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fairy-writes · 3 months

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Would it be too much to ask for a William James Moriarty x Holmes sister reader? Like she's a travelling archaeologist/anthropologist who's a genius in the field and has found many artifacts and lost cities and can be a bit of an eccentric looney like her older brother Sherly but she's also incredibly kind to those in need and often donates her treasures to the less fortunate and even helps Sherly from time to time which is how he meets her and is impressed by her smarts and sarcastic wits. Also, a bit of a parkour junky likes to wear mens clothes tailored for her measurements and often wears her hair in loose buns or ponytails and loves riding horseback much to Mycroft's displeasure🤭

A BUSINESS PROPOSAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

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Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Mildly sexist behavior from Mycroft? It is the 1800s after all.

Notes: So this was super fun to write!

Fun fact! I took an archaeology class for my associate’s degree in criminal justice and highly recommend taking one to anyone in college!

I actually took several anthropology classes (intro to anthro, bio anthro, and archaeology). I even considered switching my major to anthropology at some point! (I switched it to English lol)

PART TWO HERE

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Otis whinnies, and you reach forward from your place in the saddle to pat his neck.

“Easy, Otie, almost there.” You whisper to him and gently nudge him to turn down the familiar road of Baker Street. You could spot your brother’s flat from where you were at, an unfamiliar carriage parked in front. You frown briefly and then shrug. Sherlock could have whoever he liked over.

But… he did promise to take you out on the town in celebration of your latest discovery. Did he forget?

No… He wasn’t the type to forget something like that. You had been exchanging letters for weeks about your coming home.

A tall man was at the front of the carriage, tending to the horses. He had spiked black hair and a glove on one hand. He looks at you with skeptical eyes as you draw near and dismount your horse. The Cleveland Bay snorts, ruffling your hair as you smooth your hand up his snout and between his eyes. Then, you promptly tied his reins to the post outside 221B Baker Street and went up to the front door.

The door knocker was more worn than you last remembered, with the shiny brass turning a glimmering gold color from all the hands touching it. You rap the door once, twice, then a third time, and wait, stuffing your hands in your trouser pockets.

A young man opens the door, sandy blond hair combed neatly and brown eyes alight with curiosity. A grin breaks your face, and you step forward into his arms as he realizes just who is at the door.

“My dear John!” You shriek, and he chuckles, lifting you off your feet and spinning once in a circle before setting you down.

“I thought you weren’t due back for another two weeks!” He replies excitedly, and you laugh gleefully.

“We finished early! Anyhow, how’s Mary? Sherlock said you two were expecting!” You say and slap his shoulder good-naturedly. He ducks his head, a pink flush on his cheeks as he nods.

“She’s home at the mo. But yes, we’re expecting. The midwife thinks it’ll be a girl based on how she’s carrying.” He said, and before you could say any more, there was a noise at the top of the stairs.

You turn, and your grin widens even more until your cheeks hurt.

“Sherly!” You crow, and he bounds down the stairs to sweep you up in a bear hug. His boisterous laugh made your heart sing, and you buried your nose in his hair. He smelled like cigarette smoke and whiskey. He must have been on a case. He squeezes you tight and sets you down.

“I thought you were coming back in two weeks!” He exclaims, and you roll your eyes,

“So John said, I told you we finished early!” You tease, and it is then that you notice that there is someone else in the flat.

He was tall, probably around your brother’s height. He had blond hair and deep scarlet eyes that studied you with interest. He was dressed in a brown suit with a crimson tie. A lord. That much is obvious.

Sherlock notices that you notice his friend and gestures to the man at the top of the stairs.

“This is Liam! A mathematics professor at Durham University and a friend of mine who helps me on my cases.” He says proudly as “Liam” descends the stairs and approaches you.

You stick out a hand and introduce yourself. His hand is smooth like you expected, as opposed to your calloused one. You had bandages littering your fingertips from blisters from shovels and tools.

“William James Moriarty. I’ve heard stories about you.” His British lilt is proper and endearing. You feel your heart flutter and your ears burn. But you smile warmly nonetheless and give his hand a firm shake.

“As much as I’d like to say the same, Sherly has yet to tell me about you in his letters.” You direct the last sentence to your older brother in the same teasing tone as before.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and punches your shoulder lightly while William watches on in amusement.

“I got distracted!” Sherlock complains, and you break out into giggles.

“I would love to hear some stories if you’re up to it.” William cut in gently before you, and Sherlock could start bickering. You brighten. A chance to tell stories of your work and not have someone get bored? It sounded like heaven!

That was how you got to where you were at the current moment.

You were seated next to Sherlock at the Moriarty dining table, regaling them with a story of the most current dig you had been on.

“—and Egypt was absolutely smashing! It was so beautiful!” You say, waving your hands excitedly as you describe the tomb that had been uncovered. It had taken weeks to uncover everything, almost months. But oh so worth it.

“Might I ask what you did with all the artifacts you found?” William inquires, and you hum as you sip at your wine.

“Donated it all back to the locals. It’s the least I can do. Plenty of archaeologists steal their finds and bring them back to England to show in museums. I try and do the opposite.” You say and were pleased to see William nod in approval.

At least someone shared your sentiment.

You got a letter to your very old and very dusty flat a week after your return to England, summoning you to your eldest brother’s estate. You had been dusting and cleaning your furniture when the postman knocked on your door. You frown, brushing your pants on the seat of your trousers, and answer the door.

The letter was short.

Dearest sister,

I have received news of your return to Egypt. I would like to have your company at the family estate for dinner to discuss business and your adventures.

With best regards,

Mycroft Holmes

A summons to the Holmes family estate that your oldest brother had inherited after your parents retired to the country. You look at the ceiling and groan, eliciting a funny look from the postman.

This was going to be fun.

As soon as Otis realizes where you are, he tosses his head and tries to turn around. You tug the reins so he faces the right direction and nudge him into a walk down the road.

“Otie, I don’t want to do this either. But I’d rather not have Mikey send special forces after us or something.” You say to Otis, and when you reach the stables, Mycroft’s hired stable hand takes your beloved horse’s reins. “Take good care of him!” You nearly reprimand the stable hand who agrees and welcomes you back with ease.

The maids welcome you in excitedly when you rap on the massive double doors, and you are ushered upstairs into the dining room.

Mycroft was seated at the head of the table, where your father would be if he were here, and he stood to greet you. He offers a handshake, but you simply smile warmly and hug him tightly. He may have grated on your nerves, but he was still your brother. Mycroft stiffens and pats your shoulders awkwardly when you step back.

“As awkward as always, I see Mikey.” You said and took a seat at the table next to him like you did when you were kids. He clears his throat and calls for the kitchen staff to bring in the food.

It wasn’t much, considering there were only two of you. But it was as extravagant as Mycroft always demanded it to be.

“Would you like to change into dinner attire before we eat, sister dearest?” Mycroft says suddenly, just as you are about to dig into the delicious roast prepared by the staff of the household. You put your fork down and scowl.

“Don’t start with this, Mikey. You know I hate dresses.” You snap, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push the issue.

At least… he doesn’t until you are done with your meal and in his study, talking about your travels to Egypt.

You down the rest of your whiskey and set the glass whiskey tumbler on the table between you two.

“More whiskey?” He offers, and you shake your head.

“I want to be able to ride home after this.” You say and hold in a yawn. The excellent food combined with the fireplace blazing with a crackling fire is lulling you to sleep.

Suddenly, Mycroft stands and walks in front of the fire, setting his own glass down on the mantle and turning to face you.

“Might we talk some business?” He inquires, and immediately, your mood sours.

So this was his end goal? Get you sleepy and drunk so you couldn’t ride home and were subject to his pleadings?

“I don’t want to hear it, Mikey.” You say and stand, holding onto the back of the wingback chair for a moment as the dizziness sets in.

He scowls,

“You are of perfect age. The season is just starting. You could still join in and find a potential suitor!” He tries, and you scrub at your face.

“I already told you I wasn’t interested in courting! I’m interested in—”

“Your work, I know. But what happens when the digs dry up and there’s nothing else for you to do? What will you do when you get too old for this?!” He snaps, and you whirl, steadying yourself with the chair as your anger flares.

“It won’t dry up! There are thousands of years of history still to be discovered! Hundreds of thousands of cities and archaeological finds!” Your voice rises to a shout, and you hear distant footsteps as maids scurry away from you and your brother’s anger.

This goes on for several minutes until Mycroft a bomb on you.

“Mother and Father have decided. If you don’t find someone to court, they will no longer fund your excavations, and you’ll be stuck here with me.”

You freeze, hands wound tightly in your hair, and argument dying on your tongue.

“B—But that would mean—” Mycroft cuts you off gently and approaches, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“You’d be stuck here until you find a husband—no more digs. No more artifacts. Not until you do as they and I ask.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you shrug off his hands violently and flee.

Your boots pound against the hardwood floors, and you run outside where it has started pouring rain. Instantly, your clothes are soaked as you make it to the stables, dress Otis in his saddle and bridle, and swiftly mount his back. He tears out of the stables at a thundering gallop, and the stable hand barely dives out of the way to save himself from being trampled.

Otis’s hooves dash against the cobblestone roads. You cling to his reins and hunch over his back as tears stream down your face and sobs wrack your body.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking away your funding?

No one wanted to fund a woman on an archaeological dig!

Much less one as young as yourself!

You were screwed! Doomed to live as a housewife because that was society’s and your parent’s expectations of you!

Otis eventually comes to a halt, and you dismount, collapsing onto a bench, breathing hard as rain pours down your body. Your shirt sticks to your skin, and your trousers swim in water as you sit in a puddle on the bench. But you can’t bring it in you to care.

A carriage rumbles to a stop before you, and you look up as the door opens.

“Might I interest you in some shelter?” Comes a proper and endearing accent that you recognize.

“William?” You sniffle, and he smiles, extending a hand.

“If you’ll let him, Fred will handle your horse. How about you step inside the carriage, and we’ll take you back to the Moriarty estate.” He says over the rain. A young man with a blue scarf wrapped around his head gets off the front of the carriage and approaches. You hiccup and nod, handing Otis’s reins to the young man and accepting William’s hand into the carriage. He sheds his overcoat and offers it.

It’s warm and heavy as you wrap it around your shoulders and sit down. Your boots squelch against the floor, and William knocks twice against the carriage's wall, and it starts moving once again.

The Morairty estate is even grander than you remember, looming over you as the carriage stops by the front doors. You nearly slip in your haste to get inside and are taken up the stairs to one of the many bedrooms.

“Draw a bath and get warm. I’ll have some clothes brought by. We can have a talk after you’ve collected yourself.” William says gently, and you nod, taking off his overcoat so he can have it back. He excuses himself, and you are left alone in the suite.

The bath is nice and hot, and you let out a sigh as you shed your clothes into a pile on the floor and sink into the warm water. Your tears are drying, but your emotions are still raging like a rabid dog inside you.

How could they?

Didn’t your family know archaeology was your passion? Your dream?! Of course, they did! You never shut up about it when you were but a little girl learning to play the piano! You babbled on and on about fossils and artifacts in between lessons until you were blue in the face!

It wasn’t long until you were done in the bath and dried off. As William had promised, some clothes were left on the bed. A button-down that looked like it might fit you, a pair of trousers that might be a bit too long, and a pair of undergarments. You tugged on the underwear and then the trousers, having to cuff them at the bottom so you didn’t trip. The shirt fit better than you thought so you pinned your hair out of your face and left the bedroom and down the hall. Hadn’t there been a sitting room just down the stairs?

William was inside, stoking a fire with a poker, his back to you. He stood and turned when you rapped lightly on the entryway. His lips curled in a welcoming smile, and he gestured for you to take a seat.

“Would you like some tea? I had Louis put the kettle on.” He said, and you nodded, sitting on the couch beside the fire.

“Thank you. For the clothes and… everything else.” You mumble, and he shakes his head,

“Don’t mention it. Sherlock mentioned you hated dresses.” He says and pours you a cup of tea.

It’s delicious. It warms you from the tips of your ears to the ends of your bare toes. You scuff them on the plush carpet as William sits across from you. His scarlet eyes are illuminated like glittering rubies in the oranges and yellows of the fire. They’re alive like a torch resides inside.

“Now, might I ask why you were out in the rain?” William asks as soon as you’ve settled into your spot. You bite your lip and wonder if you can trust him with your problems.

Sherlock trusted him well enough…

Perhaps…

“I got into an argument with Mycroft. He said my parents will cut off my funding for excavations if I don’t find a proper husband.” You blurt, and he hums as he takes a sip from his cup.

“I assume they’ve been funding your past archaeological escapades?” He says, and you nod.

“Correct. But that is going to change unless I get married.” You grumble, and he cocks his head to the side, setting his cup down on the tea table next to him and seemingly mulling something over.

“This may be a bit forward, but I have a proposal. A business proposal, if you will.” He starts, and you narrow your eyes. A business proposal? You set your own cup down and cross one leg over the other.

“Go on…” You say hesitantly, and he clasps his hands together as if working out a problem in his head. Sherlock did say he was a mathematics professor.

“I could marry you.” You inhale sharply and proceed to choke on your saliva. William half gets out of his chair to come to your aid when you finally get your coughing under control.

“Why?!” You demand, and he shrugs,

“I’ve done some research into you. You are spearheading the way in new archaeological techniques. You donate your finds back to the locals in need. And frankly, I find you fascinating. If we go ahead with this, you’ll have access to my brother Albert’s influence as well as the Moriarty name and fortune.” He says, and you sit back, stunned.

“I could continue my work?” You say skeptically, and he nods.

“Indeed. There’s no reason to stop you. I might ask for a lecture or two from you at Durham University. But that’s it. So…” He extends a hand for you to shake. “Have we reached an accord?”

You are speechless as possibilities run rampant through your brain. You’d be free from your parent’s influence as well as pleasing them. Though pleasing them was the last thing on your mind. Yes, you’d be married. But like William said… it was more of a business proposal…

You reach forward and shake his hand. His smile widens marginally as you speak,

“I accept your proposal.”

#william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x you #william james moriarty x y/n #moriarty x reader #mtp william #mtp william x reader #ynm william #ynm x reader #mtp x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #fairy writes

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yumeka-sxf · 8 months

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Spy x Family news (and future blog projects)

Woke up to some great SxF news today 💖 Firstly, we finally got a confirmed air date for season 2 (10/7) as well as a new key visual!

The text says: "The next stage is a luxury cruise ship, the voyage of the family with secrets is a sign of big upheaval!?"

Also, completely unexpectedly, a SxF game was announced at today's Nintendo Direct! It will be released next year.

The game looks really adorable! The 3D character models look pretty good too.

You can watch the game trailer here.

Now that we have a confirmed date for season 2, I wanted to announce that I'm going to continue my Twiyor post series for the new episodes 😊 But first, since I know SxF tags on Tumblr will blow up once season 2 begins, I'm going to reblog my Twiyor posts (along with a few others). I'm going to start reblogging about one every few days starting around the end of this month, so by the time season 2 is close to finishing, all 18 will be reblogged and I'll go right into the first new post of the season! (part 19) Although I have a good idea of which chapters season 2 will cover, I don't know exactly which ones, nor what order or how the pacing will be, so to make sure I don't get too ahead with the new posts, I figured it'd be best to start them towards the end of the season.

For all the posts I'm going to reblog during this period, I'll be using the tag "#reblog for season 2 hype" So feel free to block that tag if you're not interested in seeing any reblogs.

With all this plus the movie, there's lots to look forward to for the SxF fandom! 😁

#spy x family #spy family #sxf #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #bond forger #twiyor #sxf merch #sxf anime #spy x anya

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thedreemer-artrequestsopen · 1 month

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The Royal Sisters

} It takes a lot for a Pegasus- especially at the time- to be chosen for such glorious purpose. the sun shines upon the moon, was it purposeful that this Moon was cast in shadow?

Twilight Sparkle link

Pinkie Pie Link!

Just a note from your artist, Kingston!!! I am SO happy and just over the moon about the amount of love my redesigns have been getting!!! Once I finish all the redesigns I can really get the ball rolling on my Infection AU! - like seriously, 70+ notes in only 2 days??? Insane! If you want to continue to support, the MLP and my little pony tags are trending! So PLEASE reblog with tags!

I was in the brony fandom in like the height of its life. Growing up with Dr Wolf and MagPie Pony. And the great Audio Drama’s like Daughter/Bride of Discord, Rememberance, Princess Trixie sparkle…

all of this is to say, this WILL be a Audio Drama! With all art done by me, and voices done by me and a friend! If you would like to help though… we need Spike, Rarity, and any male voices too!

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elvisabutler · 10 months

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who's my princess?

fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: austin butler x older female reader word count: 2169 warnings: jokes about being a sugar baby. heavy use of the nickname princess and baby boy. praise kink. faint d/s elements but not quite, you'll see in the fic. oral ( female receiving, attempted male receiving. ). public sex acts. no use of y/n. author’s note: welcome to day 4 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, praise kink with austin butler x older female reader. so here's the thing with this fic, i have been struggling to write it— and austin in general for the past week/two weeksa. to the point where i actually skipped ahead to rooster x reader titty fucking that i already posted on another account. i'll post it here once i finish my austin degradation kink day, promise. anyway what i ended up finally settling on with this fic was doing austin with an older female reader. you can read how much older however you like or if you want could ignore my reference to it being an older female reader. it also erred more toward plus size but can still be read a little more explicitly as not plus size. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this fic even if it's a lil more niche for the fandom. as always, i do enjoy your comments and reblogs and tags and they are my writing life blood to be quite honest. there was also three different versions of this moodboard and i am still not sure i'm in love with this one. also i'm not completely back from my impromptu vacation but i wanted to post this before i tossed it in a fire or something.

"They think you're my sugar baby, you know," you murmur against the shell of Austin's ear, watching as his jaw muscle tenses just so at the implication.

His eyes slide across the room, taking in the looks people are giving the two of you. It's not that he isn't used to the looks, the slight judgment that people pass when they think he's merely just a kept boytoy but this time it hits different. For Vanessa, as much as he loved her and as much as he supposes she loved him there was always quite a kernel of truth there. It rubbed him the wrong way some days but at the same time it allowed him to slowly prove his acting chops without necessarily worrying about if he'd have a place to stay if things went horrendously wrong. But for you? For his gorgeous girlfriend? Oh, he wasn't a boytoy in the slightest. Sure, you could have made it so he was a kept man again. You could have allowed him to live in the lap of luxury and only come up for projects that were artsy and true cinema that he could sink his teeth into. No, instead he told himself he'd treat you, he'd make sure you were taken care of by him. You were older, you didn't need a partner to spoil you and cater to your every want and need. You didn't need these things but he was determined to give them to you. After all what sort of romantic partner would he be if he didn't spoil the love of his life.

"Hm," he hums softly, turning his head just enough to look you in the eyes. "Of course. They know I'm younger than you. They think I found another sugar mama to support me. If only they knew. Think they'd believe us if we told them?"

There's something so inviting and enrapturing about Austin's gaze that has you shivering just ever so slightly in delight and arousal. "About what?"

It's a dangerous game you're playing, teasing him like this but you can't help it. You want to rile Austin up in the same way he has with you on so many occasions. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he bites his lower one. "Is my Princess playing dumb? Is she trying to be coy? Tease me?"

You smile softly and shrug, attempting to look as innocent as can be, "maybe. What are you going to do about it, baby?"

"Baby?" Austin moves to pull turn you around and pulls you closer to him, his hands settling on your plush hips and squeezing. "I think there's only one baby here, and it's not me, Princess. You don't have to tease to get what you want, you know that. My good girl knows that."

A shaky inhale is your only response for a moment as Austin smirks, his eyes dancing with a certain mixture of arousal and amusement that he only gets when he looks at you. Things between you are always a little playful, the joys of being old enough to not care about what other people think of you but it's still a delight to see after failed relationships before him. Maybe that's why you hadn't had a relationship that lasted this long before him. Maybe the universe was just having you wait for him. It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts even as you feel your arousal slowly dripping from your vagina, slowly dampening the underwear you're wearing.

"Your good girl does, but maybe I want to be bad today. Maybe I want you to show me and everyone else how desperate you always are for me," you practically purr out the last words and Austin's grip tightens just that little bit more as he moves one hand down to your behind and squeezes partially as a warning and partially as a promise.

"How desperate I am for you? How drenched are your panties? Would they stick to that pretty little pussy of yours? That pussy that was made for my cock? The one that could never be satisfied by any other cocks before mine?" His words are quiet but so deadly that you can't help the whine that leaves you even as your hand moves to cup the front of his slacks. You're in public but between the two of you, you're making your way to an empty corner with no one the wiser about what's happening. It should be mortifying the way Austin has you acting like a teenager and yet you remember that you're doing the same for him. You're both acting as if you don't have a care in the world, as if Austin and you both aren't at least partially in the public eye.

The thing is in this moment it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because all anyone is going to see is you and him having your hands all over each other because you're so in love and practically obsessed with one another that you're both needy. Even if the way you're needy is subtly different between the two of you.

"Somewhere private." The words tumble out of your mouth when you finally make it to that corner and realize that your hand is trying to undo his slacks and his hand is trying to lift of your dress as if no one would be watching. Austin looks at you with blown pupils and huffs out a breath of air from his nose before he nods, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the room and into regrettably the nearest closet he can find.

You start to drop to your knees, thinking this has to be something quick between the two of you, a quick blowjob that'll ruin your panties that he'll steal and put in his pocket for the rest of the night until you can get home. Except Austin's grip on your arm stops you, pulls you back up into a standing position even as your eyebrow arches upward in a simple unspoken question.

"I didn't ask for you to suck my dick, Princess," he murmurs, leaning over you just enough that he practically pins you to the door. "You want to be good for me, don't you? Make up for how bad you just were?"

In another time and place you'd maybe be embarrassed about how quickly you nod. In another time before Austin you'd have scoffed and shook your head. As it is all you want is to hear Austin tell you how good you are with those plush lips of his. All you want to feel his lips upon your skin, sucking hickies on it, his teeth biting your skin and leaving small indentations. You merely want all of Austin in this moment. "What—what do you want then?"

A simple question and a request for direction. You can't be his good girl, his bestest girl, his flawless girl without direction. You might be accidentally bad.

His hand moves to cup your chin and pulls you in for a featherlight kiss before moving down to your neck kissing there. You don't realize what's happening until you feel his hands cup your breasts as he places kisses along the tops of them exposed by your dress. You see his body starting to inch closer and closer down to the floor as he trails kisses down your body, setting every inch of your skin they touch ablaze with a fire that burns starting from your aching vagina. It clenches around nothing, wanting something— anything— near it and being deprived even as his lips are so close to it that he could tongue you through the fabric of your dress.

"Aus—" you start to whisper his name only to be cut off with a shaky exhale as you feel his fingertips against your calves and against your knees. You feel his fingers press into your plush thighs and bite your lip to stop yourself from whining only to have Austin remove his hands from them. "What—"

"Good girls are loud for their boyfriends. For their baby boys," he smirks and you can tell even in the low light of the closet. Any other time and you might lightly tap his face to smack it off of him but right now it has your thighs clenching together and him laughing. "You're my good girl, aren't you, Princess? My goddess of a woman. The cougar who sunk her teeth into me? I just want to hear you. I want everyone to know that I'm bringing you such immense pleasure with my tongue that you can't help but scream."

You are about to say something before Austin's head is under your dress faster than the words can come out. They're quickly forgotten in the haze and loud groan that leaves your lipstick covered lips as his fingers— those long fingers you've sucked and nipped at before— find themselves buried in your pussy. Austin plays you like a musical instrument, earning sighs and whimpers and every noise in between to form a symphony that bounces off the walls of the closet. You feel your orgasm starting to inch closer and closer before he pulls out his fingers and you keen loud enough that you hear people on the other side of the door wondering what's going on.

Austin chuckles and if you could see his eyes you're certain you would see them blown with arousal but still somehow sparkling with pure mirth. His laughter is a warm gust of air against your thigh but somehow a cool balm against your dripping cunt. Your thighs are sticky with arousal but not release and you almost want to cry before you feel Austin's breath focusing closer and closer to where you want it. "It's like a fountain down here."

The words are said with a bit of awe before he continues, "this all for me pretty girl? All for me, ma'am? If breathe just right can I get another drop?" He teases even as he lets out the smallest puff of air against your clit. "Oh. I can. So responsive. Such a good responsive woman. Couldn't ask for anyone better to be on my arm and in my bed. Maybe I should marry you. Keep you all to myself."

"Austin, please." You plea as your hands move to his hair, ruining whatever hairstyle his stylist had crafted in one fell swoop of your hands clenching at the strands.

"What my Princess wants, my princess gets," he jokes before his tongue finds its way to your throbbing clit.

The noises between your legs sound obscene with his tongue and chin and everything sliding against the arousal between your legs. He eats you out like a starving man, one of his hands moving to curl inside you as his mouth sucks your clt. It's too much and too little all at once. Your thighs tighten around his head as your hands tighten in his hair and you hear Austin moan as he shifts just enough to have his cock press against your calf. He's in control but at the same time so are you. You're making him so desperate he needs to hump your leg to get relief and he has your cunt spasming even though you haven't come just yet. You're sure you're saying words or perhaps it's just gibberish as Austin's fingers curl just so, pressing against that spot that has the coil in your lower abdomen wounding tighter and tighter. His thrusts against your legs are becoming more stuttered and your hands yank at his hair to try and pull him away so you don't come all over his face only to have him use his one free hand to grab your ass and force you grind down on his face. Somehow the brush of his nose against your clit and the way his tongue moves just so in tandem with his fingers against that spot of yours has you shouting his name even as you try and muffle it just a little. Your body shakes with aftershocks, thighs twitching against his head and lower stomach feeling like it's pulsating from the intensity. It takes both of you far longer than you'd like to admit to catch your breath and even as you do, Austin looks every bit as wrecked as you do before he opens his mouth.

"Think they still think I'm just your sugar baby?" The joke comes easily and with a soft smile. "Because that was some loud screaming, Princess. I was proud of you for it."

You can't help but look off to the side in embarrassment before you feel Austin's hand on your chin, forcing you to look at him. You swear you smell your own scent on his hand and you can't help but lick your lips. "Maybe, but I don't— Let them. Because it doesn't change that I'm your good girl, does it?"

"Never."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @slowsweetlove, @kxnnxy, @meetmeatyourworst, @purejasmine, @stylespresleyhearted, @powerofelvis, @amydarcimarie, @thegettingbyp2, @austinswhitewolf, @richardslady121 and @mrs-butler

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler fanfic #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #ally's wet hot smut summer #ally writes

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fishedeyelenz · 2 months

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ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE BLACK CHRISTMAS FANDOM

Hello everyone who's been following my writing and art and OC's!! Your support has warmed my heart, and got me through some thought times. Thank you very much for sticking by me, commenting, sending me kudos and asks regarding Dilf Billy and my oc-verse I made around him!

However... I have come to realize I have made Billy, at least the older 45-50 year old version of him my own. Very much my own. I think there's a discrepancy between my characterization of him, and how he is portrayed in the movie/novel/commentary. Another thing is that I love him too much. I want to make him my own, not an interpretation of a pre-existing character...

So that's exactly what I am going to do! I'm taking him and making him an OC. Currently I am in the process if changing up his backstory to make him distinct from Billy Lenz, though the Dilf version we see in Rats in the shadows and partially in So give me coffee and tv will stay similar.

My goal is to create a group of ocs consisting of the character formerly known as Billy, Camille, Bean and other side characters who will exist in a story about an ex serial killer father. I'm still early in the rework, but I feel like I don't have change too much.

What this means I will effectively be distancing myself at least partially from the Black Christmas fandom, at least in terms of my content creation though these past few months I have been in a rut given college preoccupying most of my time. I still love Black Christmas, it will remain one of my favorite movies forever. I cherish the friends I made and the experiences I had, but I want to move on to more original creations, uninhibited by primary existing source materials.

I will still interact with fan works in terms of reblogging art and writing , and I will most likely draw more of Billy Lenz and the other characters from the movie in the future. Anything regarding Camille, Bean, "dilf Billy" though, will be something divorced from Black Christmas, entirely its own thing, though obviously inspired by it.

Will I return to writing for Black Christmas? At this point I am uncertain. I have a WIP of a priest!au thing for Dilf Billy, which if I ever get around to finishing I would post under the pretense that it's a Black Christmas fanwork. However, I am not sure if I will finish it, given that I don't really have the time, and at the moment motivation to really work on it. Another story idea exists too, one which would better fit into the Black Christmas ethos with is very dark tone and heavy subject matter (while still remaining a smut work) which I would gladly have exist as a fanwork.... But once again I am lacking the time and want to do it. It would be a very big project, all things considered.

So what now? I will keep all my Billy Lenz/Dilf Billy content up on my blog, my AO3 will stay intact (though I will forward this announcement onto there), and I won't change my tags on Dilf Billy related posts. Moving forward, though, everything created for my oc inspired by Billy Lenz/Dilf Billy Lenz will be tagged as that. I need to come up with a new name for him first...

I will also make a post regarding how the plot of Rits/Sgmcatv would have went if I'd finished them, to give you guys some sort of conclusion. Though the new oc story with Bean, Camille and the new Billy oc in it will very closely follow Rits original storyline. Most of the events of Rits are canon still in regards to Camille's and Bean's backstory, with of course some caveats (no Brahms, Camille and "Billy" meet differently etc.). But the large majority of the plot points and story beats are the same.

I will be happy to answer any further questions, as my inbox is open. I'm sorry to disappoint anyone, but I've felt the need to move on, to elevate this story. I hope I can be forgiven. Now I bid farewell to this part of my life and creative era, and look forward to the new.

#billy lenz #dilf billy lenz #oc: camille #oc: bean #black christmas #my art #my writting #agnes lenz #oc: lily #not a goodbye #but things are changing

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bloodsbane · 7 days

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So, hey! I have a little Dunmeshi Server!

[Before I go on, please DO NOT reblog this post. It's mainly intended to be for those following my blog. I'm putting this in the fandom tags ONCE so others can see, but I don't want it continually spreading. Thanks!]

I made a small discord server to enjoy watching along with the Dungeon Meshi anime with others! While the server is intended to be safe for anime-onlys and people who haven't finished the manga (it has roles that will keep you out of spoiler-heavy channels), it's also intended to be a space for fans who have finished reading the whole story.

This server is NOT open to the public; while I'm interested in having more people join, it's not my desire to host a server for a huge number of members.

For that reason, there are a couple of rules if you're interesting in joining, which you can read below!

I'll be brief!

You must be 21+ to join! This server has Mature/NSFW channels and I'm only comfortable hosting for adults.

There are no vent or discourse channels. I'm NOT interested in allowing a bunch of fandom drama, complaining, gossip, etc., to ruin the vibes. On that note, there's also no tolerance for callout posts or encouragement to target/harass anyone for any reason.

If you want to join, send me an ask off anon. I WILL NOT BE ACCEPTING EVERYONE WHO ASKS, and I won't be replying to those I don't take, so please keep that in mind (and don't send a follow-up asking why). When you send the ask, add a % so I know you read the rules.

That's all! No matter what, I hope everyone is having a great time with Dungeon Meshi~

#banebabbles #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #banes dm server

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obitohno · 2 years

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his redemption | 01

bakugo katsuki x reader

synopsis ⤸

after unknowingly moving in next door to a renown gang-leader, you are thrust into a foreign world tainted by the scars of his past. will you be able to help him redeem his sins before they finally catch up to him?

chapters ⤸

៚ contents

next ᝰ

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, gang au, gang-leader! bakugo, doctor! reader, dark fic, one night stands, friends with benefits, unrequited feelings, mutual pining, smut, graphic depictions of violence, kidnappings, mentions of blood, dubcon

word count ⤸

5.1k

a/n ⤸

this is yet another story that originated for a different fandom, but i love this story so much, n i really want to finish it one day, so i’ve decided to rework it for bakugo. pls note that this’ll be on the darker side, so pls check the tags before you read (i’ll be updating them as i write). pls, pls let me know what you think!

reblogs are appreciated ~

one:

bakugo katsuki is no stranger to women, much to your dismay.

this is a fact that you learn just a few days after moving into your new apartment block. on the first morning of your arrival, you’d exchanged introductions with the rest of your neighbours, only the angry red eyed man with the blonde ‘fro—as new neighbour denki had described him—hadn’t answered your polite knock, despite the fact that the man’s apartment is situated just a wall away from your own. you’d left with the promise to return the next day.

come the second morning, and you had been so sure that you’d seen a man of denki’s exact description, standing out on the shared balcony, a cigarette in hand. however, by the time you’d made your way down the hall and stepped out onto the concrete, said figure had disappeared from sight, and once again, there was no answer at number 34.

by the end of the third day, you were beginning to wonder if he existed at all.

however, by nightfall, you are made all too aware of his presence.

after yet another tiresome day of unpacking your belongings, you’d been rudely awoken by the sound of loud, chaotic laughter in the early hours of the morning. at first, you had thought that you’d imagined it, considering the apartment next door had been seemingly vacant since the day you’d moved in. but when you hear the noise again, followed by the sound of a low, gruff voice—a man’s voice, you realise—you can only heave a heavy sigh. you try to give them the benefit of the doubt, hoping that they’ll be quick to go to sleep, only for your hopes to diminish into thin air when you then hear a breathy moan.

the man’s voice follows, evidently deeper than his female company, and in turn, you roll over in bed, holding the plush cotton of your pillow over your head. you aren’t sure what time it is, but you suspect that you have just a few hours to get some rest before you have to be up for work.

however, despite your prayers—and much to both your annoyance and horror—the red eyed man with the blonde ‘fro proceeds to keep you awake until six o’clock in the morning. when you are then forced to haul yourself from the comfort of your bed, it is with an exhausted sigh, your eyelids drooping heavily. rubbing a finger under your eyes, you go about your morning routine, readying yourself to start the day with a much needed cup of coffee.

exactly forty-seven minutes later, you are leaving the apartment, pausing to ensure that the door is locked tight behind you. but just as you step out into the hall, the door to number 34 quietly creaks open.

you glance up to see a scarcely dressed woman exiting the apartment, attempting to tip-toe into the hallway as she swings the door shut. light brown hair messily dragged into a bun, she carries her heels in one hand, purse in the other, her clothes haphazard as if she’d rushed to get dressed. she wears a scowl that matches your own, and you conclude that the brunette has indeed become the victim of a rude awakening. you watch her, a brow rising as she then turns and lets out an admirably high-pitched shriek at the sight of you stood before her, arms crossed over your chest.

‘o-oh god,’ she all but exclaims. ‘you sure scared the crap out of me, lady!’

you don’t bother to apologise.

you eye the woman with a look of disapproval, your head tilting to the left at the sound of the door to number 34 swinging open once again.

denki had been right, you think to yourself as you take in the wild mess of blonde hair that hangs across his forehead, tousled and unkempt. and his eyes are a strikingly angry shade of crimson, you’re surprised to see that that fact is also true, your own boring into where there’s a scar that cuts through his left brow. he’s tall. much taller than you’d imagined, clad in what you guess to be a makeshift set of pyjamas—a loose tank-top and a pair of jogging bottoms, the waistband hanging dangerously low on his hips.

you blink up at him, immediately tensing as you realise that he’s caught you staring, those scarlet coloured orbs focused on you. awkwardly clearing your throat, you attempt to save face by taking a small step forward, thrusting your hand in front of his face.

‘h-hi,’ you grimace at how your voice stutters. clearing your throat, you offer your name before forcing a small, but polite, smile, ‘i just moved in next—’

‘i know.’

he completely ignores the brunette as if she’s not stood right before him, and this only causes her scowl to deepen.

your outstretched hand falls to your side, quickly realising that he’s not going to return the handshake. ‘oh... well i tried to—’

‘i know,’ he interrupts again, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. the movement has the lines of his biceps tensing, and you belatedly chide yourself for allowing your eyes to dart to the offending muscle, glaring at his skin. the man looks at you, expression bored, ‘heard you knockin’.’

‘oh,’ involuntarily, your shoulders slump, before your brows pinch together, barely concealing your annoyance. you fail to do so, it seems, as the man before you makes a little noise at the back of his throat before the reds of his eyes languidly drag down the length of your body, before trickling upwards. you grip your handbag a little tighter, teeth clenching together. ‘well, as i said, i’m—’

‘new neighbour,’ he cuts you off once more, voice now lilting upon a tone of amusement when you don’t bother to mask the glare that now mars your features, ‘i know.’ and then, to your surprise, he leans forward, offering his hand. ‘bakugo,’ is all he says as you reluctantly accept his handshake. his hand is warm, his grip burning into your skin, the length of his fingers much longer than your own. you almost relish the touch of his palm until you remember just what he had been doing that had kept you awake all night, and instead, you all but snatch your hand away.

‘and i’m camie,’ the brunette snaps from your right.

bakugo’s eyes flicker to glance at her, somehow appearing to have completely forgotten that she’s been stood beside you. expression bored, he hums, ‘camie? thought your name was—?’

‘wow,’ it is you who interrupts him this time.

camie scoffs loudly. she almost looks as if she wants to cry and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for her, glaring at him on behalf of the other woman, who—without saying another word—rushes down the hallway as best she can without shoes on. you gawk after her, wincing when the main door slams shut, listening as the noise ricochets down the hall, an echo following in its wake.

‘tsk,’ bakugo tuts, as if disapproving of the noise. a frown is pulling at the space between his brows when you look at him, his eyes darting to bore into yours, his expression lacking any form of remorse.

you stare back, incredulous. and because you simply can’t help yourself, you sneer, ‘is that how you treat all women?’

bakugo doesn’t appear to appreciate your curt tone, his spine straightening until he’s standing a little taller, gaze sterner.

‘she got what she came for.’

as if you could forget the way that he'd kept you awake all night. your frown deepens, ‘i’m sure.’

he looks as if he doesn’t know how to reply. or maybe his unnerving silence is purposely aimed your way because you’ve managed to hit a nerve. you’re not sure.

but once you check the time on your watch, you realise that you have just twenty minutes to make your way to work. ‘shit,’ you curse softly, rushing to turn away without another look in his direction. yet when your hand curls around the handle of the entrance door, he calls out to you again.

‘see you ‘round,’ he says lowly. your neck cranes to glance at him from over your shoulder, fighting back the urge to shudder once you catch sight of the scowl he aims at you. within the blink of an eye, he’s smirking, the whites of his teeth gleaming as the corners of his mouth stretch. unnerved, you stumble enough to lose your footing, just managing to catch your balance on the doorframe. bakugo’s eyes squint down at you, ‘you be careful there,’ he mocks, waving a hand, ‘... neighbour.’

you all but run out of the apartment block, exhaling with relief once the door slams shut.

and all the way to work, you dawdle.

the introduction to your new neighbour wasn’t what you’d planned at all. you’d hoped that the two of you would exchange pleasantries, maybe occasionally share cups of sugar, if needed. but after just one meeting, you already regret being so eager to meet him.

and new neighbour denki certainly hadn’t warned you about how annoying the red eyed man is. how rude he is.

how frustratingly hot he is.

as soon as that thought enters your head, you shake it free.

you remain lost in thought until the moment you reach the clinic, almost walking face-first into the glass door. huffing down your embarrassment, you hope that no one notices the way that you stumble your way through the reception and towards your office, barely remembering to breathe a morning greeting to ochaco, who waits for you at the front desk.

the dark-haired woman scuttles after you, closing the office door as you busy yourself with discarding your coat and bag onto the two seater couch before heavily slumping in the chair at your desk. ochaco places a file onto the desk, offering an apologetic look as she watches the way that you warily eye the folder.

‘he’s new,’ she tells you, soft spoken and smiling sweetly when you glance up at her. ‘he signed up last—’

she’s interrupted by the sound of the door flying open so violently that it roughly smacks back onto the wall behind. mina bounds into the room, clapping her hands excitedly, beaming. she wraps a strong arm around ochaco’s shoulder—who squeaks with surprise when she almost topples over—and squeezes. ‘did you tell her? did you, did you?’

ochaco points at the file on the desk, ‘i was just—’

‘oh my god!’ mina exclaims, interrupting. ‘you have got to see this new patient—i begged nemuri to let me have him, but she said some shit about professionalism—that stone-faced bitch. i mean, how the hell am i not professional?’

you stifle a laugh, leaning back in your chair.

mina’s hands are snatching up the file before you can take a peek. ‘god,’ she groans, dropping the file back down so that it smacks against the surface of the desk. ‘it’s so unfair.’

‘i’m sure,’ you hum, ochaco giggling behind her hand.

‘just wait until you see him. i can’t believe nemuri is letting you have him.’

you let the comment slide, reaching for the file and flicking the first page open. but as soon as your eyes fixate onto the photograph that is paper clipped to the information sheet, you bolt upright, slack jawed.

mina calls your name, frowning at your reaction, and when you don’t reply, her grown deepens. ‘okay, i know he’s hot but—’

‘i know him,’ you snap at her, glowering.

‘you do?’ mina asks, dubious.

you drop the file to the desk, head in your hands as you groan loudly, ‘he’s my new neighbour. i met him this morning.’

the curl of mina’s grin is now mischievous, ‘oh?’

you grimace, ‘don’t look at me like that. he’s not hot at all. he’s such a... a... whore.’ ochaco’s eyes widen at the insult, cheeks red. you elaborate, jabbing your index finger at the file, ‘i bumped into his one night stand this morning... he didn’t even remember her name. asshole.’

mina snorts, ‘just your type then,’ she laughs at your annoyed expression, ochaco’s one of concern.

‘i can’t believe this,’ you groan again, head tilted back as you peer up at the ceiling. this is just your luck. of all people, of course it had to be you to be assigned as his doctor.

‘maybe you could ask nemuri if someone else—’ ochaco starts, words dying on the tip of her tongue at the sound of mina clearing her throat. the brunette woman swallows, stuttering as she corrects, ‘o-or maybe you could recommend that mina—?’

‘yes,’ the pinkette cuts her off, hand forming a fist as she grins, eyes gleaming with glee, ‘this is perfect.’

you lift your head to look at her, bewildered, ‘it is?’

‘uh, duh?’ mina looks at you as if you’ve suddenly sprouted a second head. ‘i get him as free eye candy, and you get to fuck him without getting into trouble. you know, conflict of interest and all that crap.’

‘i’m not going to f—’ you clear your throat at the poor choice of wording, ‘i’m not going to sleep with him, mina.’

she almost looks offended, ‘come on. he’s hot. and he lives next door, so you know, no walks of shame.’

you run a hand over your face, ‘sometimes, i honestly... really question why we’re friends.’

ochaco titters at this and mina pretends to have not heard you.

‘i’ll ask nemuri if i can hand him over,’ you relent. ‘if you want to deal with him, then be my guest. rather you than me.’

mina completely ignores the bitter bite to your tone, sighing dreamily as she stares down at the folder, the first page flipped open to show his picture. the three of you peer down at the photograph with mixed expressions of curiosity and distaste.

‘he’s not bad looking,’ ochaco offers.

you huff, ‘don’t encourage her. please.’

her smile is gentle, ‘i just think it wouldn’t be too bad if you... had some fun.’

‘see?’ mina’s arm is wrapped around poor ochaco’s shoulders once more, ‘she gets it.’

‘okay, i’m not listening anymore,’ you stand from your seat, shutting the folder with a flick of your hand and then ushering your friends to the door, ignoring mina’s exaggerated protests. you gently push them out of the office, pausing to grab at the white lab coat from the stand by the door. ‘i’m not sleeping with him and i don’t need to have fun—don’t give me that look, ochaco, you’re just as bad as—’

‘ladies,’ the three of you look to the left to see your senior practitioner standing with a scowl slanting across her forehead, heeled foot tapping against the linoleum flooring. ‘we must not be busy enough if you have time to be chit-chatting in my clinic.’

mina’s lips purse. it is no secret that both she and nemuri have a love-hate relationship, their constant bickering often subject to many jokes shared amongst the staff body. nemuri’s temper, matched with mina’s childish stubbornness is no fight that any of them particularly enjoy witnessing, especially after the time nemuri swung for mina’s head when cleaner-boy-turned-prankster sero had convinced the pinkette to jokingly lace nemuri’s alcohol with laxatives during an after-work party. luckily, she hadn’t consumed the liquid, but she had been angry enough to leave a mark on mina’s cheek for a week afterwards.

you, on the other hand, as well as ochaco, much prefer to remain on nemuri’s good side. the woman does sign off your pay-checks, after all.

‘actually,’ you start, faltering when narrowed sky-blue eyes glide over to you, unimpressed by your attire. heeding the unspoken warning, you quickly swing the lab coat over your shoulders, shoving your arms through the respective holes. the palms of your hands are flattening down the fabric as you dare to ask, ‘could i have a word?’

nemuri eyes you, a dark brow quirking upwards.

‘please?’ you urge.

nemuri glances at the other two women who stand behind you, and whilst you can’t see their expressions, you can already picture the annoyance on mina’s face. ‘do you not have work to do, ashido?’ nemuri barks, and ochaco is already shuffling away before the older woman’s anger can be aimed at her.

smart.

you hear mina click her tongue, but she doesn’t argue back, and you listen to the clacking of her heels until they quieten behind the slam of a door. nemuri’s gaze lingers on you for a second longer, and then she’s turning away, leading the way to her office. once inside, nemuri takes a seat behind her desk, the woodwork cluttered with paperwork. she points a manicured fingertip at the chair opposite, and without question, you follow the instruction. lowered into the comfortable seat, you wait for the older woman’s attention to focus on you, watching as she searches the pockets of her own lab coat. when she can’t find what she’s looking for, she grumbles under her breath, quickly giving up.

settling back in her chair, her stare fixates onto you.

‘now,’ she drawls, teeth bared as she smiles. ‘what can i do for my favourite student?’

๑

it is dark when you arrive home, soaked through from the rain that had poured from the heavens when you were just minutes away from your apartment building.

you’re not sure of the time, but you suspect that it’s well past midnight, kicking your sodden shoes off at the door, barely remembering to shove the key through the lock. dumping your purse on the small dining table, you shrug off your coat, shoving the damp material into the washing machine, along with your stockings. a trail of water follows you to the bathroom, your fingers snatching a clean towel from the radiator. however, you don’t get the chance to dry your hair, as a loud knocking at the front door has your spine stiffening.

exhaustion has you debating on ignoring whoever is at the door, but when they knock again, the loud thumping is now desperate and repetitive.

‘alright, alright!’

you’re unlocking the front door, yanking it open, ready to reprimand the visitor for making such a racket. but as you pull open the door—only for a heavy weight to suddenly slump against you, enticing a winded oof! from your lips—the words die on the tip of your tongue.

‘what the—?’

staggering under the extra weight, you struggle to remain upright. recognising the flash of blonde hair that tickles your cheek, you heave the man up into a standing position.

‘bakugo? what on earth are you—?’

he grasps at your arms, using your shoulder to balance himself as he hauls his body to lean against the doorframe with a strained wheeze. his face is unhealthily pale and you notice the beads of sweat that have collected upon his forehead, threatening to trickle down the curve of his cheek. heavily lidded eyes blink down at you and his voice rasps as he says, ‘need help.’

you see it then; how he’s clutching at his ribs, his body trembling as the length of his spine presses against the doorframe. your eyes widen at the startling amount of blood that soaks a crimson stain through the fabric of his light-coloured t-shirt, the thick liquid smeared along the bumps of his swollen knuckles. your rain-soaked skin is forgotten, the towel closing over the back of his hand, adding pressure.

‘w-what happened?’

‘you. you’re... a doctor... ain’t you?’ his eyes are squeezed shut, his breath wetly rattling from between his lips, the lower one split.

you stare at him, ‘how do you—?’

‘help me,’ bakugo hisses, gaze smouldering as he grunts in pain when you press harder. ‘please,’ he adds reluctantly, the word forced out between gritted teeth.

pausing to kick the door shut, you guide him into your small apartment, carefully supporting his weight as you walk him toward the bedroom, lowering him to the mattress as gently as you can. he strains out a groan of pain, eyes screwing shut, and you easily forget any form of annoyance that you’d harboured towards him, grimacing as you gently nudge his hand out of the way to peel his shirt back.

unsurprisingly, the wound is fresh, deep enough that it’s still weeping, but not so deep that you can see fat. it’s a relief and you allow the emotion to sag your shoulders, a breath escaping you. you slide the towel over his skin once more, pressing hard.

‘keep pressure on it,’ you order. fingers shaking, he does as you say, clamping down onto the towel that has already begun to morph into a brilliant shade of red. the sight is a concern, and you rush to grab the first-aid kit from the bathroom before returning to kneel beside him, pausing to look over his prone form. he appears to have formed a fever, so you decide on opening the window, allowing a trickle of cool air to flow into the room, chilled by the rain outside.

suppressing a shudder, you hope that it’s enough to ease his fever, your hand moving his aside to check the wound once more. it’s a few inches long, the cut clean. you can sew him up—you’re more than skilled enough to do so—but you’d much rather him be checked out at a hospital. you voice this opinion to him, only to be shut down almost immediately.

‘no,’ he manages to gasp around a tense moan. ‘no hospital.’

‘but—’

‘i said,’ he hisses, head raising from the mattress to glare at you, ‘no fuckin’ hospital.’

you bite back a retort. it’s no use arguing with him, especially when he’s bleeding out onto your brand new bedsheets. ‘fine,’ you relent, tone brash and eyes hard. ‘i need your shirt off.’

he eyes you dubiously, warily.

‘it’ll give me more space to work,’ you clarify. ‘plus, it’ll be much cleaner. it’ll decrease the risk of—’

‘yeah, yeah,’ he grunts, making a move to sit upright, his abdominal muscles tensing. only, he collapses straight back down, quickly followed by a pained wheeze. ‘i-i can’t...’ he suddenly forms a fist, slamming it down on the mattress beneath him with a frustrated curse, ‘fuck!’

your hand closes around his, ‘it’s fine,’ you try to calm him, slightly panicked by his small outburst. you don’t think that he’ll hurt you—or at least, that’s what you hope—but the clenching of his fist and the welling of his darkening orbs has your stomach knotting with nerves. lest you allow it show, though, your expression is forcibly neutral, ‘don’t move. i’ll just use scissors.’

he huffs a noise of disapproval but doesn’t move, so you open up the first-aid box, throwing the lid open so harshly that it almost snaps from the hinges. grabbing the scissors, you make quick work of slicing through his t-shirt, his brows pulling together at the sound of the fabric tearing until you tug it from under his back, throwing it to the ground. he grunts as you accidentally jostle him, but you pay no mind, already reaching for the anti-septic wipes.

‘this is going to sting,’ is the only warning you spare him.

‘just hurry the fuck up,’ he snaps, only for the expanse of his chest to vibrate with a pained growl when you smooth the first wipe over the wound. his hips jerk upwards, head falling back against the bed.

‘hold still,’ you snap, elbow roughly digging into the soft tissue of his hip in order to keep him still. he mumbles something under his breath but you aren’t listening, cleaning his wound with a practiced pace. as you work, you are privy to the sight of the family of scars that litter his torso. there’s one, long and jagged, that traces from his right hipbone to his navel, the edges uneven. you dread to imagine what could have caused it. there are a few smaller scars that encircle his left collarbone, splattered down to his nipple, another large one that expands across his ribs, disappearing as it curves around to his back.

you know that you shouldn’t be staring.

he’s a patient.

but that doesn’t stop you from admiring him. because despite the scars that taint the golden kiss of his tanned skin, and despite the fact that the heat of his blood warms your hands as you work, congealing in a way that makes your nose crinkle, you can’t help but agree with mina.

he really is a sight to admire.

the blood-flow ceased, you ensure that the wound is thoroughly cleaned before proceeding to select a sterile needle, ripping open the packaging with your teeth. squinting with one eye closed, you guide the thread through the loop, shuffling closer on your knees.

‘’kay,’ you breathe. ‘gonna close you up now.’

when you receive no reply, you look up, only to see that the pain has rendered him unconscious. it’s probably for the best, you conclude, pushing the needle through his skin and forming the first stitch. with practiced ease, the stitching is neatly formed in short timing, cleaned and bandaged with careful precision.

after, you pack away the first-aid kit, careful to not wake him when you move from the bed to discard the used wipes and the bloodied needle. in the bathroom, you scrub your hands clean, drying them before returning to the bedroom to gently remove the stained towel from his curled fist. you discard the fabric of his ruined t-shirt into the bin, setting the washing machine to cycle after shoving the towel in to join your coat.

closing the bedroom window and switching the light off, you collapse into the chair by the vanity table. tiredly, you eye his sleeping form, his skin illuminated by the dim light emitted from the lamp in the living room. a thin sheet of sweat coats his forehead, blonde hair now appearing a light brown as it is dampened. his lungs expand and deflate at a slow, but even pace, and you know that he’s out of danger, despite the pool of blood that has crusted the bedsheets. you’ll have to replace them.

for now, exhaustion catches up to you now that your adrenaline has settled, and it only takes seconds for your eyes to droop closed.

๑

it feels as if just minutes have passed when your eyes snap open to the sound of someone swearing loudly.

bleary eyed, you jolt upright, double taking when you remember that you’re not alone. bakugo is now sat up, much to your surprise, however, you aren’t able to get a good look at him when he turns his head towards you.

because there’s now another person in the room.

hair as crimson as the blood that his friend had shed, with the red of his eyes to match, eijiro kirishima looms over his friend. he’s also tall, maybe even taller than the blonde haired man hunched over on your bed, his body equally as fit, biceps bulging as he hooks an arm under bakugo’s armpit, yanking him to his feet as if he weighs nothing.

you are on your feet in seconds, hands reaching with the intention to push the man with the blonde ‘fro back to the mattress. but before your fingertips can even touch him, kirishima is unkindly shoving you backwards, glowering as he gives you a once-over, jaw ticking.

‘move it, lady.’

‘he’s in no fit state to move,’ you protest.

kirishima barks out a laugh, easily balancing bakugo on one arm as he rudely jabs his index finger in your face. ‘trust me, he’s had worse.’ he waves his hand, indicating that you move, ‘now be a sweetheart and move over, i need to get him outta here.’

you stare up at him, eyes narrowing as his frame towering over yours as he takes a threatening step closer.

‘listen, lady,’ he seethes. ‘soon, this place’ll be swarmin’ and i need’ta get him outta here before they get here. he can’t fight like this.’ bakugo makes a noise, appearing on the brink of unconsciousness once more, head lolling against kirishima’s shoulder. you aren’t even sure how the redhead managed to break into your apartment in the first place, but you don’t need to question the mild panic that he allows to pass over his features, clearly concerned for his friend. he doesn’t wait for your reply, barging past as he hauls bakugo from the bedroom.

you follow after them, protesting.

‘you could re-open his wound!’

kirishima uses his spare hand to pull the front door open, ‘like i said, he’s had worse.’ he makes to pull his friend out of the apartment, but you halt him with a hand on his clothed shoulder.

‘w-wait!’

much to your relief, he does, watching as you disappear into the kitchen, noisily fumbling around in one of the cupboards. on rushed feet, you return, pressing a bottle of pain-killers into the palm of his hand. ‘at least make sure he takes these. they’ll help him,’ you plead. kirishima eyes you, expressionless eyes critical as he silently regards you. you’re not sure what he’s looking for, but he seems to approve, nodding once as he shoves the pills into the back pocket of his jeans.

just as kirishima is hauling him over the threshold, bakugo manages to lift his head, eyes barely open as he looks at you.

‘i owe you,’ he’s barely able to exhale, features twisting in pain as he clutches at his bandaged side. and then before you reply, they’re gone, disappearing out of your line of sight as the door to the apartment block closes, announcing their departure.

for a long time after, you stand in the doorway, waiting.

waiting for what, you do not know.

eventually, you lock the door before returning to the bedroom. the apartment is now eerily quiet as you listen to the sound of police sirens shrieking in the distance. slumping back into your chair, you rest your elbows on your thighs, pressing your face into the palms of your hands. you inhale, breath shaking as you wait until the sirens have faded into silence.

the entire encounter feels like a damned dream, but the blood-stained bedsheets are the only evidence of bakugo’s lingering presence.

and with a chest-heaving sigh, you suspect that this won’t be the last you’ll see of him.

#♡ jordy is writing ♡#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #mha bakugou #bakugou #bakugou katsuki

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fairy-writes · 1 year

Note

Hello there 👋

I was wondering if you could write a one-shot for Uta?? Something fluffy w/ a shy/sweet human!reader 😊

Thanks in advance! 💜

DON’T YOU DARE (MAKE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU)

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

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Fandom(s): Tokyo Ghoul

Pairing(s): Uta x Gender Neutral!Human!Reader

Genre(s)/Tag(s):

Notes: Songfic with the song “Don’t You Dare (Make Me Fall in Love with You) by Kaden MacKay

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When Uta first realized he was in love with you, admittedly, he panicked a little.

You were a human. He was a ghoul. It wasn’t a relationship that was supposed to work.

He couldn’t be in love. That was just absurd. He had more exciting things on his plate than love.

Don't you dare make me fall in love with you

Don't you dare enchant me with those eyes

If I fell through your skies,

There's no way you would catch me

There's a tear in my heart,

But your patch wouldn't match me

Uta first met you when he was at Anteiku, and you happened to walk in. It was busy. Most, if not all, of the tables were full, and when you began to approach, he got an idea of what was happening.

“Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” You ask shyly, and he gets the feeling that you’re nervous. Which is understandable with his appearance. He was used to it.

He nods once, and your expression relaxes as you sit down. The tenseness of your shoulders eases, and you pull out a sketchbook and flip to a new page as Touka brings over your drink. You smile at her and whisper a “thank you.”

You sketch in silence until he feels the need to have a conversation. It’s more of a whim, really, the urge to get to know a human to learn if they’re all like the CCG and Doves.

“What are you drawing?” He asks, and you jump. But you turn around and show him nonetheless, and he’s blown away.

It’s rough, with stray lines in some places, but it’s a perfect picture of himself, reclining in the chair and his coffee in hand.

You even got the lettering of his tattoo around his neck right.

The longer he stares, the more fidgety you become.

“Sorry, I can get rid of it if you want. I know it might be rude to draw other people without permission—”

“No, no, it’s beautiful. Thank you for choosing me as a model.” He finds himself saying, and his cold heart flutters when you beam.

You end up gifting him the picture, and after you exchange names, you leave.

He finds your number hastily scrawled at the bottom of the drawing.

Being near you still adds to the size of my sighs,

There's still seismic events at hellos and goodbyes,

And I still need reminders of why it's unwise

To stare

So don't you dare

The longer he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea of you becoming friends. You’re shy, but you’re sweet and a brilliant artist. You would be entertaining, at least.

But he’s likely never to meet you again, so that idea snuffs out like a candle. So he doesn’t text you.

At least until you walk into his shop.

You are admiring one of his masks on display when he enters the room from the back. He had heard the door jingle but wanted to finish some of the final stitching of the current mask he was working on. It was for the new half-ghoul Kaneki Ken. But that was beside the point.

What were you doing here?

Don't you dare make me fall in love with you

Don't you dare do something so cliché

Just get out of my daydreams,

You're an unwelcome guest

And stop making me miss you

'Cause you leaving's for the best

You look up as he comes in, and confusion brightens your eyes.

“Uta?” You ask, and he nods,

“That’s me. Welcome to HySy ArtMask Studio.” He says, more out of habit than anything. You offer him a smile, and he finds his heart trembling at the sight.

What was wrong with him?

“I heard there was a mask studio that could offer a lot of inspiration. I didn’t know you owned it.” You comment as you cradle your sketchbook against your chest. Your pencil is stuck behind your ear, and you’re dressed in a thick knit sweater and trousers. Your boots scuff against the floor.

He finds himself gesturing to the masks.

“Make yourself at home.” He says, genuinely meaning it.

'Cause I just couldn't stand having you as my crutch

You're a simmering stovetop I was tempted to touch

If you ever return, it'll burn me too much

To bear

So don't you dare

After the initial text, you are really the only one keeping up the conversation. Sure, Uta replies, but he keeps a certain amount of distance between you two. Mainly for your safety.

But for whatever reason, you keep coming back.

Your presence becomes a regular in his shop. You come every Friday, right after your university classes. Even though you are his age, if not a year younger, you say you are working toward your bachelor’s degree in—you guessed it—art.

You say you want to open your own shop and sell your artwork.

Much like him.

And I know it's all so shallow, but a shallow cut still stings

And before my heart becomes Amelia's heir, I need to clip its wings

So don't you dare keep mocking me with those

Thousand little things that I adore

Let me ignore you, don't let me care

He tries to ignore you the closer you two become.

For your safety.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

And don't you dare leave me still in love with you

Nothing's fair when love is war