#having to ignore the ringing in my ears + the throbbing in my temples. barely being able to get up without my vision spinning

[allthegothihopgirls]

constantly gaslighting myself into believing that my chronic migraines aren't even that bad. until i get one again and it's actively the worst experience of my life.

[valkyriexo]

You have a Migraine | Seungmin

ᑉ³pairing; Seungmin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff

ᑉ³warnings; Reader dealing with a migraine, Pills mentioned

ᑉ³Authors Note; Other members coming soon! Edited.

Part of the "He helps you when.." collection. Other members parts: Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you lie in bed, cocooned in blankets. But despite the peaceful scene outside your window, there's no rest to be found within the confines of your own mind.

Your temples throb with a relentless intensity, each pulse sending shockwaves of pain through your skull. Migraine days are the worst, and today seems determined to be the pinnacle of that agony.

You try to ignore the pounding in your head, focusing instead on the rhythmic ticking of the clock on your bedside table. But even the steady beat seems to mock you, a reminder of the passing minutes that only serve to prolong your suffering.

With a heavy sigh, you reach out for the bottle of painkillers that has become a permanent fixture in your life. You're all too familiar with the ritual of opening its childproof cap, but today, as you twist it off, your heart sinks.

The bottle is empty.

With a groan, you try to summon the strength to get out of bed, but the pain pins you down like an anchor. Frustration, thick and palpable, mixes with the pain, creating a cocktail of misery that threatens to engulf you entirely. Each attempt to rise is met with a wave of nausea, a cruel reminder of the physical toll this puts on you. The room spins, a dizzying carousel of sensations that leaves you disoriented and defeated.

You clench your teeth, willing yourself to push through the fog of agony that clouds your mind.

Every muscle in your body protests as you attempt to sit up, each movement sending shockwaves of pain radiating outward from the epicenter in your head.

With a final, desperate effort, you manage to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet meeting the cold, unforgiving floor below. But even this small victory feels hollow, overshadowed by the relentless drumbeat of pain that reverberates through you.

You close your eyes against the harsh glare of the morning light. But even in the darkness behind your eyelids, the pain persists.

You can't bring yourself to stand, the pain worsening with each passing moment. Doubts gnaw at the edges of your consciousness. Were there even any pills left in the medicine cabinet?

The thought of standing seems utterly futile, a mountain too steep to climb in your current state.

Your mind races, searching desperately for a solution amid the fog of agony. There's only one thing you can think to do. With trembling fingers, you reach for your phone, wincing at the harsh light it emits as you unlock the screen and dial Seungmin's number.

Each ring feels like an eternity, each passing second an eternity of suffering. But then, finally, his voice breaks through the haze of pain.

"Hello?" His voice is filled with concern.

"Seungmin," you manage to choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper. "It's... it's bad. I need... help."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, a heartbeat of uncertainty before Seungmin's reassuring voice fills your ears once more. "I'm on my way," he says, his words a promise of relief.

As you wait for Seungmin's arrival, time seems to stretch into eternity, each moment punctuated by the relentless throbbing in your temples. The minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity as you struggle to hold onto a semblance of composure amidst the storm of pain.

Finally, just when you're beginning to fear that he might not come, there's a soft knock on the door. You struggle to open your eyes, squinting against the harsh light filtering through the curtains. "Come in," you manage to croak out.

It swings open to reveal Seungmin standing on the other side. His eyes widen in concern as he takes in your disheveled appearance, and without a word, he steps forward to wrap you in a gentle embrace.

"I'm here," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of your pain. "Everything's going to be okay."

"It hurts so much, Minnie," you say, tears escaping despite your efforts to hold them back.

"I know, I know," he replies, his voice laced with empathy, his eyes reflecting the depth of his concern.

His eyes scan the room, searching for any way to alleviate your suffering. Spotting the dimmer switch, he stands silently. With a flick of his wrist, he adjusts the lighting, the soft glow casting shadows that offer a respite from the harsh brightness.

Not content with just that, he strides over to the window, pulling the curtains closed carefully. Each movement is precise, deliberate, as he ensures not a single ray of light infiltrates the room. The darkness that envelops you feels like a sanctuary, shielding you from the pain.

As he returns to your side, you feel a sense of gratitude wash over you, a warmth that eases the chill of pain.

"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, resuming his previous position.

You nod gratefully, the gesture feeling like too much effort.

Seungmin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bottle of pills. He had remembered your preferred medication, and he always keep it on hand, whether in the dorms or car. With a reassuring smile, he hands you a couple of pills along with a bottle of water from your nightstand.

After a few moments of silence, the medication starts to work its magic, gradually easing the relentless ache in your head.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, breaking the silence that envelops the room.

Seungmin turns to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What for?"

"I know you're not really big on physical touch," you explain, your voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry I bothered you with all this."

His expression softens, and he reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. "Hey, don't apologize. I'm here because I want to be. Helping you through this is the least I can do."

As he spoke, your head pinged with pain, every word feeling like a hammer striking against your skull. You wince, from the noise, the throbbing in your temples growing more intense with each syllable.

"I know noise tends to be painful when this happens, and I just want to let you know that I'm okay with sitting in silence, as long as you're comfortable," Seungmin says quietly.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, both from the pain and from the overwhelming kindness of his words. Despite the agony you're enduring, he remains by your side, offering his own version of comfort.

Seungmin's touch is gentle as he runs his fingers through your hair, his movements soothing against your scalp. His fingertips tracing delicate patterns across your skin as if trying to soothe away the pain with each caress. His kisses are soft and fleeting, pressed gently against your forehead and temples, a gesture of comfort and affection in the midst of your suffering.

"Thank you," you manage to murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

He shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "Stop apologizing. Just rest."

With a nod, you lean back against him and the pillows, finding solace in the silence that descends upon the room. At that moment, despite the pain, you feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that whatever happens, you will always have him by your side.

*·˚ᑉ³ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like | © 2024 Valkyriexo  licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

[obitohno]

primeval | 02

satoru gojo x reader

synopsis ⤸

you have never believed in fairy-tales. besides, werewolves don’t actually exist… right?

chapters ⤸

៚ contents

៚ prev | next ᝰ

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, dark fic, werewolf! gojo, human! reader, slow burn, soulmates, omegaverse, werewolves, mating bond, smut, masturbation, cunnilingus, blowjobs, anal, breeding, creampies, ruts, heats, action, angst, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood

word count ⤸

6.1k (edited, lowercase intended)

a/n ⤸

thank you to everyone who shared the first chapter of ‘primeval’. i honestly didn’t think many people would like it bc the first chapter doesn’t jump straight into the smut… it’s coming, though, dw. this chapter is a little more action packed, which i’m still getting my head around on writing, but it was fun to write. also!! i actually edited this one?!?! wow??!!! feeling v proud of myself bc this’ll probably never happen again, lmaoo

reblogs are appreciated ~

two:

when you come to, two days have already passed. your mother’s face is the first you see, and you're bewildered at the sight of unshed tears that glisten in the very eyes you’d inherited from birth. 

‘mum?’ 

your mother barely contains a muffled sob, shaking hands reaching to embrace you into a bone-crushing hug. you groan, head swimming as you reluctantly return the gesture with an awkward pat to your mother’s shoulder. 

‘what’s wrong? i—’

your mother’s voice is grave, with an expression to match, as she leans back from the embrace to stare at you, ‘we need to leave.’ frown forming between your brows, you move from the bed, standing on shaky legs. with a glance, you realise that you’re still wearing your dress, the fabric crinkled and matted in places, and your frown deepens, lips parting to question just how long you were asleep for, but your mother interrupts you, ‘now.’ 

before you can even think of a reply, your mother’s fingers are curling around your wrist, pulling you towards the door. your temples throb and you wince, a wave of vertigo hitting you just as she pulls you to the bottom of the stairs. your left hand flails to catch your balance on the wall, but your mother doesn’t wait, pushing you towards the front door. your confusion doubles when she doesn’t even allow you time to tug your shoes on. ‘what’s going on—?’

‘no time,’ she snaps at you, yanking the front door open and pushing you out of it. stumbling, you wince as the gravel bites into the soles of your feet. ‘get in the car.’ 

doing as you’re told, you slump into the passenger seat with an exhausted sigh. you’re unsure of why you feel so tired, but there’s no time to dwell, your mother sliding into the driver’s seat, slamming the door closed. she wears an expression of panic, and whilst you have so many questions to ask, they die on the tip of your tongue when the car rumbles to life. your mother wastes no time in reversing the vehicle out onto the road, almost colliding with a passing car, the sound of their horn cutting through the air. wide eyed, you gawk at her, she who pointedly concentrates on the road, kicking the car into drive. 

the small car makes it to the other side of town in record timing, and you’re sure that your mother has broken just about every road law along the way. just as the car starts down the long winding path that leads the way out of the town, you dare to ask, ‘where’s dad?’

the car speeds even faster and you grip the door handle to keep yourself from slamming into the door as the vehicle swiftly veers off to the left. 

something is definitely wrong, you think. horribly wrong. 

‘w-wait! dad—we can’t just leave—!’ 

something suddenly slams into the car from behind, the tyres skidding across the tarmac so roughly, the noise rings in your ears. your body is lurched forward, hands flying out to stop your head from colliding with the dashboard and your seatbelt groans under the strain of your weight, the fabric burning into your shoulder. wincing, you do your best to ignore the ache in your forehead, your mother letting a sharp yell slip past her lips. it isn’t long before the car skids to a halt and your entire body trembles, breath mixing with the warm air, steaming the windows from the inside. with shaking hands, your mother reaches for you, and you look up, horrified to see the blood pooling from her temple. 

‘m-mum—!’

a low, animalistic growl echoes from the outside, the sound tracing its way down your spine until it reaches the tips of your toes. and then, you smell it again. freshly cut grass, only this time, it intermingles with the scent of… dog? it reeks, seeping in through the metal framework until you have no choice but to inhale it. your nose crinkles and you have to force down the urge to gag. 

‘did we hit something?’ you dare to whisper, hand reaching to wipe the condensation from the window. the sight of a large shadow makes your stomach churn, your back hitting the seat as you slump, slack-jawed. the shadow moves closer, close enough that you can just make out the shape of four legs, accompanied by a tail. ‘oh my god—i-is that—?’ 

your mother’s fingers are pressing the button on your seatbelt and she leans over, throwing the passenger door wide open, ‘you need to run!’ 

your head head whips to gawk at her, ‘do you not see that? it’s a fucking wolf!’ tears cloud your vision, ‘oh god—dad! he said… i… i should have—’

she shoves you, hard. hard enough that you lose your balance, body hurtling out of the side of the car. your left wrist takes the brunt of your weight, the impact shattering its way up the length of your arm. a shriek is punched from your lungs and your bottom lip wobbles, pain stinging your now bloodied hand. dazed, you look up to meet your mother’s panicked stare. 

‘run! you have to run!’ her eyes are glossy, the tears staining her cheeks in a way that you have never seen before. when you don’t immediately heed her order, she all but screams at you, ‘fucking run!’ 

heart in your mouth, you scramble to your feet, body wavering as you almost trip over your feet. to your horror, the wolf is much closer that you had initially thought, not even a few yards away. behind you, the forest takes form again, and you take another wobbly step back, debating on the possibility of you escaping into the thick foliage.  

what the hell are you even thinking?  

if the wolf gives chase—which seems likely as its steely gaze is glued to you, completely ignoring your mother’s frantic wailing—there’s no way you could out-run it. just the sheer size of it seems unnatural—is it even possible for wolves to grow to such a size? even the colour of its fur seems ludicrous. the palest of silvers seems to gleam, almost white in colour, and if not for the animal advancing closer, you would stop to admire the sheen that spreads across its spine. the scent of freshly cut grass grows stronger with each step the wolf takes towards you, and you match its pace with one step backwards. there’s another scent in the air, something you can’t quite decipher, but you don’t bother to question it, stumbling back with another unbalanced step.

the ache in your temples has now spread to the back of your head and you suddenly find it a little harder to keep your eyes open. 

your mother calls your name again, begging, ‘run… please, you have to—!’ 

the beast releases a growl so loud that you feel it vibrate beneath your bare feet. something snaps to your left, a branch, perhaps, but you don’t stick around to find out, legs moving of their own accord. faster than you’ve ever moved before, you lunge towards the tree-line, barely processing your mother’s voice that echoes after you, egging you on. your feet sink into the soil, branches whipping past your head as you weave through the heavily crowded birch trees, the trunks stretched high above your head. the further you run, the denser the trees become, making it increasingly difficult to move. you duck under a particularly low hanging branch, feet pausing as you strain to listen. 

the forest is eerily quiet, the canopy of the trees blocking out the sunlight, making it harder to see. you listen as best as you can, sucking in air between your lips, nursing your injured wrist to your chest. your teeth bite into your bottom lip in order to muffle the cry that escapes, eyes welling. blinking rapidly, you sniffle, continuing your escape with a limp hindering your movements. you don’t think that you’ve been followed, but if you have, there’s no way that that huge, muscled body would ever be able to follow you through the thickening tree-trunks that now make it a task for your frame to slip through. 

you quietly pray that your mother has gotten to safety.

you’re unsure of how much time passes as you walk, but suddenly, there’s a break of light in the swarm of trees. you rush forwards, tripping over your feet just as you burst past the last of the roots, falling as you do so. you make the mistake of bracing your weight onto your injured wrist, unable to stop the pained shriek that ripples out into the darkening sky. it’s far too late when you slap your uninjured hand over your mouth to swallow the sound, and for a tense moment, you lie still, dirt caking your clammy skin, buried under your nails and matting the hair that sticks to the space behind your ears. 

then, you hear him. 

his footsteps are slow, calculated and not at all rushed. yours, however, are panicked, trying your best to stand, but soon realising that your right foot is trapped, squeezed into a tight gap between two large birch trees. this time, you don’t bother to hide the chest-wracking sobs that escape you, scrambling into a sitting position to try and dislodge your foot. it makes no difference, and the more you pull, the faster the pain throbs its way up your leg, dizzying. a pained moan breathes past your lips, blood ignited with adrenaline. 

he’s closer now, heavy footsteps almost deafening as he stalks towards you. he seems to be moving cautiously, which would have confused you had you not been focused on wrenching your foot free. but to your trepidation, the beast approaches, stepping into your line of sight, hackles slightly raised. 

stilling, you tilt your head back to look at the animal towering above you. and much to both your relief and horror, it’s not him. gone is the fur lined with silver; this beast is coated in a dark brown that almost looks black. its eyes, as equally as dark, watch you for a moment, before taking a slow step forward. immediately, the fear returns by a tenfold, and you begin to struggle again, your ministrations more urgent, panic-driven. you cry out as your foot twists painfully and in your distress, you almost miss the sight of his body morphing before your very eyes. 

the sound of cracking bones makes your stomach lurch, and you’re only just able to swallow the bile down, glossy eyes wide as the wolf disappears, only to be replaced by the large frame of a stark-naked man. 

you blink once, twice, thrice, absolutely baffled as to whether your eyes are deceiving you. 

but then he takes a tentative step closer, and your heart immediately lurches into your mouth. 

‘g-get away from me,’ you stammer, twisting your leg once more. 

the man raises his hands, as if to prove he means you no harm. something you’re unable to believe, especially when he just transformed from the form of a wolf. your father may have warned you of the wolves out here in shirakawa, but you wonder what his reaction will be once he hears the wolves can shape-shift into humans. the thought of your father is enough for the tears to return, features settling into a quiet cry as you attempt to twist your foot once more. 

the man is slow to approach you, and you pretend that you can’t see his penis hanging between his legs, as naked as the day he was born. ‘i can help,’ his voice is quiet but you are just able to hear him over the sound of your buzzing blood echoing in your ears. the mere thought of this… man? wolf… hybrid? whatever the hell he is…. the thought of him touching you makes you shiver and you look at your leg, miserable. there’s only one option that you can think of to aid your attempt to escape, and just imagining it makes you grimace. but you have no choice. the man seems to guess your next move and with surprising speed, he’s rushing towards you, shouting, ‘no! don’t!’ 

but it’s too late. 

gritting your teeth, you use the momentum of your weight to twist your leg as far as it will go, before the tibia bone eventually gives way under the pressure. the snap! rings down your eardrums, followed by a choked scream of pain. blood rushes behind your eyes as you somehow manage to wrench your foot free, but that’s as far as you get, your body immediately giving in and crumpling to the floor. 

the naked man is by your side, his hands reaching for you. you don’t even have the energy to move out of his grasp. he lifts you easily and you babble unintelligently, head lolling over his forearm. black clouds your vision and your entire leg now throbs, body barely able to process the pain that throbs underneath the surface of your skin. 

‘fuck,’ you are just able to hear the man curse, eyelids heavy as you try to blink up at him. your injured hand hangs limp, dangling in the air as he begins to trek away from the shadows of the trees. you attempt to tell him to leave you behind, to remove his strangely human hands from your body. but your tongue is heavy in your mouth and whatever you plan to say is rendered useless as you slip in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the journey. 

when you eventually come to for the fifth time, it is when a light is shone directly into your left pupil, and you groan, eyelid snapping to shut out the intrusion. someone gently shakes at your shoulder, but when you try to blink your eyes open, your sight is blurred. blinking your pupils back into focus, you recognise that you’re now indoors, lying on your back, head tilted up towards the ceiling. the first face you see is of the man who had carried you from the trees. you instinctively flinch at the sight of him, although, your eyes continue to peer at him curiously. his lips seem to be curve into a slight smile, and although he is now clothed, the memory of your meeting makes you flinch, grimacing. 

you attempt to sit, bracing your weight on your uninjured hand. your left wrist is bandaged, the fabric wrapped neatly to secure the injury in place. you don’t dare to look at the damage of your leg, an ache pounding across your forehead as you successfully pull yourself into an upright position. 

‘careful,’ the dark haired man coaxes, his expression one of barely concealed amusement. his words gain the attention of the other person in the room, one you hadn’t even noticed. he’s a pink haired man who stands to your right, torch in hand. he grins down at you, toothily and welcoming. he appears to have a peculiar taste in facial tattoos, and you can’t help but gawk at them. is that a mouth?

his grin broadens. ‘humans,’ he tuts, but he’s still grinning, ‘so jumpy.’ 

you grimace, tearing your gaze from him, back to the brown haired man to your left. he’s still watching you, his expression unreadable now. ‘don’t worry,’ he assures you of worries that you daren’t acknowledge out loud. ‘everything will be—’

the door flies open so wildly that it ricochets back off the wall behind it. you have to bite the inside of your cheek in order to stop yourself from yelping out in surprise. your eyes flicker to the doorway, along with the two men in the room, the three of you peering at the man who enters the room. 

you stare. 

it’s hard not to. 

especially when the first thing you notice of him is the wild mass of white hair that sits atop his head. you tremble when he steps inside the room, all but slamming the door shut behind him. 

‘so jumpy,’ the pink haired man repeats, chuckling. 

you sit frozen on the tabletop that you’ve been placed on, watching the unnaturally tall man stare down at you with a scowl that makes the bottom of your stomach churn with nerves. you swallow, the room silent as no-one dares to speak. you have so many questions, most of which you’d never thought that you’d ever have to ask, but your tongue doesn’t seem to want to work, frozen stiff in the confines of your mouth. you dare to inspect the white haired man, who is yet to say a word, or to even blink an eyelid.

if he’s at all bothered by your stare, he doesn’t voice it, taking the time to look you up and down, electric-blue eyes loitering on the expanse of skin that is bare to the world as your torn dress has ridden up your thighs. you try to not look so jumpy as you clench your thighs shut, eyes sweeping over his abnormally large form. his biceps strained under the neatly ironed dress-shirt that he wears, crossed over his chest, and you try to not notice the freckles on his lips, nor the way his trousers fit perfectly around his—

someone clears their throat and your eyes snap away from him, cheeks hot as you realise that you’ve been caught staring. 

‘now she’s awake, i’ll go fetch the male,’ the pink-haired man announces to no-one in particular. 

he crosses the room, brushing past the white-haired man whom is yet to stop staring at you. ‘what of the female?’ his voice is deeper than you expect, the sound charming its way into the centre of your abdomen.

a pair of brown eyes glance towards you before he answers, ‘sedated.’ and then he’s leaving, closing the door shut behind him. you feel the ache dull slightly and you manage to exhale with relief, good hand reaching to massage at your temples with your index finger. 

‘i can get you something for the pain,’ the dark-haired man—your saviour, you think bitterly—offers. but he seems to decide for you, already rising from his chair. however, his white-haired companion beats him to it. he crosses the room faster than you can blink, sneering down at you before his canines elongate and harshly sink into the meat of his own wrist. horrified, you watch him leer over you before his other hand snaps out to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling your head backwards.

yelping at the sudden pain, you recognise your mistake a second too late. he presses his bloodied wrist to your open mouth and your cry is muffled against his skin. with your uninjured hand, you attempt to slap him away, gagging at the taste of iron filling your mouth, coating your tongue. his grip is relentless, however, and he doesn’t budge, his fingers tightening in your hair. 

‘you’re hurting her,’ the other man says, and you close your eyes so that neither of them can see the tears that bubble beneath your eyelids. you scratch at the hand that twists your hair until the roots begin to burn. 

‘fuckin’ drink,’ he hisses into your ear, the sultry tone of his voice sounding very much electric as it shocks down your spine, your body unwillingly slumping against his, weak. you cave, reluctantly swallowing down the metallic liquid that’s begun to thicken inside your mouth. your stomach lurches, but his grip tightens to prevent you from wiggling away. the iron scent taints the air and the more you drink, the warmer your body tingles, sweat trickling down your spine. his blood is hot on her tongue, and you shiver, his chin resting on the top of your head, his chest pressing to your spine. 

the door clicking shut is barely registered by either of you, but you soon recognise that the two of you are now alone. the ache is slowly dissipating from your forehead and you shakily exhale from your nostrils. you moan against his wrist, swallowing, goosebumps etched across every inch of your skin. his chest rumbles against your back and you realise that he’s practically purring in your ear, the sound enticing another embarrassing moan that slips, uncontrolled, from your bloodied lips. 

a few minutes pass before his blood ceases, his wrist slipping away from your face. to your utter embarrassment, you have to stifle the whine that builds upon the tip of your tongue, with a cough. satisfied that your stomach is now bloated, his fingers retrieve from your hair, and suddenly, the spell is broken, and only then do you feel disgust. 

disgusted by him feeding you his blood. appalled that you’d allowed him to do it. mortified that you had actually enjoyed it. 

but before you can begin to feel alarmed by what has just transpired, his fingers are curling under your chin, tilting your head towards his. he leans over your shoulder with ease, eyes staring down at the blood staining your lips. up close, curiosity spikes and without thinking, your index finger is tracing the faint, but jagged scar that cuts through his left eyebrow, his eyelid fluttering shut to allow you to ghost over the skin that’s slightly raised. he makes a noise, something a cross between another purr and a growl, electric orbs blinking open to meet yours. 

something screams at you to escape from his embrace, that there is something terribly wrong with these shape-shifting people, that you most definitely should not be thinking about kissing a man you met just minutes ago. but there you sit, allowing him to press his nose to your cheek, listening to him inhaling deeply. when he moves his head again, his nose traces yours, his breath hot against the gentle slope of your chin. 

he closes the small gap between the two of you, his mouth moulding to yours, and he shudders against you, panting heavily through his nostrils. for an ungodly reason that you don’t understand, you do your best to return his kiss, but he’s frantic, desperate, almost animalistic as his tongue pushes its way past your lips to taste the inside of your mouth. he licks everywhere that he can reach, a low growl hummed against your skin when your fingers dare to tangle in his hair, tugging. his fingers bite into the soft flesh of your thigh and his breath shakes, almost whimpered into the crook of your neck. 

the spell is broken by a knock at the door. 

there’s a flash of cold air that whips you in the face as he all but rips his body from yours, practically flying to the other side of the room as he straightens his clothing, running his fingers through his hair and clearing his throat. he composes himself in a way that gives no indication towards what just happened, expression now stoic as he glances at you. you’re bewildered, unable to comprehend what the hell you’ve just done. 

you’re unable to hide the confusion from your face, even when the door is pushed open to reveal the same pink-haired man as before, along with his brunette companion. but the third figure is the one who gains your attention, the kiss rapidly forgotten. 

‘dad?’ 

he rushes into the room, arms curling around you as he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. ‘oh god,’ he’s crying, eyes squeezed shut as he pats your matted hair with a heavy hand. ‘they said you’d broken your leg—i thought—!’ he pulls back to look down at your leg, and you follows his gaze with your own. only, when you wiggle your toes, there’s no flinch of pain, not even a twinge nor an ache. 

dumbfounded, you twist your leg the other way, leaning forward to pull it towards your groin. you prod at the bandage with a lone finger, confusion doubling. you had definitely broken your leg, for you can still feel the ghost of the nauseating reverberation of the bone snapping, and the searing hot pain that had shot up your entire leg. 

‘i—’ you don’t even know what to say. you lean back on both hands, baffled when your sprained wrist doesn’t so much as throb under the pressure. you tug the bandage from your hand, expecting the skin to be swollen underneath. but to your surprise, your wrist appears perfectly fine, even when you proceed to twist it to the left, to the right, and back again, just to make sure. 

looking up, you meet the stare of the white-haired man who remains brooding in the corner of the room, only to look away when your father pushes your hair back from your face. he’s frowning down at you, ‘why is your mouth bleeding?’ 

your hand flies to your lips, wiping at the corners. dark red comes away, staining her fingertips. 

‘it’s not mine,’ you say faintly, hand dropping into your lap, limp. the dots start to connect, and when you realise exactly why he’d forced you to drink his blood, you’re both disgusted and relieved at the same time. you also feel a twinge of bitterness. you’d sacrificed the use of your leg in order to escape, but here you are, sat in a room you don’t recognise, with people you don’t even know. 

your efforts were in vain, and yet, you are still alive. you could be relieved with that, at least. 

‘dad,’ you whisper, hoping that your voice doesn’t break despite how desperately you wish to cry. ‘where’s mum? she—’

your father’s expression is grim, eyes gleaming with exhaustion. he sits before you, his hands curling around yours. ‘i need you to listen to me carefully…’ 

and then he begins to talk slowly, as if talking to a child. most of what he says goes through in one ear and out of the other, but you process the more important details. your mother, always so strong, so beautiful, is now rendered weak, induced into a coma because she’d worked herself into a state. ‘it’s for her own safety,’ your father explains when he sees the fury burning in your eyes. the very same eyes that you had inherited from the woman he’s adored for the past thirty years. he continues to explain, and he’s rambling, talking about things you don’t —can’t—quite comprehend. 

‘did you just say…’ you interrupt him, whispering. your gaze sweeps over every face in the room, before focusing on your father’s once more. you swallow, disbelief plastered into your tone when you utter the word, ‘werewolf?’ 

the other men immediately bristle at the word, the white-haired one straightening his spine, arms crossed over his chest. he sneers as he spits, correcting you, ‘wild.’

you are unable to help the shrinking of your spine, cheeks enflamed by your mistake. you don’t even know why you feel the urge to apologise, but you’re able to swallow it down as you look to your father once more. your hands shake under his and he sighs, head lowered as he mutters, ‘i know it’s a lot to take in, but—’

‘a lot?’ you scoff, bitter smile smacked across your face. ‘it’s crazy.’ you pull your hands free from his hold. ‘do you even know what the hell you’re saying? werewo—wilds,’ you correct quickly, ‘they’re not… they… they don’t exist.’ your hands shake as you push your knotted hair back from your face. ‘i-i don’t know why you’re saying…’ your words trail off, unshed tears forming in the ducts of your eyes. ‘mum… she told me to run… i tried.’ your bottom lip trembles and the first tear escapes, four pairs of eyes watching it roll down the curve of your cheek. ‘i-i tried to… but then i fell and then he… he—’ 

your head tilts to look at the dark haired man who remains standing by the closed door. he almost looks sorry for you but all you can recall is him reaching for you in the forest, your body pressed against his naked skin as he carried you out of there, just before you’d passed out. unconsciously, your eyes dart down to his clothed groin, barely registering the way he squirms under your stare. 

‘oh my god,’ you croak. 

you had watched him transform from beast to man in the blink of an eye. 

the reality settles into the pit of your stomach, just before the organ violently lurches inside you. you barely manage to hunch over to the side before you promptly heave, emptying your stomach out onto the carpet. the stench of blood, hot and metallic, fills the room, and you gag, eyes squeezing shut. 

‘the carpet, man,’ someone groans, exasperated, and you guess that it’s the pink-haired man. 

someone touches your back, stroking soothingly, pulling your hair back from your face. 

‘i-is that blood?’ you hear your father ask, suddenly no longer by your side, his voice quiet from the other side of the room. 

the hand on your spine stills when they feel you stiffen. you soon realise just who is trying to comfort you and your stomach lurches again. empty bile burns its way up the back of your throat before spitting out past your lips, a dry cough filling the tense silence. when you feel it safe enough to straighten up, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, a thin sheet of sweat now coating your entire body, and you shiver, willing away the tears that threaten to spill. 

‘this isn’t happening,’ you whisper to no-one in particular, eyes boring up at the ceiling. the presence beside you is domineering, yet somehow comforting, but you hate how your body instinctively leans into his touch, allowing him to hold you upright when a bout of dizziness almost unbalances you. 

you flinch from his touch, not noticing how he bristles at your rejection. 

‘dad…’ you wince at the sound of your voice cracking, tongue now dry. you try to ignore the lingering scent of your vomit, another ache forming between the crease of your brows. your father is by your side once more, his hands wiping at the blood that is smeared across your cheek. 

‘i’m so sorry,’ he sounds pained, guilt-ridden. ‘i should have told you sooner, but your mother… she didn’t take it well and by the time i followed her home…’ he chokes back a sob, ‘she’d already taken you.’ 

tears well in your eyes despite your attempts to blink them away. you point to your leg, ‘how did…?’ the question is frozen on the tip of your tongue but your father still answers. 

‘so… you know the stories of wolves… wilds and their mates, yes?’ you don’t respond, staring at him blankly. he sighs heavily. ‘wolves—wilds are destined to a mate from the day they’re born. someone that they’re bonded to… for life.’ 

you frown, headache worsening, ‘what? like soulmates?’ 

‘if you like, yes,’ your father nods. he pauses then, glancing to the white -haired man who you are yet to look at. you would be a fool to not see the apprehension in your father’s gaze, your own flickering to the very man whose blood you’ve just consumed, stomach twisting with nausea once again. ‘you see,’ your father starts, pausing again as if he isn’t sure how to best word his sentence. but he doesn’t need to. 

you’re now staring up at the man before you, memory flashing with the sight of the white-furred wild whom had all but ran head-first into the family car, the memory of the taste of the the heat of his blood on your tongue, and you are forced to inhale the overwhelming scent of freshly-cut grass mixing with the very human smell of someone who is entirely, one-hundred percent all male. 

‘mine,’ he croons, his large hand curling around the back of your neck to hold you in place. the word alone is enough to cause the heat that pools into the space between your legs, similar to the sensation of pride. taken aback by your own reaction, you attempt to tug back from his touch, but your own body betrays you, quickly relishing in the heat of the palm of his hand. his thumb strokes at the jugular vein on the right side of your neck, and you watch, wide-eyed, as the corner of his mouth lifts as he feels for the rapid pulsing. then, as if he remembers that you’re not alone, he’s leaning back, your neck suddenly cold now that he’s no longer touching you. you blink, dazed. 

your father clears his throat, a tad awkwardly. 

‘him?’ 

the lone word that escapes your lips causes a mixed reaction. the dark-haired man, along with his acquaintance, both gawk at you with expressions of disbelief and amusement. the pink-haired man pulls a funny face as if he’s trying not to laugh, the brunette peering down at you, a dark brow raised. your father, however, looks mortified. 

‘… gojo-sama is very well respected,’ he sings praises as if he hadn’t just met the other male just a couple of days ago. ‘he owns these forests, and this town, too. he—’

‘do you know what happens when a wild finds his mate?’ 

the room is silent as he speaks and you dare not to raise your head to meet his gaze. you feel his fingers tapping under your chin, tilting your head up to his own. your eyes zero in on that scar of his, your fingers itching to touch it again, but you settle for curling them into the tattered fabric of what was once your favourite dress. his breath fans across your cheek and you become all too aware of just how close he’s leaning, uncaring of your small audience. his hand seem to scorch your skin, pulse thumping against your neck so rapidly that it’s almost uncomfortable. 

‘my blood heals you,’ he murmurs, voice suddenly much deeper. ‘and yours…’ he trails off, your spike of fear suddenly hitting him square in the face as the tips of his fingers brush against your brow in order to calm the throbbing in your neck. the taste of your fear doesn’t sit right with him, and it loiters in the air, thick. 

his wild itches to ease your discomfort, but gojo presses down the urge with a deep inhale through his nostrils, willing it away as his hand slips from the side of your face. 

‘yours strengthens my very being.’ 

‘alpha blood,’ itadori chimes in, grinning. ‘s’like liquid platinum.’ geto roughly elbows the younger man in the ribs, and itadori grunts, rubbing the sore spot with a scowl, ‘what was that for?’ geto glares down at him, and even the human male shares the same expression. 

you fixate onto the word alpha. 

something changes within you. he scents it before your expression shifts, eyes filtering a shade or two darker. 

both geto and itadori stiffen by the door, sharing a look as they await the order that they are sure is to come. your father, the human male, nervously shifts on the spot, but gojo isn’t paying attention. 

he watches your pupils expand until they are blown wide, unfocused as you peer up at him. a small, pale hand stretches to him and he allows his eyelids to flutter as his wild greedily welcomes your touch. it’s not enough, he needs more, he thinks, his eyes daring to dart down to your lips. your palm flattens against the side of his face, index finger tracing that wretched scar again. you appear entranced by it, and your attentions warm his skin. 

and then, you do what none of them expects.

you brace your weight on your left hand as you lean closer, right hand disappearing into the hair at the base of his neck, your fingers twisting into the locks of snow. you lick your lips, and his stare is transfixed to the slant of your neck, his gums itching as he feels his canines elongate. there’s already a heat forming a sweat under the collar of his shirt and his stomach twists, with nerves or anticipation, he’s unsure. he struggles to not announce his desire to the entire room, although he’s sure they can sense it anyway. swallowing hard, his throat bobbing as he does so, he exhales through his nostrils, struggling to hide the shiver that trickles down his spine. 

and then you whisper one word, calling out to the wild that quivers under the surface of his skin. 

‘alpha.’ 

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

[ghostwhisperer]

the sun hangs oppressively in the sky,     rolling against the back of melinda’s neck in waves. maybe it’s the heat that has her head swimming as she wanders through the flea market, threading herself through the throngs of people; maybe it’s the fit of nightmares that had possessed her last night, catching her in a cold sweat and shivering whole-bodied.

          or, perhaps, it could be the spirit that clings dutifully to her elbow now, his voice harsh in her ear, the bone of his fingers pressed deep into her skin.

          my sister, comes his murmur, brushed with white noise,  you have to tell her…

          ❛❛ not now. ❜❜     she mumbles under her breath. a woman casts a shifty glance towards her before looking away. melinda clears her throat, pretending to toy with a bar of handmade soap at a booth. her pass at ignoring the ghost only draws him closer, his arms reaching icily through her.  you can’t ignore me forever, little girl.

          his death had been a gruesome one, to say the least. he’d been ever-so-kind enough to give her the gory details in all of the haziness he could recall it with: perched back in a la-z-boy, the thick smell of blood permeating the air; his tv flipping through channels of static; his brother-in-law curling the pistol in his lifeless hand. charles had been rich for most of his life, and had been cruel for even longer. many people wanted him dead.

          it seems his sister’s husband had gotten his wish.

          her arms feel heavy all of a sudden, a dim throb knocking at her temple. charles leans closer to her, the fuzziness of his laugh rising to a choppy crescendo.      ❛❛ stop it. ❜❜     melinda forces weakly, but the urgency in her tone only pushes him further. the same cadence flips over and over again like a laugh track out of tune, shadowing her in its grasp. the static grows, grows until her eyes shake with it, grows until her head pounds in pain. she feels herself stumble into someone’s back— her apology comes out slurred, reaching a hand up to press against her brow. people are staring now. she can feel their hot gaze rake across her expression, her bumbling footsteps as she tries to keep herself standing. louder, and louder, and louder, until—

          ‘ are you alright ? '     she faintly recognizes through the ringing in her ears. she squints against the sun towards the other, barely making out a shape. somehow in her fog she had braced herself against a picnic table, sticky with syrup from a local stand. she lets go of a shaky breath, willing herself back into the moment. charles had disappeared just as quickly as he came, and with that, had only left melinda slowly collecting the pieces of herself once again, the passersby hesitantly waning their attention from her.

          ❛❛ no, i-i’m fine, i just… felt a little woozy, is all. ❜❜     she flashes an unconvincing half-smile up at the stranger, her face flushed, a clumsy laugh giving way as she brushes a lock of hair back from her lip.     ❛❛ guess i should keep a better eye on my blood sugar. ❜❜

[kyovtani]

𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 | 𝒌𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒖

✗ pairing: kuroo tetsurou x female reader

✗ genre: smut, like just smut, lit nothing but smut; absolute filth but still classy so it's fílth anyway; established relationship!AU

✗ word count: 4.1k+

✗ warnings: swearing, heavy dumbification and degradation, mean/hard (to soft) dom!kuroo, DD/LG (d*ddy dom / little girl), mentions of jealousy and slight possessive behavior, orgasm denial, p*ssy slapping, some spanking, praising, ch*king, impregnation, some c*m play, car s*x, (a little bit of) cute aftercare

– A/N: Happiest Birthday to my fave scorpio boy in HQ!! This is an old fic of mine which I wrote about a year ago and as I thought about it, Kuroo does fit the concept really well and since I’m a little busy writing smth new, I thought why not reuse this big boy! I hope you guys enjoy this one and please feel free to leave feedback of any kind if you did!!

x all the love, zade.

✗ summary: your boyfriend is sweet, caring and oh so soft, so you decide it’s time to make him lose his composure...

It takes a lot to make Kuroo switch from his soft, caring demeanor to his hard dom persona because after everything, he remains a patient man.

He puts your pleasure above anything else; your body a temple for him to worship and take care of with every part of his being.

However, sometimes, no matter how much you love your sweet, loving boyfriend, you find yourself growing a little bored of his constant softness; your desires going further than just being choked and called kitten.

You want Kuroo to absolutely destroy you, to put it as simple as possible. The guttural desire to have him use you for his own pleasure, claim you in the most intimate ways possible and every now and then your body craves this certain type of pleasure; the one which lays pretty close to pure pain.

Led by your body’s deep desire, you find yourself seeking methods which might not be the morally right ones but at this point you struggle to care the slightest bit about morality.

You set Kuroo losing his composure as your goal, trying your very best without even overthinking the possible consequences and if that means that you have to let a random man flirt the living hell out of you right in front of your boyfriend (who happens to have slight possessive tendencies) during your weekly grocery shopping, then so be it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kuroo watches the blood boiling scene in front of him with his brows furrowed in pure anger; annoyance flooding his usually so soft and calm features and the more time passes, the angrier he gets.

However, Kuroo’s not a dom for nothing.

He keeps his cool, even lets you take the guy's number as he causally ignores the way that stupid fucker lookes at your ass like a fucking pervert, before the two of you eventually finish the shopping without Kuroo commenting on any of it.

At this point you’re just frustrated. Anger and irritation rush through your body at such a fast pace, you feel your head spinning the closer you get to the car and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re currently in a public parking lot, you would have thrown a fit already.

Tired of Kuroo’s oblivion, you finally get yourself to gather every bit of composure you have left and turn around to just tell him about what the fuck you want when he suddenly pushes you against the car door, pressing his strong body into your back.

"What the fuck was that little scene supposed to be, hm, doll?", he hisses into your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck and just as usual you love the way his deep and almost unrecognizably raspy voice sends jolts of arousal through your whole body right into your core.

In an instant, you feel your cunt clenching in despair, drenching the fabric of your panties just like that and even though you’re very much aware of your surroundings, you can’t bring yourself to actually give a fuck.

"Good fuck dolls answer when they are being talked to", Kuroo grunts and pulls the lobe of your ear between his teeth, easily eliciting a sweet moan from you before he suddenly wraps his strong fingers around your throat. The cold metal of his rings builds the perfect contrast to the hotness of your skin and with another soft whine, you press your thighs together.

And then, as you gently throw your head back against his shoulder, Kuroo’s hand finds its way around your breast, quickly and incredibly harshly pinching your sensitive nipple between his fingertips to remind you of his – still unanswered – question.

"T-Tetsu, I just-", he doesn’t give you the opportunity to finish your sentence, casually tightening his grip around your throat and cutting off your air supply in one go.

"How the fuck dare you call me by my name right fucking now, you cockhrungy little slut?”, Kuroo’s voice is cold and distant; the anger and disappointment evident in every single one of his words and you can’t believe just how much your pussy starts spasming in response.

“You better address me correctly or last night was the last time you got to cum, did you fucking hear me?", he’s quick to add, the lack of oxygen in your body sending you even deeper into the beautiful haze of pleasure. You barely notice the way you start gasping gasping for air, your lids fluttering shut as you press your thighs even tighter together to get some kind of relief from the heavy pressure on your throbbing cunt.

"Y-Yes, Daddy", you whimper and push your forehead against the cold surface of the door, your body slowly but surely growing overwhelmed by the arousal heating you up.

And in the middle of it all, you’re still incredibly grateful for the lack of company due to the late time of the day because even though you enjoy this with every single pore in your body, you don’t want anyone else to see you like this.

Kuroo lets go of your throat, his hand wandering in between your legs and underneath the waistband of your shorts, just to suddenly cup your cunt. The feeling of his fingers pressing against the drenched fabric of your panties, his rough digits rubbing your needy  clit makes you let out a loud, throaty moan.

"Fucking whore", Kuroo curses, his lips so close to your ear, you feel yourself literally melting into a puddle of despair underneath his tall figure, "I can't believe you let that bastard flirt with you right in front of my eyes", he continues and sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth, sucking harshly before he harshly pulls it in between his teeth.

You whine again, constant mewls of frustration leaving your lips as you try your best to move your hips against his big hand, yet fail miserably.

"I should have fucked you right then and there just to show him who this slutty cunt belongs to", Tetsu groans, rubbing his hard erection against your ass but refusing to to move his fingers on your clit. His words and the pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves has you moaning and without even trying to calm yourself down, you reach back to take a hold of Kuroo’s thick hair.

"You would have liked that, am I right, kitty cat? No, wait – you would have loved it. You're literally getting wetter and wetter just at the thought being fucked like a stupid whore", Kuroo scoffs, a hint of disbelief wavering in his voice and without missing a beat, you let out a sound of approval in response.

"I'm not even surprised", he hisses and suddenly, pulling his hand out of your shorts, "at the end of the day, you're nothing but a pathetic whore who thinks with her stupid cunt and nothing but her stupid cunt", and then he lets go of you.

His sudden absence leaves you tumbling against the door with a soft whimper and it's then that you notice the way your whole body is shivering from the overwhelming amount of arousal rushing through your system.

"D-Daddy, please", you whisper helplessly, using every single bit of your energy left to turn around and face him, "I need you", you add and can’t help the soft sob falling past your lips; two tears finding their way down your cheeks as you look into the beautiful face of your lover.

The strictness and distance in his features makes you gulp harshly, his usually so soft and calming eyes filled with nothing but hunger and anger and you let yourself devour this rare sight.

"Oh, look at that", Kuroo pushes his bottom lip into a fake pout with amusement sparkling in the pretty brown around his iris, "my little, cockcrazy whore thinks she has the right to even think about my cock after pulling a show like that”, he lets out a loud, empty chuckle, “how cute and oh, so pathetic, kitty.”

Kuroo takes your chin in between his fingers before he straightens his face and pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Backseat", is all he grunts, "I guess I’ve been a bit too good to you. I haven't fucked some manners into you in some time, have I, pretty kitty?”, you look at him with big, teary eyes and your lips parted before you bring yourself to nod in response to his question.

“Is that why you keep acting up like some needy, filthy little whore? Do you want Daddy to treat you like this, hm? Because you know how much I hate disobedient kittens who flirt with other men, yet choose to do it anyway. Right in front of me, too."

His words stir something deep inside of you, your pussy clenching even harder around nothing as a strong jolt of arousal finds its way right into the pit of your stomach.

You have never been more turned on by anyone or anything and at this point you’ve completely forgotten your surroundings; Kuroo and his huge cock the only thing on your mind as you pull open the door to the backseat of his car.

Kuroo watches you carefully, his eyes roaming the sight of your shaky thighs and the damp spot on the grey material of your shorts before he gets himself to tear his gaze away from you, lifting his head and checking the mostly empty parking lot to make sure nobody is watching the two of you.

He doesn’t like doing it in public; the thought of being caught or watched is definitely alluring and tempting but usually followed by the image of it actually happening and a jolt of slight disgust washing over him.

However this time Kuroo is absolutely ready to make an exception because after remaining patient with you for so long, he knows he won’t be able to keep it up for the entire drive back home.

After making sure nobody is around – his habit of parking all the way at the very end of the parking lot no matter what coming as an advantage – Kuroo also makes his way into the backseat, his gaze instantly finding your glossy eyes before he takes in the oddly satisfying sight of your tear stained cheeks and pouty lips.

You look so vulnerable, so helpless, so pathetic – the thought of completely destroying you in every way possible quickly clouding his mind and the longer he looks at you, the more he just wants to fuck you into oblivion.

But again, Kuroo isn’t a dom for nothing.

With hooded eyes, he silently motions you to turn around, the urge to press your face into the seat taking over every bit of his brain.

You don’t hesitate and obediently move onto your stomach, pulling yourself up onto your knees as your eyes nervously roam the inside of his car.

Your heart is hammering against your rib cage at an unhealthy pace, adrenaline and arousal thrumming inside your ears and clouding your mind in the best way possible.

Oh how you love the effect he has on you.

"Take off your shorts and then finger yourself", Kuroo hisses, casually pushing his sweats as well as boxers briefs down his muscular thigh, exposing his thick, rockhard cock to the cold  yet tensed air in the car and letting out a soft hiss, "I want you to stretch that little cunt of yours", he adds and without even trying to hide it, you turn your head to watch the way Kuroo spits into his palm and then wraps his fingers around his cock.

You let out a loud, desperate moan at the sight of his huge length; the tip red and angry, already leaking so much precum, you feel your mouth watering at the memory of his taste coating your tongue. You gulp harshly the longer you watch him stroke his length like that, your pussy clenching in despair at the mere thought of how good he fills you up.

You hear the loud sound of skin meating skin before a harsh pain starting from your inner thigh rushes through you; a choked out whimper leaving your lips before you can literally feel your ears perking up at the sound of Kuroo’s voice.

"If I have to repeat myself one more fucking time, I swear to God, I won't let you cum for a whole month, kitty", Tetsurou growls, an almost inaudbile moan following his threat and after mumbling a soft apology, you're quick to get rid of your shorts and underwear just as you were told.

You bend your body down and spread your legs, only to feel waves of embarrassment and shame in combination with heavy, hot arousal overwhelming you.

Kuroo has the perfect view on your spasming cunt and you know he is basically devouring you with his eyes, your head spinning at the thought.

"Oh, kitty", he sighs and picks up the pace of his hand, focusing on his tip every now and then to slightly edge himself because even though he usually manages to hide it really well, this whole situation has him a lot more worked up than he had expected.

And now that he actually got to see how much his change in demeanor and choice of words have gotten to you, he is more than just  struggling to keep his cool composure.

Kuroo can’t help but think of the way your slick arousal tastes and feels on his tongue, your sweet moans filling his ears as you part those pretty lips of yours in pleasure.

Kuroo watches the way you slide two of your fingers through your glistening folds, collecting your own juice before aiming for your sensitive, hardened little clit and as soon as you press the tips of your digits against the bundle of nerves, both of you let out a loud moan.

"Don't forget about that tight hole of yours, baby", Tetsurou grunts, throwing his head back as he curses himself for slipping out of his persona even if it wasn't for longer than a second.

You whimper at the sound of your favorite pet name falling past those pretty, swollen lips and choke on that exact whimper when you insert both of your fingers into the warm walls of your cunt.

"That's right, just like that, you little slut", Kuroo’s quick to comment, his other hand pushing the material of your (his) oversized shirt up to reveal the soft flesh of your ass before spanking you softly and then digging his fingers into your skin, "even though your fingers are nothing compared to my cock, we don't want you to to get hurt, right?", and again, he finds himself quickly regretting his choice of words and lack of authority.

But he can't help it. You’re his perfect, sweet faced little angel girl after all; there’s no way he can completely abandon his soft, caring side no matter how bratty you become. Not even thinking about giving you a chance to respond, he reaches out and plants another harsh spank on your slightly sore ass.

You muffle a loud whimper, burying your face in your arm as you try to keep your noises down in hopes of getting to hear the sinful moans of your Daddy; however, Kuroo is quick to notice your little plan.

"You're really trying it tonight, huh, you fucking cumslut? You better start moaning or I'm about to get really, really mad and believe me, you do not want that", Kuroo scolds you, his hand leaving your ass and wrapping around the one buried between your legs before he starts helping you thrust your fingers into your wet pussy.

Kuroo watches the way you clench around your digits with his lips parted in pleasure and arousal tingling at the bottom of his spine and if it wasn't for the punishment he has in mind, he would have fucked your pretty pussy.

Your loud moans, high pitched whimpers and desperate whines start filling the small space of his expensive car, making it even harder for him to stay collected and as he slowly observes the way your thighs slowly start shaking, he pulls your hand away from your drenched cunt with a deep grunt.

"Let's go over the rules really quick, kitty", Kuroo sighs and pulls you to stand on your knees, making sure you don't hit your head  before he pushes you against the back of the passenger seat.

Your head is spinning at an inhumane space and you don’t even know if you can form proper sentences especially at the feeling of Kuroo’'s hot tip prodging at your entrance. However the slap against your sensitive pussy manages to pull you back to reality rather in an instant.

"Green means good, o-orange stands for okay, slightly uncomfortable and r-red is the signal for you to stop, Daddy", you whisper, burying your face in back of the passenger seat’s head part as Kuroo slowly starts pulling you down onto his lap, making you sick onto his big cock painfully slowly.

"Keep it going, you're not done yet, kitty. Come the fuck on, stop disappointing me like this", he groans and throws his head back, the sudden urge to feel your lips on his and your tongue in his mouth making his mind go absolutely empty.

His words ring in your head, your mind foggy and sight slightly blurry as he finally bottoms out and knocks the breath out of your lungs just like that.

You try to stay focused, knowing and very well aware of his order but the feeling of his pulsing cock inside of your tight pussy, tip right against the entrance of your womb has you going mad crazy.

"One tap, if I can't breathe, a pinch if it hurts and two if I want you to stop", you finally manage to mumble and  the moan that leaves your lips when Kuroo slowly starts pulling out of you at those words – is almost animalistic.

"I'd love to praise you but you did make me wait and you actually have the pleasure to feel my cock even after all that shit, so", Kuroo’s voice is slightly strained, your tight walls gripping his huge cock like a vice and no matter how many times he got to experience this feeling, he knows he’s never going to get used to it.

You start moaning shamelessly, not even able to close your mouth as Kuroo rams himself back into you and then finally picks up a steady rhythm. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the seat, face buried in the headrest as you let him use you like a doll.

You love the way Kuroo’s grunts grow louder, his thrusts more impatient and the grip in your hips painfully tight; you love the fact that he is enjoying this as much as you were.

But then, out of nowhere, you realize how quiet he has been ever since he has started fucking you.

Dirty talk is something Kuroo has alway been really into, the lewd words falling past his lips so easily and managing to rile you up every time, that you haven’t even noticed how much you miss it.

"D-Daddy", you moan and gulp harshly, your hand reaching behind you to wrap your fingers around his, "t-talk to me, please", you ask softly and spare a quick glance at your lover; his astonishing beauty sending jolts of warmth through your chest.

Kuroo tsks, a loud scoff leaving his lips before he rolls his eyes and keeps thrusting into you. He is absolutely obsessed with the way your cunt spasmed around his cock, the sight of his huge length disappearing inside of your tight hole edging him more and more.

"P-Please, Daddy", tears flood your eyes rather quickly, the pleasure making you incredibly emotional and the tight feeling in your chest looking for relief as you softly sob into your arm, "I need you to talk to me, please; I'm sorry for acting like a whore", you cry and throw your head back, a choked out sob-moan leaving your throat and even though Kuroo does enjoy the way you are literally falling apart on his cock, he hates seeing you cry like that.

"P-Please call me your pretty girl and t-tell me how much you – fuck – love my cunt, please", you beg shameslessly, the tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving hot trails behind and despite the guilt inside your chest, you slowly start coming closer to your relief; the taste of your upcoming high coating your tongue in the sweetest way possible.

"Ssh, baby", Kuroo finally lets go of his hard mask, his chest tightening with every one of your soft cries and even though he knew he'd break at some point, he still had hoped to keep it up a little longer than usual, "it's okay pretty girl, I got you. I'm here, kitten", he whispers and as his soft voice fills your ears, a loud sob leaves you, followed by a tiny moan when his fingers start drawing circles into your neglected clit.

"Come on, angel, I want you to cum", he places a soft kiss on the back of your hand before he starts thrusting into you even harder, "show me who this sweet cunt belongs to", your lover's oddly assuring words are the last straw and without another second passing by, you let go and feel the coil in your core snap; shoving you head first into your high.

Several waves of pleasure hit you, your orgasm literally ruining you to a point where you struggle to take proper breaths.

Kuroo helps you ride out your high by slowing down the movements of his hands and hips, his breath getting stuck in his throat as he tries to handle your constant clenching.

"Cum inside of me, Daddy", you whisper, exhaustion dripping from every single one of your words yet you still let out soft little whimpers to encourage your pretty faced boyfriend, "want you to fuck your baby into my belly", you add quickly and the way literal innocence is coating your voice is what throws Kuroo over the edge.

Your cunt continues to spasm around him, making sure he cums as hard as you did and then, after his whole body halts its movements, he cums inside of you; painting your warm walls in several shades of white.

Kuroo quickly pulls out of you, the loss of contact and sudden feeling of emptiness has you whimpering slowly but you instantly go silent when he pulls you into his arms, pushing your face into the sweaty crook of his neck before he slowly starts caressing your naked thighs and massages your scalp.

A couple of minutes pass by, the exhaustion overcoming the two of you and when Kuroo notices the way your lips grow heavier by the minute, he presses his lips against yours and pulls you into a passionate kiss. A lazy clash of teeth, your tongue slowly entering his mouth and of course he is quick to swallow your spit, making you whimper into his mouth.

"Please don't ever do that again, my love", he whispers against your parted lips, his thumb grazing your cheeks and then your neck, "if you want me to be hard on you, there's no need to flirt with other guys, you just have to tell me, okay? You know I will do anything to make you happy", he mumbles and you quickly reply with a soft hum of approval.

"I love you, Daddy", you sigh, burying your face in his chest as your lips stretch into a big smile when you hear him mumble, "I love you, too, pretty girl."

[blahkugo]

Sleepless

Shouta Aizawa X Reader (BNHA)

Warnings: 18+, bondage, bratty rc, over-stimulation, umm it’s just pure filth sandwiched between some fluff 

Word Count: 3.9k

A good night’s rest? You’ve never heard of her! 

“At least take off your heels before you throw yourself into bed,” your boyfriend’s voice rings out, still deeply agitated from a long night of feigned smiles and interest. You know that tone well— the exasperated sigh typically saved for his students at U.A— but the room is spinning too fast for you to take heed of his reprimand. 

“M’too tired,” you slur your words, face down against your mattress. 

The two of you had been at a pro-hero gala, or as Shouta called it, a “gaudy show of riches for politicians and government dickheads.” It had taken almost all of your energy, and a lot of homemade dishes, to persuade him to accept the invitation; however, he had followed through. He behaved properly all night, smiled and socialized with every partygoer that approached you, and even ensured the vicious insults on the tip of his tongue were whispered into your ears only after each person had turned away. You deemed the night a success, despite waving off Shouta’s warnings about that fourth glass of champagne you downed. 

“You’re going to get our covers dirty, idiot.” You can’t help but feel your heart flutter at that word— our. Be it the hundredth or thousandth time, you don’t think you’ll ever get over hearing him refer to the two of you as one. It had taken years for him to warm up to you, after all. While he considers it endearing now, you’re positive Shouta had initially found your constant laughter and positive nature unbearable, thinking of you as simply another nuisance to avoid; never had he met someone who reduced his usual threatening tone to something playful or entertaining. And little did either of you know, he would slowly come to adore the way his scolding amused you. 

No amount of persuasion from his students or other heroes can convince you Shouta is actually intimidating. If anything, his constant stoicism only compels you to misbehave more. You love pressing his buttons, take pleasure in watching him get riled up and lose his calm demeanor. But as of this very moment, you’re simply too tired, and a bit too tipsy, to play along. You wave off his words with a flick of your wrist, only to feel a tug at your ankle. 

“Wha–” 

“Stop squirming. I’m trying to take them off,” he struggles with the straps woven intricately up your calves, “damned things are more tangled than my cloth.” When he finally removes them, you feel the pads of his fingertips graze your legs softly. Shocks travel your entire body as he pays special attention to the indents adorning your skin— drawbacks of the tight laces that are quite easy to disregard when they urge him to touch you so sweetly. 

Shouta stalks away for a moment, only to return with a cotton pad and makeup remover. You’re surprised he even knows what products to use, though you know you shouldn’t be. He has spent countless minutes watching you complete your night routine intently, though usually his stare is paired with a sleepy grumble to hurry up and join him in bed. 

He shifts you into a sitting position, wiping tenderly at your cheek while you pull off your false lashes.

“Those are fake?” He snorts, baffled. 

“Mhhm, I’m prettier without them, right?” You poke fun at him, knowing he’ll ignore the cheesy question. A faint heat rises on his cheeks. 

“Shut up and put this on,” he nudges one of his t-shirts into your arms before he slides your strapless dress down your body. Even with your eyes half-shut, you can feel his charged stare ogling every hill and valley of your naked form. His fingers barely skim you— a purposeful maneuver to focus on the task at hand— but your body jerks into his grasp, keen for more. Sleepy or not, you’d never waste an opportunity for a quickie. You know just how swiftly a few words and caresses on his part could have you bucking and sobbing, like putty in his han– “(Y/N), stop. You’re drunk and half-asleep.” 

“Only tipsy and a quarter asleep, thank you very much.” Your eyes flutter open to see the beginnings of a smile touch his lips, but he just barely holds it back. He’s trying his damn hardest to remain stern, how cute. “Shou,” you mewl, elongating his name in the hopes that he’ll budge.

“Don’t pout at me,” he taps a chiding finger against your bottom lip, “the answer is no. I still have work to do.” Ignoring your whined protests, Shouta walks out of the bedroom. Seconds later, you hear his office door shut, a sign that he’ll be in there long into the night. 

Any inkling of sleepiness your body possessed is gone without a trace, now feeling nothing but an intense heat coursing the skin your boyfriend brushed, and the alcohol left running through your veins only intensifies that warmth. You turn yourself over in bed, naively will yourself to succumb to sleep and deal with the ache tomorrow; however, your body has other plans. Your thighs press together on their own, desperate for any sort of relief to quell the throbbing between your legs, but it’s no use. Looks like you’re getting up. 

With each step towards his office, you find yourself more impassioned. Who does Shou think he is anyways, leaving you alone in such a needy state? It’s not fair. He gives you the slightest taste of his touch and then cruelly rips it away. So if anything, it’s his fault that your body won’t rest until completely appeased— until he soothes the burn. Besides, you’ll be damned if you’re going to allow him the pleasure of hearing your moans through the thin walls knowing he goaded you into touching yourself.

Upon walking through the door of his workspace, you’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend, the stealthy pro-hero, seated ever-so casually at his desk. He has a hand pressed adamantly against his temple and his hair up in a messy half-bun. So badly do you want to run your hands through it, tug the clip off so you can watch those beautiful, dark locks tumble down his shoulders. You always catch yourself silently hoping for a piece to fall in his eyes so that you can reach out and tuck it behind his ear, delighted when you have any excuse to stroke the soft waves between your fingertips.

“Shou,” you mumble, one hand rubbing at lidded eyes. The white glow of the computer screen washes over him as he turns to you, and you feel your breath hitch again at the Adonis in front of you. 

He’s opted out of wearing any sort of top. Instead, gray joggers hang low on his hips, allowing you to feast your eyes on his lean chest and softly sculpted v-lines. A dark line of hair trails down into his pants, and you feel your mouth water at the idea of licking a long stripe up his navel. 

“Can’t sleep.” You’re aware it comes out a whine, don’t care to correct your tone because it may just convince him to join you in bed. He rolls his eyes, your name flowing off his tongue with a low sigh— music to your ears. 

“I have work to catch up on since somebody forced me to go to that stupid gala,” the accusation is probably sincere, but you smile anyways. 

“Please,” there’s that whine again, “just five minutes.” This time your words are accompanied by a quick yank at the hem of your t-shirt. Your cleavage makes an appearance, and when you see his eyes wander up towards the supple globes— tongue just barely poking out to slide across his bottom lip— you know you’ve got him beat. He mutters under his breath, but the only words you catch are something along the lines of ‘pampered brat’. 

Well, spoiled or not your methods work, and he’s the one indulging your whims anyways. Being curled up against Shouta’s sturdy chest, you find the fatigue of a long night creeping up on you once again. His close proximity is enough to relax you; all of your senses are engulfed in his presence, saturated with him. Your body gladly welcomes his scent with every inhale— clean laundry, aftershave, and something a bit woodier that can only be described as ‘Shouta’. Though he shaved this morning, newly grown stubble scruffs against you every time you nuzzle against his jaw. Slender fingers tangle in your hair, smoothing lazy circles into your scalp. And with your ear pressed to his chest, you realize the slow, steady drum of his heartbeat just might actually lull you into a deep sleep. 

But that’s all before you hitch a leg around his hip to pull him closer. At the sensation of your heat nudged tightly against him, you feel his heartbeat rise rapidly. If any thoughts of sleep linger in your mind, the prospect of riling Shouta up— and perhaps securing an orgasm or two in the process— throws them out the window once again. 

Your fingertips begin to caress his shoulders subtly, ear still pressed to his chest to listen for any jumps in his rhythm. The less he notices your movements, the easier it’ll be to overwhelm him all at once. When your fingers don’t incite any noticeable response, you run them through his hair instead. At the same time, you feign discomfort at the position you’re in and twist your hips slightly, making sure to press your core against him harder. You feel his breath hitch under you, and then your hair being jerked harshly. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he forces you to look up at his cloudy eyes, always ringed with darkness no matter how much rest he receives. Caught. You flash him your sweetest pout, gazing up at him through dainty lashes. A slight ‘hm?’ leaves your lips, but within seconds, they’re attached to his neck, shamelessly kissing and nibbling at the sweet spot near his jaw. “If you’re not going to behave on your own, I’ll make you.” Your thighs tighten around his hips, goosebumps trailing your arms at the clear-cut threat.

“Do it then,” you urge between kisses, now peppering them up his jaw. Your teeth kiss the shell of his ear before you whisper, “or I’ll just keep misbehaving, daddy.” 

In an instant, your face is shoved into the mattress, arms crossed behind your back with Shouta’s cock straining against you through his pants. Rigid cotton brushes against your folds and you realize that perhaps he was expecting this turn of events more than he let on, because the fucker never bothered giving you a change of underwear. 

“You’re such a needy slut,” he spits, heated breath fanning your neck while he tightens his grasp around your wrists. “Can’t go one night without getting me worked up, huh?” His free hand darts under your shirt, now kneading and pinching at your ass. 

“Nope,” you bite back, always ecstatic to provide sassy retorts, especially when he’s seething like this. 

A stinging pain travels your body when he slaps the globe of your ass. Once, twice, five times, each spanking invoking a louder gasp until tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

“Are you done acting up?” Shouta’s tone is slow and composed, almost disinterested. If not for his heaving chest pressed against your back, you would believe him unaffected by the punishment. 

You, on the other hand, are very obviously flustered. Tears stream down your face freely now, and you’re positive the spanking has left a blazing handprint on your cheek as a reminder for days to come. Shouta gives you a final, petty love tap to shake you out of your thoughts. “I don’t have all night.” 

But you’re left unsatisfied, the throbbing between your thighs only worsened by his harsh welts and complete neglect of your clit. He hasn’t made a single motion towards your glistening cunt, probably won’t ever if you simply take his discipline lying down. 

“What if I’m not?” The words leave your mouth hesitantly, face turning to stare back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He doesn’t say a word, his own eyes narrowing and lips quivering into a disgusted scowl. Even though you’ve asked for this, know exactly what situation you’ve gotten yourself into, your heart quickens at the thrill of seeing your partner so worked up. He may not be outwardly angry— Shouta has always been a man who prefers quick, biting remarks over piercing screams and smashing glass— but his mannerisms tell you everything you need to know. It’s going to be a long, sleepless night.

You feel the tight, unforgiving fabric knotted around your body before you’re even aware of what’s happening. Nimble fingers quickly wrap your arms in place. Then, your legs are bent at the knees and tied securely to your wrists. Only your taut midriff and breasts touch the mattress, leaving your sopping core exposed, no way to flail or deny him entrance. You’re his to do whatever he pleases with.

“Behave.” He wraps your hair around his wide palm and yanks hard, a pained cry leaving you at the prickling in your scalp. His fingers graze your slit, but never touch you where you need him. It’s absolutely maddening. You buck into him to no avail— the cloth wraps too firmly around your limbs. 

“Shou, I– I, please,” you’re practically sobbing, his name leaving your lips over and over like a prayer. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve angered him. 

“Who said you could speak?” He tugs harder on your locks. The motion rocks your skull, all nerves standing on end. It fucking hurts, but the action has your slit quivering all the same. “Are you going to be a good little whore now?” 

“Yes, Shou.” The response wins you a sharp slap to the ass, the sore cheek. You suppress a loud wail, correcting yourself quickly. “Y-Yes daddy, I’ll behave.” He doesn’t respond, only lets out a low growl and loosens his grip on your hair. 

Then, his presence is gone. He’s moved off the bed, and your cunt pulsates at the number of delicious things he may do next. 

A slam rings out from your bedside dresser and he’s back within seconds. Something foreign, hard and long,  is pressed against your tight hole. No stretching, no warning, he simply sinks the toy into your slick cunt. After a few merciless thrusts you’re whimpering softly, choking back pleas. If he wanted you to beg, you’d know it. 

“Is this what you wanted?” The dildo is driven into you faster. “Is this what you were grinding like a bitch in heat for?” His words are spit like venom, tone disappointed— appalled— with you, but it only fuels your steady ascension to orgasm. You’re teetering closer and closer to the edge, but you just need a bit more. His cock, a finger on your clit, anything. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You can’t help the onslaught of moans that spill from your lips in between pants. His hands begin kneading at your ass again, right cheek still flaming with every touch. If he’d only remove the bindings, now digging tightly into your wrists and ankles, you’d be able to hump back onto the toy as you so desperately wish to. 

He stills all at once, leaving you distraught and gasping. If you cry out, you’ll only be met with harsh reprimands. You want to sob— for his touch, for a break, for anything to soothe the ache in your core. 

You hear it before you feel it.

A small buzzing noise as something is clicked on. Then, vibrations wracking your insides, your clit— a slew of pleasure as the dildo pulses. You sigh loudly, that stubborn itch finally being appeased by the pressure of the toy. 

“Is my pretty little slut enjoying herself?” Shouta laughs behind you, voice still cold and filled with loathing. It’s as though he’s repulsed by your desire, your ceaseless need for him. You mewl loudly at the thought. “Mhm, and you’re going to continue enjoying yourself,” you feel the bed dip as he steps away, “until I finish my work.”

The fucking bastard. He’s leaving you tied up and helpless with a sex toy on the highest setting. He knows you’ll be a drooling mess for him, probably only half-conscious, by the time he’s back.

“N- no Shou, please.” Your protests do nothing to sway him. He simply snickers and walks out of the bedroom, leaving you to writhe and wail on your own. And God, does it feel good. Your stomach pulls taut as you rut against the bed like– like an animal. In a constant cycle of edging and ebbing, your orgasms build and build and build until you’re hit full force, only to begin all over again. It’s equal parts satisfying and unfulfilling, because fuck, do you just want your boyfriend’s cock inside you. It’s all you can think of— his warmth, his hands roaming your body, sweet, degrading nothings whispered into your ear while he pounds into you.

You lose track of time, aren’t even sure at this point whether your body is spasming or simply attempting to dispel the thick length inside you. The pleasure has turned to an entirely different ache, swollen clit now abused by the constant vibrations. Your voice is run hoarse, face carved into a permanent wince. And despite your attempts to stay quiet, chokes and gasps still rip through your throat. Even Shouta’s cloth is soaked through with the scorching sweat enveloping your body.  

Though absolutely exhausted, you’re conscious enough to hear his quick steps as he makes his way to the bedroom. You can sense the smirk plastered across his face without even seeing it. 

“Tired out?” Fingertips ghost over the cloth and across your painfully numb calves, nerves jumping at the feeling. “Ah’, you’ve soaked the bedspread.” A fierce blush runs across your skin, humiliated at the sight you must seem to him— a drooling, high-strung mess. He either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore the way your body shakes at every prod. 

All you can do is let out a meager ‘Mmph’, your brain too scrambled to form anything close to words, let alone coherent sentences. “If you use your words, I’ll consider taking the toy out.” Shouta’s ruthless; he knows every inch of your body, your reactions, like the back of his hand. Of course he’d ask you to use your words. He lives to watch you come undone, thrives off the pain etched onto your features. 

“Please,” the request is drawn out— paused midway to let loose another gasp— and dripping in desperation. “I can’t– I just-”  It’s all you can manage in your state. 

“Seems you’ve been fucked stupid,” he chuckles darkly, though the vibrations wracking your cunt finally come to a halt and the dildo is swiftly removed. Your core clenches at the emptiness. “But I haven’t had the chance to stuff this tight little pussy full,” he slaps a harsh palm against your slit, making sure to wipe the slick that now coats his palm all across your cheek. If you weren’t aware of how soaked you were before, Shouta makes damn sure that you do now. The most you can work out in response is a feeble squeak. 

One of Shouta’s hands strokes at your matted hair from behind, agile fingers tidying the disheveled strands. The other rubs harsh circles on your clit; you twitch incessantly, sparks running through every inch of your body. “There’s that pained little face I love,” he grabs at your cheeks roughly, forcing your lips into a ‘o’ while grinding into your calf. “Fuck.”

Your legs and arms slump onto the mattress as soon as the cloth is unbound. Every muscle in your body aches with overuse; numbness buzzes through the limbs that were strung together for God knows how long. 

Your boyfriend— sadist that he fucking is— thrusts himself into you without warning. Sure, you’ve been stretched by the toy, but your poor slit is so overworked by previous orgasms that even the slightest hint of friction invokes senseless blubbering, your tongue lolling to the side in defeat. Wet, harsh slaps of skin against skin sweep the room, mixed with cries of ‘daddy,’ ‘please,’ and senseless nothings.

“Wanna see you cum.” It’s an order more than a request, grunted into the crook of your neck. His chest flattens against your back. It should feel suffocating, should feel disgusting, considering your body is gleaming with hours worth of perspiration, but you’re enamored with the warmth— engrossed by the way your skin sizzles at his touch. His fingers are secured at your hips, propping your ass in the air and pulling it against him with every piercing thrust. 

“N- no, can’t,” cheek still buried into the mattress, you muster whatever strength you have left and grip at his slick bicep behind you. He simply swats your hand away, takes your wrist between his slender fingers, and presses it into the bed. His thumb caresses the marks left by the cloth, savoring the aftermath of the punishment he inflicted. 

“You can and you will.” Despite the rasp in his voice, the command still holds authority over your forlorn frame and sends prickles down your spine. You feel yourself, yet again, creeping to the edge of an orgasm. “Cum for me.” 

It’s those three, simple words that have you seeing white. Breathless, your brows scrunch together and lips open into a wide ‘o’, but no sound comes out. Your whole body tenses, all senses overwhelmed by this final tidal wave of pleasure, and then finally goes slack. 

You’re officially done, body worked to the point of no return. A couple more snaps of his hips and Shouta follows, your name grunted loudly as he spills into you. 

For a long time you simply lay together silently, chests heaving with his body still splayed over yours. You know that eventually he’ll roll out of bed and make sure you’re all cleaned up. You always revel in the way he pampers you, taking his time to ensure he doesn’t miss a single inch of skin. If you weren’t so exhausted, he’d probably run a bath as well. 

Right now, the heat is finally proving too much for you, so you tap at his hip and he slides himself out of your raw core. 

“Ouch,” you wince at the friction, the ability to speak returning to you at last. The whole bottom half of your body is tender. It’ll be a miracle if you’re able to sit comfortably for the next few days. 

“Surprised you actually behaved,” he chuckles, flipping you over to hold you. His fingers rub lazy circles into your back and he presses a kiss to your forehead, “You were so good for me.” 

“Not like you had me tied up or anything,” you poke a finger at his chest. “And to do paperwork at that.” 

“Oh,” a slow, smug smile inches across his face, “I didn’t get any work done.” You might just slap him.

“Shouta,” your voice is even, but your eyes pierce his, narrowed in disbelief, “what do you mean you didn’t get any work done?” His laugh rumbles through his chest. 

“Do you think I could really focus, hearing your screeching through the walls like that?” 

-

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[narumi-gens]

God your Naoya hate fic is *chef kiss* I want more please

note: this feels like it might be ooc but considering he’s only appeared in half a chapter at this point, maybe it’s not lol warning: minor smut words: 1.2k related drabbles

As he stands in your cramped shower stall, furiously scrubbing at his skin as he tries to remove every trace of you from his body, Naoya finds himself mentally listing all the qualities that he hates about you.

Your disrespect. Your attitude. Your inability to know your place. Your smug smirk. Your smart mouth. Your sharp tongue. Your breathless moans. Your perfect tits. Your tight pussy. 

When he realizes that his thoughts have taken a turn, he turns the shower knob with more force than necessary and grimaces as the water turns freezing. But he forces himself to endure it, a self-inflicted punishment for his (latest) moment of weakness. 

Once he’s washed himself clean, or as clean as he can get after fucking a piece of filth like you, he steps out of the shower and dries off. But when he smells your soap on his skin, his irritation peaks. A shower was pointless if he was just going to leave it still smelling like you.

For half a second, he wonders if he should buy his own soap and shampoo to put in your shower so that this doesn’t keep happening, only to angrily cut off that line of thinking before it can truly get going. 

His foul mood persists as he dresses, pointedly ignoring the rumpled sheets of your bed and the way your room smells so heavily like sex. When he leaves the bedroom, the scent is replaced by something delicious and his stomach rumbles. 

He sees you sitting with your back to him at the small table in your combined living room and dining room and he sneers with distaste at the reminder of your lack of wealth and prestige. But he set it aside when his stomach gives another grumble and reminds him that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

He takes the seat at the table across from you to find that you’re hunched over a bowl of ramen, carelessly slurping away and making him scoff at your lack of manners. You glance up at him before returning your attention to your food.

“What are you doing?” you ask through a mouthful of noodles and his expression turns to one of disgust.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he retorts as he leans back in his chair and cross his arms. 

“It looks like you’re pouting like the spoiled brat you are,” you tell him and you give him a bored look.

Naoya can feel the vein in his temple throbbing as his hatred for you surges. 

“Shouldn’t you be going?” you continue and although it’s spoken like a question, he can tell that it’s meant as an unsubtle hint that you want him gone.

“Gladly,” he scoffs. “After I eat.”

You pause your slurping to give him a confused look that he doesn’t understand. For as much as he hates you, even he can begrudgingly admit that you’re far from an idiot. 

The silence between you stretches on.

Finally, you seem to realize what he’s saying and he rolls his eyes at your slowness. 

“Am I supposed to feed you?” you ask with wide, disbelieving eyes and he scowls at the way you use your chopsticks to emphasize your words and point from you to him. It’s just another reminder of your lowly birth. 

“Why else would I still be sitting here in this dump?” The implication is that maybe you in fact are an idiot. 

There’s another beat of silence before you burst into laughter, your head dropping back and your hand clutching your stomach. He finds the sound so grating on both his ears and his nerves that his own hands clench into fists.

“Y-you...expect me...t-to feed you?” You’re laughing so hard that it breaks up your words and Naoya snaps. 

He shoots to his feet and slams his fist down on your table, the force causing the broth from your ramen to spill and the dish to rattle against the wood that creaks beneath his hand from the blow. 

“I do because that’s yer fucking place, you bitch,” he growls as he looms over you. Your laughter ceases but there’s still dark amusement dancing in your eyes and fueling his rage. “Just because yer lucky enough to spend yer nights choking on my cock doesn’t mean yer special. You’d do well to remember that.”

The words ring loudly in the small room despite his low voice. His shoulders are rising and falling rapidly as his fury makes his heart pound in his ears.

A woman who knew her place would stand up and respectfully bow to him with a demure apology before going to the kitchen and make him a bowl that’s presented to him with another bow. 

But you’ve never known your place and that’s the thing he detests the most about you. 

So, instead of doing as you’re ordered, you calmly set down your chopsticks and stand, your eyes defiantly meeting his the entire time. You then walk around the table to his side and he hates how his gaze roves over your body to take in the oversized shirt that you’re wearing and how the hem brushes along your bare upper thighs.

You bring your hands to his shoulders and begin to push down, a wordless command for him to sit. After a few tense moments, he scowls and reluctantly allows you to guide him back into his chair. 

That smug smirk he loathes so much is playing at your lips as you take a seat on the table directly in front of him. He watches you carefully as you scoot back until you’re resting on your hands, your arms supporting your weight behind you as you lean back. 

A different sort of hunger begins to build in his gut, one that he’s infuriatingly familiar with, when you lift up your legs and rest the soles of your feet on his shoulders. Now with his head between your knees, he can see that you’re not wearing anything underneath the baggy shirt that covers your frame. 

You spread your legs a little wider and he catches sight of how your folds are already beginning to glisten. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep from leaning in.

He can feel how hard his cock is growing -- although truth be told, he’s been hard ever since you started laughing at his expense. 

“Zen’in-sama,” you say and when he hears that aggravating, mocking tone in your voice, he has to bite back the groan that threatens to escape him. “The only meal you’ll ever get from me is the one between my legs.”

His restraint only lasts another brief moment before it snaps and he’s grabbing onto your waist to pull you to the edge of the table at the same time as his head drops down so that his mouth can meet you. 

When the first moan leaves your lips and your hand buries itself in his hair, directing him exactly where you want him, he tries not to think about how maybe your true place is here with his head between your thighs. 

[mustardyellowsunshine]

When the End Comes, V

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4)

____________________________________________

Chapter 5: Smoke Rising Like Lifted Hands

The voice was smooth and almost serene, lilting in its inflection. A tenor—higher pitched than Inuyasha’s voice—and speaking in the casual tones of someone greeting an old acquaintance.

“My,” said the stranger’s voice, “You certainly have made nuisances of yourselves, haven’t you?”

Kagome barely heard the words over the tinny ringing in her ears. The world spun behind her closed eyelids so violently that she couldn’t be sure the car had really stopped moving. Worse, she found herself struggling to breathe evenly around the nausea roiling through her stomach, climbing into her throat. A throbbing pain spanned from her left shoulder to her right hip, cutting a sharp diagonal across her torso.

The last thing she wanted to do was open her eyes, somehow knowing it would make her disorientation worse—but there was no spare time to reorient to reality. An enemy stood in front of her now, while she sat there like an idiot with her eyes closed.

Gritting her teeth, Kagome forced herself to crack open her eyes. The spinning grew momentarily worse, and her stomach nearly heaved.

The harsh glare of her car’s headlights—miraculously still functioning—blinded her at first, and she nearly closed her eyes again. But she forced them to remain open, and gradually took in what the headlights illuminated: flat, rocky open ground immediately around them; scattered trees looming on the edges of her vision; and the tall figure of a man standing directly in front of the car.

He was standing so close to the twisted, accordioned car hood that the headlights nearly bleached out his features. Kagome could make out the dark clothing he wore, the paleness of his complexion, and… were those tattoos on his face?

She felt slight movement beside her just before Inuyasha spoke in an undertone, his voice hardly above a whisper, one she almost didn’t catch through the fading ringing in her ears. “If you’re in any shape to move,” he said, “you need to get the fuck out of here while I distract him. Hide somewhere. I’ll find you once I’ve dealt with this asshole.”

Then he was forcing open the car door and stepping out into the dark.

Kagome’s stomach twisted around itself. She watched through the shattered windshield as Inuyasha launched himself at the strange man, leaping right over the car to do it.

Holy hell, he was fast.

In the couple of seconds it took Inuyasha to move, Kagome was able to absorb a few spare impressions: she saw the gash across Inuyasha’s temple, just above his eyebrow, blood streaking down the side of his face; she saw the stranger pivot towards Inuyasha, and in profile she got a better view of the tattoos on his face—one thick vertical stripe on either cheek, stretching from the eye all the way down to the jaw bone; and she saw the long-barrel rifle slung over the stranger’s nearest shoulder.

She needed to get her pistol. Now.

Kagome tried to slide forward in her seat, but was stopped by the restrictive press of her seat belt. Suddenly she understood the throbbing pain pulsing across her torso, and briefly wondered if she’d been thrown against the belt hard enough for its edges to cut into her skin. Kagome’s hand felt around blindly for the belt buckle, fingers grazing over shards of shattered glass in the process. It was instant relief to feel the seat belt easing away from her body.

She was vaguely aware that Inuyasha and the stranger were brawling further away from the car, almost beyond the reach of the headlights. Inuyasha landed a punch to the man’s stomach that sent him stumbling backwards. Twisting around in her seat—ignoring the pain in her abdomen and the nausea still bubbling in her throat—Kagome reached for her duffel bag, dragging it over the center console and into her lap. She rummaged with shaking hands until she felt the cool metal of her pistol. Eyes periodically darting to the windshield—the man had just thrown something at Inuyasha, who had dodged away into the dark, out of her sight—Kagome checked her ammunition. Six out of nine rounds left. It would do.

Pistol in hand, Kagome tried the door handle. It didn’t budge. She yanked on it harder. Nothing.

That goddamn child lock!

For a moment, Kagome thought about breaking the passenger window with the butt of her pistol. The glass was already cracked and looked fragile enough. But then she remembered Inuyasha’s hasty exit from the car, and glanced over her shoulder. The door was still hanging open. Perfect.

Checking that the safety was engaged, Kagome tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, then crawled over the center console, ignoring the various twinges and pains shooting through her muscles. She nearly fell into the driver’s seat and then stumbled out of the door onto her feet.

Reaching for her pistol, Kagome scanned the darkness around her. She still couldn’t see Inuyasha, but she could just make out the stranger’s silhouette in the gloom beyond the headlights. It looked like he had his back to her, and for the moment he wasn’t moving.

Edging out from behind the open car door, Kagome disengaged the safety, raised her pistol, and aimed for the middle of his back.

She really, really wished that she had some protective ear covering. Even with her pistol’s suppressor, this would be loud.

Kagome took a deep breath, steadied her arms, and pulled the trigger.

Despite the fact that she’d been prepared for it, her entire body flinched at the explosive crack! of the gun firing. In nearly the same instant, she felt a flare of dismay that her flinch may have thrown off her aim.

She heard a sharp metallic thunk—what had she hit, his rifle?—and a man’s shout. She saw the silhouette spin around in her direction.

From off to the left, a different shadow darted towards the stranger with incredible speed, and she heard Inuyasha’s voice taunting, “I’m who you should worry about, not her!” The heavy thud of two bodies colliding echoed through the air, and the stranger crumpled to the ground.

“Hey, idiot!” Inuyasha called out, and Kagome knew he was addressing her rather than the opponent he was currently crouched over, “What did I tell you before? Get out of here!”

That was the second time he’d told her to leave. And suddenly it occurred to her: this was it. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for since the moment Inuyasha caught her. This was her chance—maybe her only chance—to escape him. Who knew how long it would take him to overcome their attacker? If he even did?

Assuming he did, Kagome was certain Inuyasha would track her down again. But this time, she knew he’d be coming. And this time, she’d be armed. Her odds of evading him weren’t great, maybe, but they were sure as hell better.

And Inuyasha had to know that, too. He wasn’t an idiot.

So why was he giving her this chance?

Kagome felt an instinctual twinge of recognition—Is he actually trying to…?—but smothered it before it could take any articulate shape in her thoughts. That didn’t matter. It only mattered that she seize this chance.

Pistol still in hand, Kagome turned away from the fighting men—it looked like Inuyasha was punching the daylights out of the man on the ground—and started jogging away. She’d find the road and follow it for awhile, at least until she came across a road sign or some other evidence of where she was. Then she’d figure out a direction and do her best to disappear. No point in bothering with the car—a pang of grief shot through her, but she kept jogging—since it probably wouldn’t run, and would draw a lot of attention in its current condition even if it did.

Oh, crap.

Kagome came to an abrupt halt.

She’d left her duffel bag in the car. All of her worldly possessions were in there, some of which she couldn’t do without, and none of which she wanted her enemies to find.

She paused for only the briefest moment, seriously considering whether the duffel was worth it. Then, cursing under her breath, Kagome turned back.

As she approached the clearing with the wreck of her car, she heard a swift, pained bellow. It sounded like Inuyasha. She hesitated, straining her eyes as she peered into the dark.

Her car was ahead and to the left of her, its headlights flooding the area directly in front of her. She stood beyond the reach of light, trying to spot Inuyasha. And suddenly the stranger came striding into the glare of the headlights. His right arm was outstretched, raised slightly above shoulder level, and in his fist he held Inuyasha aloft by the throat. The hanyō was limp, unmoving. A ruthless smile curled the man’s lips.

“I should just snap your neck here and now,” he said, the detached tone of his voice at odds with his smile, “but I do so want to play with you later. I have some new toys I need to test on a yōkai body.” With that, he threw Inuyasha away from him as though he were no heavier than a rag. The hanyō landed on the roof of Kagome’s car with a crash. He didn’t move.

“Besides,” the man added, “best not let my real prey get too far.”

A pulse of fear clenched Kagome’s body, locking her muscles in place. Her eyes darted to Inuyasha’s prone form—she didn’t see any obvious injuries or signs of damage, but he was clearly unconscious—then back to the man no more than thirty feet in front of her.

The strange man was tall, maybe even taller than Inuyasha. The tattoos running the length of his cheeks were a deep, glut purple. He looked surprisingly young, like he wasn’t a day over thirty. He wore black cargo pants and a bulky, black, long-sleeved shirt. The obvious padding around the torso made Kagome certain it was body armor. He also wore thick-soled boots and a black bandanna, which seemed to be covering a bald head. In addition to the long-barrel rifle she’d noticed earlier, the man had something else strapped across his back: it was thick, long and cylindrical, obviously metallic, but Kagome couldn’t figure out what it was. It didn’t look like any gun she’d ever seen.

She stood perfectly still, and slowly lifted her pistol. She wasn’t in range of the headlights. He hadn’t seen her yet. Maybe if she—

“I know you’re close, little mouse,” he said with that smooth lilt, savage smile still in place as he began to scan the area. “Why don’t you come out and play?”

Little mouse.

Something deep inside Kagome twitched, shrank back.

That’s what Naraku would call her sometimes. Little mouse. Little lab rat. So useful.

Her hands started to shake. Biting the inside of her cheek until it bled, Kagome forced them to remain steady, forced herself back into the present.

She didn’t think her 9mm bullets would pierce his body armor, so rather than aim for his chest, she aimed for his head.

And hesitated.

She’d never killed anyone before. She’d shot a couple people—mercenaries hired by Naraku—but never fatally, as far as she knew. Mostly flesh wounds dealt in the middle of a desperate escape. Enough to slow down her pursuers, but not take their lives.

This man would kill her given the opportunity. Of that she was certain. He was a clear and present danger. And, she reminded herself in annoyance, it’s not like she’d felt this reticence before, when she’d taken her first shot at him. When he’d been nothing but a shadowy figure in the dark. Just because she could see his face now—see the color of his eyes, which were deep black pools—didn’t make the situation any different.

But still, she hesitated.

And then his eyes locked onto her.

His smile turned predatory as his eyes narrowed.

“There you are, little mouse,” he said, and took a step forward. “Hiding in shadows, are we? There’s no need for that. I won’t hurt you if you do as I say.”

Kagome took a step back as he stepped forward again. She kept her pistol leveled at his head. “Don’t,” she said sharply, “stay back.”

The man stopped, and tilted his head at her as though she were a peculiar animal he’d discovered in the woods.

“What do you want with me?” Kagome demanded, trying her best to inject steel into her voice.

“Now, now, why ask questions to which you already know the answers?” He paused, then added with arch amusement, “Naraku will be so pleased to see you again. And when Naraku is pleased, he pays rather handsomely. So then.” The man extended his hand palm upward, and gave a curling flick of his fingers, beckoning her. “Come along with me quietly, and you won’t get hurt.”

This guy sure thought he was a smooth talker, didn’t he?

“Turn around and walk away now,” Kagome said, “or I'll put a bullet in your brain.”

“We both know if you were going to do that, you would have done so already.” As if to prove his point, the man stepped forward again. “Though I do believe one of your bullets dented my new equipment.” He patted the strange cylindrical object strapped to his back. “Lucky for you it wasn’t damaged, or I would’ve had to take its value out of your hide.”

The calm, matter-of-fact way he said it sent a chill down Kagome’s spine.

“You don’t scare me,” she lied, grateful that her arms remained steady as she kept her gun trained on him. “Naraku wants me alive. He’s not going to pay you, handsomely or otherwise, if you kill me.”

“Kill you?” the man replied, eyebrows lifting in faux surprise, “Who said anything about killing you? I merely suggested a mild… punishment. Naraku told me he wanted his toy brought to him alive, but he never said I couldn’t play with it before delivery.”

A sinister promise coiled beneath those words. He was smiling again. Kagome shuddered.

He stepped forward. Kagome’s index finger tensed on the trigger.

There was a blur of movement too fast to track. Silver glinted in the shine of headlights. The strange man cried out, blood splattered across the ground, and he was flung away with such force that he sailed through the air. His body connected with a tree just outside the periphery of light, and he collapsed to the ground.

Inuyasha stood where the man had been a moment before, features contorted in anger. He held one hand up in front of his body; blood stained his claws and fingers.

Kagome couldn’t see any obvious injuries on him, other than the cut above his eye. But his posture seemed off, stiff and a little skewed, as though he were favoring his left side.

Inuyasha eyed the wounded man now struggling to his feet. “You haven’t changed much, Renkotsu,” he snarled. “You’re still the same sick fuck.”

That was met by a strangled laugh as the man raised his head, gaze fixed on Inuyasha. He was still smiling, but his eyes gleamed with fury. “You’ve gotten stronger since last we met, half-breed,” Renkotsu observed. His right hand clutched at his left shoulder. Kagome could just make out the start of a jagged gash curving over the ball of his shoulder, disappearing from view over his back. Blood dripped steadily to the ground behind his booted feet. Renkotsu’s smile twisted to one side. “But it’s still not strong enough.���

“Keh.” Inuyasha flexed his blood-stained fingers, knuckles cracking menacingly. “My claws will just have to introduce themselves to your spine on the next hit.”

Kagome shifted on her feet and slowly lowered her pistol until the barrel pointed at the ground. “Inuyasha,” she murmured to him, and his ear flicked in her direction, “you know this guy?”

A sneer pulled at Inuyasha’s mouth. “‘Know’ is a strong word. I’ve fought him before.”

“‘Fought’ is a strong word,” Renkotsu mocked. “You’ve never been a challenge. So disappointing, so boring. I’d have thought possessing any amount of yōkai blood would make you a worthy opponent. But you can’t even measure up to a human like me, eh, half-breed?”

“Human? Heh. Now that’s funny,” Inuyasha muttered. His brow was tense, and his eyes serious. “Don’t think for a second that I can’t scent the difference, you dumb fuck. Whatever you are now, it sure ain’t human.”

A cold, heavy weight settled in Kagome’s stomach as she inhaled sharply. Before she could stop herself—body reacting on instinct forged by years of training—her senses reflexively reached out towards Renkotsu, probing for whatever hidden power Inuyasha perceived.

When she was met with nothing—just a wall of vacancy where something should’ve been, like lifting a flower to your nose only to smell nothing at all—the leaden weight in her stomach twisted, and bitterness shot through her chest.

She should’ve known better. Naraku had taken that away, too.

Renkotsu stilled at Inuyasha’s comment, his eyes narrowing. “So even the mongrel can tell? Oh, very good. Yes, I’m much more than human now.” His gaze drifted to Kagome, and he actually grinned at her, teeth gleaming in the shadows. “I suppose my brothers and I have you to thank for that, little mouse. Naraku has made such good use of your gifts. And he is generous with those who are useful to him.”

Inuyasha’s body tensed, and his eyes flashed to her before returning to Renkotsu. “Kagome,” he said quietly, “get out of here. Now. I’ll handle him.”

Kagome glanced between the two men, took a faltering step towards Inuyasha—but Renkotsu was already shaking his head. “That won’t do at all,” he sighed. “No, she’s coming with me. You’d do well not to interfere any further, Inuyasha.”

Renkotsu gripped the strap slanting across his chest and lifted it over his head, swinging that strange cylindrical object around to the front of his body. He rested one end against the line of his shoulder, the other end pointed out towards them. It looked almost like a bazooka, only shorter than that: it was a thick metal tube, with a handle two-thirds of the way down the barrel, but there didn’t seem to be a trigger attached to it, nor did Kagome see any ammunition, either in the tube or on his person. He couldn’t possibly have ammo big enough to fit into that cylinder just stashed in his pockets.

“Shall I demonstrate the fruits of Naraku’s generosity?” he asked. Holding the metal tube by the handle, he lifted one end of it to his mouth.

Fire erupted from the other end, blasting forward with such heat and fury it was like a bomb had detonated, a mushroom cloud of flame blazing straight at them.

Kagome’s mouth dropped open, her lungs grabbing in air to scream, already feeling the scorching heat that heralded the fire soon to envelop her—

A body slammed into her, and she went down. Arms wrapped around her, and a large hand cradled the back of her head, pushing her face into a hard chest. She heard Inuyasha’s deep groan against her ear, knew he’d been burned, could swear she heard the sizzle of his clothes and skin being licked by the flame.

They hit the ground and rolled. Inuyasha twisted his body to take the brunt of the impact, and when they finally skidded to a stop, they lay on their sides facing each other, Inuyasha’s arms still tight around her torso.

Kagome opened her eyes, limbs trembling only slightly from shock. Gold eyes stared back at her. “You okay?” he asked hoarsely.

Kagome nodded once. “A-are you?”

“Keh,” he scoffed, wincing as he pulled them both into a standing position. “Stupid question.” They both turned to face Renkotsu, who was watching them with an expression of arrogant amusement.

“What do you think, little mouse?” he called to her. “Naraku may have helped engineer it, but without your invaluable contribution, I’d never have such power.”

Kagome winced, that inner part of her curling in on itself.

“S’at supposed to impress us?” boomed Inuyasha’s voice next to her, making Kagome jump. “You call a flamethrower ‘power’? It’s a tool. Take it away and you’re helpless again.”

“Flamethrower?” Renkotsu arched an eyebrow. “This is no flamethrower.”

Renkotsu lowered the metal tube to the level of his chest, and opened his mouth wide. It took Kagome a few seconds to process what she was seeing, and when she did, she nearly stepped back in disbelief.

Tongues of flame curled over Renkotsu’s open lips, licked up the sides of cheeks, flared out into the night air directly from his mouth. He exhaled through his nostrils and jets of fire gusted out of them.

“I make the flame,” Renkotsu said, a hellish orange light flickering between his lips as he spoke. “I am the flame. This equipment,” he lifted the metal tube, “merely helps me amplify and direct it. The power is mine. Would you like another demonstration?”

Kagome felt Inuyasha’s hands on her shoulders just before he gave her a hard shove behind him. “Go!” he growled, “You won’t survive a direct blast. Find somewhere to hide until I come to get you.”

She nearly fell over as she stumbled a few feet away, but managed to keep her balance. She swung around to glare at him just in time to see him leap forward, straight towards Renkotsu.

That’s when she noticed the back of Inuyasha’s grey shirt was in tatters, singed and charred, ripped and fraying; and underneath, his skin was raw and shiny, colored an angry red that hurt just to look at.

Renkotsu had lifted the cylinder to his mouth again, but Inuyasha was too fast—he grabbed the nearest end of the cylinder, yanked it out of Renkotsu’s hands, drew it back, and slammed it into the man’s face as though it were a baseball bat and Renkotsu’s head the baseball. When the man staggered, Inuyasha dropped the cylinder and swiped with his claws, cutting right through the body armor and into Renkotsu’s gut. The other man howled in rage.

Kagome moved to raise her pistol, only to realize she didn’t have it in her hand anymore. She must have dropped it when Inuyasha grabbed her, or at some point during their chaotic tumble. Heart clenching, Kagome’s eyes swept the ground between her and the struggling men, hoping against hope that she hadn’t lost her only weapon in the dark.

But then she saw it—the glint of headlights off shiny metal. There was her gun, only a few yards away from Renkotsu and Inuyasha’s feet.

Inuyasha had told her to leave (for the fourth time), but Inuyasha…

Kagome watched as Renkotsu struck the butt of his rifle into Inuyasha’s solar plexus. The hanyō doubled over, but managed to dodge when the mercenary tried to slam the gun down on his back. Inuyasha’s claws went for Renkotsu’s throat; Renkotsu grabbed the hanyō’s wrist, smiled, and opened his mouth.

Flame—not as explosive and concentrated as the first blast, but still a cloud of fire—shot out of the mercenary’s open lips. Inuyasha reared back, but couldn’t avoid the attack entirely. Fire still grazed the side of his neck and jaw.

… but Inuyasha clearly needed some help. And, after all, he had helped her.

That instinctive recognition Kagome had felt—and tried to squash—earlier in the night finally articulated itself in her mind.

Inuyasha was protecting her. He had been since the moment her car veered off the road.

So the very least she could do for the jerk was return the favor.

Decision made, Kagome ran forward at full speed, eyes glued to her gun. In the same moment, Renkotsu headbutted Inuyasha—the loud crack of their skulls meeting made Kagome flinch—and threw the hanyō to the ground.

Kagome kept running, even when Renkotsu’s head swiveled in her direction. She kept running when Renkotsu’s eyes landed on the metal cylinder Inuyasha had dropped, and she still kept running when Renkotsu stooped down to pick it up.

Two things happened almost simultaneously: Renkotsu straightened from his crouch with the cylinder gripped in his hand, and Kagome threw herself into a desperate slide, head first, body scraped raw against rocky soil as she stretched out her arm to grasp her pistol.

Her fingers found the handle of her gun. She kept her grip on it firm as she rolled to the side, Renkotsu’s kick missing her face by inches.

Kagome sprang to her feet, pulse pounding a wild rhythm. Renkotsu lifted the metal tube to his mouth. In the very same instant, Kagome swung her gun up with both hands.

They were standing mere yards away from each other. The barrel of her pistol stared down the very center of the open cylinder at his mouth.

And Kagome pulled the trigger with no hesitation.

This time she didn’t flinch as the bullet flew into the metal tube just as orange light began flickering inside it. Renkotsu’s eyes widened. A choking noise echoed through the cylinder. The flame kindling inside it died out. Renkotsu’s hands slackened around his weapon, fell away completely, and then it dropped to the ground a second before Renkotsu’s body did.

The mercenary swayed, teetered on his heels, then fell on his back with a dull thud. His limbs spasmed, muscles jerking involuntarily. Another wet gurgling noise came from his throat, then stopped. Blood seeped out from beneath his head, moving in sluggish rivulets through the dirt.

Kagome stared. Glanced at the pistol in her hand, then back to Renkotsu’s body.

Inuyasha, who Kagome had almost forgotten about, suddenly moved into her line of sight, and she startled a little. He approached the prone man, planting his feet right next to Renkotsu’s head, and looked directly down at him. Renkotsu’s slack mouth gaped open, but no flame flickered inside it anymore. Inuyasha peered into his mouth, then released a low whistle. “Damn. Clean through the back of the skull. Nice.”

Kagome just kept staring.

Inuyasha nudged the man’s head with the toe of his shoe. Another choking sound, quiet and damp, came from him. “Huh. Can’t believe that didn’t kill him instantly. He’ll probably bleed out in a few minutes, but why leave it to chance?” The hanyō stepped back a pace, raised his arm above his head, claws extended—and brought it down in a slicing motion as his body folded into a crouch over the mercenary.

Renkotsu’s head rolled away from his body.

Kagome stared. She stared and felt nothing. She should be feeling something, right? Anything?

Inuyasha straightened, then glanced her way. He looked at her with something like admiration—and deep interest—alight in his eyes. “Helluva shot,” he said as the corner of his mouth kicked up in a smirk.

Kagome, finally able to pull her eyes away from the dead man, latched onto that smirk, then those golden eyes. She nodded blankly.

Inuyasha frowned. “Hey. You all right?”

She realized almost absently that she still had the pistol raised, was still holding it with both hands. She started to lower it, but only got as far as the level of Inuyasha’s waste. She shifted on her feet, turned slightly towards Inuyasha, and then the barrel of the gun was pointed in his direction.

His gaze dropped to the gun for half a second, then flicked back up to hers. He didn’t appear concerned. He even sounded vaguely playful when he asked, “You gonna shoot me next?”

The gun lowered a fraction more. “I…” Kagome mumbled, her focus shifting from one of his eyes to the other, “I don’t… think so.”

“That’s good to hear. Now that I know you’re a good shot, I’ll try not to piss you off.” Inuyasha stepped in closer to her. Very gently and slowly, he put his palm over the barrel of the gun and pushed it down until it was aimed at the ground. He didn’t try to take it from her, she noticed.

“Hey,” he repeated, his voice low. His other hand—the one still crusted with dried blood—cupped her elbow, the pressure so light she barely felt it. But the touch helped anchor her attention, somehow. He used his grip on her elbow to turn her away from the body on the ground. He shifted them in the direction of her destroyed car. “Let’s not stick around. I don’t smell anyone else close by, but who knows if that asshole was traveling with buddies. We’re not in any shape for another fight right now.”

Kagome’s eyes drifted down to his cheeks, his chin, then settled on the burns running along one side of his jaw and neck. She frowned. “You… got hurt.”

“What, the burns? They’re nothing. I’ll be fine in a couple hours.”

Kagome shook her head, gaze traveling back up to meet his. “You protected me,” she said, tone flat, giving away nothing of her thoughts. “Why?”

Inuyasha stared at her a moment, then sighed. “Y’mean not wanting to stand by and watch you get incinerated isn’t reason enough?”

She kept staring at him, eyebrows wrinkling in a puzzled frown.

“I’ll explain later,” he said, “along with… all the other stuff. But first, I’m going to get us to that safe house I told you about, okay? We can recoup there.”

He paused, eyes intent, waiting for her response. For some reason that surprised her. She found herself nodding.

“Good. We can’t take the car, even if it does still run. Too noticeable. I’ll have to run us there. You ready to put the gun away now?”

She nodded again. He waited, watching her with an unnerving steadiness.

Finally understanding what he waited for, Kagome engaged the safety on her pistol and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans. Once she’d done that, Inuyasha steered them the short distance to her car. Kagome was still feeling curiously numb, but a pang went through her at the sight of her car: hood twisted and wrecked, windshield shattered, roof dented so badly it almost looked collapsed, side doors scraped and battered.

It was amazing that she and Inuyasha were still standing after that.

“My bag,” Kagome mumbled, “I need to get my bag.”

“I know,” Inuyasha said. He leaned into the open driver’s side door, yanked her duffel off the floor of the passenger side, and withdrew it from the car. As he walked back over to Kagome, he slung the bag over his own back, the strap settling across his chest.

“I’m going to need to carry you,” he said when he reached her side. But he didn’t make a single move.

Kagome eyed him. Eyed the blood still on his hand. The strap across his chest, where her duffel was no doubt rubbing against the raw wounds on his back. And he hadn’t even flinched. He just stood there, watching her expectantly.

He protected me, she thought. He kidnapped me, but then protected me.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, about this entire day made any sense whatsoever.

Kagome looked Inuyasha square in the eye. “I still don’t really trust you. But… I think I at least trust you not to hurt me. For now.”

He absorbed that quietly, then gave a sharp nod—just a quick dip of his chin.

“So… go ahead and carry me, I guess,” she said.

Then he stepped forward, lifted her into his arms, and darted away into the dark.

[tsukkisbean]

24 cakes pt.2 | drabble

pairing: tsukishima kei x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: cock warming, dacryphilia, recording (idk if there’s an actual name for this), cunnilingus (face sitting), swearing, all characters are aged up!

a/n: the second part of my one shot (so twoshot? idk) or we could call it an alternative ending :-) idk anyways enjoy!!

a sly smile appears on tsukishima’s face, “oh yeah? i can think of plenty of things that i can beat you at right now.”

your palms hit the counter as your body shoots out of its seat, “oh yeah? let’s go then. right here, right now.”

in four long strides, your boyfriend made his way around the counter to stand before you. one of his hands gently stroked your cheek. the other found its place on the small of your back, firmly pressing your bodies together.

his lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending chills up your spine, “pretty sure i have more willpower than you.’

you mentally curse yourself for ending up in this situation. you should have known better. you should have known better than to fall prey to tsukishima’s provocation once again. but here you were, seated at your desk with your boyfriend’s cock buried deep inside you.

letting out an exasperated sigh you lean forward to rest your arms on your desk. your hands curl into fists when the sound of tsukishima’s smug laughter fills the room.

“what’s wrong? can’t take the heat?” his breath fans your skin as his lips ghost along the back of your neck, stopping to nip at it every so often, “just awhile ago you were sooo confident you could win against me.”

when you don’t respond, tsukishima’s hand comes down harshly against your thigh. a choked moan makes its way out of your throat, despite the searing pain left behind by the impact, “mm i’m talking to you, baby.”

you don’t want to admit defeat. you can’t give him yet another thing to taunt you about. so you try your best to think about anything but the annoying pulsing sensation coming from your lower region. but the way your boyfriend’s starts to trace lazy circles along your thigh, makes things a little hard.

completely at your wits end, you sit up, leaning back until your back meets tsukishima’s chest. your breaths are shallow and uneven, and it’s probably the lust taking over but the mere feeling of his breath on your skin makes you dizzy.

despite tsukishima’s hold around you, your entire body twitches when his free hand roams down to meet your clit. immediately you bite down on your tongue, refusing to make anymore sound and give him any sort of satisfaction.

but when he starts to rub gentle circles on your clit, you know you’re about to lose, “kei, n-not fair.” your voice comes out an octave higher than usual, quivering with every word.

his lips meet your neck again, this time sucking on a harsh patch of skin - surely there’ll be a mark tomorrow morning, “don’t remember saying anything about being fair.”

clenching your teeth in annoyance your fingers find his thighs for some stability. if he wasn’t going to play fair, neither were you. and in a last-ditch attempt to outdo your boyfriend, you clench as hard as you can around his cock.

a growl erupts from his throat, teeth clamping down on your shoulder. the sudden impact causes you to yelp, your fingers digging little crescent shapes into his skin.

this time it’s him who can barely form the words, “fuck, y/n stop that.” you can tell from the way his voice fluctuates that you’re inches away from winning.

you turn your head slightly, cooing at the sight of your disgruntled boyfriend, “what? you never said anything about being fair.”

he only glares at you in response. with the tables now turned, you can feel confidence and adrenaline coursing through your veins. you pull his hand away from your clit, bringing his fingers to your mouth. swirling your tongue around his digits, satisfied when you see the corner of his mouth twitch. you release his fingers from your mouth with a small pop, a string of saliva being the only thing connecting them now.

through hooded lids, you notice there’s a layer of sweat now formed on his forehead. you watch as his jaw clenches and unclenches, and how his nostrils flare in annoyance. but the tell tale sign that you’ve won? the dark tint in his usual golden eyes.

you brace yourself, but what you expect never happens. instead, you’re lifted onto your feet, and your lower region is met with the cool draft of the room. you feel your boyfriend leave your side, but before you can complain, he returns behind you with your laptop in hand.

“kei, what are you doing?” your eyes flicker between his eyes and the machine in hand.

he ignores you, placing the laptop on the desk and lifting the lid. when it powers on, he gestures for you to put in your password. although you’re still uncertain where this was going, you comply.

once your home screen loads, tsukishima is quick to pull up photobooth and press record. when the realization dawns on you, you feel your entire body heat up. but whether it’s from excitement or embarrassment, you’re not entirely sure.

his hands find the hem of your shirt, and now you’re completely bare. through the camera, you realize that tsukishima is pretty much fully clothed at this point. you turn to complain, but don’t get too far when your body is pushed forward. you catch yourself with your forearms, and now your eyes are level with your laptop screen.

seeing yourself through the webcam made your heart churn - you were now certain it was excitement. your pussy clenches in anticipation, something which your boyfriend takes notice of. running his fingers along your dripping folds, he coats them with your essence. he holds his fingers between you and the laptop, the webbing of your arousal glistening off his fingers in the light, “you’re so wet, it’s kinda cute.”

immediately, you feel your body heat up even more than before. but before you can retort, your boyfriend’s figure disappears from the screen. and in flash, your legs are forced apart, the draft replaced with a new warmth. your knees buckle at the stimulation from tsukishima’s tongue sliding along your folds, but his grip on your thighs hold you in place.

you watch as your expression changes on camera as your boyfriend eats you out. it’s absolutely lewd but you force yourself down on him more, eliciting a strained moan from him, “fuck kei.. m- more. fuck.”

he continues to lap at your juices, darting his tongue in and out of your pussy, occasionally giving your clit a teasing flick. if tsukishima weren’t holding your legs from below, you’re certain they would have given out long ago.  

tears to begin to pool at your eyes, your throbbing pussy crying desperately for sweet release. your legs begin to quake as you begin to reach your high, it’s almost as if you can taste it, “k-kei, ‘m close.”

but it never comes, and you should have known better. that’s just how he always is. you curse under your breath, shooting daggers through your tear filled eyes when your boyfriend emerges on the screen once more.

his smirk says it all, you may have won the battle but he’s about to win the war. sucking in the air between your teeth, you debate for a moment. but the thought gets lost when you feel the tip of his cock prodding your entrance once more.

you push your hips back, but his hands hold you in place, “ask nicely, y/n.” the way your name rolls off his tongue only pisses you off further. you catch each other’s gaze through the computer screen, neither wanting to make the first move.

the stand off is cut short as a ringing sound fills the room, tsukishima’s phone vibrating against your bed. the cake. an extra five or ten minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

it’s as if tsukishima is thinking the same thing because in a single motion, he bucks his hips forward, filling you completely. you groan in the unison as his cock slips out of your wet folds with ease. as he rocks into you, the sound of your moans and skin slapping against each other drown out the sound of the ringing alarm, the cake now forgotten.

your hand travels down to find your clit. the combination of tsukishima bottoming out with each thrust, his hands digging almost painfully into your sides, and now your fingers rubbing your clit in distraught circles drives your senses off the chart.

the tears come rushing back, your cries turning into a mixture of sobbing and moans. as the stimulation continues, your walls clench involuntarily, and that’s all it takes to send the both of you into a frenzy.

you remember the screen before you and so you try your best to watch as the two of you come undone together. his thrusts are sloppy and erratic and his mouth hangs open, a string of swears slipping past his lips, “fuck ‘m close. tighten up a lil’ bit.”

your body is convulsing uncontrollably, but you try best to comply as your climax runs its course through your entire body.

his hand roughly grabs your jaw, tearing your eyes away from the screen for a sloppy kiss. and within moments, you feel yourself filled to the brim with tsukishima’s cum.

neither of you move, simply choosing to enjoy the moment. the air in the room is muggy, your entire body aches and you can definitely feel tiny trails of cum leaking down your leg, but you couldn’t care less.

this time you swoop in for a sweet kiss, your sinful acts from just moments ago completely forgotten, “i love you kei, happy birthday.”

he nuzzles his face into the side of your face, pressing a chaste against your temple, “i love you too, y/n.”

however, the moment doesn’t last long as the high pitched beep echoes throughout your apartment.

the two of you scramble to clothe yourselves before darting back to the kitchen. tsukishima, pulls the oven door open while you pull open the balcony door. once the smoke dissipates and the alarm shuts off, the two you stand before the oven, staring at his burnt cake.

you try to hold back your growing smile, but your attempts are futile. you are absolutely giddy, “looks like i may have won twice today.”

[themadauthorshatter]

WHUMPTOBER DAYS 1-5

I got in speed to do this by a Discord server I'm in, and I'm behind 4 days.

So, confession time: I enjoy whump. Idk, why, but I do. My problem is, though, is I’ve never been able to grow a backbone enough to actually come up with my own contribution.

UNTIL NOW!!!

YES, I am four days behind, but I’m putting them all here. You will get whump every day for February as my gift to you, because I have been slacking on these.

I am not limiting myself to one fandom, either and if you are sensitive to whump, DO NOT READ THESE POSTS!

I’m also following the prompt list by @febuwhump

And I've never really written whump before, so bear with me.

With that out of the way: LET THE FUN BEGIN and PICTURE IF YOU WILL:😈

Day 1: Head Wound (from the Red Queen Swap AU; the one where Cal is the villain, not Maven)

- During SOME part in this AU, Maven goes toe to toe with his brother to buy Mare and the Scarlet Guard some time.

-While he does fine at a distance, Cal soon gains the upper hand and, in full soldier mode, aims his hits more toward Maven’s head than body.

-Maven is very quickly disoriented, as he begins to see stars, his vision goes silver (because that’s the color of his blood and a vessel broke), and he is unable to stand properly, which becomes impossible when he kicks a roundhouse kick to the temple that sends him to the ground, ears ringing, head throbbing from the onslaught of pain, blood covering his face and unable to do much because his brain is now is ‘shutdown’ mode. And because Cal, caught up in the emotions of being everyone’s least favorite and knowing he screwed up in the worst way possible, kicks him while he’s down, even kicking him in the face, even stomping on him because he’s that caught up. 

-Maven is saved by Shade, but he’s left unconscious for about two days and is missing a few teeth that a rescued Healer puts back.

Day 2: Failed Rescue Attempt (From the Clipped Wings fanfic for Good Omens; Chapter 7 is almost done, btw!!)

-Crowely races through the ‘dungeon’ section of Hell, trying to ignore the shouting from Hastur and even other, lesser demons that saw him. 

-He has a purpose here, and its name is Aziraphale, whose cell he finds and opens, shouting that they need to leave before they’re sent to do paperwork for eternity. 

-He does find Aziraphale, but he’s unconscious and in the, oh, so loving arms of Lucifer, who greets Crowley with mirth and welcomes him home right as Hastur comes up behind him and slams a club or baton against his head, sending Crowley to his knees and leading him to be dragged away.

-Lucifer has the other demons throw Crowley in a different cell, as he wants to spend more time with Aziraphale, and Crowley kicks and screams as he’s dragged away, crying Aziraphale’s name, though the former angel only catches a glimpse of him as the devil closes and locks the door to his cell. 

Day 3: Blood Loss (From the School for Good and Evil. SPOILER ALERT FOR ANY NEW READERS! SKIP THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE FULL SERIES!)

-Tedros, after encountering a fight with Rafal, is severely injured and unable to do much other than breathe and try to focus as Agatha freaks out and begs him to stay awake. 

-She does try to help him stand up and get him to her house in Gavaldon, where Callis can patch him up, but he’s exhausted from all the blood he’s lost and barely able to keep his eyes open as Callis gets to work of cleaning and patching his wounds. 

His body is extremely heavy, everything is cold, he can’t really feel the wound anymore, and he’s seeing his father from where he’s laing on the table, Arthur shocked and horrified to see him so soon and shedding tears as he sees how much Tedros has grown.

-In his semi-dying haze, Tedros asks his father why he left Tedros alone for so long, why he just gave up after Guenevere left him for Lancelot, why he chose to drown himself in alcohol until it killed him rather than let himself feel the loss of Gwen with his only son. 

-Gwen leaving hurt Tedros as well, and, sure, he’s not good at dealing with it, but he’s more upset about the fact that he was left to deal with those emotions on his own with next to no one to help him through any of it. 

-While in his head Tedros shouts at Arthur in a field in Camelot, in reality, his face is contorted from all the ugly crying he’s doing and he’s covered in tears, snot, and blood, the latter he’s coughing up because of his wound. 

-Agatha leaps to his side and holds his hand, begging him to calm down and promising that she won’t leave him alone, not after everything that’s happened.

-He calms down and goes unconscious, but Callis confirms he’s alive, and that he has some MAJOR daddy issues (don’t we all?)

Day 4: Nightmares (From Red Queen, like the actual series. No AUs this time)

-In magical, fantasy dreamland, Coriane Jacos is giving a speech to all of Norta with a grown Cal standing at her left and Tine standing at her right. 

-As she addresses the country, everyone in the crowd begins to glare at her, though when she turns to Tibe so he can talk, he only gestures for her to continue, as he believes she can do this. 

-He is SO wrong when the crowd begins to mutter amongst themselves as some even openly wonder why and how Coriane is still the queen of Norta. Two of these people are Julian and Sara, who are silent, but say over a thousand things in the way they gaze disapprovingly at Coriane. 

-There are more comments and one of them asks why she has the spine to silence her son, but not be a better queen. At this, Coriane turns to Cal, who’s been facing the crowd blank faced.

-She puts a hand on his shoulder and he turns, revealing that he has no mouth, like from his nose down the skin is smooth and unbroken, so he kind of looks like a mannequin.

-While Coriane is terrified, Tibe is unbothered, urging her to continue with the same warm smile that she’s memorized by heart.

-Well, he’s actually smiling because it’s entertaining to see the crowd turn on her and hiding behind him is Elara, who puppets Tibe and the crowd and saying, “Long live the Queen, Lady Jacos,” before she makes Coriane pick up a handgun and point it at Cal, who stays resolute.

-Just before she’s forced to pull the trigger, she wakes up in a cold sweat and races to find a barely year-old Cal, who’s fast asleep in his crib, safe and sound. 

-Overcome with relief at seeing him alive and torn apart by her nightmare, Coriane falls to her knees and cries, only stopping when she accidentally wakes up Cal and holds him in her arms to calm herself. 

Day 5: “Let me See” (From my Dad!Charles X Toppat!Henry AU (Another part 7 I’m in the process of making) inspired by @bambishy)

-After a meeting, and after screwing with Charles a little bit, Henry goes to visit Cameron in their cell, though he finds that they’ve destroyed the placed and are lying on the floor with their hands close to their chest. 

-Henry first chides them on making a mess before kneeling down and asking them to look at him. 

-Cameron snaps at him to “[Eff] off,” and Henry catches a glimpse of their hands, which are blood stained and a little mangled.

-Henry turns Cameron on their back, growing increasingly alarmed and annoyed.

- “What did you do to your hands? Let me see. Show me what you did!”

-Despite some opposition from Cameron, Henry eventually finds out what they did:

-Both of their hands are broken, mainly at their knuckles, which became bloodied and raw from punching the door and are now broken, their wrists swollen and both arms shaking from the pain. 

-Henry pulls Cameron onto their knees and asks them why they did all of this, why they’re acting like such a child and being a little nuisance. 

-When Cameron is silent, Henry SOMEWHAT goes off on them, asking if he needs begin tying their hands behind their back, if he needs to fully restrain them in a real cell that has no bed and has none of the comforts that they’re literally taking for granted, if he has to actually BE the bad guy and hold a gun to their head in order to do the simplest things, even snapping at them to say something when they’re quiet. 

-Cameron, naturally (because they got yelled at), stays quiet and even begins crying. Henry isn’t really amused or concerned and sighs as he sits up, pulling Cameron up by their upper arm and telling them to follow him the infirmary so their hands can be fixed; Charles will throw an even bigger fit, if he sees his kid injured. 

-Subdued and out of options, Cameron agrees, something that actually gets a smile and a side hug from Henry. 

- “I know all of this isn’t easy to adjust to, but you’ll get there. I think you and I will get along just fine.”

[fan-art-ic]

Don't Stop Here

She's back. Anne is really back on Earth. She can hardly believe it.

(Picks up immediately after the episode ends) (ao3 link in reblog)

Anne can hardly believe it. Cars honked around her and every breath is heavy with unnatural smog. She meets eyes with a human stranger, who lifts a phone very quickly and stares bug-eyed at her. Not at her, no, at her family. She turns to Hop-pop, Sprig, and Polly, all scratched, bruised, tired, afraid, and looking at her with trust in their eyes. Hop-pop croaks and coughs and Anne notices her frog family's skin is graying. She has to get them out of here. Off the hood of the car, over five lanes of traffic, hopped over the guardrail, down the hill, through a sparse copse of trees, to the sidewalk under the bridge and-

"Anne?" A pink hand tugs on her wrist. "Anne, stop. Please." Her feet stumble to a stop and her socked foot lands on something sharp and cutting and she gasps.

"Anne!"

Two sets of hands catch her torso, and she faintly feels a wet touch pulling at her ankle. Her family carefully let her down, so she lands heavily on her butt instead of her nose. Anne's next breath is a punch of air and her lungs brighten with pain as she loses control of her inhales and exhales. Her eyes hurt and burn. When she wipes a dirty hand across her face, she winces as hot tears and snot sting her injuries. A light weight settles onto her back and rubs in a circular motion. Anne clings to the sensation. Between sputtering breaths, she begins to hear. "-in...and out...in...and out," Hop-pop's soothing, raspy voice repeats and then she can hear Sprig humming. It's a song Wally wrote about a silly snail getting lost and he had sung it at her Frog of the Year party. A laugh bubbles up into a sob and Anne reaches out her arms to pull all three of them close.

"I love you guys," she chokes out, and Polly pats her cheek.

"We love you too, Anne," says the polliwog, normally so energetic now wrung out and too bright-eyed. She needs to pull herself together. Anne releases her grip and her family takes a step back. She runs her hands through her hair and shakes her head, dust and dirt and surprisingly long twigs falling to the broken concrete.

"Alright, froggy fam," she begins, "I'm going to take you to meet my human fam." Sprig whoops, but he's clearly flagging.

"Yay!..."

Anne grimaces and looks at Hop-pop. The old, orange frog meets her gaze steadily, but she can tell how much he is missing his cane. "Hop-pop, you got Polly, I got Sprig?" He nods. "Alright. Let's make our way to the highway, follow along till we hit an exit, follow that till we hit town, figure out where we are, call my parents. Sound good?" No one protests and Anne helps Sprig up to her shoulder as Hop-pop collects Polly.

.

They're maybe ten minutes into their walk, and every step is a jolt to her nervous system. Her skin feels prickly, her jaw too tight, her muscles ache like never before. The pressure of her Newtopian breastplate, once reassuring, weighs her every step like a lodestone.  The heron-leather straps pinch at the underside of her arms. Sprig's cool, damp skin is refreshing against the back of her neck, but it's not slimy enough and it concerns Anne. She bites her lip and tries to time her steps so that her sneaker hits the rocks and roots, while her socked-foot hits bare earth. She isn't always successful, and everything is starting to throb. Her temples pulse loudly in her head and her knees are weak and her mouth is parched.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Polly..." Hop-pop murmurs behind her. She can't see him, but she hears the dragging footsteps crunch the dry grass and the low comfortings of the grandfather to the polliwog. A stabbing pain shoots through her chest, and Anne forces her legs into a march. Focuses on the act of raising her thigh, swinging her calf forward, shifting her weight, repeat ad infinitum.

In seventh grade health class, there had been only one day dedicated to 'mental health issues' and something mentioned was meditative breathing. In multiple P.E. classes, Anne heard the teachers talk about making sure to breath while exercising. One, two, three. In. One, two, three. Out. Anne can do this.

.

The clouds parted a bit as they walked and the sun is nearly blinding Anne, as she squints at the sign. DALY STREET EXIT, it read in giant white text on green. Okay, so now they can get out of the weird in-between highway area they've been hiking. She points at it. "This way."

Something is mumbled behind her back.

"Huh?" She stops to turn and looks at Hop-pop. "What's up?" The elderly frog's face is twisted in a very non-confidence inspiring way.

"Well...Anne, I can't help but notice you don't have your backpack. Or...or your phone. So-" All Anne could hear was a piercing, ringing sound. Her hands clenched and unclenched.

"Right," says Anne, interrupting whatever the old frog had been saying. "Right. I don't have my backpack or phone." She blinks rapidly and Hop-pop's brow furrows deeper grooves. Her fingernails dig grooves of equal depth into her palms. "Okay, so," she claps her hands and ignores Sprig and Polly startle, "we will keep going. We will find someone kind and nice who will be willing to call my parents. End of plan."

"Great plan," Sprig yawns in her ear, and she can't help the yawn in return. It stretches her neck muscles and she yawns again for good measure. Polly yawns, then Hop-pop, then her and Polly at the same time. They all smile and the moment of brevity gets the family going again, the plan -no matter how little Anne believes in it herself- solidly in mind and the goal spurring them on. Not too much further now.

.

The sign for 7-11 flickers and there is a closed down Redbox sitting stoutly next to a ash-tray/trash can. The ad in the window advertises Berry Glam Blitz Bomb and a two for four hotdogs sale. Her stomach rumbles.

Her family is crowded together outside the storefront, and Anne doesn't know what to do. She's loathe to leave the Plantars by themselves, but maybe the cashier won't be the most cynical soul in Los Angeles. Then the frogs won't go under the risk of wandering the streets, talking to strangers. She can't bring them in though, what if the employee freaks out (like...any reasonable person confronted by talking frog people would). A clammy, orange hand taps her arm twice. She looks down.

"We'll be okay for five minutes, Anne," reassures Hop-pop. "Hand me Sprig." She doesn't hand him Sprig so much as the pink frog melts off her back and flops down next to his grandfather, but either way transfer successful. Okay now it's just time to interact with a human who isn't one of her two childhood best friends. She can't be totally out of practice right?

Marcy's eyes had been so wide when she died. Her pretty, dark brown eyes glittering from the light of Andrias' sword. From the flashing blue of the portal home. From tears.

Anne swallows roughly and steps toward the entrance. She scolds herself when the self-automated doors startle her, and she glances around the store. Someone tall and bald by the coolers, someone on the phone in the back, besides them and Anne the place is empty. Well, and the cashier. She approaches the register before she can one-eighty out the stupid doors, and she clears her throat. The cashier, a young guy with bright green and black hair and a name tag reading 'Jared', looks up from his phone.

"Hey-o, ready to check out?"

"Um, no actually," Anne starts and stops. What is she supposed to say? "I...dropped my phone and it cracked badly," she lies. "I was supposed to meet up with my mom but I can't get the dang thing to turn on." She laughs, short and high-pitched, rubbing her neck. "Is there like, a store phone I could borrow to call her?"

Jared raises his eyebrows. "No, there isn't a store phone. If you buy something I could exchange dollars for quarters, I think there's a phone booth near here." The lights are buzzing really loudly, Anne notices. She takes a deep breath.

"Sorry, that doesn't work. Could I borrow your phone?" She sees how the older guy assesses her. She sees her dirty torn school skirt, her scorched copper armor, the twigs that she can't stop finding in her hair. "Or could I give you her number? Please, I just want to get back to my mom." Jared's frown softens and his mouth opens to speak, but is cut off by a voice behind Anne.

"Annie Bone-choy?" Her neck complains at the speed she turns to look. The bald person she saw earlier. Face contorted in open surprise, finger pointed in her direction, he says in a nasally SoCal accent, "Your parents have been looking everywhere for you."

"Do I know you?" Anne asks. Bald guy shakes his head. "No. I like your parents restaurant, amazing noodles by the way, and they have your missing posters all over the front. Yours and two other girls."

"I thought you lost your phone and were meeting up with your mom," Jared unhelpful interjects. Anne looks between both of them.

"Can I please use someone's phone to call my mom?" The two adults look at each other.

"Tell me your mom's number," says Jared tentatively. Anne rattles off the ten digit code with ease. She remembers sitting in the kitchen and her mom helping her arrange plastic magnet numbers in the order of her cell phone number. Jared puts the phone on speaker and the dialing tone begins to ring. Once, twice, three times, four...

"Hi! This is Madee Boonchuy. Not here right now, please leave a message!" The messaging system beeps and Anne just shakes her head at Jared. He ends the call.

"Can you please try again?" She pleads. Jared frowns, but does as requested. The dialing rings again. And gets voice-mail, again.

"I could call the restaurant," the bald guy offers. "It's not exactly rush hour but they are open right now, right?" Anne blinks away the stinging in her eyes. She has no idea what time it is, no idea what day or month or even if it's the same year. Who knows how Amphibia time lines up with Earth time?

"Can you? Please?" He nods and pulls out his phone. A minute while he finds the contact, and now for the third time, the phone rings on speaker. Anne knows what they say about third tries, and she crosses her fingers tightly.

"Hello? Delivery or pick-up?" Familiar, accented English, and Anne has to resist falling to the floor.

"Mom," Anne whispers in Thai, and the voice on the line speaks rapidly.

"Anne? Sweetheart? Oh my god, Anne? Anne?"

"It's me Mom. It's Anne," Anne sniffs and hiccups.

Some sharp, unintelligible yelling comes out the receiver, and there is a rustling and slamming sound before Anne's mom replies, "Where are you?"

Anne blue screens for a second. "I'm..." She struggles to remember. "I'm at a 7-11."

"What? Where? What street?"

"Daly Street," Jared pipes up.

"Who is that?" Her mother says sharply.

"That's just the cashier, he was, he was helping me. Well and another guy who comes to the restaurant apparently? I uh, he says he recognized me from my posters, huh, I didn't realize I'd have any," Anne rambles.

"I'm coming to you, Anne," Her mom promises. "I'm going to hug you so much. I'm coming to you. I have to hang up now, to get in the car, but do not go. Please."

"I promise," says Anne, and when her mom ends the call, she starts crying.

.

She exits the 7-11 once she gets the bald guy and Jared to distract each other (i.e. purchasing a bottled soda), and she spots the Plantars immediately. They're on top of a parked USPS truck. When Anne peers around the vehicle to see the other side of the street, she spies the mailman making his way towards the truck. Crap.

"Guys!" She hisses through clenched teeth. She raps her knuckles against the truck's side and hear Polly yelp. "Guys, get off the truck!" A moment later, Hop-pop and Sprig land beside her, Polly in her brother's arms. Anne pulls them over to the Redbox and huddles on the side opposite to the store entrance. She steps in front of them, hoping her body will shield enough of the frogs so nobody looks closer.

"Your mom is gonna be here soon?" Sprig asks. Anne nods.

"Yep, she'll...she'll be here soon." There's no response, and there is a take-a-tab paper taped to the trash can advertising singing lessons, and it's all Anne can do to not remember the time Sasha threw a karaoke party and they all started singing badly and together, and Anne blinks and keeps talking.

"My mom will come, and she's probably in her mini-van, oh man she's gonna tear through like twenty stop signs and scare other drivers so bad," she snorts, "and maybe there'll be a loose water bottle or a chip bag in the car, and oh man, you guys don't know what sour cream and onion chips are I can't wait to show you-"

"Anne," Hop-pop cuts her off. "Don't forget to breathe." She sucks in a deep breath and feels bile creeping up her throat. She tries to swallow but her mouth is so dry it just hurts. She can't imagine how her frog family's is feeling compared to her, they must be feeling so much worse than her, and they haven't said anything yet. Anne exhales forcefully. When a hand squeezes around her own, she squeezes back reassuringly.

They all jump as a dark red mini-van screeches to a halt in front of the 7-11. The driver exits the car, not wasting time to even park, and runs towards them. "Anne!"

"Mom!!!" Anne cries and she takes only a few steps before she's barreled over.

"Anne, oh my god, thank the heavens it's you! Anne, Anne, oh my baby," Anne's mom sobs into her shoulder before pulling back. Anne stares at her mother. Lets her eyes trace the deepened wrinkles, notice the shining, brown eyes the same shade as her own, the beauty mark on her chin. Her mom's glasses are new. Anne can't remember what they'd been, but now her mom wears tortoiseshell frames.

"I like your glasses," is the first thing to tumble out of Anne's mouth, and she nearly slaps herself. Her mom laughs wetly.

"Oh, Anne, oh, I've missed you so much." Her mother folds her back into her arms. Anne hugs back as tightly as she can for a second before her mom stiffens with a surprised grunt. "And you're so much stronger, when did that happen?"

Anne smiles. "I'll tell you about it." She steps back and grabs her mom by the shoulders. They're the same height now. "I'll tell you all about it." And that means... "Mom, let me introduce you to the Plantars," Anne steps to her mom's side and reveals her froggy family.

Her mother gasps and says something in Thai that Anne doesn't know. She would bet it's one of the worse swear words. "I know it's a shock, cuz, well, two foot tall talking frogs," says Anne and motions for the trio to come a bit closer. "But they protected me, fed me, and loved me while I was stranded in their world." Hop-pop shuffles the closes with Sprig and Polly poking their heads out behind him.

Hop-pop extends his hand. "My name is Hopadiah Plantar, it's an honor to meet you Mrs. Boonchuy." Her mom looks down at the wrinkly, orange hand and then back at Anne. She nods encouragingly and her mom steels herself before meeting the hand with her own.

She gingerly shakes it. "Pleasure to meet you...Hopadiah," Anne's mom says his name carefully. "My daughter says you kept her safe?" Hop-pop nods.

"To the best of my ability," and his face gains a wry look and he rubs the back of his neck. "When she and my grandkids weren't off chasing trouble."

Anne's mom smiles tentatively. "I'm sure. Are these your grandkids here?" Sprig comes out behind Hop-pop's back and puts out his hand.

"I'm Sprig Plantar! And this is-" A loud honk interrupts him and everyone in the group startles, moving to look at the source. A silver BMW is stuck behind her mom's mini-van and the one-way street doesn't give any wiggle around room. A shout filters out of the sports car. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" Except with a lot more swears. Anne's mom sighs.

"Introductions later, let's get in the car," she instructs and everyone moves.

All the frogs hesitate as they get closer, Sprig even flinching when Anne hauls open the back seat door with a slam. She gestures inside. "C'mon guys, it's just like a wagon," Anne says. Polly hops in first and settles into the closest middle row seat. She bounces a couple times.

"It's comfy," the polliwog reports. The jerk in the BMW honks again, even longer. Sprig and Hop-pop pile in and Anne closes the door behind them. She gets into the passenger seat and the feeling of air conditioning against her skin is like. Magic wind. Super relaxing. Like insane luxury. Oh, Anne missed technology.

"Buckle up." Her mom clicks her seat belt into the lock and starts pulling away immediately. Leaving Anne to explain what 'buckle up' means, and what a seat belt is, and no she doesn't know when they were invented. The questions continue as the mini-van pulls onto the highway, but the group soon quiets down. Anne blinks slowly and looks outside the window. The trees and billboards and other cars pass by her so quickly, so much quicker than Bessie could ever go. A pang strikes her heart as Anne realizes Bessie will be all alone. She hopes the Plantar's family snail is taken care of while they're gone. Anne looks away from the window as nausea grips her throat. She's almost home. She can hold off on falling apart for just a little longer.

.

"Anne, honey, are you awake? We're home."

Anne blinks and she squeezes her eyes tight and yawns loudly and long. She hadn't realized she dozed off. "I'm...home." She opens the door and doesn't let her twinging feet deter her from getting a good look at her home. The small bushes that lined the driveway, the slightly dented mailbox, the umbrella her dad always left outside the red door. Anne drinks it all in.

For the past several months she had been in a world with fantastical flora and fauna and shocking experiences every day, but Anne feels dizzy at the sight of her home. Her eyes catch on every detail, the once too-familiar not familiar enough. The bristly door mat; the unpolished brass numbers: 301; the creaky porch step; the small, pink, clay owl figurine Anne had given to her mom for Mother's Day in fifth grade and sat tucked in the corner. Her eyelashes are sticky with tears.

"Your house is SOOOOOOOOO BIG!" Anne snorts and is grateful for Sprig. She turns around to look at the small, pink frog.

"It's pretty nice! I've loved growing up here. Three-oh-one Silver Spring Lane." A gobsmacked look.

"You have springs made of silver?" Sprig's jaw drops. Hop-pop's head pokes out of the van.

"What's this I hear of silver springs?"

Surprisingly, it's Anne's mom who answers. She laughs, and it soothes Anne, before saying, "No, Hopadiah. It's just a nice name for a road." Anne tunes out what Hop-pop replies in favor of turning back to the door.

The metal door handle is hot to touch, searing from the oppressive California heat. She breathes out in a harsh whoosh and forces herself to yank the door open. It slams against the wall and the hinges squeak. Anne hears a sound of protest from her mom, but she can't acknowledge it when there's a bullet of fluff running towards the door.

"DOMINO!" The cat jumps into Anne's arms and she catches her, swinging Domino around and around and gosh, will Anne ever stop crying today? She hides her tears in Domino's soft, white belly, and laughs as the cat wiggles around to climb up her shoulders. Domino wraps around her neck and rubs Anne's check with her cute, little face.

Anne collapses to her knees and she pulls her cat around and holds her so carefully and so, so close. Domino allows this longer than ever before, but soon she does squirm and fall to the carpet on all four feet. She chirps and purrs vacuum-like. Anne's hands move on their own accord, stroking down Domino's back, scratching all her sweet spots, reacquainting herself with her Domino, her beautiful angel baby.

"Anne, could you move your reunion a few feet more into the hallway? So we can come in?" Her mom says, her tone telling Anne she's smiling. Anne kisses her baby's head one more time before standing up and moves to the side. Ugh, her knees hurt from carpet burn. That's one thing she hadn't missed.

"Sprig, Polly, Hop-pop! Remember the killapillar?" Anne scoops up Domino and holds her out. "This is Domino One!" Sprig steps closer, squinting. He pokes at Domino's paw and she mrrps! at him. He flinches back for a second before staring deep into her eyes. Anne watches this stare-off with no small amount of amusement.

Eventually, Sprig asks, "So this Domino won't kill us for dinner?" Anne shakes her head and a leaf drifts from her hair.

"Nope!"

Sprig oh so slowly reaches a finger to Domino's long-haired back. "Oh!" He says, curling his fingers through the fur. "She's even softer than peatmoss."

Polly joins her brother and jumps up and down on her new, little legs. "Let me pet her!" Anne leans back down, but Domino wriggles out her grip and runs down the hallway, disappearing around the kitchen corner. Polly pouts. "Aw! I wanted to touch Domino One."

Anne pats her yellow bow. "Don't worry. There's plenty of time for that later."

"I believe a good use of time right now," Anne's mom says, still lingering in the open door, "would be for you to change out of your dirty clothes. Go take a shower."

Anne stares at her mom stunned. "Oh my god...," she whispers. "I shall finally be clean." Sprig laughs.

"Are there no showers where you come from?" Anne's mom asks Hop-pop as Anne still revels in the very idea of pressurized water.

"I can't say I know what a shower-whatsit is, but we did bathe," Hop-pop says archly, half at Anne's mom and half at her. Her mom nods understandingly. Then frowns.

"Do you have any spare clothes with you?" She asks and all the Plantars go wide-eyed.

"We..." Hop-pop can't finish his sentence hands twisting his ascot. Sprig looks morose and he's holding onto his slingshot tightly. Polly is similar, tugging at her frayed and dirty yellow bow. Anne's heart twinges, and she cuts in.

"We didn't exactly have time to pack our wardrobes when we came, Mom," she says. "I have piggy bank money, we can go shopping guys! You guys have to see the mall. This time, my treat," she tries to cheer up the little frogs.

Sprig and Polly perk up at the mention of visiting the mall, but Hop-pop and her mom both protest at once.

"Anne, that's mighty kind of you, but-"

"Anne, that's very generous, but-"

Both stop and her mom motions for the frog to continue. Hop-pop waits a second more before saying, "Anne, you don't need to spend your savings on us. We can make do if you just show us to a wash bucket and a needle with thread. When these get worn out, we'll cross that river when we come to it." Anne's mom then lays a hand on Hop-pop's shoulder, slightly crouching to reach. Hop-pop nods at her.

Her mom smiles before saying to him, "I can certainly show you the washing machine, but we'll figure out another set of clothes for you." Her gaze casts over Sprig, Polly, and Anne. "For all of you. And Anne," her mom walks up to her and she smiles with glistening eyes, "when did you grow up so much?" She brings Anne into a tight hug before releasing her. And boops her nose. Anne squeals. Her mom smiles. "I will pay for the shopping. Now!" She claps. "Shoes off."

Everyone looked down at their feet and noticed the frogs didn't have any. "Ah well, shoes and...shoe off. Anne, what happened to your shoe?"

Anne waves it off. "Lost it a few months ago." Her mother grumbles and Anne suspects she'll be getting a new pair of sneakers in the near future. Then it occurs to her, "Where's Dad?"

"He had to stay to make sure the delivery went smoothly since Jackson quit and everyone else messes it up," her mom explains while running her hands through Anne's hair.

Anne gasps. "No! Not Jackson."

"Yes, Jackson," replies her mom. Her fingers tug painfully through Anne's hair and come away holding a handful of leaves and twigs. "Is there an entire forest in your head? Now off you go, shower. Get the dirt off," she commands. Anne rolls her eyes.

"Yes, Mom," Anne says in Thai and kisses her cheek. She looks to the Plantars. "You guys okay with my mom showing you around the house? Show you somewhere to sit and some water?"

Hop-pop nods and Polly wiggles. "I have a mighty THIRST," she yells. Anne giggles.

"Well, alright froggy fam. See you on the flip side," and she starts to head up the steps, her fingers trailing the railing, when a cough causes her to pause. She glances back.

"Anne..." Sprig says, "welcome home."

Tears spill over her cheeks and Anne half-falls down the stairs to give him a tight hug. Quickly, other froggy arms surround the two and are joined by a pair of human arms. All together, all safe, all alive. Anne takes a deep breath, and exhales heavily. She's back home.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Can we get some fluff in the 2b2t!Eret au??

Eret’s been stuck in hell for almost a month straight, there’s been no sign of her friends, no word. She’s given up on them coming for her, but she’s going to get back to them even if it kills her. Anywhere is better than here.

She keeps an ear to the ground at all times. Information can be a life saver out here, so over a month in to the worst period of her life she hears about the strange new group of fighters almost immediately. They move in a group, probably some sort of new faction. It doesn’t affect her right now so she dismisses it. She’ll keep an eye out if she needs to.

It’s been two months when Eret walks right into an ambush. Her glasses had been shattered beyond repair in a crystal explosion her second night on the server. She’s given up on trying to hide them, ignoring the usual unease at people seeing them for the advantage of night vision and the intimidation factor they give her. The night vision doesn’t save her. There’s an explosion, her ears ringing as she hits the ground. The shine of enchanted armor emerges from the dark, at least five people, possibly more. She tries to push herself up but a foot lands solidly between her shoulder blades and pushes her back down.

“Well well, look what we have here”

“I’ve heard of you. Ghost eyes. Herobrine’s descendent.”

“Bet you’d look lovely decorating our base.”

“I say we just take the head”

Eret presses her forehead into the dirt and tries to breathe. She just needs to get her hands on something, anything from her inventory.

Someone grabs her wrists and she manages to push past the ringing in her head enough to struggle. Her helmet is pulled off and someone starts tugging at the straps of her chest plate. There’s tears pricking at the corner of her eyes but she viciously pushes them away, this is hardly the time or place. She considers calling out, but that would only make things worse, though she might just have a chance to get away if whoever shows up decides to fight.

She’s still struggling under the weight of the people pinning her down when there’s the familiar whistlling thud of arrow fire. Some of the weight disappears from Eret’s back, sliding sideways to crumple to the ground with an arrow put precisely through the small gap between their armor plates. The people around her stand at attention, pulling out crossbows and axes, “the fuck? Is this you?” one demands, kicking her solidly in the temple. Eret isn’t sure if she cries out or not, but she’s definitely sure she’s bleeding now. He goes down in the next moment with a choked off cry. His buddies start to shift, looking nervous. One says “fuck this!” And takes off, he screeches as a figure looms out of the darkness. Barely raising his enchanted sword in time to block a heavy axe blow. More figures drop down and the person sitting on Erets back stands up and nervously backs away, “heyyy let’s talk about this” they gesture to Eret, “you want it you can have it, seriously. Just let me go and that’s all yours”

Eret scrambles for her helmet, her chest plate, anything. She’s alone and unarmed and vastly outnumbered and she dearly want to cry but this is quite possibly the worst possible moment for that. Someone touches her shoulder and Eret nearly jumps out of her skin, instead she dives forward. She’s got no gear, and no chance of beating a single armed fighter, let alone a group as clearly organized as this one. Her only chance is to get away and hope the two groups will be too distracted killing each other to go after one lone runner. She’ll have to start over, but at least she’ll be alive.

One of them is still coming after her, armor gleaming in the faint moonlight. Their arms are out stretched and they’re saying something but Eret’s ears are still ringing from the blast and her breath is starting to quicken. They reach for her again, get a hand around her wrist. Eret panics and plants a foot on their chest, sending them flying. They must not have been expecting it because they’re in full armor and Eret has nothing. She scrambles to her feet, swaying and starts to run. She only manages a few steps before she slams into something solid and unyielding. She bounces off of what must be someone’s chest before they tug her back, her back slamming into their chest plate. “Eret!” The person is shouting right next to her ear, pinning her arms, how did they know her name? “Eret calm down!”

Eret’s temple throbs, her eyes hurt from overuse, and her wrist aches where one of her first assailants had ground their heel down on it. She’s been hunted down for weeks, ambushed and trapped and finally caught and she’s so tired. She just wants to go home. She sobs and her knees go out from under her. The person pinning her -it’s funny she could almost swear it feels like a hug- sinks with her, murmuring something.

The last thing Eret sees before she passes out is the stars.

When Eret wakes up, she’s lying in a bed. She panics immediately, flailing upright. She’s not restrained and she’s wearing a loose shirt and pants. But the last thing she remembers doesn’t exactly fill her with confidence for her safety. The room looks almost comfortable, cluttered. It reminds her of- Eret shuts that thought down hard. She doesn’t have time to break down right now. Whoever is keeping her has obviously underestimated her because there are multiple things she could use as improvised weaponry. She refuses to entertain the thought that her captors are good enough that they don’t have to worry about her not insignificant combat skills, because that means she’s fucked from the start.

She’s deliberating over what to do when footsteps sound out from the hall. Eret grabs whatever’s nearest, long fingers wrapping around a metal candlestick. She flattens herself against the wall behind the door and slows her breathing. The door opens and the person hums as they walk in. Eret shoulders the door closed and gets a hold of the back of their jacket. She jerks them backwards against her chest, the candlestick braced against their throat. The person squawks and drops the tray they were holding.

Eret licks her lips and tries to sound as threatening as possible as she says, “You’re going to tell whoever’s-“ she breaks off as she gets a good look at their face, “Fundy?”

The fox hybrid stares up at her, blinking owlishly, “uh, hey Eret.”

Eret blinks, dropping the candlestick from Fundy’s throat, “I... what?”

Fundy shifts, “sorry it took so long to find you, we’ve been looking for ages. That server is crazy, it’s a good thing we showed up when we did, huh?”

Eret stumbles backwards, sitting down hard on the edge of the bed, “Fundy? I-what?” She repeats.

Fundy crouches down, looking concerned, “Eret? are you alright?”

“But- but-How are you here?” Eret bursts out, sounding like she’s second away from tearing her hair out, she feels about three seconds away from screaming into a pillow and not stopping.

Fundy wrings his hands together, “oh I yes-I guess you wouldn’t know, huh? So uh Dream? You know Dream?” Eret flinches at the name and Fundy hurries to continue on, “of course you know Dream. So anyway, we kind of figured out, finally, that’s he’s been um. Manipulating everyone. Yeah, really creepy hall of things people cared about. Like there was a cage for Skeppy? It was weird. Then someone pointed out that there wasn’t anything for you and then someone else pointed out that they hadn’t seen you in a while. And then Dream started laughing so Tommy made him tell us what he did and um. yeah.” He fidgets again, his voice going quieter, “sorry we didn’t notice sooner.”

Eret blinks, “so I’m, I’m back on the smp? We’re not in- we’re not... there anymore?”

“No! We left as soon as we got you, and Techno finished murdering those assholes who jumped you. It kind of took a while to convince him to stop.” Fundy grimaces, looking squeamish.

“Oh,” Eret says faintly, the thought of Technoblade in a protective rage over her causing some cognitive dissonance.

“Are you alright though, Eret? You never answered my questio-“ Fundy is cut off as Eret envelops him in a tight hug.

Her voice is choked as she says, “I am now.”

“Oh! Eret, you’re awake!” Niki claps her hands together delightedly in the doorframe, before the door slams open wider to reveal Tommy and Tubbo and Ghostbur standing there, behind them is the entire rest of the server, “We’re so glad you’re ok! Everyone was so worried.” She hurries inside, everyone pouring in after her and suddenly Eret is surrounded in the biggest cuddle pile she’s ever experienced. There’s legs tangled in hers and someone is running their hands through her hair and Ghostbur is humming something soft and soothing. She lets out a slightly choked laugh and tugs Fundy closer. It’s good to be home.

I love this. Oh god this is good fluff. Just fluff after hurt and hurt/comfort is something I love. Oh my god.

[dollfaceeeeee]

There is something different about it.

The inescapable rush of water as it surges into your lungs, about the same second as your car hits the surface of the water; like a meteor shooting across space, an endless force before colliding straight into the atmosphere of an unlucky planet.

Your heart beats differently under that pressure, under that surge of adrenaline, and you want to live but everything is going down, down, down so fast and the clock is ticking by so slowly and your limbs are floating like you’re in some forgotten rocket ship somewhere.

My brain tries to connect to my arms, trying to force them into action, to unlatch my seatbelt and find a way out of the car but my lungs are barely holding on, and everything is so tired, and why can’t I just give in already?

Deep down, I know who ran me off the road, and I was just the unlucky bastard that decided to fight my boyfriend on yet another stupid thing in the middle of the night.

Stupid, stupid girl.

He will come looking for me, I know that, and he won’t stop until he finds me, so I have to live.

Emily, you have to live, damn it.

Reaching down, holding my breath, I try desperately to unclip the seatbelt tucked heavily across my chest, but it won’t budge, not an inch, and I realize with horror as the water begins to grow darker and darker around me as I surge into the depths below.

My ears begin to ring, and I know it’s a bad sign; my heartbeat pulsing in my head as I tug desperately at the seatbelt, before trying to yank the hunting knife tucked neatly into my belt out from its’ hiding place.

I watch as bubbles escape from my lips and float to the surface, and I wish, for a split second, it could be that easy for me, too, but I know it can’t.

Bringing the knife up, I begin to cut at the seatbelt, watching as it gratefully tears through it with ease, but I can already feel my breath floating away; the life slipping out of my fingers as my timer ticks down.

Just as I get the final pieces of the seatbelt off, I feel the exhaustion instantly kick in, and my body falls limp, my eyes sliding closed as I try to process the mistakes I’ve made so far.

Jesus, where to start?

I fell in love with another hunter, for one, the only one my father warned me about since day one.

Bobby Singer was always a man of his word, but his daughter, me, Emily Singer, never listened to him.

Falling in love with Dean was my first mistake.

My second one is thinking that the first one is a mistake at all.

Sighing, I can feel my mind fighting me to move, to break through the hold of the car and swim to shore, but I just can’t, I can’t do it.

I’m so tired of fighting.

What’s the point anymore?

I can feel myself drifting, my body beginning to feel weightless, at ease under the crushing weight of the water, and I know Dean won’t find me down here, and Sam won’t either.

I’m going to die down here.

But would that be so bad?

Sighing, I feel the last of my breath drag out of me, and something inside me shuts off, just for a second.

All I see is Dean.

Dean’s green eyes sparkling under the water, his hair like static around his head as he reaches for me desperately, pain laced in his features, and I almost want to reach for him, but I can’t.

I can’t move.

Just then, from somewhere far away, there’s an odd crashing sound directly in my left ear before there’s hands on me, tugging on me rather roughly, holding me so tight I’m sure the remaining breath in my lungs has surely dissipated.

Until my head collides with the surface.

There’s so many noises and motions I don’t know what to comprehend; splashing, breathing in my ear, gentle lips against my temple, my back hitting something hard and warm, calloused hands rubbing my shoulders, wide knees supporting my small head, and the smell of grease and gunpowder that I can only imagine belongs to Baby.

“Come on, sweetheart, you gotta give me something here. Please. Breathe, come on, damn it. Breathe.”

Heavy hands press against my chest, calloused and rough through the fabric of my soaked T-shirt, but I know that voice.

I’d know that voice anywhere.

I can hear the pain in his words almost as clearly as I can hear the water dripping off his skin, and feel his hot breath fanning against my face as he leans down to give me mouth to mouth.

As always, the fresh taste of spearmint and beer saturates the back of my throat, but I can’t bring myself to move, or to force my aching lungs back into motion.

I’m not so sure they ever will again.

“I need you to do one god damn thing for me, for once, Emily. Christ, I just need...I need you to come back to me. You can’t die on me now, not here, not after...”

His hands move more forcefully, pushing the water up into my throat before it’s spitting out from my lips like a fountain, and my lungs explode into motion to alleviate the threat of the water coating them.

Everything around me begins to shake, throbbing in an aching pattern of uncontrollable shivers, and I realize with horror that it’s my body that’s behaving this way, as the feel of the cold water slowly settles over my skin for the first time.

Hands pull me upright into a sitting position until my back is against something hot and firm and dripping wet, but he still attempts to warm me anyway; his hands rubbing circles across my arms, trying to bring some warmth to my frozen body.

“Em, baby, you can hear me, right? Are you in pain? I’m going to take you to the hospital as soon as I can get you warm, but I need to know if you’re alright. You weren’t breathing for a while there. You scared the shit out of me.”

I’m not so sure I can speak, or I can catch my breath long enough to say anything, but my mind runs a mile a minute as I try to process what he’s saying.

Am I okay?

Nothing feels like it hurts, not necessarily, besides my lungs; they feel like they’re on fire right now, but my body seems to be in correct working order, and I move my legs and arms slightly just to be sure.

Luckily, everything seems to be fine, there.

Attempting to push wet strands of hair from my face, I just try to control my breathing as I nod in assurance, staring out at the dark spiraling river of water laid out in front of us.

My favorite car, my dad’s car, is under there.

“Okay, good, that’s good. Alright, I’ll call Sam on the way, let him know I found you. Do you think you can stand on your own? You’re shaking pretty bad, and I’m not so sure you’re even aware of that.”

“I..I know,” I mumble, my teeth slamming together painfully before I twist around to look at him.

Green eyes, bright as Autumn apples, stare back at me under a layer of long, dark eyelashes, and he looks taken back for a moment with the movement before his hands reach up to cup my cheeks.

Blazing heat spirals out from his fingertips, and I relish in it for a moment, before his lips are on mine, breathing into me the same strong scent of beer and spearmint that I stick to memory, concealing it somewhere in the back of my mind, in a safe place, just in case.

His lips are soft, and his hand tangles in my hair for a moment before he pulls back slightly to lean his forehead against mine, his body now rocking uncontrollably.

“I thought..I thought you were gone. Seeing you under the water, floating like that, pale as a ghost and your eyes closed, I thought I was too late, and the water was so damn cold. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, that I wasn’t there to protect you. Once Cass got word of Michael’s plans, you were already gone, and you weren’t answering your cell, and..Sam and I got a bad feeling..”

Shaking my head, I reach forward tentatively to lace my fingers through his, and I watch as his mouth curls into a relieved smile before I find myself doing the same.

“I’m r...really sorry,” I say through my teeth, trying to force myself to relax, but I can’t; the soft breeze blowing straight through my drenched clothes and wet hair.

Dean reaches up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear, nodding slowly, making bubbles of water shake from his hair, before he presses a tentative kiss against my forehead; his hot breath fanning against my cool skin.

“I know, Em, I know. And I’m going to kill that son of a bitch once I know you’re alright. Do you think you can stand?”

I’m sure I can, but as I pull myself to my feet, everything around me shifts and I wilt back into Dean’s outstretched arms, my body much more exhausted than I anticipated.

I laugh loosely at the action, but Dean doesn’t join in; his arms reaching under me to lift me and pull me in against his chest, his eyebrows furrowed together over his eyes as he climbs the soft incline to Baby.

She’s running, purring gently from the road, and Dean unlatches the passenger door before sliding me inside; reaching over me to turn on the heat before grabbing the blanket from the back seat, the one that belongs to Sam.

“Dean, I’m..I’m fine,” I state stubbornly, but he ignores me as he tucks the blanket around me tightly and gives me a quick kiss on the lips once again.

“Shut up for once, will you? Let me take care of you.”

His gaze is piercing, flowing over me with relief and concern that mixes together in a dizzying array, and I know he’s fighting back the urge to break down.

I wasn’t sure if he loved me before, but I am now, and I reach up to run my fingers against his cheek; his eyes closing at the action as he takes a deep breath.

“You know I love you, right, Dean?”

Dean smiles, his eyes staying shut before he grabs my hand and presses his lips against my palm gingerly, almost as if he’s afraid I might break.

Once his eyes open again, I’m scared to ever look away from them again, afraid he could slip away from me almost as easily as he could have minutes ago, and deep down, I’m sure he feels the same.

I love him so much it’s going to kill me.

“Me too, baby,” he says softly, winking at me, “me, too.”

[roberttchase]

A tiny 2k fic based on @farfarawaygirl‘s post talking about wanting Matt to hallucinate/dream a future with Sylvie in the upcoming episode. Enjoy my friends! 

“Do we really need to get up?” Sylvie’s voice is soft and sleepy, and it makes Matt’s stomach flip, makes him feel warm and safe. Stretching a little, only to bring his girlfriend closer, the firefighter nods, burying his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in slowly. “Can’t we just...not show up?” 

A fond noise rises up from his throat, and the Captain laughs a little, bringing the covers up tighter around them. It’s cold and rainy outside, clouds hanging low, the sky dark. The perfect day for staying inside and not going to shift. 

“As much as I want to, you know Boden wouldn’t be happy. His PIC and his Captain not showing up? The house would burn to the ground,” he jokes. “Okay maybe not literally, since we’re all firefighters, but…” he trails off, nose scrunching up at his lame joke. Sylvie presses a kiss to his lips, slow and sweet. 

“Sometimes it’s annoying that you’re so responsible and dependable, Matt Casey,” the paramedic huffs. “But I love you for it. Everyone does,” she adds, making Matt blush, never one to accept praise and compliments well. But coming from his girlfriend, it makes him feel warm. 

They get up reluctantly, knowing that their jobs are; whether they want to admit it or not, important and can’t be frivolously pushed to the side. Their routine is seamless, something they’ve been doing for months now- Matt works on smoothies while Sylvie gets ready, then Sylvie feeds their little black cat while he goes to do the same. It’s effortless and makes him smile every time they put it into practice. As he finishes pouring Sylvie’s blueberry smoothie into her usual to go tumbler, his own mango one already sitting on the counter, the woman comes out in a soft sweater, setting her bag down near the door. 

“Otis said he has some big news he wants to share today,” she says as she presses a kiss to Matt’s cheek, taking her smoothie happily.

The words catch him off guard, enough to make him freeze, before remembering that Otis dying was just a nightmare of his. He’d woken up three nights ago sweating and frantic, tears burning behind his eyes as Sylvie had assured him Otis was fine, he was probably up playing fortnight or some other video game even at three am. 

“Oh? Knowing him it’s probably some convention coming to town he wants us all to go to,” the Captain snorts. Making his way back to the bedroom, Matt slips on his favorite henley and dark jeans, attempting to fix his hair that’s growing longer now that it’s cold. After he brushes his teeth and looks himself over, the man grabs his bag and makes his way back to his girlfriend. A sharp pain shoots through his head but it’s gone as quickly as it’s come, and Matt brushes it off. As the lemon wallpaper comes into view; the same as the one from Sylvie’s old apartment, Matt looks at her. 

“Ready?” 

The ride to the firehouse is filled with old N’SYNC and Backstreet Boys, and Matt grins the whole time as Sylvie sings completely engrossed into the music. He’s not sure how he got so lucky to get her to date him. The way she says ‘I love you’ sticks in him every time and makes him feel more confident of himself. Pulling up to the large brick building, the couple gets out with their bags slung on their shoulders, hold hands, and walk in. 

The morning starts even before briefing, alarm blaring out for all companies to help with a large fire at a hotel downtown. As they pull up, Matt notices the smoke billowing up from the top of the building, not black, but it’s on its way to it. Hopping out, Matt looks at his team; Otis, Kidd, Gallo and Mouch, then gives a wry smile. 

“Hope you're awake guys, this one looks big.” 

They meet up with squad, engine and ambo, and Matt goes to find the person in charge- a small woman who looks only slightly panicked, more shell shocked than anything. He hears a few of 51 directing people in and out of the building. 

“We’re going to need blueprints of the hotel. Any idea where the fire is?” 

From there it’s a rescue mission. Get everyone out as quickly as possible. Locate the fire and get it under control. On level thirteen, they run into an issue. 

“Chief, floor thirteen is rolling, we’re going to need backup to get everyone out,” Matt radio’s. “Might need to call in some more ambo relief,” he adds. 

“Copy that Casey. Sending in engine, and calling it in.” 

Two hours of intense heat, getting bodies out, and going through recovery, and finally everyone’s back at the house, already beat from the roughness of the call. 

“What a morning, huh?” Herrmann sighs, rubbing his face as he sits on the couch. Ritter and Gallo are working on breakfast, when Matt looks around and then blinks. 

“Scratch breakfast, I’m too hungry for eggs and bacon. How about we order pizza from Benny’s?” 

Everyone perks up, and Matt’s aware it’s due to the rarity of him suggesting something like this. He’s one to always stick to house made food, not big on ordering things in. It seems like everyone could use the pick me up though. Fishing his wallet out from one of his pockets, the blonde grabs his card and hands it to Gallo. “Order some pizza,” he smiles. 

“You got it Captain.” 

Kidd looks at him with her eyebrows raised. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’ Captain, you just seem in a good mood today is all,” the firefighter shrugs with a smile, making Mouch chuckle. 

“Casey in this good of a mood means something happened.” 

Furrowing his brow, Matt crosses his arm and lets out a huff. “I can’t just want to do something nice? It was a rough call.” 

“Leave him alone guys, he’s happy. Don’t ruin it,” Sylvie walks over from where she’s been sitting with Mackey, putting a hand on his shoulder. Another jolt of pain stabs into his temple, but barely lingers. He squeezes her arm. 

“I’m going to do paperwork, come find me when the pizza’s here?” 

“Copy that.” 

The rest of the day is, for once, blissfully easy, so far. There’s no bad calls for anyone, all mild and fairly quick. The consumption of pizza is interrupted by a small grease fire in a kitchen, but they’re all back within the hour, spirits high. 

“I don’t wanna jinx anything, but today is going pretty well,” Cruz says as he takes a bite of pizza. 

“Cruz! Shut up!” Severide calls out, rolling his eyes. Matt shakes his head. Leave it to Cruz to say it outloud. They all hold their breath, but no alarm sounds. Hallelujah. Sylvie sits next to him as they all enjoy the rest of their pizza, her hand on his knee, under the table and discreet. 

As he works on paperwork in his quarters, the paramedic walks in, sitting on his bunk. “Come sit with me, you can finish paperwork in a minute,” her voice sounds tired, just having gotten back from a run. The tone makes him look over, and he can tell instantly. It was a bad one. Moving as quickly as he can, he sits next to her, one hand cupping her cheek, thumb brushing against her soft skin. His head gives an angry throb. He ignores it. Sylvie’s upset. 

“What happened?” 

“Gunshot wound to the chest...a seven year old,” her voice is thin, wavering as tears start rolling down her cheeks. “I k-kept try to get him to wake up.��� He wraps his arms around her tightly, kissing her hair. His head won’t stop throbbing now. He swallows against it. 

“Sylvie...you did all you could. I know you did,” Matt tries to reassure her, though he knows it’s probably not helping much. She looks up at him, heartbreak written all over her face. “He w-wouldnt...he was lying there motionless...I needed him to wake up Matt...I c-can’t…” 

Looking down at the petite blonde, his head feels suddenly like it’s being cracked in two. The pained gasp that leaves his lips is unstoppable, and he screws his eyes shut tightly. He can feel Sylvie shift. His body is rigid, his skull feels like someone’s hit it with a hammer. 

“Matt? What’s going on? Matt…”

He’s falling. Eyes still shut, Matt feels nausea well up inside him. The pain is all consuming. He struggles to open his eyes, and when he does, he’s in a completely different room. He’s disoriented, can’t quite get a hold of what’s real and what’s not. Is he dreaming? The pain in his head is angry and out for vengeance. The room is….is…. Matt’s mind feels like it’s grasping for straws, like words are right out of reach. His eyes move around. He feels hazy and sick. The beeping that’s coming from...somewhere, is hurting his head. His eyes shut. 

Sluggishly, he blinks again, and a man with jet black hair is in front of him. “Matt, are you with me?,” the man asks, dressed in dark red scrubs. There’s a name embroidered on his shirt but it’s fuzzy. A pretty woman with curly hair is standing next to him. Choi, April, his mind supplies. He’s in the hospital. He can’t remember why. Can’t remember anything before then night prior, sitting in Molly’s with Severide. 

Head throbbing, Matt licks his lips, nodding minutely. “Mm...y-yeah…” the word dies out. “Wh-What…” The Captain’s exhausted, and his eyes slip closed again, unable to stay open. 

“Matt, I need you to stay awake, can you open your eyes?” 

He tries, but it’s no use. It hurts. Everything hurts. 

“Matt, can you tell me your full name?” 

Struggling, the blonde opens his eyes again. “Matt...Matt Casey.” 

“Good, good. And can you tell me what hurts?” 

“Head...s’gonna explode…”

“Okay, we’ll get you medicine for that.” Choi turns to April, nodding as she walks out. “And can you tell me what the last thing you remember is?” 

It takes a moment. He remembers Severide, and then...then….a car. A man driving and he was holding on...then...pain. Excruciating pain, ringing in his ears. Getting back to the firehouse, promising he was okay. Sylvie. 

“L-Locker room with Sylvie...I was dizzy.” His words sound slow even to himself. Matt swallows and brings a shaky hand to his face. A painful tug on the back of it notifies him he’s got a line in. 

Choi nods, writing something down. “You’re doing great. We’re going to get you in for a CT scan right away, but the fact you remember somewhat is good. How’s the pain? 1 to 10?” 

“10,” Matt grits out, becoming more and more aware of the sharp pains encompassing his head. April’s at his side seconds later. 

“I’m giving you some morphine, I’m doing it slowly. You should feel it in about ten seconds okay? You’ll feel warm and fuzzy, that’s normal.” He wants to tell her he’s already fuzzy, but instead he nods. Just as she’s said, he does feel almost instantly warm, and then it’s like he’s floating. His mind drifts back to Sylvie. They were dating. They were together. But no, that’s not right. Grainger.

“Is…can...wh-where’s Sylvie..” Matt’s certain she brought him in, she was the last person he can recall seeing. 

“I think she’s out in the waiting area, breaking covid protocol,” April says with a small smile. 

“I’ll get her for you, but only for a few minutes, once we get the CT room we’re taking you,” Choi adds.

They both leave and Matt’s left to his floaty thoughts. He wants to kiss Sylvie again, wants to hold her hand and call her sweetheart. He remembers, now, her telling him he was still in love with Gabby. That’s not true. It hasn’t been for over a year, more than that really. He needs her. He doesn’t want to see her with Grainger, he wants to be the one to let her know how special and loved she is. He loves her. The curtain slides, and Matt sees Sylvie walk in. Her eyes are puffy and red, and he can see wetness clinging to her cheeks telling him she’s been crying. He doesn’t want her to cry. 

“Sylvie.” 

The paramedics face crumples, and as she gets closer she scrubs at her eyes and face. “M-Matt.” It’s choked and distraught, and Matt slowly, lazily holds out the hand closest to her. 

Sitting in the plastic chair, Sylvie brings it as close to the hospital bed as she can and grabs his hand hesitantly.  He wishes he could hug her, comfort her more than with just a hand hold. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to take him for the CT scan,” April walks back in, looking apologetic. 

“Please don’t leave,” Matt slurs, and Sylvie lets out a choked laugh. 

“I’m not going anywhere Matt Casey, I promise.” 

When he’s not in the hospital, he’s going to fight for her. Grainger be damned, Matt’s going to somehow prove to her he’s not in love with Gabby anymore, and that Sylvie isn’t a consolation prize. She does deserve to be with someone who puts her first. And that someone is going to be him.

[adarafaelbarba]

Could you write a story that the reader is a fire fighter at 51, and dating Jay or Antonio. 51 responds to a fire where the bad guy that Intelligence is trying to get and the reader gets held hostage by the bad guy in the burning building, you decided the ending.

Pairing: Antonio Dawson x Reader

Fandom: Chicago PD/Chicago Fire

Requested: Yes

Request: «Could you write a story that the reader is a fire fighter at 51, and dating Jay or Antonio. 51 responds to a fire where the bad guy that Intelligence is trying to get and the reader gets held hostage by the bad guy in the burning building, you decided the ending.» -Anon

A/N: So sorry this is late! Hope you like it though ❤️  -Karen

«Lieutenant? The house, it—We should call in Intelligence», you said, looking over at Severide. «Why?» he asked, turning to you. «Toni—Detective Dawson may have mentioned someone they’re looking for, living at that block with their family, it might be their house», you commented. Usually the more private person, not many people at 51 knew about you and Antonio, save for Boden, in case something happened to you, and Gabby, because well, she’s his sister. «where did you get this info?» he asked, ignoring your slip-up. «I overheard him talking to Gabby the other day», you lied. «Okay, I’ll call them in», Kelly said, shrugging.

At the scene, you grabbed the necessary equipments before following Gallo and Kidd in, as instructed by Severide and Casey.

«Fire department, call out!» You shouted as you all moved in. «Kidd, over there!» you added, hearing wailing coming from close to where your co-worker was walking.

«Fire department! call out!» she shouted, making her way towards the cries for help. «It’s okay, I got you! I’m gonna get them out of here! Gallo! Wanna lend a hand?» Stella said. «You got it!» the younger fire fighter responded, running over to her.

«Severide? I’m gonna need an extra set of eyes in here, Gallo and Kidd are coming in with four people, but there might be more people in here», you said into the walkie-talkie. «I’m coming in!» Kelly responded.

You were about to reply when something hit you over the back of your head, knocking you out.

~~~

You could hardly move, or see for that matter when you came to. «Wh—what happened?» you asked aloud to no one in particular, thinking you were alone. «Shut up!» a stranger screamed, making your ears ring. I’ve got a concussion, great, you thought to yourself, feeling a shooting pain in your head.

«what do you want from me?» you asked, looking at the stranger, nothing about him looked to be familiar. So the reasoning for why you were being held captive must be for the sole purpose that you were alone in the house.

«Why the fuck is the police here?! Did you fucking call them?!» he screamed, pacing back and forth. Without a mask, he would pass out sooner or later from the smoke inhalation. But you might be dead before that, seeing as he had a fully automatic ak-47 in his hands.

«Why would we call the police to the scene of a fire, sir?» you asked, trying your best to ignore the painful ringing in your ear.

He was about to say something when Boden sounded over the walkie-talkie. «(Y/L/N)! State your location!» he said, sounding worried.

«Sir. I’m gonna have to answer my chief, or he’ll send everyone in», you reasoned, feeling the rope around your wrists, digging into your soft skin. «But I can’t do that if I’m tied up, unless you want to help me out», you added, looking at your captor.

«You’ll only run off if I let you loose!» he spat, aiming the gun at you. He wasn’t going to make it easy.

«I’m not, you got a gun, I’ve got nothing. But if you don’t let me answer my chief, none of us will survive. And I recon you want to live, seeing as your wife and children are safe», you reasoned.

«(Y/L/N)! Call out! Where are you?!» Boden asked again, sounding more panicked.

«How about this, you don’t have to untie me, just reach over and press the button on my walkie-talkie, I’ll do the talking, you don’t have to say anything.» He seemed to think about it, until he reached over.

«But you don’t tell them anything about me! Just tell them to dismiss the police. Tell them you saw no one else here, you just passed out. Once the police is gone, only then I’ll let you go. Got it?» he asked, tilting your head up to look at him.

«Got it», you responded. Pressing the button like you had instructed him, you started speaking, «I’m okay sir, just got a bit winded. I haven’t found anyone else in here, police won’t be needed», you said, just like instructed.

«(Y/L/N), Severide is coming in to help you get out, where are you?» Boden asked, you could sense in his tone he knew something was up.

«I’m okay sir, really, I’ll be out shortly», you responded. No chance in hell were you going to let your lieutenant get killed for saving you. Looking up at your captor, you waited until he had let go of the call button. «Are you going to let me go now?»

«How do I know the police is gone?» he said, sounding panicked, but tried his best to hide it behind a mean tone.

«How do you suggest I ask my chief if they’re gone without sounding suspicious huh?» he had to think about that before he grabbed you by the back of your neck and yanked you up to a standing position.

«We’ll just have to look won’t we?» he was getting braver. That couldn’t be a good sign. Dragging you over to the nearest window.

Looking out the window you could barely make out the people out there. They seemed to see you perfectly clear however as Boden came back on the walkie-talkie, «(Y/L/N), talk to me!» You knew he was stressing. If something went wrong he wouldn’t only have Antonio on his ass, but he would also lose you, one of the firefighters he basically saw as his own child. You’d been really close since you’d started working at 51.

«Tell them I’m good. Their service won’t be needed today», you said briefly. At this point your captor was getting winded, but tried his best to stay put as he pressed the weapon into you. «Sir, if we don’t get out now, none of us will live. Is that how you want your children to remember you?» You were running out of options.

«Shut up, shut up, shut up!» he screamed, pushing your upper body out of the window, holding you by the hem of your uniform jacket. Taking in as much air as you could you assessed the height that you would fall if he let go of you. I could survive it if he let go, you thought, hoping he actually would let go. But he might shoot if I try to make him drop me, your inner thoughts said, making you groan.

«(Y/L/N)!!!» Stella shouted, looking like she was ready to run over and try catching you if you decided to drop.

«I’m okay!» you called out, trying to defuse the situation. Looking up you caught a glimpse of Antonio who was looking rather pale where he stood, watching it all. «CPD, pack up!» you called out, «For the love of God man just let me go!» you added, feeling all the blood rush to your head, maybe you wouldn’t survive the fall if he let go. You might not be able to turn in time.

Your call was finally heard when you felt his grip loosen followed by the sound of someone falling to the ground behind you. Feeling about ready to pass out yourself you let gravity work its charm as you started falling out the window.

«(Y/N)!!!» Antonio shouted as you fell towards the ground, head first. «Baby!» You couldn’t remember landing, all you remembered was everything turning black.

~~~

When you came to it, there were a blinding light glowering over you. «Hmm. Whe—where am I?» you asked, placing a hand on your throbbing forehead. «Baby?! Oh thank God!» Antonio said, his voice sounding too high pitched at this time.

«Ow, my head», you groaned, both hands massaging your temples now. «I’m so sorry cariño, I’m just so happy you’re awake», he murmured, caressing your cheek. «What happened Tonio?» you asked, looking at your boyfriend.

«The guy passed out from too much smoke inhalation and let go of you, so you fell out of the window—», he started.

«By some miracle you survived, but you’ll be on bed rest for a long time though, so I wouldn’t be too keen on returning to duty any time soon», Dr. Halstead commented, walking into the room. «How long are we talking Will?» you asked, looking at him. «6 months, maybe more. We’ll have to see», he said, gaining a groan in return.

«Hermosa. You should consider yourself extremely lucky to have survived», Antonio said, rubbing your hand, which was in his hand. «I know baby, and I am. I just … Firefighting is my passion. What if I can’t ever go back?» tears were threatening to spill at this point as you looked at your boyfriend. «You’ll be back and kicking ass soon enough mi amor, but for now you need to rest and get better. And I’ll be here for you every step of the way.»

~~~

True to Dr. Hastead’s words, you were allowed back to the firehouse 6 months later. Antonio had insisted on bringing you to work for your first day, and you were not one to complain. Even with him being over you every day for the six months, having taken a lot of time off work to help you, you never got enough of the man.

«There she is!» Cruz called out, being the first to spot you. «(Y/N)! Oh my God! Finally!» Stella and Sylvie cheered, running over to hug you.

«It’s been far too long!» Sylvie added with a chuckle. «I’m so happy to be back you have no idea!» you exclaimed, hugging everyone who approached you.

After all the greetings you turned to say goodbye to your boyfriend when you found him on one knee, holding out a tiny, squared box, draped in red velvet. «Tonio?» you gasped, a hand flying up to cover your mouth.

«You’re the best thing to happen to me cariño. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. You’re great with Eva and Diego, my family absolutely adores you. I love you like crazy. So will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?» Tears were streaming down your cheeks and his as he looked at you in anticipation. «Y—yes! Yes I’ll marry you Tonio!» you exclaimed, stooping down to kiss him, your arms going around his neck instinctively. «I love you mi amor», he murmured into the kiss, raising you both to your feet. «I love you too baby», your responded, pulling away from the kiss to let him slip the gorgeous ring onto your finger, «forever?» «Forever.»

[lluvguts]

Cool Blue ; Chapter Seven

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

frightened by my feelings

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ a/n: i'm so sorry for the long wait! i've been in a mood.

☽ warnings: internalized homophobia

☽ fic masterlist

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

Alberto broke away from Giulia's hand clasped in his own and listened to their steps (his silent, always barefoot but Giulia's sandals slapped the boards unpleasantly) up the rickety staircase to the hallway. Mismatched pairs of socks and a few pencil shavings led them off in a distinct line to Alberto's room, ending at his door, a sign to anyone else in the house that Alberto had been rummaging through the downstairs cupboards at night; whereas Giulia's room opposite his, clean when she wanted it to be, teeming with school books and Machi's homemade cat toys and plant life, had no such trail.

"You know, come to think of it, this makes much more sense now," Giulia mused, her eyes fixed on her toes as Alberto abruptly stopped them at the doorway to his room.

Alberto felt a headache start to blossom beneath his eyelids, above his browbone. A throb with no rhythm but all the more pain to make up for it. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the steadying weight of the doorframe pressing on his shoulder as he leaned on it. Giulia knew, but she...also didn't. A tiny fleck marked the frame and only became apparent in his blurry vision, just a chip on the wood. Stripped of paint and sticking out against the cream walls in an ugly slash.

He trailed his thumb along the divot, feeling the splinters biting underneath his calloused hand. Giulia was still talking, ignoring his silence. The tension only grew the longer Alberto hovered at the door, refusing to open it and let all of those things come seeping out, with Giulia's smug remarks making the pain reach a high point.

"...I'm not nearly as obvious about, uh, my thing as you are. I don't go painting pictures of him--which I'm almost positive you do, by the way. Oh! And Papa's camera? You took photos, too? Santa mozzarella, Alberto, this is just like a soap opera--"

Alberto's thumbnail dug into the wood. "Yeah, okay Giulia, we get it. You're such a genius or whatever for knowing my secrets, alright? Will you ever shut up?"

Giulia blinked, losing some of that teasing glint in her eyes, but only for a moment. She stood up straighter and examined Alberto's pained expression and his half-stance, shouldered up on the wallpaper so he didn't faint from fear. She yanked his forearm away from the divot in the doorframe and pulled it forward, propelling them into Alberto's room without any other notice.

"Wait! Giulia! It's-It's very messy in here! I wouldn't want you having a heart attack or something..." Alberto rambled, flinging free of her grip once again to run ahead of her.

Always in the lead, scrambling to kick his discarded bath towel under the bed, and the rush of feelings that surged with it. The photos. The pictures were still on the dresser, and Giulia was standing by the bed, so that saved him at least a few agonizing minutes. While she grimaced at his crumpled sheets, pinching her nose and complaining of the fish smell, Alberto shied away from her gaze, laughing nervously and edged closer to the dresser.

"Honestly, Alberto," Giulia picked up his comforter, then wrinkled her nose in disgust and it flew from her fingers. "Haven't you heard of airing out your bedroom? The window is literally right here."

He glanced over Giulia's shoulder at the harbor beyond, thinking she should be at work. They should both be at work, or working, or doing at least something. "Don't like it."

"Don't like the window?" A piece of dirty laundry, another item under close sibling scrutiny, was dropped from her hands. Giulia turned from the wall and smirked unconvincingly at Alberto's palms outstretched along the top of the dresser, practically leaning on it for dear life.

He tried to clear his throat, but it was dry. Everything in his room was dry. The towel from the night before was cast under his bed, stiff as old citrus. The empty glass behind him, the tiny ring of water that clung to the bottom now dried up. Definitely what had happened hours before had nothing to do with what was already drying inches below his belt. God, he needed a shower to scrub off the memories. No, sear them off his skin.

Stop. Don't think of that.

"No! I, uh--" Alberto closed his eyes, opened them, closed them again, that headache never seeming to go away. "I don't...like...the boats."

That was mostly true. He just didn't like some boats in particular, the ones that hunted down sea monsters and pried the scales from their bodies as if they were gold flecks. He didn't mind giving up the salty nighttime breeze for peace of mind. What he didn't want to sacrifice, however, was the lingering (stifling) smell of Luca's scales clinging to his bedsheets and in the bathroom, with the door constantly open, a heady ocean candle that was never snuffed out.

"Pfft! You liar, you basically live on a boat you work so much. What about it could you possibly not like?" She tried a new tactic, no longer rooting through article after offensive article of boyish mess, and instead picked apart the uneasy smile in Alberto's upturned lips, evident in the sweat along his temple.

Her dark eyes roamed over Alberto, looking up at the wall then back down to his sprawled arms and aching shoulders, realization dawning. "You're...stalling! Hah! Think changing the subject will do you any good when you're around me, eh?"

Giulia marched over to Alberto, who even hunched back to conceal the contents of the dresser was taller by a few inches.

"You're hiding something, aren't you?" Giulia whispered, her voice once dripping with an easygoing slyness that only came with being siblings. But now, she steeled her eyes over Alberto's shoulder, freckled and tanned and nicked with fishing scars, searching but said nothing else.

Alberto slid his tongue along the rough roof of his mouth, tasting salt. He winced at Giulia's tender fingertips brushing over the top of his shoulders to reach for something outside of his vision, but by the feather-light intake of breath that Giulia did a poor job at hiding, he knew exactly what she had found. One photo turned to two, then three, and soon Giulia was thumbing through all of them like the old card deck they always managed to misplace on late nights.

"Luca," Giulia murmured softly, the polaroids pinched between her shaking fingers. She said his name, and the grapefruit that Massimo had held in his bare hand came to mind, suddenly. His name sounded sweet as she said it, peeling back the shocking rinds to a much more bitter discovery, the picture wrapped in a thin little fruit membrane that Giulia had torn apart and dove in hands first to pick out the seeds. She said his name, and Alberto bit his tongue, waiting, waiting. The salty tang was met with the quick release of blood as he chewed on his lip, not caring for the sting but more so for the way the air in the room stood still.

Giulia was sitting on the bed now, and Alberto was still sprawled out along the dresser, feeling time rush back in to greet him. The window was still closed. The bath towel peeked out from hard bedframe, sage fabric frozen in place, silently screaming if Alberto could guess. All of the warmth in the room flooded to Alberto's face, his flushed cheeks burning so hot he covered them with clammy palms. This wasn't happening...

The dizziness in his brain had subsided, at least for now. Pushed to the side. "I...uh...I think I can--You aren't afraid, are you?"

Giulia opened her mouth, speaking silent demands. The pictures were still in her hands. Though she was shaking and casting their glossy film over Alberto's pleading eyes. He took a step to her, and she held up a hand--the one that wasn't clutching the polaroids. Holding Luca. Così bello, Luca.

"Take me to him."

"Huh?" Alberto skittered back, eyeing the photos but afraid to take them from her hands, gently thumbing through them again like she was seeing the glossy scales and bright eyes for the first time. "I don't know...uh, I don't know what you're asking, Giulia," Alberto breathed, itching to take the stack of photos. Giulia sensed her brother's restlessness and stood up to place them into his trembling hands. They fit perfectly into his palms, and he carded through the five with a fond smile he quickly abandoned when realization hit him and Giulia was, there.

"Saying they were just a myth, Alberto?" Giulia brought all of the photos together carefully, choosing not to see Alberto's eyebrows shooting up into his head of curls but at the rows and neat edges she'd made. "But oh, wow, Luca. So...much different that what Papa says about sea monsters. He's so..."

Alberto's heart sped up. "Beautiful?" Was he even allowed to say that? What would she think?

Giulia nodded, flashing an appreciate grin but still indecisive.

"That's okay, Alberto," She wrapped her hands over Alberto's, a pillar to his crumbling resolve, and put her chin against his collarbone to still him. She sighed, a rumbling breath into his ribcage, and he felt his chest lighten. "It's okay to think he's beautiful."

Alberto didn't think he could get a word out, with his sister's hair inches from his nose, filling his head with soothing, sleepy smells. She had stuck a stem of lavender from the vase in the kitchen behind her ear.

No it's not.

"Shhh, fratello. Just don't think for a moment, si?" Giulia took the photos again and put them in her pants pocket, then wrapped her assuring arms around Alberto's neck as he let out a soundless cry. "You're okay."

Alberto buried the bridge of his sunburnt nose into Giulia's hair, the tiny periwinkle flower buds tickling his cheekbone.

"The lavanda in the vase, you bought that? It...was for him, wasn't it?" Giulia murmured to distract, petting the side of his neck to calm him down.

"...He couldn't keep it. The petals would float to the surface." His words came out sniffled and ugly-sounding, making him cringe but also hold in a laugh imagining Luca bringing a bouquet of flowers underwater just to see them all rush past his wide eyes to the surf above.

Giulia snorted and laughed against his chest, and soon Alberto was chuckling softly along with her. "Let's go see il tuo cuore, okay?"

"You're serious?" Alberto readjusted the lavender stem in her hair. "Giulia, this is like the total opposite of how I thought this would go."

She took his hand tenderly and went to the door, but not without a whiplash turn of her head, cocking one eyebrow in defiance. "What, did you expect me to reach for the nearest harpoon? Like everyone else in this town? I don't think so." She tapped her forehead, smirking. "Open mind, dummy."

Alberto squeezed her pinky finger. "Okay, you were so sweet a second ago. What happened?"

"Lots of things, big guy," Giulia clicked her tongue and pulled Alberto's hand closer. "But that vase on the dining room table, those flowers. That's how I knew. If it were a girl, you would have listened to Papa's advice for roses. But you got lavender."

Alberto sighed, fighting the impulse to tug his hand away and retreat fearfully back to his room. "If you think it's such a stupid idea, we can make tea with them. Papa got a new kettle at the market."

Giulia gave him a side glance again. "And what about Luca?"

"Fine, no tea then." Alberto stumbled on his words, choking on them almost. Would Luca...even be there? After what had happened...

He blushed and stopped, inches above Giulia's head when he stood one step higher than her, looking directly into the kitchen on his right where the vase was. Evening light spilled in the window by the sink the Marcovaldos refused to close, bathing the ornate, bottle green glass in moody flashes of color on the patched up tablecloth. A sliver of a grapefruit rind sat, hard and darkened next to the reflection of lavender stems, from Massimo's talk. Alberto swallowed the immediate flush of nausea, hating the way he could almost taste the embarrassment and worry on his tongue, inside his pores.

It was going to get dark soon.