his shirt into the floor. You struggled to move, eyeing the knife in the floor carefully so you didn’t accidentally cut yourself as you fumbled like a little fawn gaining her legs.

          You enjoyed the feel of standing for a moment, leaning back against the wall in all your sloppy nakedness as you watched Kenny dip his hands into the wash bin.

          This was the last thing you expected when you woke up this morning. You’d been free, ready to get started on a cornbread and bean breakfast, only to be kidnapped before you could even lace up your shoes. Now you were watching Kenny Ackerman get undressed and hang that signature bowler hat on the back of the door.

          He looked better without the hat. In fact, he looked so much better naked.

          He had sun kissed skin on his arms and neck from working in the sun, lean sinews of muscle carved over his chest, his thighs. He was dusted in wiry black hair, like someone had taken ash from a fire and doused him in it. And his cock was hard and proud between his legs, long and curved up toward his stomach. Your ego spiked at the thought that you’d made him that way; you were the reason his swollen head was leaking and twitching.

          “Can I touch you now?”

          “What?” He looked puzzled, running a hand through his dark, shoulder length hair. It looked longer than when you last saw him.

          You moved toward him on still shaky legs, making a show of pulling at your hands bound behind your back.

          “Shit, I forgot you were tied up. But you gotta promise me when I cut you loose you ain’t just gonna sprint out that door.”

          “I don’t have any clothes, Kenny.”

          He laughed genuinely at that, scratching at the back of his neck. He’d have to remedy that tomorrow, go out and buy you something to wear so he didn’t parade you around town naked as the day you were born.

          You stayed still as he reached for that big knife of his on the floor, settling up behind you to start gnawing the blade through the thick rope. Your shoulders felt at ease when you felt the slack begin to set into your binds, the last bit of hemp audibly slicing away. You pulled your hands in front of you, immediately rubbing at the raw spots on your wrists. They’d be bruised tomorrow, scab over by the next day.

          Kenny wrapped his arms around you from behind, hands first skimming over your shoulders and upper arms.

          “If you didn’t have such a bad habit of runnin’, I wouldn’t have to do that to you, kid.”

          “You’d run away if you had my life, too.”

          You knew you didn’t need to fill in the blanks for him. He’d been around long enough to know the ins and outs of your story.

          “Suppose I would.”

          He kissed your neck as he walked you to the bed, turning you around so he could crawl up the naked expanse of your body as you laid back against the hay stuffed mattress.

          “Someone as pretty as you don’t deserve someone like me chasin’ after you.” But his confession didn’t stop him from settling between your thighs and bending down to suck one of your nipples into his eager mouth. You moaned, elated to have your hands free so you could tangle your fingers into his long hair.

          “I told you,” you gasped when he bit into your skin hard enough to leave marks, “I like the chase.”

          He licked a long, hot stripe between the valley of your breasts before bringing his face back to yours. You kept your hands in his hair as he leaned down to kiss you, all brute force and greedy tongue like you’d gotten used to before. You were just as hungry for him, your body feeling fresh and ripe after your orgasm and ready to be filled again. You bit at his lower lip, smirking when you got a reaction from him. Your tongue began to map the insides of his mouth, letting the taste of him overwhelm you.

          Kenny was impatient, gripping your hips and spreading you apart again.

          “I like you better when you’re submissive.” He murmured into your mouth, skilled fingers spreading your pussy so the fat head of his cock could rub against you.

          “I said I would be a good girl, daddy.”

          His head dropped to your shoulder with a groan, “I can’t fucking handle you calling me that, kid.”

          “Oh yeah? Is me calling you daddy going to make you cream early, old man?”

          He slid his cock inside of you rough and fast to shut you up. Your head fell farther back against the pillow as you mewled, his fingers still having not prepared you for the feel of his stretching you open. Your walls were snug against him; you could feel every throbbing vein under his silken skin dragging against your insides as he pulled out and pushed into you slowly.

          Each thrust had euphoria blooming from your stomach and spreading across all your extremities. It was like you could suddenly feel everything, the pleasure making the world around you sharpen. Kenny was breathing hotly into your neck, your nipples were painfully hard and sliding against the dark, downy hairs of his chest. Your fingers were coming back to life, your nails scraping against the greyed roots of his hair. Your toes were curling in the air, your thighs and hips burning from bearing the heaviness of Kenny between them. Both your heart and his were beating fast, blood pumping as if in the same drumline together.

          “Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he drawled, “s-so fucking soft, so tight.”

          Little sounds were leaving your parted lips, eyes struggling to stay open as each plunge of Kenny’s cock was engulfing you with ecstasy. He was starting to get a bit punishing with his movements, moving hard and fast inside of you and making you forget yourself. His nails were biting into the fatty flesh of your hips, where half-moon marks would surely adorn your skin in the morning. You’d have hickies on your neck too, especially now as he sunk his teeth into the tender spot where your throat met your shoulder.

          God it felt good to be used, to be wanted. And you knew Kenny wanted you, he’d even said he wanted to carve his name into your skin. Something inside of you told you that he’d want to own you, if you’d let him. You caught a lot of his longing gazes before, whether in the back of the saloon he frequented or the ridiculous dance halls your family drug you to. You’d often wondered if he would fuck you against a wall if you tempted him to, and now you had your long-awaited answer.

          “Oh daddy,” you purred, both purposely and not, little oh’s and mhm’s following behind.

          The name spurred Kenny into a new gait. He shifted back onto his knees swiftly, the same hand from before resuming its chokehold on your neck. You moaned at the familiar contact, the sound trapped behind his spread fingers. He had more power behind his hips from this angle, sending his cock deeper into your depths and into places his long fingers couldn’t reach from before. Your eyes squeezed shut, tiny gasps all that could be formed behind the wall of his hand.

          “Who knew you were such a little slut, darlin. Might keep you around after all.”

          Your tits were bouncing in rhythm with his relentless assault, your hands now fisting into the feather pillow next to your face.

          “F-fucking shit, I—” you were going stupid, is what you were. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your brain felt foggy in your head.

          “You’ve got such a dirty mouth on ya,” Kenny put more pressure behind the fist around your neck, the lack of oxygen making it even harder to think than before, “you really do need a daddy to teach you some, fuck, s-some fucking manners.”

          All you could do was nod, completely lost to the feeling of him encompassing you, filling you.

          His free hand pulled at one of your limp legs, hoisting it up and over his shoulder. He smothered your skin with wet kisses, nipping at your ankle and chuckling when he felt the bubbled squeal beneath his palm. The hair on his torso tickled the back of your thigh, adding a new layer of sensation that you didn’t think you could handle. It was too much—Kenny was too much, fucking into you like a feral beast that just got his first taste of sweet flesh.

          “You’re never gettin’ away from me again,” he hissed out between gritted teeth, “you’re mine now.”

          You couldn’t think to respond. Kenny unwrapped his hand from your throat, letting that blood flow return to your head.

          “You hear me?”

          You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. All you could focus on was the drumming of his cock hitting your insides, the wet, squelching sounds of your pussy sucking him in.

          The sound of him slapping his hand across your check registered before the pain did. You gasped as your head swung with the force, the side of your face smarting with a throbbing sting.  

          “Say you’re mine, kid.” Seriousness laced his tone, those dangerous, long fingers grasping at your jaw and pulling you to look at him. He leaned forward, curling your leg with him, making you groan at the pleasure and pain mixing as he tested your flexibility. He kept moving inside of you, pace never faltering.

          “Fucking. Say. It.”

          Your heart was racing with adrenaline, a strange concoction of fear and bliss spreading over your consciousness.

          “Y-yours,” you croaked out, wetting your lips with your tongue, “I’m yours, Kenny!”

          You didn’t mean to scream it, but it seemed to please him, that lecherous grin of his spreading over his lips.

          “That’s fucking right. I own this tight, pretty little pussy.”

          He released your jaw only to slap you again, quicker and softer this time, and you moaned the moment he made contact.

          “You like getting slapped around?”

          You turned your face back to him, smirking through the sting, “yes, daddy.”

          The devilishness that swirled in his eyes made your stomach flip. He paused the movements of his hips, letting your cunt flutter and clench at his stilled cock. Your breathing picked up as you registered what was about to happen.

          Kenny hit you with the back of his hand this time, bony knuckles thumping with the quick flick of his wrist. Without his cock moving inside of you, all you could do was bask in the stinging pain left behind on your cheeks. It felt so wrong, but it made the coil in your belly tighten like never before.

          “F-fuck,” you moaned, your balled fists releasing the pillow.

          Without a second thought, you grabbed at his hair, jerking him down to meet your mouth.

          “You better cum inside me after that, daddy, I think I deserve it.”

          “Oh, you deserve it darlin,” he started pumping inside of you again, sending your head flying back and his mouth landing on the pulse of your neck, “gonna fill you to the fucking brim.”

          His movements were cruel, fast, cock ramming inside of you so harshly that you felt it all the way in your throat. Your hand slipped from his hair and found purchase on his back, nails scraping against sweaty flesh. You could feel his rough skin splitting, but you didn’t care, all that mattered anymore was the way his cock slid in between your gummy walls, the way he was moaning your name like a fucking prayer against your skin.

          Kenny’s thumb found your clit, swirling quick, brutal circles over your swollen bud. You could feel yourself clench around him, the sharp pleasure almost painful. You were going to explode. You were going to topple over in ecstasy and it was all because of the wickedness of the dirty old man inside of you.

          “K-Kenny, holy f-fucking god, I-I—”

          He must have felt it before you did. Hot ropes of cum were seeping inside of you the moment you hit the high point of orgasm. Your nails slid down the entirety of his back, slim, warm rivulets of blood following in their wake.

          It was like the bliss never ended. You were caught in the waves of it, each one cresting and falling over and over again as you milked his cock dry, slick and cum pooling between your thighs and soaking the linens.

          Your heart was hammering in your chest. Kenny placed a delicate hand between your breasts, like he was trying to slow it down for you. His small act made the world narrow in around you; the remnants of stinging pain and excruciating pleasure still hummed, but you fell into the quiet of just listening to the two of you breath for a few moments.

          Eventually, your toes went numb. You’d fully forgotten the poor leg that had been curled over his shoulder. You shifted to move, and Kenny got the hint, finally pulling his spent cock from inside of you and rolling over on his back.

          “Shit,” he hissed through his teeth, hand reaching over his shoulder as he met the mattress, “you’ve got fucking claws.”

          You had half a mind to apologize, but you didn’t bother, still basking in the afterglow of sex. Your body was tired, wrists still aching, thighs shaking.

          “You alright?” A warm hand found your cheek, even hotter lips pressing to yours in a soft kiss.

          “Mhm, more than alright.”

          “Didn’t know you had that in you, kid.”

          Kenny pulled you into his chest, long arm curling around your back. His fingers traced soft, swirling patterns on your hip, and you nearly shuddered as you remembered those were the same movements he’d used to abuse your clit. You curled one of your legs over his, needing to get closer, those pesky after-sex hormones and needs clawing at your instincts.

          It felt oddly like home to be pressed up against him, your face against his chest, one of your hands mimicking his and drawing circling in his damp chest hair. He smelled like home, anyways, like earth and spices.

          “You gonna take me home?”

          He was quiet for a second, pressing his lips into your hairline.

          “Nah, I’ll take you someplace safe. Maybe buy you a fucking train ticket so you can get out of this part of the world.”

          “You sure you don’t want to keep me?”

          “Now don’t fucking tempt me with that, kid.”

          “I wouldn’t mind being yours, you know.”

          “You don’t wanna be mine, even if I make you say that shit when I’m fuckin’ you.”

          You knew he was right, but you didn’t offer him an affirmation.

          Maybe you’d let him fuck you for a few more days before you ventured off on your own, maybe you’d convince him to chase you down a few more times just for the thrill of it. Maybe you’d wrap your fists around his suspenders and convince him to run away with you.

          You did like Kenny, after all. Even if he was such a perverted, disgusting old man.

[boop-le-snoot]

marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

[bibliocratic]

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

-

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

-

Martin is happy.

-

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

-

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

-

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

--

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

-

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

-

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

-

Jon is happy.

-

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

-

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.  

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

-

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

-

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

-

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

-

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

-

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

-

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

-

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

-

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“…  you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

-

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

[clarissalance]

Wolves

Pairing: Kaeya x fem!Reader, Diluc, Crepus

Warning: minor swearing, cheesy flirt, dry humour

Summary: All men are wolves.

A/N: Muahaha I have came back and brought you the blatant cheesy flirt. Welcome to the first lesson of flirting with Kaeya. Lol, guess who is coming next? 

Also, I’m planning to write a wind-trace fic because the game is so fun. (p/s: I waste 3 hours playing it) Guess who is in it? 

Okay, the first fic for my lover boy. Please give Kaeya a lot of love!! (*￣3￣)╭ 

Another beautiful day, another day of wasting the lovely weather to stay inside the study room, bury your head into the pile of books next to you. You let your eyes wander to the window again, gazing rays of light fleeting through the window, golden hues on the wooden floor. Tiny specks of dust accumulate overnight, fluttering around the curtain. Outside, the chirping birds bathing under the sun, casually chilling on the window. Oh, how you wish you would be able to relax like those carefree animals.  

“You might burn the birds crips the longer you stare at it.” Startled by the quiet voice, your head snaps toward the blue-haired teenage direction, and you can’t help but scowl at his statement. You can’t be the only person in the room who wants to go out and play. Knowing Kaeya, he’s definitely trying to find an excuse to end the class early. 

The only person who is diligent, hard-working, and does not have thought about leaving this room is the young master Diluc. The young man is sitting opposite you, eyes burning holes on the thick textbook. 

Archon, how can a 16 years old overly enthusiastic person like him enjoy the excitement of reading Descartes philosophy? Maybe he is the only child in Mondstadt, no, maybe in the whole Teyvat who enjoys something torturous like that. Shivering at your own thought, you shift your chair closer to Kaeya, giving Diluc a terror gaze.      

“Aren’t you going to finish the essay?” Pointing at the half-full parchment on the table, you ask. “ Diluc and I already finish it.” 

“ Oh, how do I know? How am I suppose to understand Kant and Descartes theories, and then link them to deductive and inductive reasoning?"  Kaeya lets his finger running through the silky blue hair and pulls them out of frustration. On the other side, Diluc shoots him a glare, annoyed by his brother complaint. 

 “How did you guys do it?” Kaeya asks boredly, his finger pokes the quill. 

You put your hand under your chin, beaming him charmingly.  “ You know Kaeya, it is something I call improvisation. Words just flow out of my tip.” Under your lashes, you can see his cheek dusting pink. Cute! 

“ Just read the books, and you will get it.” Diluc unhelpful adds. 

Both of you stare at red-head incredulously. Is he being serious? 

Like always, Kaeya knows he can not take your advice to heart. One is a genius, and the other is just pure luck.  

Suddenly, the door is burst open, and you quickly shove your feet into the shoes, eyes darting to see the intruder. Internally, you hope that person is not lady Elizabeth, your etiquette teacher. Your blood runs cold at the thought. You can already imagine her sharp tones commenting how horrendous and un-ladylike your act is. 

“How is your study going?” A deep, strong voice booming from the back, and finally, you get let out a breath. Diluc looks up from his book, beams brightly at the man. 

“ We are done with homework, father. These are just extra reading.” Well, for the record, these are his extra readings, not yours. And Kaeya hasn’t finished his 2 feet scrolls of essay yet. 

Master Crepus nods in satisfaction. “ If that is finished, you kids can take a break. The young lady from the Gunnhildr family is here with her father. Maybe you can give her some accompanies.”  The middle-aged man directs the words at you, maybe feeling guilty for leaving a young lady like you in his two sons care. 

Your parents left you in the Ragnvindr care every Summer because of their hectic schedules and frequent business trips at this time of the year. In addition, your mother says it is essential for you to have good relationships with the heir of Ragnvindr and his brother. “Maybe you will need their help someday.” She left it vaguely. 

“ Are you guys going to drink again?” Kaeya suspiciously questions, his eyes glinting with playfulness. 

“ Hey, what’s wrong with men having a drink together?” Crepus defensively retorts, notices how Diluc gives him a disproving gaze.

“ When you guys grow up, you would enjoy it too.” The three let out opposing noises, clearly not having the same idea as him. The man waves dismissively return back the topic. 

“ Let’s come down to greet the head of Gunnhildr first.” He heads toward the door, down the hallway.   

“And be nice to the young lady, boys.” The master emphasizes the phrase, his eyes pinning at the guilty-looking Kaeya and the absent-minded Diluc. Finally, he exits the room, not forgetting to close the door. 

“ Father says as if we don’t treat people nicely.” Kaeya pouts, right after Crepus footstep drifting away from the study. “ The workers never complain anything about our behaviours, right Luc?” 

Sitting next to him, you can't help but let out a snort. He dares to say that? Kaeya raises eyebrows at you, annoyed by your shaking shoulder. The boy in red has a blank face, maybe not interested. 

“ First, you guys ignore me for 2 weeks when I just came here.” You burst out in laughter, recalling back at the very first memory when you just arrived here.

“When I tried to approach, you both avoided me like the plague.” Your whole body is shaking vigorously, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. This is too hilarious! Somewhere in between, you can spot Diluc burning cheek. 

“ Haha, and haha-later,” You can hardly breath, laughter bubbling up. “Adeline told me your reason is ‘It's b-because she doesn’t have a willie.' ” Dramatically air-quoting, you even imitate their stuttering childish voices. This earns you a pointed glare from Diluc and a smack in the arm from Kaeya, but a good laugh is always worth it. 

Both of them freeze on their tracks, faces puff red as tomatoes, steaming almost coming off their ears. If the young heir is to wear a red suit, you are sure he can blend in well with the mansion roof. 

Diluc shifts stiffly in his chair and abruptly stands up, heading toward the exit. Maybe he is too embarrassed at the mention of his dark childhood. 

“Where-haha, are you going, Luc?” You are still in the middle of your giggling, noticing how Diluc is dashing to the door. Letting out a coughing fit, he quietly mumbles. 

 “ I'm going down to greet the Gunnhildr family.” His figure vanishes right behind the door, not letting you tease him further. Outside, the painful sound of Diluc tripping on his own feet make you almost fall off your chair. You have too many good laughs today. 

“Right, I-I should get going too.” Next to you, the blazing Kaeya remembers to dig a hole and hide. His hand slams hard on the table and the youthful teenager stands up, gracefully heading toward the door. Maybe he wants to avoid becoming another joke.  

" Ah, wait-" You follow instantly, but the moment you stand up, something slips, and the next thing you know, the ground is shaking, and you see the ceiling is getting further. 

Your first instinct is to grab the closest object, and then close your eyes, waiting for the painful impact with your head. Clench your jaw tightly, and you hold your breath, hoping it will hurt less if you tense your body. 

Right after tensing up, you feel someone just grab you by your shoulder, and your feet step on something bumpy. And then, your head makes an impact with something hard. A grunting is followed. 

Heart hammering in your chest, you cautiously peek, expecting yourself to see the ceiling, but instead, greet with an unusual sight. A pair of dark colour trouser paired with leather shoes. On top of it is your feet, loosely wore low heel is stepping on that leather shoes. Shit, you stepped on Kaeya. In a panic, you rush down from his painful sore feet, but your head jams in his ribs. He just let out another woeful sound.   

This time, you carefully keep your position in place, slowly remove each foot one by one, moving away from him. Craning your neck upward, you finally meet his gaze, his eyes are full of concern and uneasiness, spooked out by your sudden incident.

 “Did you hit your head hard?” Kaeya asks you nervously, his voice laced with anxiety. He must have been terrified when you slip. You shake your head, hands grabbing his shirt.

" I should be asking you that. Are you okay?" You give him a worrying gaze, your fingers running along his ribs, checking if your stone head broke anything. " I didn't break anything, right?" Hesitantly, you look into his deep blue eyes, noticing the diamond shape. Has he always has this in his eyes? 

Kaeya snorts inelegantly, shakes his head. " Your head is hard as a rock, but that much can't break my ribs yet." This earns him a hit on his arm. 

"Hey! I'm trying to be considerate, and this is how you treat me?" You jab him, hand purposely smack his chest, but he doesn't budge an inch. How strong is this guy? This time, you put all the force on your arm, slapping hard on his chest again. The young man in the blues shoot you a shit-eating grin, clearly not faze.  

 "How is my chest feeling?" He pokes, his palm engulfing yours. 

" Too hard for my liking." You give him a complex look, trying to escape from his tight grip but fail miserably. You wiggle your hand again, shaking off his iron clad. Why is he so strong? 

While you are attempting to flee from his firm grasp, the young man leans down, face an inch away from you. Flushing at the sudden closure, like usual,  you avoid his burning gaze. You hold your breath when your noses almost touch. What is this rascal doing again? 

" You shouldn't be touching men like that." Kaeya opens his mouth, saying something completely out of nowhere. You tilt your head in confusion, while your eyes travel down, you notice your hands still on his chest. O-oh, so he is saying about this. 

" I  don't normally touch random people." You mumble defensively, your eyes lower. " I was checking for your injury."

"They will misunderstand." Kaeya cuts in right after, not accepting the excuse. But why would they misunderstand? You are just being nice, right? 

Like he can understand what is going inside your mind, Kaeya reminds you.

"All men are wolves, you should be more be careful with them."   

You give him a confusing look. 

Kaeya is not one of them, right? 

Eventually, he let out a soft sigh and moves back, allowing you to savour your personal space. Just right after your throbbing heart finally calms down, he brings your tight-griped hand in his to his face. Your meet with his alluring look in his eyes. It is pulling you in, telling you to give in the temptation. Plump lips brush your knuckle teasingly, he blows a warm breath on the back of your hand. He gives you a saccharine smile.

" And if not be careful." His husky voice ringing in your ears, the numbing spark runs along your spine. "They might devour you." 

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I’ve been rewatching CM and god, what I wouldn’t give for them to bring TG back for this revival. I haven’t even watched seasons 12-15 yet because I’m in denial about him being gone 😭😭😩

omg I haven't watched it either xD I've been holding off watching s11e22, The Storm, for like a month I swear. Which, I know is going to be amazing but I also have heard it's the beginning of the end and I'm not readyyyyyyy.

I would give anything for TG to come back. A n y t h i n g. But idk what CBS feels is the appropriate amount of time to be blacklisted or whatever the hell they did 🤷‍♀️ despite how it would be so easy to write him back in, and the missed opportunities is already making my skin crawl.

Okay. This was going to be a quick answer, but I've been THINKING about this way more than I should lately, without ever having watched 12-15 but I feel like I know enough, and with all the projects I'm going to be finishing/starting soon I know I won’t have time to do anything with my ideas. So I'm just going to type this little beginning I have plotted out and maybe one day I'll make it into the fic I want it to be:

(I know you didn't ask for a hc/blurb thing but surprise you get one xD)

CW: Spoilers for season 11-15 that are probably inaccurate af, fighting, violence, bit of blood and injuries talk, some profanity. 

-

((I legit have this all plotted out like a full season, and picture everything as shots and scenes and I know exactly how I would want to bring Hotch back.))

-

It would start in a small suburban town in Indiana, legit white-picket fence, middle of nowhere, off the grid town. With the most pedestrian name ever, we might as well call it Mayberry. Typical weekend morning, bright green grass and trees and summer sunshine lighting it all up, they still get papers delivered it’s that picturesque. And it’ll pan to all sorts of people on this street of nice, two-story houses, and finally zero in on not the man picking up his paper from his front porch, but the jogger slowing down that the man calls to next door, calling him a name we’ve never heard before -- but the jogger answers with that dark eyed squint and a nod... and it is Aaron Hotchner. Or the man who used to be Aaron Hotchner. He hasn’t gone by that name in years, WITSEC provided him and Jack with new ones.

His house isn’t even really decorated like a home, he’s been in enough over the years to know tell-tale signs of what a happy home should entail. Photographs, memorabilia, nostalgia tucked away in corners -- they don’t have that. He has a couple of photographs he keeps in his office, the only two in inconspicuous view being a photo of Haley and Jack when he was two years old, and a photo of his team the day he completed the FBI triathlon and they all showed up to support him. Everything else of their old life is in boxes in a storage facility in downtown D.C., under another false name that can never be linked back to them. 

Mr. Scratch was a poor excuse for why he and Jack were still under WITSEC, but he hopes near daily that it was enough of a reason that no one would question why he didn’t return once that monster was dead. That no one smart enough to read between the lines would go digging for more reasons, or worse -- try to find him -- and they pictured him living a happy retirement very similar to the charade he is living now. 

But Aaron Hotchner was never meant for retirement. No matter how easy and simple his days have been the past few years. It was only a matter of time. 

He walks through his home that looks more like the insides of a Home Living magazine, to his kitchen which is bright and spacious and tiled white that he knows Haley would have loved, getting a glass of water from the sink and chugging it all in one go. It isn’t until he’s getting a second glass that he hears it. The faucet was supposed to have masked any disturbance, they were careful in when they moved, how they placed their feet, the slowness of the their approach -- but not enough.

Hotch keeps his shoulders relaxed, his spine still ram-rod straight but that’s just how he stands and it keeps tension ready at a moment’s notice. Keeps him on alert, which he needs as he takes slower sips of water and lets all his other sense shift to a heightened awareness. Knows this house like the back of his hand, even if he’s never allowed himself to consider it home, so he knows which floorboards creak and where all the furniture is strategically placed. Always prepared for something like this to happen, even if he never imagined someone would be so bold. 

Their mistake.

With a careful tick of his head, peripherals his only guidance, he strikes before the intruder gets to. An iron grip and momentum that propels their face into the metal of the sink basin, shocking them that what their file was so misleading about their target. Retired FBI agent, almost 60 years old, living in Pleasantville with a picket fence and a vegetable garden. This should have been easy. The intruder is stunned by the blow, attempts a quick recovery where they lash out and get a few good body shots into the older man -- but he’s built like a brick wall, can take a blow and give it back twice as hard -- a few more precise hits and another crack of their face to the sink that shatters the bridge of their nose leaves the attacker slumping to the floor. 

“You didn’t do your research,” Hotch tells them, breathing a little heavy, opening up a drawer usually deemed for junk and pulls out zipties and an ancient looking cell phone buried deep at the back. “Sloppy. I expected more from him.” 

The attacker kicks out Hotch’s knees in a fit of rage (at having his skill set insulted so), leaving them both crashing to the floor. They grapple and fight a bit more, knocking dishes from the counters and pots and pans to the floor from the grill top island, but Hotch is so well-trained in take downs he gets the slighter man pinned with only a split lip and a single hitch in breath. He barely broke a sweat. Knocks the guy out clean, two solid punches to his face, and he stops because he knows better. Has been there before, and they need to question whoever was sent to his house to kill him. 

He’s barely off the floor, the intruder binded and stuck in a corner when Jack walks in from early morning soccer practice. Takes one look at the kitchen, his dad with blood in the corner of his mouth, and the guy all in black bound by zipties and already knows what happened. Sixteen, nearly as tall as his father now, he looks only mildly worried for all of two seconds until he sees that his dad has an old flip cell phone held up to his good ear, awaiting a connection with their handler in Indianapolis. 

“... Does this mean we get to go home?” 

The shot would pan back to Hotch, and he wouldn’t answer him, just tells the person on the phone to ‘patch him through, they have a situation’, and there would be no very obvious look in answer to Jack’s question. But all of us who know him, know the subtle changes in expression and the slight softening to that stern frown, knows what his reply would have been.

-

The very next scene would be the BAU. JJ and Emily walking at a brisk pace covering a debrief, since they basically run the department now. Everyone has been called in, everyone, retired and moved away and even the ones who cut all ties have been contacted. JJ has just gotten off the phone with Elle, who is working as a liaison in Rome and assured her that if anyone showed up in her home to attack her that they would be leaving in a body bag. But she appreciated the heads up. 

In the bullpen it’s more like a family reunion than anything. Garcia has just gotten off the elevators, a flurry of color and blonde curls and bright as ever, Morgan and Savannah are trying to corral Hank and the twins (both girls and pure chaos now that they can walk) while still making introductions with the new team and their families, and asking if Reid or Rossi know anything about what’s going on as JJ gets there and asks for everyone’s attention. 

“Not everyone is here yet, Kate and her family are on their way from upstate, Will’s getting the boys from school, and Alex and her husband are on a plane, but we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“What’s is going on, JJ?” Morgan asks, passing off one of the twins to Penelope who is in full baby fever mode despite what is obviously a very bad circumstance that has brought them all together. It’s a juxtaposition that has put everyone on edge. It doesn’t help when JJ and Emily look at each other as if in confirmation, trying to decide who is going to tell them.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Rossi points out. “What happened?”

Emily sighs and makes a gesture for JJ to take the floor, since she has been on point for most of this.

The bull pen is silent in anticipation.

“Earlier this morning, Hotch was attacked in his home in Indiana,” she says, and whatever anyone thought was going on -- that wasn’t it. The shock across the room is like a bomb has detonated.

Rossi curses something out in Italian, looking down, and JJ immediately realizes how this all sounds. But doesn’t even get to backtrack as Reid looks completely devastated and Garcia like she’s about to cry and everyone else starts shouting questions at her. 

“What happened to Jack?”

“How did they even find him? What the fuck is wrong with WITSEC?!”

“Is he okay?” asks Tara, the only intellectual who can see the panic now blooming on JJ’s face.

“Yes, yes! He’s okay, sorry, no -- Hotch is fine. The guy who tried to kill him... not so much, but he should be conscious soon so they can question him.” 

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Morgan says looking like he just aged ten years in the past 30 seconds. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. He’s okay, Jack is okay, they’ve been picked up. But... there’s a lot we need to be filled in on,” she admits, which quiets the room once more. “Apparently, the WITSEC had nothing to do with Mr. Scratch. There’s something much bigger and more dangerous going on, and he went under to keep us all safe. As well as himself, and Jack.” 

“What is it?”

JJ makes a gesture with her hands splayed as she looks a little lost. “I only know bare bones, we have to wait to hear the specifics and get everyone somewhere safe.” 

“You think we’re going to trust WICSEC after this?!”

Emily intervenes this time, “We have a plan, or... Hotch has a plan, I think. We’re just learning about everything as we go, he’s really the one that knows the most about it.”

“Then where is he?” Morgan speaks up again. “If he’s been pulled out, and we’re all in danger, why isn’t he here explaining this to us himself?” 

It’s a good question, and everyone looks expectantly at the two women leading the informal briefing. 

“Will he come back at all?” Reid asks, speaking up for the first time. It’s been years, that’s a long time to rethink a life like the BAU, and everything it entails.

JJ takes a deep breath. “He’s... in--”

“Out-processing.” 

Hotch is at the back of the room. Everyone turns to him, even JJ and Emily look surprised to see him so soon.  ((But we all know the CM cinematography love that kind of return shot, so I’m catering to it. For situational parallels if nothing else. Imagine the gif sets.))

“I pushed it as fast as they could go, but WITSEC always drags their feet.” The familiar drone, dry barely-there-humor, breaks whatever spell that had been over the room at the sight of the old Unit Chief. Disbelief and relief and stunned surprise litter every expression, and although Penelope looks like the first to say something, her words change course just as she opens her mouth. Because  Hotch is still in civilian clothes, a duffle-bag over his shoulder he used as a go-bag for decades, and beside him with a bag of his own with messy dirty blonde hair is--

“Oh my God, is that Jack!?” she near sobs, the teenager smiling at her in a way that looks so much like Haley, and she goes to hug him first with the boy meeting her halfway. “You’re so tall! And so grown up, look at you!” There’s definitely tears and the team converges on the Hotchners all at once. Reid hugs Hotch first, as tight and bone-crushing as that night in Atlanta all those years ago, followed soon after by Rossi who looks like he might shake the man but just hugs him tight and plants an absurdly embarrassing kiss on his cheek that finally cracks Hotch’s expression into something like a smile. Everyone hugs, everyone, Savannah calls him Aaron instead of Hotch because that was how he’d introduced himself all those years ago, the twins wave shyly and he shakes hands with the newer members that never got to meet him but have heard very tall tales about him for years and years. 

(And y’all, it would be the best damn scene and I would sob like a baby watching it.)

Morgan would be the one that would hold back and let the others go first, but it would also be the most profound when Hotch goes to shake his hand and the other man uses that to pull him into a tight hug of his own. 

“I’m glad you can still hold your own,” he’ll tease with nearly no heat behind it. Hotch hears it for the caring that it is.

“Like hell I would let that happen twice in my own home,” he assures him. 

Everyone settles down, and Emily leads some finer points of what’s going to happen with everyone in the next few hours. Days. Weeks, even, because there’s no knowing what is going to happen next. Hotch observes her, and there HAS to be a shot where she glances over to him and they share a look of understanding -- because she is Unit Chief now, and he approves of what he sees. 

But she turns the floor over to him, and Hotch explains what’s going on.

((I’m going to leave the finer points out about the case and the unsub, mostly because I haven’t finished ironing them out yet and I hope once I watch the remaining season I will be able to much more easily))

But at SOME POINT in the briefing, when Hotch is explaining what happened with the assassin in his home and how he apprehended him, and Emily maybe interjects with the injuries sustained and that they are still waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Penelope will 100% lean over to where Jack is sitting beside her and say without flinching, “Your dad is such a bad ass.”

((I also plan on bringing up Reid was in prison in this scene but it will be more humorous than anything because of Hotch’s reaction, stay tuned on that one. Again I’m not there yet))

((and where I’m taking them is also a secret because I need to do research and it will be so damn cool, but Hotch has everything completely planned out -- like he does. Goes as far as asking the few who question him “Secure enough for you?” when he drops where they will be staying and the protection they will have. Full blown mic drop moment.))

“So gather all of your belongings that you have here. Secure pets and homes, call the kid’s schools, whatever you need to do,” Hotch informs them, stepping back into his old shoes as team leader without even meaning to. But no one tells him to stop. “We need to be in the air ASAP, the jet is being prepped as we speak so we need to move on this.”

He leaves it at that, and everyone doesn’t move. Watching, waiting, smirking a little bit (Penelope, maybe even Reid), until he gives in.

“Wheels up in 30.”

Garcia giggles so much she near cackles with it. “Oh, I just got goosebumps!” And by Emily’s smirk and Morgan’s shared grin with Reid, a million watts between them, everyone is up and moving and pulling out cell phones to get their affairs in order.

Rossi sidles up to Hotch at that point, also openly smirking that they got him to say those four time-honored words. “Welcome back, Aaron.”

And Hotch, well -- he looks around the room at the family he had to leave behind without any hope of seeing them again, and feels every hardened edge in his face and demeanor soften. Before he looks to Dave and tells him what’s been going through his head ever since he walked back through the doors of the BAU.

“It’s good to be home.”

((END SCENE))

[daggerandrose]

Happy 28th! I’m making this the night before and crossing my fingers that Louis drops something today (a single, a doc, or even a selfie would be a blessing and I would lose my shit). In any case that he doesn’t... have some fics to read!

As always, please leave a kudos/comment on these as I know they fuel writers. Enjoy!

Love, Ever After, 20.7k, by @jacaranda-bloom

One would assume that the charismatic omega in charge of the local matchmaking service would have found a mate and settled down ages ago. His clients, in fact, are always a bit surprised when they come to learn that Louis is still single. But Louis doesn’t mind, not really. His standards are just high; he is happy holding out for his alpha, his soulmate, and chooses to not waste his time with anyone else, despite what his friends might think.

That is, until his best mate from uni drags him out of bed far too early on a Saturday morning after a night of drinking to go to a farmers market, of all places. It’s there that he proceeds to make an utter fool of himself in front of the hottest alpha he has ever laid eyes on. There’s truly no coming back from that, is there?

OR The one where omega Louis makes love matches, alpha Harry makes cheese, and meddling friends might finally make their dreams of finding their soulmate come true.

Like air to the fire I need you to breathe, 4.6k, by CuckooTrooke

"Your nest is very beautiful" Louis says in awe, feeling his chest bubble with love as he watches Harry preen at the compliment.

"You like it?" Harry asks shyly, picking up a lonely sock from the center of his nest and replaces it on the side of his nest. He looks at it thoughtfully until shaking his head at himself, picking up the sock again. Louis watches him at this important task, how the placement of the smallest things in his nest is so important.

"Of course I like it. It's very pretty" Louis praises. Louis was going to do this right. He was going to praise every little effort Harry had made and will still make with his nest, tell him how cozy and well put together it is. And practical, on top of everything. Despite of being situated in Louis’ closet. But it had so many blankets, duvets and pillows that Louis will happily make Harry fall apart in that nest when he goes into heat.

Well. He’ll try.

The thing is, Louis is sort of terrified.

OR

Harry is in preheat and Louis is nervous about his upcoming heat, fearing that he might not be able to fulfill his mate's needs. Lucky for him, Harry knows hot to push the right buttons to get him relaxed.

But If This Ends, 107k, by @absoloutenonsense

Harry’s life as a vampire is routine. He spends his years moving around from place to place, learning as much as he can, and falling in love whenever the universe sees fit. When he tries to move his casual relationship with Louis to something more, it all gets turned on its head. As they navigate confusing thoughts and complex emotions, Harry finds himself torn between the love he feels for Louis and everything he thought he knew.

Counterculture, 6k, by @sadaveniren

It all culminated to this: Harry in the middle of a crowded basement, music blasting from the live show on the far side, shirtless amongst alphas and omegas who all weren’t covering their scents. He took a deep breath of the heavy air and he felt alive.

across city skyline (and straight through my heart), 76.4k, by @halosboat

Louis Tomlinson meets Hollywood Heartthrob, Harry Styles when he walks into Louis' little bakery one day.

Immediately, Louis is charmed by him and Louis thinks Harry might feel the same way, given the fact that Harry has visited the bakery everyday since he'd come to town.

Until one day, Harry walks in with a boyfriend under his arm and a smile on his face.

The one where Louis owns a small bakery that's well known in his town and Harry Styles is an actor who comes to town to film a new movie. Louis is endeared by him, but that doesn’t seem to matter since Harry Styles is already taken.

When The Wolf Comes Out (like a bullet in the dark), 9.8k, by @londonfoginacup

"So Dad was a..." Harry rolls the word around on his tongue, trying it out. "A werewolf?"

"In a sense, you could say that," Anne says. "It's certainly a more correct term than that vampire myth." She looks to Nick. "Grimshaw. Would you please explain exactly what the Madness entails?"

Nick nods. Harry has never been on the receiving end of his business face before, and finds he's more than a little intimidated. “Right, well the first thing you need to know is that, except with freak mutations, the madness only actively infects one individual at a time. Since your grandfather’s death, your father has been dealing with it. Now that he’s gone, it’s presumably moved to you.”

Too Young To Know, 35.4k, by @2tiedships2

Louis blinked awake and quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. This was the second morning in a row he had woken up after dreaming about Harry.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Eric asked as he held Louis tighter in his arms. Louis liked being the little spoon, except for when he’d rather be holding someone else. Which were the past two days.

Or the one where Harry doesn’t present as an alpha… until he does.

This Ain’t Red Wine, 9k, by LetTheMusicMoveYou

It’s not until he gets a whiff of the contents of his glass that Louis realizes his grave mistake.

That’s not red wine.

It’s blood.

It’s probably not the most rational, but his first thought is what people are going to think when they discover his body. On the list of stupidest ways for a human to die, accidentally turning up to a Vampire party has to be pretty high up there.

(Or the one where Human Louis accidentally finds himself at a Vampire only party which actually turns out to maybe not be the worst thing).

don’t want no other shade of blue, 43.2k, by @louisisworthit

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

no good unless it’s real, 17k, by @fackinglouis

“Here,” Harry says, pulling a strap off his shoulder so he can dig his phone out of his bag. “We can get each other’s numbers.” Louis shakes his head. “I have the practice’s number already,” he tells him. “And my number is definitely on file somewhere.”

Harry pauses, smile quirking a bit as he stares at Louis. The sun is still in his eyes, though, with his sunglasses pushed up onto his head still, so Louis credits his funny face to that.

“I’m trying to give you my number, Louis,” Harry explains around a breathy laugh.

“Oh,” Louis blinks, processing that. He scratches his temple, moves a piece of longer fringe back behind his ear, and then nods. “Okay.”

Or: Louis is a very busy farmer who’s just trying to make it to his next nap and Harry’s the new hot vet that’s determined to infiltrate every area of his life.

shameless self-promo: take my hand, wreck my plans, 38.1k by me!

Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him.

“Mr. H,” he whispers.

The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.”

“Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…”

“Dance?”

Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”

Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Red Witch

Jasper Hale x Reader part 2

A/N: So here is the 2nd part everyone! I hope you like it!

Summary: Imagine being an immortal witch from the Middle Ages and being the previous love of Jasper before he was turned. You two were separated under certain circumstances and cross each other’s path once again, years later in the present era.

Warning: language. Blood

Part 1 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

“(Y/N)? Are you ok?” You hear your friend Melanie ask you, her voice laced with concern as she places a comforting hand on your shoulder, bringing you out of your thoughts.

Your head was beginning to throb violently and the scent of everyone’s blood was beginning to reach you. You could sense their pulse, the flow of their blood through their veins, and a part of you, deep down inside, hungered for it. Not in the way vampires felt, but in a way that you wanted to rip their souls out of their bodies and bathe in their blood while you only gained more power. And it sickened you. It sickened you to the very core.

“I think I need some fresh air.” You turn to face her, only to hear her gasp when she stares at your eyes.

“What? What is it?” You ask her.

She pulls you to the back of the shop, making sure no one noticed before speaking to you in a hushed tone. “(Y/N), hun, I don’t want to freak you out but, your eyes are red.”

“They’re what?!” You stare back at her in confusion before pulling out your phone to see for yourself only to let out a gasp as well.

Both your eyes were blackened in this deep blood red that covered not only your irises but your sclera as well, resembling something of a demon from the pits of hell. You shut your eyes in response, not even wanting to look at yourself, the mere sight of your eyes horrified you.

“Shit shit shit. This isn’t supposed to happen. I haven’t had this happen to me in a long time, not since I was little.” You hiss, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Does that mean?”

“Yes. I let my stupid emotions control me. And now look.” You run a hand through your hair as you open your eyes back up, staring at the floor. “I need to go. I need to go before this gets worse and I hurt someone.

“Don’t worry hun. You go and sort it out. I’ll close the shop early. And please, remember to breathe.”

You nod in agreement before taking out a pair of your sunglasses from your purse and throwing them on to cover your eyes. You slip on your black leather jacket, grabbing your belongings and rush out the shop. With a quickened pace, you walk over to your 1967 dark blue Shelby Mustang with white racing stripes and hop in. You strapped on your seatbelt and put your keys in the ignition to start the car, gripping the wheel as you closed your eyes, listening to and feeling the rumble of the engine. It was one of those things that calmed you down, you always loved the sound of muscle cars.

Taking a deep breath you rev up your engine and drive off, the sound of your car echoing through the streets as you race out of town and towards the woods so that you can be away from from everyone. You had your windows down and your radio up, enjoying the feeling of the wind against your face as the scenery around you blurred past.

You pulled up to a small clearing not too far from the road and got out of your car. Looking at the trees around you, you throw your head back and take a deep breath, taking in the smell of the forest. The throbbing in your head was still there but it was starting to fade. You slip off your gloves and sit down near your car. Glancing down at your hands you noticed that they were turning pitch black with tendrils that seemed to wrap it’s way up your arm, like a poison that runs through your veins only to reach your heart to provide an inevitable ending. Your powers felt like a poison coursing through your veins, and the thought of it ever reaching your heart made your blood run cold. You also noticed that your fingernails have grown to a sharp point, like the claws of an animal.

Shit. Shit shit shit. You needed to stop this.

You unlace your black dr martens and kick them off, digging your toes into the grass and feeling the earth beneath you as you closed your eyes, taking deep breaths as you tried to become one with your surroundings. Earth, fire, water, air, spirit.

You hadn’t used your powers in a long time and were out of practice. And yet, you felt like you needed to. You feared that if you didn’t learn to control it, you would eventually succumb to it and then your powers would eventually control you. And that was the last thing you wanted. With a deep breath you open your eyes back up and stare at your hands. Using your sharp nail, you slice into your arm and watch as the blood slips out of your wound before swirling around your fingers. You try to focus on a certain object and watch as the red substance slowly flows together, forming a red dagger in your hand.

So you weren’t completely out of practice. You let out a sigh of some form of relief, watching the blade melt back into blood, slipping back inside your wound before healing itself. Then slowly, your hands and fingernails returned to normal.

Thank goodness.

After a short period of sitting on the grass and listening to the peaceful sound of the wind and the birds, you pull your phone out of your back pocket to look at the time.

Shit.

Your little sister Harper was going to be off of school in a couple of minutes and you didn’t want to be late. You throw your docs back on and get back in your car before starting your engine and racing off out of the forest and towards Forks high school. You had your radio turned up and currently Led Zeppelin was playing as you pulled up to the high school.

You left the radio on and got out, leaning against the hood of your car with your arms crossed over your chest. You stood there, searching for your sister and finally see her appear out the front entrance.

She had her backpack slung across one arm, her 80s style windbreaker blowing against the wind. She was wearing her old white sweatshirt she found at the thrift store that had Scooby Doo on it, tucked into her high waisted jeans that were rolled up to show off her funky new socks that she just bought because they had dinosaurs all over it. The laces of her white converse were hastily tied as she makes her way over to you with her head lowered.

The way she dressed always made you smile, she always looked like she stepped out of an 80s sitcom, and it perfectly resembled her dorky and full of life personality. Standing next to each other, no one would have ever thought you two were related, with your dark choice of clothes and her bright and colorful ones.

“Hey scooter.” You smile at her once she approaches you.

“Hey” she mumbles out quietly, pushing her glasses up as she gets to the passenger side, making you raise your brow.

Huh. What’s wrong with her?

You turn around to get back into your car before a familiar face stops you in your tracks, making your clench your fist as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Oh you have got to be shitting me.” You hiss, looking away once Jasper catches your stare.

Great, so Jasper and the other vampires happen to go to the same high school your sister goes to. Just great.

You catch Harper giving you a wtf look before turning around to follow your eyes to see for herself what you were getting so upset over.

“(Y/n)?”

“It’s nothing Harper, get in the car.” You shake it off as you both get in.

You sensed Harper watching you carefully as you start your car back up and pull back out of the parking lot. You gave Jasper one last glance, feeling him staring into your soul as you drove off.

How could someone you’ve sworn to forget, someone who didn’t even remember you, still have such an effect over you?

“So how was school?” You ask her as you make your way back to your home, which was located away from town. You could still feel her staring at you.

“It was okay. Nothing special.” She shrugs, looking at the road in front of her before turning back to you. “So what’s up with you? How come you’re acting so moody?”

“So what, you’re my therapist now?”

“Well you were totally chill until you saw that weird pale, Lestat looking dude.”

Did she just call him Lestat?? Wheeze!

There was a pause before her eyes widened a little. “Wait, is he? Is he the same guy that’s in your necklace?”

You clench your wheel as your back straightens up, using your free hand to grasp the intricate gold locket you wore around your neck. The one Jasper gave you many many years ago that he had custom made to have a dragonfly on it. The one you put a small picture of him in to remember him by.

“Did you go through my things?” You raise your brow at her.

“.......maybe.”

“Harper.”

“Hey! I was bored okay. It’s not like I did it recently. And you have so much old shit anyways.”

“Hey, language.” You shake your head with a roll of your eyes. “And it’s not just any old shit okay. It’s stuff that means a lot to me.”

“Looks like a bunch of ancient junk to me.”

“Oh so you’re calling me ancient now.”

“Well technically....”

“Harper.”

“Ok! Sorry!” Harper laughs before getting serious again. “But seriously though, who was he? You’ve like never told me about him.”

You let out a sigh, feeling a lump in your throat that felt like it refused to go away. “That’s because it hurts to talk about him. Jasper and I, he used to court me back in 1862. Harper.....we were supposed to get married.”

A/N: Part 3 coming soon! I didn’t want this chapter to be too long so I had to split it. Thanks for all the support you beautiful people! 😁

Tags: @twilight-kpop @cricketlicket @bella-stenbakken @ineffabledears @elisemurphy06 @ashdab2611 @pancake-pages @toomanybandstocare @cammellia

[yourfangirlfriend]

It’s Nothing Serious - Chapter Seven

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Five and a Half

Chapter Six

A/N: Hey. Been a while. Here’s an update and a loose promise I’ll be better? Also thanks for all the notes, comments, and messages recently! I forget who wanted to be on the tag list, but comment and I’ll know for next time!

“It’s not serious.”

 You pinch the bridge of your nose.

 “Mother.” 

 “It’s not. You’re really overreacting.”

 You curl your fingers into the bed of your palm and feel the bite of your nails digging into the flesh. “It’s cancer.”

 “Psssh.”

 You want to throw the phone across the room. Instead, you screw your eyes shut and lean back against the wall.

 “Do you have an appointment soon?”

 “You know I don’t like hospitals.” She says just as you see the deadbolt to your apartment flick unlocked. Javi pushes in seconds later, looking just as tired as you feel. You give him a little wave.

 “Well weigh that dislike of hospitals against your dislike of death,” you say, turning away and putting your hand on your hip. You don’t want to burden him with this, but you see his eyebrows perk up anyway. Shit. You lower your voice. “Can’t Dad sit with you? Or Luna?”

 “You worry too much.” She chides.

 “You don’t worry enough!” You scold into the phone. You feel a hand around your waist and turn just in time to get a kiss on your forehead. It calms you down.

 Sighing, you regain your composure. “Mom? Please promise me you’re going to go back.”

 “Well of course I’ll go back, Bean, but really, I don’t want you worrying about me.” Somewhere in the background, you hear a crash behind her.

 “Mom?”

 “It’s just your father. He’s putting up shelves for the crystals and I think he fell. Can I call you back?”

 You sigh. The only thing your mother is worse at than soothing your anxiety is calling you back.

 “Yeah, sure.” You say. “But actually call?”

 “I always do.”

 “Hmm.”

 “Bye Bean, I love you.”

 “I love you too,” you say before you hear the line go dead. You put the phone back on the hook and drop your head, trying it to calm yourself down. From the couch, you hear Javi perk up.

 “Sounds like you had a worse day than me.”

 You look up and give him a weak smile. “We’re having a lot of those, recently.”

  How long are honeymoon periods supposed to last? You would have at least guessed six months. That only seems fair, given the seven months of angst and hookups that preceded finally, finally being able to admit to one another that maybe this meant a little more than you led on. You would have taken three months, even- three months of everything just being calm and quiet and nice, where the most stressful thing to happen is burning dinner because you’re too busy fucking on the counter.

 You moved to the wrong fucking city.

 It wasn’t even a week after your drunken exchange of I-love-yous that it began. All those bodies piling up once more, only this time the cops and their allies were giving just as good as they had got. Bodies from both sides seemed to pile up in higher stacks all around you two. Three days hadn’t passed without you having to calm down one of your students -or worse, one of your fellow teachers- over recent events. It was getting to you, too, if you were honest. Javi had warned you against going out like you once did, and as much as you hated it, you knew he was right. You thought of the friends of friends who had disappeared or died, caught in the crossfire or in the consequences of their poor decisions. The more you heard, the more you wanted to lock yourself in your apartment, hidden away from the chaos of the outside. You managed to see your friends at work but meet-ups outside had dwindled severely. Alessa found out she was pregnant and didn’t want to risk it. Lisa’s brother-in-law got caught in between two sides of a gunfight and couldn’t work any longer, so she was helping them more around the house. Maritza was the only one who still tried to go out, but it was a rare occasion you could even gather everyone up for a dinner at home.

 Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if you could have spent all this new, anxious free time with Javi, but if anything, he had picked up your slack when it came to existing in the outside world. Since Los Pepes had entered the picture, the man worked around the clock. Sometimes you would go the whole evening without seeing him, only to be awoken to the feeling of his body falling on the bed next to yours. While he still insisted on driving you to work every morning, he had begun staying at the office later and later, sometimes not returning until 2 am. The fire and anger that once fuelled him seemed to have died out, and the poor man is running on fumes. You could see it when you both woke in the morning in the dark circles under his eyes and the uptick in cigarettes he had been smoking. You try and take care of him - bringing him coffee in bed, rubbing his shoulders when he sits up, lost in his own thoughts. He appreciates it, he tells you as much, but no matter how hard you try he’s still as weary as ever when he finally comes back to you.

 You don’t want to add to that. You know that what he’s seeing at work must be leagues beyond your little pep-talks and lonely evenings, and you don’t think it’s worth mentioning even if it has started to take its toll on you. You miss your friends. You miss days at work where the kids are sunny and mischievous, instead of withdrawn and scared. Hell, you miss your boyfriend- it feels weird calling a man his age that- you’re supposed to be in loved-up bliss, but instead it seems the universe decided to throw you another curveball. You overcame the intimacy issues only to come face to face with this bullshit not days later.

 And now your mom is sick.

 Javi gets up from the couch and comes to stand beside you, his tired hand dropping down to take your fingers. You smile at the effort, which seems small, but you know takes so much for him these days. You reach up to wipe a stupid tear out of your eyes.

 “Swear she thinks she could cure this with sage and essential oil,” you try to joke. He doesn’t say anything, only runs his thumb along your cheek bone and tilt your chin up to look at him. You try and give him a smile before another year drops down your face. Frustrated, you press your hands into your eyes and let out a groan.

 “Fuck.” You say. You drop your hands and look back at him. “I’m sorry.”

 “What are you sorry for, huh?” He asks.

 You shake your head.

 “I don’t…I don’t know.” I’m sorry I can’t be soft and happy for you when you come home? I’m sorry that he has to spend all day on the front lines and come back to this mess? “Things have been rough lately. I don’t want to add anything to your pile.”

 “It’s not my pile that’s getting added to,” he pulls you against him, pressing a kiss against your head once more. You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “You okay, hermosa?”

 You nod, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes. “They caught it early. She’s just stubborn. She’ll go, though. Her dad was an oncologist. She pretends like she doesn’t know, but…” you shake your head. “Fucking parents, huh?”

 “Yeah,” he says, reaching out to push a loose curl behind your ear. “Fuckin’ parents.”

 You relax into him, letting your head dip down into the dip when his neck connects to his chest. He brings his arms around you to keep you there. The two of you stand like that for a moment, two idiots swaying to the silence of the world’s chaos.

 “You’re not bad,” you sigh against him, snuggling in deeper. “For an alcoholic cop.”

 He chuckles. “Agent.” He combs his fingers through your hair. “You’re not bad for a teacher who lets strange men finger her in a supply closet.”

 You hold a finger up. “One time.”

 He catches your hand and brings your fingers up to his lips, kissing the tips. It’s enough to make you melt.

 “I am sorry,” he says, placing your hand against his chest and holding it there. “About your mom.”

 You sigh. “What can you do?”

 “Do you need to go back?”

 “I’d never hear the end of it if I did,” you pull away from him and make for the coffee table, where you had set out two drinks for Javi’s arrival before your mother had called. You pick them up and extend one to him, and he takes it gratefully, dropping onto the couch next to you. “She’s convinced I worry too much. Me, her brilliant daughter who chose to live in the middle of a war zone,” you purse your lips. “Sorry,” you say.

 He shakes his head. “You’re right,” he leans forward to set his drink down on the coffee table before resting his elbows on his knees, bending forward in a pose of contemplation. Sensing the shift in the air, you sit up and run your fingers along his back.

 “Javi- I didn’t mean…”

 He shakes his head again. “This thing…it’s a fucking mess. All of it.” He sighs. “Sick of seeing fucking bodies.”

 You reach for something to say to comfort him, but you know there’s nothing. Instead, you scoot closer to him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

 “Have you thought about it? Going back to Texas for a while?” He asks.

 You shake your head. “She doesn’t want me to. And neither do I,” you reach up and lace your fingers through his, unclasping a worried hand. He turns to you, his eyes flicking up and down your face.

 “You shouldn’t stay here because of me. You’d be safer.”

 You blow a raspberry. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Sensing he took the joke to heart, you nudge him with your chin. “I’m here because I want to be here. With the kids. With you.”

 He turns back to face forward, and you’re unsure if he’s satisfied with your answer before he speaks again.

 “If anything happens to you…” he shakes his head. It forms a pit in your stomach.

 You reach out and press his hand against the center of your chest. When he looks at you puzzled, you smile. “See? Still beating. Think that’s a good sign.”

 He sighs, but not without a small smile on his face. Taking advantage of the moment, you reach out and take him by the chin, pulling him in for a long kiss. When you break away, his hands come up to pull your face back to his, and you can’t help but smile as he presses his lips against your mouth and begins to trail down your neck.

 “Yeah,” he says, kissing the pulse point that makes you shiver. “I think it’s a good sign.”

      You’re not great at taking care of yourself when you’re stressed out. Who is, really? You hope he hasn’t noticed, though, the way the bags under your eyes have darkened to match his or how much more quickly you seem to go through liquor bottles. You want to think he doesn’t notice- that he’s too focused on other things, but it’s getting harder to pretend. You try and rally your energy every time you see him. You want to be this bright spot for him in the middle of all this chaos and violence. You cook, you clean, and you go down on him like you want to live the rest of your life on your knees. You smile. You joke. You try to be pure sunshine in the bullshit he’s caught in.

 But now your mom’s sick. And, fuck, you’re empty.

 He must notice it. He has to see it when he comes home to you, and your house is a mess. He has to hear it when you spend the next few weeks by the phone, arguing with your family- Luna is too busy with the baby to go home, your father doesn’t want to believe it’s real, and your mother-fuck! - she keeps telling you not to worry. Not to worry! Like the few times she calls, she doesn’t tell you offhandedly how much worse she’s getting. Like you’re not trying to keep yourself from telling her how you hear gunshots every night, or how you can’t go a week without seeing a dead body. Like you’re not protecting everyone from your feelings because surely, they have it worse. You know everyone has it worse. How do you compete with cancer and being a foot soldier in the war on drugs? You’re just some teacher. You’re just some lady in over her head. Like everyone else in this country.

     Maybe it was just a bad day when he came home that Wednesday. For both of you. One of your students’ siblings had died the day before, and you had spent the majority of the day trying not to cry alongside an eight-year-old. You had been trying to reach your mother for days, but the calls kept getting picked up by the answering machine and you couldn’t come up with any other way to say, “please call me back and tell me you’re okay”. When you finally came home, it was to a messy house - why are you so disappointed? it’s been a disaster for weeks- and you barely have enough energy to kick a few things out of a sort of path. You check your messages, willing there to be one overlooked recording of your mother’s voice assuring you she’s doing fine before her scheduled surgery, but the tape is woefully empty, just as it was yesterday and the day before. You pick the stupid machine up from the table and throw it to the ground.

 You chain-smoked three cigarettes by your window, zoning out into the ether as night descended upon you so gradually until it was suddenly dark. You thought of your student, the one who came home to a massacred older sibling, and your stomach cramps. Before you can stop yourself, you imagine your mother in the same position they described to you that morning- spread out like a starfish on the floor, eyes wide open and dull as they stare up to the ceiling, a halo of blood around their head. Your throat itches and you light a fourth cigarette.

 When you went to the refrigerator, finally, but discovered upon opening the door that you had once again forgotten to go grocery shopping. The only things that stared back at you were three-day-old pasta leftovers, some eggs, and a few beers.

 “Fucking idiot,” you said to yourself.

 You pulled out the carton of eggs and had begun to whisk them together when you heard the door creak open. You turned around to call out a greeting but bit your tongue when you saw his face. A deep scowl marked his otherwise handsome features, and he had already lit a cigarette before coming in.

 “Hey,” he said as if he was annoyed with you. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the eggs in front of you. He made for the couch, stripping off his jacket as he walked.

 “Fuck!”

 You turned around to see him wavering, trying to regain his balance. He reaches out and grabs the edge of the counter, but it’s stacked so high with papers that his hand slips and he’s falling back onto the floor- but not before hitting the back of his head. You run around, dropping to your knees beside him as he pulls a bloodied hand from the back of his head.

 “Hang on- “you run to the sink and grab a wet towel. Jogging back to him, you reach out to nurse the area when he snatches the rag out of your hand.

 “I can do it myself,” he says. “Why is your fucking answering machine on the floor?”

 You feel stupid and lost for words, like a child who just got scolded. You hold your hands in front of you.

 “I want to help- “

 “If you want to help, why don’t you clean the fucking apartment?” He snaps.

 Your eyes widen. He’s been grumpy for weeks, surly even, but there’s an extra bit of venom in his voice tonight. Before today, maybe you would have called him on it, snatched the rag out of his hand, and told him to go fuck himself, to go to his place and bleed over his own towels.

 But…fuck you’re tired. You have been hanging by a thread all day and the only thing that was keeping your eyes dry was the thought of curling up with him tonight. Maybe if one of the many, horrible things hadn’t happened today you would already be kicking his ass out, instead of standing there dumb and speechless, taking this abuse you don’t deserve.

 So, you let him have the rag. You turn back and walk to the kitchen and keep making the eggs.

 He has it worse. He has it worse.

  You two eat dinner in silence. You can tell he’s not pleased with the meager meal, but he just grunts and shovels it into his mouth. You barely eat, picking at little bites like a bird. Instead, you think about how chemotherapy makes people lose their appetite, and wonder if your mother can eat right now. You imagine her too-long blonde hair must have begun to fall out, and for a moment you think you can feel the sickly strands tightening around your fingers. It’s all-encompassing, and you don’t hear when Javi tries to get your attention.

 “Eloise!”

 You jerk your head up, your blank face meeting his. He frowns.

 “I said do you want a drink,”

 “Oh,” you say, softly. You shake your head. “No.”

 He rolls his eyes and pushes up from the table, going to the liquor cabinet. When he pulls the doors open, his head drops, disappointed.

 “You’re out.”

 “Oh?” You turn around. He turns and sends you a look.

 “Yeah.” He says

 “I forgot to go to the…” you wave your hand.

 “Seems like you forgot to do a lot of things,” he sighs. You frown, a bit taken aback by his annoyance. But yet again, you bite your tongue. He sighs and walks towards the table, snatching up his keys.

 “Where are you-?”

 “To get some from my apartment.” He says. He swings the door open with too much power, and when it falls closed with a crack it makes your shudder.

 Across the room, the phone rings.

 You scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over that same answering machine that had claimed Javi. You yank the phone off the hook, shoving the phone to your ear.

 “Mom?” Your voice is like a little girl’s.

 “What?” The male voice says. Your shoulders deflate.

 “Sorry,” you say, pressing your hand to your forehead. You look up as the door to your apartment swings open again, and Javi walks in with a storm cloud over his head, whiskey clutched in his fist. “He just walked in, hang on.” You hold the phone out to Javi. “Steve.”

 He lets out a sigh and walks forward, taking the phone from your hand. In a daze, you walk towards the kitchen and begin to clean up the few dishes you dirtied, your mind zoning in and out of reality. You don’t notice you’re just standing with the water running until a hand comes from the corner of your eye and switches the tap off.

 “Stop watering the pipes,” Javi says. He walks back to the table and lights a cigarette, sitting down and kicking his feet up. You turn back to look at him.

 “Everything alright?” You ask.

 He scoffs. “No, it’s not fucking alright.” He takes a drag and blows a plume of smoke out. He looks up to you, his eyes darting to the glass he left by your hand. He makes to sit up.

 “I’ll get it,” you say, and you pick it up, walking over towards him. You’re just about to hand it to him when your ankle gives, and you drop the glass, spilling his drink over his pants.

 “Goddammit!” He yelps. He looks up at you - and you know it’s not you, you know he’s had a bad day, you know there’s so much on his plate- but the snarl he has feels like a punch to the stomach.

 “I’m sorry, let me- “you reach for the napkins you thought were on the table before realizing you forgot to buy those, too. Your hand flails around you as you’re caught in your anxiety.

 “You’ve done enough,” he grumbles, pushing up and walking past you to pull a rag from the counter.

 You’re not sure why hearing him blotting his pants behind you does it, but you feel it immediately. That hot, wet trail down your face. And once that first tear is loose, you know you can’t stop. Suddenly, you’re silently weeping, snot and water running down your face as your shoulders shake and you reach up to try and hold yourself.

You let out a long breath, but it comes out as shaky, and the sounds from behind you stop.

 “…El?”

 You begin to paw at your face but realize it’s a lost cause. Shaking your head, you ignore him and walk back to your bedroom, closing the door behind you before dropping against the wall.

 You were doing so well. You hadn’t cried, you hadn’t screamed at him during his shittier moods, you had been an angel. You pushed through all of this bullshit, hoping that, even though you couldn’t compete with his life, he would notice. He would realize how much of toll your own, lesser bullshit had begun to take on you, and had some sympathy. More than that, you had hoped he would appreciate it- how you never pushed him to take care of you, how you were always there for him with a meal and warm arms, how you were soldiering on for him through all the stress. You wanted him to think you some sort of martyr, a girlfriend who was pushing all her needs down to take care of him when he needed it most. If he was emotionally unable to reciprocate, he could at least fucking notice.

 But he didn’t. He was too up his own ass, too busy at work, too concerned with being the only person in this relationship with problems that he didn’t even fucking see how much your teeth nearly cracked every time you faked a smile for him. You were mad at yourself, too- you had folded into this smaller version of yourself after making excuses for him, and now you had the gall to be sad about it? You had paved this path. You tried to protect him from your pain, thinking it was kind, when really you were coddling him.

 You feel anger rise in your chest. You clench your fists in your hands, and you’re about to scream into your knees when you hear the soft knock on the door. Furled by anger, you stand up quickly and swing the door open to see a much softer looking Javi in the doorway.

 And that takes the wind out of your sails. Instead of laying into him like you wanted, you let out a pathetic sob. Immediately he’s pulling you towards him and you’re caught in a tight hold as you sob into one of his nicer shirts.

 “El,” he says softly, and you choke out another sob on his shoulder. Carefully, the two of you descend to the floor of your bedroom as he keeps his hold on you, tracing his fingers up and down your back as you continue to cry against him.

 His tone is soothing as he circles through what little he can say - “baby” and “I’m sorry” and “it’s okay”. As your cries come to a slow, you pull away from him and try to wipe your face.

 “Baby,” he says again, reaching out to touch your cheek. You dare to make eye contact, and, fuck, it breaks your heart. He looks like a little boy who just realized he had crossed a line. You let out a pathetic little hiccup as you wipe your eyes again.

 “I’ve tried- “you stutter on your words as your tears keep falling. “I- I know it’s hard for you, really fucking hard, I know my d-day to day can’t compare to the shi-shit you see,” you try to take in a deep breath. His hand runs down your arm. “But I’m not doing okay. And I’ve tried to put that aside to t-take care of you, but - fuck, I need- “you feel yourself begin to hyperventilate. Fuck, you haven’t cried this hard since you were a kid.

 “What do you need, baby?”

 “Fuck, Javi, my mom is dying!” You yell. “She’s dying and I can’t get a hold of her. And every day I have to go to the school and hear more awful fucking stories about other kids’ families dying. I have to let them think I have any kind of answer when I fucking don’t! I’m just as lost as they are! I’m in my godamn thirties and all I want is to hug my fucking mommy, too!” You huff a few more breaths. “But I can’t, so I pretend. And I come home to you, and I- fuck, I love you so much, and I don’t want to burden you or make you take care of me when you have it so, so much worse but today- “you swallow, your mouth dry from crying - “today she was supposed to go in for surgery. And I haven’t heard anything. I spent all of lunch not eating because an eight-year-old, a fucking eight-year-old! Was telling me that she found her brother with a gunshot wound between his eyes. And I can’t do anything to help her! Just like I can’t do anything to help my fucking mother who won’t even call her daughter back to leave a message to say ‘hey! I SURVIVED SURGERY’. And maybe if I hadn’t had all of that I could put up with your shitty moods like I have been for weeks because I know it’s hard and I know you have it worse but today I just-I fucking couldn’t! I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t take YOU yelling at me when all I wanted was for you to fucking- I don’t know! Pull me in your lap and pet my hair! Ask me how my day was! Ignore my dirty apartment the way I’ve ignored your passive-aggressive moody bullshit for a month because you understand I’m not doing the fucking best right now! And I need the person who loves me to fucking act like it!” You fall forward, sobbing again. The arm on your shoulder drops, and you expect for a moment he’s going to get up and leave you to cry into the night. Instead, though, he scoots back until his back leans against the footboard of the bed. You look up in time to see him open his arms.

 “Come here,” he says.

 Too eager, you scramble over to him as he pulls you against him, petting your arms and face as you keep weeping against him.

 “I’m sorry,” he says. “I do see it. I do. I promise.”

 You hiccup and he pulls you tighter.

 “I know you have it worse- “you start.

 “Stop,” he says, pressing your head against his chest.

 You keep crying over the next half hour as he whispers sweet things to you. When you’ve exhausted yourself, you drop your head to his lap, fading in and out of consciousness as his fingers comb through your hair, soft and comforting. You don’t quite remember him urging you up and into bed, but by the time you’ve regained your senses somewhat he’s pulled your back against him, tucking his nose into the nape of your neck.

 “I’m sorry,” you say softly. He shakes his head.

 “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” He says. “Go to sleep, hermosa.”

 You do.

     The next morning is quiet. The two of your dress quickly and rush out the door, having slept past your alarm. He tells you briefly he’s got a lot on at work today, and you take it as a sign you’ll be walking back this afternoon. You nod and give him a quick peck before running up the stairs to the school, at least somewhat happy to have avoided talking about last night.

 So, you don’t expect it when you leave the school one afternoon and see him waiting for you outside, his arms crossed on his chest, aviators on, posed in front of his car like he’s in a film. You fight the urge to smirk when you drop down to the final step and his mouth jerks up at the corner.

 “You look like a cliche,” you deadpan, walking up to give him a quick kiss. Only, it’s not quick- you try to pull away tastefully, but he takes you by your waist and pulls you into a deeper kiss. You give him a swat on his shoulder but return it regardless, luxuriating in the attention. It feels nice.

 “Get in the car,” he says when he finally pulls away. You tilt your head.

  “You takin' me somewhere?”

 “Not if you don’t get in the damn car,” he swats your ass, causing you to shriek, before beginning to walk around the front. Despite yourself, you smile as you clamber in.

 You don’t ask questions throughout the whole drive, but you admit you’re a bit disappointed when you just pull back up to your apartment building. You try and mask it, hopping out of the car and waiting expectantly for him to come around and join you. He climbs the stairs quickly, beating you to the door to hold it open.

 Without thinking, you reach for your keys. It’s almost muscle memory now. You haven’t been to his place for any real time in months. You think it reminds him too much of work.

 Except, now he’s nodding you over to his door he’s begun to unlock. You come to stand by him, eying him as he fiddles with the lock. As the bolt clicks, he smiles, then turns to you.

 “Close your eyes,” he says.

 “Really?”

 “Fuck you. Yea really.”

 With a small grin on your face, you make a show of daintily closing your eyes. You see a flash of light- him waving his hands in front of your face. Convinced you really have your eyes closed, you hear the door open, then feel a warm hand taking your own. You walk inside, blindly stepping after him until he drops his hand, and you feel his hands come to rest on your shoulders.

 “Alright,” he says.

 You open your eyes, and it takes you a while to realize what he’s even made a fuss about. In front of you are two plates with a single sandwich and a side of potato chips. You’re kind of annoyed for a second- when you surprise him, it’s always with a cake or really good head, never just dinner. Dinner that’s basically a sandwich.

 You turn to look at him before noticing that the apartment has been cleaned up. You swivel around, taking in the sight, noticing the repaired answering machine has been put carefully back on the side table. You haven’t seen your home this clean in a while, and you realize that he must have done this, too. You start to say something, but he’s already pulling out your chair for you, urging you to sit down. Lost for words, you drop yourself into the seat and watch as he comes around to sit in front of you. He waits for you to say something, but when you don’t, he begins.

 “It’s not much,” he says finally. “But you were right. I’ve been a dick, and I’m not the only one with shit on my plate.” He rubs the back of his neck. “When my mom was sick…I should be better to you. For you.” He bites his lip. When you still don’t say anything, he continues. “I’m sorry, El. You’re so…good, and I’m…” he shakes his head. You reach out your hand, covering his. There’s a flash of a smile across his face. “I called sick to work. They were having me doing bullshit paperwork, anyway. Murphy can handle that.” He clears his throat. “It’s uh, not much, but a rich guy owed me a favor, and he had a smoker. I had some old rubs from Señora Garza, the one with the hands? My dad sent me them from back home a while, and I know it’s not going home, but I know you miss the food- “you reach forward and pull the top of the sandwich off.

 Brisket.

 You look up at him, and you start to cry.

 His face drops, alarmed. “Oh- no, baby- “

 “Javi,” you wipe a tear away. “This is- this is - “you bend forward and let out another small cry. Immediately, he’s on his feet, coming around to kneel beside you. Just as he’s about to say something, you lean forward and catch his face in your hands, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s long and warm, and when he finally breaks away, you’re rewarded with a bright smile.

 “You like it?”

 “I love- I love it.” You say, running a hand through his hair. “This is very sweet.”

 He looks down, pleased with himself. You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead. He reaches up and takes your hands.

 “I…I really love you, El,” he says, not quite daring to look you in the eyes until he’s finished his sentence. “I just hope you know that.”

 You nod before pressing another kiss to his lips. “I do,” you say. “Even when…I do know, Javi.”

 He nods, and the two of you sit there, blissed out together for a moment before he lets out a breath.

 “Well, you better eat. Fucking thing took six hours to smoke, better not let it get too cold.”

 You let out a laugh as he stands and comes to sit across from you. With a smile, the two of you eat. It’s not the perfect approximation of the food back home, but it’s enough to fill you with the comfort you had been craving for weeks. Javi watches, proud of himself as you lick the remaining sauce off a finger, smiling at the flavor.

 “You did good, Peña.” You say, flicking your eyes back to him. He smiles, tossing the napkin down between the two of you before making to stand. He walks over and extends a hand down to you, and you raise your eyebrows.

 “Is there more to eat?” You ask, somewhat hopeful. It’s impossible, but if he found a way to get a malt shake down here too you think you’d have to spend the next three weeks with his dick in your mouth.

 “Something like that,” he says, urging you up. You send him a playful look as he reaches behind you and pulls the zipper to your skirt. With strong hands, he pulls your underwear and skirt down to your ankles, dropping to his knees to let you step out of them. With a twinkle in his eye, he smiles up at you.

 “Go sit on the couch,” he orders. “And keep your knees apart.”

   Turns out his surprises come with pretty good head, too.

A/N: Idk if this is of any interest but in my head Eloise is played by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. But of course, you cast her however you like!! She’s yours, too

[lettrespromises]

> LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification.

> Letter object : the heart’s warmth and the body’s flames.

> Todoroki Shouto and Bakugou Katsuki sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

@bruised-cherry​ sent a letter : ❝Hiya, Nikki! Can I request a one-shot(if you're down) where Todoroki and Bakugou's(poly relationship) s/o got into a little argument with each other and now their s/o is rejecting them and ignoring them. Since it's summer, TodoBaku turned off the air conditioning, AC, etc, knowing their s/o would need them soon. And just, kinky, dirty ass s m U t :) (and lana spelled backwards if you're down with that, if not that's cool). Sorry I'm a kinky hoe 👉😅👈❞

Author’s letter :

❝ dear bruised-cherry,

first and foremost, i would like to apologize for taking so long to write your promised letter! nonetheless, i had a lot of fun writing it, hopefully it will reach your expectations!! it’s 4:05am as i am writing this and my brain is unable to write proper words i’m sorry—

sealed with a kiss,

nikki.❞

Genre : Pure smut, angst if you squint.

Warnings : Cursing, sex, vaginal sex, blow-job, cunnilingus, anal sex, daddy kink. (Please consider that the characters are aged up.)

Word count : 5.8K.

This day seemed to counterbalance the already established rules of time and space, you were secretly convinced that minutes were hours and each time you would lay your eyes upon any item with the sole purpose of indicating the current hour, you felt as if time had stopped. It was a long, long day. Truthfully, you wished you could have had the opportunity to meet someone whose quirk was time control to ask them to skip the remaining hours of the day.

The root of the problem was deeply imbedded with the increasing attacks committed by the villains in town, you were on a mission with both Bakugou and Todoroki- a clear lack of communication and coordination signed a burning defeat for the three of you. A mission built and perfected during several months had just blown into pieces, your efforts, tears, blood and energy were the combustibles to the pain fueled by this defeat. Each one of you attempted to exude this loss in your own way while making your way back home. Todoroki, sat on the passenger seat, found the cure to his own inner built-up anger by digging his pearly whites into the flesh of his thumb while observing the passing scenery before his eyes. Bakugou, unexpectedly, made a martyr of the steering wheel by squeezing the non-existent life out of it, causing his fingers to turn white in the process. You, on the other one hand, kept on reminiscing the earlier events of today, your mind roaming over and over again to find what went wrong, you weren’t exactly angry : disappointed in yourself was a more precise way to describe the matter.

The silence was deafening, almost agonizing. Truthfully, silence was even more intimidating than noise- a noisy ride would have included the repertoire of Bakugou’s insults flowing freely from his mouth, it was expected. But silence, on Bakugou’s end, echoed to a level of anger rarely ever reached, metaphorically speaking, Katsuki was a living and breathing ticking bomb at this very moment.

The sound of the car door smashing broke the silence as you arrived home, Bakugou was already inside, his hands shoved in his pockets as expected. You freed a sigh you ignored you were holding from your lips, an early sign that you knew there was little to no seconds left on the ticking bomb. Todoroki sent an apologetic glance in your way, you knew he didn’t mean no harm, if anything, it was a silent sign to encourage you before facing the aftermath caused by the explosion of the bomb.

Flower vases left shattered on the floor, a door handle scarred by the scorching hot imprints of Bakugou’s unforgiving hold and a continuous flow of insults as background noise- those were the said aftermath of the explosion. Bakugou’s body language radiated off pure anger, like you or Todoroki had barely seen before, his rage was exuding from the pores of his palms through a dangerous marriage of small explosions and smoke. He was roaming back and forth in the living room, his stare was focused on the explosions emanating from his hands as a way to convince himself that the more explosions would be set free, the less he would feel angry.

« Fuck, fuck, fuck… Goddamnit, fuck! What the fuck went wrong, hah?! We planned this shit entirely, from start to fucking finish. What the fuck went wrong?! You tell me instead of staring at me, do fucking something for once! » The words echoed and morphed into a roar sent directly your way, anger lacing his every word.

« Bakugou, don’t say things you don’t mean. » Todoroki stated, the pseudo comfort embedded in his voice radically clashed with the heat of Bakugou’s words.

« Don’t say shit I don’t mean? Who the fuck are you to tell others what to do when you couldn’t even do shit when we were facing those bastards?! You didn’t do shit, you fucking left us on our own and arrived at the very last second. So tell me, give me one good fucking reason as to why I should take shit from you! Fucking say it to my face, because I’m dying to know what’s your excuse. » The sounds of Bakugou’s explosions slowly adopted the structure of a crescendo, but Todoroki remained unfazed, his facial expression didn’t betray his pseudo serenity. « I was evacuating the civilians, you knew that, I don’t understand why you act so confused. We prepared this plan together, the three of us, you knew what my role was. »

You were stuck in the middle of a battlefield, torn between two sides but the tragic twist of this scene was that you couldn’t find the strength to defend one of them. You needed to remain objective and impartial, something obviously easier said than done. Your eyes darted from one figure to another each time you heard the sound of either Todoroki or Bakugou’s words, truthfully, you felt paralyzed under the lack of options in this crucial situation- on one hand, Katsuki was nothing short of acerbic when anger consumed him, on the other one hand, Shouto’s calm attitude hid a dangerous amount of anger building inside of him ready to explode if Bakugou’s venom stung too hard to Todoroki’s liking.

« Oh yeah, yeah. You were on you own, hah? Evacuating civilians and shit, am I supposed to feel fucking sorry for you when Y/N were busting our fucking asses out there to take down those bastards? You’re trying to play it solo like your old man? You know what, the more I think about it, the more you start to act like him-… »

« Katsuki! That’s enough, shut up! »

It was your turn to let anger lace your words in such a way that they developed their own toxins, purposefully made to sting Bakugou hard enough to cut his rambling. Endeavor was a touchy topic to Shouto, and as soon as Katsuki pronounced the words ‘old man’, a hint of flames appeared on Todoroki’s collarbone- it was only a matter of second before an inferno invaded the living room.

« You never know when to stop, do you? Do you have any idea of how ridiculous this is? You, Bakugou, you should know out of all people that his father his a sensitive topic, and yet you let your anger get the best of you every damn time. Todoroki, were you really ready to blast your flames at him? Aren’t the both of your grown men, or am I mistaken? How disappointing, how fucking disappointing. » You dropped every last ounce of energy in your tirade, every last bit of emotion in the process too. You felt so numb, deprived from your own vigor.

Both Todoroki and Bakugou’s eyes fell on you as soon as your roaring words broke their mutual verbal assaults, their mouths were set agape- they did have words on the tip of their tongue, but they couldn’t find the strength to give life to them. There it was again, the deafening and agonizing silence.

You couldn’t bare standing in the same vicinity as them, disappointment clouded your vision and the more you looked at them, the more your vision became foggy- but it still remained unclear as to whether it was due to the disappointment or the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. Without wasting yet another second, you went upstairs and locked yourself in your room, giving yourself some privacy to wipe away your tears.

Downstairs, the silence was still suffocating both Bakugou and Todoroki, their stare were still laying upon the spot where you used to be just a few seconds earlier, they just hadn’t processed your sudden disappearance. They blinked once, then twice, and a third time to make sure they weren’t dreaming and once they were convinced it was very much real, they looked at each other and sighed as if they were, too, deprived of their own energy.

« Bak-… Katsuki, it was my mistake to threaten you with my flames, I apologize. » Todoroki’s tone was soft in comparison to his last statement, a sense of compassion replaced the anger laced in his words.

« I shouldn’t have talked about your shitty dad. » A sentence, which, in Bakugou’s vocabulary echoed to an apology, but with the cruel exception of the forbidden word which begins with an ’s’ and ends with ‘-orry’.

« I assume Y/N is not going to talk to us for a while, and, don’t take it personally but her presence is very much needed. » Bakugou frowned as Todoroki’s words connected to his eardrums, needless to say, he knew he was right but didn’t care enough to admit it and grant him this silent victory.

« I might have an idea, half-and-half, use your shitty quirk to lower the temperature of the house, you know how much she fucking hates cold temperatures. That’s gonna make her move her ass out of the bedroom. » Todoroki only quirked his eyebrows in response while Bakugou was adorning his most victorious grin, he knew this plan meant an automatic win- both of them could handle cold temperatures thanks to their quirks, you on the other one hand, were more fond of warmer temperatures.

Todoroki sighed, perhaps already regretting his choice to follow Bakugou’s antics, but if it meant that he had to play dirty to get you, he was ready to deem himself as the dirtier player in the game. Soon enough, a frigid fog invaded mercilessly the first floor, and your bedroom was the first victim of the unforgiving coldness. Little did you know, this was the beginning of a series of crushing defeats on your end : seeking warmth underneath your blankets? Didn’t work. Blow air on your hands? A total fail. Looking through your boyfriends’ closets to find one of their thick hoodies and wear it? Not the solution you needed to cure the problem.

You were running out of solutions, and that’s when your unconsciousness crept in and murmured suave temptations to your ear : the welcoming warmth of Bakugou and Todoroki’s bodies, their arms wrapped around you like a human cocoon to protect you from the cold temperature. It sounded like a dream, and you had the means to make it real- but at what cost? You roamed around the room, not only to create body warmth by moving, but also to accelerate the train of your thoughts. What was more important? Freezing yourself to death with your pride as an inexistent shield from the cold, or embrace the agonizingly tempting warmth radiating from both of your boyfriends?

The answer to your rhetorical question manifested itself rather quickly- in the blink of an eye, you had already wrapped your hand around the doorknob and raced downstairs towards the personifications of your very own personal heaters under Shouto’s puzzled expression and, in contrast, Katsuki’s triumphing grin.

« Hah? Have you finally decided to show up, princess? » Anyone could have noticed the more-than-obvious obnoxious tone dripping from Bakugou’s words, he glanced over at Todoroki who grinned at him in response, silently thanking him.

« Just keep me warm. » You found a perfect spot right between Katsuki and Shouto on the couch, your knees were brought to your chest, your arms were encompassing your legs- if anything, you were pretty close to looking like a sphere, but you were ready to contort yourself in any position to gather some precious warmth. Eventually, you let out a silent sigh as soon as you felt their respective warmth hit the surface of your skin as a sign of satisfaction.

« I think you forgot the magic word, love. » Shouto teased, his warm index gracing the cold flesh on your shoulder, such a tease.

« Ugh, fine! Keep me warm, please. » You emphasized the pleading word, just enough to make them grin even wider in victory.

« ‘Wasn’t so hard, was it, princess? » You couldn’t exactly tell if you hated or were absolutely enamored with the teasing tone of his voice, but once thing was certain- the grin plastered upon his face was a thing of beauty.

Bakugou, as expected of him, took the lead, or rather, sent a silent challenge in Todoroki’s way which dared him to take the upper hand of the situation. He wrapped his arms around your waist in a lion-like manner, ready to protect what’s his, with the help of his strength you were now sitting on his lap. The grip around your frame didn’t move one bit, not only did he want to provide you as much warmth as his quirk allowed, but he also wanted to maintain control. Your head was laying upon the surface of his shoulder, your face was facing Todoroki who admired you as if he had witnessed the renaissance of Venus under your traits.

« I will help you feel a bit more warm, alright, love? » You hummed in response to Todoroki’s one-sided interrogation.

Another source of warmth was more than welcome. Thus, Shouto wasted no time and placed his hand upon the surface of your cheek, daring to cross Bakugou’s self-claimed territory in the process without any ounce of shame. The amount of space between the two of you had dangerously reduced until totally disappearing which cleared Todoroki’s path on his way to show you just how much he could warm you up. His lids fluttered shut in anticipation, and there it was, the oh so fabulous source of warmth- he planted his lips on yours in perfect harmony. After all, a promise was a promise, correct? Regardless of how it’s executed, correct? That was exactly Shouto’s mindset as his tongue grazed your bottom lip to beg for access to the inside of your mouth, a wish quickly granted which allowed him to spread the warmth of his tongue inside your mouth as his pink muscle met yours which only announced the beginning of the dance of pleasure. Your actions corresponded to his, and his initiatives echoed to yours— soon enough, your tongues were melting in each other’s touch. As much as he wanted to keep this going forever, the way you grabbed his wrist was an indicator that you were starting to lack oxygen. Of course he ended the kiss, but not before he dug his teeth into your lower lip to which you responded with a semi silent whimper.

Bakugou observed the scene from the side with the same smirk gracing his facial features, he would be the worst liar on Earth if he were to say that seeing your mouths collide in harmony wasn’t the epitome of poetry in motion. But who was he to let Shouto get the best of you? Who was he to let Shouto make you whimper first? He craved, no, he needed to make you melt under his touch.

« Want us to make you feel hot, princess? Be careful what you wish for. » This sentence was his final warning before flipping you over on your back, offering him the best position to physically tale the upper hand under Shouto’s amused stare. You looked so pure and yet so sinful at once, a paradox which drove of them crazy as they imagined the most unholy deeds they were going to do to you. Katsuki’s index hooked the fabric of your hoodie (more like his, but it’s just a slight detail which turnt him on even more) before to pull it over your head.

Oh, and what a gorgeous sight to behold— your naked upper body, in all its glory, a body worthy of the most descriptive pages of a novel. He couldn’t help but snicker at the ethereal scenery before his eyes, he knew he was going to devour you and make you his, no matter what.

« Don’t give me those eyes, woman, I fucking told you I was gonna make you feel real hot. You won’t need this shitty hoodie to keep you warm. »

The assault was given once his pearly whites dug into the soft flesh of your neck, reflex kicked, you titled your head to the side to give him more room to play with. It was a succession of biting, licking, biting again until your skin adopted a purplish tone which echoed to a mark of both domination and belonging. Of course, you belonged to him… And Todoroki. Once he was satisfied with his artwork, he licked the abused flesh one last time before smirking to himself as a sign of victory.

You couldn’t expect Todoroki to be left out of the party, after all, you did belong to him too. He pushed Bakugou to the side just enough to bask in the glory of your half-naked form. The gleam in his eyes reflected nothing but pure adoration, he was torn between the will to worship each inch of your body and the tempting option to make your legs weak until you can’t form proper words anymore. Oh, well, both were bound to happen.

« Oi! If you wanna touch her, don’t fucking push me! » Bakugou’s rambling was cut short as soon as Todoroki’s lips crashed on his, the blonde eye’s widened in surprise but he eventually allowed himself to crave to the passion.

« I don’t need your permission to touch what’s mine. » Todoroki whispered against the flesh of your breasts, emphasizing the very last word strategically.

The sight of your hardened nipples caused him to lick his bottom lip in anticipation, just a way to warm up his lips before devouring your flesh. Todoroki wasted no time and took this opportunity to let his tongue grace your left bud, the motions were repetitive and hypnotizing— from circular motions right around your nipple, from vertical licks to sucking motions, each deed was designed for your own pleasure while your whimpers falling free from your lips and the hand stuck at the root of his hair encouraged his actions. Your whimpers were cut short once Bakugou’s lips found yours and dragged you in a tongue-led kiss, and to no one’s surprise, you followed his already established rhythm, but goodness, it was deliciously intoxicating, letting you crave for more. And somehow, the sound of your hushed whimpers created an even more attractive melody.

Now, it was Todoroki’s turn to take advantage of the vacant place left by Bakugou who was now bent on your side which meant that your whole body to discover for the umpteenth time. A trail of kisses left from the valley of your breasts to your lower belly indicated which dangerous way Shouto was bound to take. He took a glance at the liplock share with Katsuki who offered you no rest no matter if you craved for oxygen or not, the same amused grin still plastered upon his facial features, and augmented the temperature just a bit more.

His finger drew an invisible line along the edge of your underwear, a pre-meditated deed which only announced in advance what he was bound to do, he was just one step closer to make your legs crumble under his touch. In a swift motion, fueled by his own personal hunger to satisfy his fantasies, Todoroki got rid of your pants and he could already discern the wet patch adorning the cotton surface of your underwear, what a sight to see. A new trail of kiss was left upon your skin by Shouto, this time, he focused on the inside of your thighs and followed a vertical pattern until reaching the climax of his journey : your already dripping heat.

« Are you already this wet for us, love? How kind of you. » The amused tone which embedded his voice hid a hidden sinful tone, such a contrast, but only Bakugou and you could catch the double-tone.

Bakugou, on the other one hand, mimicked Todoroki’s earlier antics (only to outdo him, his own ego was his sole motivation) and made a victim of your breasts. One lovebite on your neck wasn’t enough, he craved to make you his even more, on every inch of your body. This thought was the reason behind his will to bite the generous flesh of your left breast, which clearly isn’t abused enough to his liking. And so it began once more— biting, licking, biting once more just hard enough to make you whimper in response, suck on your flesh until it becomes purple and has his name written all over it. From the love bite, Katsuki kissed his way until your nipple, the motions of his mouth were strategically chosen to make pure sounds of pleasure fall free from mouth mouth, while his thumb and index were twisting your nipple while following the circular motions of his tongue. The harsh grasp you held onto his blonde hair was only one of the first hints that you were on your way to reach a state of pure bliss, the moans echoing in his head were his favorite hint though.

The sensation of a sharp lick across the fabric of your underwear awakened a new whimper on your end, this time, it was higher which only echoed to a higher level of pleasure. Todoroki’s lips curved into a grin at the sound of it, what a marvel to hear. The fabric which separated your core from Shouto’s lips was seen as a taunt to the latter, but fret not, said taunt was quickly taken care of as soon as he got rid of your underwear, throwing them who-knows-where in the room.

And so the temperature augmented yet again— an experimental lick caused you to bite your lower lip to refrain any moan to escape from your mouth as you closed your eyes in anticipation for pure bliss. Your reaction was the best indicator to Shouto who had found yet another motivation to make you come undone— getting to hear your agonizingly breathtaking whimpers and moans fall in cascade from your lips. Your core was wet, much to Todoroki’s delight, and he could almost hear you calling his name, begging him to eat you as if you were his last dinner on Earth.

His mouth married the shape of your core, his tongue danced beautifully against your folds as if your core had been specifically created to welcome the wonders of his mouth. The licks left by his pink muscle were executed differently in several ways— vertical licks, circular shapes, he based his actions on the sound of your shameless moans and whimpers to predict his next move.

« Shouto, S-Shouto! » Your first begging, which didn’t go unnoticed to both of the protagonists of your very own pleasure.

« So eager, aren’t you, love? » He kissed these words into your skin, words embedded with adoration and love in the process.

Well, there was someone whose name hadn’t been begged, and truth be told, it was getting on his nerves. How dare Shouto have the honor of being begged and not him? Oh, well, he was about to change that right away.

« Open wide, princess, I’ll give you something to fucking beg about. » The same usual smirk accompanied his words, he already knew what was bound to happen, and the knew what effect it would leave on you.

By the time you were busy with Shouto, Bakugou had already taken care of his own clothing by… taking everything off. Isn’t it easier that way? His genetically given large hand stroked tentatively his length, just enough to cause a layer of pre-cum to cover his tip, once he was satisfied with the result, he wasted no time to shove his entire member in your mouth in a swift motion. The warmth of your lips was the most delicate welcome he could’ve asked for, regardless if you were to choke or not, he’d find a way to make you beg his name until it becomes the only thing you’re able to say. Your throat grazed the sensitive tip of his grit, earning you a hushed grunt as a reaction which was a rarity coming from Bakugou. Both of his hands held a harsh grip on your hair, and he used said grip as a level of pressure to thrust himself into your mouth under the mesmerizing sounds of your choked whimpers. It was a scenery of beauty, he was the sole holder of all your attention— you were looking at him through your lashes with pleading eyes, silently begging him to keep going until you were to choke on his member. A silent sign he didn’t miss, he knew you like the back of his hand, after all.

Eventually, Shouto complied to your begs, you wanted more? Oh, you were bound to get more, more precisely, you were bound to have exactly what you deserved. Todoroki and tease were very close to being synonymous, hence why he purposefully used the pad of his thumb to create circulate motions on your sweet bundle of nerves which was the key to make you come undone, and, of course, two of his fingers which had already found a shelter inside your folds while pumping in and out, over and over again, until bringing you to the brim of ecstasy.

Under this new pressure, the need to express your pleasure through moans was almost impossible given the fact that each sound coming out of your mouth was rendered hushed by Bakugou’s length. Your wrapped your hand around his phallus to not only catch some cruelly needed oxygen but also set free all the sounds of pleasure trapped inside you, as soon as your mouth was set free, a pure sound of bliss fell free from your lips. A sound so sinful and addicting at once that both Bakugou and Todoroki couldn’t help but repeat said sound in their head over and over again.

« Oi, princess, I didn’t fucking tell you to stop so keep sucking until I say otherwise, did you fucking get that? » It was a one-sided question, your answer wouldn’t matter anyway.

And there he went again, shoving his member inside your mouth as Bakugou began chasing his own pleasure— if he was careful enough, he could picture the shape of heaven when his lids fluttered shut. This time, his thrusts were harsher, clearly designed to attain his climax. But he wasn’t the only one who was close to reach the seventh sky— the addition of Shouto’s fingers pumping in and out, the oh so right pressure on your sweet of nerves and the precise licks left on your wet folds was nothing short of divine, that divine that it was going to make you reach your orgasm sooner than you thought.

Reflex kicked, your grip on Shouto’s hair became gradually tighter as you felt the knot in your stomach grow more and more until it became out of your control, you rolled your eyes back in ecstasy and the pearls of tears on the corner of your eyes were now rolling down the surface of your cheeks. Through choked sounds, you encouraged Shouto to keep going and going until you could touch heaven by the tip of your fingers. And then heaven came to you, the liberating sensation of floating on a cloud overwhelmed you as you reached your orgasm, manifesting the pure sounds of bliss through the hushed sounds caused by Bakugou’s intrusive length.

« You’re such a good girl, love, you came undone for us. Such a good girl… » The end of his sentence was whispered in marvel against your core, it was a sight he could never get bored of.

His tongue found once more its way to your folds, licking each and every drop of your juices to satisfy his own pleasure. Your taste was his favorite, it was addicting as hell, so addicting that before to swallow said juices, he would always make a mental note of how your cum feels on his tastebuds.

« Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, god-fucking-damnit! » Bakugou’s grunts followed the structure of a crescendo, he threw his head back in pure pleasure— he was so close, so fucking close, he wanted to reach the seventh sky as well.

Todoroki grabbed him by the nape of his neck, his fingers digging right in Katsuki’s flesh, and planted his lips still coated with your juices right upon his. Bakugou could taste your sweet nectar on Shouto’s lips, and perhaps it was the last thing necessary for him to come undone— your taste always had the ability to bring him over the edge, and once more, this time was no exception. Bakugou groaned against Shouto’s lips before breaking the contact between them to share a pure sound of ecstasy of his own and eventually, come undone right in your mouth. A string of the blonde’s cum dripped down from the corner of your mouth, and observing you use your tongue to collect the remaining cum on your chin made Bakugou if he wasn’t going to come undone twice in a row at the sight of this.

« Come on, love, we’re not done yet. » This was the final chapter of all of Shouto’s fantasies, a chapter which was finally bound to take form.

Todoroki snaked his arms around your form to place you right on his lap, once the position was comfortable for the both of you, he placed his length right against your twitching core which was already begging for him to fill you.

« Please, j-just fuck me already… Please… » Another auditive wonder— the sound of you begging was worthy of the most beautiful symphony.

« You asked so nicely, love, who am I to refuse? » A rhetorical question, as expected of Shouto when he led the teasing game.

Shouto filled you instantly, shoving his entire length inside you which caused the unexpected appearance of a moan which you could hardly suppress even by biting your lower lip. An initiative quickly ended by Bakugou’s intervention who tilted your head just enough so he could plant a rough kiss upon your lips in order to prevent you from hushing those sounds of pleasure any longer.

« Don’t be fucking shy, let us hear what you gotta’ say, baby girl. » You looked at Katsuki with pleading eyes, you knew that you were not going to be able to suppress or refrain any of your moans or whimpers, you knew you were bound to become a vocal mess.

Shouto’s hands held a strong grip on your waist, so strong that the tip of his fingers turnt white under the pressure. His rhythm was frantic from the beginning, using the combination of his hips bucking upwards and his arms wrapped around your middle to clash against his testicles. You had the best spot to hear up close and personal the ravishing sounds of bliss coming out of Shouto’s mouth like a broken record. Your arms were wrapped around his neck as a desperate cry for support as his hips were pounding deep inside you until reaching your cervix.

Behind you, Bakugou had already made sure to wet his fingers to prep you. Prep you for what exactly? Oh, well, we all know Bakugou doesn’t handle well being left alone, especially when Todoroki has the advantage of him. The tip of his fingers brushed against your rectum until two of them entered your second hole, he expected this reaction but your moans were ethereal, especially when he was the cause of them. His fingers pumped into your rectum just enough for you to get used to the stretch and to the knew (and double) sensation.

« Be a good fucking girl for daddy and let him fuck you from behind, yeah? » He studied your facial expression and the irregular pattern of your breaths to know whether or not you were fond of his new antics, to which you confirmed his doubts by whispering an almost inaudible « Y-Yes, daddy… »

Nonetheless, the elongated moan you let out in his favor once his fingers reached a bit deeper in your rectum was enough for him to get the clue and replace the feeling of his index and middle finger with the width of his length. A pure sound of pleasure with his name written all over it, if you were to ask Bakugou, he would tell you right away that this is what heaven felt like.

« I-I’m going to cum, I can’t-… » Shouto’s hot breath crashed against your equally as hot skin, it became impossible for him to suppress his grunts any longer.

Bakugou mirrored his pace which had suddenly quickened under the pressure erupting in his lower belly, he could already touch the clouds of the seventh sky, and you were the key to unlocking the divine skies of heaven.

« Fuck… Fuck, I’m close too. » Their grunts matched in unison under the melody of your repetitive moans caused by the double pressure.

With one last thrust from both protagonist, you felt two rushes of hot liquids invade your insides as a moan signed their orgasm. That was it, they came undone and touched heaven as they came inside of you, all the pent up pressure in their abdomen had been set free for your greatest pleasure. You rolled your head back on Katsuki’s shoulder, oxygen had become a rarity under the frantic thrusts of the two newfound victims of passion. Once your lungs felt full again, you released an elongated sigh which drained all of your strength in the process.

Bakugou pulled out first, causing you to whimper at the sudden sensation of vacuity replacing the ever so addictive sensation of being filled by the man who held the keys to your heart. As he pulled out, his arms snaked around your middle and he dragged you with him, hot breaths crashing against your blazing skin. Katsuki put your head over his chest while you mustered up the last bits of vigor you could invoke to find shelter in his comforting embrace.

As soon as Shouto evened his breathing pattern, he felt the urge to join you and Katsuki— laying by your side, his arms draped over your waist, he felt at peace with the two most important people in his life, the true definition of perfection to him. Silence came back again, but this time it was comforting, a silence which held all the fierceness of your feelings for one another. A few kisses were planted here and there on your skin as a silent way to show gratitude, but all three of you were absolutely drained because of passion.

« If you’re still feeling cold, I know a fucking way or two to fix this shitty problem, princess. »

[tommybaholland]

Hiya! I was wondering if I could request a one-shot with Sugawara where the reader is his best friend and secretly loves him but he doesn’t know? Then maybe another person catches his attention and the reader starts to distance themselves from Suga to try to spare themselves the hurt? Then maybe turns out the other person was just using Suga/wasn’t serious bout him and he realizes that the person he really loves is the reader but now they’re staying away from him and just angst and fluff and dramatic confessions?? Sorry if it’s far too much detail, I get carried away. Your writing is amazing, keep up the fantastic work!

somebody, some body

featuring: sugawara 

goddddd i’m so sorry i am late with a post AGAIN. this has been way overdue to be posted actually, and last night i finished it and was almost done with editing but accidentally lost everything i added and edited in the draft :// so thank you for being patient with me! this ended up being pretty long, so hopefully that makes up for the wait :) anyway, i really liked this idea! i have a little personal experience with this kind of situation, so it was fun to explore those feelings a bit. thanks for requesting and enjoy!

you didn’t always know that you would be in love with koshi sugawara. your dynamic was always friendly, and nothing more. so where did you go wrong?

when you think back to your history with suga, you could never find yourself resenting any time you spent with him. it all started when you moved into his neighborhood and as a shy child, you didn’t have the easiest time making friends. but he was a kind boy who was around your age and made it easy for you to form a bond with him. after all those years, neither one of you had changed that much. you were still reserved at heart but, he was the one who pushed you to things that you both could enjoy. 

one is joining the high school volleyball club together. you weren’t usually one to go outside of your comfort zone, but with him, you felt like you could do anything. he had you fuel your enthusiasm and you had him to thank for that. volleyball ended up being a great idea because it was quite a versatile sport that anyone could play. you found that you were quite athletic and took a liking to the libero position. there was just something exciting about digging a ball off the ground and rolling on the floor to get back up again. also, it looked pretty cool. 

so that was great until you hurt your shoulder during a game, which ended up being more severe than it seemed. now you couldn’t lift your left arm very far over your head unless you wanted to dislocate your shoulder again. it was already a tough recovery period because all you wanted to do was get back to the game. 

he was there with you for the entirety of it and even though he mostly encouraged you, he had to make sure you knew you wouldn’t do anything to hurt yourself. you felt helpless. it was the lowest he had ever seen you and he did everything he could to lift you back up again.

that was something you could never take for granted with him. 

the thing about you and suga is that you were in constant contact, especially during school. if it wasn’t sending each other funny memes or tiktoks, you were either on snapchat with each other or texting. sometimes simultaneously. 

are you alive?? 

yeah i’m awake, unfortunately

what do u want sugar-wara 

whoa how are you up this early lol and sugar is my thing ok

let’s go get sweet buns before class

ur right, it is ur thing. ur sugar-wara

okay i’ll meet you by the light in 15 

there was a lonely intersection in your neighborhood with a red stoplight that seems to have malfunctioned and now the light never stops blinking. you and suga lived on the same street, with the intersection being a perfect place to literally meet in the middle. 

“hey, sugar-- uh oh. someone doesn’t look so sweet today!”

he was always so peppy in the mornings. 

“yeah, well, maybe if someone didn’t wake me up with their annoying texts..”

“if you really don’t want to be woken up, you’d put your phone on do not disturb. you can thank me later for being your alarm clock.” 

he gave you a bright smile and a few head pats before you set off down the road to your favorite bakery which happened to be on the way to school. you didn’t go every morning, but most days it was necessary for you to start your day off right. 

“how’s the team looking this year, mr. vice captain?”

“pretty good, actually! four first years joined the team and one of them’s over six feet tall. our blocks will be unstoppable!”

 there were several things you loved about suga but, if there was one thing you enjoyed most, it was hearing him get psyched about volleyball. even though you couldn’t play anymore, his undying enthusiasm for the sport made you feel like you were living through him vicariously. 

“and there’s one who’s on the shorter side, only a little taller than noya. but he seems to have so much energy and drive, it’s just-- i don’t know, i have a feeling we could actually make it to nationals this year.” 

“wow, that’s great!” 

“you should come to practice and see them! also we just got asahi back so i need to make sure my sets really land.” 

“kou, you know i love watching you guys but isn’t that what kiyoko’s there for?”

“well, yeah, but you know how i play best!”

“yeah, sure. it’s not like i have anything better to do.” 

“you never let me down!” 

 his smile never let you down. 

it was your senior year of high school and it felt like things were going to be nothing but great.

“so...speaking of you knowing me best,” he started rather hesitantly.

“what would you do if i...made you dinner?”

“i...what?”

“oh, uh, oh, no. not, like, i make you dinner but, like...rei finally agreed to come around tonight and i thought i’d make something for them.”

“oh, um,” you tried to force a smile. “yeah, i think they’d like that.”

“yeah? you don’t think it’s too cheesy or anything? we haven’t hung out very much but i’d thought it would be a nice way to show them that i mean what i feel, you know?”

“yeah, yeah! that sounds perfect, kou..”

if only they knew that they were so lucky. 

you knew about this person, rei. they were your teammate and even a friend at one time. they transferred to karasuno during your second year and you bonded over your shared interest of the libero position. they didn’t get to play much that season until you got injured and had to quit playing. 

to see them fill that position so easily, it made you feel so type of way. a way that suga couldn’t know because even though he was there for you, he couldn’t deny his feelings. you remember when he told you that he liked them. about how he’s liked them ever since they came to karasuno and about how he was nervous to talk to them. 

and guess what?

you encouraged him. you encouraged him to try to pursue someone who you knew and liked, so now you had to hide that you were envious of both their position on the team AND the fact that your best friend is in love with them. 

at first, you tried to look at it as a positive point. you were still friendly with them, but volleyball was the only thing that connected you so you didn’t talk to them that much anymore. but now that suga, the person you’re closest to, was talking to them, it opened up the possibility that you would be able to reconnect with them. you had to be supportive. you were his friend, his closest friend, after all. 

-

the next morning you didn’t wake up from a text from suga. no, it took several snooze buttons to wake you up, which already put you in a bad mood. 

it’s ur turn now. are u alive??

i actually woke up to my alarms, how weird. u must be dead lol 

also have you done the english assignment yet? i need serious help >_<

you weren’t afraid to double, triple, even quadruple text him because more often than not, he did that to you. sometimes he’d even send longish paragraphs as he did later that day when classes had already started. 

hey sorry today has just been filled with fun and thriving and good stuff! rei asked me if i wanted to meet up with them before school last night and they made me some sweet buns and they were soooo good. i think we’re going to eat lunch together with some of their friends from vbc. ugh english sucks for me too. idk why you think i’m good at it

you almost jumped at the gesture to reply. it was never this long that he would go without text you at least one dumb thing. 

haha it’s okay don’t be sorry! so i guess last night went well?

also ur great at english sugar-wara what r u talking about??

it surprised you how quickly they seemed to become so friendly. it was kinda weird that he would already be spending a lot of time with her and now meeting all her friends. he probably already knew of them though, with volleyball and everything. the thoughts of how long you would have to wait for a reply crept in your mind, but that was quickly erased by an elapsed period of only a few minutes. 

yeah it went great! they had never had someone cook for them before, so they really liked it. this morning they told me they’d show me how to make fried eggs bc i said i dont know how to use a stove lol 

wait you made a whole meal for this person and u don’t know how to use the stove??

i used a crockpot and microwave ok :// don’t make fun of me dingus 

well a stove would definitely broaden ur horizons lmao that’s nice it went well though 

thank you i hope its going well 

that conversation was truly the end of the beginning. 

Every day after that seemed to happen the same way. you’d wake up, no text from suga. he hadn’t even replied to what you last said the previous night. you didn’t see him much either, but you knew who he was with probably. you would still stop by at volleyball practice where you did get to see him but they were there also. so you found yourself dipping out a lot more. 

it just felt weird. seeing him talk to someone he didn’t even know before. they didn’t even know him. even when you two were on the team together, they never once showed much interest in him and now it just seemed strange that they would. 

the transition was particularly difficult for you, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. one night you were so overwhelmed with work because you had waited too long to do it. frantically texting suga was an understatement. 

you knew you couldn’t put all your reliance on him but it was weird that he wasn’t replying on a school night as he was just as much a procrastinator as you. you dragged yourself through the night, trying to put together a somewhat coherent speech for english the next day. which, again, started as it had for the past few weeks. you still hadn’t heard from him, but it doesn’t even matter anymore. by the time he replied, it was almost embarrassing on your part. 

oh my god y/n i’m so sorry i didn’t reply sooner. i tried to get all my work done early so i could hang out with rei last night and i was asking my mom for advice and she told me to just pay attention to them as much as possible so i just wanted to be with them, you know? but i really hope you didn’t beat yourself up too much about it and that you got at least a little sleep. i’m sure your speech went well :) 

you sounded desperate for his help and meanwhile, he’s genuinely trying to show someone how much they mean to him. could you look any more stupid? 

you didn’t even want to reply but you felt like you had to. 

no don’t be sorry koshi! if anything i’m sorry i was just super frustrated in the moment and didn’t know what to do. i managed to pull something halfway decent together i think so it’s all okay now 

was it okay though? 

that was when you realized that things would never be the same. you’re his best friend and that’s simply it. you mean something to him, but not the same something that they mean to him. you couldn’t go to him when you help because then you’d be taking his time away from someone who wanted to feel that special meaning. it was a hard pill to swallow, for sure. but there were still several questions that lingered in the potential of what your relationship could be.

isn’t it possible to be both a best friend and a partner at the same time? you didn’t see any problem with it, so why couldn’t it be true? 

-

two weeks past and suga, your best friend, decided to let you in on some news. 

going up against all these powerhouse schools is definitely tough but it’ll help our team in the long run. we’re really amped to play seijoh soon but also i have an s/o now who can come and cheer us on 

WAIT you guys made it official?? when?

haha we’ve been official for like two weeks now 

oh well that’s great! 

(what the actual hell.)

months went by and you saw suga maybe two or three times. and only saw him, usually with the rest of the volleyball team or with rei and their friends. you texted now and then but it wasn’t the same. you had to accept that it wouldn’t be the same, so you did. you had a good group of friends who you spent more of your time with, as well as trying to focus as much as possible on school. entrance exams were coming up and you couldn’t let this be your downfall, even though you and suga had previously talked about possibly going to the same college together. but that wasn’t important anymore. 

you had your priorities and suga had his. 

which was the biggest reason why you decided not to go to the game against aoba johsai. you told him that you would try to make it, if schoolwork and college prep courses would lend you the chance. you were just trying to focus on yourself and work hard in on your own. you still texted him just to show that you still cared. 

sorry i couldn’t make it to the game! how did it go?

we lost :’(( we were so close too 

oh no :( i’m sorry kou. but i know you guys will get them next time!

he never replied, which only made you want to grow further from him. 

summer vacation rolled around and it was about a month out from suga’s birthday. a strange text appeared from someone you didn’t expect. 

Hey so I wanted to get manga for suga for his bday but I cannot for the life of me remember which ones he has so can you try to casually ask him which ones he has? like the next time you guys talk about manga or something?

you felt weird that they were asking for your help, considering that they now spent more time with him than you did. but you weren’t going to completely ignore them either.

to be honest we haven’t talked a whole lot lately but i’ll try to subtly ask him 

Okay awesome thanks!

what were you thinking of getting him?

Deathnote lol nothing original

hmm maybe the new aot volume? 

Yeah, that’s a good one. Or maybe BNHA

yeah that too! do you still want me to ask him? 

Yeah could you? 

yeah sure!

Yay thanks! 

okay i’ll let you know what i find out

going through with this was even worse. if it were you, you’d take him to see his favorite artist in concert. he wasn’t never much of a concert guy but he would talk about how badly he wanted to go see them live. or a more lowkey and personal option would be to customize a crewneck for him. you had a knack for designing and decorating plain-looking clothes and he would try to do it himself but would always remark how much better yours always turned out. 

but this time you’re simply the messenger and wouldn’t get that chance to get him something you know he’d love. not that he wouldn’t like manga, but it just seemed like they weren’t putting a ton of thought into it. maybe you couldn’t blame them though, it had only been a few months that they had been dating. 

that conversation honestly seemed more out-of-the-blue than anything, but you were hoping that suga would be as oblivious as ever. it didn’t even matter in the end because he never even answered your subtle way of asking. you didn’t feel like double texting because a.) you hadn’t done that in months and b.) it seemed too obvious. 

in the end, you did all that you could do and told rei that you had no information to provide, even after a week had passed. that was your, now monthly, interaction with suga that month. 

but it wasn’t like you weren’t thinking about him. 

your interactions moved from text to strictly snapchat, where you would hold streaks for considerable amounts of time. but every time you seemed to break contact with him, you found yourself blaming them. but you couldn’t blame them. they were with him, dating him. they had a right to claim a spot by his side. you had learned to pull back and just live your life. 

but life didn’t want you to have a great time either. albeit through a simple app like snapchat, he was the one asking you if you were okay. at this point, you would probably just deflect but somehow, you found yourself telling him about how you didn’t do so well on your entrance exams, despite having done what you could to prepare for them. you just thought you were so focused to do well, but maybe it was too much focus. you told him it would be alright. another notification came through.

snapchat from sugar wara  

you opened it to a selfie of him, one that was angled upwards to position him looking right up into the camera, his wide hazel eyes being the centerpiece of the photo. the caption simply said, “promise?”

and that was when it happened. you felt something different in your heart like it was knocked around in your chest. you smiled at the simple response and replied, “yeah i promise!!” 

it felt strange, but you finally admitted it, 

you were in love with koshi sugawara. 

timing was, without a doubt, a demise in all of your previous relationship endeavors. you could never seem to get that part right, also coming in too fast or not knowing if you should wait. you had only hoped that someone you liked would like you just as much. so catching feelings for someone, strong feelings at that, was not part of your current life plans. let alone with suga, someone you were, at one point, extremely close to. 

you know so much about him and what scared you was that your confession would be the only one that could mess up whatever relationship you had left with him. why couldn’t you just enjoy where you stood with him? why should your selfish feeling have to get in the way? 

stupid was an understatement as you how you felt. he was still dating rei, and that didn’t look like it was going to end anytime soon. you didn’t know what to do or how to cope. you can fight your feelings, but they can’t change right away. and for as long as you’ve known suga, the history you’ve shared with him, it seemed like these feelings weren’t leaving anytime soon. 

you spent the next couple of weeks trying to get everything out, while simultaneously trying to forget. you vented about it to your friends and while most of them offered advice, you stuck with just remaining stagnant. one of them suggested that you confess to him but that was what you feared most: that your feeling would become so overwhelming that you had to do something impulsive to relieve them. he would probably never talk to you again. there was nothing you could do. he was in a relationship with someone he really likes. why would you try to ruin that for him? 

you didn’t go to any of the preliminaries, mostly because of prep courses and trying to prepare for the next round of entrance exams. you still kept up with suga and saw that they won in the game against seijoh and we now going to the finals against shiratorizawa. you swiped up on his story and typed a simple, “omg that's amazing!! see I knew you guys could do it.” you continue to scroll through your phone, not thinking that much about it until a notification popped up.

sugar wara is typing…

snapchat from sugar wara

yeah it was great! Wish you could have been here though :(

me too! college prep courses seem to have been taking up all my time :P

is there any chance that you could try to find time to come to finals? 

we've been trying to get all the support that we can

plus it would be nice to see a familiar face there :) 

yeah i'll see what i can do to try to be there!

 wymd a familiar face? hasn't rei been going to the prelims?

they have been but we actually broke up about two weeks ago

i sort of initiated it but i promise it's okay

your eyes almost fell out of your head when you read that 2 weeks ago you were talking about how you were in love with him and were and decided to accept that it wasn't going to happen. now you're hearing that at the same time they had broken up? It seemed odd and... bittersweet. 

oh no i'm sorry kou :(

you bit your lip as you couldn't help but ask.

wdym you initiated it tho?

so kageyama has been killing it as our setter especially with his quick attack move with hinata 

rei was worried that i wasn't being treated fairly bc i'm a senior and vice-captain and all that. i tried to reassure them that i just want to see our team thrive and go to nationals but they still were worried about it and would talk about how they would go to games and never see me play once

it's been hard especially that it happened right before the seijoh game and now before finals

yeah i'm sure it's been difficult 

but don't beat yourself don't blame yourself so much! the team needs your support just as much as it needs players. nobody could replace that :)

thanks y/n :) i appreciate you so much

although you thought you would be happy, you can’t help but still feel weird about this whole thing. you felt like the ball was in your court but your bum arm couldn’t receive it properly. your feelings for him had been strong and you felt like you had to pack them all the way so now it just felt wrong to let them flow out again. but now that there was no conflict of interest, did you have to hide your feelings? 

it was more complicated than it was before. you didn't know how anything was going to play out at all and that kinda scared you. you did know one thing though, and that was how to be a loyal friend to suga because that's all you ever were from the start and that's what you could and would be for the future.

-

it was the friday before the finals game. 

you decided to stay late after school to maximize your focus on studying. it seemed to have worked because the sun was going down before you knew it. you wanted to get ahead on work so you could go to the game tomorrow. you and suga had been talking more recently and while it wasn’t as much as it used to be, it was more than it had been in the past several months. 

you quickly gathered up your things and left school for the night. the pretty orange and pink sky lit your way home through the quiet town and into the residential parts. at that point, the dark had met and light and-

“y/n! hey, wait!”

you turned to see none other than suga, jogging up behind you to catch up. you smiled at his sudden presence, looking past him to see the small group of the rest of the team. 

“hey! funny seeing you here.”

“yeah, haha,” he chuckled, catching his breath from suddenly running a considerable distance. “are you going home?”

“yeah.”

“can i walk with you?”

“of course.”

great! so i’m guessing you stayed late at school? you’re still wearing your uniform.”

“oh, yeah,” you affirmed, looking down at your monotonous outfit. “i just wanted to be all caught up on work and studying so i could go to the game tomorrow.”

“oh, yeah? that’s good to hear! yeah, we were-- we just had a late practice. coach left before us but we wanted to stay a little longer.”

“i hope you guys win tomorrow, it seems like you’ve been working really hard.”

“yeah, i hope so too. we’ve come a long way in such a short amount of time, it just feels like we can’t stop now.” 

you nodded in agreement. there was a beat of silence just then, and while it wasn’t awkward, it felt like something was lingering in the air.

“so, um,” he spoke up after several seconds. his eyes met yours and you felt that pang in your chest again, quickly looking away. “it’s been a while, huh?”

“yeah. yeah, it has, i guess,” you laughed lightly. you reached the intersection with the never-ending blinking stoplight and you turned around to face him.

“but i guess i’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“yeah. yeah!”

“okay, get some sleep. goodnight.”

he nodded and you grinned at him before turning around to walk the rest of the way home until his voice stopped you again.

“hey, y/n?”

“yeah, kou?”

he looked down and all around, anywhere but your face.

“i, um, i know things have been kinda weird between for a while but it’s made me realize that i missed you, a lot.”

“yeah, i missed you, too.”

“but it’s also made me realize that i enjoy spending time with you and talking to you. like, even now, just talking to you makes me feel-- i don’t know. it makes me feel at ease like i’m home. and i’d really like to spend more time with you because i, um, i really like you.”

“you, you what?”

“i really like you, sugar.”

in all the ways you had imagined this happening, you never thought that you would feel your face fall to a frown, your heart beating in your ears. something just didn’t sit right with you about it.

“i, i, i don’t know what to say...”

“it’s okay if you don’t! i just wanted to tell you.”

“but why are you telling me this now?”

“do you-- do you not feel the same?”

“no. no! i’ve been wanting to hear you say something like that for so long, it’s just. you broke up with rei not too long ago and-- i don’t know. something isn’t right about it.” you shook your head, unsure of what you were trying to say.

“it’s how i feel,” he shrugged. “i just wanted to tell you and have a good feeling to hold onto to make tomorrow a little easier.”

you looked at him in disbelief.

“oh, so you think you can confess all that to me right before this big game and that i’ll automatically reciprocate those feelings when you just broke up with someone not even a month ago? i’m not a second choice--”

“no, sugar, listen, that’s not how i meant it at all--”

“no sugawara.” those words made him go quiet instantly. you never used his full name, there was always some sort of play on it, so this was serious. 

“maybe that’s not how you meant it, but that’s how i’m taking it. i’ve been wanting to tell you for so long how i felt but i wanted to respect your feelings so i didn’t. so please, respect mine. i’m not the good luck charm that you can just confess to and expect that it’ll all be okay. this just isn’t right. i’m sorry, koshi. 

your voice broke as his name left your lips, tears beginning to fall. you didn’t even give him a chance to respond, a rush of adrenaline telling you to quickly turn and get out of there. 

-

you didn’t get much sleep that night. 

it was hard not to think about your conflicted feelings over suga’s confession. you had hoped for that moment for a long time but the timing simply wasn’t right. how funny and ironic is that? you thought your timing was off. maybe you were meant for each other in that way. you couldn’t help but let your feelings get the best of you and you were beginning to become what you feared most from him. you thought he would immediately reject you and make you feel bad about ever saying anything about how you felt. but the roles are reversed and that was the part that blindsided you the most. 

you didn’t think that how you reacted was wrong but you also couldn’t imagine how he was feeling right now. he just wanted to feel good right before a big game but that backfired right in his face. some might call it karma, but part of you thought he didn’t deserve it. 

the pressure was setting in as the game went into the fifth and final set. what made it worse was kageyama wouldn’t be starting that set, his nose bleeding from the spike he took to the face. suga was genuinely thrilled to be a teacher, a mentor, and a support system for his fellow teammates. he didn’t mind that another, rather talented, setter had joined the team because that meant he wouldn’t have to worry about passing the position over to someone who he thought didn’t deserve it. 

he almost forgot he was actually a player on the team when everyone looked to him to fill in. this was his moment and it just happened to be at the most overwhelming part of this game. Both teams were tired while simultaneously running on pure adrenaline to see who was going to come out on top. 

suga had an opportunity, not only to start the set but be the trailblazer for their success. 

the nerves set in as he held up the paddle with the number nine on it, kageyama holding it up with him for a moment. It was symbolic in a way. suga always thought he’d be passing the baton to him, his successor as karasuno’s official setter, but this felt just as sentimental. Suga hadn’t played much this season but he got to watch the team grow into something that it once was: something great. They’ve had their share of loss and strife but it finally seemed like they had come so far and the only direction they can go is up. 

the nerves set in as he looked around, anywhere to ease them. His eyes automatically went to the team banner, black with the simple word ‘fly’ written over it, where all the school and their supporters were watching. he went down the line quickly but the wave of a hand caught his eye. his eyes shifted back and felt that familiar grin on him.

it was you. 

“c’mon suga! You can do it!”

and so he did. 

once the final ball hit the ground, the room was quiet with shock. it had been tight for most of the game but no one really expected this outcome. they were going to nationals. daichi, suga, and asahi embraced, taking in the satisfying feeling of victory. 

after the awards ceremony, you were buzzing with excitement for them, trying to calmly follow the rest of the crowd out of the gym. you could tell they were somewhere along the hallway as another crowd formed to congratulate the winning team. you weaved in and out of it, even getting on your toes to see if you could spot a familiar head of gray hair. 

you finally caught a glance at him from afar, his smile growing as his eyes locked onto yours.

“y/n!”

you mimicked his expression and found your feet moving quicker than your brain could process. he put in the same amount of haste to meet you in the middle. you both stopped at about an arm’s length away from each other. his flushed cheeks and slightly red but glistening eyes held your smile as you decided to speak first. 

“hey, kou.”

“hey, sugar.”

another minute couldn’t be wasted as you finally crashed into one another. it felt better to hold somebody that you knew and genuinely loved. you could be sure that he felt the same way as he held your body tightly against him. 

heyo haikyuu night! send any requests right here..

[scarecrow-supremacy]

Arranged Love | Pt 4

Thank you to Mrs. Hatake for requesting this prompt to me!

In which: f!reader is interested in being in a fwb like relationship, but is forced into an arranged marriage with the one and only, Hatake Kakashi. Both (y/n) and Kakashi only agree to marry for the sake of convivence. (y/n) with her needs, and Kakashi with his wish to revive his clan.

AO3 Chapter

Lime/Smut warning 

*Lime, but the next chapter will probably be smut ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)*

Infinite things I could hate about you

The way you walk

The way you talk

The way you capture my mind

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick...

You counted the soft noises of the clock, knowing full well that your alarm clock was bound to go off at any moment now. You could have gotten up to start your day early, but you, quite frankly, lack the motivation to do so. Anyways, it was your day off. Being productive is highly overrated... You mentally uttered. Why get out of bed when you could cuddle with your plush lavender body-sized pillow all morning? You groaned, your actions making your further realize how friggen lonely you felt within. If only the pillow could have been a person...

You glared daggers at the rose gold engagement ring upon your finger. Technically, you really weren't lonely. Hell, there was a part of you that would have preferred to be alone again. Why him?! Annoyed thoughts swarmed your mind, keeping you from attaining proper relaxation. Of all people...Why him? You pulled your pillow closer to your chest, burying your face into the cool silken cover and squeezing it tightly. Why, why, why? Your mind paced. It wasn't that you were thinking about him, Hatake Kakashi, so much. It was how you thought about him that filled you up with despair.

New feelings...shining in a new light.

What is wrong with me?!

Your eyes traveled to your stomach, your diary still opened up to the page you were writing last night. The whole diary idea was Kurenai's, back when you were made jonin, around the age of 14. She knew you weren't the best with opening up to people. So to let out your pains, she had recommended writing about them. And in honesty, you were glad that you had decided to take her advice. Writing did make you feel better. Ranting out all of your troubles without any worries of being judged. As of these days, most of your entries were about Kakashi or how you wanted to relieve yourself. It's almost concerned you that you wrote about him so damn much. Just shove him aside!

"Urg!" Your groaned, gathering the willpower to get up from your blanket cocoon and take a nice and warm shower, "Sulking won't do any good..." With a sigh, you entered your kitchen, telling yourself that you'd shower after grabbing something to replenish your hunger. It was glaringly obvious that cooking wasn't your forte. In fact, you were absolutely horrendous at it. Honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you somehow managed to burn water while trying to boil it.  You, the woman dubbed Ibara-hime, the Thorn Princess, could not cook if your life depended on it.

After contemplating what you could make without burning your kitchen down, you simply made yourself a cup of your favorite herbal tea to energize your body. It wasn't much, but it helped wake you up.

Ding dong, the bell to your apartment rang. "Gimme a sec!" You called out the person, throwing on your flak jacket just for formalities. "Oh..." Your face fell, yet your stomach fluttered, "It's you–"

"Yeah, it's me," one Hatake Kakashi mocked the tone you had greeted him with, running his fingers through his silvery hair. You didn't want to think much of it, but his hair just looked so soft...

"What do ya want, Hatake?" You put your hands on your hips and pouted.

Kakashi groaned as he made himself welcome inside your quaint home, "I'm bored," He simply told you, plopping himself right in the middle of your couch. What a dick, you muttered, having to sit on a chair instead of the sofa. "Wahh..?" You whispered as Kakashi's eyes took in ever single bit of you. Your skin started to burn, although his gaze wasn't exactly giving off a positive vibe. "Stop eyeing me like that, Hatake." You mustered up the courage to spit out.

"Oi, it's not my fault," Kakashi sassed, "Take a look at what you're wearing, yariman." Slut, his deep and rich voice had called you.

Anger stirred up inside of you, along with embarrassment, causing your skin to feel as if it was on fire. You felt yourself get flustered as you looked down at your short skirt, which had rid up your legs, and lacy dark green bra that had been reveled by your unzipped vest. "O-oh!" You breathed, your hand going to zip up your flak jacket, yet was slapped away before you could. "What the hell, Hatake?" You flashed him a bewildered look.

Kakashi chuckled smugly, the smirk under his mask apparent, "Don't... I kinda like you dressed like this." He stated matter-of-factly.

"But you j-just," You stuttered out, "called me a..." you trailed off, averting you eyes. Urg, the audacity of this pervert, your inner self spoke. "Perverted idiot."

"Call me what you want," Kakashi grabbed your hand, "I'm your perverted idiot, forever." He laughed softly. Woah, he never acts like this...

"Did somebody drug you?" you sweat-dropped, unintentionally blurted out your thoughts, "You normally don't act like this."

Kakashi sent you a wary look, but you could tell he felt slightly hurt by your remark, "No..." he replied cautiously, "I just thought...it would be good to loosen up."

Your expression softened ever so slightly, "Oh..." the two of you sat in pin drop silence.

"You know," Kakashi ventured, "dark green is my favorite color."

"Hatake!" You yelped, instinctively covering your chest, "I'm going to take a shower!" You turned you back to your dreaded fiancé, stomping out of the room to go bathe.

"I might as well join you then," Kakashi shrugged, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

"I'm sorry what?!" you exclaimed

"I haven't showered yet today."

"Urg..!" He's drugged, I'm sure of it... you thought, finally giving in to Kakashi. "Kitanai yarō!"

 "Well," Kakashi tapped his foot, carefully placing his flak jacket upon the silken sheets of your bed, "aren't you going to strip down?" He asked as he started to remove the cloth bindings from his thigh and ankles.

"Y-yeah..." you flushed softly, "J-just gimme a second." You dashed off, tossing my clothes into your basket of dirty laundry and grabbing a towel to wrap around your bare body, "Okay..." you mumbled, peaking your head out from the bathroom. The tension in the room was heavy and hot, almost uncomfortable. It was...something you had never felt. Hence, you couldn't put your finger on a way properly to describe the situation. Yet heat rushed to your core, even the tiniest smidge of arousal turning on your mind. You felt like your every movement was being recorded in Kakashi's mind. His gaze digging into your soul like a kunai in delicate flesh. Like his– No, no, no, no! No pervy thoughts, (y/n)! Stay classy, you ordered your mind, preventing it from trailing off. We have a dignity, remember?

You hesitantly got into the shower, testing the waters for the proper temperature. "Ahhh," you moaned ever so slightly, the raining down of the water slipping down your body and rejuvenating your sores from the previous night's round of nightmares. "Oi..." Kakashi started to speak as he entered the shower from behind you, ending up grunting incoherently. You shook your head, sighing in disapproval whilst rubbing from body wash into your soft (s/t) skin. You felt a pair of hands brush past your hair, reaching for the hair conditioner, "Rose and sandalwood, eh? No wonder you smell like a garden and incense shop." Kakashi breathed down your neck.

You tried your best not to look back at him, your heart racing for reasons you tried to reject. Nope! We can't be falling for him! You let out a slight gasp as Kakashi's hands found their way to your hips, tracing the gracefully toned muscles of your stomach. "Kakashi...what are you doing?" You whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the running water.

"I read your diary," you could practically heard the smirk on Kakashi's face, "I think I can help you with your needs..." Kakashi licked the helix of your ear. A shudder went down your spine, a foreign though crossing your mind. Maybe, just maybe, we could make this work... your mind ventured. "Kami, I've been having some problems myself, big problems..." Kakashi told you, his voice velvety coffee as he nipped at your neck. His hardening length pressing against your round ass. You could feel your walls start to clench; you were surprised that your body was reacting to Kakashi's touch like this.

No disturbance could get in the way of this exhilarating moment, right?

"(Y/N)! RAIDŌ ASKED ME OUT! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!" The voice of Mitarashi Anko screeched, she wandered into your bathroom, "YESS!"

"Anko..." You cringed, clenching your fists, "W-wrong t-time..." You moaned as Kakashi's finger teased your clit.

"What?" Anko called out, "I can't hear you over the water. Could ya speak up."

Kakashi pumped faster, "You heard her, louder." His intentions directing towards your moans, blessed music to his ears.

You sucked your breath, "N-never m-mind, Anko!" You managed to force out, trying your absolute hardest to not moan.

"Wait...Is that..." Anko's voice trailed off, "Kakashi's mask, and his..."

"A-anko! Pl-pleas j-just..." you bit your tongue, "go. Ju-just tell me l-later!" You begged her, turning to look at Kakashi with pleading eyes. Not now, Kakashi, you tried to convey with your widened (e/c) eyes.

"OH HELL NO! SORRY!" Anko cried out, causing Kakashi to pull his fingers out of you with a let down sigh. The smoke of Anko's hasty teleportation jutsu lingering for a few moments.

The mood had officially been broken. Thanks a lot, Anko, you mentally swore. But holy hell, you were about to get laid. Shamefully, you looked at the floor as Kakashi rinsed our your hair. "I–" you tried to speak, yet your voice faltered as you took a moment to observe Kakashi's face.

"Are you still in for it?" Kakashi raised his eyebrow; his left eye lidded.

"Oh! Uh..." your heart suddenly fluttered, "Y-yeah." You told him shyly.

Kakashi flashed you a smirk, "How about we just dry off, then..." He winked at you.

Yep, I'm convinced he's drugged... There's no other explanation...

Infinite things I try to love about you

They way you walk

The way you talk

The way you capture my mind