#and he might have heavy handling but he's never thrown me once

[laiiaaa]

THE PART WHERE YOU KISS ME — JJ MAYBANK

summary: You're stuck with the job of getting a very drunk, very lovesick JJ into bed.

length: 2.4k

contains: tooth-rotting fluff, obsessed boyfriend JJ, soooo touchy he can't keep his hands off of you (can you tell my love language is physical touch lmfao???), mentions of heavy drinking of course, zero plot, he's a flirty little freak and i hate him

note: Not the happiest with this but I haven't posted in a week and I'm in the middle of writing three other pieces right now...so take this as an apology gift for not having the GFAW chapter out yet <3

Driving to the Chateau this late is never ideal, especially when you’re tired and ticked off from a busy shift. Your feet and back ache, your head could use a few Advil, and you would be perfectly happy to stay home and sleep for twelve hours. 

But when Kie calls you, groaning and saying Your boyfriend is wasted and won’t shut up about you and you need to come pull him to bed, you go. It’s as simple as that, really. Partially because JJ is already painfully stubborn when sober and only gets worse as the night goes on (code for: he won’t listen to anyone but you), and partly because you get a sweet kick out of his clinginess and extra loving.

So when you finally pull up and hop out of your car, the sound of Pope sighing Finally doesn’t surprise nor offend you.  Kie and Sarah scurry over, welcoming you with hugs and jokes about how sorry they are they had to call you while John B and Pope still tend to the drunken blonde.

“It’s alright,” you assure them, “I don’t mind.” And you really don’t, not at all, not when he acts all the more helplessly in love with you.

The bonfire still burns on, red-hot embers breaking off into the midnight sky. Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon plays from a speaker nearby, and beer bottles litter the ground as you approach. The fire’s warmth wraps around you, a handle of Tito’s—only half full—entering your field of vision as you find JJ reclined back on the ground, an arm thrown over his eyes while his other hand taps along to the song. You crouch down next to him and hear him hum in tune.

John B stands behind you, feeling a little helpless. “He’s been talking about you nonstop since he got, like, three shots deep.”

“And as much as we love you guys together,” Sarah adds, leaning into the boy’s side, “He doesn’t listen very well once he gets started.”

You shoot them a smile over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I get it. You guys can head in if you want, this might take a while.” The two lovebirds wave you goodnight as they walk back inside with Kie and Pope, and you turn your attention back to your exceptionally troublesome boy. “JJ? Time to go to bed.”

He grumbles without moving an inch. “I told you to fuck off, Sarah, I just wanna see my girl.”

Your heart flutters at the name—his girl. You’ve never heard him call you that. Does he seriously think you’re Sarah? “Your girl?”

“Yeah, you know the gorgeous one?”

“Might ring a bell.”

“Yeah, well, she’s the most…the most beautiful person in the history of…of forever, and she’s mine, so get outta here n’…go flirt with John B or somethin’.” He lazily waves you off, mumbling something you don’t quite hear.

A smile fights its way to the surface, and you gently place your hand on the smooth plane of his shoulder. “Oh, but I wanted to flirt with you instead. How’s that sound, hm?”

He quickly pushes your touch away. “It sounds like my girl’s gonna kill you any second now, so watch it, Blondie.” He slurs his words as he speaks, pulling giggles from your lips. You gently take his wrist in your hand to remove his arm from his eyes and press a kiss where your fingertips touch him. His eyes stay closed, and he juts his chin in the opposite direction in protest.

“Jay, baby, I’m not killing anyone anytime soon,” you coo, leaning over his chest and face while running a hand through his hair. 

He opens one eye, suspicious of your claims, but quickly realizes it’s you, and turns to look at you like he’ll never get the chance to do it again, his expression swallowed by a smile. “When did you get here, baby?”

“Oh, just now,” you answer, laughter lacing your words, “Kie called me over.” You press a kiss to his forehead before sitting back up, your hand quickly taken by his.

“You should’ve come sooner.” His other hand makes its way to your thigh, smoothing over your skin. “I was waiting for you, all by myself, and—” he abruptly sits up— “there’s something I have to tell you,” he whispers. He casts a glance to the Chateau. “It’s top secret.”

With him this close, you can smell the vodka on his breath. “Yeah? What is it?” You loop your arms around his neck and scratch at the nape of his neck, to which he instinctively responds by wrapping his arms around your waist and rubbing the palms of his hands along your back.

“This is top secret, classified information, princess, you can’t just get it for free. Everything comes with a price.” A sly little grin comes over him, tugging you a little closer.

Knowing JJ, you already know where this is headed. You decide to play along anyway: “Name it, then. I’m sure we can strike a deal somehow.”

He mulls over his words before saying, “Hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“You—” he points at your chest— “give me three—no, five kisses for the info up front.” When you raise your eyebrows in suspicion, he continues, “And every follow up question is worth another kiss.”

“This must be very important information.”

“Very.” His hands, still soaking in the feeling of you beneath them, start to play with the hem of your tank top, fingertips slipping beneath the fabric to feel skin. “Better pay up soon.”

You feign a look of shock and place a hand on his chest. “I didn’t even agree yet, don’t get too excited.” 

He pouts with furrowed brows, convinced his offer would be impossible to resist. “Why? Baby, come on,” he urges, holding you tighter, “This is the part where you kiss me.” His eyelids droop with drunkenness and fatigue as he presses his lips to your neck, but you quickly take his jaw in your hand and pull him away. 

“Ah ah ah,” you tease. “You come to bed first, then I’ll give you kisses for your secrets.”

“But I don’t wanna go to bed.” His hands work their way from your waist down to your hips again, soon grazing your thighs the way he knows erupts butterflies in your stomach. “I wanna stay here with you…have you boss me around. You’re very sexy when you do it.” He smirks while looking up at you, and you know for a fact he’s just trying to push your buttons.

You roll your eyes and push his face away as you start to stand up. “You’re a pain in the ass, I hope you know that.” As bitter as you try to sound, you’ll always have a soft spot for him the way he does for you, especially when your bitterness is met with that beautiful smile of his. You hold out both hands, towering over him and urging him to stand. “C’mon, Jay.”

He leans his weight onto his hands, stubborn as always. “Will you stay the night?”

“Not if you keep this up, I won’t.” You lend him a condescending smile. 

“But Baby,” he groans, finally complying now that the stakes have been raised. “I haven’t seen you all day, and I miss you.” He starts to shuffle where he sits, taking hold of your hands as you pull him up, dizziness causing him to stumble into your arms. “Can’t a boy just get some love from his girl?” 

There he goes again—his girl. 

You loop his arm over your shoulder and wrap yours around his waist as you lead him into the Chateau, surrounded by his warmth and the smell that’s so distinctly him: a bit of beachiness, mandarin and musky from his body wash, a hint of marijuana.

“You’re very kind,” he rambles on, “for coming here so late. I missed you.”

“I know, baby. You told me.”

He makes his way up the steps with you, following as you open the door. “Well, I’m making sure you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, love.” You smile to yourself, a little caught off guard with how open he’s become.

“I still have to tell you that top secret information,” he whispers, leaning down to your ear-level. His body wraps around you as you stand in front of him to open the door to his bedroom, his arms start to wrap around your waist again. “And you still owe me kisses for it.”

You usher him into his room, shutting the door behind you. “C’mon, let’s get into bed. That was the rule.”

He does as you wish without complaint for once, though when he does sit at the edge of his bed, he also pulls you to stand in between his legs. “I’m in bed now.”

“I can see that,” you giggle, hands massaging his neck and shoulders.

“Does this mean you’ll give me a kiss now?”

“Not yet.” You tug at the fabric of his shirt. “Take this off, please?” You don’t think much when you say it, but once the words slip out and you see JJ’s brows raise as a cocky smirk crosses his face, you realize you need to cover your tracks.

He bites his tongue to oblige, nabbing the back of his tee before pulling it over his head. Revealed to you are his broad shoulders, his chest, those toned arms that are, admittedly, to die for, though you’d never tell him that directly. 

“You’re trying to undress me, baby?” he asks, too quick for you to correct yourself. His hands take purchase of your hips before taking up your thighs, his hands molding to your curves and getting treacherously close to your inner thighs.

Your face goes hot—why is he so good at this?—but you keep a straight face and grab his face, one hand cupping his jaw while the other supports the back of his head. “Do you want your kiss or not?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he responds, almost immediately. His eyes glaze over, entranced by everything you are. A drunk smile is sent your way, and he can’t really tell whether the tingling all over his body is just from the vodka, or if it’s your hands on his body, your snippy tone that he knows is full of love. He’s sure that no matter how flustered he can make you, it’ll never compare to how you make him feel with even the slightest of touches.

Your grip goes soft, and you rake your hand through his hair, his eyes falling shut and his head gone slack into your hands. “You’re beyond wasted, aren't you?”

He laughs heartily now, eyes still shut as he nods his head. “I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, princess.” Giggles line his words and his face scrunches in a smile, dimple on display.

“How much did you drink?”

“A few beers.”

“And?” You tug lightly on his hair.

“Mm, some vodka, maybe. A few shots.” His hands drag from the backs of your thighs, to your hips, to your waist.

“JJ.” You stare down at his clearly vodka-dazed face. “How many is a few?”

He hums to himself, as deep in thought one can be when wasted. “Maybe seven…or nine…don’t remember,” he mumbles.

You sigh to yourself, not surprised by his recklessness but still not all too happy with it. 

But before you can formulate a single thought, a single articulated response, he starts to pout—eyes still closed of course, because your boy is nothing if not a truth-teller. “You sound mad.” Even when wasted he knows you so well.

“I’m not,” you fib a little, for his own sake. You kiss his forehead, then his cheek before letting go of him entirely to pull back the covers for him. “Come on, time to sleep, yeah?” You give a soft tug on his hand as his body goes pliant.

He slowly but surely crawls properly into bed, giving you a show of his back muscles flexing and relaxing before falling face-first into his pillow with a hmph. You lay down next to him as he lifts his arm with all his might, slowly turning onto his side to make space for you. Legs intertwine without words, the warmth of his body blankets your senses, his weight grounds you.

“You need to hurry, princess. I need to…need to give you the information.” The words are half-muffled by his pillow, and his eyes are still shut. 

“Oh. We’re still doing that?” You’re surprised he even remembers the information at this point—whatever it might be. 

He squeezes you tighter into his body, pulling a smile from you as he groans. “Yes, we’re still doing that…it’s important. You need three more…”

“Okay, okay,” you soothe, and you press a kiss to his shoulder. “Does that count?”

“Mhm, two more.” A stupid, drunk, terribly charming grin crosses his face, and it feels like you’re falling for him all over again, teetering at the edge of a cliff. His arm, still heavy on your waist, shifts a little, and his fingers dance along your back and light fires where they touch.

You curl your hand, gently, along the crook of his neck and kiss his jaw. “And that counts as well?”

With the way you’re whispering your words into his neck, JJ swears he could die happily. “Mm, sure does.”

For the fifth and final kiss, the corner of his mouth. It curls into your kiss like he knew it was coming, and you give him one more just for good measure—and, maybe, because seeing him smile is worth his weight in gold. You brush your hand through his hair before hugging him a little tighter towards your chest, all too aware now that you won’t be getting any information out of him the rest of the night. This minor inconvenience, however, doesn’t seem to compare to having him in your arms, his breath against your neck, his arm wrapped around you to tell you he’s there, and he’s there to stay, and he wants to be there more than anywhere else.

You think that you could play this game a million times over. The part where you kiss him—that is, when his lovely, sweet little smile peeks through that rough shell—will never get old enough to retire.

(But for tonight, you can live without more of his drunken teasing. Just for tonight.)

[writeriguess]

Katsuki x female reader where he's sick and she takes care of her. He's stubborn and tries to refuse help.

Katsuki Bakugo was not the type to get sick, let alone admit to it. Yet here he was, sprawled out on his bed with a flushed face, a blanket half-thrown over him, and his fiery eyes barely able to stay open. His usual scowl was deepened by a splitting headache, but the worst part was you hovering over him like a mother hen.

"You need to rest, Katsuki," you said softly, placing a cool hand on his forehead. The warmth of his skin beneath your palm made you frown. "You’re burning up."

"I’m fine," he snapped, trying to sit up, but the world spun, forcing him back down onto the mattress. He groaned in frustration, his pride taking more of a hit than his body at the moment. “Don’t need you fussing over me.”

"You might be fine, but you’re not invincible," you retorted, sitting down on the edge of the bed. You gently pushed him back against the pillows, ignoring his grumbled protests. "Let me take care of you, just this once."

Katsuki’s jaw clenched. He hated being seen as weak, especially in front of you. You were the one person whose opinion mattered more than anything, and the last thing he wanted was for you to think he couldn’t handle a little illness. But as much as he tried to fight it, his body wasn’t cooperating.

He watched through half-lidded eyes as you busied yourself around his room. You grabbed a fresh towel, soaking it in cool water before wringing it out and placing it on his forehead. The sensation made him sigh in relief despite himself. Then you handed him a glass of water, your gaze firm as you waited for him to take it.

"Drink."

He eyed the glass, then you. "You’re pushy, you know that?"

"Comes with the territory," you shot back with a small smile. "Now drink."

Reluctantly, he took the glass, his hand brushing yours. He downed the water in a few gulps, feeling a bit better with each sip. When he finished, you took the glass from him, your fingers lingering on his for just a moment longer than necessary. He noticed, and despite himself, his heart skipped a beat.

"Thanks," he muttered, avoiding your eyes. It wasn’t often that Katsuki Bakugo showed gratitude, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

You smiled softly at him, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from his forehead. "You’re welcome. Now try to get some sleep. I’ll be right here if you need anything."

He wanted to argue, to tell you he didn’t need your help, but the exhaustion was finally catching up to him. His eyelids felt heavy, and before he knew it, he was drifting off, the last thing he saw being your gentle expression as you watched over him.

For once, Katsuki Bakugo didn’t mind letting someone else take care of him.

When he woke up later, feeling marginally better, you were still there, sitting beside him with a book in your hands. The sight made something warm bloom in his chest, though he’d never admit it out loud.

"You’re still here," he said, his voice rough from sleep.

"Of course," you replied, setting the book down. "I told you I’d be here, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, but there was no heat in his words. Instead, there was a rare softness in his eyes as he looked at you. "Thanks… for everything."

"Anytime," you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead, right where the fever had broken. "I’ll always be here for you, Katsuki."

For the first time in a long while, Katsuki let himself relax, content in the knowledge that he didn’t always have to be strong alone. Because he had you by his side, and that made all the difference.

Requests are open.

[afewproblems]

Prompts!

50. “I need you to forgive me.”

OR

53. “I’m flirting with you.”

Whichever vibe you’re feeling ☺️ -steddierthings

Ahhh! Thank you for this @steddierthings this one got sad, even though I ended up going with 53. "I'm flirting with you."

"Eddie! Eddie, wait!" Steve calls after him, tearing down the hallway as Eddie makes a beeline for the front door, an angry flush staining his cheeks and neck.

Eddie ignores the urgency in Steve's voice as he grabs the door handle only to stumble as a pair of hands grasp his shoulders.

"Eddie please--"

"Just fuck off," Eddie snarls, whirling around to face him. Who the hell did he think he was, that Steve could say these things, do these things, without any consequences?

Steve flinches, raising his hands in surrender, but he holds his ground as he steps closer, expression determined.

"If you would just let me explain--"

Eddie laughs over Steve's words, a harsh mirthless sound, "explain what exactly?" 

It was one thing for Eddie to quietly pine from afar, to know in his heart of hearts that his feelings could never be returned. 

It was another to have them thrown in his face like this. 

"I know you told me a little about Ozzy that day, you know in the woods?" Steve says softly as he replaces the Tears for Fears cassette with another tape -this one with a handmade label on both sides. 

"And I know you like, uh, Metal and rock music," Steve continues, ignoring the pained snort Eddie makes from his position on the couch. 

It's another night, just the two of them. 

Robin left them about an hour ago to finish their movie, 'alone,' though why she said it that way, Eddie has no idea. 

"So I made this for you," Steve says, pressing play on the cassette player in the Harrington living room.

A mixture of synth and guitar pour out from the speakers as drums soon join them, snapping out a heavy rhythm as the singer starts, his voice a little higher than Eddie was expecting for the music.

'We are secrets to each other

Each one's life a novel

No-one else has read

"It's uh, Rush, do you know them?" Steve says in a near whisper as he walks back to where Eddie is sitting on the couch. He's playing with his fingers, picking at his thumbnail in the same way Robin does when she's nervous, but what the hell would Steve have to be nervous about right now, Eddie thinks to himself as Steve sits down with a shy smile. 

'Even joined in bonds of love

We're linked to one another

By such slender threads'

"I uh, thought you might like the guitar in it, it's not as like, present as some of their other songs though," Steve mumbles with a shrug as he continues looking at Eddie with soft eyes.

He's moving closer now, close enough that Eddie can feel the warmth of Steve's breath on his face, what the hell is he doing?

"Yeah, I've heard of them, they aren't really my thing," Eddie says nervously, inching backward, his eyes widen as Steve follows him, his eyes drop down to Eddie's mouth so quickly he nearly misses it.

'I think it's time for us to realize

The spaces in between

Leave room

For you and I to grow'

"Eddie," Steve whispers, his eyes flutter nearly closed, "can I, I really like you--"

No. He can't think about it again.

He can't think about the freckles he counted, dusting Steve's nose, the flecks of green and gold in his eyes just before they closed to reveal long brown lashes. 

The way his nose felt as it brushed Eddie's own just before he scrambled away across the couch, leaving Steve there with confusion and alarm painted across his face.

It would have been so easy to let himself have this, to go along with whatever prank Steve had obviously concocted. Even if it meant letting him shatter Eddie's heart, just so he could have the chance to feel those lips against his own just once.

"You got me King-Steve, let's all make fun of the freak right?" He scoffs and reaches behind himself for the door handle again.

"I'm flirting with you, Eds, I promise," Steve insists, moving closer into Eddie's space, he reaches for his shoulders again only for Eddie to turn the handle and evade Steve's hands as he steps over the threshold.

"Asshole," Eddie huffs as he makes his way back to his van, leaving Steve standing on his front step, watching mournfully as Eddie gets into the van and peels out of the driveway.

Part Two and Part Three

[thewriters-world]

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3:

There's a harsh ringing in Marc's ear as Cristian escorts him to his motor home. Alex holds his arm in a death grip that he doesn't realise is leaving bruises on his arm. Marc doesn't mind, it keeps him grounded, it keeps him here. Cristian is saying something in his ear, whispering things that he knows are important but Marc's ears are ringing and he doesn't know what is being said.

Alex freezes, grip on his arm tightening further in a way that makes Marc finally take notice of his surroundings. Valentino is leant against his motorhome. His curls are tucked into a cap and he's wearing the simplest of outfits; a loose white shirt t-shirt and below knee shorts that remind Marc of Valentino's age. Yet he is still mesmerised.

Cristian is frozen, how does one confront the messiah? How does he berate the man who made the sport. Alex narrows his eyes, venomous tinge to his pursed lips. Marc places a hand on his arm, nods at both men, encouraging them to leave him be 'I can handle this' he says with his eyes.

No he can't.

...

Valentino enters the motorhome with all the confidence of a God. Marc closes the door behind the domineering man, allows him to walk the full length of the motorhome, before he makes himself at home on the plush sofa.

Marc looks at him, cross-armed, blank-faced.

"Do you want to date?" Valentino asks so casually that he himself is thrown by his words. Wants to reach out into the void that is the space between Marc and him to clasp at those heavy words and shove them right back into his larynx. Never to come out again. But those are the only words he has. Can't say 'I hate you but I don't like that people hate you because of me', won't say 'I think you're a manipulative bastard but my tapes (that I did not leak) are the reason for this mess that you're in'. Won't admit 'I want to touch you but you can't be mine (I will ruin you)'.

Marc almost vomits onto the scuffed linoleum floor of his motorhome. Feels the color on his cheeks rush out onto the abyss that threatens to send him hurtling into a free-fall beneath him.

Valentino must see something on his face.

"Pretend, fake dating" he clarifies.

Marc might have said yes if he came a year ago, even a few months ago. He might have leapt head-first into a mistake once again. Might have allowed himself this fantasy world where he could run his fingers through Valentino's curls to maintain a pretence. A world where Valentino's eyes softened once again as they met his frame. A world where the warmth of Valentino's chest could meet the warmth of his chest (all as pretence, of course).

But the red on his cheeks has just re-appeared. The throbbing ache of his chest has just subsided. Alex has just told him how his heartbreak didn't just hurt him. And he knows, knows that this would hurt him once again. That Valentino would discard him once his purpose, whatever it may be (to hurt him, to ruin him, to break him) was fulfilled. Would Alex once again have to sit on the stairs that lead to his bedroom to listen to him sob into his pillow?

Marc bypasses the question entirely.

"Why did you do it?" He questions, lower lip tucked into his teeth.

Valentino's brows furrow and Marc scoffs.

Why did you take my youth?

Why did you alienate me from everyone who actually understood?

Why did you fuck me and then get Uccio to do your dirty work?

"The tape" he reminds, biting his inner cheek.

Valentino is thrown. He didn't know why he hadn't expected Marc to believe he had leaked the tapes. He had thought maybe Marc would extend him a grace that he would never have displayed himself. Valentino doesn't know how to say 'it wasn't me' in a way that'll make Marc believe him. Doesn't know how to make 'I don't even touch those tapes' a convincing lie. So he shrugs in a way that he knows might steal a piece of Marc's entire being. Looks down, thanking the curved brim of his cap for shielding his view of Marc. He knows all the details that make Marc, like he knows all the lines of his wretched turtle tattoo. So he knows the exact way the open wound on Marc's face is bleeding into his mouth. Knows the way his face is scrunched up in a mimicry of hurt that Valentino is still too angry to face.

He waits a beat. Gives Marc the ten seconds he needs to readjust (Valentino is good at pretending that he stills knows Marc). Then he looks up, feels an icy sensation akin to 'I gotchu' rushing through his veins as Marc's face is all hard lines and rigid lips. He raises his brow, a tentative smirk on his face that he uses to say 'answer my question'. And Marc knows, of course Marc knows what every angle of his face means, the raised brown, the smirk.

"No" he says looking up at Valentino.

Valentino nods unperturbed, gives the selfish beast inside Marc a moment to come roaring out (but it doesn't and maybe Valentino doesn't know Marc as well as he thinks he does).

...

Marc doesn't answer Alex's phone call. Ignores his urgent messages as he leans against the wall of his motorhome. It is only now that Valentino has left does Marc allow his brain to wander into places it shouldn't frequent. Was he that obvious? Could everyone and their mothers see right through him? He wants to make a mad dash for Bezzecchi's motorhome, wants to ask do you see it too? Knows that man hates him and would love to rub it in his face that he knows something about Marc. A weakness to be exploited. Can you see it in my face, that I would ruin myself for your God?

He can feel his entire brain unravel but the shrill ringing of his phone interrupts

It's Cristian. He has to answer this one. They've waited too long to release a statement and people are getting curious.

"Cristian" he greets.

"Hi Marc, how are you" the press manager begins with small-talk that Marc has no interest in engaging with.

"We need a statement, yes?" There's a pause and then Cristian sighs.

"Yes" he acquiesces.

"They want to know what happened?" Cristian presses into a deep wound that has been festering for years. The what did you do remains unsaid.

Marc releases a sigh of his own before nodding, even though he knows Cristian won't see him through the phone.

"Can I get back to you with a statement that you can look over?" Marc knows he's asking for too much. It's easier for them to draft a statement. It should be easier for him to tell them what happened. But he knows the words won't come out, how can they when he himself doesn't know what happened.

There's silence for a moment and Marc almost thinks this is the end of Cristian's kindness. But then the older man breathes out a resgined "yes".

...

It's 1am. Marc's fingers and back are both cramping. His lower back is sore from having been seated in one position this whole time. His eyes hurt from the strain of staring into his laptop screen in the dark. And he has only written three words.

Valentino Rossi is...

A lot of things that Marc is unable to articulate. He needs to explain their relationship. Lack of relationship. He changes it.

Valentino Rossi was...

But then there's nothing. Mind draws a blank on actual information they need. Valentino Rossi was soft, he was kind, he smelt sweet and musky, his arms were warm and his smile was blinding. He played big spoon and spoke about his brother with stars in his eyes. But he broke my heart. He whispered promises in my ear as we slept and allowed me to dream. He spoke in finality, he made me believe we actually had a chance.

But he can't say all of that. And it's not fair, Marc has never complained. Not about Valentino deciding to throw him away, not about the whole grid deciding he was a pariah, not about his broken arm. But this, this could ruin him. They would discard him in a heartbeat if he wasn't Marc Marquez and he knows Valentino wants to hit him where it hurts but he had held out some hope throughout the years that Valentino wouldn't resort to cruelty. But here he was, once again suffering for the sins of his past. Maybe he shouldn't have to do this, maybe he should be the exact notion of selfishness that Valentino believes him to be. He changes it.

Valentino Rossi is my partner.

Shoots Valentino a text. Is that offer still on the table.

And welcomes sweet slumber.

[saphirered]

Hi! Could you do 2 with Fenrys please? TYSM! <3

One Ritual Magic with Fenrys coming right up. First time writing for this wolf boy so I hope it's to your liking! 😘

Candles light the main area of the cottage. They are placed wherever convenient wax dripping down shelves, stonework, candelabras or whatever other surface it might have caught on. The air is heavy with herbal scents from a cleansing sage to peaceful lavender and protective rosemary, though those with fae senses might just be bothered enough with the heavy spice thrown into the mix as well as some of the more caustic ingredients. The handling of them is not a pleasant one as Fenrys grinds the contents in the mortar with the pestle in a twisting movement, until the crunch quiets and a soft shifting of powder remains. He tries to hold his breath but when it becomes time to add in more of the crunchy bits he dares not even try to identify save for the fact that the scent alone burns his nostrils, he has run out and needs to take in a deep breath, which only leads to him coughing. Despite all better judgement holding his breath might have been a far worse decision than he’d hoped. Better judgement, in this case being you. 

“I told you not to do that. Now be careful or you’ll breathe in more. I need that mixture.” You quickly set aside the mortar and rub Fenrys’ back soothing as he catches his breath and the coughs subside. 

“What even is that and please never ask for help again.” He complains as you offer him a cup of water. He does not refuse the offering of cool water to not only get rid of the dry feeling in his throat but also subside the harsh burning that makes him hoarse. 

“I don’t believe I asked for your help, Fen. You simply decided to insert yourself into the situation.”You walk back to the centre of the room, pick up the piece of chalk you had just a moment before you came to his valiant rescue, kneel down and careful not to wipe out your previous lines, draw in whatever incomprehensible sigils, runes and signs it is you’re supposed to. Seriously, Fenrys doesn’t know how you come up with it all, let alone remember it. 

“And then you were the one to tell me to stop watching you work because you couldn’t concentrate or at least make myself useful if I do?” He sits back in the chair leaning his elbows on your worktable, careful not to disturb anything as he watches you work once more. 

“And yet you’re still here, watching me. Don’t try to break my concentration or I swear I will feed those beetle pods to you until you choke on them.” You grumble dipping your fingers in the powdered mixture and crossing three onto the floor with a roll of your eyes. Maybe it’s the fact you’re tapping into these magics. Maybe it’s just you. Or maybe it’s Fenrys. Either way you are entirely too aware of the eyes that follow you, of the presence in your room because at any given time when he is here, part of your focus will always be dedicated to the male. It’s never been an issue before, not one you couldn’t shake that is, until now, until this ritual. 

“While I am sufficiently threatened by the thought of those icky little things near me ever again, you’re less resilient to my charms than usual. Something’s got your bloomers in a twist, sweetheart? Because I’m pretty sure I could untwist them for you, if you asked nicely.” Genuine concern is hidden among his usual humour and it just hits you wrong. Just ticks off that frustration because you have your back turned to him and have no reason to know he’s actually concerned something’s amiss but you just know. You know it’s not fair to put that on him and so you take a deep breath and finish up the last of your sigil. You sit back on your knees and sigh, inspecting your work. You can feel his eyes on you and so you get and turn to him, walk closer until you’re standing right in front of him. You are at eye level, him seated casually leaning back, your standing. So you decide a different course of action. You give into that awareness of his presence and you decide to play along with the game. You drape your arms across his shoulders, clasping your fingers together at the back of his neck and you pout. 

“Help me with this pretty please and I’ll perform another seance to ask some spirits to scare Rowan shitless again.” Curiosity, intrigue, confusion. Those all simultaneously run through his mind but your offer is something he can get behind. Does he want to ask further and is his concern only growing? Yes. But he also knows you longer than yesterday and if you don’t want to talk you won’t say a damn thing. So despite his own better judgement, that voice within him that tells him to question, he simply grins, wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you just a little closer to him. You don’t even flinch. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” You begin playing with the hairs at the back of his neck, slowly working up removing tangle and knot in the golden strands in a way that has him become putty in your hands, so much so he almost forgets his previous questions. Almost. But not quite. 

“I need you to be a good boy and kneel at the centre of the circle-” With a wolfish grin he interrupts you. 

“Well if you wanted me on my knees-“ You swat his shoulder and give him a disapproving look. “Okay, okay, centre of the circle. I got it.” 

“-And then I need you to clear that mind of yours from all those dirty little thoughts and behave. I’m trying to summon nature spirits to help with the recent wandering monsters in the mountains.” Fenrys lets your words sink in.

“So why do I need to kneeling in the centre of your circle? You’re not going to offer me to those spirits are you? I don’t think they’ll be very satisfied someone committed to a life of debauchery. Don’t want to anger your spirits.” You bite your tongue until you brush a strand of hair from his face, let your hands cup his cheeks and speak to him like one would school a student, yet your gaze says otherwise because those would be entirely inappropriate lessons. 

“These spirits need a tether to this world. They don’t do words like you and I and are more settled on memory, experience- shut up Fen. They’ll show you what you need to know and since you are a decent tracker and scout, it’s easier to have you receive this knowledge rather than me relaying it to you.” He cups one of your hands and removes it from his cheek. Instead he brings the back of it to his lips and places a soft kiss on your knuckles. He rises, and suddenly you’re all too close. You can feel his presence all the more, practically hear his thoughts through the corridors of raw ritualistic power. You can feel admiration and respect as much as you feel intrigue and curiosity. Of course it wouldn’t be Fenrys if it didn’t go paired with some sense of wanton but you deliberately try to ignore that for the sake of completing this summoning. You can worry about that after you’ve closed off these energies and no longer need them. You can ask him about it too.

“Well then, let’s get on with your summoning of nature spirits. We can always get to the fun stuff after.” He winks as you lead him along to the centre of the circle careful not to wipe out any of your precariously placed line works and you push him to his knees, grasp his chin to make him look up at you. 

“Be respectful, Fenrys. I mean it. Don’t upset these spirits or they might just decide to take revenge on you.” You warn but then you grin. “Wouldn’t want your precious bits to end up damaged. Your admirers would be so disappointed. How will you satisfy them then?” You tease but the wolfish grin you get in reply lets you know you’ve made a mistake. 

“Bold of you to think I don’t have more creative and equally enjoyable means to pleasure another. Or is that where your creativity runs out? I’d expected more from the stories I’ve heard. No orgies for small rituals?” You step away, out of the circle and set up your final materials. 

“Fenrys, I’m warning you.” You say threatening but the smile on your face says otherwise. The mischief too. And so you begin your ritual, your eyes never leaving his. 

[whumps-and-bumps]

Xenophobia: The Lure

[CW: branding, misgendering, abusive father, depression vibes] [Notes: This story is set in a fantasy world with many non-human characters, although Xen themself is human as they come. This is mostly a flashback, to the happiest they will be for a very, very long time. Don't worry, it gets worse!] [Masterpost/Contents] [Next]

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･. :･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Fire.  

It felt like fire. 

The searing pain spread across their neck and down their back as the brand was burned into their flesh, marking them as the property of another. It overwhelmed their senses, blinding and deafening them whilst their blood rushed in their ears and their heart thudded in their chest. They thought they might be crying out in cocktail of fear and pain. They couldn’t tell anymore. 

They couldn’t remember much from that night. Or rather, they couldn’t remember much after it had started to go wrong. Everything before that was crystal clear; burned into their memories, much like the crest on their skin. They remembered the butterflies in their stomach, the hope in their chest, and the skip in their step. They remembered how excited they had been.  

All of that was gone now.  

The only thing left was the fire. 

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

[Hey! You look really cute in your first pic. I've never met a pink mothfolk before :) ] 

Xen sighed heavily as they threw their phone down beside them on their bed, laid back, and covered their eyes with their arm. Online dating was hard. Sometimes they weren’t even sure why they bothered – it wasn’t like they’d gotten any matches in the three weeks they’d been trying, other than from bots or catfish. Frankly, even if they couldn’t find a date, a friend or two would have been nice. Someone to spend time with that actually enjoyed the time spent with them. 

“Oi! Get down here, young lady!” 

Xen groaned and rolled over, hiding their face in their pillow as their father shouted up at them from the kitchen. They racked their brain, trying to figure out what small mistake they were going to be lit up about, but nothing came to mind. They cringed as they heard heavy footsteps make their way up the stairs, and flinched when their bedroom door was flung open hard enough to bounce against the wall. The door handle chipped away more paint from an ever-growing dent behind it.  

Something was thrown at them – it slapped wetly against their shoulder before falling harmlessly to the side, leaving a damp spot where it had landed. From the smell of it, it was probably the dishcloth that had been left in the sink. 

“Finish the fucking dishes. I’m out of pint glasses, again,” their father slurred out. He kicked their bed when they didn’t respond fast enough. “What am I supposed to do, drink from the bottle? Like a fuckin’ slob? Answer me!” 

“Sorry, dad,” Xen mumbled in return. Their father grunted. 

“There’s no fucking respect around here. Lazy bitch,” he grumbled as he left again, leaving the door wide open for them to hear the smash of glass as something was thrown against a wall downstairs. 

Once they were sure he had left, Xen sighed again, their ribs heaving with the weight of the world upon them. Once upon a time, this would have been enough to make them cry. Now, it was their regular Tuesday night. They hauled themselves upright, peeling the soggy dishcloth from their bedspread and instead tossing it onto a dirty plate they had left on their desk before they swung their legs out of bed. They sat there for what felt like forever, trying to will their body to move, before they were snapped out of it by their phone beeping at them. The ringtone was one they hadn’t ever heard before.  

They squinted at the screen suspiciously as they opened up the notification, assuming it to be a reminder that some long-forgotten game was still installed and demanding attention again, but to their surprise it was the dating app. 

[You have a match! Tap to see who liked you back!] 

They read the notification again, just to double (triple) check they were understanding it correctly, and before they could move their phone beeped again.  

[Someone has messaged you! Tap here to find out what they said!] 

A slow smile spread across Xen’s face, their heart beginning to beat that little bit faster. With shaking hands, they reopened the app, and replied back to that cute pink mothgirl before their nerves could get the better of them. 

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

[Hey, do you wanna finally meet up irl? I’ve got the perfect idea for a first date ;) ] 

Xen audibly gasped as they read the latest message from the mothfolk, their heart skipping a beat or two. They had been texting Salia for a couple of weeks now, and every day she messaged back the sun seemed to shine a little brighter down on them. It was all they could do not to dash straight for their phone every time it buzzed. So far, they had managed to keep everything a secret, but they weren’t sure how long they could keep that up anymore – especially if they were going to meet in person for the first time. Nice things just didn’t seem to last long around their father.

They leaned against the counter in the kitchen as their thumbs hovered over the virtual keyboard. They wanted to reply quickly before their father stumbled in, but their mind was drawing a blank. How to sound interested but not obsessed, excited but not too eager? 

[That sounds lovely-] 

Backspace. 

[Ooh what is it? I’d love to!] 

Backspace. 

[Are you sure? I’m really nothing special.] 

Xen flinched as there was a thud and sudden yell from the living room, and hurriedly locked their phone as they shoved it in their hoodie pocket. They froze for a few long seconds, waiting for him to come storming their way, but the house remained motionless. They tiptoed towards the door to the kitchen and peaked their head round, wondering what he was doing, but their father was just sat in his armchair watching TV with a scowl on his face and bottle in his hand, as always. His favourite team must have been losing, or something. The reason rarely mattered as much as the aftermath. 

They went back to the counter and let out a breath they didn’t realise they had been holding. The microwave still had another three minutes to go before their dinner would be ready, so they took out their phone again and unlocked it. To their surprise and abject horror, there was a new message waiting for them. 

[Aww, don’t say that! I’d love to see you in person. You’re a sweetheart and I want to hold your hand 😊] 

Xen’s heart dropped out of their chest and through the floor when they realised that they’d accidentally sent their last message. Their cheeks lit up a deep red and they closed their eyes, as if that would undo what they had done. The noise of their father now cheering uproariously in the next room sounded a million miles away. They didn’t even need him to ruin things, they did a perfectly good job on their own- 

[Xen? I mean it. If you want to wait a little while longer though that’s okay too! We can do this at your pace.] 

They let out a soft little noise. She was being so kind to them, giving them this second chance. With a shaky intake of breath, they finally started to type out a real reply. 

[I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to send that! I would love to see you, I was hoping you’d ask <3 ]  

They sent the text before they could overthink it. They waited for the rejection, the ‘actually, um, no’ and ‘I've changed my mind’ to come back through as those three little dots taunted them like that the crow greeting Prometheus every morning. Their liver being plucked right out of their belly would probably hurt them less right now, though. 

When she replied, their heart stopped. Again.

[Great! Thank god, I was worried I was moving us too quick 😊 How does this Saturday night work for you?] 

The noise of their father arguing with the television seemed to fade further into the background, their peripherals turning to shadow until all they could see was the message. They stared at their phone in disbelief.  They were shaken out of their stupor by the microwave starting to yell too. 

“Hey, turn that racket off, I’m watching the game!” 

“Sorry, dad!” they yelled back, setting their phone down and scrambling to open it before the beeps could annoy him further. They sucked their teeth as the heated plastic of the readymeal burned their fingertips, and they nearly flung it across the room instead of carrying it over to the counter where their bowl laid waiting. They dropped it onto the laminate with a thud and shoved their hand under the cold tap for a few moments, giving them time to process. 

She still wanted to see them. 

On a date. 

Well, that was mildly alarming. They didn’t think they’d get this far. What would they wear? What would they do? Salia had said she had a great idea for the date, but what on earth could that possibly be? Xen buzzed with excitement, despite the slightly light-headed feeling that was creeping over them, and picked their phone back up in order to stare at it for a while. 

Saturday night was absolutely fine. It wasn’t like they ever had anything else on. 

[That’s perfect. What will we be doing?] 

They replied, still trying to keep their cool, then they started second guessing themself – what was it people always said to do, change something arbitrary about date plans in order to see how controlling the other person was? They didn’t think Salia was that type of person, but then again, it was probably still a little too early to tell. They frowned a little to themself.  

Everything was going to be just fine. It was only a date, after all. What could go wrong? 

[Would you mind if I kept it a surprise? ;) ]  [I’ll meet you in the park at 6pm – you know, by the bandstand?] 

Now was their chance to change something random. Make it 6:30, meet them by the old oak or something instead – but Xen couldn’t ignore the paranoia that if they were fussy about a minute detail like that, the date would be off. And they really, really wanted this. 

[Cool, sounds good. Will I need to be wearing anything special?] 

Salia immediately started typing and Xen groaned inwardly. That had sounded flirtatious when it wasn’t meant to be. 

[I mean, I’m just wondering if this is more of an outside situation or an inside!]

They quickly sent another message, just to clear that up, but it hadn’t been necessary. 

[Wear something loose and comfortable. Maybe even something cute underneath, if you’re down for it ;) ] 

Xen felt a blush rise in their cheeks again, their microwave meal quickly forgotten on the side. 

Honestly, they couldn’t believe their luck with any of this. They were half-tempted to send her a message asking where she had been all their life, but they had to keep it casual. They didn’t want to come on too strong, be too much. Be too loud. Take up too much space. Exist too freely. 

Their father’s disparaging words echoed around their skull, drilled into them over the years. Their mother’s death had been tough on all of them - but that shouldn't have been an excuse for him to start acting the way he did. It was hard not to already hold Salia up on a pedestal when literally anyone else would treat them better than he did. She was the first glimmer of hope that Xen had had in years that their life could be more than this, and they clung to that with everything they had.

[next]

[bluepenguinstories]

(Anxious) Mouse Vertigo 14

Their stares said the same thing: “we were going to leave tomorrow, but it looks like our departure date just moved up.”

There was no need to say any more on the subject. If they wanted, they could gather a few more things and head out the door. Likewise, there was nothing to indicate that they couldn’t leave: never in the rules that Frou-Frou stated was there a mention of being stuck there. So the first words uttered aloud may have come as a surprise.

“I need to get some fresh air,” Null announced.

“Be careful. Let’s meet back up here, okay?” Minnow said in turn.

“Of course. I’m not going to leave without you.”

Hearing those words put a smile on Minnow’s face. Despite how volatile the situation was just a few minutes ago, she had no reason to believe Null was in danger. With how scared and timid Null was, if not clumsy as well, she was unlikely to do anything reckless. At the first sign of danger, Null would run away.

Of that, Minnow was sure.

So long as she doesn’t run into that Frou-Frou guy again. He’s bad news.

Her wound still throbbed. She placed her palm on it and felt the sting. She hadn’t bled out, but the sensation might have suggested otherwise. The tears that were already on her face were mere residual. In the depths of her heart, she had nothing but resentment for the one who had punched her. Who dared to threaten Null. Most of all, for herself, for not heeding Null’s warnings.

I just wanted a safe place for us. How could I have been so wrong? She wondered.

There would be no time left to wonder: a series of knocks tapped upon the door. Low in tone, but not heavy. Then, without further warning, the handle turned and the door opened to reveal the looming figure of Frou-Frou in the doorway.

So soon? She scowled at the man who advanced toward her.

Yes, it was true that her eyes burned, but so too did her rage.

“What? Did you feel I got off too easy?” She scoffed.

He shook his head, with the trademark frown on his face.

“You and I have something to discuss. I just saw that friend of yours walk out the door. Now is the perfect time,” he said, his tone flat, but low, and barely masking his anger.

“Is that so?” She repeated the favorite phrase of his. Or one of the phrases he seemed to like best. Frou-Frou was known to have many favorites.

“First off, allow me to issue an apology: I let my temper show.”

“Is that all you have to say? Do you have regrets over hitting me? Don’t. You were still going to hit Null. You shouldn’t have hit either of us. If that’s your idea of an apology, you can shove it.”

He snickered.

“You can be as rude as you want to me right now. I don’t care. No, she deserved such a punishment, and you taking the fall for her doesn’t change that. That’s not what I wish to discuss.”

“Then what?”

He glanced down, noticed the backpack with the supplies poking out.

“Are you planning on leaving?” He asked.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No. On the contrary. Leave. But don’t take that friend of yours with you.”

The stinging sensation which was once isolated to her face spread to the lower parts of her body as well.

“What makes you think I would do that?” The very thought was worse than any punch he could have thrown her way.

“You know, when you first entered, I was trying to place why I thought you were familiar,” he smiled. “It’s just now that I recall the rumors I heard from past residents. How there was a small woman who would travel with others and lead them to their deaths. Their description of that woman matched yours.”

It was then that the fire inside her was dampened with an icy chill and she couldn’t decide whether or not to turn red or turn pale.

“I never saw any survivors! How could that be?”

“Ha. So you admit it. You think there wouldn’t ever be a witness. That word wouldn’t travel of ‘people to watch out for’, or ‘people to stay away from.’ I don’t know what you told that friend of yours, but you’re nothing but trouble. She would be better off without you.”

“And what? She would be better with you? Someone to throw to your dogs upon any minor perceived slight? I won’t accept that.”

“You have my word that if you leave, I won’t kill her. I think I can set her on the right path. Teach her to be respectful. Lead a better life. Could you promise the same thing?”

“I don’t need to promise anything like that,” she stood up, her scowl deep-set. “I don’t want to know what your definition of ‘set her on the right path’ is. Furthermore, I never ‘led people to their deaths.’ Those people you’re referring to all saw me as weak. They all stood in front of me and were taken by the beasts, all to protect me. I never asked for their protection. I never wanted it. I never wanted a single one of those people to die, not a single one.”

“You know why those people thought of you as weak?”

“Because I’m small. My soft voice betrays me. They all think of me as some kind, weak little thing, and never bothered to ask what I was capable of, only assuring me that I’m someone in need of protection.”

“You admit it yourself: you are capable. It’s your will that is weak. You say you never wanted a single one of them to die, yet did you ever do anything to try to save them?”

“Don’t you think I would have if I could?”

“That’s just it: you could. And maybe you wouldn’t have succeeded, but you already said you were capable. It’s that you refused to budge that makes you weak. I bet deep down, you enjoyed how they perceived you because it meant that you were never in any real danger. You can deny it all you want, but weak willed people like you love to leech off the strong.”

Minnow paused, gulped, and looked down at the floor. She told herself that she wouldn’t be reduced to tears once again, that it wasn’t worth it.

“Null and I...we’ve been together for a couple months now. In that time, we’ve had several brushes with death. We helped each other survive each time, and she never once looked down on me. Maybe I failed in the past with others, but I refuse to fail with Null.”

“You say that now, but I’m willing to bet that given the right circumstance, you would drop her like a hat. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it. I’m calling it like I see it.”

He walked away, back out the door.

Minnow was left to stand and stare off in the dining room, stuck in her position to do much else.

Please, she thought, hurry back, Null.

What went on in Null’s mind at the moment was a mystery to herself. Usually, she knew her own thoughts, even if she would have rather pretended otherwise. Now, however…

The air was thick and tense.

She let out a deep breath, a sort of relief. Her heart still raced thinking of just a moment ago. Countless times she had thought, it’s okay if I got hurt, but not Minnow.

“It’s my own fault. I know it,” she looked down and smiled in the middle of the street, full of rubble and broken glass. It took everything she had to hold back any more tears. A few loose ones still fell at the mere thought of what had transpired. “It’s my own fault, so why wasn’t she mad at me as well?”

She wiped away her tears with her sleeve. It had recently been washed, as was her messy, blood orange hair, which ran all over the place, even when she tried to brush it. At best, she could get her hair somewhat straightened out, but several curls would still poke their way out.

At least she could thank her lucky stars she got a decent shower. The first time in over a year. The last time she was likely to partake in one. She ran her fingers through her hair. It turns out, when washed, it was rather silky and the sensation of feeling her way in was an ecstatic, over the rainbow type feeling.

I’d like it if Minnow could run her fingers through my hair as well, Null thought, well aware that it was a silly one. Were Minnow to ask, Null would have probably refused. But she acknowledged the desire was there.

Back before the calamity, before the dissolution of her sole and final friend, Null managed to shower on a somewhat consistent basis. Usually, every other day, and usually at night. There were days she skipped taking one, usually when her mood was particularly low, and she’d sometimes have to be careful with the timing of her showers, lest her parents yell at her for keeping them up with the water running.

Those days, even when she had nothing else going for her, the softness of her hair after a good wash was one source of pride for her. Even if it was an unruly thing that seemed to have a mind of its own, it was hers, and in its own way, it treated her well.

She looked around. What started as wandering aimlessly and hoping to sort out her thoughts turned into quite the tangled mess. Not unlike her hair, even when washed.

Rows of broken down buildings and old alleyways with thick, oil-like substances running through them. A few permeated a foul, vinegar and rotten meat smell, likely the remnants of where dumpsters once lay.

Behind her, where she had walked from, a couple of those beasts patrolled. Slow, but menacing. One paw in front of the other, and when they lifted up said paws, they folded like a curtsy until coming down. Through the hole at the tip of their closed-in petal faces was a hoarse, heavy huffing sound. It conjured up images of the snorting sounds pugs made.

Great. Now I’m comparing them to dogs as well.

Her right arm twitched. Their approach gave Null a sinking feeling in her chest, but as much as she dreaded having to go near such grotesque things, another side of her was excited.

“Go ahead,” Null muttered, glancing down at the sleeve on her right arm. A thick, goopy substance clutched the zipper and unzipped the side of Null’s sleeve. Sprung out from the sleeve emerged a long, curved, dripping blade. It hardened and grew as Null ran forward. Her heart, her mind, her legs, they wall told her to turn back. Hell, were it not for the slime’s needs, she just might have.

The two beasts crouched and readied themselves for an attack. Their petals opened up and emitted a sharp hissing sound as the folds danced about and saliva dripped between the sharp teeth of theirs.

Both leaped forward, aiming for each arm. Null, startled, leaped back and almost fell to the ground, but her right arm took control and slashed forward at one of the beast’s mouths, slicing it in half.

The other beast clamped down on Null’s left arm, the folds of its petaled head enveloping her.

“AAH! FUCK!” She cursed and tried to shake it off but the beast’s teeth refused to let go. In shock, she fell to the ground, pieces of rocks sticking to the fabric of her uniform in the process. At the same time, the needle-like teeth punctured through the fabric of her sleeve and little streams of blood trickled down. She hissed and began to feel dizzy, the movements of her shaking arm slowed.

Out of all the ways to die, she thought while crackling static floated through her mind. Consciousness slowly faded. But, in a last-ditch effort, her right arm swung and sliced the beast in half. Its back end fell to the ground. Her slime, desperate, zeroed in on the food in front of her and pulled Null forward until Null’s right fist found its way inside the beast’s innards. Within, it felt like plunging her hand into a thick bowl of gelatin colliding with little pieces of bone marrow and strange, curvy organs which reminded her of a rubber cushion.

Something sour began to find its way up Null’s throat and her eyes shot open wide.

“Urgh…” She hummed and tried to swallow the acidic substance back down. It burned through her, but she resisted the urge to spill it forth onto the ground.

By now, she was sure her left arm had went numb, as the beast’s head, even if it was lifeless, refused to let go. But her right arm, meanwhile, absorbed all the blood within the beast and the inner walls of the beast closed in until it was deflated. Only the bone marrow and dried up organs remained.

When Null pulled her right arm out, she saw that her fist was covered in the thick, wet, crimson substance she had become all too used to, as was her sleeve. However, when the slime retracted, her fist was void of any blood, and her sleeves, while carrying a slight brown-hued stain, looked dry as well. In a swift swoop, the slime returned to the shelter in her right arm and the sleeve of her uniform closed behind.

Dizzy and still on the ground, she tried making feeble motions with her left arm until the folds of the petals that were the beast’s head slid down and fell to the ground.

She too fell on her back and laid there. Her left arm, feeling hard as stone, strained her to move, but once she had it in front of her, she noticed the red puncture marks around her sleeve. Little bits of fabric torn clean off, and a trickling, wet redness.

“Here I thought something like this would be a cakewalk,” she mumbled, eyes closed. “Ugh. How am I going to explain this to Minnow?”

She remained there for what felt like several moments, however, not even three minutes passed when her rest was interrupted.

“You sure made fine work of my doggies, little lady,” Frou-Frou announced with a low, breathy voice.

She poked her head up, eyes open, and was startled to see the large figure in front of her, arms crossed, and with a disarming smirk.

“Um. I don’t know what you saw, but,” Null pushed herself up and stood with a slouch. “I was just walking. Your beasts attacked me, and, well, um...I guess maybe they sensed you were near and stopped? Yeah.”

“You can’t play dumb with me. Maybe that would work on that lady friend of yours, but me? I saw the whole thing.”

Frou-Frou snickered and that was when Null noticed the two beasts standing beside him.

“Heh. No wonder you two survived for so long. You two protecting each other? What a load of bull. If she hadn’t been traveling with a beast, she would have been long dead by now.”

“What are you talking about?” Null squinted.

“You didn’t know? She’s traveled with others before. Others who she let die to save her own skin. If it weren’t for you being a beast, she would have probably left you to die a long time ago.”

Null gulped as her heart leaped.

“So? I’ve done the same. That’s why I prefer being alone in the first place. Why should I be responsible for others’ lives when I never deserved to live in the first place?” Null’s creased brow was soon turning to a scowl, but she herself couldn’t understand why. “I’ve even told her that I’d gladly die if it meant she lived on, so why should hearing this change my mind about her?”

“You fool. But what else should I expect from a beast? Trying to mimic human behavior to gain sympathy so I’ll drop my guard? That won’t work on me.”

“What?! I’m not a beast! I’m…” Null couldn’t finish the thought.

What am I? She asked herself, but nothing conclusive came to mind.

“LIAR!” Frou-Frou roared. His face turned a fiery red. He snarled and snorted. “I SAW YOU! DON’T LIE TO ME!”

He was loud enough to knock the wind out of her and she took a step back, a cold sweat formed on her face.

This is wrong. I need to get out of here.

She turned and ran deeper into the city.

I’ll try to catch up with Minnow. We’ll run away together. We’ll --

“Dogs! Pin her down!” Frou-Frou commanded.

She stumbled and tripped over upon hearing those words but managed to regain her balance and keep moving. However, the speed of the dogs outran her and soon they leaped behind her and rammed their heads into her back, knocking her down on the ground where her face met the cracked pavement.

They stood over her arms and a couple more of the beasts Frou-Frou called ‘dogs’ ran in from around the corner.

The slime attached to her arm pulled itself out from Null’s sleeve and changed shape to its blade form.

Null gasped. Before, she still had plausible deniability. Not that she considered herself a beast at all, but in Frou-Frou’s eyes.

He drew closer. His footsteps, soft, but palpable, rang in her ears. She tried to shut her eyes tight, but it did nothing to stop those sounds. With the other two beasts next to her, they clamped their jaws down on her fingers.

“AAAAAAA --” Tears filled her eyes and she let out a blistering scream. She wondered if Minnow could hear from that far, but hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

Her slime tried to swing about, but couldn’t so much as get a scratch on the beasts while both of Null’s arms were pinned down. No matter how much Null tried to wriggle and struggle, she was trapped.

Before any relief could be found, he stood before her, boot raised, and dropped it down on her back. She wheezed, barely able to gasp, and it felt like her ribcage might have cracked. The tears flowed harder, as did the snot running down her nose.

“P-Please,” she squeezed the words not, not even sure if those words were intelligible.

Rather than answer her prayer, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a metal collar, then knelt down over her, opening the collar and clamping it around her neck.

“You can let go now,” he commanded his pet beasts. They stepped off, released their grip, and backed away.

Null struggled up, her insides feeling like broken glass, and she tried to swing her right arm forward towards two of the beasts. The second she did so, Frou-Frou reached into his front pocket and pulled out his remote. The dial turned on the shock collar and electric currents spread against her neck. With a blinding bright light, she convulsed, then fell back to the ground.

The shocks dissipated, but some still danced around while her hair stood on end.

Her limbs had gone numb, and in the midst of the shock, her slime had retreated back into her sleeve.

“You’ll make a good dog,” was the last thing Null heard before she blacked out.

Minnow spent the remainder of the day pacing around in the duplex.

She was sure Null said she wouldn’t leave without her, but then, why wasn’t Null back?

There was a box of saltine crackers in one of the cupboards. A blue box, with a picture of the very same crackers. Not one of the crackers pictured looked appealing, and the expiration date on the box was set for a year and a half ago.

Maybe she really did leave without me. Maybe she just told me that to reassure me. To make me feel better. But I get it. Maybe she heard about my prior experiences traveling with others, was disgusted with what she heard, and left the city on her own. Even if it wasn’t that, I know she never wanted to be here in the first place. I kept pressuring her. Making the decision for her. It was wrong. I just wanted us to have a safe haven, even for a little while. I was so tired…

But more than that, this must have been building up for a while. From the beginning, she never wanted to travel with me. I forced that on her. I know I’ve been a burden on her all this time. What have I done to help her feel better? Nothing. If anything, I’ve only constrained her. And for what? To satisfy my own loneliness? Did I ever really care for her or was I just desperate to be around someone who lasted longer than a few days around me?

She ripped open the boxes. She knew all too well what those thoughts were, and if she didn’t start occupying herself, they would only go on longer.

She tore through the plastic and grabbed a handful of crackers.

At first, she shoved a few in her mouth and crunched down while tears jerked out from her and strained her face. They were stale. Tasteless. Exactly the taste she needed.

They taste like nothing.

Wrong.

They taste like indigestion.

Her thoughts were still sour, but at least they were focused on the task at hand.

What turned to plowing down stale, expired crackers soon shifted to slow nibbling as she continued to sob.

“Please, Null...come back!” She cried.

As the sun began to set, she knew that too much time had past. She was still a wreck, yet she maintained some sliver of hope.

Maybe she got lost. Or maybe she’s upstairs.

She already checked upstairs earlier. Besides, if Null had come back, Minnow would have heard the front door open. Right?

Sunset shifted to dusk. The light of the living room was on and she walked over to the front window, scanned her eyes around outside.

No sign of life. No howling wind.

Maybe she’s still in the city. Maybe one of his dogs killed her. Maybe HE killed her. If that’s true, maybe her corpse is already in the fire. Maybe I’m too late. But even if that’s the case, I want to see her. And if she left the city, I want to…

She crawled over to the door.

When she awoke, indentations from the fuzzy living room carpet formed on her chin. Around her lips were the crumbs from the crackers she had binged down the night before. She faced the door, but wasn’t even near the stairs.

Exhaustion: she passed out before she could make her first move.

What if I’m too late, just like I’m always too late? She thought, but her expression wasn’t one of despair: simply glum.

Unsure of Null’s possible whereabouts, she pushed herself forward until she stood up. Off-balance, she wobbled. Her head still spun.

It took a moment, but she grabbed the basket which lay in the dining room since the day prior. Still in its same spot: still on the carpeted floor near the table.

Once it was in her clutches, she headed out the door. She couldn’t fathom what lay ahead, but she knew she’d have to face it sooner or later. If she was lucky, she would find Null. But without any indication of her whereabouts, the chances were grim.

She walked straight toward the exit. If she was wrong...no, that wasn’t the time to think about that.

As she drew near, a voice called out to her from behind. A voice she was both eager and dreading to hear:

“Hoho, looks like you decided to take my advice,” gloated Frou-Frou. The gate, again, looking like a shed, was close by, but it would have to wait. She turned, and her draw was just about ready to drop to the ground upon what she saw:

Standing by Frou-Frou’s side, with his large hand upon her shoulder, was Null, with a silver metal collar around her neck. In addition to Null were two of his dogs.

“What is the meaning of this?” Minnow’s heart raced as she asked.

“I saw her yesterday after our chat. I decided she’d make a great pet.”

Null’s head was hung low. She looked dejected. One could say it was a look Minnow was familiar with, but she would have rather that look been in any other context.

“Null. Please. Say something,” Minnow begged, her voice nearly a whimper. Null, however, was silent. She noticed brown marks on one sleeve of her uniform, while the other sleeve had several tiny red dots lined up. The middle of her uniform looked caked in dirt or debris. Her face was scratched up, blackened on her cheeks mixed with little lines of red. Her hands looked like they had turned purple, all scabbed up along the knuckles.

“What did you do to her?!” Minnow demanded.

“Be grateful I didn’t kill her. I saw her trying to approach one of my dogs. She broke the rules enough times as it is. Now, I suggest you leave,” Frou-Frou made little sweeping motions with his hand.

“Is this really what you want, Null? Please, say something!”

Null’s lips quivered, but her mouth didn’t open. Rather, Frou-Frou snapped.

“It doesn’t matter what she wants! Her life belongs to me now!”

Minnow scowled, but knowing how strong Null’s captor was and the resources at his disposal (not to mention the beasts he kept as pets), she knew she stood no chance, so her scowl soon gave way to a pouting expression.

She glanced over to her left. There was a whole row of buildings left unexplored, and surely abandoned. It wouldn’t matter if she was leaving, but…

“Before I go, may I take a walk around the city one last time?”

Frou-Frou raised an eyebrow, but smiled.

“Sure. I doubt you’ll find anything of interest, but go ahead.”

She took a bow before walking around the perimeter of the city. She made sure to stay close to the walls, but her eyes were fixed on the buildings nearby.

A few minutes later, she returned to the back gate where Frou-Frou and his entourage still stood.

“Satisfied?” He asked. His patience was wearing thin, but it didn’t matter. As long as she left, the rest of his day would be a breeze.

“Yes. Thank you,” she bowed once more. Before turning toward the door, she fixed her gaze on Null.

“I-It was a pleasure traveling with you,” she said, her voice shaking and on the verge of tears as she did so, “but it appears it’s time we went our separate ways.”

She forced a smile, then turned toward the door and made her exit, basket in hand.

[tearlessrain]

oh my god I just failed a perfectly successful stagecoach robbery because “Sean got injured.”

Sean got injured because as we were getting on our horses to split up and leave with the money, he wheeled around and slammed his little standardbred headfirst into my shire and went flying.

which is not out of character honestly but come on.

[introloves]

@virgoamajiki: hhnngggg no thoughts just boxer!bokuto fucking you senseless after seeing the other boxer he was supposed to fight that night flirting w/ u just to rile him up and throw him off his game.

— soft dom! bokuto + boxer! bokuto + mentions of harassment in the beginning + overstimulation / dumbification + size kink + comfort + praise + breath play + squirting + fluffy end + bokuto calls reader ‘puppy’ + f! reader

— word count; approx 2.6k

— part of my boxerverse! bokuto: one shot no. 1

he can’t blink back the images of you during the fight. the near deafening roars of his name all fadded into nothingness as he stalked towards his opponent- bokuto was dead set on putting him down.

the prick had really managed to get under his skin at the weigh in, picking you out- pointing directly at you and asking why you didn’t hop on over, he said you’d be better taken care of.

you’d sat there, wide eyed, clearly scared and taken back by his words. you only spared him a glance. instead turning with wide eyes at your boyfriend, now scared for the other man. frantic eyes shot up to look for his own- it was clear what you wanted, you looked scared and your face held a look that said;

“bo, please don’t.”

and usually, that look would disarm him completely- but not now- not now when he can see the way your eyes watered and lips trembled at the words.

he is sorry for not looking at you right away, sorry for not giving you the comfort you need-

but he’s not sorry for lunging over to the other side, barreling straight past staff that looked minuscule compared to his towering form. microphones clashing onto the floor with clear intent.

it’s complete chaos, bokutos manager grabbing him, holding him back down onto the seat, hissing in his ear that he’ll have a chance to go at him, “in the ring.”

you sit, dazed by the clamor and rapid snapping of cameras that bathe the two of you like a shower of pure light.

but he sits back down, hand clamped over your thigh, squeezing you, using your body as a stress ball. he can’t even look at his opponent, amber eyes focused on nothing more than your trembling knee- koutarou truly thinks he might kill him.

-

when he finally enters the ring, it doesn’t take long for the bastard to get dropped. its almost comical how short the match ends— usually bokuto would have put a little more show into it, letting him take a couple of hits before handling it, dragging it out to fluff his ego, showing everyone that he was the king, but not now.

as soon as his opponent is down, spread out on the white canvas- he steps once towards the body— pushed away by the referee in panic with the way he looms over him a little longer than necessary. the referee looking over at his teams side, shoving him back into his corner before calling the end of the match.

he lets his body get shoved into his corner, scoffing at the way the man lays there... pathetic.

bokuto doesnt even react to the roars of the crowd- walks past his team and into the locker rooms.

it feels like it takes forever to get back to you, normally you’d be at the ringside, but for this round he didn’t want you there and you not being able to do that, especially for a fight like this has you on edge. waiting for your koutarou to come home. the tension is almost suffocating when you finally hear the door slam closed.

you know hes not mad at you, thats not who the shake of the house is directed at. bokuto has always been a gentle giant with you— an overexcited, loving, and sweet giant.

he walks straight into the room, tugging off his shirt, shorts, leaving a trail of clothes as he makes a beeline right to you. there’s a deep want, need to have you, it feels like someone’s pressing down onto his chest- a tight ball of... anger and fear swirling around there.

it softens when he see’s you though, cuddled up on the bed, eyes lidded as you smile at him, welcoming him home. when he touches you, your body still warm from an almost sleep, he feels the sharp edges of anger melt away. there was no need for him to angry or scared at the words his opponent had thrown your way- he wasn’t the one about to fuck you to sleep... but the small tingle of fear and anger didn’t leave him completely.

“baby.” you murmur, hands outstretched to bring him into your space, the big body of his instantly melting down to your form, elbows perched on either side of your head- trapping you completely in.

“saw you drop him... first round.” voice heavy with lust and want, he was so strong and powerful and all yours. legs drop down onto the bed to let him in, ready for him, waiting for him.

“yeah, had to.” bokuto responds back, whispering it against your lips before he kisses you, licking into your mouth with heavy strokes of his tongue, all but tracing his name onto the front of your teeth.

“he scared you didnt he?” he growls, hissing at the way your heat wiggles to find his cock. bokuto shifts to hold the weight of his upper body on just one arm, slipping a hand down to tug your bottoms off.

“mhm.” you whimper back, gripping onto his shoulders, body jerking with every pull.

“did you see how i took care of him, pretty thing?” kou spits, pulse quickening at the wetness that meets his knuckle, trailing the back of his hand up your cunt before slipping a finger against your folds, splitting them open to briefly glance at your exposed pussy.

“fuck- course you did, thats why you’re so wet, huh?”

you cant really say anything, because he was right- seeing him knock that man out with one punch, straight to the jaw, sent heat flooding through your veins, proof of it formed in the shape of pure slick painting the outside of your cunt, between your thighs, pooling in your bottoms. its kinda silly, he knows what he does to you, knows you love watching him in his element, eyes hardened and face laxed in total concentration and an air of cockiness to him when he steps in the ring. he knows you love it, cause you’re always drooling into your panties when he comes to you after a match.

“real wet.” he marvels once more, sinking a finger all the way down to the knuckle and all you can do in response is open your legs wider, tilting yourself up to show him how ready and receptive you were for him.

“good girl.” his voice is tight and low- something like a growl with the way you move against his one finger. its enough to snap the string of self restraint he had, pure unbridled energy bouncing off him as he departs from you- just for a second, to kiss you harshly.

its a mix of tongue, spit, and teeth- strings of your passion still hanging from between the two as he leans back to look at your form, wiggling around in need of him.

its okay, he thinks, he’ll give you what you want.

and he does, doesn’t take long for him to grab the base of his thick and heavy cock, letting it slap against your cunt a couple times before squeezing the head of him inside- nice and snug. it makes him lightheaded, he cant think of anything but you- a fever crawls up his sculpted back, a need to just sink in and fuck you silly, but he wants something from you first.

“who do you belong to puppy?” he inquires gruffly, not moving an inch, watching the way you blink up at him through tears.

“w-what?” its sudden, your sweet and kind bo almost never talked like this in bed, it makes you salivate, a heat flushing down your back.

“c’mon- tell me who you belong to.” he hisses once more, splaying one of his big, strong, veiny hands across your chest, pushing down- locking you against the bed.

he still hasn’t moved, and the fluttering of your pussy down on the head of his dick makes him grunt- muscled stomach tensing with each one. he comes back to you- a little softer in the way his words sound, carrying that sweetness you know and love.

“please, tell me you’re mine.” he whispers, moving the hand that had you pinned down up towards your neck, rough callouses rubbing against the soft and sensitive skin there.

its a juxtaposition of kind, vulnerable words mixing in with the harsher movements of his strong hand curling against your airway, frantic in the need to hear it from you.

you know what he needs, and you’re more than happy to comply, wanting nothing more than to make him feel better. your hand moves up to wrap around his wrist, pulling him in close, eyes burning with hot tears forming there at the lack of blood- but you continue, till the next words are all but hissed, high and tight.

“yours, i’m all yours koutarou, my king.”

there isn’t anything he could have done to prepare for that, he stutters, chokes on the lust heavy in his chest, he feels like there’s molten want dripping down his veins- swirling into a tight ball at the pit of his stomach.

all he can do is rear back, hips lifting off you, popping the head of him out and you nearly whine, nearly ask him whats wrong before he slams down in one hard and desperate stroke, catching the skin of your cunt harshly, but its okay- there would have been no way you’d survive in a relationship with him if you didn’t like a little pain.

when his hips make contact with your cunt, puffy lips giving him cushion- he grinds down, smashing your clit down against his pubes.

eyes shut tight, a choked sob tumbling from your lips in response, head teetering back onto the bed.

“koutarou! fuck! fuck!” words high and staccato-ed are echoed out into the room, he feeds off the broken syllables of his name tumbling from your lips.

he looks at you while he squeezes his fingers against the thrum of your quickened pulse underneath his hand- watching your eyes roll back, the whites of them on clear display as lips part, a silent scream painted onto the moments of your face-

the bed groans, creaks with each crushing thrust he gives you, drilling you down into the bed.

“keep saying my name puppy, keep saying it.” he grunts looking at you with a feverish and concentrated gaze, affected in how well you stroke his ego, chest feeling incredibly full, the prickle of his orgasm starts, but there was /no/ way he’d come before his baby.

the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your throat sweeps down your arching body until his thumb finds your twitching clit- immediately pressing down on it with enough force that his thumb turns white. it rips a scream straight from the center of your chest and your body starts seizing up.

he huffs out a laugh when he sees the way your hips cant up off the bedding- it nearly pushes him back, but he stays unwavering, following the movement of your spasming body.

“koutarou!” his name leaves your mouth in the form of a wail while he batters your cunt, you don’t even know you’re moving the way you are- hands falling to rest pitifully against your head.

“ah- that’s my girl.” bokuto beams, seeing the splash of your cum arch all the way up to hit his tummy- abs glistening with every contraction as his hips drill into you- he gives in, taking the thumb that had been squeezing your clit down onto your body and sticking it into his mouth, watching you with lidded eyes as he licks the cum off his hand, all while keeping your neck pinned down and chasing the frantic movements of your hips.

there’s no immediate reaction from you when he picks up your legs- weak with the strain you’ve put them under, and folds them up to your chest.

the only thing you do is intake a lungful of air, dazed eyes looking up at him- not knowing how he got so close to your face.

it’s the first slap of his heavy balls against your ass that makes you come back from it all-

“p-please!!” you cry, eyes wide. the force of him still pistoning into you makes your body bounce off the shaking bed, and thanks to the squirting orgasm he fucked out of you with his thick cock- building a near searing sensitivity into the walls of your cunt and clit, you cum once more. it’s the final break into a headspace that has you twitch and flail your legs, wiggling against the hold of his arms.

“yeah- good girl.” bokuto grits out, a bead of sweat drips off his face onto your own, and thankfully- it’s what he needs to cum. his eyes are frantic as he watches you- swollen lips, face turned relaxed as you squeeze down around him, looking like the image of fucked stupid.

with the a final resounding smack of his hips into you, his cock jumps, swelling, growing snug inside you before he dumps an almost obscene amount of cum into you.

small twitches of your body lets him know you feel it, his head falls down to land against your chest, keeping you folded as he grits his teeth.

it takes rapid, hard blinks of his eyes to not let tears fall down onto his face. he’s shaky as he finally sits back up, making sure to bring your thighs down gently.

“kou-“ you choke out, looking for him-

he responds by finding your limp hands, still lying up by your head- slotting thick fingers and broad hands into your own.

“‘m right here.” koutarou nearly wheezes out, still reeling from an orgasm that he can still feel.

“that felt good.” your voice is airy and sweet- pitchy and laced with love.

for the second time that night- he laughs, shaking his head while he slips his softened cock out of you.

he picks you up, scooping your trembling form into swollen muscles- keeping you nice and tight against a hard torso.

“you make me feel good.” he whispers into your hair, not caring about the trail of hot cum that leaks out of your fucked out cunt, trails of it running down his leg while he places you on his chest, laying the both of you down.

holding you tight like this, sweat mingling together, residue of cum and tears painting eachothers bodies- he knows there was nothing he should have ever been worried about.

he didn’t have to worry about protecting or loosing you- bodies intertwined, locked into one another proved that you took care of him, gentle hands tracing your name onto the skin of his chest.

“i’m all yours koutarou.” you whisper, nearly falling into the heaviness of sleep.

he once again blinks back the need to cry- he could take all the punches in the world, not even blink, but he was so weak for you.

“yeah... i’m all yours too.” his voice is tender, shaky with emotion, arms squeezing around you tight.

he really was.

[aspiringauthorintraining]

A Fateful Encounter (5/?)

“Master Howl!”

You froze up at the sound of the castle’s owner entering the door. A faint trace of gunpowder and ash entered into the air, mixing in with the smell of bacon and eggs cooking. 

“The King’s messengers were here- they said you have to report to the palace as both Pendragon and Jenkins.”

Trying not to panic as the sound of the wizard’s footsteps grew closer to where you were, your head remained down with your eyes focused on the frying pan. You could see Calcifer taking a glance at the new figure beside you for a brief moment, before looking away disinterestedly. 

“Calcifer,” Howl’s tired voice sounded surprised, “you’re being so obedient.”

“No, I’m just proving how wrong sh- wait a minute!” Calcifer gasped. “You tricked me!”

You shrugged your shoulders, ignoring the look of betrayal thrown your way from the fire demon. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” you replied innocently. “I never forced you to do anything.”

“B-but, you…Still! You tricked me!” the fire demon whined.

A deep chuckle was heard from beside you.

“Even so, not just anyone can do that.”

When the wizard’s attention turned to you, all you could do was put every ounce of your attention into cooking the bacon and eggs; acting as if it was the most interesting thing in the world to you.

Outwardly, you were calm and composed- but internally, your mind was in a state of panic and chaos. What were you supposed to do? How were you supposed to act? Should you address how he had mistaken you for Sophie previously? 

You considered the thought of just ignoring him and acting like you couldn’t see him. However, your conscious happened to suddenly chime in to remind you of the fact that you had spent the night in the man’s own house without his permission. 

Perhaps you could just flee out the door in the next second? The story was progressing just fine without your interference, right? Sophie and Howl were bound to fall in love eventually, and who were you to play Cupid? Technically speaking, you weren’t supposed to be in the story at all, so you would be doing them a favor by leaving. 

“We meet again.” The baritone voice sounded from beside you, interrupting your inner tumultuous dialogue. “I had a feeling we would see each other again.”

Ultimately your conscious won the argument of not abandoning your dear friend, and also that Sophie would kill you if you were to do so, you sighed silently in your head. You braced yourself for a brief second, before looking up to meet his gaze. 

“Oh, uh…yes?” you responded, inwardly cringing at your choice of words. But once you finally met his eyes, a frown made its way onto your face.

It really isn’t fair him to be this handsome. 

You had to wonder if the man knew what his face did to people. But then again, you were talking about Howl here- the world’s biggest narcissist.

You couldn’t help yourself from taking in every feature of his face, and Howl looked nothing but pleased to see you do so. The grin on his lips soon turned into a smirk once he realized how long you had been staring at him for.

“Bacon’s burning.” Calcifer muttered, interrupting the interaction between the two of you.

“Oh thank God.” you whispered under your breath, tearing your eyes away from his sapphire ones. You probably might have ended up staring longer if it hadn’t been for Calcifer.

Snapping your attention back to the fire demon and the frying pan, you quickly moved the pan off of him.

You breathed a sigh of relief noting that only one of the pieces had begun to burn slightly; feeding it to the awaiting open mouth of the grumbling flame. 

“Markl, can you get the plates?” you asked over your shoulder, grasping the heavy frying pan handle with two hands. 

“Give that to me, sweetheart.” 

You could only comply with his words, as he brushed up against your side with no warning, enveloping your hands on with his before taking it from your grip. 

Was he trying to woo you? Cause it was working...

“Wait a second, you’re all gonna eat, while I do all the work?” Calcifer shouted from behind.

You looked back the fire with a look of pity. 

“I’ll go find some extra fresh logs for you later, alright?” you offered the disgruntled fire demon, before making your way over to the table with the others.

_____________

“So, what brings you two beautiful ladies to my castle?”

Sophie’s eyes widened, still a bit timid in front of the wizard, before looking to you hoping you’d answer instead. But you hadn’t even heard the question, too occupied with watching Markl devour his meal in fascination. 

When you felt an elbow to your side, you looked at your friend with a confused look. Sophie responded by pointing her head repeatedly to the wizard across the table, giving you a panicked look.

“(Y/N), why don’t you explain why we’re here?”

“Oh, I sprained my ankle and Calcifer let us in for the night.” You explained as you cut into a piece of bacon.

“Are you in any pain still?” Howl asked a bit concerned. 

You waved off his worry. “It doesn’t hurt anymore-“

Wait. 

Sophie needed to stay at the castle in order for her and Howl to fall in love, but she would definitely want to leave right after breakfast if she knew your ankle was completely healed now.

“-but still far from painless.” you finished with a frown. “I actually think it’ll be a while until it’s completely healed.”

“You were walking just fi-“

“Would it be too much to ask to stay for a while longer? Just until my ankle’s fully healed, of course.” you quickly interrupted your friend, giving the wizard a hopeful look. 

“(Y/N)!” Sophie exclaimed from beside you with a piercing glare.

You’ll thank me later for this.

“We wouldn’t take advantage of your hospitality, though. We can do the cooking and cleaning during our stay here.” you proposed gladly, trying to ignore the glaring daggers from the woman next to you.

Howl smirked in response to your proposal. “What makes you think I need a cook and cleaning lady?”

You deadpanned at what you hoped to be him joking. “I don’t mean to be rude, but have you seen the place?” you gestured to the castle’s interior. “You can’t look at this place and tell me you’re not affected by it. Not to mention, there’s a child living here.” you pointed out. “Look at the poor boy eating like he hasn’t had food in days. This is no place to raise a child in.”

You narrowly missed the elbow jutted at your side by your friend who had been first, completely blindsided by you, and second, now insulting the castle of the powerful wizard while eating breakfast in the said castle.

“Sophie agrees with me- right, Sophie?” 

“Yes. Please. I insist.” Sophie smiled tightly, gritting her teeth. She then turned to you with a big smile, that kind of freaked you out. “But since my dear friend has trouble walking at all, I don’t think she should do anything that requires movement.”

“Wait, what?” you were suddenly confused.

“Your friend is right.” Howl agreed. “It would be best to stay away from any physical activities in the interest of your ankle. I am the need of an assistant anyways to sort out my affairs while I’m away from the castle.”

“You do?” Markl asked with a mouth full of bacon.

“Perfect!” Sophie clapped her hands. “It’s settled then. I will do the cleaning and (Y/N) here will be your personal assistant.”

Maybe Howl didn’t need his curse broken. He seemed to be doing just fine. Best if you and Sophie just left after breakfast. Or maybe just you, Sophie was a big girl. She could decide for herself what to do. 

“You know, now that I think about it, I think my ankle is feeling much better-“ 

Your confession was drowned out by the sound of Howl pushing back his chair, standing up with his plate in hand.

“Welcome to the castle, ladies.” he smiled, eyes lingering on you for a second longer. “I’m afraid I have things to take care of so excuse me, my friends. Please, continue your meals.” 

Walking over to Calcifer, he dropped the remainder of food on his plate into the fire demon’s open wide mouth before giving out instructions to move the castle and heading upstairs for his bath.

When you looked back at Sophie with a questioning look, she merely returned the same innocent smile you had given her moments before.

________________________

*(A/N): sorry for the late update! I was working on the rough draft and editing it a while back and it got lost so I had to start the whole thing over again. I kind forgot the edits I made and so it took me a while to rewrite the whole thing. thank you for reading and let me know what y'all think :)

[dienamights]

Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s):  Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date. 

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.” 

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to- 

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?” 

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now. 

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her. 

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week. 

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No!  He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.” 

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario. 

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,” 

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-” 

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.” 

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight. 

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it. 

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?” 

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high. 

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a  shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly. 

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you. 

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed. 

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

[mochikeiji]

Enough For Me

Request: "Congratulations on 1k!!! you deserve it, you’re a really good writer. Can i request prompt 12 “please don’t cry” angst to fluff with yuuta from jjk. thank you, congrats."

12. "please, don't cry."

↠ Pairing: Okkotsu Yuta x Reader

↠ Warning: angst to fluff

↬ Word Count: 1.5k

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event

When did every thing become so loud?

One minute you were similing. Laughing loud with a hint of the obvious enjoyment masked on your features. Then second you're staring to nowhere but silence greeting you. An expression so dim that the light in your eyes wasn't present as well. Left at the forest training grounds, the others had already gone back to their dorms. You told them you were staying for a bit for extra training when in reality, you were looking for an outlet without anyone witnessing your hour of vulnerability.

Stupid clan and their elders. As disrespectful as it may sound, you understood now why Gojo despises them. Loud it was to the point it deafens your ears; the murmurs of a child cast away from the bloodline because of the mockery it holds. A no good sorcerer was never welcome in families like yours. People would still chew on your head even when you have your backs turned on them. So frustrating it was to shoulder a burden of their devilish gossip and expectations.

At first it was alright. You handled it well. But to the extent where one of the higher ups brought it up during a meeting? How many people know of you and the disappointment you carry?

Gojo had his fist clenched that day. Maki understood you more than anyone, having to be someone who ran away from her clan as well. Inumaki and Panda did their best in comforting you, telling you that humans are weird to drag other humans down when they're the same race. That was just being so entitled, said Panda. You however, convinced your comrades you were fine. You were used to it. And it was fine.

It didn't matter what other's say as long as other's knew you for what you weren't, right?

That doesn't mean you couldn't help but become overwhelmed of the impact they had on you. Like knives forcefully shoved their ways through your heart. The pack of negative energy should've been enough to form a large curse that could take you.

Loud it was indeed. To have so many people shit their way into your life when you only wanted to live yours and not bother theirs.

You gulped down the heavy lump in your throat. Caught up in the fog of profanities from the world. Who were you kidding, you weren't Maki who can handle all this thrown at her. Tumbling and falling, that was all you knew about yourself in your whole life. The nails that grip in your palms pierced through the skin as blood trickles down, no amount of pain could level the amount of pent up emotions you buried in your heart.

Perhaps you've were born in the wrong time and place. If only you were a simple civilian, maybe life wouldn't be so bad. A loving family would be there, instead of the ones that were throwing their unfulfilled dreams to their children and controlling of their destiny.

The look in your mother's eyes will forever haunt you. Looking already as tired as you were, her eyes spoke more emotion than you could ever endure as loveless, empty ones met your teary gaze that very day.

"I only wanted a daughter who could've done so much for me as I've given her life after birth."

Your heart throbs, soon you were down on the dirt covered ground on your knees. The weight of her words colliding in the world you swore was a safe space for you. It shouldn't matter. Not when they've cast you away and yet, no matter what there is, she was still your mother.

And still the pain is as fresh as ever coming from the one you used to call, "family."

As loud as your world was, your cries were louder and clearer this very night. As if with all your might, you wanted to scream from above on how this was truly unfair. Wanting someone— anyone to hear you curse at the world you were forced to live in. It hurts your lungs, it was indeed hard to grasp small bits of oxygen when your insides felt like they were shrinking from the compact.

You wish you could scream at your mother that deep inside you still loved her. Even as a child who never received the motherly love they deserved, you loved her dearly. It was by instincts and the remains of your vision as a baby, being held in someone arms in hushing your cries.

The surface felt so firm unlike you remembered how it was when you were young. Yet the warm embrace felt nostalgic as it shielded you from the cold blistering wind of the night, you find yourself searching against the surface without a care of any danger or anything anymore. You wanted to be comforted for once. To not feel alone.

"Please don't cry."

Small hushes drowned out your sobs, an arm wrapped firmly around your waist while the other pets your head at the outmost caring matter. Curling closer, your hand held the one on top of your head. Taking in the rough texture, but reminding yourself that someone was now here in your time of need. Here after being away most of the times.

"Yeah, it's me." sensing your troubles as he averts his gaze away from you as if he was embarrassed. "I heard what happened. I managed to finish up much just to get here." next to him was the blade he carries around. Probably less hazardous as to why he place it down.

"Yuta.." sobbing as you clutched on the white material he wore. He immediately reverts back to soothing you in your distressed state. Something about the way he holds you only made you tear up more. It broke his heart in pieces to see you hold onto him as if he was the only person left to anchor yourself. And here he thought he had it worse back then, your body language brought this resemblance to the girl he used to hold just as he was doing now.

"Shh, I promise you that none of those words said about you is true."

Easier said, he knew that. It was easy to reassure someone of their thoughts, but it's not that easy to erase. The mind is a wondrous and torturous place to be in. Old memories can be dug out to the surface and you'd still feel the emotion like it just happened yesterday. Oh if you had Yuta's vision of you, you'd believe in his words.

A strong role model like you is exactly the reason why Yuta aims to be the strongest as well. To help people realize that strength isn't found in the words of other human beings, but within yourself. Yes, it's a harsh world we live in. Those who feel lowly amongst themselves would drag those above them. And those who feel the surge of entitlement snarls at those below them.

But no matter who it is that doubts you, and your potentials, there would always be someone behind you, with the glimmer in their eyes, you are their hope and inspiration in some ways.

That is what Yuta murmurs next to your ear, your cries now subsided to focus on his voice. "You're doing great. We've seen it. I've seen it." facing you with his boyish smiles, you wondered how'd this guy who came looking like a ragged mess become someone twinkling brighter than the stars above the night sky. It was contagious, it made you smile so minimal.

"There's that pretty smile." chuckling, he pats your head softly like treating a little kid. Yuta knows deep down that he can't fully resolve the thoughts inside of you— one of these days you'll have these moments again. And it saddens him because he's often away from you. Yet he's breathless at the fact that you're able to hold yourself off with all these tormenting you.

"You're amazing, darling." came out lower than a whisper before his lips closed in with yours. Last time he kissed you boy was he sweating buckets. He wasn't even as bold as now to be able to initiate first and pull you flush against his chest. But the erratic pace of his heart still was the same as ever. The loudness that had clouded you vanished. All you could hear now were pleasant chorus played by the crickets of the night and the wind lacing together throughout the atmosphere.

He promises to do much more with you for the time being. Help you mend the wounds no one can see and assist with the battles you two could only share and understand. One day as he stated before he would walk through the doors of your clan and prove to them that you were the diamond in the rough they've thrown but he's found.

You were his own butterfly. Beautiful to his eyes, you bestowed your wings; and to yours you cannot see but for people to admire.

"Give yourself more credit. You've done so much, my love."

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[jaycewrites-192000]

You're Grounded Pt. 2

Summery: Smiley and Angry's little sister is still grounded, only this time...things go differently.

Part One Here

Rating: SFW

Pairing(s): Platonic!Nahoya Kawata x Platonic!Little Sister Reader x Platonic!Souya Kawata

(Still no incest my dudes)

Also spoilers for episode 20-21!!

One week had passed, and ever since you were stuck in your room, only allowed to come out to go to school, to eat, and bathroom breaks. Other than that, no luck getting out from your little prison. And you were warned to not sneak out again, or another week would be added. You didn't bother trying, as much as you hate to admit it, your brothers were smarter than they looked. They knew every move you would make and would do everything in their power to stop you.

However, you were allowed to have your phone back. They were s confident that if you were to try and call for backup, they would stop it from happening. You made the best of it though, at least you had someone to talk to now. Emma wanted an explanation as to where you had disappeared to lately and you told her you were grounded, well, double grounded now. When she asked why, you hesitated to tell her. But you did, after she promised not to tell Smiley and Angry of course. She did say that you should tell them why you started that fight in the first place, but...it was a bit more complicated than that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So, here you were, in your room looking blankly at your door. Every now and then Smiley or Angry, or both of them, would come and check to see if you were still there. Speaking of, your door opened, Angry walked in this time. "Right on time, big brother." You mutter, not bothering to look at him. "Smiley had to run out somewhere real quick. So, I'm gonna stay here until he gets back." He leans against the door after he shut it.

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes. The silence between you two was heavy with tension and awkwardness.

"...Sorry about before. But you really shouldn't have tricked us like that." You didn't respond. "Come on. You're acting childish."

"I am a child dummy. And so are you, so stop acting like your our mother." You glared at him. "Oh, and you wanna talk being childish? You two get into fights every fucking day, and you two rarely ever get punished for it! So how come I get double grounded!?"

"You get double grounded for sneaking out. And you shouldn't be getting into fights at all. As for us, it's different." Angry explained as calmly as he could. "That's bullshit and you know it!" You snapped. "You wouldn't be saying any of this if I were in the same gang as you two!"

"You won't be joining any gangs of any kind!" Angry finally snapped back. It was rare that he would ever raise his voice at you, so you were at a loss for words. Once he saw your shocked face he toned it down. "Just...don't do it again. Please Y/n, you shouldn't be fighting."

And then came more silence. You and Angry never liked whenever there would be a fight between all three of you. But tension had build up ever since you got into that stupid fight. And honestly, you knew that it didn't need to happen but after what happened...after what those jackasses said...What choice did you have?

"Why did you do it anyway?" Angry asks, making you look up from your bed. You opened your mouth to answer, but shut it before looking away again. "Does it really matter?" You asked. "It's done. Nothing I can do about it now."

Before Angry could respond, Smiley walked in. "Heeey, she try to get out again?" He asked. "No..." Angry shook his head. "But she's hiding something." You shot him a glare. "Oh, so we're telling lies now?"

"I don't know, are we?" Angry turned to his brother. "When has Y/n ever started a fight? She rarely gets into fights, and normally she isn't the one to start some shit." Smiley nods his head at his brother's words. "That's a good point. So, wanna talk to us like a big girl?"

"No. Get out." You tell them sternly. "Too bad!" Smiley hopped on your bed and sat beside you. "Better start talking sis."

"Or what?" You challenged. Smiley's grin deepened. "Or else your double grounding will turn into a triple grounding." He tells you. "What!? How's that fair!?" Smiley shrugs. "Just is. Now spill." You resisted the urge to slug your annoying peach hair older brother in the jaw before sighing heavily. "You really wanna know? Fine. I started that fight because some asshole was talking shit about you two! Happy?"

Smiley and Angry looked at each other before turning back to you. "You started a fight because of that?" Angry asks. You furrow your brow in frustration. "It's more than that...they called you guys a smiling freak and a whinny crybaby. They also talked shit about Toman. And when I confronted them about it...they said I couldn't do a thing without my brothers there to protect me...that I was just a weak little girl who needed to stay out of other's way...So, I punched their lights out." You didn't notice you were crying until the end of it.

"I wouldn't have hit them if they would have just apologized and kept their mouths shut." You say with a sniffle. It was quiet until Smiley started laughing. "Man! You went and defended ours and Toman's honor? You really are the best little sister." He pets your head. "Huh?" You look up at him confused. "That was nice of you Y/n, but you didn't need to get hurt over us." Angry made his way over to you.

"W-well they were hurt way more than me." You told him. "I handled it didn't I?"

"Yes but, still. You're safety matters to us way more than a few insults thrown at us. Next time that happens, tell us."

"Yeah! We'll beat the fuck out of them so you don't get in trouble like you did." Smiley added. "Don't be like your dumbass older brothers Y/n. You're going places you know? Don't waste it on fighting like a gangster."

"But you guys are in a gang..." You mutter. "Don't get any ideas Y/n." Said Smiley, despite his smile, he was serious. "We wouldn't know what to do if you were hurt or worse. Just be our tough little sis outside of a gang ok?" You pout slightly but nod anyway. You did consider joining Toman, somehow. Your brothers inspired you in more than one way, and being in a gang was one of them. Not just any gang, a real gang. "The new age of delinquents" as Mikey put it.

It sounded so cool when you heard about it, and you wanted so desperately to be by your brothers side when it finally happens. But it wasn't always cool and badass, after Darken nearly dying and Baji's death, it dawned on you just how dangerous joining a gang could be. And Smiley and Angry be damned if they let their little sister be murdered and they couldn't prevent it.

You didn't know Draken and Baji on a personal level like everyone else in Touman did, but they were so kind to you whenever you were around. Baji even joked that you were like Toman's little sister. His death left a hole in the hearts of Toman, including yours...

"I won't get into anymore fights, but you guys have to promise me something too." Smiley and Angry waited for your word. "Promise me...that you'll be careful and promise me, you guys won't leave us like Baji did..."

The next thing you knew, your brothers were enveloping you in their embrace. "And leave you all alone? No way in hell." Smiley said softly. "We're not going anywhere." Said Angry. You sniffled but managed to smile. "Good. I might say I don't want you around, but you guys are all I got. So ignore me whenever I might say it again, ok?"

"Sure thing." Smiley chuckled. "Oh by the way, you're ungrounded."

You perk up. "Double ungrounded?"

"Yep. Double ungrounded. But you better not go start shit with anyone again, got it?"

"Got it." You giggle.

"Good. Now let's get out of here. I bet you're bored right?" Smiley asked as the three of you left your room. "Bored as fuck."

"There's a new arcade that just opened up. Should we go there?" Angry asked. " Hell yeah!" You and Smiley say in unison.

You still have no idea how you got so lucky as to get ungrounded like you did, but you had a feeling your brothers were never going to punish you as harshly as they did before.

Maybe...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(So I was thinking of making like a little kawata sister series? Idk how well that would play out or how it will be done/written but yeah, stay tuned if that interests you)

[aslitheryprinx]

For the ask game. "You trust me?"

CW: mild blood, violence, and war; fear and panic; platonic protective vore.

------

You Trust Me?

------

Technoblade woke up in the middle of a battlefield.

He was on his feet, and he had to raise the sword clutched in his hands to block a strike.

He could taste blood in his mouth, heavy like iron. He didn't know if it was his or not.

It wasn't the first time he'd come to consciousness in a battlefield. He'd lost himself to the voices many times, waking up in a field of carnage.

He could smell it too. The scent choked him, thick and metallic. Every breath brought a fresh wave of the smell.

Usually, he wasn't still fighting when Chat lost control of his body. It was very rare to be thrown into an ongoing fight. Their bloodlust usually kept them in control until there was nothing left to kill.

It was too quiet for an active battlefield. There was no shouting or screaming. Not a single voice. Only the clashing of blades and sickening sounds of swords piercing flesh.

Techno didn't enjoy being unaware while he fought. But being awake now, and Chat's silence was not a good sign. They were exhausted; a battle too much for his voices to handle was not one he particularly wanted to be a part of. Not that he had a choice. The attackers swarming him hadn't slowed once since he woke up.

His back was pressed against something. For a moment he thought it might be a tree or wall. Then he felt the movement and the brush of feathers against his sides.

"Phil?" He asked. There was a small jerk of the wings at his back.

"Techno," Phil confirmed. He sounded exhausted, which was an even worse sign than Chat being spent.

"What have we gotten into Phil?" He asked his best friend, unable to keep the tension out of his voice.

"You remember joining the army against the Western Kingdom?" Phil asked him between grunts as he fought his own opponents.

"Nope," Techno answered. A sword grazed his arm and he winced. His body was littered with slight grazes, and one particularly deep wound.

Techno was a disciple, the Vessel of the Blood God. It would take far more to kill him than an ordinary person. But, despite the legends, he could be killed. The endless waves of enemies, and apparent lack of allies save Phil was not doing much for his confidence.

"Hey Phil?" He asked.

"Yeah mate?"

"Where's our half of the army?" He didn't think the statement sounded as dryly humourous as he'd intended. He didn't think he was going to like the answer.

Phil chuckled darkly.

"You should take a closer look at the things we've been cutting down," death's disciple said.

In his defense, waking up from Chat's control was always disorienting. For the first time, Techno examined what exactly he was fighting. His stomach dropped.

Not a single person on the field was actually alive. He and Phil were fighting wave after wave of reanimated corpses.

"Necromancers?" Techno asked shortly. He felt Phil nodding, and winced.

He could put what must have happened together from that. Two armies meeting on the field, with gods know how many necromancers ready to bring any felled warriors back for more, whatever side they'd originally been on. Now, only Techno and Phil were left, and every soldier of two armies was swarming them.

"It's not looking good, Phil," Techno said after a few moments. Normally he'd never admit that he felt in over his head. But with nobody here but Phil? He might as well.

There was a long silence from his oldest and only friend. When Phil spoke again, his voice was dark, far more serious than he usually was.

"Do you trust me, Technoblade?" The tone and use of his full name had Techno instantly on edge. If Phil had a plan, he'd follow it to the end. Even if it meant both of their deaths.

"Always, Phil," he replied instantly.

"Thank you," Phil replied, and then there was a hand on his back and the world around him exploded into light.

His ears were ringing. It was hard to focus on anything, but he was vaguely aware of the hand behind him expanding. Or maybe he was shrinking, he had no idea.

There was pressure all around him, and he was suddenly lifted off his feet. Only the knowledge that whatever was happening was Phil's doing kept his sword still at his side.

The pressure released, and the ringing and brightness slowly faded. Techno blinked, and took in his surroundings.

He was sitting in an enormous hand. Fingers several feet long stretched above him. As he looked past, his stomach dropped.

It was Phil… but not quite. Besides being utterly massive now, Philza's face was now glowing with an unearthly light. Rings floated around his head, as did a second pair of wings. All around Philza's head were eyes. They were incorporeal, but focused on him nonetheless.

Techno was a disciple. He knew exactly what he was seeing. This was a god.

There had been rumors that the Angel of Death was more than just a disciple. That he was a god in his own right. But there were rumors like that about Techno too. He'd dismissed both with amusement. Gods didn't walk the earth.

Apparently one did.

As a disciple, Techno could sense the massive power in the being before him. Why he'd never felt this from Phil before, he didn't know. But it was unmistakable.

He was so used to being more powerful than most people he met, and equal to the rest. But he knew, down to his bones, that Phil was more powerful than he could ever hope to be. It was like holding a match up to the sun.

He was in the presence, the hands of a god. He'd forgotten what panicking felt like.

"Techno," Philza said, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. His voice was layered, and Techno could feel the power from just a single word. But still, he spoke gently, and a little of Techno's fear faded.

"Do you trust me?" The god repeated.

After a moment of hesitation, Techno nodded. He may be a god, a terrifying one but.. he was still Phil. A finger as big as he was brushed up against his side, and he jumped.

"Do you trust me to keep you safe, to protect you?" Phil asked him, staring like he was reading his soul. Techno couldn't look away from his ancient eyes. His heart was pounding, but he trusted Phil with his life.

"Yes," he said. It came out a whisper, but Phil still heard. The massive being smiled, just a little.

"Thank you, old friend," the god said. Techno was lifted a little higher, directly in front of Phil's face. The god spoke gently. "Now, do your best not to panic."

And his lips parted, and Techno was being placed inside of his friend's mouth. Despite the warning, Techno couldn't help the instinctual terror he felt.

Was Phil going to eat him?!

But no. Phil was a god, and more powerful than Techno could understand. Phil was also his friend. And he trusted Phil to protect him.

Techno squeezed his eyes shut and didn't fight as a massive tongue curled around him. His pulse spiked, and his breathing picked up, but he forced himself to stay still.

Inside Phil's mouth was warm, almost stifling. Everything was damp and sticky. The tongue beneath him was soft, but he was pressed up against the hard pallet of Phil's mouth as he was covered in saliva. It was disgusting, though strangely not the grossest thing Techno had ever experienced.

After several seconds of being gently pushed around in his friend's mouth- in a god's mouth- Techno was nudged backwards. His breath hitched a little. So Phil really was going to swallow him, it was really happening. His resolve wavered for a moment, but he forced himself to take deep breaths.

He trusted Phil. He trusted him. Phil wouldn't hurt him.

Phil pushed him back, and he was at the entrance of the throat. Suddenly, there was a swallow, the sound all around him and terrifyingly loud. He was pressed the rest of the way into Phil's throat, and pulled down.

There was tight pressure all around him, too tight. Techno couldn't help but struggle at the feeling, but it only lasted a couple of seconds. He fell into a more open space, though he was still surrounded on all sides by warm walls.

He hesitantly leaned against the walls of… the stomach. He could hear the whoosh of Phil's lungs as he breathed. He could hear the deep thrumming of his best friend's heart, much slower than his own, which was still beating too quickly.

Phil had really eaten him. He was torn between panic and the knowledge that Phil wouldn't hurt him.

"Phil?" He asked, his confusion and anxiety bleeding into his voice.

"You're alright, mate," Phil soothed. His voice echoed from all around Techno, making him jump. "You'll be safe in there. I promise."

At Phil's reassurance, Techno's nerves slipped away. He let the tension in his muscles loosen, and curled up. It was surprisingly comfortable in Phil's stomach. The steady breaths were easy to match, and his heartbeat slowly started syncing up with Phil's.

"I'll take care of this," Phil said, a hard edge in his voice.

There was power gathering. Even from within Phil's stomach, Techno could feel it. He felt the otherworldly sensation in the air, making the hairs on his arms stand up.

Then, the power released, and he felt the world shaking. All sounds outside fell completely silent. Not even the wind blew.

Techno knew with sudden certainty that the field had been completely vaporized. He shuddered a little. No wonder Phil had put him here. If the full powers of a god had been unleashed while he was still in the open, he wouldn't have survived.

Something pressed against where he was leaning. Phil's hand, he guessed. He placed a hand against his friend's stomach, although he wasn't sure it could be felt.

"Thank you for trusting me," the god, his friend said. A small smile appeared on Techno's face.

"For you, Phil, the world."

[wearywinchester]

Regrets

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight leaves you both having some regrets, a little space brings some clarity.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angsts, injury, mentions of death, guilt, comfort, fluff

The tension swirling around in the car was nearly unbearable, thick and heavy as you sat pressed to the passenger side door. You’d been doing it out of spite for the older Winchester, feeding off each other’s anger, each other’s huffs and puffs. He’d noticed just how far away you were sitting and it had him tensing his jaw because he knew exactly what you were doing and it was working.

It was working and he absolutely wouldn’t admit it.

The hunt had gone all kinds of wrong, couldn’t have gone worse apart from one of you dying. Actually, you almost did and that was the problem. That was every bit Dean’s problem and the very thought of it sent his anger from a simmer to a boil in the pit of his stomach every time it crossed his mind. To be more specific, it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about this whole time. But in true Dean Winchester fashion, the fear and concern eating away at him didn’t come out so clearly.

His vulnerability was mostly expressed through anger. Yelling and shutting down, mumbling strings of curses— it was anger in its truest form just to hide how scared he really is.

It was quiet, no radio no nothing save for the occasional clear of his throat or a heavy exhale coming from either one of you. It was quiet and you couldn’t wait to get out of that car, couldn’t wait to be back at the and take up residence in your room, maybe even one of the spares just to be farther from him. You have plenty of them to choose from. You felt like you’d scream if you spent even so much as another ten minutes with him.

You’d gotten hurt that day, gotten hurt and it wasn’t unlike other times. It wasn’t ideal how the hunt should have gone, ideally you wouldn’t have been a ghost’s kebab as she stuck her hand right through you and around your heart. Ideally you wouldn’t have been thrown against a wall without care for where you landed by Casper the unfriendly ghost. You almost sealed your fate that day all for the sake of getting the job done. All for the sake of saving lives.

That was his problem.

But, his problem wasn’t expressed in the best of ways. It was expressed in shouts and running his hand through his hair, in telling you he never wants you hunting again and a tightly clenched jaw. You argued back and forth for the better part of half the trip home, that lump still sitting heavy in your throat as you suppress your tears.

You were dying to be back home, in fact, you weren’t waiting another minute.

“Let me out,” you said, tone angry as you spoke.

His brows furrowed, looking at you for a moment. “What?”

“Pull over and let me out.”

“Not a chance, it’s ten at night and it’s about to freakin’ rain, Y/n. Who knows what’s out there,” he says, his voice raising.

“I know what’s out there, Dean, we hunt it for a living. Let me out. I’d rather walk than spend another minute listening to you huff and puff.”

“No.”

He pretended that it didn’t sting as much as it did, he pretended it didn’t make him swallow thickly and hid it with a little more tension in his jaw. They were just words. Just words spoken out of anger much like all of the things the two of you had spoken in the last half hour.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, in the single word, could see the tension in his jaw and just how tightly he gripped the wheel. That crease between his brows was deeper than ever and it showed each time a car passed you by.

“Dean.”

“Do you like throwing yourself in danger, Y/n? Is that what it is?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a huff that’s more than dramatic as the anger you feel only gets worse, both your anger is. You’re both feeding off of your own frustrations at this point and you can bear another second of it.

“Pull the damn car over or I’ll jump out myself,” you grit out, because if you talk any louder your voice just might fail you.

In a matter of seconds he veers off to pull over as you insisted, braking with a little more force than necessary as he stared ahead at the road. You were blind to the incoming storm, and Dean definitely wasn’t, couldn’t have been. But he pulled over anyway just like you wanted him to.

“You hate me so much, fine, you’re free to go.”

You pause for a moment, gaze narrowed at him before you grabbed your bag. “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

Without another word from either of you, you got out, missing the way he looked at you as you did and the way he bit the inside of his cheek. And you missed the look on his face when you slammed the door shut, slinging your bag over your shoulder. After a beat of silence he pulls away, tires screeching against the pavement as he sped off down the road with the rev of his engine muffling the farther he gets.

You swallow thickly as you tighten your jacket around yourself, gaze narrowed as you watch the red of the tail lights disappear. Your anger still simmered as your heart raced, but that lump in your throat became near impossible to suppress as you walked along the gravelly side of the road by yourself. But that’s just it—you were by yourself. Those tears you fought so hard to hide glossed over your eyes now, spilling over your cheeks now. All of that built up frustration was seeping it’s way out.

You didn’t have to be so stubborn now that you were all alone, didn’t have to keep that front you put up for the sake of looking strong in front of green eyes.

Gravel and fallen leaves crunched under your feet as you walked along, the noises almost uncomfortably loud in contrast to your surroundings. You felt like an easy target for whatever is out there, felt like all eyes were on you despite the very real fact that you were all by yourself. But a part of you didn’t care at this point.

That adrenaline from the hunt still coursed through you, fueled by dwindling frustration that came and went in waves. It was seeping out in the form of tears, in the form of you kicking rocks in your path and throwing caution to the wind as you walked with heavier footsteps.

You weren’t that far from the bunker, not really. You had your knife tucked in your boot, you could handle yourself. You’re not as weak as you felt in that moment, and the emotions running wild through you was enough to have you putting up a good fight should you need to.

But you needed space. Needed space to keep any more words of regret from spilling past your lips. Needed space before you felt like your heart would burst right out of your chest.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets as you sniffed, tears running hot down cold cheeks as you watched the way your breath puffed out against the cold air. You tried to ignore the drizzle of the rain, tried to ignore it as you put your hood up, only for the wind to blow it right back down once more and after a few hasty battles with Mother Nature you decided to give it up. Decided to toss away your comfort as the icy droplets fell down on you heavier and heavier as the seconds passed.

You settle for picking up your pace as you walk down the road, the one that’s never been ideally lit for as long as you can remember. You weren’t that far, not really, you could make it back.

You tried not to think about your wavering anger, and the way it wavered more and more each time you thought about your conversation in the car. You tried not to think about how comforting one of his flannels would be, or the warmth of his arms. You shook it from your mind because you had yourself convinced you had to be angry at him.

What happened that day wasn’t just some run of the mill incident on a hunt. It wasn’t scraped knees or busted lips, it was sprained ankles or bloody noses. You almost bit the bullet and hunted your last hunt that day. You still felt that pain in your chest despite the threat of that ghost being long gone and put to rest. You still felt that jarring fear, that shake in your hands, and you still felt that urge to cry over it despite your overwhelming need to feel like you’ve got to be tough even when you don’t.

It was all still there, and now you’ve gone and had a screaming match with the older Winchester. Now you’ve both gone and spewed more than enough things you regret.

You didn’t know what was worse, the regretful anger sitting heavy in your stomach, or your overwhelming desire to get out of this awful weather so you could sulk in the warmth of the bunker. To get rid of that heavy sense of feeling vulnerable walking by yourself even though you’d insisted on doing so. You insisted and you got what you wanted.

But you picked up the pace once you reached that familiar stretch of road, once you spotted home tucked in that hillside. You picked up the pace despite the fatigue you felt telling you to slow it down.

You were cold, you were wet, you were miserable.

Meanwhile, Dean was back at the bunker stewing in his own regret unbeknownst to you. He’d debated a million and one times on turning back and going to get you. He could’ve handled you arguing with him, could’ve handled you hating him. Well, you’d gone and said that you did and he doesn’t know if he really could handle it as much as he’d like to act like it. But you were angry, you were angry and so was he and nothing good ever came out of arguing.

You snagged the key from where the three of you kept it hidden and sniffled once more before you pushed the door open, shutting out the terrible weather behind you in favor of the sheltered warmth of the bunker.

The place seemed empty despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t. Sam should be back after a hunt with Eileen, and surely Dean was around here somewhere. You knew he was judging by the fresh tire tracks in the gravel but you tried not to think about it. You tried to think about going unnoticed until you could get a change of clothes. He didn’t need to see how miserable you looked, how right he was about the rain, how right he was about how scared you truly were after that day.

If he knew that, then that tough guy act you put up after all this time would crumble to pieces in an instant.

You may have been able to snag a dry change of clothes without being seen, may have been able to sneak off to the bathroom without it either. But he knew you were here, and he knew you had to have been worse for wear and it had his guilt and regret simmering in a frenzy.

He saw the wet and slightly muddy footprints in the hall, he saw your rain soaking jacket on the coat rack, heavy with the accumulated rainfall. He saw the way those footprints first went to your shared room, tracked them all the way down the hall to a room that’s farthest from his own. And in there were more wet clothes, cold and heavy as he gathered them to toss in the hamper, in there were soaked leather boots with mud caked on the edges.

You were stubborn as hell and so was he.

But that anger was beginning to wash away with the cold as you cleaned yourself up, as you tried your hardest to have the day roll off your shoulders. But that pain in your chest was only a dreadful reminder of its events. You wanted to be angry, and a part of you still was, because being angry was better than facing Dean Winchester in that moment.

You swiped that dampened wash rag over your face once more, too tired to go so far as to take a shower. Too tired to do much more than sulk and stew in a heap of emotions as you changed your clothes into dryer, warmer ones. They only comforted you so much with the feelings you’ve got weighing you down.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you exchanged some less than desirable words with him, didn’t know where he was as you walked down the hall and slipped into the room you’d claimed that night. You didn’t notice the pile of wet clothes that’d gone missing, but you saw the extra blanket on the bed. It could’ve been Sam, could’ve been, but deep down you knew it wasn’t.

There were plenty of things you would’ve noticed had you come home a little bit earlier. But you didn’t.

He cleaned up the books he’d swept off one of the tables in the library out of his own frustration. He’d righted the chair he kicked, cleaned up the mess of anger and frustration he’d made in his room. He picked up the pieces of his regret for letting you get out of that car at the dead of night.

You got in bed, you switched off the lights and climbed under the covers as you let out a sigh, one that was just as shaky as ever as your tears decided they were quite done with you. As you lay there on your side you fail to see the shadows of the boots on the other side of your door, standing there for a moment before they’d disappeared once more.

You were tired as ever, physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted as you lay there in a bed that’s worse for wear as the springs dig into your side. The room didn’t feel quite so welcoming, didn’t feel quite so comfortable as yours did because a certain green eyed hunter wasn’t on the other side of the wall. He wasn’t on the other side of the mattress.

That anger and that hurt still coursed through you, but it wasn’t scorching and hot, it wasn’t singing your actions like they had been a while ago. You tried to push it out of your mind, trying your hardest to convince yourself that a good night’s sleep would be the best answer to all of this, that it would keep you from saying anything else you surely would regret saying as soon as they’re spoken.

But you know you’re far past doing that.

You try anyway, try to tuck yourself further under the blankets and close your eyes. You were beyond tired, the day robbing you of any energy, stripping you of a good mood for a good long while. You tried your hardest to fall asleep and put the day behind you like you know you probably should. Things were said and done and there was no changing it, so the most you could do was sleep and restart the next day. But you couldn’t.

You tossed and turned on that mattress for a good half hour, riddled with discomfort and your mind plagued with just one thing, just one person. You knew he’d be awake, that was something you were certain of even if he pretends to be asleep like he sometimes does.

Indecision weighs you down as you sit on the edge of the bed, feet pressed to the cold concrete floor. It tugs you in every direction as you walk to the door with reluctance and ultimately step into the dimmed hallway. It was quiet as ever as you walked, footsteps much quieter than the squeak of your rain soaked boots.

It took some walking before you saw the light in the kitchen streaming into the hall, heard the clatter of a few dishes. You made it to the doorway, made it all the way there before you froze. You paused and waited, waited to work up the nerve. It could have been Sam, it very well could have been him but the thud of his boots answered that for you, a sound that drew closer and had you turning and walking away.

You didn’t get very far.

“Y/n?” You froze once more and paused, waiting a moment before you turned around. His gaze was on you as you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

You sigh, shifting on your feet. “No, not really.”

“You’re wet, Y/n.”

“I took a shower,” you counter, too fast for your words to be true. It’s quiet as he nods, completely unconvinced by your words and he hears the edge to your tone.

His mouth opens and closes a few times with words he doesn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue. There’s too many things he wants to say at once, namely the bang up job you did at cleaning that scrape on your cheek. Or the way you look like you’re chilled to the bone. Or maybe a spew of words of how much he regrets listening to you, how he hates himself for listening and letting you go like that.

But he finds he doesn’t have the opportunity when you find yourself doing the same, only you do find words to say.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you say, looking at him for a moment before turning away and walking back down the hall.

You don’t see the way his hand reaches out, or the way it drops back to his side because you’re too busy rushing back to that miserable spare bedroom with another regret to add the the hefty and ever growing pile. It grows heavier when you hear that door close down the hall. It grows more and more as the seconds pass, as the minutes pass in that less than comfortable stupid spare room.

It’s laughable for you to think you’d make it a night on your own in there, not with the way you’re wiping angry tears away. It didn’t feel good to be at odds with him, not when it’s fueled by nothing more than stupidity and stubbornness at this point. There was no good reason to avoid him, no good reason to leave him standing there like you did.

You couldn’t take another minute.

You were quiet as you slipped out of that room with the intention of never returning to it, quiet as you padded back down that dimly lit hall towards your true home, rather the one that resides in that room. You’re timid as you twist the knob and open the door, finding green eyes laying on his side of the bed, the lamp switched off.

You swallow thickly as you stand there timidly, your lip between your teeth in a nervous habit. You let the moments pass as you stand there unsure of yourself, waiting a moment more before you close the door behind you. You circle the bed and climb in quietly, under the blankets before you turn and lay on your side too, your back to him.

It’s tense at first, tense for a good long few minutes with nothing other than the sound of the two of you breathing and the sound of the blankets rustling when one of you moves. But that tense quiet is melted as you feel his arm draped over you, tugging you closer and closer until you’re pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin, soft but enough for you to hear.

You can hear the regret in his hushed tone, can hear the guilt weighing the two words down. At first you’re quiet, staring ahead as your lip wobbles under your emotions. You don’t say anything but after a little while you turn around, face to face with the expression that matched the words.

You look at him for a moment, gaze bouncing over every inch of his face. You swallow as you look at him, quietly mulling everything over that you wish you hadn’t said that day. But there’s one thing that keeps coming back, one thing that weighs heavy.

“I could never hate you,” you murmur, soft and embarrassed.

You see the way he nods softly, see the way the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a half smile as he reaches up and traces the tips of his fingers across your cheek, along the curve of your ear. He nods until he rests his forehead against yours, noses bumping.

“What do you say we take a break from hunting for a little while,” he says softly, eyes falling closed as his breath puffs warmly against your lips. “Just for a little while.”

He’s sick of the close calls, doesn’t want to think about that day for a while even though he knows he won’t ever stop dwelling on it. This was too much and he desperately wants to have a break from the fear of losing you for a little while.

You take a breath and nod, you nod and you kiss him softly and it settles the nerves rumbling around within him.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that, De,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose down to his lips in a lingering kiss.

That tension of regret still hangs heavy in his shoulders, still hangs heavy in your heart no matter how many times the two of you apologize. He knows you’ll never blame him for pulling over like that, you insisted after all. He knows he’ll never let himself off the hook either. But he doesn’t want to bring it up, not now that you’re safe in his arms once more.

He doesn’t want to bring up just how much he wishes you wouldn’t play tough guy after hunts like these, just how much that day bothered him. And you feel like you could tell him a million times over just how much you love him but he knows, even if you’re beating yourself up for what you said in the heat of the moment he knows it’s just that.

You were home, he was your home. Past the arguments and huffs and puffs and words spoken out of anger. None of that mattered in that moment.

You could apologize all you want another time and surely you would, but you keep yourself in that moment.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lyarr24 @happyt0exist

[chubbology]

Inertia

prompt: a man gains weight trying to get his ex-girlfriend back, but goes way too far and gets addicted to gaining

He hadn’t gone to the gym even once in ages.

After a year of singlehood, he wasn’t ashamed to admit anymore that he’d only really gone in the first place to impress women. Ironic, of course, since his ex had never been more than vaguely dissatisfied about his gym habit.

When they first started dating, he had love handles he hated and his thighs had been too thick. He assumed she dated him despite these flaws. Only after he lost weight to please her did he find out that it was his chub that caught her eye. It was bigger guys she was into. It was a lot of miscommunication. A lot of insecurity on his part, since what her preferences meant was that she wanted him to be a little heavy, and he couldn’t possibly accept that with his society-ingrained doctrines about attractiveness.

But those doctrines meant fuck-all now; he was eating a double cheeseburger in his car, helping it down with an orange soda, thinking about dessert. He was wondering if she’d be proud of him now that he’d gained thirty pounds. He wondered if she’d look at him with half-lidded eyes like she used to, if he put on another thirty. Fifty. Whatever.

His phone buzzes. He sits up straighter, belly swelling a little into his lap. It’s her.

Hey. My friend needs to sell her two tickets. I know it’s your favorite band. Interested?

The next text was a link to an information page about an upcoming concert. He’d been so disconnected lately, he hadn’t even heard about it.

Even though he wasn’t actually all that interested, he replied that he was, and they set a date to meet up the next week. Shit. He looked down at himself. If she were someone else, she might be repelled. But she wasn’t someone else…

He was hit with a brilliant, maybe brilliantly stupid, idea. It’s execution began with going right back through the drive thru.

In the days leading up to seeing his ex again, he ate almost constantly. Since he was only doing freelance online at the moment, his work didn’t get in the way of this. He let himself eat whatever he wanted, in amounts three times what his body craved. He pushed himself to a state of being constantly past full. She liked fat guys? Fine. Even if she still didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted her to see what he could have been, if he hadn’t been such a gym-rat douchebag. If he’d let himself become a lazy, docile boyfriend like she wanted instead, weak and overweight.

It was hard, gaining a lot of weight in a week. The number on the scale didn’t go up as much as he expected, even though he’d eaten enough calories to gain twenty pounds at least. He compensated by showing up to their meeting spot wearing clothes that tightly hugged his body, which now had a good forty-ish pounds of fat clinging to it. Looking in the mirror before he left, he’d almost seen what she was into. His ass had gotten kind of wide and dumpy, but in a sexy way?

He was all nerves when she showed up looking healthy and cute and indifferent about him, holding the tickets in her hands. Almost indifferent. She definitely gave him a once-over, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could tell she bit the inside of her lip.

“Well,” she said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. Were her cheeks a little red, or was that wishful thinking? “I’ll see you.”

“Really?” he blurted. “Kinda miss hanging out.”

She smiled and turned to leave. “Maybe.”

He went home and binged hard.

*

In contrast to how he grew too slowly in the week before meeting up with her, in the weeks afterward, he gained weight doubletime. Fat rounded him out as easy as if he were a swiftly filling water balloon, engorging his thighs and belly and ass and hips wide and heavy. He ate compulsively as his appetite skyrocketed, as cravings crushed his will to restrain himself. His budget was thrown out of whack as he spent his savings on pantry loads of unhealthy food. His clothes stretched and seams snapped as he struggled to fit in his largest clothes. He shopped in the plus sized section first for comfort, then by necessity.

All the while he could only think: I wished she was watching.

He started imagining her with him. In the car as he ate fast food. At the store as he bought new clothes. Walking beside him as he forced himself to get exercise.

“Slow down, big guy.” “No, I think you need one size bigger.” “Sweating already? You’re so out of shape.”

Why did he like it? Imagining her mocking him? Teasing him? Eyeing his body, fleshy and overfed.

The next time she texted, it was late at night, and his eyes were glazed watching television, eating huge spoonfuls of that miracle drug called Nutella. His belly swelled out of his shirt. His breasts and face were puffy. According to the numbers he punched into Google, he had long crossed the threshold of obesity.

How was the concert?

He stared at the words. This was it. Maybe his only chance. He replied: Didn’t go after all. Been feeling off lately.

To his (very manly) delight, this prompted more questions, and it became clear she wanted a real conversation. Was she thinking of him? Missing him like he missed her? He thought out every response with the careful focus of a rocket scientist. He wasn’t going to mess this up.

He didn’t seem to, and they texted into the early hours of the morning, catching up. Finally, finally she asked to meet up with him again, and - feeling more eager, a little reckless - he tapped out a disclaimer. Or to her, hopefully: motivation.

Just so you aren’t shocked when you see me, I’ve put on weight since I bought those tickets from you. I’m not sensitive about it or anything, but it’s a lot. So here’s a fair warning.

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. Held his breath. Held it…

Oh. Really?

Like before, they set a time the following week. This time, to get coffee. No big deal.

He knew he had more than fulfilled his little scheme of putting on weight to catch her attention, and he could push the breaks now, but he felt helpless against his inertia. At this point, he’d cultivated half a dozen habits that had his weight steadily rising, and he couldn’t just turn them off. If he so much as thought of eating less, his whole body seized up in fearful anticipation and unhappiness, and he found himself cramming a couple moonpies into his mouth just to calm down.

He gained another six pounds between their text conversation and their coffee date. He felt so out of control, so out of shape, so out of line with the standards of popular society that he felt oddly…free. In a way, he felt free of anxious self-consciousness as he heaved himself out of his car and waved at her through the coffee shop window. She was sitting in a corner at a table for two. Despite his warning, she looked a little shocked.

When he sat down across from her, his huge ass hanging off the ends of the seat, she appeared to inhale deeply. Her expression was inscrutable.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said.

Blushing, he supposed he deserved a bit of tactlessness, for the tactless way he broke up with her. “What? Oh. Yeah, no. I wasn’t.”

She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking between his flabby chest and his flabby face. In a low tone that no one else would hear, she said, “What happened? For you to get fat as fuck.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. This wasn’t how he was expecting this to go. “Well. I’ve been working from home, stressed out. I let myself go and…” He trailed off when he realized her eyes were cold. No - so hot they seemed cold, like his shower water when turned to the highest setting.

“Is this because of me?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She crossed her legs, now openly surveying him. “Did you decide it was okay to gain a hundred pounds because you thought I’d be into it?”

He was speechless. He swallowed.

“Well? Do you want me back that badly? Ever since I saw you last time, all chubbed out, I’ve been thinking maybe I should give you a second chance.”

“Um.”

“But I don’t know…” She shrugged, but a smirk was hiding just behind that indifferent frown, and he wanted. He wanted her forgiveness, whatever that meant. “How about you gain a hundred more and we’ll go on a real date? Sound good? You’re not the only fat guy out there.”

She was full-on grinning now, and he missed her little games like this. He could play them, too.

“Maybe, but I bet I’m the only guy who’s gotten this fat for you,” he said. She was immediately affected by this, and he licked his lips. “You really want to wait to see me a hundred pounds bigger than this, or do you want to stick around to watch?”

Even quieter, she said, “You saying you like gaining weight? How convenient.”

So she still doubted him. He put out his hands for her to see. “Just look. Look at how fat my hands are. I can’t…” And finally his composure cracked a little. “I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop if I wanted. Even if you never talk to me again, I’m gonna gain weight.”

Any playfulness was gone now from her. She looked like she wanted him, too. “Hmm. Maybe we should go before you break that poor chair, huh?”

He blushed again. God, he was getting docile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered. But she gave him a cruel grin. She hadn’t entirely forgiven him. “You will be.”

And he knew then: he was doomed. He was already a little bit into his own heaviness, and she was going to take that feeling and amplify it tenfold. She was going to enable every bad habit he had, watch him flounder under his increasing size and become weaker under layers and layers of fat until he could barely lift a two pound dumbbell.

He knew she wanted this to happen, and maybe he’d broken up with her before because he’d been afraid.

But he wasn’t anymore.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

*

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