#genuinely on my knees begging i just wanna sort this shit out once and for all

[mothman-noises]

i sure hope people don't do weird things to ryan! and sure hope no weirdo on tumblr gets mad over fanfiction that they also wrote and threaten to murder and dox those people! ryan would be more uncomfortable with you than the people that sits and write fake romance

listen we've been over this many times before this blog is basically inactive but people keep sending me asks saying I've been menacing group chats or whatever and every time I get these I say that I genuinely do not know what you people are talking about because I'll readily admit to being a cunt about this but I just literally have no clue where this idea got started, and every time I get these I also say that I would love to try and talk this out because while I don't agree with rpf I also don't agree with murdering and doxxing so if we could clear this up that would be fantastic, but every time this happens it also always ends with the anons going radio silent for a year or so and then coming back to repeat it so I do not have high hopes. once again - I have never threatened to murder or dox anyone, if someone is telling you this they are either wildly misinformed or straight up lying. either this is a rumour of some kind or someone is using my name in which case cut that shit out I'm a c-tier bfu blogger of yesteryear at best you've got nothing to gain from impersonating me

[whumpcloud]

Pretty

direct continuation of delirium (but you don't have to read it to understand)

taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @gala1981 @whump-in-the-moonlight @ohwhumpydays @morning-star-whump

content: captivity whump, lady whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, beatings, choking, begging, burning, references to self-harm via burning, references to suicide and murder, very brief reference to being buried alive, threats of beating & breaking bones & being left outside, smoking

He doesn't regret it, even with Ophelia's hands wrapped around his throat.

"Lia," Nicolas wheezes, "let him g-go. Fucking shit."

Derian clutches at the grass. He can feel Ophelia's nails scratching into his skin.

"You know the only reason you aren't dead, pretty boy?" Ophelia hisses. "Because Nicky doesn't want me to kill you. Remember that the next time you lay your fucking hands on him."

"Mhm," is all Derian manages to get out.

Ophelia lets him go, and Derian curls up on the grass and takes the sort of breath that makes him feel as though his lungs are going to burst. He can hear Nicolas gently waving Ophelia away and mumbling "I'm fine"s until she lets him be.

Derian is pulled to his feet by his shirt.

"That was pretty brave," Nicolas smiles, and Derian realises just how much he hates Nicolas' stupid smile.

Well, he already went for it once.

He doesn't have the advantage of complete surprise this time, but he still manages to kick Nicolas in the knees hard enough that Nicolas drops him. Ophelia is on him in an instant, slamming his head back into the ground. He only whimpers from the force.

"I didn't put my hands on him," Derian breathes.

The next minute or so is a red blur. Derian is vaguely aware of Ophelia screaming at him, but he's more aware of the blood flying from his face. He barely even registers the impact of being beaten. Just blood.

"-enough, that's enough," he hears Nicolas say, though he sounds far away. "Come on, Lia. You had your fun."

Ophelia says something in response, but Derian doesn't hear it. It doesn't matter. Derian weakly pushes himself to his elbows and coughs out the blood congealing at the back of his throat. Nicolas kicks his boot into Derian's chest without even looking, and Derian wheezes and buckles back onto the grass.

"There we are," Nicolas says softly. "Breathe out."

Ophelia exhales, and unclenches her fists. "Okay. I'm okay."

"Good, 'cause you're patching him up."

"But you're better at it!"

"But I have work." Nicolas folds his arms. "You like eating, yeah?"

"Shut up," Ophelia mutters.

Nicolas laughs and punches her in the shoulder. "I'm teasing. Go on, drag him back inside. I'll see you later."

Derian whimpers softly as Ophelia pulls him to his feet. His head lolls forward, and more blood drips onto the grass. He feels like a ragdoll. But he fought. He smiles through bloody teeth.

He's dumped on the sofa, and while Ophelia gets the first-aid kit, he gingerly touches the skin around his eye. He bites his lip. He must look like a wreck.

"I think you annoyed him," Ophelia says, and Derian glares up at her. "Don't shoot the messenger, pretty boy, I'm only stating a fact. Burying you did the opposite of what he wanted."

"That's his fault," Derian says.

"Yeah, I mean, I was going to throw you from the roof, but he was worried you'd break your neck."

Derian genuinely wonders, sometimes, if she means anything she says, or if she's just so used to threatening people that she doesn't realise she's doing it.

Ophelia kneels down in front of him so she can clean his face without having to hold his head up. She seems to be listening for something. They both hear the minivan start up, and skid down the road.

"Hey," Ophelia says suddenly. "You wanna smoke?"

Derian looks up from his hands. "What?"

"Wanna smoke?" Ophelia repeats. "You did before, unless you were just wasting all the cigarettes you used to burn yourself. And if you tell Nicky I smoke I'll break your legs with a hammer."

"Got it," Derian mumbles. "And… yeah."

He winces. Ophelia isn't gentle wiping the blood from his face, but she's normal about it. Derian is starting to almost prefer her to Nicolas. He flinches a little just imagining Nicolas' hands.

When she's done, grabs a rope, ties it around Derian's wrist, and pulls him outside, even though he follows willingly. She ties it to a metal loop in the wall, then produces a pack of cigarettes from her dress pocket.

Derian hates that he missed smoking. He's always wanted to quit, just never "got around to it" as he kept saying. But of course it isn't the real reason. It never is.

He leans back against the wall as he blows smoke into the air. He relaxes, in a way he hasn't done since being brought here. Ophelia folds her arms. Neither of them say a word, for a little while.

"Who were you?" Ophelia asks. "Before we took you?"

Derian flinches in surprise, then looks over to her. "What do you… mean?"

"What did you do, what did you like, that sort of shit," Ophelia shrugs. "I mean, I know you were a dancer and you had a boyfriend. That's it."

Derian narrows his eyes. "Why the sudden interest?"

Ophelia sighs. "Just answer the question."

"There's nothing else to say." He focuses his eyes on the ground. "That's all there is."

"Then why'd you burn yourself?" she asks.

Derian's grip tightens. "I don't have to tell you fucking anything. Why do you even care?"

She shrugs. "Can't we have a civil conversation?"

His head snaps around to look at her. "You want me to be fucking civil?"

"Okay, better idea." Ophelia blows smoke into Derian's face. "Have a civil conversation with me, or I'll beat you with a tire iron."

He swallows, coughing softly, and turns away from her again. "F-Fine. What do you wanna know?"

Ophelia gestures vaguely. "Family?"

"Dad," Derian mumbles. "Mom died when I was a kid. Only child."

"How'd she die?"

"Killed herself."

"Mm." Ophelia fidgets. "So did ours. I don't remember though."

"Oh." Derian awkwardly kicks the wall. "Any other parents?"

"Nicky killed our dad when I was eleven," Ophelia says nonchalantly. "Don't tell him I know. He acts like I'm still a kid sometimes. He won't admit it when I ask him."

Ophelia, without a weapon in her hand, without the anger that Derian is used to, comes off as very normal. He isn't that surprised. There was always going to be a moment like this, where he had to remind himself that they're the same people who would've killed him if he hadn't begged. It unsettles him all the same.

"Did he deserve it?" Derian asks.

Ophelia nods. "Yeah. You think we're bad? He was worse."

"And you hurt people anyway?" Derian raises an eyebrow.

"It's fun." She shrugs. "We don't pretend like we're any good for it. Dad did. So Nicky snapped."

Derian looks up into the clouds. "Do you think I'll snap?"

Ophelia laughs, a genuine, soft laugh. "Nah. You haven't got it in you. Nicky was always like that. Both of us were. If it wasn't Dad, it would've been someone else. You're too nice."

"Nice." Derian exhales. "I'm an asshole. I was an asshole before. That's why I burned myself. 'Cause I fucking hated being one."

"Yeah, you're an asshole, Derian." Ophelia sighs and shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. You couldn't kill anyone, is the point. You're actually a good person."

Derian shouldn't be taking a murderer's word for it. But he isn't going to tell her she's the only person to ever say that without him forcing them to. Charlie never meant it - she would only tell him that once they'd stopped fighting and Derian was crying into her shoulder, pleading for forgiveness.

He has nothing to lose by believing it, he supposes. Or at least believing Ophelia means it. Derian has never thought of himself as a good person, in that horrible, desperate way where he needs everyone to reassure him that he is, despite knowing he'll never agree.

He's dragged from his thoughts by a burning sensation in the side of his neck and Ophelia's hand holding him in place. It's a familiar pain, but it forces a whimper from him, which seems to be enough.

"Sorry," Ophelia smirks. "I needed to put out my cigarette. Should I put out yours as well?"

Derian shakes his head, slapping his hand over the burn. "N-No! Don't. Please."

"Please," Ophelia repeats, leaning in closer. "I love it when you beg."

"I know," Derian hisses.

Ophelia punches him in the stomach, stepping back so she can watch him double over in pain, and stamps out his cigarette on the grass. She pauses, then makes a non-committal sound.

"I thought about leaving you out here for a minute, but that would be kind of boring." Ophelia rests her fingers over Derian's throat. "Beg me not to, though."

There it is again. Uncertainty.

"And if I don't?" Derian dares.

"I'll beat you and then leave you out here." Ophelia smiles, with the sinister edge Derian's come to expect. "I think there's a storm tomorrow."

Derian takes a breath, and glances aside. "Please don't."

"You can do better than that, pretty boy," Ophelia says, palm pressing against his Adam's apple. "I know you can."

"P-Please," Derian says again, unable to stop himself from stammering. "Don't- don't leave me out here. Please."

Ophelia purses her lips. "Nope, not doing it for me."

It's always strangulation that she falls back on. Derian scratches at her with his free hand, but it doesn't seem to bother her at all. She presses him against the wall, leaving him no room to kick or struggle, and only lets go when tears well up in his eyes.

Derian stumbles, but braces himself. There's always bruises around his throat now, but he isn't going to kid himself and pretend that it makes it any better. It hurts the same.

"Try begging now," Ophelia says.

"Please," Derian rasps, still trying to catch his breath. "P-Please don't leave me out here."

Derian flinches as Ophelia leans in again, close enough to whisper in his ear. "I know you're sick of hearing it, but damn, you're pretty."

It keeps him alive, being pretty, and suffering. If he ever, ever escapes, he'll start burning his face instead of his chest.

[woos-lil-oreo]

Love Scene

Pairing: Song Min Gi x Female! Reader

Word Count: approximately 3.1k words

Warnings: Slight Voyeurism???, Mentions of alcohol consumption, cursing/swearing, biting, spitting, Reader is a slight pillow princess, UNPROTECTED SEX (plastic wrap your peenie weenies), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight use of pet names... I think that's it.

Author's Note: Most of this is a BIG self-indulgence XD and that Mingi gif always get me going... AnYwAyS, This fic is NSFW!!!! If you are uncomfy, do not read! If I miss anything, please tell me. If you wanna join the taglist, send me an ask and let me know. Don't steal... all that ✨ jazz ✨ music. Drink your water and enjoy my dirty lil harlots 😉

Taglist: @shusan @woowommy @ceopjy @joongsprincess @yunhofingers

Intro and Masterlist ✨

This is the happiest day of your life. You are dolled up in a beautiful snow-white dress decorated in speckled sequins and intricate rhinestone designs.

Your makeup is simple yet glamourous with a simple natural smoky eye with a shimmer in the inner corners. There is this aural glow of happiness around you, and you genuinely feel like a princess.

You are standing in front of your handsome fiancée with your hands holding each other, who is decked out in a simple black suit with a white dress shirt accented with a deep royal blue tie and shiny black Oxfords.

Hongjoong’s friend, Maddox, recites the point in the script where the vows would be repeated by you and your soon to be husband.

The vows. A spiritual binding of words that will connect the two of you until the end of eternity… or until you two get tired of each other, whichever comes first.

As you repeat after Maddox, Mingi’s eyes glisten with tears of joy. As much as he willed himself not to, one little miscreant of a tear dared to fall. You drop one of your hands to go wipe the tear stream off of his cheek.

The guests proceed to awe in adoration. Seonghwa fans his eyes to prevent his tears from falling, while Hongjoong is sporting a runny nose and a giant crocodile tear down his cheek, clinging to Seonghwa’s shoulder.

As you listen to Mingi recite his vows, tears start to well up in your eyes. You grip Mingi’s hand a little tighter to calm yourself because your makeup is beautifully done, and you’d be damned if you let a teardrop and a dried tear stain appear on your cheek. Jae-hee would have your ass. You got through the ceremony without tears!

“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Maddox proclaims. You turn to Mingi, who now has one of the brightest smiles ever on his face, and he leaves a nice, sweet, lingering peck on your lips, still holding your hands.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that!” Wooyoung screams out, earning himself a nice smack to the forehead from Yeosang. Wooyoung winces and rubs the spot while the guests laugh at their interaction and turn back to you when Mingi lets go of your hand and smirks.

Mingi pulls you to his chest, grabs you by the waist – pulling you close to him – and kisses you. As the kiss gets deeper, he places his hand on your cheek – steadying your head, and your hands work their way to the back of his head.

The crowd begins to root the two of you on, and Jae-hee screams out, “You guys are literally about to get a room!” You both pull away from each other and look at your husband. Mingi has a very thin layer of shimmer lip gloss on his mouth, and his cheeks and the tips of his ears are red.

A now very flustered and blushy boi Maddox quickly recollects himself from what he just witnessed and mutters, “They don’t pay me enough,” with a chuckle before he announces, loud and proud, “I-I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Song Min Gi!”

Everyone stands up from their seats and creates a round of applause as the newlywed couple leads the processional to the area where the wedding party, which is beautifully attired in soft peach pink dresses and deep royal sapphire blue accented suits, is to take pictures of one of the most important days you will never forget.

~25 minutes later~

The host has completed the introductions for the most chaotic wedding party that has ever existed, and everyone is getting to their seats in the venue.

The reception hall is absolutely stunning! The same colors of the wedding party are accented with gold. Diamonds are loosely scattered across the table, tealight candles alit floating in water vases, giving the room a soft glow in addition to the dimmed lighting.

The caterers are dressed in a clean white shirt, a black vest, and slacks. The guys have a royal blue sleeve garter, and the girls a soft peach one.

Once everyone has settled at their tables, Jae-hee and Yunho approach the front of the makeshift stage to make their toasts as Maid of Honor and Best Man.

Jae-hee grabs the microphone first, and she is already tearing up, and she is usually not one for emotion often. “Y/N, we have been friends for so long… we are practically sisters. I’ve watched you grow into a beautiful and confident woman… and even though I put you through some shit….” All of ATEEZ shakes their head and groan in agreement, and the rest of the guests laugh in response.

Jae-hee rolls her eyes and continues. “I’m so happy that you have found the love of your life and that I wasn’t the first to get married.” You roll your eyes and get up to hug her, and she meets you halfway. While in her embrace, she whispers, “I love you, baby girl,” and you respond with the same hushed tone, “I love you, too,” letting one measly tear run.

You two kiss each other’s cheek, and you return to your seat, and Jae-hee returns to the stage. She grabs Yunho’s handkerchief to dab away her tears before they fall through mascara. “Mingi, I officially welcome you into the messy integration that is our family.” Mingi chuckles and nods in response.

The mic is passed to Yunho. “Mingi, you have grown into an immaculate young man who is decorated with accomplishments and people who love you. I’m really proud of you, and I wish you two the best of luck. Y/N, I have watched you become each other’s yin and yang. You may be a bit of a handful,” you roll your eyes and chuckle. “… But we love you so much, and we welcome you into our quote – end quote ‘messy integration that is our family.’” Yunho walks over to give you a kiss on the cheek, and bro hugs Mingi.

“Cheers!” After an emotional toast from Hongjoong and Seonghwa, it was time for the party to begin, and I mean both aspects of the term. Which explains why you are now seated in a chair in the middle of the dance floor. Mingi is standing across from you with a slightly evil glint in his eye.

Hope You Do by Chris Brown blares through the speakers in the venue. You immediately cover your warm cheeks with your hands to conceal the blush and warmth there, knowing what is to come. Mingi starts to remove his suit jacket… and Yeosang, Yunho, and surprisingly, Jongho remove their coats as well.

As the trio wines and grinds on the floor behind the Groom, Mingi moves closer towards you to go and remove your garter.

When he reaches you, he does not even take the time to bunch up your dress and goes straight into hunting for the garter. His big hands rub around the top of your knees to find it.

When he does, he drops his hands to the floor to give himself leverage. He proceeds to leave a speckled trail of kisses up your leg and bites right below the garter, causing you to yelp in surprise and the crowd to holler out.

Mingi drags the garter down your leg to your ankle and removes it from your foot. At this point, there is a tension between you two that begs and pleads to be relieved.

Mingi stands to his feet, grabbing your hands to guide you straight up off the chair. You two make eye contact, and you can see the tension. “Alright young bachelorettes, come out to the floor and catch you a bouquet!” The host says in the mic, and all the women move to the floor, ready to start drinking, the actual after-party, and the real fun.

When all participants are on the floor, you pretend to throw the bouquet to keep them on edge. After a few false turns, you finally throw, and Jae-hee sprints to the front to catch it effortlessly.

“Yeahhh bitches, I’m next to get married!!!” She jumps up and down as you laugh and the other ladies leave the floor.

The host announces that it is the fellas’ turn to come out on the floor. It was not as many males as females, but there was a good amount present. Mingi played the same card as you: pretending to throw the garter until he did.

In an ironic twist of events, Jongho caught it on the top of his head like a flower crown. When he patted his head to confirm he sort of caught it, he made eye contact with Jae-hee.

They both quickly look away with a bright pink flush on their cheeks, which causes you and Mingi to laugh together. He wraps his arms across your shoulder blades and squeezes your shoulder. You look at him questioningly, and he nods to the door. You nod and grab his hand, running to the back door with your husband.

Seonghwa will have your ass for running out and leaving him and Hongjoong to clean up your mess, but that is a tomorrow problem, and you have more… pressing matters to deal with.

Mingi is flying down the street with you in the back seat to compensate room for your dress. As he tries to get to your home without getting a ticket, you untie his tie and proceed to rub down his chest, slow and meticulously popping one button after another.

Before you could decorate his neck in pretty little hickeys and love bites, the car jerks to a stop, and he power strides to your door and opens it. He grabs you in his arms bridal style out of the vehicle.

You were surprised at how easy he made that look, especially with all of the extra fluff on your dress. He carries you into the threshold with ease, kissing you as if his life depends on it.

When Mingi blindly finds your room, he puts you down on your feet, spins you around, and begins to unzip your dress. He kisses under your ear and down your neck as your dress pools around your feet. He breaks away to rest his forehead on yours.

“As much I would love to pound you into the mattress right now, I would like for our first time as a married couple to be gentle,” he breathes out. You nod your head, and he slowly turns you around to unclip the black strapless bra, allowing your breasts to drop.

He returns his mouth back to your neck and softly twists your nipple between his fingers, eliciting tingles to run all over your body. As good as the feeling was, you remove Mingi’s hand and spin around to face your husband. You walk backward until the back of your legs hit the mattress and lean back.

MIngi crawls on top of you and slowly kisses you. You can feel the passion and love through it, causing you to shiver. Mingi, once again, pulls away from you to drag your black lace panties down your legs. He throws them across the room and stands from the bed, peeling away the dress shirt you opened in the car.

The shirt drops to the floor, and he begins to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor. The pants come next, along with the boxer briefs, and they pooled around his ankles. You bite your finger and lick your lips with lust-darkened eyes as you are being blessed with this private show.

Mingi returns to your V of your legs and brings your ankle to his mouth, leaving delicate kisses down the inner side of your leg until he reaches the inner thigh, where he leaves a bite – causing you to giggle and squirm a bit.

He lifts himself to where his penis grazes your labia. He rubs the tip along your slit and teases the tip inside of your core. “You ready, baby?” He sticks the reddened tip inside, just to pull it back out, and repeats this a couple times until you are a whining and moaning little mess. He finally pushes his dick past the tip and slowly moves into you, allowing you to feel every vein and ridge of his cock.

You moan in relief and very, very, VERY slight pain due to his girth, and Mingi doesn’t stop until he is at the hilt, meeting you pelvis to pelvis. He doesn’t move for a second, trying to collect himself before he busts in you from the tightness of your honey pot. You shiver as he pants in your neck, leaving goosebumps wherever his warm minty breath hits.

You grind your hips around, signaling that you have adjusted to his size, and he moans out at the action. He begins to pump inside very slowly in and out of you, with his brows scrunched and his bottom lip being bitten.

You hear the squelching noises from his slow pace. When you started getting louder, Mingi moves a bit faster, seeing that you are slowly reaching your orgasm, and frankly, so is he. “Baby, I love you so much,” he mutters like a mantra as he helps you both reach new heights.

You two have made love before, but never to this extent. After every mutter, your heart from knowing that this is the man you will spend the rest of your life with. You place your hand on the back of Mingi’s neck to kiss him, but before your lips could make contact, Mingi stops.

He licks the base of his thumb and places a firm pressure on your clitoris, and then kisses you, his tongue swirling around your own. You two are seeing specks of light under your eyelids from cumming so hard. It may not have been anything degrading, rough or intense in that sense. Still, it was absolutely beautiful joining souls with your lover.

~The Next Morning~

You wake up feeling floaty, like you are lying on a cloud. Your husband is asleep with his arm draped around your waist. As you face Mingi, his features are soft, and it looks like he is in bliss. You place your hand on his cheek and caress the apple.

When you are done admiring your husband, you carefully move his arm to his side to make breakfast. You are successful in not waking Mingi and hop out of bed, still naked from last night’s escapades. “Wow, it feels nice to say that,” you think as you grab your husband’s dress shirt and run to the bathroom to clean Mingi’s cum that has dripped down your leg.

~A few minutes later~

You are now in the kitchen, whipping up some waffle batter. The table is decorated with a nicely plated array of bacon and a bowl of freshly washed and cut fruit. You finish plugging in the waffle iron when your husband wraps his arms around your shoulders and spins you around.

He quickly lifts you on the counter. “Good morning, Mrs. Song.” He says huskily from his morning voice. You try to reply with a greeting, but Mingi catches the words in your mouth. Your lips are smashed together from Mingi’s fervency, and his long and slender fingers start to move down to your hole.

“Oh my goodness, babe. You’re so wet for me.” He teased. You moan out while he rubs your entrance, spreading your slick up and down. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks when he pushes a finger in, causing you to scream in response. “Those weren’t proper words, but I’ll take it.” He responds while adding another finger in and drastically changing his pace. You cry out due to the incredible speed. Mingi looks up at you.

Your head is tilted back, tiny pants coming from your mouth, and hands grabbing the counter as if to ground yourself. Mingi lets a drop of spit fall from his mouth and adds another finger to add more lubrication and bring you closer to climax.

You start to squirm on the counter, which is now soaked in your fluids, and whimper softly. A telltale sign that you are almost there; you just need that one little push. Mingi kneels down to be face to face with your cunt, and he stares at your dripping core as if he was hypnotized by how well you are taking his digits.

A loud moan from you knocks him out of his trance, and he adds one more finger and starts to apply suction on your button. A blinding white light flashes behind your eyelids, and a fuzzy warmth roams all over your body.

You breathe heavily from your high, and Mingi slows his speed, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. He slowly removes his fingers, causing you to whimper from overstimulation, and brings them to your mouth.

You immediately open your mouth to welcome in the appendages and begin to suck them as if your life depends on it. The spit dribbles from your mouth down your chin and along Mingi’s forearm. He gently pulls at your jaw to open your mouth and spits in your mouth.

“Swallow.” He growls, and you do not think twice about disobeying him. He returns to kiss you, mixing your natural taste with your juices and his tongue.

He pulls away, and your fucked out state is adorable: your eyes are dilated from here to Hell, saliva glistening your chin, your cheeks are heavily flushed, and your ass is drenched with your cum.

“If this is what I wake to every morning, I’m not complaining.” Mingi chuckles. “You didn’t even get to have breakfast yet.” You laughed. He looks with an eyebrow raised… “Oh, you meant actual food?” You nod your head.

“As long as I have you, I don’t think I’ll need anything else.” He cheesily says. “Yeah, sure, that’s not what your body will be saying.” You retaliate as you jump off the counter, cringing when you hear your butt peel off the corner from your juices.

Mingi laughs, grabs some paper towels to clean that. When he’s done, he washes his hands and proceeds to help you cook so you two can build the stamina to christen the rest of your home together. Well, christen is not the right word… more like fuck like rabbits until the morning light returns.

~~~~~

And there's the fic ✨ hope you enjoyed the read ✨ leave an ask and say hi or even follow me or reblog if you did

[keilemlucent]

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want? 

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic. 

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

||||||||||||||||||||

You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days. 

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours. 

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much. 

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment. 

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk. 

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog. 

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

 Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them. 

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird��

As he liked to call you, anyway. 

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine. 

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care. 

You were comfortable and content. 

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes 

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious 

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird 

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

 You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered. 

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too. 

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes. 

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion. 

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by. 

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse. 

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance. 

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows. 

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures. 

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly. 

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger. 

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished. 

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego. 

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office. 

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood. 

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk. 

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods. 

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up. 

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way. 

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control. 

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath. 

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on. 

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

��I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.” 

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen. 

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants. 

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you. 

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you. 

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you. 

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming. 

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state. 

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold. 

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe. 

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body. 

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?” 

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment. 

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you. 

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you. 

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut. 

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically. 

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back. 

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed. 

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him. 

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides. 

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty. 

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?” 

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock. 

 “Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.” 

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best. 

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him. 

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded. 

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way. 

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

 Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily. 

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit. 

“You’re my good girl.” 

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his. 

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably. 

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god. 

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.” 

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw. 

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been. 

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness. 

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips. 

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted. 

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings. 

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech. 

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue. 

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right. 

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back. 

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet. 

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them. 

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained. 

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat. 

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full. 

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in. 

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer. 

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest. 

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it. 

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 4

I.IV

Masterlist

Content warning: lots of smut ahead, degradation

Your eyes stick to every person that walks down the hall past you. You feel wildly out of place. You reach down fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. It’s the only daytime appropriate skirt you own and it’s extremely uncomfortable.

You’re not sure why you agreed to wear the damn thing. It’s not like not wearing a skirt would have any impact on your grade or Hotch’s opinion of you. It’s clear he doesn’t like you… well, he definitely likes you. He just doesn’t respect you. Well… he respects your work ethic and your intelligence. But physical attraction is different from genuinely enjoying your presence and liking your personality. He might want to fuck you but that doesn’t mean he wants to spend time with you. You settle on: He tolerates you enough to agree to tutor you.

You look down at the notebook he gifted you a few days ago. You place a hand on the soft leather cover before opening it up. You’ve read it every single day since he gave it to you and you can tell the man is a genius. You have a million questions, a million things you want to discuss. Normally, you’d mark the pages up with highlights, little notes in the margins, and post-its sticking out of the sides. So you had to settle for your own notebook of questions, nearly as thick as the original work. At least your handwriting is more legible than Hotch’s chicken scratch.

Even if Aaron Hotchner doesn’t actually like you personally, you’re growing more and more captivated with him every day.

The office door opens behind you and you turn, coming face to face with Hotch’s chest, forgetting just how tall he is compared to you. You look up at him and he gives a small smile, placing his hand on your back, guiding you into his office. His large hand is warm on your back and your heart rate immediately picks up in his presence.

"Did you fill that whole notebook with notes?" His eyes dart down to your arms. He reaches forward to take the book from your clutches. You nod, struggling to calm your mind down enough to sort through the thoughts racing through it. He moves around you to lean against the edge of the desk, the book open in one hand, the other hand fingering through the pages.

You stand awkwardly in the center of the office, rubbing your fingers together at your sides, feeling oddly exposed now that you’re not clutching the books tightly against your chest. "I’m sorry I just had so many questions and once I started writing them down, I couldn’t just stop."

Hotch glances up from your notebook and you see a smile on his face. It’s not that pretentious, shit-eating grin that spreads across his face when he embarrasses a student in class or outsmarts you. It’s this beautiful, toothy grin. His eyes crinkle at the sides and as fast as his eyes are on you, they go back down to the notebook in his hands, "This is… amazing." He smiles wider, "Come on, sit down," He points towards the chair in front of his desk.

You hesitate slightly before moving to sit in front of him in the chair. You tug at the bottom of your skirt again, hoping for some more coverage.

"So you enjoyed the notes?" He doesn’t look up from the book but reaches behind him for a pen and starts jotting things down alongside your handwriting.

"What I could read, yes," You tease him playfully, attempting to loosen up. He’s intimidating and scary, but you desperately want to impress him.

"Something wrong with my handwriting, Miss Y/L/N?" He quirks up an eyebrow at you and this time, you’re giving him the snarky grin he always gives you.

"Oh it’s utterly atrocious," You lean forward resting your chin in the palm of your hand.

From the way Hotch laughs and looks over you, you could be entirely convinced he’s genuinely enjoying your presence. "You wore a skirt," He nods a little, putting the book down at his side on the desk. He places both hands against the edge of the desk, gripping the lip of the wood.

"I’m not an idiot." You roll your eyes and shake your head. "I do know how to follow simple directions."

"I know you can," He grins before shaking his head, "I should’ve guessed," Hotch pushes his sleeves up his arms, exposing the tanned, veiny forearms that immediately draw your attention.

"Guessed what?" You furrow your brows at him. He smirks and gestures towards you and you stand up, putting your books down on the chair and moving close to him. With this orientation, your face is almost at eye level with his as he leans against his desk. He still looms over you. He places his hands on your hips and yanks you closer. You let out a soft gasp in response and his smirk grows.

You search his eyes, waiting for a response to your question. He runs his eyes over your entire body before lifting a hand to your cheek. He runs his hand over the skin before tangling his fingers in your hair at the nape of your neck, yanking your head back, giving him full access to the base of your neck. He cranes his head down placing a few soft kisses on the skin. "I should’ve guessed you’d be a brat." He mumbles against your throat and the vibrations of his deep voice send tingles up into your face and jaw.

"Am I really a br—" He nips your skin and you lose the ability to speak, letting out a small moan in response.

He smirks against your skin, "You seem to have a smart mouth," He groans, "How about we put it to good use?"

You nod. "I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you," Your breathing rate picks up as Hotch continues to nip at your neck down to the tops of your breasts. His lips ghost over your cleavage peeking out of the top of your shirt.

"I can tell," Hotch’s grip in your hair loosens but he tilts your head back down to lock his lips onto yours. Your head is already spinning with pleasure and he’s barely touched you. With his open mouth on yours, all you can do is submit to him and give yourself over to his passion.

His hands move all over your body. His actions are motivated and urgent but he’s not frantic. His touches are deliberate. He yanks you as close as possible so that you’re standing fully between his legs. First, his hands are trailing up your bare thighs, his fingertips just barely ghosting up under your skirt.

"I thought about you," You breathe out, and your eyes flutter closed, taking in the feeling of your professor's hands on your body. You suck in a small breath as his hands continue to travel up your body before taking your warm pliable breasts into his hands. You throw your head back, "All last night… alone. Touching myself, wishing it was you, professor." You whine.

You need more. Every touch of his hands sends sparks across your body. You’ve never felt this attracted to someone, this alight with pleasure, this sensitive. At your words, he stands up from the desk placing his arms on your shoulders harshly, "I distinctly remember you mentioning something about getting on your knees for me." He pushes you down to the ground and you let out a small yelp as your knees hit the carpet and you swear you feel the seams in your skirt snap.

You sit up a little on your knees and reach forward for his belt, seeing the bulge in his pants growing. He places one hand over yours, stopping you. He reaches down with the other hand, tilting your face up to look at him. "This what you pictured? Getting on your knees? Begging for my cock?"

You bite your bottom lip and nod at him. He slaps your face gently before gripping your chin tight in his hands, pulling your attention back to him, "Words, my pretty girl. Use your words."

"I want to please you… sir." You pout up at him. He lets you unbuckle his belt and you push down his jeans and boxers. He leans against the desk again and you take his cock into your hand, pumping him slowly. A small groan escapes his mouth and you smile in response.

You place your mouth around the tip, swirling your tongue slowly before taking as much of him into your mouth as possible. He bucks his hips slightly in response, forcing him deeper into your mouth. He brings a hand down, tangling his fingers in your roots.

You bob your head faster, running your tongue up his entire length, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit in your mouth. He grips your hair tighter, tugging at the roots and forcing himself deeper into your mouth, thrusting harder, "Relax your throat pretty girl, you’re going to take all of me." He groans even louder and you feel tears prick at your eyes, gagging as he continues to fuck your mouth.

Your lungs burn for air and you suck in through your nose but continue to pick up the pace, pulling almost entirely off of his cock before taking the whole length back into your mouth. Hotch’s hand remains tangled in your hair as he lets out loud groans, muttering praise with each thrust.

You’re thoroughly enjoying this and it’s evident from the way you’ve got your thighs clenched together. His breathing is staggered, strangled grunts and moans escaping his throat. Plus the praise he gives you— Good girl. Just like that. Keep going. Don’t stop, pretty girl—is turning you on more and more.

Just as he begins to buck his hips more erratically and you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, he pulls away, leaving a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. Your cheeks are running with tears, no doubt entirely smudging your mascara. You look up at him, upset that he stopped you just before you could make him cum. He’s panting heavily attempting to catch his breath and glances down at you.

You smirk cheekily and he grips your face, "Look at what a mess I’ve made of that pretty face." He uses the pad of his thumb to attempt to wipe one of your cheeks. "Stand up." He orders sternly.

He pulls you to your feet, unable to keep his hands from running over your skin. He moves his hands up under your skirt again. This time, he hikes the hem all the way up to your hips. His hands clutch at your bare ass as he presses his lips against yours forcefully. You feel weak and soft under his touch. "You’ve done that a lot before," He groans against your mouth, his tone a little disapproving. You smirk against his lips.

"Did I make you feel good, professor?" You moan out. At that, Hotch flips you around, pushing you forward over the desk. You bend at the waist and catch yourself on your hands. Without warning, he presses his hard cock against your ass. You crane your head around to look at him, a small cocky smile growing on your lips. You’re very quickly learning exactly what kind of man Professor Hotchner is. What he likes, what he doesn’t like, and what you should do and say to get a rise out of him.

He pushes your face down against the wood of the desk, keeping your head pinned down. He bends down to your ear, "You think you can talk to me like that?"

"Sorry sir," You breathe out. He’s being rough but it’s because he knows you want it. He can sense that you’re egging him on, trying to get a reaction. So he reacts just the way you want him to. He delivers a hard smack to your ass, sending jolts of pain and pleasure throughout your entire body.

He trails his fingers up your legs, teasing your wet, heated skin. He slips two fingers into you, eliciting a small gasp that dissolves into a moan. "Already tightening around me and I’ve barely done anything." He chuckles under his breath and he slowly thrusts his fingers, your moans becoming loud and uncontrollable. Just the simple insertion of his fingers already has your head feeling fuzzy and your heart races. You’ve been waiting so long for him to touch you again. The past few days have been torture.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way his tongue explored every inch of you. The way his hands feel on your body. The way his mouth feels on yours. He’s rough with you, but never in a way that scares you, it excites you. He knows you can take it. You barely know the professor but it feels as if he knows your body intimately well and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. That’s what excites you.

The grip on your head has loosened so you’re able to try to turn and look at him and his hooded eyes run over your body slowly. As his fingers move in and out of you agonizingly slowly you can’t help but gasp at the pleasure and Hotch groans, feeling proud and lustful at the way your cheeks flush. He can feel your skin heating up with every thrust. He can see your eyes growing glassy and bright with lust. He sees your mouth fall open, soft gasps and whines escaping your mouth. He can’t wait any longer and neither can you.

"Please," Your voice is a breathy whisper.

Hotch removes his fingers and guides himself against you. He barely presses his skin against you and you’re already moaning louder than ever. Your legs feel like jelly as he presses into you. He groans with your reaction and thrusts deeper into you. Your body is already shaking with pleasure by the time he ruts into you fully.

That seems to spur Hotch on and he thrusts deep, not taking it slow, too impatient and needy to take his time with you. Strangled groans escape from him, meshing with your heavy panting. You collapse against the desk, unable to continue holding yourself up. Hotch reaches down, yanking you up by your hair to press your body closer against his. Your back arches against his chest and you decide to allow him to fully take charge. "Is this how you pictured it? In all those dirty fantasies of yours?"

You can barely muster a response but you know he wants to hear your words so you let out a strangled, ‘Yes, sir’ between your moans.

He’s going at you with a sense of desperation. And god that makes you a million times more flustered. The idea that he wants you so bad, he needs you so bad. That he’s so desperate to feel your skin. He’s so desperate to fuck you. He’s desperate. And you love it. You love that he wants you so bad.

The built-up anticipation of this exact moment with your professor means you don’t last terribly long, and neither does he. His hands are gripping at your hips tightly, fingers digging into the skin. He thrusts into you wildly a few more times. He reaches down, rubbing your clit in slow circles as he throws his head back, moaning loudly, his movements growing erratic.

You feel the euphoria overwhelming you, the tension building in your body, your legs trembling. You fumble around the desk for something, anything, to grab onto. The stars coat your vision and your body shakes wildly with pleasure as his fingers rub your clit in faster circles.

It feels as if your orgasm lasts forever, your head feeling light and it buzzes with pleasure. You both just remain there for a long moment. Each of you is trying to catch your breath. He releases your head, being much more gentle, and you rest your face on the wood for a second, the cool surface a nice contrast to your sweaty skin. "Such a pretty mess I’ve made of you," He mumbles against your skin as he places a soft kiss on your spine.

Hotch steps a bit away from you and the warmth of his body close to yours disappearing, but the air in his office is hot and humid from your body heat. Another long, silent moment passes and you can’t help but feel disappointed because you can tell he’s about to kick you out. Just as you turn to face him, he’s already pulled himself together. He’s pulled his pants back up, adjusted his shirt, and is smoothing out his hair.

You hurry to pull the hem of your skirt back down and retrieve your cardigan from the floor. Hotch moves away from you, walking around to the other side of his desk. He reaches into his drawer and hands you a paper, "I want you to rework this memorandum for next week. Your writing skills need to be improved further." You’re not surprised at how he switches from explicit to professional so quickly, but it is admittedly, quite jarring. You reach a shaky hand forward for the paper and take it, stacking it on top of your belongings.

His eyes linger on you and your eyes linger on him. You want to say something. You feel like you should, but just as you open your mouth, his office phone cuts you off.

He reaches down and picks it up, "Hotchner."

You grab your books, holding them close to your chest, standing awkwardly in front of Hotch’s desk. He settles into his desk chair and finally glances back up at you. He pulls the phone away from his ear and nods towards the door, "You’re free to go."

You’d be lying if that didn’t sting a little, but you knew what you were getting into by sleeping with your professor. You hesitate for a split second as Hotch turns back to the phone conversation, searching around for a pen and pad to jot some notes down.

You walk to the door and open it, giving Hotch one last glance. You give him a warm smile before you walk out and you swear that you see the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly in response.

Chapter 5: I.V →

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Five

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

***

Nesta hates loud noises. She hates loud thunder and loud people and loud machines and loud music, but no one ever understands her when she tries to explain how certain volumes of sound are a direct assault on her senses.

She especially hates yelling, at least when other people are doing it. It’s big and scary and reminds her of Tomas— where her own shrieks feel powerful, being yelled at makes her feel weak.

Except when Cassian snaps at her, it feels different. So different that she can only blink in confusion and say, “Fine.” She’ll go to the stupid doctor.

He didn't scare her. That's what Nesta's still thinking about as she sits in the fluorescent-lit doctor's office with Cassian. He was loud and he was angry, but he wasn't scary. There was the moment where she waited for fear to kick in, and it didn't.

Maybe it's a sign Nesta is finally evolving. Maybe she’s starting to become normal, and she doesn't have to cower every time someone raises their voice at her.

Or maybe it's just Cassian.

The door opens and the doctor returns. “I have your birth control prescription right here.” She waves a slip of paper.

Nesta can't look at Cassian. The worst part of this whole useless doctor's visit was having to discuss her nonexistent sex life in front of him, including why she hasn't bothered taking birth control in years.

The doctor keeps talking. “Birth control isn't the end all, be all. I didn't find anything during our pelvic exam, but I want to schedule you for an MRI anyway.”

Cassian perks to attention at that. “An MRI?”

“It might seem extreme, but I don't want to miss any spots. Ultrasounds can pick up cysts, but there's a chance that whatever is causing your pain is less severe than that. Considering your symptoms and how long this has been going on, we want to save time when it comes to finding answers.”

Cassian turns to Nesta, clearly looking for her reaction. Nesta only sits on the patient bed in silence. All she can think is that she shouldn’t have come to the doctor.

The drive back home is silent, and Nesta doesn’t know whether to be grateful or scream. She both longs for Cassian to say something and never wants him to speak to her again.

A part of her knows what it is. A part of her has always known that there was something fundamentally wrong with her body, but she can’t even think the idea to herself without confirmation.

The snow has just started to melt enough to drive safely back to the house, but Cassian still goes too slow for Nesta’s liking. As soon as he’s parked in the driveway, she’s throwing his truck door open and storming for the warmth of the cabin. She’s in her room for the rest of the day.

That night, Cassian brings a box out to the living room and drops it with an unceremonious thud on the coffee table in front of Nesta. She glances up from her book to eye his gift.

An idyllic countryside landscape graces the lid of the box. It’s a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle. She flicks her eyes up to Cassian.

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” he nods to the puzzle, “but it was too big for me to take on alone. Wanna help?”

“No.”

He makes a pleading pout that Nesta knows is entirely for her entertainment. “Please,” he whines. “There’s snow outside and the fire’s going and I just made hot chocolate. The only thing that would make this perfect is a puzzle. Do you hate perfect things?”

“Me reading alone is perfect.” Nesta moves to return to her book.

Cassian’s face is then right before hers. He’s dropped to his knees in front of her. “Nesta,” he says very lowly. “I won’t beg.”

The room is suddenly too hot, and Nesta has to rub a hand over her face to relieve the burning. “You’re begging right now,” she observes as flatly as possible.

He gives her a smile and squeezes her knee. “You might be right. Put me out of my misery.”

Nesta hates him.

An hour later they are hunched over the coffee table together, in complete silence as they search for the final edge piece. They’ve already had three fights over this stupid puzzle, mostly because Cassian is certain that Nesta has all the pieces to his side of the puzzle, and Nesta is certain that Cassian is the worst puzzler ever.

“I hate this,” Nesta mutters as she keeps searching. Her eyes are strained from all this staring and her muscles are starting to ache. “Why did you tell me this would be fun?”

“I don’t know,” Cassian admits as his eyes rove over hundreds of puzzle pieces. “I wanted to make you feel better, but now I feel like shit.”

Nesta is about to reply sardonically when something catches her attention. She gasps. “There, I see it!”

She grabs for the edge piece at the same time Cassian does, and they briefly fight over it before Nesta rips it out of his hand.

“Ow.”

She victoriously fits it into place, completing the border. They sit back, proud of their work.

“How much is left?” Cassian asks.

“Nine hundred pieces.”

“Oh.”

***

The MRI appointment comes and goes. Nesta doesn't note much of it except having to drink a bottle of thick, disgusting liquid before getting scanned, and having Cassian talk her through not throwing it up the entire time.

And then she waits. Or rather, they wait.

It's obvious that Cassian is subtly worried for her, and this paired with Nesta's own worry makes for an uncomfortable, tension-wrought environment. So Cassian does his best to keep her occupied.

He returns to the puzzle with her every night. Even though it leaves them both with headaches and lost arguments and a desire to get away from each other, they have a silent agreement to never skip out on puzzling time. Sometimes a whole chunk of the image gets done; sometimes they only find two pieces after thirty minutes and call it a night, turning a TV show on instead.

It's on one of these ordinary nights that Nesta notices something new.

“How have your sisters been?” Cassian murmurs while hunting for a green piece.

Nesta frowns as she tries and fails to fit her own piece into the puzzle. “You're telling me you don't already know?” Cassian is closer to Feyre than even Nesta is. As for Elain, sometimes Nesta goes weeks without contact with her, not for loving her any less.

He shrugs, but is staring intently at the coffee table. “I haven't talked to Feyre in a while. I’ve just been busy, I guess.”

“Doing what? I see you on the couch every day.”

When Cassian doesn't respond, Nesta feels the need to press. She doesn't consider herself nosy, mostly because she can't be bothered to care about other people's lives, but this is Cassian. And ever since he helped her through her period and sat beside her at the doctor's, she's been open around him in a way she’s never been with anyone before.

“Why aren't you talking to Feyre? Did you guys get in a fight?” She sounds demanding, but Cassian knows by now that's just how she talks.

“No, we didn't fight—” He makes a frustrated noise and rolls a puzzle piece between his fingers. “I don't know,” he finally says. “Do you like your sister?”

Nesta hooks her arm around her bent knee and decides to be honest. “It's complicated. I can't say that if she wasn't my sister I would be able to have civil conversations with her.”

Cassian pulls his knee up and nods, thinking. “Well, it's sort of like that. All these years, I’ve looked at her as my sister, but now I know you better, and… I feel like I know her less.”

“So she's not your sister anymore?”

“No. She's yours.”

Nesta finds this funny, because whatever it is real sisters have, she and Feyre just barely have it.

She drops the topic after that and they keep working, until she finally notices it.

Whenever Nesta shifts her leg, he shifts his leg. Whenever she worries at her lip with her thumb and forefinger, a few moments later he does the same. When she reaches for a puzzle piece, he reaches for a puzzle piece. It seems to be subconscious, but eventually she has to say, “What are you doing?”

“Hm?”

“You’re copying me.” She crosses her arms.

Cassian straightens up. “Am not!”

His gaze follows hers to his arms, which are now also crossed. He drops them quickly. “It’s not intentional,” he insists.

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. She’s done her fair share of mirroring before, usually when she’s trying to manipulate a professor into giving her a better grade, but Cassian doesn’t want to manipulate her. She’s pretty sure. “I believe you,” she states. “Just don’t do it anymore. People might think you’re turning into me.”

He huffs a laugh and turns back to the puzzle. “Take your hair down if it bothers you so much.”

She reaches up to touch her hair, not getting it at first, when she notices her hair is done up the same way as Cassian’s: in a little half-ponytail. Her fingers fiddle with her hair tie as she genuinely considers pulling it out, but in the end she drops her hand.

They match, just like mirrors.

***

Nesta’s spends all of the next day waiting for her MRI results, but when her phone finally rings, it’s not her doctor.

“Lorene?” she answers.

“Today’s your lucky day, hun. It looks like the apartment is gonna be done by the end of the week!”

“Oh.” Nesta doesn’t know what else to say.

“Isn’t that great? You can move back in soon!” Lorene’s enthusiasm doesn’t match up with the storm of feelings going through Nesta right now.

She doesn’t want to leave, she realizes in half-horror. Especially not by the end of the week. “Um, that’s great Lorene,” she says quickly. “I’m really glad, but I have to go now. I’ll call you later, okay?” She does not plan on calling Lorene later.

After a rushed goodbye, Nesta throws her phone on her bed like it’s poisonous. She doesn’t want to think about her old apartment or going back to not having someone to talk to every day, not right now. The puzzle isn’t even halfway finished yet.

Once again, her phone rings. Nesta’s about to ignore it, thinking it’s her landlady again, when she realizes it’s an unfamiliar number. Snatching up the phone, she clicks the screen with nervous thumbs. “Hello?”

“Nesta Archeron?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Doctor Forbes. I have the results of your MRI scan right here and I wanted to go over them with you. Are you free right now?”

***

Nesta doesn’t tell Cassian about either of the phone calls she receives that day. The doctor call isn’t really his business, nor is it important, and as for her landlady’s call…

She doesn’t want to tell him about that call. She doesn’t want to tell him that she has to leave soon, because she doesn’t want to leave at all. So she goes on as if nothing has changed.

This lasts less than twenty-four hours, when Cassian’s attentiveness catches up to her the next morning and he asks if she’s gotten her MRI results yet.

“Yes,” she says flatly as she spreads peanut butter on her toast. Luckily for Nesta, this is something she can handle discussing. There’s nothing for her to be ashamed about.

Cassian straightens up and sets his coffee down. “Well?” he prods. “Did they find anything? Is anything wrong?”

“Yes,” she says again. She takes a bite of toast and says while chewing, “I have moderate endometriosis on my uterus and both ovaries. That’s it, though.”

Something clatters in the kitchen as Cassian drops it. “'That’s it'? Nesta, that’s fucking serious.” He sounds more intense than he’s ever been with her before.

Nesta scoffs, trying to deflect from how quickly the mood dropped. She should have expected his concern, should have known how deeply uncomfortable it would make her. “At least I don’t have cysts. What’s the big deal?”

“You might be infertile.”

There it is. He's such a bastard, always shoving her face into things she isn't ready to face.

On the outside, she lifts a hand sharply to shut him up. “I don't know what makes you think a week’s worth of Google searching makes you a gynecological health expert, but it's none of your business, Cassian. I said I’m fine and I mean it.” Well, everything but her wallet is fine. She can't even think about things like having children when she can barely afford treatment for her endometriosis.

Cassian moves without a word, and then there are two strong arms wrapped around her, holding her so close she can barely move. She makes a sound of protest but stays there, face squished into his chest. Jesus, he’s tall. He nearly has to hunch to put his chin on her head.

Nesta's arms remain stiff at her sides, her hands flexed outwards. “What the hell is this?”

“Just in case you're not fine.”

She is frozen.

When Nesta was little, she used to believe that if she talked about someone enough, they would eventually become real. After all, what more did a mythical king need to exist beyond being talked about? As Nesta grew older, she couldn't help but take notice of the fact that no one ever talked about her. She became ghostly, unsure of whether she was real or not. Who’s to say she exists when she can barely get a word in during a conversation? When at every party, she’s met with unfamiliar eyes that glaze over her like a background character?

She has felt paper-thin and hollow as fiction for so long. But she’s always wondered if someone would just reach out and hold onto her tight enough, if she might become real.

This feels a little like that.

Hesitantly, she lets her arms loosely encircle Cassian’s waist. He's so warm, and a shuddering breath escapes her.

She's fine. She's fine.

***

a/n: *narrator* she was not fine.

i was gonna add more to this and give cassian a pov this chapter, but this seemed like such a good place to leave off and i didn't wanna ruin it. next chapter is going to be more cassian-centric to restore the balance, and if i don't keep changing my plans we’ll see nesta make a friend who isn't cassian (bc she deserves a social life too)

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @royaltykxx

some tags are refusing to work, sorry :(

[dontshootmespence]

You’ll Get There

Summary: You plodded along. Day after day. Using the little joys to push through. Until one day your secret is revealed.

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Word Count: 1,553

Warnings: Self harm, depression, body issues, body image issues, insecurity. This is heavy, and really real for a lot of people, SO PLEASE BE WARNED BEFORE READING.

A/N: This is for an anon who is going through some things right now. <3

As you stared at the ceiling, your eyes felt heavy. You just woke up and all you could think of doing was going back to sleep. Being awake was too hard. Too pointless. 

But you had to work. Apparently that was a thing you had to do to keep on living. Slipping out of bed, you plodded toward the bathroom and the unholy mirror, readying yourself to look in the mirror and hate what was staring back at you. 

You turned on the light before you walked over the threshold of your bathroom. Over the years, you outfitted your bathroom with anything and everything you could think of to make it more inviting and comforting, but it did nothing to lessen the mocking silver reflection that caught your eye the second you walked in. “Fuck off,” you said to the inanimate object, almost angry it didn’t say anything back - at least then you could fight something and get some of this hatred out of your body. 

Zoning out as you brushed your teeth, you closed your eyes and tipped your head up toward the ceiling, brushing until your mouth hurt. After spitting into the sink, you couldn’t evade your reflection and stood there staring for what seemed like hours, honing in on everything you hated about yourself. Before too long, you got disgusted with yourself and walked back to your bedroom to get changed for work.

Once you decided on some dark wash jeans (the only kind deemed appropriate by your office) that were ill-fitting to say the least, and a plain red t-shirt that probably could’ve been thrown away years ago, you got dressed, pulling your pants up to your knees before sitting down on the bed. A few quick cuts with your razor drove endorphins through your body. You hated that was the relief you found; that you couldn’t find it anywhere else, but that was your life now, so you muddled through.

The only thing you had pushing through each day was your weekly pizza nights with Spencer, who lived one floor above you, but unfortunately his job had him away from his apartment more often than in it, so you hadn’t been to his place for two weeks. Thankfully, he was going to be home tonight.

As you ambled your way down the stairs, you found yourself thinking dangerous things. What would the world be like with you gone? Would anyone miss you?

Slipping into the car, you allowed a tear to fall before drying your eyes, using your pointer fingers to wipe away the waterfall of tears awaiting release. With a deep breath, you pulled away from the curb and went to grab your morning coffee. It was things like that - the routine of your favorite coffee - that kept you going each and every day. It saddened you. But maybe it was enough for now.

                                                             ------

Work slogged by slower than molasses. Every minute felt like an hour. You’d forgotten breakfast, forgone lunch because you felt like you didn’t deserve and were so hopped up on caffeine by the time your shift was over that you went through one of your favorite drive-thrus and binged leaving you feel like a complete sack of shit.

Thank God Spencer was going to be home tonight. Literally, each small moment with a friend, each song that came out from your favorite artist, each move that “you just had to see” - it was all that kept you going. 

After texting Spencer to make sure you were still on for tonight, you drove home and quickly released some tension in the only way you knew. A few new ones on the opposite leg then you cut this morning. A couple on your arm. Spencer texted back to say he was on his way back to the apartment with pizza, which gave you a few more minutes with your seemingly closest friend. Shining metal pierced soft flesh a few more times, just deep enough to feel something, but not deep enough to do any real damage. When you thought of that kind of injury, your heart dropped, which was the only thing that kept you from doing it, despite how god awful you felt. 

You bandaged up the cuts and slipped into some super baggy pants and a sweatshirt, forever wanting to hide the body you hated so much. Spencer assumed you dressed that way for comfort, which is why he always joined you and wore pajamas - if he only knew the truth. 

Your timing was immaculate, both of you arriving at his door within a minute of each other. “Have a good day at work?” He asked.

“I had a day,” you laughed. “But I’m alive.” He didn’t realize what an accomplishment that was. 

Spencer jimmied the keys in the lock and swept the door open, allowing you to walk in first. “Do you mind if I grab something to drink?” You always felt the need to ask, like you were being an imposing ass if you did anything else. 

“Y/N, my place is your place. Feel free to get whatever you want. You don’t have to ask.”

And now you felt bad for asking. 

You reached into the refrigerator and grabbed some juice, pouring a glass in the hopes that you could put off eating pizza for the time being. Binging after you left the office made you feel like you shouldn’t be eating anything for the rest of the day. 

As you reached into the cabinet and grabbed a glass, Spencer opened the pizza box and turned to grab plates, freezing in place. “Are you hurt?” He asks. You look down and see a blood drop on the floor. One of the cuts must’ve been deeper than you thought, the bandaids usually covered the evidence. 

“No, I’m fine, Spence. Don’t worry.” You hated having people worry about you. Made you feel like a burden to the world. 

Another drop fell to the floor. When you clutched your arm, he knew. “Y/N...”

“It’s nothing, Spence.”

“You’re hurting yourself. That’s not nothing.”

“I’m nothing. So it seems fitting.”

Spencer eyes blanketed with tears as he begged you to sit on the couch with him. “Please. Talk to me.”

“It doesn’t make sense. I know it doesn’t. I don’t wanna burden you.”

“You’re not. I’m asking you to talk to me,” Spencer replied. His voice was shaky and his skin was paler than usual. “Please, Y/N.”

“I don’t know,” you started, completely unsure of where to begin. How could explain how you felt? If you knew, you could do something right? “I hate myself.” It was a simple statement, but it was at the root of everything. “I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror. I either binge or don’t eat depending on the day. I feel like a burden to everyone around me. Honestly, it’s just little things, like having pizza with you or listening to my favorite song that keeps me from ending it all.”

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. “I can’t say that I personally understand where you are right now. At least not to the degree that you’re feeling it. But you aren’t alone. Ever. When people love you, you’re not burdening them. They’re opening themselves up to help you because they want to help. Will you let me refer you to someone? The psychologist the BAU works with, her friend has someone that specializes in your type of struggles.” He could sense the hesitance in your muscles. “Please. I know what your brain is telling you right now. That you don’t deserve kindness of any sort. But I’m telling you that’s bullshit. It’s garbage. And with time and help I think you’ll believe it.”

“I’ll do it,” you said softly, adding quickly, “for you.”

“I’ll take that.” He said quickly, relief flooding his voice. “Eventually, you’ll be doing it for you, so I’ll take what I can get now.”

Spencer stood up quickly, kissing your forehead as he ran into his bathroom. He’d never done that before. You two were friends. You wanted more, but didn’t believe yourself worthy, or that he’d return your feelings. 

When he sped back, he had bandages and some antibiotic cream, peeling your sleeve back without words to clean your wounds. “Thank you,” you said, watching a drop of water fall to the couch. You were crying. “Thank you, Spence.”

He slid his finger under your chin and tipped your head up to see the genuine concern in his eyes. “You’re welcome. It’s what you deserve. Okay?”

“Okay.”

After cleaning up your cuts, he pulled you close, allowing you to rest your head against his chest. Instead of eating and watching tv like you normally did, he just turned on some music and brushed his fingers through your hair. “I know I’m away a lot with work, but please, whenever you feel like cutting text me instead. I may not be able to get to it right away, but I will read it, and I will respond.”

Heavy with exhaustion, you nodded your reply, tears turning his light grey pajama shirt much darker. “I want to feel better. I just don’t know how.”

“It’s going to take time,” he said. “But you’ll get there.”

[angst-fairygodmother]

Omg I've been binge reading all your Klaus fics and can I just say you are an AMAZING writer and I'd straight up buy your novel in a heartbeat if you write one. The way you use words and make me feel things, I can't even! ❤️ I saw your requests are open so I wanna request a Klaus fic where the reader takes care of him after he comes home all messed up.. like runs him a bath, gives him a haircut, cooks him food and puts him to bed...You can make it NSFW too in the end, I surely won't complain ;)

A/N: Listen, I think like 25-50% of why I love Klaus is the mere concept of caring for him when he needs it, so this was an excellent prompt. Thank you so much! (I hope you enjoy it even though it didn’t end up getting NSFW) Word Count: 2197 Content Warning: T - withdrawal, references to drug use

You weren’t really paying attention to the familiar hallway of your apartment building, too busy juggling groceries in the struggle to find the right key. You had lived in this building for three and a half years now, it wasn’t like you needed to look where you were going, instinct guiding up the stairs and along to your own front door. Which is why when a figure lurched out of the shadows, stumbling toward you, you were completely unprepared. You screamed, dropping both your keyring and the bags of groceries on your arms as you threw your hands up in defense. The back of your mind registered the sound of something cracking, probably your eggs as they hit the tile floor. The rest of you was focused on the hundred and twenty or so pounds of human body crashing into you. You felt the fuzz of ragged fur and well-worn leather beneath your fingers as you tried to steady the both of you.

Finally you registered the sweaty, washed-out face.

“Klaus?” you asked, recognizing your neighbor.

He had only moved into your building a few months ago, but you two had quickly become friends, chatting – okay maybe you, at least, were flirting but it’s not like it was going to go anywhere, not really – in the mailroom or when you passed each other coming and going. A few times, you had invited him over for dinner or he had talked you into spending more hours than any human reasonably should watching movies, stretched out together on his couch. But you had never seen him like this.

“Oh hey, Y/N,” he trilled, trying to act normally even as he swayed again and you reached out to brace him. “Don’t mean to be a bother, but I’m…not doing so hot and I didn’t know where else to go.”

You frowned in concern and ushered him inside, only belatedly remembering your groceries and going back for them after you had guided him to a seat in your living room.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you began to put things away and waited for him to settle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you just got dragged through hell and then spat back out the other side.”

He chuckled, more of a defeated escape of air than an actual laugh. “I feel like it too.”

You frowned at the eggs, completely ruined. The carton of orange juice was dented and wouldn’t sit right on the shelf but it was whole. Tomatoes: bruised, blueberries: free range in the grocery bag. Klaus didn’t seem inclined to say anything more, not that he had really said anything yet, anything of substance.

“You said you didn’t know where else to go?” you prompted, trying a different angle.

“I haven’t had anything in days,” he explained vaguely before doubling over to press his head between his knees. “Christ I feel like shit,” he groaned.

Something about the way he said it registered in your mind enough for you to figure out what was going on.

“Withdrawal?” you asked simply, moving to sit on the couch, turning your body into the arm of it so you could face him.

He nodded, looking up at you with red-rimmed eyes.

“So why come to me? I don’t…I mean I can’t help you get a fix.”

“I know. I didn’t think you could. I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“Okay. Do you need anything? Is there any way I can help?”

He shrugged, shivering despite the sheen of sweat on his brow. His tongue darted out to lick his chapped lips and you tried to resist the urge to trace its path with your eyes. He looked like he just might curl up in your chair and go to sleep, and if that was what he really wanted, you would let him. However, he was sick, and he had come to you, and if he couldn’t tell you what he needed, you would just have to try everything until something helped.

A moment later, you had put the kettle on for some tea and were handing him a drink of cool water.

“Here, drink this,” you said, pressing the thick green glass into his hand. “I’ll make you some tea, mint to help with any nausea, but that’s going to take a bit to be ready. Are you hungry? I was planning a bolognese but I can do something lighter instead. Maybe some soup?”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that, Y/N…”

“When is the last time you ate?”

He frowned, blinking heavily and turning his head to stare into the space beside him as if your end table held the answer to your question. “I can’t remember.” He paused. “No, we had waffles…was it really that long ago?”

“Right,” you said, a little concerned that he almost seemed to be having a conversation with someone who wasn’t there. “That settles it, I’m making dinner.”

Decision made, you stood once more and began bustling about your kitchen. He grimaced as you chopped the vegetables and herbs for the stock and you winced, apologizing quickly and trying your best to chop quietly.

“So why are you…I mean why haven’t you…used…in a few days? I’m not an expert but isn’t cold turkey super not the recommended method to break an addiction?”

“Hm?” he asked, startling as if you had woken him from dozing. “What was that?” He turned around in the chair to blink at you over the counter.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you had fallen asleep, you can go back to it if you want…”

“No, no, it’s fine. But I didn’t hear your question.”

“Oh, well I was just wondering why the cold turkey? Especially since it doesn’t exactly seem planned?”

“Dealer got picked up,” he said, stifling another yawn. “Most of the others around are too scared of the cops to take a new client.”

You nodded, surprised at how casual he was being about the whole thing.

“It’ll blow over in a few more days, and everything will be fine. I hope.” His voice dropped on the last remark and you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear it, so you decided not to comment.

Instead, you watched with a frown as he stifled another yawn.

“You know, the soup’s going to take a while, if you want to try and get some sleep while you wait?” you offered.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. Sleep is when they find me easiest. God so many grabbing hands. And the screaming. Always screaming.” He shivered, not from cold or the lack of chemicals or for the drama, but in obvious, genuine fright.

“Oh.” You frowned and bit your lip. “Is there anything I can…do?” you felt yourself flush with embarrassment as soon as the words left your lips, certain that they would sound far less innocent and well-meaning that you had intended them.

“Well,” he drawled, trailing off in thought. “Sometimes they’ll stay at bay for a bit if I’m not alone?”

“Okay. Well, there’s not really a lot of room for both of us on the couch, so we could take a nap in my…bed…but, and don’t take this the wrong way, you’re kind of gross…so would you mind maybe showering first?”

He laughed, high and light and it made you smile, sounding a bit more like his usual self. “No offense taken. Ooh, do you have a tub? I would love a bath…”

You raised your eyebrow curiously but nodded.

His hands clapped together giddily.

You padded to your room to dig out a spare towel and were about to give it to him when another thought occurred: he had nothing to put on after except the clothes he was currently sweating through and hadn’t been cleaned in who knew how long. Rooting through your drawers you eventually found a pair of fluffy pink and blue striped pajama pants and an old t-shirt from the Led Zeppelin concert you had gone to in high school which looked like they might fit him.

“Y/N, you are an absolute angel,” he said dramatically as you handed him the stack.

“Can you handle it on your own or…?” you trailed off, feeling awkward about your unspoken offer to help him bathe, but only a few moments before he had been practically falling asleep into his glass, and he had been unsteady on his feet in the hall.

“Oh I’ll be fine,” he said, waving a hand dismissively before he suddenly turned his puppy-dog green eyes on you. “Unless you wanted to. It really helps me relax to have someone wash my hair for me…”

You felt the hot blush creep across your face and down your neck again as you bit your lip.

“O…okay…” you stammered nervously.

“Perfect, now I’ll just go in there and slip under the suds and I’ll shout for you when I’m decent.”

“There’s nothing decent about you,” you muttered under your breath. “And I think you might be trying to give me a heart attack.”

He winked at you as he passed you and you knew he had heard you.

~

A few moments later, you had set the soup to simmer low on the stove and were kneeling on the uncomfortable tile of your bathroom floor behind Klaus. Your fingers were buried in his sopping hair, gently lathering the practically candy-scented shampoo into it. His eyes were closed, head tilted slightly back, exposing the column of his throat to you tantalizingly, and the sounds he made, practically purring at your touch, had you thinking all sorts of untoward thoughts. You had to keep reminding yourself that you were just trying to help him and that it probably meant nothing to him in his muddled state.

Finally, after maybe a little longer playing with scrubbing his hair than necessary, you scooped up some of the water to rinse away the soap. As you did, your fingertips brushed along his exposed neck and shoulders and he moaned.

“Do that again. Please,” he begged.

Heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it behind him, you did as he asked, dancing your fingertips along the planes and angles of his skin before digging them in just a little, gently, massaging him.

“Christ, Y/N, that feels so good,” he sighed.

‘The water’s getting cold,” you pointed out, a little breathless from the way he said your name. “And you’re going to turn into a prune if you spend any more time in there. You should probably get out.”

He turned his head, craning to look at you. “Would you like to stay and watch?”

Caught off-guard, you stared at him, gaping like a fish out of water, your mouth opening and closing. Then you stood, racing from the room, his lilting laughter following you. You practically threw yourself onto your mattress, hoping that the few minutes it would take for him to get out of the tub and dress would be enough for you to calm your frantic pulse before you actually exploded.

You also realized that you were in a now-damp pair of jeans and a button-down and that wouldn’t be very comfortable if you fell asleep in it, so you quickly changed into a baggy shirt and shorts, settling them on your hips just as the door creaked in and Klaus entered, bare-chested but fitting into your pants better than you ever had.

“Why are you doing all this for me, Y/N?” he asked, sitting beside you, still tousling his curls with the towel.

“Because you’re my friend and you asked me for help,” you said as if it were obvious.

“You could have turned me away and told me not to bother you with. Other people have.”

“No I couldn’t have,” you smiled softly. “I care about you too much to do that.”

Suddenly his lips were on yours, surging forward hot and hungry and desperate. You moaned as his tongue parted your lips somewhat forcefully and he pressed you backward onto the bed. You fingers tangled into his hair, tugging on it and causing him to inhale sharply. One of his hands, still chilled and shaking slightly, found its way beneath your waistband, sliding easily past the slightly worn elastic. You hissed as he moved your underwear out of the way and made contact with your skin.

“Klaus…wait…” you gasped out, pushing at his shoulders to move him away from you.

He pulled back immediately, looking at you with a mix of concern and fear.

“What is it? Did I…?” he murmured, apology already dancing on his tongue.

You reached up to cup his face between your hands, caressing softly and trying to brush the worried wrinkles from his brow.

“No, Klaus, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you whispered. “I just…I think we should take it slow tonight, okay?”

He nodded carefully, clearly unused to this kind of tenderness, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek before pulling him down beside you, curling around him and running your fingers soothingly through his shaggy hair. He sighed contentedly, snuggling closer and burying his face in your neck.

[msmkcreates]

“so it’s a date?” “nope. not a date” for Slim/Reader? not from any specific fic, i dont think, though what ive read has been *chefs kiss*

I went with Mutt, since I'm not exactly sure what you meant by Slim? And also, this is absolutely not what you had in mind, most likely, so very sorry about that. On the bright side, it sets up for something else and I kinda like that.

Tags/Warnings: Eating Disorders, insults, not much fluff here, fat-phobia (?), reader has body issues and Mutt is an asshole, seriously an asshole

"Re-Hate-tionship" (SF!Papyrus/reader, platonic SF!Sans&Reader)

Was it bad, how much you hated Mutt? Was it wrong of you, as Black's best friend, to so completely despise his shit-talking older brother?

It can't be wrong, you reason, because he hates you just as much. He makes snide remarks at you, about your clothes, your hair, your anything really as long as it's something to pick at. He mocks you when you're trying to be serious, he pulls faces at the back of your head when he thinks you aren't looking, and you're pretty sure you could draw his middle finger from memory.

So, a mutual hate. A re-hate-tionship, if you will. You said that once, and he laughed, and then he looked so upset with himself for at least three days. Black has begged you both to get along, but honestly he's given up at this point--as long as nobody is throwing anything he lets you dance your dance of disapproval.

You'd asked him once, what you ever did to him, and he replied that you were a human of unknown intentions hanging around his brother...and you assumed that your retaliation had lit the flames to you being a bitch, which fed the hate. It isn't like you didn't try to be civil (okay it was rare but sometimes you tried) but it's hard to stay nice when three seconds after entering the house you're being insulted.

Today was no different, of course, you weren't sure what you'd expected when you'd come over for dinner. He hurled his usual insults at you, but this time he somehow hit a sensitive spot.

"why the fuck're we feeding you, too, again? honestly you could probably fit t'skip a meal, flesh-bag."

You stiffened immediately, and Black noticed. His face was full of fury, ready to tell Mutt off, but he didn't say anything when you sharply shook your head.

But it was too late, he'd noticed your lack of response. He didn't make another stab at your weight, at least not right away, but he smirked like he'd won something as you stabbed at your salad, perforating it over and over but ultimately pushing it away.

You weren't very hungry anymore.

It was halfway through the night, the movie still barely ramping up through the action, when he broke from his usual game of begrudging silence to take another crack at you.

"yer movie picker is shit," he said simply.

"It's a classic, everybody likes this movie," you huffed. "At least, anyone who isn't a complete degenerate. Guess I can't expect you to have any sort of taste, not like me and Black."

That earned a snicker from Black, almost a stamp of approval, and Mutt scowled. You only smiled back sweetly.

"i dunno if you can talk 'bout taste, do y'even taste the snacks you shove in yer face? or are y'just hooverin' them down?"

You pressed your lips into a thin line of displeasure, your free hand not holding the popcorn moving to Black's knee, squeezing as you felt him tense beside you. You don't respond, glaring at the TV in front of you, but you do put the popcorn aside, instead crossing your arms and wholly ignoring his presence.

It's fine. It wasn't as if you hadn't been horrible to him on other nights. You insulted him just as much for things he might be sensitive about--his scars, his golden tooth, other appearance based insults you'd be ashamed to repeat to your mother. Maybe if he didn't get a reaction, he'd poke at something else and leave your eating habits alone.

At the very least his little victory kept him in smug silence until the credits rolled.

"PERHAPS WE SHOULD SEND THE LEFTOVERS HOME WITH YOU, MY DEAR," Black said, bundling the last of it into a Tupperware. "DON'T THINK I DIDN'T NOTICE YOUR LACK OF APPETITE TONIGHT."

"M'fine," you said, waving away his thinly veiled concern. "You guys keep it."

"a shocking twist of generosity," Mutt added in a bored tone from the living room.

"I'm sorry, did I ask you? Or in some way imply that I was talking to you at all?" You huffed, glaring at him as Black rolled his eyelights, packing the Tupperware into your bag. "You know, you'd be a lot more fun to be around if you didn't spend every waking moment being an asshole."

"i don't spend every moment being an asshole," he chuckled, leaning over the half-wall that separated the kitchen and the living room. "it's somethin' i can turn off, so if that's my worst trait at least m'pretty."

"Gag me," you spat.

"now there's an image."

"Ew!" You scoffed, turning away from him to look at Black with exasperation.

"it's a date, then?" He laughed.

You looked back at him, horrified. "No, no, not a date, definitely not a fucking date. If you think you're coming anywhere close to my mouth with any filthy fucking part of your body--"

"what, i thought you liked a little sausage?" He practically purred. "y'certainly eat like ya'd suck a mean dick."

"MUTT! THAT IS ENOUGH!" Black said swiftly, but the damage was done.

It seemed he had found his new Favorite Thing to poke at about you. The unbothered look on his face as Black raised his voice at him was enough to make that blindingly clear, and you set your jaw, fists clenching as you glared at him.

"I eat like everybody else!" You said finally, hands shaking in your rage. "I'm not fat!"

"OF COURSE, HE DIDN'T MEAN IT THAT WAY--" Black tried, and you shook his hand off your arm.

"He did mean it that way!" You flipped Mutt off, with gusto. "Fuck you, and that isn't an invitation."

With that, you took off, storming out and onto the terrace. You would have left completely but your stuff wasn't all together yet and you didn't fancy coming back for it in twenty minutes. You slammed the sliding glass door as good as you could and dragged a deck chair to the edge of the balcony, plopping down and leaning on your crossed arms, staring down into the trees and foliage behind the building.

You could hear Black blowing up on Mutt inside, though the soundproofing was good enough that you couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, only the tone of it. He knows all about your history with your eating disorder, you'd broken down and cried to him after he'd asked you one too many times if you'd gotten enough to eat.

You understand that underground, resources were scarce, and that's why he always makes sure you've eaten enough. He's been good about his wording since then, carefully asking if you have everything you need, with heavy implications that he means food. It's worked thus far, and sending leftovers home was kind of his way of saying he loved you.

You assume, then, as you calmed down a bit, that Mutt really meant no offense when he said you eat well. It was probably a compliment, even, as veiled as it was. And it wasn't like you'd ever opened up to him about your strained relationship with food and your weight. He probably thought it was funny that a small compliment made you clam up in a way his insults never had.

The door slid open behind you and you sighed, closing your eyes. "It's fine, Black, I'll get over it."

"good, here i thought i'd hafta apologize."

You huffed and turned a glare on Mutt as he closed the door behind him. That was not your best friend as you had expected. "What, did he make you come out here to say sorry? Well, you can save it, I don't take insincere apologies."

"actually, he told me he's fed up with how i treat you and that he didn't want to see me within a mile of ya again." Mutt pulled up the second terrace chair and took a seat. "but i don't think i can do that."

"What, come to make fun of me, then?" You hissed, leaning back and glaring over at him. "Maybe call me names? Make pig noises?"

"i wouldn't do that," he said, seriously. "i pick my words pretty carefully, you know, if i'd'a known you had a thing about food i woulda picked 'em even more carefully."

"Since when do you give a shit about my feelings?"

"always," he said, and you snorted, disbelieving. "we may not get along, but yer important t'sans, that makes you important t'me. an' you ain't nothin' but beautiful, so i guess i didn't think that you'd take it as me callin' you fat."

"First you insult me, and now you lie to me." You stood up, and he looked right up at you as you loomed over him the best you could. "Anything else? Maybe poke fun at my dead mom, or fake-ask-me-out?"

"why would anyone fake asking someone out?" He asked, genuinely surprised. "i'm a mean bitch at heart, so is sans, but we'd never do that."

You huffed. "Well then congrats, you're better than the kids I went to school with. Barely."

He hummed thoughtful and you were about to turn and leave him behind--

"wanna fuck?"

Slowly, you turned around, looking at him in disbelief. "I'm sorry?"

"i said," he stood, crowding you against the balcony fencing, his hands on either side of you. "wanna fuck? you an' i might not get along, but you're fine as fuck, i'm not so bad, and i gotta bed we can work out our aggressions on. so, wanna fuck?"

You inhaled, hands on his chest and ready to push him away...but you're due for some stress relief and if anything you can trust him not to get attached, and despite being the opposite of friends you trust he'd never do anything to hurt you, if only for his brother's sake.

"You know what?" You breathed, straightening your posture. Your hands went from pushing to gripping his shirt. "Yeah. Let's fuck. You've had worse ideas."

[purplepersnicketywrites]

For the "mini" fic prompts, can I request #19? :DDD

‘things you said when we were the happiest we ever were’

YA

okay so this is like, one of the SAPPIEST things i’ve written I think! it’s also 3.7k words!

—

“I like you,” Kirishima said.

Katsuki stared at him. The redhead seemed to squirm under his gaze, lower lip bitten between his stupid-sharp teeth, eyes flicking away from Katsuki’s face to somewhere on the ground. When Kirishima had begged and pouted until Katsuki had agreed to take them both hiking, this was not the conversation Katsuki had been expecting to have once they reached the top.

That didn’t mean it was something unwelcome.

Kirishima drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and met Katsuki’s eyes again. “I like you, Bakugou. Um. A lot. So I was wondering if maybe I could ask you out on a date?”

Contrary to popular belief, Katsuki was actually quite familiar with his feelings. It didn’t mean that he always agreed with them. In this case, however, Katsuki embraced the warm and golden glowing bubble that cast its light through his entire being like a miniature sun. Happiness wasn’t enough of a word to describe it.

Katsuki didn’t let his voice waver when he replied to his best friend. “Ask, then.”

“Oh, uh,” Kirishima swallowed with an audible gulp. “Would you want to go on a date with me?”

There was only one thing that Katsuki could say.

—

“Hey Katsuki, what’s your plan after Yuuei?”

Katsuki frowned slightly and paused his braiding of Eijirou’s hair. “Plan? For what?”

“Oh, like,” Eijirou waved one of his hands around, leaning back into Katsuki’s chest. “You gonna sidekick first? Or go pro straight from the get-go.”

“Pro, obviously,” Katsuki said. “Gonna open an agency an’ everything. I’ve got the reputation to pull it off already.”

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Eijirou said, dropping his head backwards onto Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki peered at his face and Eijirou grinned at him. There was something not a hundred-percent genuine in that grin and Katsuki almost frowned. “So are you looking for an agency building?”

“Haven’t had all that much time for it,” Katsuki said, watching Eijirou for signs of reaction to anything he was saying . “Googled some shit but I’d want to go and see wherever these places are. Can’t exactly go property hunting in the middle of term.”

Eijirou turned his head and kissed the first part of Katsuki’s skin that he reached, just under his jaw. “How about apartments?”

“Gonna have to be near the agency, so I gotta look for that first,” Katsuki said. “If I want somewhere with decent villain traffic it’ll probably be in one of the more expensive areas with a high population density. The government agency fund doesn’t cover personal accomodations, so I’ll probably have to set up a hammock in my office for a couple of months until the Heroics feedback kicks in and I start earning something decent.”

“Hm,” Eijirou said, kissing Katsuki’s neck again. As much as Katsuki wanted to indulge in that, he had a feeling that something was on his boyfriend’s mind.

“What is it?” he asked, prodding Eijirou’s cheek.

“Oh, well, um,” Eijirou pulled a slightly shifty face. “I was just- I mean. I don’t have as much of an ironclad plan at the moment…”

“So, what?” Katsuki tilted his head. “You’re lookin’ for advice?”

Eijirou’s face skewed a little more. “Not exactly. Uh. I just. Um. Would you ever, uh, consider maybe having two hammocks in your office?”

Oh.

Katsuki stared at his boyfriend and felt overwhelmed all of a sudden. Holy shit.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Now they were both staring. Katsuki could feel his cheeks heating up but damn, it was the truth, and he’d had to say it.

“What?” Eijirou said, the first of them to break out of the stupor. “You- What?”

“I love you, Kirishima Eijirou,” Katsuki said. The words tasted right on his tongue.

Eijirou sat up, twisting to face Katsuki and reach for his face. “You- You- Holy-”

“I love you,” Katsuki repeated, pushing his face forward so that their foreheads met. Now that he’d said the words, he couldn’t stop. “I love you! I fucking love you, Eijirou.”

Eijirou kissed him, hard and sweet. This kiss didn’t last all that long with Eijirou pulling back to pant through his grin. “I love you too.”

A sensation not unlike one of Kaminari’s shocks zipped up Katsuki’s spine. His stomach churned, but in a good way, like all of his insides were dancing. Katsuki felt elated, giddy even, and he wrapped his arms around Eijirou’s waist to bring him closer.

They traded words and kisses and smiles and words again, over and over and over.

It occurred to Katsuki that he hadn’t actually answered Eijirou’s question, so he pulled away slightly - and only slightly, with their noses still brushing and Eijirou’s breath hot against his mouth.

“You do know we can share a hammock, right, dumbass?” Katsuki asked.

Eijirou very being seemed to brighten at the question, and he responded with his own. “Does that mean that you do wanna live together after Yuuei?”

There was only one thing that Katsuki could say.

—

Katsuki wasn’t normally one for nerves in intense situations, but this was something entirely different. It wasn’t like some fight against a villain where Katsuki could explode and explode and put his feelings into action. It wasn’t remaining calm while his partner was injured, letting everything condense into a laser-focus until Eijirou was safe.

No. This were the fluttery, flurry-of-emotions type nerves that Katsuki didn’t know how to deflect into productivity. The kind of nerves that part of him enjoyed, the nerves he had felt just before leaning into his first kiss as he tangled his fingerss into red hair, the nerves that had shuddered through him in waves when he had knelt on one knee in front of Eijirou with a ring in one hand.

“Yo, how’re you hold- Ooh, not so hot,” Kyouka said, poking her head around the door. She glanced around the room and at Katsuki, who was sitting on one of the haphazardly scattered chairs. “They left you alone in here? Fools.”

“The fuck do you mean ‘they’, Headphones? You’re on my side, too,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Oh it’s Headphones right now, huh? Man you’re sweating buckets,” Kyouka said, putting her hands on her hips.

Katsuki glared at her. “No fucking kidding.”

“Hey now, it’s just Eijirou,” Kyouka said. “Think about that dumb grin he’s gonna be wearing. Just for you.”

God, Eijirou’s fucking smiles. Eijirou was easy with them, flashing a grin here, showing off a smirk there, but not that easy. Some of Eijirou’s smiles were rarer than others, and Katsuki adored drawing them out of him. Like the way Eijirou smiled when he woke up, so soft and sleepy and content. No one else got to see that.

“I love him so fucking much,” Katsuki said, groaning and burying his face in his hands. “That’s not the- Ugh. We shoulda just eloped.”

“Says Mr ‘If These Napkins Aren’t The Right Colour I’m Gonna Commit A Crime’.”

“Shuddup,” Katsuki said. “Someone who doesn’t think leopard print or pitch black tablecloths are an acceptable wedding aesthetic had to be in charge of decor.”

“So that ruled out all of your friends,” Kyouka said, grabbing a nearby chair and sitting down. “Because we’re all either from the same dimension that Hawaiian Shirt designs are stolen from, or goths.”

“Exactly,” Katsuki said. “Useless, the lot of you.”

“Denki threw a bangin’ bachelor party, though, right?” Kyouka asked.

“I guess,” Katsuki said. Pikachu had taken them all to a theme-park with enough express passes to skip the queue for any of the rides. It had been fun. He had made out with Eijirou on the ferris wheel like they were teenagers again, and no one had asked for his autograph.

“There, see? You’re smiling again, Blasty,” Kyouka said. Oh, well, the distraction had helped. “Think about how powerful you’ll feel when you can say ‘my husband’.”

“So fucking powerful.”

“Precisely! It’s a good feeling,” Kyouka grinned. “Remember when Denki kept dropping ‘my wife’ into nearly every conversation?”

“Too well,” Katsuki said, shaking his head.

“Well that’s gonna be you and Eijirou, soon. You’ll be rubbing it in everyone’s faces,” Kyouka said. Fuck, that sounded good. “Alright, final check. You got your suit on properly?”

Katsuki looked down at himself. “Pretty sure.”

“Tie, shoes, any weird decorative things?”

“All there,” Katsuki said. He was wearing Red Riot themed cufflinks, and he knew Eijirou had a matching pair with his own brand.

“Makeup and hair?” Kyouka asked, tilting her head.

“Jeez, it ain’t like this is a broadcast production,” Katsuki muttered. “But yeah. It’s all sorted. If you can’t see it then Mina did her job right.”

Kyouka studied him for a few minutes. “Vows?”

“Hell yeah,” Katsuki said. “Everything’s ready. It’s just the fuckin’ waiting.”

“Good job you don’t have to do that any more,” Kyouka said, glancing at her watch. “It’s time to go, Katsuki!”

“Oh, shit,” Katsuki said, standing. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck, okay, let’s go.”

Everything after that was blurred by adrenaline, until he was standing up near the altar at a very familiar pair of red eyes as Eijirou approached up the aisle. Katsuki couldn’t tear his eyes away - wouldn’t, in any case. The very world was glowing.

“Hi,” Eijirou whispered, once he was standing in front of Katsuki. God, he looked so fucking handsome. “Are you ready for this?”

There was only one thing that Katsuki could say.

—

“Whoa!” Eijirou said, laughing from where he was pinned to the wall next to the door in their apartment as Katsuki adorned his throat in kisses. “Uh, what’s the special occasion, Blasty?”

Katsuki shook his head. “Just kiss me back already.”

Eijirou planted a smacker on Katsuki’s cheek. Ugh, he hadn’t meant like that and Eijirou knew it, judging from the mischief in his husband’s eyes.

“Gonna make me guess, huh? Was it something that happened today?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. Fine, if Eijirou was gonna be like this… He leant in and began to work up a hickey on Eijirou’s collarbone.

“That’s a yes, huh? Augh, I’m gonna have to cover that u- Katsuki- Gonna have to cover that up! Was it something I did?”

Katsuki nibbled his way up Eijirou’s throat up to his ear.

“Hmm, was it the b- Oh.”

Eijirou grabbed his face and pushed him back. The redhead was staring as Katsuki with his big wide eyes and a kind of thunderstruck expression.

“Is- So you weren’t joking, earlier? With that baby?”

Katsuki grinned at him. “Nope.”

“Katsuki!” Eijirou cried - literally, there were tears forming in his eyes. “You- Soon? Really? You’re ready for kids?”

Katsuki took in Eijirou’s radiant, adoration-filled expression, pictured it directed at a couple of rowdy brats storming around the room with blankets tied onto them as capes. Damn, they’d probably have to move into an actual house - good thing they could afford it now with their ever-growing popularity.

Katsuki pictured reading storybooks together, being woken up in the middle of the night by a kid who’d just had a nightmare, sticking scribbled drawings up on the fridge they were going to have in their big fancy-ass kitchen.

Fuck yes, he was ready for kids. He wanted to be a father with Eijirou so badly that it burned, hotter and brighter than he wanted to be the number one hero.

Katsuki kissed Eijirou, as deeply as he could when his husband was bearing that big goofy grin of his.

“Oh my god,” Eijirou said, arms sweeping around Katsuki’s waist to lift him up and spin the pair of them across the room. “You wanna be a dad with me?!”

There was only one thing that Katsuki could say.

—

“She hasn’t had the best start to life,” the social worker said, looking at her paperwork with a troubled expression. Katsuki didn’t remember her name but Eijirou definitely knew it. “She doesn’t remember all that much - as she was very young - but her birthparents were villains and she was retrieved during a raid on their house. She was rather neglected.”

“Sounds a little like Eri,” Eijirou muttered, and Katsuki grabbed one of his hands to try and stop him from clenching his fists too hard.

“She’s been responding well to her foster family and making progress on all of her developmental targets,” the social worker continued. “But ideally we’d like to get her to a permanent family as soon as possible, so if you’re unsure about proceeding after you’ve met her, let us know as soon as you can so we can go back to looking for another match for her.”

Katsuki nodded. The idea of giving up on the kid rankled with him already, but the rational side of his brain reminded him that if they didn’t end up being compatible, it’d be better for everyone to say so.

“She has two older siblings placed with other families,” the social worker said. “And she currently had regular contact with them. Would you be willing to accomodate this?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Eijirou said. Katsuki nodded again.

They had been stood outside of this two-year-old’s foster home for far too long while the social worker briefed them. Fuck, he just- He wanted to see her already.

“Alright, let’s head in.”

The social worker knocked on the door. The woman who opened the door greeted them with a smile. She was small, but kind-looking, and reminded Katsuki a little of Auntie Inko.

“Welcome!” She said, but the rest of the pleasantries flew over Katsuki’s head. Fuck, he was just too excited. They might be meeting their daughter today.

The foster carer led them into her house and into a kitchen. There. A little girl with a shock of bright, shaggy blue hair sat scribbling furiously as a piece of paper with a green crayon. Katsuki remembered from the paperwork that she was three. He didn’t know how big three-year-olds were supposed to be. Was she tall for her age? Short?

She looked up at them as they entered the room, and Katsuki felt his heart lurch. Her eyes were red. It could be something they all shared. Shit, was he about to start crying? Where the fuck was his composure, what the hell.

“Aoimi,” said the foster carer - that was the girl’s name. “We have some guests today.”

Aoimi narrowed her eyes and looked between the three new faces.

“Why?” she asked. Her foster-mother laughed.

“I thought it would be nice to have some company! Be nice to them, okay?”

“Maybe,” Aoimi said, going back to her colouring.

The foster-carer laughed again. “She has a bit of a personality on her!”

Katsuki met Eijirou’s eyes - his husband was beaming at him.

“Good,” Katsuki said, sitting down in the chair he was pointed to. “You wouldn’t wanna be boring, huh kid?”

Aoimi looked up at him again, as considering as a three-year-old could be. “Wanna see my quirk?”

The girl’s foster-mother looked like she was biting back a grimace. “Now, Aoimi-”

“Yes,” Katsuki said. He looked up at the foster-carer for a moment. “If your quirk’s not too messy to use indoors.”

“It is not,” Aoimi said, wiggling a little in her seat and sitting up straight. Her foster-mother sighed and nodded. Aoimi grinned, and Katsuki watched as the tiny girl’s teeth sharpened. Claws grew from her fingers, and blue fur began to sprout over her skin. A long, thin tail with a tuft of fur at the end of it began to wave around behind her, until the girl Katsuki was looking at was more of a cub.

“That’s pretty cool,” Eijirou said, leaning around Katsuki from his own seat to see Aoimi more clearly.

The girl nodded, teeth still bared. Katsuki thought that as she got older, her canines might even longer than they already were, like a saber-toothed cat. Aoimi detransformed slowly, fur receding and teeth shrinking back into shape. “What are your quirks?”

Katsuki held out one of his hands and let it spark a few times. “I can make explosions.”

“Whoa,” Aoimi’s eyes bugged out a bit. “That’s like Ground Zero!”

Katsuki grinned. “You could say that, yeah.”

The little girl studied him for a long moment. “You are Ground Zero.”

“Yep, my real name is Kirishima Katsuki,” Katsuki said. He pointed at Eijirou. “And the big lug over there is my husband, Kirishima Eijirou.”

“Red Riot,” Aoimi said. She seemed to be taking this quite well. “You’re here ‘cause you wanna adopt me, right? I think you should, it’d be cool to have hero dads.”

Huh.

“Aoimi,” her foster-mother said, sounding exasperated.

“I’m not stupid,” Aoimi said, jutting her chin out. “I can read.”

Holy fuck, it was like looking in a mirror, kinda. Katsuki found himself grinning even harder.

The meeting continued, with Eijirou asking more questions than Katsuki could have thought about this kind of stuff, and Aoimi herself making a pretty big impact on Katsuki. He’d known pretty much from the moment he’d met the girl’s eyes, really, but the more he talked to her, the more determined he was.

He nearly cried again when they were waving goodbye to Aoimi and her foster-mother. God, he was turning into such a fucking sap, wasn’t he?

The social worker reached her car and turned to address them.

“Well, you’ve met Aoimi now. Do you need some time to think about it, or would you like me to put that you’re happy to proceed with the adoption on my report?”

He could tell from the look in Eijirou’s eyes what their answer would be. Eijirou nodded at him.

There was only one thing that Katsuki could say. 

—

“Katsuki! Katsuki come here!”

Katsuki bolted into the room at the sound of Eijirou’s voice. “What’s-”

“Look!” Eijirou pointed to the TV, where some sort of news was airing. “There, there, look! A pair of hero interns from Yuuei just debuted, Katsuki! Guess who it was!”

“Holy shit,” Katsuki squinted at the screen, at the bright blue blob he could just about make out talking to a couple of police officers in the background. “Aoimi?”

“Yes! I just turned the news on and there she was!” Eijirou crowed. “She and her friend on the other internship with Gevaudan apprehended a purse-snatcher with a crocodile quirk. Here, I’ll rewind so you can see.”

“She’s okay, right?” Katsuki asked as Eijirou rolled the news footage back.

Eijirou nodded, bouncing up and down in his seat like he was an excitable teenager again as the takedown of the crocodile villain happened. Her fellow intern looked to have some sort of speed-boosting or strength-based quirk and he had flung Aoimi in her cat form at the villain. She’d been big enough to pin the villain to the ground until the other intern and Gevaudan showed up.

Katsuki found himself beaming. Damn, that was his daughter.

Once Gevaudan had taken over the arrest, Aoimi reverted back to human and grabbed her friend in a tight hug. A very tight hug. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed.

“Man, I wanna call her,” Eijirou said. “I’m gonna call her, got your phone on you?”

Katsuki handed it over, and Eijirou immediately went to Aoimi’s number.

She picked up after three rings. “Dad! Pa! I debuted!”

“We saw on the news, honey!” Eijirou said. “We’re so proud of you!”

“Aw, thank you! I- Yeah, it’s my dads. -I’m so glad you saw it!”

Katsuki leant in to the receiver. “No one can keep Hellcat down! You fuckin’ killed it out there, lioncub.”

“Augh, don’t call me that baby name,” Aoimi complained, though she didn’t sound too put out. “But thanks!”

“It’s my job to call you baby names, snugglekins.”

Katsuki could see Eijirou trying to smother his laughter.

“Pa, you’re so embarrassing.”

Katsuki cackled. “Oh yeah, that reminds me - bring your boyfriend over this weekend and we’ll celebrate the two of you taking down your first villain with a proper meal.”

“Wh- N- We’re not- Shut up, Pa!”

“My mistake,” Katsuki snickered, handing the phone back to Eijirou.

“Seconding the invite, though,” Eijirou said. “Debuts are something worth commemorating!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aoimi said. She paused and said all the rest in a rush. “We’ll be there, love you both, bye.”

Katsuki put his phone back in his pocket and leaned over onto Eijirou. “She’s growing up, Ei.”

“And growing up well,” Eijirou said, curling his arm around Katsuki’s shoulders.

“Definitely doing better than me at that age,” Katsuki snorted.

Eijirou pressed a kiss to his temple. “I think the next generation of heroes is gonna be a good one, huh?”

Katsuki turned to kiss his husband on the lips. Well, with their daughter among them...

There was only one thing that Katsuki could say.

—

“Whew,” Eijirou said. “I’d forgotten how much a mountain can take out of you.”

“Baby.”

Eijirou laughed, still wheezing a little from the climb. “Man, I haven’t been a baby for a long-ass time now, Katsuki, and neither have you.”

“I dunno,” Katsuki said, reaching out to grab his husband’s hand. “Ya still got a baby-face.”

Eijirou rolled his eyes, and Katsuki took a moment to let himself stare at the other man. Yeah, they might both be a little decrepit now, but Eijirou still took his breath away. A lifetime of laughter lined Eijirou’s eyes. Laughter that they had shared, so no doubt Katsuki looked much the same.

Eijirou squeezed his hand, and together they looked out over the view. It hadn’t changed much over the years. Maybe the trees had grown a little. It was still the same landscape that had stretched out before them back when Eijirou had first asked Katsuki out.

“Hey, Katsuki,” Eijirou said. Katsuki turned his head to look back at the best part of the scene. “If someone gave you the chance to go back in time, right back to when we were kids… Would you say yes onther time? Would you do it all again?”

Katsuki stared at Eijirou. What kind of fucking question was that? Did Eijirou really think that Katsuki would want to choose any other life than the one they had carved out together? With all their friends, and their daughter and their grandchildren?

If Katsuki looked back over his memories, his mind was flooded with a golden wash of joy. He’d had a good life. The best life. He had shared it with Eijirou - and fuck, they weren’t even that old yet! There were decades still ahead of them.

Would you do it all again?

There was a twinkle in Eijirou’s eye, and Katsuki snorted. His husband already knew the answer. He’d probably always known the answer.

There was only one thing that Katsuki could say.

“Yes.”

[crooked-sleep]

Day 12 - Beginning of the End [Pt. 2]

hello!! last gift today (anonymously, at least) — man i can’t believe it’s over! i have had so much fun this year and it’s honestly been so great, and i really hope we can become friends after this!!!

warnings: nsfw; top!dean and bottom!sam; more fluff than you know what to do with. apologies if there are any formatting errors, btw, i wrote this one in my notes app because my wifi is total shit today and i’m leeching off my dad’s hotspot.

—

Dean is putting the finishing touches on the chicken he’s just taken out of the oven when he hears the characteristic rumble of the Impala’s engine. Good, Sam’s home. and hopefully he remembered the pie and the beer. The rest of the grocery Dean can go without — who needs that much milk anyway? — but pie and beer are absolutely crucial.

He hears the bunker door clang shut, and a moment later Sam calls out, “Dean?”

“In here!” Dean yells back, sprinkling the last of the garnish on the chicken.

Two seconds later Sam appears in the entrance to the kitchen, hair messy and cheeks pink from the wind outside. He’s got two brown bags balanced in one arm and a plastic-covered platter of pie in the other, and Dean immediately makes grabby hands at it. “Gimme!”

Sam hands it to him, rolling his eyes, and Dean sets it down on the counter before taking the rest of the bags from Sam. Sam clears his throat expectantly, tilting his head, and it takes Dean a second to remember what he’s supposed to do. “Right, yeah,” he mumbles, and then kisses Sam’s cheek.

Sam beams, satisfied, and then says, “Chicken looks great.”

“It better, the seasoning was a pain in the ass,” Dean says as he puts the grocery away. “How about you go get rid of your coat and then we can start, huh?”

“Um,” says Sam, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m good, man, I’m starving. Let’s start now.”

Dean frowns. “You sure, man?”

Sam nods so quickly his hair flies. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” he rambles. “Chicken looks amazing, man, why wait? Let’s have it right now.”

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother. “Yeah?” he says. “I don’t know, man, I’m smellin’ a rat. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sam says at once.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean tells him squarely.

And then Sam’s coat meows.

There is silence for a few moments, during which Sam’s face goes from “I am innocent please believe me” to “Oh no I see you getting suspicious” and finally settles on “okay okay fine I might be a little guilty.” Dean narrows his eyes further and crosses his arms, waiting Sam out. Sam bites his lip, eyes impossibly wide and soft, and Dean feels himself beginning to go weak at the knees.

Don’t, he tells himself. He wants you to give in. Resist, dammit!

But fuck, not even the most monstrous creature on the planet could resist Sam when he looks this fucking sweet and innocent, and Dean is only human.

He’s just about to give in when Sam’s coat meows again, and that, for some reason, makes Sam cave first. “Okay, okay, fine!” he says, and pulls out an honest-to-God kitten from his coat pocket. It’s so impossibly tiny that Sam’s hands cover it completely, almost as if he’s afraid Dean’s gaze will vaporize it.

“Sam?” Dean says, deadpan. “Were you seriously trying to smuggle a whole-ass kitten past me?”

“I couldn’t not rescue him, okay, he’s so small!” Sam says defensively, cradling the kitten to his chest. “It’s so cold outside and he was all alone and I didn’t see his mom anywhere and I felt bad, okay!”

“Sammy,” sighs Dean. “You brought home three dogs last month. The month before that it was a fucking rooster. And now a cat? You wanna make our home a zoo? Is that what this is?”

“He’s so tiny, Dean,” Sam says earnestly. “He won’t survive on his own. I couldn’t just leave him.”

The puppy eyes have been upped to 11. Dean hadn’t even thought that possible. The last time Sam had looked like this he’d been literally five and begging for ice cream. Dean’s knees are weak again, dammit, even though he’d told himself a rooster and a puppy ago that he was going to be stronger the next time.

“Please?” Sam says, and has the audacity to stick his bottom lip out a little. “I promise he won’t bother you, Dean. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“That’s what you said when you got Alan,” Dean reminds him, referring to the rooster. “Now he wakes me up every morning by screaming. It’s also what you said when you got Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I didn’t say a thing when you gave them all geek names, and now there ain’t a single slipper unchewed in this house.”

“Well, Bruce won’t scream or chew your slippers, I swear!” Sam says.

“Bruce?” Ahh, fuck it, Dean is disgustingly weak. “You named him after Batman?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Wanna see?” He holds his hands out, letting Dean look.

The last of Dean’s resolve crumbles at the sight of the kitten, so damn small and — fuck it, adorable. He is so dark that he looks like a little piece of the void, resting in Sam’s hands, tiny body rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are bright green, and despite himself, Dean finds himself falling in love.

“Can we keep him?” Sam asks softly.

Bruce looks up and lets out the tiniest of yawns before stretching and settling again in the palm of Sam’s hand. Dean notices the look on Sam’s face as he watches the kitten, and sighs inwardly. No way he can refuse something that makes Sam look like that, so genuinely carefree and happy.

“Yeah,” he says in the end. “We can keep him. But no more strays,” he adds.

“Promise,” Sam says at once, and then beams at Dean. “Thank you, thank you so much!” Covering Bruce with his other hand, he leans in and puts a messy kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Dean, already knowing that this isn’t the last stray, not by a long shot. Damn Sammy and his soft spot for all lost and helpless things. “That cat better behave, or it’s your ass on the line. Come on now, let’s eat before it’s cold.”

—

Dean’s lying in bed reading when Sam enters. Without looking up he asks, “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers softly. “Alan and the dogs love Bruce.”

“Good,” says Dean distractedly, still mostly focused on the article he’s reading about Chevelles. “You gonna come to bed now?”

Instead of responding, Sam plucks the iPad out of Dean’s hands, locks it, and puts it aside. That succeeds in getting Dean’s attention. He looks up, and immediately his mouth goes dry.

Sam is naked, hair damp and curling around his face, and he’s got that soft, needy sort of look in his eyes that Dean can never resist. Without waiting for Dean to respond, he climbs up on Dean’s lap, straddling his thighs, and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Dean’s pajama pants.

“Can I?” he asks, before going any further.

Dean swallows, and nods.

Sam smiles down at him, and pulls down his pajama pants. Dean raises his hips a little to help Sam. His cock is already half-hard, his body responding to Sam’s weight on him.

Sam leans in and kisses Dean, hands already working on stroking Dean to full hardness. “Thank you,” he whispers between kisses. “You never say no to me. For anything.”

“Can’t,” Dean confesses, placing his hands on Sam’s waist and stroking his thumbs up and down Sam’s hipbones. “Never could say no to you, baby.”

Sam smiles, small and intimate, and kisses the bridge of Dean’s nose. “I appreciate it, you know,” he tells Dean. “I always do.”

“I know,” Dean tells him with a crooked grin. “That’s why I’m getting laid right now.”

Sam laughs at that. “No, that’s not why,” he tells Dean, and then puts his hands on the headboard, bracing himself as he raises his hips off Dean’s lap.

“Wait, don’t you need prep?” Dean asks, hands still on Sam’s waist as he positions himself.

Sam shakes his head. “Did it already,” he tells Dean, and then sinks down, taking all of Dean in one go. Dean moans at that, head falling back against the headboard. “Wanted to be ready for you,” Sam says, and wriggles a little.

“Too damn good to me, you know that?” Dean groans, tilting his head forward to kiss Sam’s collarbone. “Always know what I want, what I need. I never haveta say a damn word.”

Sam rolls his hips, earning a bitten-off groan from Dean. He’s tight, always is, just the way they both like it, and no matter how many times they do this, to Dean it never stops feeling like he’s coming home. He trails his hands upwards from Sam’s waist, caressing his sides, and brushes two fingers lightly over one nipple. Sam sighs at that, his entire body flushing. All these years and it never ceases to amaze Dean how sensitive Sam still is to his touch.

“Dean,” Sam says, sounding a little breathless. He hasn’t stopped moving since he sat down on Dean’s cock — rolling his hips, bouncing a little, arms bracketed on either side of Dean’s head. His cock rubs against Dean’s shirt, leaving a damp trail of precome that Dean just can’t bring himself to care about.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he says, grabbing Sam’s waist again and holding it so he can thrust up and meet Sam halfway. “Yeah, baby.”

Sam presses his lips together as he bows his head, hair falling into his face. He bites out a moan when Dean thrusts up into him again, and that’s how Dean knows he’s hit Sam’s sweet spot.

“Again?” he asks.

Sam nods. “Please,” he says, so close to begging already. “Please, Dean.”

Dean kisses him, long and slow and absolutely filthy, pressing his tongue into Sam’s mouth and taking control. Sam lets him, his hands falling to Dean’s shoulders, and Dean lightly flicks one of Sam’s nipples, grinning when Sam moans into the kiss.

He could gladly do this all night, he thinks dazedly. Just sit here and tease Sam, coax these lovely reactions and those gorgeous moans from him, inch him to the edge until he’s sobbing Dean’s name and begging to come. They’ve done it before, on lazy days and lazier nights, no hurry and no rush, no obligation to the world outside or even any awareness of it. These moments always make Dean feel like the two of them are the only people in the world, and no one else matters.

No one else could ever matter, he thinks, compared to Sam, his beautiful, sweet Sammy. For the rest of their lives, for all the rest of eternity.

He steadies Sam with a hand on his hip and then thrusts up hard into him, taking control of their movement. Sam lets him, giving himself over completely, and Dean tangles his free hand into Sam’s hair, pulling a little as he fucks into Sam. His little brother loves it, head thrown back as he moans, loud and uninhibited, and the sound goes straight to Dean’s cock.

“God, Sammy,” he breathes out. “So beautiful like this, you know that? So damn pretty.”

Sam doesn’t look capable of replying with words. His hands tighten in the fabric of Dean’s shirt at his shoulders, and his legs are shaking, thighs quivering around Dean’s waist, and Dean knows he’s close.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he tells Sam, kissing the side of his neck. “Come.”

“I’ll ruin your shirt,” Sam gasps out. His eyes are closed and he seems lost in pleasure, cheeks flushed and nipples hard, lips bright red and parted.

“Mm, don’t care,” Dean tells him, fucking him hard and fast and taking care to hit the spot that he knows will make Sam come apart. “Come, Sam.”

And Sam does, spurting hot and sticky in the space between them, making a mess of Dean’s shirt as he predicted. His whole body seems to contract, tightening further around Dean, and that’s more than enough for him — one thrust, two, then three and he comes too. Sam whimpers at the sensation of Dean’s come inside him, Dean’s hand still in his hair, and then goes boneless, collapsing on top of Dean.

“Hey,” Dean chuckles, wrapping his arms around Sam and kissing the side of his head. “Get up, Sasquatch, you’re heavy.”

Sam mumbles something inaudible but he rises, sliding off Dean’s softening cock and off to the side. Dean takes his shirt off, using it to clean up Sam’s belly, thighs and ass, and then throws it to the ground. “C’mere,” he tells Sam as he slides down the bed so he’s lying down, and wraps an arm around Sam from behind, pulling him into his chest.

Sam lets himself be wrapped in Dean’s embrace, his fingers tangling with Dean’s on his belly. His body is loose, relaxed, his head heavy, and Dean knows he’s half-asleep already. That’s one thing that has never changed in all these years — there’s no better sleep aid for Sam than some good old-fashioned fucking.

There’s one thing Dean wants to know, though. “Hey,” he says.

“Mm?”

“You said this wasn’t just to say thanks,” Dean reminds him. “What was it for?”

“‘S our anniversary,” Sam tells him sleepily.

Dean frowns. “No, that’s not today.”

“No, not us,” Sam clarifies, wriggling backwards until there’s no space between his back and Dean’s chest. “Retirement. Been a year.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks. He had no idea it’d been that long already. “Man, time really flies, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sam hums in agreement. “Let’s hope we get many more.”

“Yeah,” says Dean, and tightens his hold on Sam. He doesn’t say it out loud, but even if Billie were to come for them tomorrow — or, hell, right this instant — he’d die a happy man. He’s lived his life, he’s done his part, and now he’s got nothing to do but live. And maybe this isn’t the conventional apple pie life he wanted, but it’s real, and he gets to spend it with the love of his life, his damn soulmate — and that’s better than anything he could ever have asked for.

—

And he doesn’t reconsider it even when Sam brings home a fucking parakeet two months later, though he’s sorely tempted to. Still, he figures, watching in resignation as Sam tries to train Joshua the parakeet to say “Cristo” — it’s still perfect. His life, despite the alarming amount of animals in it now, is perfect.

And then Sam catches him looking, and smiles, wide and so beautiful and bright and radiant, and Dean thinks, fuck it. There’s not a damn thing he would change about any of it. There’s not a damn thing that needs changing.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

—

so there it is!! i’m not gonna say the end, because i really do not want it to be. instead i’m just gonna say thank you, for all the fun i’ve had and for how much you’ve made me smile with your wonderful comments and your general sweetness. i really truly hope we can continue to be friends even though wincestmas has now come to an end.

lots and lots of love, wincestmas anon (who will soon not be anonymous at all) ❤️

____

@thelegendofwinchester MY FRIEND! I’m so glad we found each other! This was the most amazing end to Wincestmas that I could have asked for!  I just need one thing. What did Bruce look like? Was he orange and striped by any chance? (I’m j/k. But really, I DO want to know.)  

This has been the MOST fun! I’m so glad we became friends on this amazing journey. You are stuck with me forever. And now, of course, I’m going to write a “just because” fic for youuuuu. (So let me know what you like!)

This was honestly the sweetest thing and I’m so happy that I participated in this challenge. Thank you, thank you, thank you for making my start to 2020 so fun and Wincesty! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[langdvnshepherd]

Good For You ~ Epilogue (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

PART ONE ~ PART TWO ~ PART THREE ~ PART FOUR

MASTERLIST

Summary: You’re a broke ass college student whose one night stand with the infamous Duncan Shepherd leads to the development of a rather interesting relationship between the two of you.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: sugar daddy!Duncan, fem!reader, smut, daddy kink, voyeurism (sort of? not really but), lost of fluff hehe 

A/N: Surprise bitch, I bet you thought you’d seen the last of sugar daddy!Duncan and Y/N 😏. Since everyone seemed to be feelin some type of way that Part 4 was the last part, I figured I’d finish them off with a cute lil sum sum bc why the hell not lmao. This also kinda fits in line with it being finals szn, so for all my thotties still in school, enjoy!! Also I barely proofread this pls forgive me. Once again, thanks for all of the kind words about my writing, it means the world to be as always!

     A set of keys rattling on the other side of Duncan’s apartment door indicated her arrival. They jangled rapidly, as if getting inside was of utmost importance. Duncan knew exactly who it was, as only two other people in the world had a key to his place. Annette, whom he’d only recently just reconciled with after the earth-shattering news that revealed she wasn’t actually his mother, had taken off to Mexico earlier that week to tend to international ties with The Shepherd Freedom Foundation, so it wasn’t her. Which led him to believe that only other person, a person he’d been thinking an awful lot about lately, could possibly be making their way into his apartment...

-

     “I DID IT!” you yelled as you bolted through the front door of Duncan’s, well yours and Duncan’s, apartment. Probably a little too loud for his neighbor’s liking, but you were too excited to give a shit. Paying no mind to behave like a civilized human being, you dropped everything at the entryway and jumped over the back of the quilted leather sofa to plummet into Duncan’s lap; textbooks, designer bag, and the obnoxiously large keyring to your new Audi (an anniversary present from Duncan), all clanking to the floor in one large pile.

     Duncan grunted in response, the weight of you crashing on top of him so suddenly knocked the breath out of him. His face quickly became consumed by a genuine, ear-to-ear smile as he remembered what you had set off to do this morning.

     “I knew you would,” he stated matter-of-factly as his arms wrapped securely and comfortably around your waist, his lips reaching over to plant a quick kiss on your lips before you told him all about the day you’d just had.

     In the years that the two of you actually spent together as a couple, you’d come to realize many things about the infamous Duncan Shepherd. One being that he loved physical contact. He wasn’t quick to expose that side of himself back when he was considered strictly as your sugar daddy, but that passing of time had made him soft. He loved touches. Even little touches like pressing his knee against yours under the table during boring gala dinners, or rubbing small circles on the underside of your ass while his head was between your legs. Duncan lacing his arms around you had become customary, part of your daily routine when either of you came home for the night.

     “The department loved my thesis. They said my research was impeccable, and that there wasn’t a single thing I could have done to improve it. I’m set to graduate in two weeks!” you gloated, and you damn well reserved the right to. 

     For the past 3 years, you’d been working on your thesis for graduate school, and it just about took every ounce of sanity you had left. You couldn’t count the number of days and nights you’d spent huddled over a textbook or sobbing into your laptop because your numbers weren’t coming out right or you felt like your argument was pointless. But Duncan was there for you through it all. He saw how drained you were for months on end, and wanted to make sure he was doing everything he could. You quit your job, finally giving into Duncan’s pleads to let him cover your expenses full time. You’d even been living with him for just over a year now, not counting the many, unofficial months prior when a large collection of your bras and underwear had mysteriously taken over drawers of Duncan’s dresser. Your roommate was pissed after finding out you were abandoning her to move in with your boyfriend, but she quickly retracted her remarks upon realizing she’d be able to visit Duncan’s lavish apartment whenever she pleased. 

     “So I’m guessing my little stress reliever really helped take the edge off for your presentation then, hmm?” he snidely remarked, referring to last night, when his fingers worked you over the edge repeatedly. You’d been up all night worrying, sleep being the furthest thing from your mind. Duncan begged and pleaded for you to come to bed, but you refused. Too many last minute diagrams to perfect and statistics to memorize before your thesis defense the next morning. He’d somehow managed to coax you into the satin of his sheets with the promise of a good night’s sleep. There was no teasing, no holding back, just Duncan making you feel so incredibly good, knocking you into a deep slumber in no time.

     “I just got my fucking master’s degree, and you want to try to make this about yourself?” you sarcastically jabbed, playfully shoving Duncan’s shoulders against the back of the couch.

     He pretended to be hurt, unwinding one arm from your waist to dramatically massage the skin where you’d pushed him.

     “I’m teasing, dove. You wanna go out? I’m feeling like this calls for a celebration. We can go to that new seafood restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue. You have to have a reservation, but I could probably get us in.”

     “Can we just stay in? I’ve been standing in these heels for hours and I really don’t feel like talking to anyone else,” you muttered while tucking your head into the crook of his neck, the exhaustion evident in your body language.

“Of course,” he replied, resting his chin on the top of your head while brushing his fingertips absentmindedly across your forearm. “I can call in something. What are you in the mood for? Sushi? Thai?”

     “Can we order pizza from that place by my old apartment?” you asked, a cheeky grin creeping its way onto your face. You knew damn well the reaction that suggestion would get out of him. You’d gotten Duncan to eat there once, but only once. After some begging on your part, Duncan agreed to give it a shot. His upbringing consisted of caviar and charcuteries, meaning greasy, $2 a slice pizza automatically made his stomach churn. He ate it, but not without complaining the entire time. Despite growing accustomed to Duncan’s ways after being with him for so long, you still yearned for that shitty, cheesy, pumped-full-of-chemicals pizza that had comforted you on many drunken nights while walking back to your old apartment.

     Duncan pulled back from where he was cuddled into you to reveal the most genuine, stink face you had ever seen. His lips were pressed together firmly and turned down in disgust and his eyes were crinkled at the corners. Clearly not amused.

     “You’re joking, right?”

     “Serious as a heart attack, handsome,” you rattled your fingertips against his peck for emphasis, peering up at him with doe eyes you knew he couldn’t resist.

     He paused for a moment longer, praying you’d suggest something, anything, else besides that stupid fucking pizza he hated so much. He honestly didn’t see how people could stomach food like that, but he wasn’t going to crush your spirits on your special day.

     Realizing you weren’t budging on your wishes, he audibly groaned.

     “You’re lucky I have a hard time saying no to you. You know that, right?”

     “As if you ever would, Donut.”

     He suppressed a chuckle at the nickname you’d recently picked given him, still trying to seem annoyed.

     “Whatever, brat.” He snorted effortlessly flicked your legs off of his lap, sauntering towards the kitchen to grab his phone and place an order for what he considered the worst meal on the planet.

-

     Somewhere along the line, the pizza had long been forgotten. Maybe it was when you’d purposely reached over Duncan to grab the tv remote, making sure he got an eyeful of your breasts as you moved. Or maybe it was when you’d kissed him to shut him up amidst his incessant bitching about how the pizza tasted like it had been left out in the hot sun for 3 days. However it went down, you’d found yourself straddled across Duncan’s lap, his hands clutched tightly at your waist, occasionally roaming down to your ass to grind you against his hardening cock.

     You felt your core pulsing beneath you as Duncan ground his hips against yours, arousal pooling at your entrance. As old as Duncan was, he was always in the mood, ready to take you whenever and wherever. He had situated his body so that his legs were propped up on the cushions and his back was leaning against the stiff armrest, where he was able to hold your body as close to his as possible with ease. You were lost in the moment, not thinking of anything or anyone else except the way Duncan was making you feel.     Once you were able to pry Duncan’s hands from of your ass, you withdrew your lips from his with a pop. Sliding down his body, you held eye contact with him as you reached for the buckle on his belt, eyes blown with desire. Duncan had this look on his face like he was contemplating doing something or saying something, but he certainly didn’t want you to stop either. He let you undo his belt buckle and unzip his trousers, making one less layer between you and his aching cock. You pressed your lips over the cotton of his boxers, making him groan as you mouthed at his erection that was begging to be set free.     Just as you reached for the waistband of his boxers, Duncan gripped you by your wrists.     “What? Are you okay?” you stopped suddenly. Duncan was never one to put things on hold, especially when your pretty, little lips were mere inches away from where he wanted you most.     “Put your shoes on, I need to show you something.”     “You’re joking, right?” you asked, sitting up from your place between his legs.

     “Serious as a heart attack, angel,” he responded, batting his eyelashes and speaking in a sing-song voice, clearly mocking your words from earlier on in the evening. 

     “Come on, let’s get in the car.”

     Glancing down at the bulge in boxers, you gave him one last, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of this first?” look. He simply smiled in return, taking your hand in his to help you up from the couch.

-

     The car ride lasted for what felt like an eternity, largely due to the fact that Duncan had used one of the emergency ties he kept in his backseat to blindfold you, making you completely unaware of where he was taking you. You begged and pleaded for Duncan to tell you where you were going, but he wouldn’t budge. It was a surprise, he insisted.

     “Is it a dog?”

     “Jesus, no.”

     “A cat?”

     “Absolutely not, Y/N.”

     “A bird?”

     “Why would I blindfold you to take you to get a fucking bird?”

     “I don’t know, Dunc? Why did you throw me in your Bentley and blindfold me at 11 o’clock at night anyway, hmm?

     “Will you just drop it? You’ll see when we get there.” He was annoyed but the tone of voice let you know he was still entertained by your whining. You knew he was smirking despite not being able to see anything but the darkness that the blindfold allowed.

     “Fine, but a dog would still be nice.”

     The rest of the way consisted of silence; the whirring of the engine and the breeze of the air conditioner being the only sounds filling the confines of Duncan’s car. You tugged at the tie around your eyes, trying to stealthily catch a glimpse of a highway sign that would even slightly indicate where you were headed. He caught you every time, scolding you and sarcastically threatening to drop you off on the side of the road if you tried it again.

     Suddenly, you felt Duncan applying pressure to the brakes, the car slightly jerking as he shifted the gear to park. Finally. Whatever Duncan was planning was about to be unveiled.

     Your hand wrapped around the back of the tie, attempting to undo the knot and take in your surroundings. Duncan was quicker, swatting your hands away before you could slip the fabric away from your eyes.

     “Not yet. I’ll tell you when you can look.”

     Exhaustingly, you threw your head back into the headrest of the seat with a sigh.

     “Will you stop being dramatic? We’ll be inside in like 10 seconds.” You couldn’t see him, but you knew his eyes were rolled so far back into his head they might have fallen out.

     You heard the click of the door handle, and felt Duncan’s hand on your elbow, prompting you to step out of his car. Your shoes scraped against pavement, meaning he hadn’t driven you into the middle of the woods to kill you. What a relief.

     He guided your steps with his fingers laced in yours, oddly soothing you as your anxiety was climbing at not having any idea where you could possibly be. The air outside was crisp, slightly chilly due to the time of night. The only noise coming from outside was the continuous chirping of crickets and other critters alike. Wherever you were, it was secluded.

     “Okay, stay right there. Don’t move.” Duncan commanded, patting you once on the shoulder before leaving your side.

     You heard four electronic pings and the whoosh of a door swinging open like he was hitting buttons on a keypad. Where the fuck were you?

     Duncan’s hands were back on your arms in a moment’s notice, guiding you over the threshold of the door he had just opened.

     “Watch your step.”

     Immediately, the smell of fresh wood and chemicals filled your nostrils. Yours and Duncan’s steps echoed loudly throughout the space as he continued to lead you; the harmony of the various sounds of the outdoors no longer present. 

     “You ready?” Duncan asked, speaking low into your ear, the stubble of his beard just barely ghosting over the nape of your neck.

     “Been ready since you blindfolded me an hour ago, Dunc.” you fired back.

     Duncan was too tired to comment on any more of your whining, he just chuckled lightly in response, pressing a kiss to your temple over the thick material of the tie. 

     Antagonizingly slow, his fingers worked at the knot. He knew what he was doing, pissing you off even more by dragging it out. Duncan could feel the way you froze in your spot, your chest barely moved with each breath and your hands were frozen at your side; indicating your skyrocketing anxiety. He was nervous too, but you weren’t currently in the position to be able to notice the way his heart looked like it was going to beat out of his chest.

     The tie fell from your eyes, ribboning to the ground and pooling around your feet. And then you saw it.

     The ceilings had to have been at least twenty feet high. The walls were stark white, the one at the far end covered almost entirely with a seamless, glass window. There was a grand staircase in the middle, leading to a breezeway that overlooked the space you were currently standing in. You put it together. You were in a house, and a fucking huge one at that.

     Nothing occupied the space. No furniture, no art hanging on the wall, not a single indication that anyone even lived here. It was empty.

     “Duncan, where are we?” you asked, too entranced by your surroundings to turn around and look at him as you spoke.

     He came around to your side, wrapping one arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him.

     “Home.”

     You broke away from his hold to look directly into his eyes, unconvinced that he’d just said what you thought you heard.

     “What?” it came out as barely a whisper.

     Duncan nudged his head forwards, prompting you to follow him. He paced himself, creeping along against the marble tile. You were further into the house now, catching new details you weren’t able to see from the front door. No words were spoken, just Duncan steering you throughout the first floor with his hands crossed behind his back. There was a kitchen, a kitchen at least three times bigger than the one in Duncan’s apartment with a double oven and appliances that looked far too advanced than anything you’d ever seen. Connected to the space was what would be a dining room, big enough for a table that could seat at least twelve. Duncan stopped just as were standing in front of the ginormous, granite island resting in the center of the kitchen.

     “You made a comment a couple months back,” Duncan began, turning to face you.

     “Something about how my closet was getting cramped because of how many pairs of shoes we both had. It got me thinking. I’m older now. Got a good head on my shoulders. I‘ve got you. Why am I still living in an apartment like a twenty-something bachelor? So I started looking at houses. And then I found this one. I was gonna wait until the renovations were done before I told you. There’s still a couple more things they need to do upstairs and some electrical work here and there, but other than that it’s basically finished. You looked really happy tonight, and it made me not want to wait any longer so....here we are. Happy graduation, I guess.”

     You felt a warm tear roll down your cheek, too busy staring at Duncan to register the buildup in your tear ducts. He looked at you like he always did when he professed his feelings to you, with genuine, whole-hearted, adoration. With love.

     “This is our house?”

     “This is our house.,” Duncan confirmed, a confident smile on his face.

     “I even made them put in a bigger tub ‘cause I know important bathtime is to you. And the closet is extra roomy. But if it’s not enough, you can just use one of the many spare rooms for all of your things. I know I tend to go a bit-overboard-with my gift-giving.” 

     A silent laugh escaped your chest, huffs of air expelling from your mouth each time. 

     “Duncan Shepherd, I love you.”

     “And I love you, Y/N Y/LN. I can’t wait to live here with you.” 

     He brought you in for a kiss, cupping your cheeks in both hands as his lips melted into yours. You broke away in a smile, shifting your way out of Duncan’s grasp to look once more at what looked like the abyss that you would soon call home. 

     “Can you see it?” Duncan spoke up as your eyes wondered. “A giant sectional back by that room we first saw when we walked in, a dining room table over there. Black obviously. Maybe some plants over by the windows.” 

     And you could. You could see it. Duncan’s weird art hanging on the walls in the entryway, both of your cars parked side by side in the driveway you assumed was wide enough to back a bus into given what you were already looking at. It already felt like home, despite being an empty shell of one.

     In your trance, you’d seemed to have missed when Duncan walked up behind you, pressing his chest against your back. His hands had started at your waist; rubbing soft, soothing circles against your hips bones. Inch by inch, he ever so slowly trailed his fingers up your body towards your chest, where they were now purchased just below the swell of your breasts.

     “I can see you in here,” Duncan started, his hot breath fanning over your collarbones, littering your skin with goosebumps. “Standing in this very spot. Making breakfast in your underwear. Those cute, little pancakes you like to make on Saturday mornings-”

     “They’re crepes, Duncan. You know that.” you snickered, burrowing further into his arms and his touch.

     He kissed the sweet spot along your jawline, knowing all too well the reaction he’d get out of you. A soft gasp blooming from your lips halted you from speaking any longer. You were suddenly reminded of where you left off back at Duncan’s apartment. Already feeling the stirring in your abdomen at the thought.

     Duncan leaned forward with you still in his grasp, laying his elbows flush with the granite slab of the island. He moved his kisses from your neck to your shoulders, and then to your back just at the top of your spine.

     “Do we have neighbors?” you questioned, certain that anyone could see the two of you through the ginormous window. The lights were on and the house was empty, meaning your bodies stuck out like sore thumbs. It wouldn’t take a genius to catch onto what was happening. You already knew where this was going, especially since you could feel Duncan hardening against the backside of your thigh. 

     “Not yet. They’re building another house down the street, but even then it’s still about a quarter of a mile away,” he answered in between pressing kisses on your jugular. “Plus trees. And hedges. No one can see us, babe.” 

     “Good, because I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

     In seconds you felt the bone-chilling cold from the stone of the kitchen island pressed against your cheek. Duncan pressed you down on your stomach to lay as flat as you could on the granite, reinforcing you with his toned arm. Your arms splayed out at your sides, fingers spaced out pushing yourself down even further.

     Duncan’s other hand reached down to the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric up around your waist and resting it on your back. The warmth of his fingers caressed your ass before he withdrew them briefly to unzip his own trousers. As he freed his leaking cock from his boxers, you felt the head brush just slightly against your skin, beadlets of precum spreading across your cheeks. Duncan swiftly tugged your panties to the side, desperate to feel you against his digits.

    He started at your entrance, gathering the wetness seeping from your core with his fingertips. In slow, calculated patterns, he circles his way up to your clit, the contact making you shiver. A small moan fell from your lips, finally getting the action you sought out hours ago at dinner.

     “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping. Tell me, who is the only one that do this to you?” he asked in fake perplexion.

     “You do,” you’d somehow been able to muster throughout the sea of pleasure provided to you by Duncan and his long, skillful fingers.

     “It’s all for you. Every time, daddy.” you grinned against the coldness of the granite. 

    Duncan was content with your answer, as a low groan rumbled from his chest in response. He leaned forward once more, so his lips brushed the shell of your ear and his chest molded into your back.

    “You ready for me, love?”

    “Mhmm,” was all you’d managed to get out.

    His fingers were replaced with the tip of his cock, swirling his member along your cunt to prepare himself for the stretch. He pressed his fingers into you once more, using the collected slick to pump himself a few times before aligning himself at your entrance.

     Duncan pressed the small of your back down further against the granite, making your ass jut out instinctively to give him easier access to your dripping core. Tantalizingly slow, he pushed himself into you, savoring every inch of your walls that clenched around him with urgency. You were both breathing heavily, the melting of your bodies consuming every nerve. 

     Once he was fully seated inside of you, he stalled, looking down at your frame. The girl he’d managed to rope back in time after time. No matter how much he knew he didn’t deserve someone as loyal and trustworthy as you, you came back. Every time. Every night. To him. He never thought he’d find himself in this position. In his new house, with whom he was convinced was the love of his life, sprawled out on his kitchen counter at his mercy.

     He leaned in once more to press a tiny, close-mouthed kiss to the back of your head before pulling himself halfway out of your drenched cunt, only to forcefully thrust himself back in again.

-

     It felt like you had been lying there for hours. You were almost certain you’d have a dent in your cheek for a week due to how hard the side of your head was pressed into the kitchen island. Duncan ruthlessly pounded into you from behind, your cheek rutting against the granite with every slam of his hips while cries escaped from your lips. Your fingers grasped for anything, everything. He had one hand on your waist and the other wrapped almost too-tightly around the back of your neck to keep you in place, so you opted for gripping the lip of the counter as best as you could. But pearls of sweat coated your entire body, making it hard to hold onto anything for too long.

     The sounds of squelching skin on skin echoed obscenely throughout the empty house. It was borderline blasphemous. Chants of, “Oh my god,” “Don’t stop,” “You feel so good,” and plenty of profanities were peppered into the mix, only adding to the indecency of the situation.

     It took some time, but you finally began feeling that familiar tingle building up inside of you, causing another rush of arousal to flow effortlessly out of your cunt. It became overbearing after a while, your desperate need to milk Duncan’s cock for all that it was worth overcoming your very existence. You chased after your release by rolling your hips backward, working in sync with Duncan to fuck you deeper and harder.

     “Someone’s eager. Am I not giving you enough, little girl?” Duncan mocked through heavy breaths.

     “Just go faster, please,” you begged, fighting to let pleasure take over, but you weren’t quite there yet.

     “Please what? Use your manners.”

     “Please, daddy.”

     Duncan loosened his grip at your waist, snaking his hand around and beneath you. You felt the pads of his fingers swirl lightly over the fabric of your panties that still covered your clit, all while he continued to thrust his hips into your backside. With each cycle around your bud, he increased his pressure just slightly, drawing out moan after moan from you. The sounds falling from your lips triggered moans of his own.

     When he finally slipped his hand through the front of your panties, you were overtaken by a swell of euphoria, just teetering over the edge. You abandoned your other senses, focusing solely on Duncan and the way he was working you open with his cock and now his fingers. Your eyes were screwed shut, hearing going in and out, fingers grasping for purchase around the corner of the island.

     “What about now? Is daddy giving you enough now?”

     You couldn’t speak. Your mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

     “No? Guess I’ll have to pick up the pace then.”

     The feeling of Duncan vigourously massaging your swollen clit between his two fingers was enough to trigger your release. You came with a shaky scream, trembling as Duncan continued to fuck himself into you through your orgasm despite the fact that he was faltering himself. The hairs on your arms stood upright, your skin quickly becoming oversensitive to his touch.

     Duncan’s hips sputtered, stilling completely as he allowed for his own release. His moans went up an octave, a sign you’d grown accustomed to recognizing as a tell-tale indicator that he was cumming. You felt his warm seed spilling deep inside of you, coating your walls as he gave your cunt a few extra pumps with his cock before slipping out of you.

     He rested his chin on your shoulder, lifting you from the island and winding his arms around your waist. You could feel the dampness of Duncan’s forehead on your neck, it was cool on your fevered skin.

     “Did you do that on purpose?” you asked, chuckling as you turned in his arms to face him.

     Duncan smirked back at you, satisfied with your current state. You had a flat, bright red mark across your cheek from being thrown against the counter, the rest of your face flushed with an adorable, pink heat. 

     “Did I do what purpose?” he responded, feigning ignorance.

     “Drag me all the way out here just to fuck me as loud as you wanted so no one would hear?”

     His grin only grew wider, you’d caught onto his little game. He lifted you onto the island, placing you gently on the granite. Through the corner of his eye, he caught his cum dribbling down your thighs. Quickly, he caught the stream of milky, white seed on his pointer and middle fingers. He raised them to your mouth, pulling your bottom lip out just slightly with his other hand. You accepted them without hesitation, running your tongue along every centimeter of his digits. As you removed him from your mouth with a satisfied pop, he answered.

     “It worked, didn’t it?”

     You shook your head and laughed once more at his cockiness, grabbing him tighter and lying your head against his chest.

     “I did, Donut. It surely did.”

     As you stood in Duncan’s arms with your head to the side, you could just barely make out a swimming pool in the backyard beyond the windows of the dining room. It was still surrounded by dirt, meaning it wasn’t quite complete. Visions danced in your head at the memories that would be made beyond those french doors. 

     You couldn’t wait for this place to be finished. You were ready to spend the rest of your life here with the man you’d once thought you’d never see again. The man that did exactly as he’d promised:

He’d taken care of you. And he always would.

~

Tagging:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @venusxxlangdon   @ccodyfern @michaellangdong@michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @wroteclassicaly @omg-hellgirl@aveiangdon @belusima  @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies@langdonsdemon @ticklish-leafy-plant @michaelfuckinglangdon@fpsjacket @mother-tequila  @gold-dragon-slayer @langdonshell @coloursunlimited

[izzy-b-hands]

I Prefer Your Love

A continuation to the Gat/Boss request I posed earlier today, because now we’re deep in the pain of Saints Row Three with Boss Ellis lol. Also, I’m just really having fun writing these two up, their relationship, everything. I really wanna go back and give them more Gat/Boss/Aisha time too (because I love Aisha dearly, and she really is the brains of the group, even if they won’t admit it every time lol.) 

This is written pre-acquisition of Matt Miller in SR3 (aka about where I am in my current playthrough lol) but I plan to feature him in other fics with Boss Ellis!

Major TW for suicidal ideation, suicidal attempts via gang violence, and definitely PTSD that, for my boss, is dangerously undiagnosed (though to be fair, I think we could safely say that’s a dx for all the Saints.) 

Also hey, wanna cry while reading this? Here’s the two songs I had most on repeat while writing this that by the end had me tearing up in how they relate to the fic and Ellis’ and Johnny’s relationship (also the first one is where I got the fic title from): https://open.spotify.com/track/0Snb87Z4Zdn6YFMicWA7gx?si=i_mPPaSlTJq_9LIUdsHw6A and https://open.spotify.com/track/0pY9xoiH9hNo166spIpQWt?si=HK5w7Y3YTNOuIFZv8RKxLw

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

His phone goes off mid-fire-fight, and he resists the urge to be too upset. When it rains it pours, and this pouring isn’t anything new. 

“Where the fuck are you?” 

“Gosh, the sound of gunfire might give you a hint,” Ellis replies with a deep sigh as he swings around to take out another Decker. “Why?”

“No! I can hear you’re fighting, but where exactly are you?” 

“By Nobody Loves Me, where are you?” he sasses back. “I’m busy.” 

“Oh my god. We’ve been terrified, no one could find you last night-” 

“Shaundi, can this wait?” he tries to sound sympathetic, but there’s none right now. “You guys didn’t even call me, or text. I checked my phone. It can’t have been that emergent.” 

The line goes dead, and he focuses back on the fight. There are more Deckers than he expected, and he’s starting to notice the lightheaded sensation of blood loss and bullet wounds now, but so what? 

Johnny would be proud of that, if he went down in a hail of bullets. 

Before he can take out the latest Decker, a kid who looks too young to be out without his parents, let alone in a gang, he’s up and in the air.

“Oleg, put me the fuck down. I’m ending this.” 

“They will end you my friend, if you stay. You can end things another day. For now, we need to get you to the hospital.” 

“I’m fine!” his struggling means nothing to Oleg, not even as the butts of his dual-wielded pistols hit the man’s massive fists. “Put me the fuck down, now! That’s a goddamn order!” 

But he’s in the back of a truck, still held gently by Oleg, who ignores his fussing, his spitting of literal blood, and it’s then that he starts to realize it’s rather hard not to choke on it. 

“Stop talking,” Oleg finally says softly, and that’s the last thing he hears.

**

The light is so bright, but he can see purple. Purple is good, if he could feel it, he’d know the texture, Johnny’s usual favorite jacket, the one he’d lend to Ellis whenever he got cold, the one he loved having him wear when they fucked, just the jacket and nothing else, and-

“Pierce?” 

“Well goddamn. Sound more disappointed, why don’t you,” Pierce scolds him. His head is in Pierce’s lap. Why is he laying in Pierce’s lap?

Sitting up, especially quickly, is a terrible choice as it turns out, and he vomits into the bucket near the couch as he flops back down. 

“Thankfully, I didn’t wear a nice suit today,” Pierce remarks wryly. “How you feelin’?” 

“Like shit. But I felt like that before getting shot.” 

“Yeah, but you got shot a lot. Like, enough that you shouldn’t be here. And you probably shouldn’t be here, in HQ right now, but we know you got your thing about hospitals, not wanting to wake up in ‘em, so we convinced the doctor to let you recover here. He’ll be coming by to check on you-” 

The tears come before he can stop them. “Why did you do this?” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Shaundi’s voice from behind the couch. “Do what? Save your ass?” 

“I was so close to him,” Ellis whimpers. “I could taste it, in between the blood and the gun powder. I was almost with him again.” 

They go silent except for a sharp intake of breath from Pierce. “Boss-” 

“I was almost with him again!” he’s screaming and it hurts his chest, his lungs, but nothing hurts more than his heart right now. “And you took me away from him! How fucking selfish of you all-” 

“Selfish?” Shaundi interrupts, with a shocked scoff. “Excuse me?” 

He stands, but it hurts so bad he could pass out, but he fights off the darkness threatening to encroach on the corners of his vision, but he can’t stop moving now. “You fucking heard me. You took me away from my husband!” 

“No one took you away from Johnny!” Shaundi’s voice is sharp in his ears, like a knife in his side. “Loren took Johnny away from us! You were just out there trying to get yourself killed, like you have a death wish or someth-” 

She interrupts herself with a gasp, a hand flies to her mouth. 

“Oh, don’t look so fucking surprised,” Ellis spits. “And I was this close to making it. I was going to see him again. Hold him again. Kiss him again, apologize for letting him die. And you fucks took that away from me.” 

He ignores the footsteps following him as he stumbles out the backdoor of the living room to the pool area, around the slippery flooring to the helipad. One of their smaller planes is still there, and there’s a haze from the narcotic pain pills they must have given him at the hospital, but it isn’t the first time he’s flown while high. 

But it might be the last, if he does this right. 

“Get him out of that!” and he’s never heard Kinzie be that loud so far. She could go far in the Saints, if she could yell that authoritatively more often. She’ll have to, maybe, once this is finally done. She’d be a good second hand to Shaundi, if Shaundi steps up and takes over like he hopes she will. 

In any case, it’s too late as he takes off, and pays sparing attention to the controls as he flies, at times only resting his knees on the controls, the plane bobbing and weaving up and down and entirely too close to buildings. 

It’s all quite funny, until a sharp clearing of the breath in the passenger seat. 

“The fuck are you doing?” 

Ellis shrugs, and reaches over for Johnny’s hand, but feels nothing. “I’m going to find you. I can do it.” 

Johnny shakes his head. “No, you can’t, and no you aren’t. I’m not even real right now, you know that. I know you do. You’re only seeing me because you want to, because you need help, and for some godforsaken reason, you only want it from me, and refuse to let anyone else in.” 

“Why would you say something so cruel,” he pouts as he nudges the controls at random, enjoying the turbulence. “I just want to be with you again. You wanted to be with Aisha, and you are now. I miss you both, so why can’t I come be with you?” 

“I could tell you it’s just because they need you,” Johnny replies softly as he takes off his sunglasses, and the tears come again as Ellis sees his eyes, the most gorgeous he’s ever been lucky enough to look into. “Or just because it isn’t your time yet. And those two things are true, by the way.” 

“Stop,” Ellis begs him, a whisper. 

“Go land on the island,” Johnny instructs.

Below them, the island where the plane Johnny had been on, had died on, had crashed. 

“I don’t want to land. I want to crash. I can be done, with all of this,” he weeps. “Don’t you want to see me again? Don’t you miss me?” 

There are tears in Johnny’s eyes now too. “Of course I do. I love you. But this isn’t the way, I promise. I know you can’t understand it right now, but you will see me again, just not the way you’re thinking or how you’d expect. Don’t do this.” 

He lands, admittedly difficult on the small and bumpy island, but he manages. As soon as they’re safely stopped, he clambers into the passenger seat, into what should be Johnny’s lap, he can see it, but he can’t feel it as he sits there, and the lack of sensation is worse than being shot with any bullet. 

He sobs, and wishes for Johnny’s arms around him, even as he hears the soft and sweet words in Johnny’s voice, urging him to just listen, for once. “Get on the boat when they get here. Take a break, for a few weeks. Let them handle shit. Come back to me, to yourself. I know how shit gets for you, how bad it gets in your head, how hard this is, but it isn’t worth it. I need you to stay here with them. We’ll be together again, I promise.” 

It’s nearly dark by the time the rest of the Saints arrive, and he lets Shaundi, her make-up running down her face, breath hitching as she cries, help him out of the plane. Pierce, sniffling, is the one who keeps him upright when he slips on the edge of the boat, and it’s Kinzie who helps him settle on the backseat of it. 

“Oleg would have sank it,” she tries to giggle, but her eyes are red and tired looking, and it falls flat as he leans against her. “Otherwise he’d be here. But he’s back at HQ, waiting to help get you into your room.” 

“That sounds nice,” and he means it to sound that way genuinely, but he can hear how flat his voice is. Nothing he does can make it sound better, and he isn’t sure it matters anyway. 

He doesn’t hear Johnny again until he’s back at home, after being gently washed by Oleg of all people, who tells him a tale of how he used to work as a medic for some friends of his who got in bad situations of varying sorts, and they always requested him for sponge baths while horribly injured. “Apparently, my hands are very gentle. It is a nice thing to hear, don’t you think?” 

He can’t respond, and doesn’t try to until he’s alone, and Johnny is back too. 

“You can’t do this again.” 

“Then what do I do?” 

“You keep fighting. You keep working. You stop pretending that you’re just magically okay, and not hurting. You let them in. You let them help. And by the time you get back to me, we’ll both be doing better.” 

He can’t stop the tears again, even though it hurts his eyes to cry again, so sore and dry from the weeping he’s already done for the day. “I’m not going to hear from you again after this, am I?” 

He swears, he’s certain, he can feel Johnny’s lips on his for just a second. “No. But you will get me back. Did you really think I’d leave you alone forever? Didn’t we both say we wouldn’t do that to each other?” 

He nods, and then Johnny is gone, and the bedroom is entirely too big and quiet. 

And it’ll be like that for a long time, he knows that now. But a person can get used to anything, so long as it’s temporary. 

And he can do it, for Johnny. 

Johnny would be proud of that, of him keeping on, even when everything inside of him is screaming at him to stop.

Johnny would be proud, and he’ll live to see him be proud, if it’s the last thing he does. 

[yourhero404]

Izuku and bakugo proposing to their s/o!! 💗💗💗if not please ignore 😊😊 thank you

A/N: Sure!! Sorry I took so long, but this dumb binch has had a rough and very busy few weeks (oh the joy of holidays :^) ), I hope you like them!!

MIDORIYA

If his hands weren’t in his pockets fiddling with something, they were tapping on (Y/n)’s knuckles or twitching out in the open as though they didn’t know what to do. (Y/n) didn’t think twice about it- they’ve been with Midoriya long enough to know it’s just something he normally did, but to this extent was certainly suspicious. What was more suspicious, however, was how often his eyes darted around the dimly lit dining room of the most prestigious restaurants in the city. The fact that they were even there was odd too- both of them enjoyed the simpler things in life anyway.

“Are you alright?”

“What?”

Their question caught him off-guard, he actually jumped in his seat a bit the moment they spoke. Nervously waving the question off, he continued to look behind them as though he were waiting for someone else to walk up or give him some sort of sign; He did this all throughout dinner and well after dessert, too. Every time they asked what was bothering him, he just flashed them a smile and changed the subject- what was going on? Was there a reason their boyfriend was on such high alert? He was even starting to shine until the dim lights, he was nervously sweating like crazy.

“Honestly, Izuku, what’s up with you?” their hand reached across the table to grab onto his, “And don’t just wave it off this time. Something’s up and I can tell.”

“You can?”

“Honey, people who don’t know you could see you’re one straw away from being a puddle of nerves on the floor.”

“Well, I um,” he looked behind them once again and light up instantly, giving (Y/n) a large smile, “Why don’t we go out on the balcony and talk about it!”

“The balcony?”  

They were whisked to their feet and smoothly guided toward the large balcony that they had been near all night, all before they could even finish their sentence. Midoriya seemed… excited now, still nervous, but much lighter and bouncing on the balls of his feet. The second they stepped on the balcony, (Y/n)’s suspicions halted in order to take in the breathtaking view in front of them. Fairy lights danced behind Midoriya as they wove in and out of the design in the metal railing with vines wrapping alongside them. Flower petals have been tossed about, leaving a soft scent that eased the tension, and the stars above them provided a false, but welcome, sense of warmth. (Y/n) needed to take a moment just to appreciate the view itself, and another to calm their heart at how soft and gentle their love looked surrounded by it all.  

Midoriya pulled them close, fingers still trembling a bit as they rested upon (Y/n)’s hips; His smile wavered every so often as he let out a soft laugh as well, (Y/n) couldn’t help but look at him as star-struck as they had been the first time he held them this close. His breath fanned across their face, warming their features and protecting them from the cold around them, the both of them just… existing with each other for a while before Midoriya actually spoke.

“(Y/n), I uh… You know I’m not… very good at speeches, right?”

“I beg to differ.”

“Okay, well,” he laughed a bit to himself, “You know what I mean. I can try and try again to be prepared and attempt to say the right thing, but it comes out wrong every time. I can plan attacks, but I can’t plan my words very well.”

“You’d be right.”

“Thanks,” he sighed, giving a sarcastic smile before brightening up again, “My point is, I’m just… I didn’t… I couldn’t find the right words to describe just how much I love you, and how loved I feel just knowing you’re always in my corner supporting me no matter what. And I… Well, I still don’t have the right words, but I do know how I feel, and I- Um,” he mumbled a curse to himself fairly quickly, “I need to do this before my nerves completely paralyze me and I never get the words out.”

Getting down on one knee, he brandished what he had been fidgeting with all night- a small box. The ring inside was stunning- small and simple at first glance, but bright enough to rival that of his smile, and (Y/n) wouldn’t dream of anything else. Their heart practically leaped from their chest as tears of happiness filled their eyes and their smile mirrored that of their boyfriends.

“(Y/n), will you marry me?”

BAKUGO

As much as Bakugo disliked working with others, his (s/o) was a vastly different story. Having someone who could practically read his mind, move and work on the same wavelength as him was a godsend- not to mention having someone he can let his guard down around at the end of the day was something he never knew he needed until he was fortunate enough to get it. He loved them, it was obvious and he never let a day go by where he didn’t express it to them in one way or another, and it was time he kicked it up a notch.

Never being one for the simpler things in life, yet also avoiding anything seen as what he called ‘mushy love shit’, Bakugo decided the only way he was going to propose was going to be a heat of the moment type of deal; When he’s completely overwhelmed with just… how much he loves this idiot, he knows he would never regret it. He doesn’t plan for it- aside from the ring, whenever he may get it- and he goes about his business as usual, that is, until today.  

It really should’ve been a standard take down- (Y/n) acts as the decoy, Bakugo knocks them off-guard, and the two of them move in close working together for the kill shot (despite however many times (Y/n) disagrees with the name). For some reason, the villains in front of them were throwing the two of them off- or maybe it was their own faults for being distracted- but (Y/n) would be damned if these lowlifes got away from them.

“Bakugo!” they yelled, everything about them disheveled, dirty, and splattered in blood, “We are not letting these bastards leave this block, got it?”

“You’re damn right,” he shot them a toothy grin, the excitement of the brawl evident in his eyes, “I’ll go after them!”

“No!” they yelled, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ll go! It’ll be faster!”

“How the hell will that be faster?”

He got his answer as they charged towards him at full speed- he bent his knees and braced himself. The second they got within range, he grabbed onto their forearm and spun the both of them around, using his blasts to gain speed, he roughly threw them in the direction of the escaping criminals in the distance. Bakugo instantly took off in the same direction, catching up with them to find both criminals apprehended- one trapped beneath (Y/n)’s feet and the other one being held down by (Y/n) sitting on their back- they obviously stopped trying to resist. He gave them a lopsided smile as he held his hand out to help them back onto their feet while the nearby police take the others into custody.

“I’m starting to think you just like it when I throw you.”

“Maybe I do,” they teased with a smirk, “You can’t tell me it doesn’t feel good to just… toss me away like that.”

“You would think,” he pulled them flush against him with his arm wrapped around their lower back, “Especially with how fucking annoying you are. But no, not really.”

“Really?” their eyebrows drew together, “You feeling okay? Did all of that head trauma finally catch up to your brain?”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks. Definitely better than you.”

“I dunno about that, you sounded like you genuinely didn’t like throwing me, sounds unlike you.”

“I didn’t like throwing you,” his head tilted slightly as his gaze met theirs “I was afraid that maybe I threw you too hard- I don’t wanna hurt you, (Y/n), no matter how much of a little shit you can be and no matter how much some days I just want to strangle you.”  

Bakugo leaned in to their lips and gave them a kiss so soft and slow, he felt himself melting into them far before they melted into him- damn he was soft around them and at this point, he was too afraid of losing them to ever fight it. His heart started to race and the strong feeling of butterflies in his stomach started up, and when he parted from them, he felt as though a part of him were missing- he took that as his body’s way of telling him it was time.  

He gazed into their eyes, watching each movement- they were always like the night sky to him, not in colour, but in the sense that they were always there watching over him, giving him a sense of warmth, vast and inviting and certainly not short of beauty or surprises. The way their head tilted in confusion was adorable, he could hear them speaking and see their lips moving, but all of it was drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat. Before anyone else came by to talk to them, to ruin this moment with them, he whispered the one question that left his heart completely vulnerable in hopes that they’d take good care of it.

“Hey, (Y/n)… Marry me.”

[m-oana-archive]

Please Be Naked (Remus Lupin x reader smut)

Summary: You’re finally ready to lose it all to Remus, and who is he to deny you that?

Words: 2963 | read on AO3 | Masterlist 

Warnings: semi-graphic descriptions of sex, explicit language

A/N: If you want to know what song I had on a loop while writing this, it’s “Please Be Naked” by the 1975, hence the title.

Minutes had faded into hours; when Remus retracted his lips from yours, you knew it was due time for the fadeout.  Like any forest fire, the heat between you two went from a mountain to a murmur eventually, always per your request.  Not that Remus’ tongue sliding underneath yours on some kind of mission to outdo God wasn’t good enough, or you didn’t crave the suppleness of his palm in the innermost part of your thighs.  It was quite the opposite, really.  Your entire body undulated under his calculated touches so vigorously you swore you were built to be broken down by his fingertips.  But when the question arose, the question of more and continuing and what was next, everything went still.  You’d cover up your embarrassment with apologies, to which Remus would react by covering your blush with kisses.  “I’ll wait for you,” he’d whisper as if you weren’t surrounded by silence.  But he always whispered in these instances, worried about breaking the delicate thing that is tenderness.  He whispered as often as he promised, “I’ll always wait for you.”  And he did.  Wordlessly.

And thus the normal routine was ending, the crescendo long past, and he was placing a kiss to your forehead to say goodnight in a way only you understood.  Usually, your body had settled by now, the storm cleared.  But as Remus pulled away a gloriously unusual demand parted from your lips.

“Stay.”

Remus’ hands had just started to slide from yours, his back turning in its typical reluctance to leave now, of all times.  It was a picture you had grown to know so well, him departing in the most selfless way.  But then you spoke.  And, thus, the way he turned on his heel so fast he almost spiralled to the floor, the way his face was pale with shock but eyes wide with wonder, the way you could tell he was waging war with a shit-eating grin trying to form on his lips, all created a brand-new picture was a million times more precious.  Your soul sang as your mouth smiled.

“Are you sure? Completely?” he asked with a head tilted downwards and a heart on his sleeve.  Though you had never gone through with the act of sex, no amount of personal inexperience could blind you to how badly Remus wanted you to answer ‘yes.’

And you did.  Because no amount of personal inexperience could blind you to how badly you wanted to continue to the what’s next.  The fire that was usually burnt to ashes never ceased burning this time and you had to, needed to, know about all the other what else’s everyone has always talked about.  

“Fuck,” Remus breathed.  “Okay.  Okay.”  His eyes glossed over with traces of millions of thoughts, mumbling reassurances to himself before cutting the words off with your lips.  All too soon, he retracted.

“You haven’t done this before,” he noted.  Remus breathed deeply at this realization, ungracefully finding his way onto his knees so he was no longer pushing his crotch into yours, spreading your legs all the while.  Once again, he was controlling himself.  Resisting temptation.  There was so much silence as he thought of what to do or say next, it begged of you to ask something to break it as quickly as possible.  Or maybe, there was a desperate tug of your heart, wondering if the same statement Remus said about you could be applied to him.

The question came out on an impulse.  “And you?”  

Remus frowned a line etching itself into his forehead messy with uneven strands of golden brown hair.  “No.  No, it’s not my first time.”  He exhaled deeply after the admission, visibly afraid to be looking at you yet still never ceasing to.   

“Oh.”

You could feel your legs begin to close together slowly by the power of some subconscious force, your face falling on its side in order to not have to look directly at Remus under the same influence.n  “Wait,” he pleaded, grabbing your kneecaps with one hand each.  The feeling of his warm skin touching you, as opposed to the chilled midnight air, demanded your attention be regained.  “You don’t have to do this.  Please know that.  And if you want to go have your first time with someone else who hasn’t had theirs, I understand completely.  I just want to say that, no matter how many times I’ve had sex, even if it were a million times,”–you cocked your eyebrow at him– “It’s an exaggeration!  But even if that was true, it wouldn’t matter.  Because I love you.  And, uh, this will, in a way, be my first time, too, since I wasn’t in love with who I lost my virginity to.  Not even a little bit.  So, lucky for you… ”

“Yeah, lucky for me,” you laughed.  It seemed loud for the space, unceremonious and gawky.  But experiences like this, you decided, were made up of separate moments with individual timelines, allowing for dynamic shifts like the difference between the growl of a lip amidst teeth and the kind of laughter that sinks into your bones warmly.

This mentality also allowed for the silence that followed, the type of quietness that was neither pleading or empty but simply existed.  Your fingers continued their way through Remus’ hair, landing in finale intertwined the back of his neck.  Finally, finally the moment presented itself, on a silver platter and all, and you abandoned yourself to being carried away, feeding fuel to the fire by whispering kisses along Remus’ jawline.  His entire body shook in response, neck craning back, back craning in, and something inside you kept saying more, more, more.  So you pressed your palms underneath the layer of cotton covering his body to touch the layer of skin it was hiding, rediscovering the texture of his ribcage and spine with nothing concealing it, fingertips saying hello to his bruises with the tone of voice of an old friend.  Remus breathed, paused, sucked in, hissed, moaned.  Each genre of sound was your new favorite, and you prayed above all else the music would continue.  

His shirt was the first to be forgotten, thrown into some misshapen lump in a corner of his barely moonlit bedroom.  Maybe you’ve been here before, or some version of this location: Remus shirtless, skin authentically aglow in a starlight sort of manner, scars deeply etched but deeply insignificant when addressing the whole of his graceful limbs and long muscles.  You traced shapes into his chest, watching it stutter in response, entranced.

“You’re stunning,” you whispered before allowing your lips the skin they ached to taste.  He mumbled something opinionated that turned into something incoherent as you dragged your tongue down his stomach, trying to make him shiver and be convinced your virginity was a contradiction to your execution.  You sneakily shifted between positions in order to gain the greatest access possible downwards, then further down, then so far a belt buckle ceased any immediate action.  Fingers touched the cold metal ring, applying a question in the form of pressure.  Remus’ hips bucked, giving an answer in the form of physicality.  The “please,” that dragged out of his throat was, you assumed, supposed to come before the bodily agreement.  But you understood the lack of hold-back, liked it, because it meant you were bothering, enticing, stimulating.  This was the job and you had checked every box on the list that was presented to you thus far.

The unbuckling of his belt was the first artificial sound of the evening, followed by the definitive but soft scraping of his jeans and boxers against his skin while simultaneously being pushed down his legs.  But the third sound–the gulping of your throat–was genuine in all forms of the word, not only as it was made by your body but because it was the first time you had seen all of Remus and it was your first time to do this with something like that and wow, wow, wow…

“You don’t have to,” Remus said besides himself with breaths so shallow, if they were water, the blue would barely touch your ankles.  And that’s why you touched, anyways, explored, eventually learned in, sucked.  Because he was all unbalanced and stuttery, always two words away from completing sentences, rushing through some reactions and prolonging others, saying “fuck” so many times you thought he had bought himself a nonrefundable ticket to Hell.  

So when he asked you to stop, breathing as haphazardly as his caramel hair hung into his closed eyes, the contradiction between the demand and his presumed enjoyment forced you to ask, “was it not good?”

Automatically, Remus denied your doubt without a trace of his own shadowing over his facial features.  If anything, a small smile edged its way onto Remus’ face as he confessed, “that was probably the best I’ve ever had.  God, wanna make you feel the same.”  

Remus began transitioning the tone of the conversation from sentences to moans as he left open-mouthed, obnoxiously short-lived kisses on the side of your lips that distracted you from the way he laid you down subtly.  And, yes, Remus was Remus was Remus but knowing you were heading somewhere, knowing that his hands were under your shirt to take it off and in your pants to get even deeper, added a ferventness to his approach that was intoxicatingly detectable.  There was a strategy to every movement: the pacing of undressing, the dynamic contrast between a suck and a bite, the use of breathing so unevenly up against your begging mouth, but doing nothing to ease that craving.  Remus was teasing you in the most Remus way possible: almost noticeably, almost as if it was a coincidence.  But the sensations that vibrated from the marrow of your bones all the way to the tips of your hair, paired with Remus’ gentle yet seductive smirks, made you certain these actions were no accidents.  

But there was absolutely no concern in your mind that Remus was getting away with the crime, because his body filled yours with something that felt like starlight, so forget righteousness if it prohibited you indulging in your newfound obsession of having his body on yours, atop yours, in yours.  In yours?

“Shit,” you gasped, realizing where his tongue was, tugging at whatever was closest to you deep in the throes of pleasure.  Never before had you felt this, and never again will you be able to kiss that tongue the same way knowing the full throttle of its capabilities.  “Shit, Rem,” you panted.  “Again.  Please.”

He replied simply, somehow sounding as coiled up as you, all breathless and hazy.  “Yeah.  You taste good.”  It was so automatic, so unadulterated in its candid delivery, not even your mouth could not express the hotness of the phrase.  This lead to you arching your back up and craning your neck against a mattress in a way that seems premature, considering Remus’ tongue had yet to return, but was necessary to abide by the scorching sensation inside of your stomach that dissuaded you from caring about logic.  You let that sense guide you, sweep over you unconditionally, as Remus had the audacity to mouth at places without warning, making you blissfully powerless to his tongue and his strategies.  A lick, a nip, a circle, a kiss, a prod, a blow.  You never knew exactly how much your body was capable of feeling until Remus brought it upon you now, self-confident smirk and all, with a dangerously low chuckle while pulling away that made you absolutely disintegrate.

You could hear the heaviness of lust in his voice as he asked, “Fuck, can I finger you now?  I’ll take it slow, of course.  I’ll fuck you slow, too…”

“Remus,” you moaned, lifting your hips up in a way that seems far too desperate considering you should have already felt every possible sensation by now.  

“Sorry, love,” he said.  “I think I’m getting a bit ahead of myself but, shit, I’ve never… just…”

“I know.”  In a moment overflowing with risk, you looked up at him, all raw lipped and glistening, locking your blurred eyes with his.  They were thoroughly dilated, full of a hunger that stemmed from far below their lids, but still stumbled upon your body sweetly, coaxing instead of staring.  Even if this was your first time, the way he looked at you was all the evidence you needed that all physical manifestation between you and Remus would be different than anything else with anyone else.  Better than.  You dipped your fingertips through his disheveled hair, brushing it off of his forehead.  “Go ahead, I’m ready.”  

Remus placed a delicate kiss on your stomach before he lowered down, sputtering out the typical guidance of “relax” and “keep breathing,” in such a short-breathed manner he could have been talking to himself.  But when the first finger dipped inside, hitting places never before explored, suddenly the advice was for you, you and your shallow exhales and clenched knuckles.  In flashes, there was uncertainty, fear, discomfort, all distinctly demoted but easily forgotten as deep breaths turned into small moans and one finger turned into two turned into three.  You were an earthquake held inside a body due to Remus’ touches and constant praises of,  “You’re doing so good, baby,” and  “Yeah, you’re taking it so well.”  His words crawled up your skin, raising hairs and spreading shivers.  It was all too much– Remus’ low growls, thick fingers, perfect aim, unyielding passion– yet your body coiled with an unquenchable thirst for more.

Your hand searched for his pumping wrist, fingers wrapping around the limb in a silent plead to stop.  Remus obliged, looking up at you with a palpable concern that was immediately disintegrated once you said, “I’m ready, Remus.”

“Yeah?” he asked.  His smile was a mix of Firewhisky and safety, somewhere between two and but neither by itself.

You let your own smile take its shape across its face as you nodded.  Remus lifted his face to yours and coaxed apart your lips so gently it felt like praying.  With closed eyes, you only felt his hands pressed against your hot cheeks, only heard his gravelly voice whisper how much he loved you against your mouth.  Too soon he lifted his face away, lifted his whole body off of yours to readjust and it was happening, it was truly happening, right before your now wide-open eyes.  They basked in Remus’ striated skin, his light layering of freckles, his veiny arms; he was beautiful in an overwhelmingly accidental way.  But when Remus’ body edged closer and closer, further and further in, it was impossible to focus on anything other than the holiness that was being this close to him.  Everything felt better than you had ever imagined and you swore Remus’ body, in that exact moment, created the concept of ecstasy.

Remus spent a while above you, his forearms and back receiving unevenly distributed scratches from your fingernails before some unspoken thought or desire brought his torso against yours to allow mouths to press together once more.  Your skeleton melted at the combination of tenderness and friction, the beautiful juxtaposition between heat and hearth, and you found yourself moaning Remus’ name down his own throat in an attempt to counterbalance the intensity of his body being inside yours.  And then, somehow, Remus’ tongue was on your neck, sliding up your jawline, his breath tickling your ear.  “Shit, you feel so good,” he groaned into the shell of it.  “I’m close.”

Your body shook, contorting, back arching at the confession.  “M-me, too,” you replied, surprising yourself due to the fact you could form words.

It happened too soon, the zenith, submerging you under a translucent wave of bliss so thick you thought you were drowning but you didn’t care, you truly didn’t.  It was too good.  Remus’ back was full of your fingertips, digging in so deeply you were surprised you didn’t hit bone.  Every part of your body was arching and clenching, except your mouth, which was frozen hung open in the aftermath of screaming Remus’ name.  

And thus you began a chain reaction: once settled from your orgasm, Remus hit his, screaming “fuck” so loudly you suddenly became aware of what you were doing and where you were doing it.  But that concern was easily distracted as Remus bit down on his unfairly thick lower lip, his eyes squeezed shut just as aggressively, his arms flexed in the act of pulling out.  He was so accidentally gorgeous, even in the throes of it- especially in the throes of it.

The silence that followed was quickly disrupted by Remus’ body falling against the mattress, next to you but not quite separated from.  He stroked your arm from the lopsided angle before repositioning to lay on his side and kiss your shoulder so softly you almost didn’t process the sensation.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asked, the absent-minded stroking returning to your arm as an excuse for his fingers to find their way into yours.

“Tired,” you admitted.  Remus snorted at the response.  “And amazing.”  You turned to face him, watching the hand that imitated the roll touch Remus’ chest.  You observed the patch of skin over his heart through both eyes and fingers before looking up, noticing his eyes were cast on you.  “Thank you,” you said.

Remus laughed, his entire body following the sound out of his throat.  “Are you kidding me?  Thank you.  That was undeniably the best sexual experience of my life.”

A smirk formed across your raw lips.  “So I was worth the wait?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, reclaiming the hand that was sprawling against his chest to kiss the top of it.  “You’re worth everything.”

[switchdnp]

Anonymous

Summary: Phil’s friends get him into a hell of a situation, but maybe something good can come from it

Word Count: 1938

Warnings: pain kink, blowjobs, kinda double penetration, dans rlly rough, implied aftercare n fluffy endings

Phil honestly wasn’t expecting for his Saturday evening to end like this—on his knees and peeking through a small hole in the wall, waiting for anyone who’s interest piqued when they walked by. His friends had gotten him into this situation, invited him over to an amateur strip club of sorts—or maybe just a place where people fucked, Phil wasn’t sure. After just enough sips of alcohol to get everyone comfortably tipsy, but still clear-headed, somehow the topic of glory holes came up.

And that’s how Phil ended up behind a black screen wall, fingers tracing over the dark velvet that lined it to entertain himself as he bided his time, impatience burning in his stomach. He wanted a cock inside him, down his throat or in his ass, and so far, none such cocks had arrived.

Phil had never been good at waiting, it left him fidgeting nervously even when they thing he was waiting for had no negatives. His brother used to tease him for it, call him a worry-wart and tell him to be a little more patient, but Phil still hadn’t changed over all these years. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait much longer.

Phil heard footsteps behind the wall, and then the sound of jeans unzipping, and his stomach almost flipped with excitement and nerves. There was the sharp sound of the metal buckle of a belt hitting the ground, followed by the softer noise of what was presumably the other man’s jeans going down as well.

Phil shuffled closer to the hole in the wall, legs already shaking a little, wobbly with anticipation. The man slid his cock into the hole, and for a moment Phil was almost tempted to laugh—dicks were pretty funny when separated from their body. He held back the giggle, however, instead lapping hesitantly over the tip, hoping he could play up his shyness and use it to his advantage.

There was a groan from behind the wall, and then a small mutter of “Don’t tease,”, gravely and low and too commanding for Phil to disobey. He’d always had a thing for being pushed around, told what to do, controlled by another person—all within his consent, of course. The power to opt out at any time was the safety blanket he needed to completely indulge himself, give himself up to another in a way that let him not need to think, only follow orders.

Phil wrapped his lips around the head of the cock, and bobbed slowly, hands balled up into fists where they rested on his thighs as he tried to subdue his gag reflex. He got nervous easily sucking his partners off, was always a bit anxious that he’d take it too far and gag—or worse, throw up. But he loved getting his face fucked, giving up trust was easy, and it felt so good to be used in such a loving way. Phil gave a hint to the person on the other side of the wall, sinking down to the hilt and going pliant there, swirling his tongue around the sides just to keep himself entertained.

“Want me to fuck your mouth, pretty baby?” The man asked, praise going straight to Phil’s dick, throbbing completely untouched in his jeans. Phil moaned in response, eyes falling shut and breathe faltering as he felt the dick thrust carefully in his mouth, moving hot and heavy on his tongue. The tip hit the back of his throat and Phil jolted, whining at the sharp sensation. Maybe his gag was a little too loud, because suddenly the dick was pulling out of his mouth, leaving him empty and gasping for air.

“You okay?” The man asked, voice gentle in a way that seemed so out of place in an environment so obviously meant for something rougher, kinkier. Phil just whimpered pitifully, nodding his head before realizing that the man couldn’t see him.

“’M alright, want your cock again, please?” He pleaded, wiping the spit from his lips, and shuffling to a more comfortable position, resting on his legs tucked under himself rather than his knees.

“Actually, why don’t you turn around and stick that ass out for me princess, wanna feel more than your mouth.” Phil’s caught off guard by the words, face heating up and vocal chords constricting out a tiny “oh” against his will. It’s not disappointed though, in fact, Phil doesn’t think he’s ever been more excited in his life by just the simple promise of getting fucked.

He pulls his jeans down quickly, shuffling with his pants and slicking his fingers up with the spare lube his friends had offered him before he went back. Phil fingered himself open quickly, riding his fingers and whining high in his throat, pleasure and impatience building him up until he could barely breathe—he wasn’t going to mention to his friends that he’d ended up hyperventilating for dick once this was over. After working up to three fingers, he deemed himself ready; backing up to the wall and getting on his hands and knees, stomach in knots with desperation.

“Use me, please.” Phil begged, folding his arms and resting his head on them, not trusting himself to stay up when he’s getting fucked. Phil feels the cock rub over his rim, precum slicking him up, and then pressing in, stretching his hole even wider and making him shudder. The lack of lube and the man’s girth made it burn a little, but Phil loved it, savored the way he could feel himself being forced open, muscles clenching at the intrusion. He spread his legs a little farther, dick sinking deeper inside him, and suddenly the realization hit Phil of just how vulnerable he was, all alone in a little dark room getting fucked by somebody he didn’t even know. The thought shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did.

“Name’s Dan, by the way, since you’ll be needing something to scream.” The stranger purred, pulling all the way out to the tip, before slamming back in. Phil did just as he said, crying out Dan’s name like it was the only thing he knew how to say—and it that moment, it might’ve been.

“Nice to—fuck—get an introduction when your dick’s in my ass.” Phil teased, wiggling his bum the best he could manage just for emphasis. Dan reprimanded him with a sharp thrust right into his spot, the sudden stimulation making Phil sob, fingers scrabbling and clawing at the cold floor. The movement was rough, but Phil could still hear the giggle in Dan’s voice when he praised him, it made his stomach flip.

Dan was quick and unrelenting, just the way Phil wanted it. He thrusted in and out like he was desperate for the motion, eager for any bit of Phil he could get, and the combination of feeling used and appreciated at the same time was enough to make Phil’s head dizzy with pleasure.

“Shit, feels so good, fuck me so good Daddy.” Phil keened, rutting back against Dan in time with his thrusts. His vision was blurry with tears he didn’t even realize he was crying, cheeks flushed and stained damp. He always cried when he was close, it was something he didn’t like explaining to his past partners, because how much more awkward could it get than having to reassure someone balls deep in you that ‘No, I’m not in pain, I just feel really good.’

Phil was sure Dan could hear him sobbing, but he didn’t slow down, in fact, he seemed spurred on by the choked off whines and whimpers, fucking into him so fast Phil thought he was going to black out from pleasure before he got a chance to come.

“So good baby, so tight and warm around me, everyone’s gonna be so lucky to get to fuck you tonight.” He praised, panting in between the words and driving his hips even faster. Phil was fucking wrecked, breaths coming out in hoarse sobs and cries for more. His whole body jolted every time Dan pushed fully in, prostate sore and abused but still aching for more.

“Daddy, need it harder, want it to hurt.” Phil cries, too fucked out to even worry for more than a moment about Dan being weirded out by his demands. The second of apprehension is blown away when Dan presses a finger in beside his cock, and then a second, and a third. Phil thinks he can barely breathe, the whine building in his throat cut off by the onslaught of near-burning stimulation. It’s too much all too quickly and he loves it, screams for it when Dan moves his fingers with his dick.

He’s gasping with every thrust, pushed to his limits and absolutely loving teetering on the edge between pleasurable pain and genuine hurt. Phil trusts Dan to keep him safe, to not push him over that line, and that gentle warmth in the back of his mind is what keeps him from being frightened when he’s getting fucked like this by a complete stranger.

Dan hits his orgasm with a fucking growl and it makes Phil’s knees weak as he pounds him through it, legs sliding out from under him and collapsing on the ground. Most of the cum ends up on his ass, but he can feel a little dribbling out of his hole, and the wet, warm feeling pushes his over the edge as well. Phil comes completely untouched, trembling on the floor and shuddering every time his cock twitches, pumping out more cum.

“Fuck,” He exhales, coming down from his high and wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You okay?” Dan asks, concern taking the place of the lust that had been in his voice not more than a second ago.

“Yeah, jus’ a little tired.” Phil explains, legs still too wobbly to even think about standing up.

“I can take you home if you want, get you a bath or something, cause you sound pretty wrecked.”

Phil rolls his eyes, “Don’t get so proud of yourself, but yeah, that’d be nice.” He manages to shuffle out of the dark room, eyes stinging from the assault of the rest of the club’s bright, fluorescent lights. Dan looks just as fucked out as him, and it makes Phil smirk to know that he’s not the only way shaken up here.

“Just as pretty as I’d thought you’d be.” Dan says, smile so cocky Phil almost wants to kiss it right off of him—he would, if not for the fact that leaning forward might be too much to ask of his legs at the moment. Dan slings an arm around him, and he’s warm and soft and everything Phil needs when he’s so sore all over. He goes pliant against Dan’s chest, breathing in his scent and, admittedly, nearly falling over. Dan catches Phil with his other arm, quickly wrapping it around his waist to hold him steady.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” He reassures, rocking Phil back and forth.

“You think you’re ready for my place?”

Phil nods, yawning and lazily burying his head in Dan’s chest again. There’s a kiss on his forehead, and Phil’s heart skips a beat.

He’ll have to thank his friends later.

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