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jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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sotvtaughtmehowtofeel · 2 years ago

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Nothing Bad Here - Part 1

Joel and Ellie return to Jackson, but readjusting to life after being out in the wild for so long isn’t easy. Fix-it fic beginning immediately following the events of “Look for the Light” Note: The Last of Us Part 2 does not happen. Part 2 does not exist for the purposes of this fic.

If you ship Joel x Ellie, keep it away from me/this fic and remember that Joel would fully murder you for it.

Please engage if you enjoy this. Scream about it in the tags (that’s what tags are for). Send me heacdcanons you want to see (I’ll give you credit in the author notes). This show broke me. I’m writing this to preserve my own sanity, let me help you preserve yours.

------------------------ Joel thought about what he’d told Ellie the entire walk down into Jackson. He didn’t regret lying, and he didn’t feel any guilt. He’d been right to lie to her. The Fireflies had lied to her too, let her go into surgery believing she’d wake back up. Their deaths didn’t weigh on his conscience at all. He worried that she’d see through him. She was a smart kid. He didn’t deserve the trust she placed in him, but he didn’t want to lose it. He’d nearly died getting her to that hospital, nearly left her alone out there. She’d been captured because of his weakness. He-He drew in a deep breath, pushing the doubt down. She did trust him. She wouldn’t know. He had been right to lie to her. Ellie didn’t think about what Joel had told her at all. He swore. She’d had time to think about the fact that she wouldn’t be able to help anyone on the walk home. It wasn’t that surprising, really. She’d tried to save Sam and hadn’t been able to. No reason to believe that some fucking doctor would be able to magically turn her blood into a cure. Honestly, it was stupid of her to think she was so fucking special to begin with. Tommy spotted Joel walking Ellie into Jackson from across the green. He waved and motioned for them to come over, frowning curiously at them. Joel waved at him, but put his arm around Ellie protectively and steered her back toward the home they had been staying in. He frowned, turning his back on Tommy. They’d talk later. Joel laid his pack on the kitchen table of the house. Ellie dropped her backpack on the floor, taking off her coat and throwing it over a chair. Joel threw his over the supplies left on the table. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand, turning to Ellie. That town- that fucking town- had been weeks ago. She hadn’t spoken much since then. Something was wrong. He nodded toward the stairs. “Go take a shower. I’ll heat something up for you to eat.” Her mouth quirked into a smile briefly, and she nodded, heading up the stairs. “Take off your shoes!” he called up after her. Her shoes came tumbling down the stairs a few seconds later. “Punk,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a smile. Joel looked around the kitchen, running a hand through his hair. There was one more can of Chef Boyardee in his pack. He fished it out and poured it into a bowl. He glanced up the stairway after Ellie, back at the bowl, then left it on the counter and took the stairs two at a time. The water wasn’t running yet. He knocked on the door. “What?” Ellie called. “You all right?” he called through the door. She snorted a laugh. “Yeah I think I can make it to the shower, Joel.” “All- right,” he said too quietly for her to hear. Of course she was fine. He shook his head, heading back to the stairs. He took one step down but hesitated. He took a step toward his own room. He could sure use a shower too. She was fine. She was safe, and she was fine. He sat down at the top of the stairs, shaking his head. He just sat there. Joel jumped to his feet when the door jostled as Ellie was coming out. Plan was to pretend he’d just been heading down the stairs. Ellie frowned at him, pushing past him to run down the stairs. He sighed and followed her. A pang of guilt hit him when he saw the bowl of ravioli on the table. He’d told her he’d heat it up. He put it in the microwave, leaning against the cabinet next to it. Ellie didn’t seem to notice. She was standing at the window, idly drying her hair with a towel. She didn’t react when the microwave timer went off, or when he moved his coat and pack from the table to place the bowl by the other chair. He had to say her name three times before she responded. She came back to the table, flinging the towel over a chair, and took the fork. She looked at him. “Aren’t you eating?” He had forgotten. He just shook his head, but she took another fork from the drawer and handed it to him, pushing the bowl into the center of the table. They sat down and ate together in silence. Author 2nd note: I saw a post about Episode 6 saying: “love love LOVE how this episode portrayed ellie and joel as a pair of feral cats that got picked up off the street and have a tag on their enclosure at the shelter that says “they are bonded and cannot be adopted separately” – tumblr user weirdgirlcore This text post is the entire premise of the fic.

#I have a bunch more written #but I'm going to post as one-shots #there is an overarching narrative #basically i just want ellie to find some healing in joel #the way he did in her #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou spoilers #kind #joel miller #ellie williams #nothing bad here

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writemyaceattorneys · 4 years ago

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Alrighty, hun. I am here today to request for none other than our beloved himbo, Sherlock. How about a yan scenario where he wakes up from a nightmare (probably about S/O leaving him) and S/O comforts him? Have fun!

Oh absolutely!!! This himbo needs more appreciation in this community!!!!! I will populate the internet with Sherlock Holmes (DGS) fanfiction if I have to, I crave more from this boi.

Spoilers: Dai Gyakuten Saiban (The Great Ace Attorney)

TW: Implied kidnapping, implied threats, obsessive behaviour, nightmares

🔎Sherlock Holmes🔍

“N-no...Don’t go, don’t leave me. Not again. No, no...NO!”

Sherlock woke up with a start, immediately jolting forward as he gripped his hair in his hands and breathed heavily. The last few weeks had been particularly strenuous for Sherlock, the few hours of sleep that he got each night had been plagued with a multitude of nightmares, hours of torment that all followed one single theme.

S/O had left him again, and this time they had left him for good.

The dreams had probably started after S/O’s latest little attempt. It was roughly two months ago and he was so caught up in another case that he didn’t notice that his darling had picked the lock on their bedroom door and was making a break for it until they were already a good three quarters of the way down Crawford Street. That had been the closest that they had been to leaving him in some time and it absolutely terrified him to think that they would be out there without anyone to look out for them.

Normally, Sherlock would force himself to shake this new set of nightmares off and attempt to re-salvage his sleep. However, tonight, he just couldn’t fight that layer of fear that chilled his bones and made his throat tighten up. He found himself pulling the covers off of himself and getting out of bed. If he could just check on S/O, just to make sure that his nightmares were not some horrible vision of events that had truly occurred, then his fears could be temporarily soothed. He found himself sneaking through his flat, careful not to wake Iris up as he walked to S/O’s room. Unlocking it, he was instantly relieved with the sight of S/O who was asleep, completely oblivious to the fact that he was in their room.

Sherlock found himself walking over to their bed to watch them more closely, they looked so peaceful...so carefree to everything, a far cry from their usual nervous expression and flighty disposition. After a few minutes of just observing, Sherlock drew an arm out to gently touch their shoulder, relishing in the feel of their skin under his own, he then slid next to them, wrapping his arms around them tightly and laying his head on top of their own. After about ten minutes of him just holding S/O in his arms, he felt S/O stirring from their own sleep. They immediately seemed to tense up as they realised that something…or someone was currently restricting their movement.

“...Sherlock…? W-what are you doing?” S/O sussurated. At this point they were completely still while Sherlock slowly let go of them and sat up, S/O turned around to face him and was somewhat taken aback by his rather forlorn expression. They quickly sat up themselves and looked at him nervously as he clasped their hands into his own.

“It’s silly really, just a nightmare that I’ve been having, I just wanted to check on you. I didn’t factor in the chance that I might wake you up. I do apologise.” Sherlock rambled while continuing to play with S/O’s hands. S/O let out a short sigh before slowly pulling their hands away from his and moving them towards his shoulders before pulling him into a gentle hug. This time, it was Sherlock’s turn to tense up as he realised what was happening. A shuddered breath escaped his throat as he looked down at S/O who had gently looped their arms around his middle and laid their head against the middle of his chest.

“I-I’m sorry Sherlock..” S/O whispered while rubbing little circles into his back. Sherlock sighed and looked down at them tiredly, leaning into the affection that was being given to him so willingly. “Please don’t leave me, I was so scared….something might have happened, something could still happen.” Sherlock shuddered while raising his own arms to tightly wrap S/O into them, S/O pulled their head away to look at him, eyes wide with an unrecognisable emotion shimmering within them.

“I-I’m not...I’m not escaping, please Sherlock I promise I’m not escaping.” They begged, pulling their arms away to grip onto the front of his shirt, Sherlock took this opportunity to press them closer to his chest as he laid his head against their neck.

“Shhh…I know, I’ve just been ever so worried since that last little attempt of yours, but I know that you wouldn’t try to escape me again, it would be illogical to attempt it.” Sherlock breathed while looking down at S/O, who had let out a rather long yawn as they tiredly slumped their head against his chest and looked well on their way to falling asleep.

“Laying next to you is truly a miracle cure, my darling.” Sherlock whispered, while slowly sliding down to lay next to them. He pulled them back into his arms as he felt asleep calling him once more, he hoped that with the knowledge that S/O was wrapped tightly up in his arms that the nightmares would cease to cause him grief for the rest of the night.

#turnaboutyandere's request #yandere ace attorney #ace attorney x reader #yandere ace attorney x reader #tw yandere #Sherlock Holmes DGS #herlock sholmes #the great ace attorney #the great ace attorney x reader #he's just a massive himbo #Herlock Sholmes x reader #Sherlock Holmes x reader #Mod Miles was harrassed by a mosquito 3 times while finishing this #I simply adore this himbo

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piecksz · 4 years ago

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forget me too. | (m)

pairing: modern punk!bakugo x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, angst, cheating, oral sex, penetrative sex, angry sex, choking, fingering, exes with benefits, mentions of breeding, hair pulling, explicit language, toxic relationship, manipulation, reader just being a lovesick puppy but wouldn’t we all be if it came to bakugo

summary: it’s been a year since you broke up with bakugo after you found him cheating on you, and you swore you’d moved on from him, but when you run into him again at a record shop, you fall back into a dangerous cycle of love and hate

words: 9,800+

a/n: so i gave in and watched downfalls high, and i’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t the best piece of media i’ve ever consumed, but mgk’s feature track with halsey kind of ate (AND IT LITERALLY INSPIRED SO MANY ANGSTY IDEAS I WAS ITCHINGGG). therefore, this is said angsty idea. you can listen to the song forget me too by machine gun kelly (feat. halsey) while reading, that’s if you’re really daring. good luck lol

If there was one thing in the world you couldn’t fully understand, it was the type of girls who hated their ex-boyfriends, twirling their hair flirtatiously and giggling at all their pitiful punchlines one week, and the next, hatching bogus rumors to discourage other girls from seeking them out romantically, letting them know that their charm came at a price.

Until it was Bakugo.

You genuinely didn’t see it coming. You weren’t even able to recognize the severity of the situation until you were convulsing with the gravity of your sobs, shrieking at him in front of his apartment. Bakugo had called you earlier that evening to reschedule your previously-arranged dinner date since his friend Kirishima was in town, and he wanted to dedicate the rest of the night to catching up with his old schoolmate. You happily forfeited your own plans and instead opted to rendezvous with your boyfriend and his familiar later in the week, but as the night hauled on your favorite TV show no longer satiated your boredom.

Shuffling into the kitchen and scouring your cabinet for ingredients, you drew up the idea to bake some sweets for Bakugo and Kirishima because you figured it would be a nice surprise, however once you arrived at Bakugo’s place you deduced quickly that his friend wasn’t over. It should have been notably clear that something was unusual by the way he was hesitant to let you in.

He poked his head out from behind the privacy of his front door, definitely surprised to see you, but not in the way you had hoped.

“Y/N,” he greeted you with a tight-lipped expression, eyes dropping to the tub of sugar cookies in your hands. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me to let me know you were coming over?”

You hummed after detecting a subtle edge in his voice. “I wanted to surprise you.” You rose to your toes to look past his head. “I thought you said your friend was coming over.”

Bakugo nodded, and once he extended his hand to accept your treats you could see that his torso was bare. “Idiot had to cancel at the last minute. School shit. He said he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Your grip tightened on the container.

If his friend couldn’t make it then why didn’t he let you know? The two of you still could have made it to your dinner reservations.

And in that moment, you swore your internal monologue was loud enough to hear, because you immediately received your answer when you heard a soft, feminine voice come from inside his apartment.

“Who the fuck is that?” you barked, trying to outbalance Bakugo’s weight on the door. “Bakugo you little fucking shit--let me in.” It was a moment-long game between the two of you until Bakugo gave in, accepting the reality that he’d already been caught. You stumbled into the door as it swung open, revealing his company.

She was petite with short blonde hair, wearing a panicked expression that matched Bakugo’s oversized flannel on her naked body almost impeccably. You stared at each other until you broke the tense silence with a quiet holy shit.

“Holy shit,” you repeated louder, blinking as fast as you could to hold back the salty tears that were beginning to cloud your vision. “You fucking dick!” You didn’t notice how forceful your voice had gotten until you were shouting at him, the immense pressure building in your chest making your voice crack. You hurled every vulgar name in the book at Bakugo who couldn’t even look you in the eye while you cried in front of him.

This couldn’t have been the same man you once saw your future playing out with. The hell unfolding in front of you was exactly what your friends, Momo and Ochako, had predicted once you disclosed your interest in Bakugo. They warned you that he had a record on campus, with multiple girls, and yet somehow when he wooed you with sweet words and thoughtful gifts, just like they said he would, you still thought you were different. The worst part of it all was that he wasn’t a terrible guy by any means. He was a little rough around the edges with a temper, but he was hilarious and passionate, all while being profound and smart.

In your fantasies the two of you were married, and then came babies with tufts of your tresses and the mischief of his ruby eyes. He would have been a winner, if he wasn’t so emotionally incompetent. Perhaps you were naive to assume what you and Bakugo had was love just because he said so.

Your quivering fingers worked unsteadily against the lid of the tupperware. You tossed it aside before dumping the container’s contents on the floor of his apartment and hurled the empty food saver at him.

“Come fucking on Y/N,” he said wearily. The fucking nerve he had to act tired.

“Enjoy your cookies,” you responded venomously, leaving quickly before another set of tears came surging.

The next several months were excruciating, and the pain you experienced was nothing compared to its onset. If you weren’t spending days cocooned in bed to sleep off the fatigue of your endless crying, then you were on your couch, staring unamused while Blair Waldorf waltzed across your TV screen.

At least she got her happy fucking ending. Good for her.

You couldn’t even find the energy to eat, and ice cream was not the cure-all for heartbreaks like everyone lied and said it was.

Every so often Momo and Ochako would pay you a visit. For the first few weeks they let you mourn, consoling you and cleaning up the litter of crumpled tissues around your apartment. After the first month, they suggested that maybe meeting someone new would be the best way to help you forget about your break up, but you didn’t want to meet someone new. You just wanted to know if Bakugo missed you too.

Once your grades started slipping, you used that as an excuse to turn to isolation and lose yourself in your schoolwork. The distraction left you with no leisure time to scroll through old photos of you and Bakugo in your phone, and within a couple months, you swore that you’d finally moved on from him.

But it seemed all of that was forgotten the moment you recognized his head of spiky blonde hair from the next aisle over in the record shop, and you silently cursed the universe’s cruel way of working, that all-knowing bitch.

You kept your head down, pretending to be overtly interested in the Kendrick Lamar vinyl you held in your hands, but you couldn’t stop peeking over the shelf to see if Bakugo had moved from his spot.

You could hear him shuffling, and every time you looked up, he was a step closer to the end of the aisle, meaning that your game plan was to move in the opposite direction, so you could slip past him without being detected.

You continued to move one step to the left every time Bakugo moved another step to the right, surely securing your elusive escape, but when you glanced up again, he had disappeared from your line of surveillance. Shit.

“Y/N?”

Shit!

Slowly, you pivoted in the direction of your name only to gawk, horrified, as your ex-boyfriend strolled up to you casually, like he had never ripped your heart out and trampled all over it.

Once he got closer, you realized how generous the year between your break up and now had been to him. His yellow flannel was useless tied around his waist when it should have been on his shoulders instead, covering the way his black Led Zeppelin shirt clung to the impressive build of his upper body.

“Holy fuck, it is you,” Bakugo said, incredulously. You swore he had grown taller now that he was standing in front of you because you couldn’t remember if he had always towered over you.

“Small world,” you said, distastefully.

“Not really,” Bakugo shrugged. “This is just where I come to slave away for minimum wage.”

You simply blinked at him with a placid expression, unable to decide which of your emotions was best considering the circumstances.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he chuckled. “Did you cut your hair?”

You raised an eyebrow plainly. “No.” If anything your hair had grown a few inches longer.

“Highlights?”

“No.”

“Shit seriously?” Bakugo cast his eyes downwards and then back up, sizing up your figure. “Well you look good.”

You could only offer up a dry laugh in response while shaking your head at the peculiarity of the situation.

“What is wrong with you?” you jeered.

You couldn’t believe the ease with which he approached you after not seeing you for twelve whole months, especially when six and a half of those months were spent bawling your eyes out over him and trying to repair the heart he broke carelessly.

Bakugo’s blithe expression withered. The look left behind was one of bashful remorse, as if he was embarrassed by the person he was a year ago.

You weren’t even sure if he had really changed since you’d gone out of your way to avoid hearing or seeing anything about him after you claimed to have gotten over him. The real reason was that you felt you couldn’t trust yourself. You feared that if you came across anything having to do with him, you’d descend into another self-destructive, heartache-driven spiral.

“I tried calling to apologize, but you blocked my number. And then blocked me on everything else,” Bakugo explained.

You shifted uncomfortably.

“I never saw you around campus, and when I showed up to your apartment you weren’t home. I felt like horse shit, seriously, but after a while I just gave up, I guess.”

You pursed your lips together at the mention of his attempts to remedy your breakup, specifically because this whole time you could have sworn he didn’t care to fix things with you.

Bakugo leaned in, and you surprised yourself by making no effort to create more distance between the both of you.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said softly, for once without the gruffness of his usual tone.

If he made the effort to apologize even after a year, that must have meant that he still had some feelings left over for you, right? Did that mean he still loved you? The suspicion made your heart squeeze with expectation.

“Are you sorry that you hurt me, or are you sorry that you got caught?” You questioned.

“Both,” Bakugo snickered tactlessly.

You swore you could have punched his lights out then and there, but he must have noticed the way you tensed up because he looped his arm around you, pulling you in until you nestled into his larger frame.

“I fucking missed you, dumbass.”

Your stomach dropped at the very mention of the words you were longing to hear after your split, and you knew that you weren’t over him. Not even close. Even when you had caught another girl with her hands on him.

Your first mistake was unblocking Bakugo’s number that night, and your second was sending him a text. You stood in the bathroom, dumbfounded by your own actions while you clutched your phone nervously. Thank god he didn’t have his read receipts on. The last thing you needed to know was if he decided to leave you on read after you had just stroked his monumental ego.

You sat your phone aside and proceeded brushing your teeth until you were interrupted by a shrill ding from beside you. You grabbed your phone much too quickly and slid the screen up to be met with a reply from Bakugo.

9:32 PM

bakugo: so i’m still in your phone huh?

9:32 PM:

bakugo: lmao

9:33 PM:

bakugo: thinking about me even after bitching about how much you hate me?

9:34 PM:

bakugo: especially at night that’s hot

You scowled at the messages before putting your phone back down. Using the time it took you to finish brushing your teeth and washing your face, you recited your responses over and over again because as much as you wanted to, you knew it wouldn’t be smart to jump back into your relationship that fast. You still held negative sentiments about what he had done to you, but the pleasure of having him back was slowly beginning to outweigh your earlier feelings.

While shuffling into your bedroom, you kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, typing, deleting, and retyping messages, worried that they would sound too needy.

9:50 PM:

you: so i see you still have a head so big that it could block out the sun

9:53 PM:

bakugo: fuck off you little shit

9:53 PM:

bakugo: no classes tmrw and i’m off work at 12

9:54 PM:

you: ok? do i look like your fucking secretary?

10:00 PM:

bakugo: no im just letting you know in case you’re planning on stalking me again :^(

10:01 PM

bakugo: obviously i wanna see you tomorrow dipshit

Warmth spread across your cheeks until it deepened into a dangerous heat, and the happy memories of you and Bakugo a year ago resurfaced as deja vu. Everything was scarily reminiscent of the way he asked you out the first time, back when your opinions about him were much more straightforward.

You rolled over to the other side of your bed and squealed, flustered by how to-the-point he was about his desire to reconcile things with you.

“Get it together, honestly,” you reprimanded yourself, jabbing a finger against your temple in an effort to drill the mantra into your head.

You responded back to accept Bakugo’s invitation, being mindful not to sound too excited, but you couldn’t deny that you slept better than usual that night.

The next day when you met up with Bakugo after his shift at the record shop ended, the two of you settled on getting coffee from one of the restaurants on campus. Well, you got a coffee, but Bakugo went for an iced tea instead because he insisted that coffee tasted like “dog shit”.

Regardless of your staggering difference of opinion in beverages, you guys hit it off again, laughing and joking around like there had never been a rift between you two in the first place. You were taken aback by how comfortable you still felt around him and how much he still seemed to adore you.

Two weeks after your reunion, you and Bakugo were already falling back into the routine of going on dates like you’d done before, snickering in the back of crowded movie theaters and demolishing each other in multiple rounds of mini golf. You even kept the photo booth picture that was printed for you at the aquarium in your wallet, just so you could peek at it every now and then.

Three weeks after your reunion, you concluded that you were pretty much together. Bakugo had never made it official, and neither had you, but you trusted the way you felt, and it seemed clear that he felt the same way.

Your friends however, weren’t as happy to hear the news of you and Bakugo seeing each other again.

Momo’s eyes widened as she leaned over the table and thrusted her mechanical pencil in your direction.

“Y/N, please tell me you’re joking.” She turned to Ochako who looked at you with a troubled expression. “Uraraka, please tell me she’s joking.”

Ochako pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head in utter disbelief. She said nothing. Rather she looked to you for an answer, wanting you to explain the situation before she scolded you for being so forgiving toward someone who didn’t deserve it.

“He apologized okay? And it really seemed like he meant it, I’m not just saying that. You guys know I can’t hold grudges. I’m soft.”

Momo huffed.

“We started talking, and he told me that he tried to apologize but he never got the chance.”

Your friends were still quiet, waiting for the punchline, but once they realized that there was no hidden gag to the story, they leaned back in exhaustion, disappointed that you’d gotten yourself into another wearisome situation because of your thoughtlessness.

“And he said he missed me. After an entire year, he still misses me.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if we had found you someone else, you know. Someone nice. Better than Bakugo, so you don’t feel like you have to settle,” Momo countered.

“I didn’t need to date someone else,” you chided her. “I’m not one of those people that need to be in a relationship to feel fulfilled, plus I’ve been swamped with assignments.” You knew you were just trying to save face. You knew the real reason why you turned down all your prospective blind dates, and your friends knew it too. You couldn’t see yourself with anyone other than Bakugo, and you meant it when you said you didn’t need love to feel like you had purpose, but when it came to the blonde, it appeared that none of those principles applied.

“You’re lying,” Ochako sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear before clicking her pen and returning to her research paper.

“I’m not settling!” you declared, earning a few scattered glances from the other students in the library. You smiled at them ruefully, mouthing an apology, and ducked your head back into your college textbook.

You decided to drop the conversation, concluding that your friends just wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know your relationship with Bakugo like you did so how could they have understood?

Later that night however, you couldn’t help but chew over your friends’ reactions. There was clearly a reason why they felt the way they did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to see their concern. You didn’t need to be chastised every time you did something they didn’t agree with, because you reminded yourself you were a grown ass woman. You treasured Momo and Ochako, but you were absolutely capable of looking out of yourself.

“Why do girls watch this shit?” Bakugo muttered from beside you, uninterested in the movie playing on the Macbook propped up in your lap. “It’s just dresses and sideburns, where the fuck are the fist fights?”

“It’s Pride and Prejudice, stupid. Not Deadpool,” you retorted, giggling slightly once Bakugo decided the skin of your neck was more interesting than Kiera Knightley. He released a throaty chuckle while attaching his lips to the base of your jaw and continued kissing until he stopped where your neck met your shoulders.

“Stop, I’m trying to watch the movie,” you complained tenderly with absolutely no intent to make Bakugo stop.

Bakugo sat up, grabbing your laptop off the sheets and closing it briskly. “Fuck the movie, I have a better idea,” he suggested. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching as he tossed the device onto the chair beside your closet.

“Hey, what are you doing, you dick?” you protested.

Within seconds Bakugo was on top of you with arms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in beneath him.

“Yeah?” he whispered provocatively, like he was making sure he had your permission first. He spoke under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You didn’t know what sensation you registered first: the warmth now spreading quickly across your cheeks, down to your chest, or the pronounced throbbing between your thighs.

You nodded, softly responding with a “yeah” in return, and Bakugo didn’t waste a second before pressing his mouth to yours enthusiastically. You were surprised how quickly you re-familiarized yourself with the curve of his lips and the way they moved steadily against yours. Acting with fervor, he used his hand to grip your chin, forcing your mouth to open wider so he could slip his tongue past your teeth.

Bakugo used his free hand to grab your breast under your sweatshirt, and you relished in the feeling of his warm palm against your skin while he ran his fingertips against the silky fabric of your lace bra.

“Lace? You dirty bitch,” he teased, breaking contact. “There’s no way you could have known we were gonna fuck.”

You laughed, appreciating how seductive Bakugo looked. His sandy hair was tousled from your impatient hands in his locks, skin feverishly tinged with a dusty pink hue, and lips swollen from the force of his kiss.

“I didn’t know, but I was hoping we would,” you answered honestly. “I guess I got lucky.”

Bakugo snickered, clearly pleased with the response he received. His scarlet eyes flickered lustfully, and he hastily returned to working on your body. He pulled your sweatshirt up and off, tossing it over his shoulder before working swiftly against the clasp of your bra, which he skillfully managed to break with just one hand.

Must have had a lot of practice with that.

But your cynical thoughts were soon forgotten the moment Bakugo’s tongue curled around your nipple, enjoying the way his saliva made your skin glisten under the dim lamp light. He hummed loudly every time you jolted and whimpered, your back arching in tandem. He closed his lips around the delicate nub, sucking harshly while making no attempts to hide his sly smile. He was enjoying himself far too much.

He made sure he put his other hand to work, rolling your other nipple between his fingers, pinching roughly while tugging on it absentmindedly. Once he grew bored of your innocent mewls, he thirsted for something filthier.

Bakugo tantalizingly slid his hand down your stomach until his fingers curled around the waistband of your volleyball shorts. He stretched the Spandex material until when he released it, it snapped painfully against your skin, his cock throbbing at the exposure of your earthy groan.

He slipped off your shorts, and the sight before him was enough to elicit a long, drawn-out “Jesus fucking Christ”.

You didn’t realize you were so aroused that your underwear was soaking wet, your pussy now visible through the thin sheer fabric. Bakugo swallowed hard, palming himself to relieve some of the unbearable pressure he was feeling. He could feel his cock straining against his underwear, and he wanted to stick his dick inside you and fuck you until your eyes rolled back into your head, but the only thing he wanted more than that was to taste you.

“These are mine,” Bakugo insisted. He pulled your panties off, chuckling dryly at the wet stain on the fabric before tucking them into his pocket.

You tilted your head at him.

“What? I’m keeping them as a souvenir,” he replied.

But that’s not what you were concerned with. You were more humiliated than anything that this was your first time having sex with him in a year, and you’d been horny for him since you opened the door. You might as well have just written Bakugo’s Whore on your head in thick permanent marker, but you kept your suggestion to yourself knowing that Bakugo would have liked the idea way too much.

Bakugo reached down to pull his shirt over his head and threw it aside, unveiling his impressive physique. After you guys had broken up, he began finding himself in the gym more frequently, placating his regret and anger through physical exertion, and although he used weightlifting to cope, it left him with an incredible build.

Sweet lord, you thought, please fucking break me.

Bakugo wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you forcibly toward him. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a good look as his face disappeared between your legs. You couldn’t see much past his hair, but you felt a long wet lick up your folds, and your arms immediately gave out, causing you to fall back onto the bed while your hips bucked upward.

You let out an obscene cry, but that only encouraged Bakugo more. He parted your lips with his tongue, licking another stripe up to your clit before sucking it into his mouth, all while peering up at you to see the way you writhed under his touch. You gripped the sheets, and your breathing grew increasingly labored as Bakugo swirled the tip of his tongue against the tender bud, slowly in one direction, and then the opposite. You continued to grind yourself against his mouth while your desire became insatiable. You felt like your hunger was completely justified, because you hadn’t been spoiled in a long fucking time.

You completely unraveled once you glanced down just in time to see Bakugo spit on your parted folds before using his fingers to coat your pussy in his saliva. His slick fingers rubbed your clit, taunting you for just a while longer, and then he dipped his fingers inside of you. He started with two fingers, slipping them in and out with ease until his spit mixed with your arousal created a vile lubricant.

With the way Bakugo’s lips were slightly parted and his eyebrows were knitted in the center, you could tell he was concentrating dangerously, observing how desperately you swallowed his fingers every time he pushed them in.

Your vision erupted into white heat when he bent down to take your clit back into his mouth while pumping in and out of you with an added finger. The symphony that filled the space of your room was absolutely foul. Your intense cries bounced off the walls, while Bakugo panted heavily at the messy sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of you. And neither of you cared if your neighbors could hear.

“Bakugo--,” you started, but your broken plea wasn’t nearly enough to get his attention.

“Bakugo,” you cried louder, your body beginning to shake with the onset of your orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asked, his voice slightly higher than you were used to, almost like he was whining.

You could only give a weak nod in response.

“Be a good little bitch and cum for me,” Bakugo coaxed, as you yielded to the intensity of your orgasm. He quickened his pace just to see you convulse as you reached your high, but then slowed down until he was ready to pull his fingers out of you.

The sight was enough to make Bakugo cum untouched. You were finger-fucked out, eyes shut as your chest heaved up and down while you tried to catch your breath. Your arousal was smeared on the inside of your thighs and your bedsheet was damp where you released.

Bakugo wanted to ask you if you were alright, but the aching pain in his pants took priority. He reached into his underwear, freeing his swollen cock from the confines of his boxers. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood as he pumped himself gingerly, hissing at the feeling. His tip was raw and flushed, leaking precum in shameless amounts.

He hoisted your legs on either shoulder and positioned himself at your entrance, looking at you for confirmation, and you nodded feebly. He sunk his entire length into you, and you covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a shrill scream. Your walls were already sore, and the sting of Bakugo’s large cock inside of you was a painful bliss. Tears came quickly, and they rolled down your cheeks while Bakugo rocked his hips into you slowly. He was waiting for his aching to subside before speeding up his rhythm, and once it did he was taken over by an unappeasable greed.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, thrusting himself in and out of you. “If you keep squeezing me like that I’m gonna cum inside you and get you fucking pregnant.” Bakugo had one hand on your headboard, his grip so firm that his knuckles had turned white.

You sobbed underneath him, withstanding your own pain until it subdued into pleasure. You shifted your legs until they wrapped around Bakugo’s strong torso, unable to get enough of him.

Bakugo rammed into you, and your headboard hitting your wall furiously set the tempo until he fell into a staggered cadence.

“I’m gonna cum,” he choked out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--.” Your name was the last thing Bakugo could get out before he broke free of your hold, pulling himself out of you so he could release. He cummed on your stomach, generously shooting out hot spurts of white until he was soft and you were covered in his seed.

Bakugo leaned over and collapsed beside you, short of breath. He was drenched in sweat and his blonde hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. He chuckled after a few silent minutes.

“What the fuck was that? Were you trying to get me to nut in you?” Bakugo asked, turning to face you.

You didn’t know what he was talking about until you remembered the way you wrapped him up in your legs while he was inside you.

You snorted, erupting into a fit of sheepish laughter. “Yeah.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, bewildered. “Crazy bitch.”

He pulled his sweatpants up and rolled out of your bed. “I’m not ready to be a dad yet,” he voiced, before shuffling lazily out of the room to find something he could clean you up with and smoke a cigarette on the fire escape.

The next morning you found yourself alone, Bakugo nowhere to be found despite you falling asleep with his arms around your waist. You raised a sleepy eyebrow at the empty space next to you that was still sunken from his weight. Okay good, so you didn’t hallucinate last night. You figured Bakugo had early duties to attend to, so you simply grumbled before turning over to get more sleep.

Following that day, every time Bakugo came over to your place, or you found yourself at his, the routine was simple: have breathtaking sex and then pass out.

You grew used to expecting it from him whenever the two of you spent any time alone, and the night before always consumed your thoughts the morning after. You’d squeeze your thighs together during your lecture hall while your professor yammered on about early psychology. The memory of Bakugo’s hand around your throat as he fucked you from behind prompted a surge of heat to your core.

Even when the two of you couldn’t see each other because neither of your schedules coincided, you found a way to make things work, whether it was over the phone, through text, or over Facetime.

Occasionally, you’d ring up Bakugo while he was closing up the shop to taunt him, touching yourself on the other line while he’d grow painfully hard and couldn’t relieve himself until he got home.

“You little fucking shit.” You loved the way his low growls sounded over the phone. “Let’s see how bold you are when I come over and turn your thighs into earmuffs.”

And occasionally, he’d send you videos of himself in bed while you were at the library late cramming for your exams the next morning, touching his cock with haste before cumming on his hands as he groaned your name loudly.

Not an ounce of passion was lost between you two, and if anything you’d only grown closer together from the time spent apart. You had your love back, and everything in your life was ideal.

Of course, that was all before the party.

The party at Sero’s house that you’d caught wind of once you joined Momo, Ochako, and your other friend Mina for lunch.

“You know I don’t like going to parties thrown by frats,” Ochako muttered, ripping off small bites of her chicken wrap.

“Why not? There’ll be plenty of guys there for you to talk to, your phone has been a little dry lately,” Mina responded, laughing silently.

Ochako squinted at her jest before playfully rolling her eyes herself. “That’s exactly why. You know what happened last time I went to a frat party. The hangover isn’t worth it.”

Mina exhaled heavily and turned to you with a hopeful look.

“Y/N, you’ll go with us right? Me and Momo?”

You squeezed your water bottle wearily. “I don’t know. I’m not a fan of frat parties either.” You didn’t know what answer to give her, she looked extremely optimistic, and you hated to rain on Mina’s Friday night plans, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening crammed in a frat house with a crowd of strangers.

Mina stuck out her bottom lip and reached to grab your hand from across the table. “Please? Please? There’s no guarantee Momo won’t ditch me at the party for Todoroki.”

Momo murmured inaudibly beside her.

You sighed, however you relented, giving into the arrangements Mina had made for you, but you regretted your decision far too late.

You showed up to the gathering with Mina and Momo dressed modestly. Unlike your friends and many of the other girls there, you already had someone that you were seeing, and you wanted to look as reserved as you could so there was no confusion around whether or not you were off the market.

Bakugo was possessive, and he preferred to keep his possessions close. There was no telling what he would do or how he’d react if he learned of another man trying to make a move on you.

You took small sips out of your cup while you followed quietly behind Momo and Mina as they moved from person to person, greeting friends you were unfamiliar with. You feigned a cheery smile when you were introduced to them, but overall you were bored with the party scene. You weren’t really a frat party girl.

You yelled over to Momo that you needed another drink and shook your head when she asked you if you needed her to come with you. She looked far too engrossed in her conversation with Todoroki, and you didn’t want to just whisk her away while they were talking. In fact, you were the chairman of the Anti-Cockblock Committee.

You sauntered into the kitchen, sliding in next to the counter once the guests who were there first left. You started grabbing bottles to inspect the labels because to be honest, you weren’t sure what half of these brands were. As a broke college student, you bought your own drinks, which were mainly $20 cases of hard lemonade and cheap raspberry Smirnoff vodka from the liquor store. Clearly Sero had selective taste in high quality shit.

You poured yourself a small sip of Patron, tasting the clear liquid, and tried not to gag at the oaky taste as it burned your throat going down.

You felt someone ease in beside you. “Hey, bartender.”

You glanced at the guest next to you, their familiar visage coming into view. You recognized his distinctive green head of hair and innocent freckles peppered across his cheeks, it was the same face you saw every day in your sociology class.

What was his name? Ku--something. Zu…?

You remembered your professor referred to him by his nickname, Deku, and once you said his name as convincingly as you could, you gathered by his boyish grin that you were right.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” he laughed, and adjusted his circle-rimmed glasses while his emerald eyes swelled into crescents.

“I didn’t really take you for a partier,” you observed. Deku was incredibly smart from what you’d seen in class. He knew the answers before your professor could even finish their questions, and when you’d ask him if he could repeat what the teacher said for your notes, he explained the material even better than the person who was an expert in the subject for a living.

“I’m not,” he replied. “But you know, the college experience and all that.”

You scoffed and nodded, knowingly. “Melt your brain studying for 25 hours a day, 8 days a week, and then get shitfaced whenever you can. Yeah, that’s definitely the college experience,” you joked, pouring yourself a couple shots of vodka and mixed it with orange soda.

“I was meaning to ask you,” Deku started. “I mean--Yeah--I was meaning to ask you for your number in class earlier this week.”

You stirred your drink with a finger before stealing a taste. “Of course,” you agreed happily.

Deku’s face deepened into a rosy bloom once he took out his phone, typing in your contact while you recited the numbers.

“I’m not asking for a weird reason or anything like that. Just so we can help each other out with homework and stuff.”

You nodded, already acknowledging that Deku was a sweet kid, at least as far as you knew. You didn’t expect him to have any promiscuous intentions.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be as much help to you as you’ll be to me,” you teased, and Deku chuckled nervously still trying to shake the blush off his cheeks. “I’m free on Monday, I can meet up with you after class if you want.”

Deku buried his face into his cup, his shallow breathing causing his glasses to fog up. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he mumbled bashfully.

“Text me the deets,” you grinned, before wandering off back to your friends.

On the way back to the stairwell where Momo and Mina were still standing, your attention was drawn by a large crowd around the living room that erupted into jovial squeals and cheers every few seconds. You gravitated toward the mass of guests, standing on your toes to get a better look, but when that didn’t work you gently made your way through the throng of people, issuing soft “sorry, excuse me’s” and “thank you’s” to the people that didn’t mind letting you slip past them.

You had no knowledge that he was going to be here. He never told you what his plans for the night were, but this was the last place you were expecting Bakugo to be.

Here.

Playing a game of “Kiss and Blow” on a crowded couch with someone who wasn’t you. When it reached his turn, you could see his shallow inhale and how he put in no effort to keep the card against his mouth. It fell between the cushions, and the crowd erupted into another rally.

Bakugo grinned artfully and hooked his arm around the eager brunette before smothering her giggles with a deep tongue-filled kiss.

At first, the cogs in your brain couldn’t turn fast enough to register what was happening, and your thought process stuttered for a moment while your eyes took in more than you expected. Your body remained immobile, giving your thoughts a few seconds to catch up. Maybe for those few seconds, your anguish was suspended, and your shock was simply a cushion until you fell apart.

You couldn’t make your way out of the party fast enough, and you didn’t even think to let Momo and Mina know that you were leaving. Everything around you sounded warbled, like you were underwater, as your leaden legs carried you out, past the front lawn, and across the street until you were far away that you could no longer hear the music of the party. It was then that you pulled out your phone to text Mina claiming that you didn’t feel well and called an Uber to take you home.

The following morning you ignored all of Bakugo’s texts. He sent one at 10 AM, asking you if you were down to get breakfast, and then another at noon suggesting lunch since you didn’t respond to his text about breakfast. He texted you again, and again, and again, and you continued to disregard him.

You didn’t cry this time around. No. You were filled with a foreign anger. It was strange and new, and it burned nothing like the rage you’d felt in all your years of living. You didn’t know whether you were angry at him for putting you through this again or if you were angry at yourself for really believing that he’d changed. You really wanted to confront Bakugo in person, but you were afraid of your unpredictability. You didn’t know what you would do if you saw him--roundhouse kick him in the throat most likely.

Bakugo’s relentless attempts to get in contact with you didn’t let up, even late into the night. He sent another text threatening to show up at your apartment if you didn’t answer him, and then he called yet again.

Angrily, you reached out to answer your phone, but once you held it to your ear all the fury you’d been bearing throughout the day emerged.

“Can you fuck off?” You hissed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bakugo responded, taken off guard by your greeting. “What the fuck?”

“If you were so hellbent on seeing me today, you should have thought about that before you decided to be a hypocritical little bastard! Again!” You shook with anger, unable to effectively piece together all the profane names you wanted to call him.

Bakugo was still while you put him on blast.

“Do you not have anything to say to me, you fuckwit?”

“No, because I don’t even know why you’re going full bitch right now!” Bakugo defended himself. You sat back at his reply, confused at why he was guarded. You knew that when Bakugo was aware he was in the wrong he always remained quiet and pensive.

“Last night?” you clarified. “Does last night not ring a bell to you?”

He let out a small grunt of recollection. “I was at a party last night, what are you talking about?”

“No shit, Bakugo! I saw you swallowing another girl whole!”

The other line erupted into laughter, and a large knot settled in your throat.

“Am I not allowed to kiss other girls now?” he asked.

Had he been hit by a semi-truck? Did he need a swift lobotomy?

“Why would you kiss another girl if you have a girlfriend?”

Bakugo muttered a quiet “what”, and then the lightbulb clicked.

“Holy shit, Y/N, did you think we were back together?”

Huh?

“When did we ever say that we were together?” he questioned lightly, finding your misunderstanding comical.

But--

“I thought we were just fucking around, you know? I never mentioned getting back together, and you didn’t either, so I just assumed we were just fucking.”

You didn’t say a word. As angry as you wanted to be and as angry as you already were, he was right. You had only assumed that you two were back together, but neither of you agreed on it explicitly.

“Our dates...” you countered listlessly.

“Two people hanging out together isn’t always a date.” Bakugo shifted on the other end and then grunted again to occupy the tense silence. “Shitting me, I didn’t know that’s what you were thinking.”

Realization of how foolish you made yourself look set in, and you hoped the awkwardness that hung in the air was fleeting. You swallow heavily, unable to digest defeat.

“Okay,” you murmured, before hanging up and flinging your phone aside.

You and Bakugo didn’t speak for the rest of the night into next morning, and by midday Monday when your study session with Deku rolled around, you were more than reluctant to go. You knew the frustration of someone cancelling last minute, but you were unsure whether you could bring a positive spirit to your meetup, and the last thing you wanted to do was put kind-hearted Deku through your bad mood.

As the time drew closer, you were considering texting him to rain check, letting him know you were feeling under the weather, when he sent you a picture at the coffee shop. Deku had ordered you lunch, mentioning that you must’ve been hungry after classes all day. He explained that he didn’t know what you liked so he just bought for you what he usually got for himself.

After that, you couldn’t have possibly turned him down, so you showed up anyway. Before you knew it, the clock already approached 9 PM, and the coffee shop was about to close for the night. Time had flown by while you were getting lost in upbeat conversation with Deku, and the two of you laughed and joked around more than you’d done your assignment, but you didn’t mind since it gave you another excuse to meet up with him. You didn’t expect him to be as naturally humorous as he was, nor did you guess you’d have as much in common with him as you did, but you’d forgotten about your own heartache during the time you spent in his company. Not to mention, he was very easy on the eyes, but that was just an additional plus.

However, when you finally returned home to your empty apartment that night, all your feelings came flooding back.

“Right,” you muttered to yourself, setting your backpack down by the door, and throwing your keys onto the kitchen counter. “Back to square one.”

Normally, you’d invite Bakugo over, but you had no desire to be anywhere within a three mile radius of him at the moment, so you quickly got ready for bed, figuring that the more time you spent asleep meant less time that you’d have to dwell over the all-too-familiar pain in your chest.

You continued to spend more and more time with Deku even though most of your plans were organized around schoolwork, even if it was studying for a test or just practicing terminology flashcards. Eventually, you’d gotten close enough that you didn’t mind inviting him over since your apartment was much quieter than the dorm he shared with his roommate, Kaminari.

You were both sat on your couch, and you took turns quizzing each other on general knowledge sociology questions. You flipped through the flashcards, Deku answering every question with impressive ease, until you had grown tired.

“Deku, this isn’t fun. You know every term,” you sighed, shuffling through the stack.

“Studying isn’t supposed to be fun, that’s why it’s called studying and not having fun,” he joked lamely, extending his hands to take his flashcards back.

You giggled silently at his flat humor and leaned back against the armrest to put your knees up. “Okay, well what do you like to do when you’re not studying?”

Deku slipped his flashcards into the pocket of his backpack. “Between classes, studying, and wrestling, I don’t really have much time for anything else.”

You gaped. “You wrestle? No fucking way.”

Deku raised an eyebrow at you, amused and unsure of the reason for your stupefaction. “Why do you think I’m a loser or something?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you explained. “I just wouldn’t have guessed.” You took note of his lean stature. He did look like he worked out, but you never considered his pastime was something as brutish as wrestling. You figured his interests would explain the scars that decorated both of his hands.

“Okay then,” you began, hopping up and throwing the blanket you were wrapped in on the couch. “Teach me something.”

Deku stared at you, uncertain whether you were serious. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, timidly.

“Oh man up, you baby,” you joked while wrapping your hands around his wrists, urging him to stand up. “Who’s to say I won’t hurt you?”

Deku chuckled nervously before following you over to the open space between your living room and kitchen. He stood for a second, thinking of the easiest moves to show you, and then he nodded, like he had fully decided.

“Okay, come here.”

You did as you were told, letting Deku guide you into the correct position. You cleared your throat, unnerved by the way his chest pressed up against your back, and his strong hands looped around your arms to lock them behind your head.

“This is a full nelson,” he instructed. “It’s a submission hold. It’s not allowed in our matches, but feel free to use it if you ever find some creep following you home.” You could feel his chest rumble with laughter between your shoulder blades.

You nodded, feeling flustered. “Mhm.”

The next demonstration had the two of you on the floor with your arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle while Deku’s arm was situated over your rib cage. You could feel his staggered breathing across the shell of your ear, and you looked over your shoulder expectantly, waiting for him to explain the move.

Deku must have realized how close your faces were to each other because he absolutely lost his cool. He began stammering, unable to get his words out. “And this one is called the--um...sorry it’s called the--,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m--I just wanna kiss you so bad right now.” His body tensed with his confession, but you were the one who made the first move.

Once Deku’s hold loosened, you leaned into him, allowing your lips to collide with his. Your mouths moved against each other fervently, and the two of you rolled over until you were on top of him with your legs on either side of his waist. Ever since a few nights before you’d blown up on Bakugo, you hadn’t been touched. Not even by yourself. You tried, but your fingers came nothing close to competing with his. You were so incredibly needy that you had to forcefully stop yourself from gyrating your hips on Deku’s crotch. He was already red in the face, and you were afraid he might collapse if you worked your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans.

You broke your kiss to take Deku’s hands, and you rested them on your chest. With Bakugo, he would have immediately taken control, driving you into ecstasy, but with Deku it was different. It was as if he had never touched a pair of breasts before. His breathing grew even more shallow as his body became rigid.

You tilted your head, slightly irritated from the lack of action, but you were more concerned about Deku’s wellbeing.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tongue in cheek.

Deku nodded anxiously. “Yup, yup, yup, I’m great. I’m good.”

But something was off, and you knew you weren’t enjoying yourself like you typically would even with days of pent up libido. You closed your eyes tiredly and released an exasperated sigh, slowly pulling yourself off of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now--we shouldn’t--.”

Deku opened his mouth to contest, but you cut him off.

“It’s getting late, you should go. I’ll see you around.” You buried your face in your hands, embarrassed at your desperation. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized again.

Deku adjusted his glasses and murmured a small “It’s fine, Y/N.” He helped you up after he pulled himself off of the floor and gathered his belongings before heading out quickly, eager to flee the tension.

Fuck, you thought. How did things get so complicated? Deku was a sweet kid, genuinely pure at heart, and you knew he wanted you from the way his emerald eyes were glued to your frame, even while you were fully-clothed. Yet he wasn’t Bakugo. He didn’t know how to work you like Bakugo did, and you felt shamefaced for thinking about your ex-boyfriend again. You mulled it over and began to question why you were stopping yourself from having your cake and eating it too.

Bakugo didn’t intend on getting back together with you, but he enjoyed the phenomenal sex, and so did you. You held so much contempt for him now, but there was no reason why you couldn’t just agree to the terms of his compact.

Exes with benefits, only now with a few additions of your own.

No dates, no flirty chatter outside of your arrangements, nothing that could potentially steer you the wrong way towards forgiving him yet again, because like you told your friends: you were a pushover, and Bakugo was a sweet talker. That was a combination destined for hell.

Your revelation was exactly how you ended up sleeping with Bakugo again. Your sex life was practically a Dr. Seuss book. The two of you would have sex in his car, in the bathroom at a bar, and you’d have sex here, there, and pretty much anywhere.

When you first called him up, he answered almost immediately, somewhat excited to see your contact after going without speaking to each other for nearly a week. After you acceded, he snorted, wondering if you were conspiring.

“Are you fucking scheming something? Cooking up some devious shit to get me alone so you can kill me? Suffocate me while I’m sleeping? You’re goddamn insane.”

You rolled your eyes aggravated. “No. Are you down, or do you wanna pussy out now?”

Bakugo agreed, and both of you managed to keep things fairly cordial. Well, as cordial as they could possibly be, given your shared history. You couldn’t care less about the differences and arguments you had when you guys were in bed. If anything, you preferred it when Bakugo was angry at you, pissed at something you had said or just releasing pent up stress that built up over the week. That only made the sex filthier.

Although Bakugo wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some affection for you, and perhaps still even vice versa. He was possessive over you regardless, even if it meant coming dangerously close to breaching the contract. Especially when he caught you one night with Deku at an on-campus movie screening in the park.

After the fiasco at your apartment with you and Deku, you apologized sincerely to him a couple of days later in class. Deku took no hard feelings to your blunder, and he nodded at the mild rejection when you clarified that things would be best if the two of you stayed friends. He reassured you that he was fine, and he was far too occupied for a relationship of any sort anyway.

But Bakugo wasn’t aware that you two had already tested the waters and decided it was sink rather than swim.

When he spotted you alone sitting on a blanket, he strolled over, wearing a sardonic grin. He struck up a superficial conversation that quickly dissipated once Deku returned with the snacks you two planned on sharing.

Your grin when Deku arrived didn’t compare to the indifferent smile you gave Bakugo when he approached you, and he noticed. His eyes narrowed at your green-haired friend as burning rage coursed through his veins.

“Deku, this is Bakugo,” you said, uninterested in Bakugo’s presence while you took the bag of sour candy Deku offered to you.

Deku smiled at Bakugo, extending his hand to exchange a handshake, but Bakugo simply slapped his hand away dismissively.

“Whatever,” Bakugo jeered, his jaw rooted, before he diverted his attention back to you. “See you later, dumbass.”

He left without a fight, but you knew he wouldn’t put the memory past him, and the following night, all of Bakugo’s anger came bubbling out. The way his brain operated was fascinating, especially since he knew that you two had no romantic commitments to each other, that’s what you agreed on, but finally seeing you over him with someone who he assumed was your new interest turned him crazed.

Bakugo held a painful fistful of your hair, pushing your face into the mattress while he wrecked you. He forced himself into you from behind, muffling your screams with the pillow while he rammed into you relentlessly. Every thrust was vicious, exhibiting the full height of his temper.

“You’re mine, do you understand that? You’re mine to touch, mine to ruin. If anyone else puts their hands on you, I swear I’ll beat them within an inch of their life.”

Bakugo hated to admit it, especially since he knew admitting it turned him into the hypocritical dick of the year, but he enjoyed having you chase after him like a lovelorn puppy. You clung to his side, and you were there at his beck and call. He’d always hated being emotionally tied down, hence his apprehension toward serious relationships, but the way you took advantage of the freedom to see other men made him livid.

“Maybe if I really did put a baby in you other people wouldn’t be such a fucking pain. What do you think?”

Bakugo’s pace didn’t let up as his grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you upright until your head rested back on his shoulder.

“Answer me,” he demanded, dangerously.

All you could muster were broken sobs. You had never seen Bakugo like this, and you were willing to avow that after discounting your fear and pain, it was hot, and you were slightly intrigued.

Bakugo secured his hand around your neck, allowing his fingers to dig into the side of your throat, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you which let you know he was close, but he wasn’t making any efforts to slow down any time soon.

“The thought of you with him makes me want to fucking vomit. You know he’ll never be able to make you feel like I do,” he snarled against your ear. “No one will.”

You choked out a meager “I know” while your vision grew blurrier from the lack of oxygen to your head.

You came first and then Bakugo came shortly after, claiming you by pumping you full with his hot seed until you collapsed on the bed from overexhaustion.

You realized then, through the cloudiness of your thoughts came a single conviction: that your relationship with Bakugo was an endless cycle. You’d taken every romantic risk for Bakugo while he risked nothing. That’s how you remained foolish for so long, so naive. You refused to learn over and over again, and you sacrificed yourself in the process.

Once Bakugo threw you modest praise and disappeared into the bathroom, you gave way to the enormity of your despair. Your tears were silent and persistent until your breathing turned ragged while humiliation and resentment burned just beneath your skin.

You were smitten with someone who was bad at romance. Your love was a fairytale, but not everyone believed in fairytales, meaning that was both the birth and death of your chronicle. Fairytales were only real if you believed they were.

Bakugo continued to give you reasons to leave and seek out the love you deserved, but you took momentary bliss as your excuse for staying, like a lovesick fool or like an addict dying from overdose. You wish he would at least give you something to hold onto, like false hope or a pretty lie, but you knew that’s all you’d ever be able to do: wish that things were different so you two could have grown into something beautiful.

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lxttle-raven · 4 years ago

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Cryptid!Scp-049 x original female character

The room was dark and musky as Charlotte opened her eyes. It had been days since she had seen the sunlight. The last thing she remembered was her friend Amy Lyn screaming and being dragged into the dark corners of the long-abandoned building. Charlotte tried to run and call for help, but before she could make it through the exit doors something grabbed her from behind and shoved a rag into her face. The stench from the chemicals was enough to burn out her nose hairs was the world around her turned pitch black. Now here she was; tied up to a metal chair and gagged. Charlotte tried to free herself from her bindings but to her dismay, her captor instead chained her to the chair instead of using a rope. She heard heavy footsteps walking towards the pitch black and musky room that she’s been held in. The door creaked open to reveal a tall humanoid thing dressed in a black hood, robes, and what seemed to be a bird beak mask. The ghastly creature put the lantern that was in its claw-like hands down on the table beside it and closed the old metal door. Charlotte whined in both fear and disgust as the bird demon lock them both in, putting the key somewhere in its robes. The monster looked at her with piercing blood orange eyes, and it quickly made its way towards her with its lantern. As the light shown onto her; she made the realization that her original outfit was replaced with an old olive green nightgown. Charlotte busted into tears realizing that if it had changed her clothes whilst she was unconscious, then it was willing to do anything to her. “Stop crying little girl, it’s not going to help you” spoke the creature with a sadistic tone. Charlotte looked up; tears still running down her cheeks. The avian-like man grabbed her roughly by her cheeks and forcibly wiped away her tears. “I said to cease your crying.” glared the monster. “W-what are y-you?”Trembled the small female. The Avian man turned his head but didn't answer. Charlotte mustered some courage up to ask it another question. “What did you do to my friend?!” Charlotte cried out. “I cured her,” he spoke as he played with the small female’s orange hair. “Cured her...?” “Yes, now hush up and quit asking so many questions little one before I remove your vocal cords!” he yelled. Charlotte was about to ask him another question but he grabbed a surgeon’s blade and drew it across her freckled thigh. Charlotte let out a cry of pain but the birdman just removed its mask revealing a gruesome and disturbing face underneath. Without care, he started to lick the blood off of her thighs. This continued for weeks until the entity decided that it wanted Charlotte as more than a bloody snack. “Wake up” the avian man fellows as it shook Charlotte awake. “W-what is-” “You're coming with me, pretty one” spoke the entity. “But I don't want to go-” The creature now had a hold of her neck. “Look you little bitch, either come with me and stay by my side or I'll kill you right here right now!” the avian monster was seething with rage, it was evident in its voice. Charlotte didn't want to die but she didn't want to go with him. But what other choices does she have? Charlotte was grabbed by the monster, making her walk at the same pace as he. “From now on, you either call me doctor or Adrien.”

#scp doctor #scp 049 #scp foundation #scp 035 #scp 049 j #scp fandom #scp 035 x scp 049 #scp #scp 2264 #plague doctor #035 x 049 #scp x reader #scp 049 x reader #scp oc

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andypantsx3 · 5 years ago

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conspire | 1 | scheme

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Shouto Todoroki was standing outside your workroom.

This was unusual, as in the three years you’d both been attending UA, Todoroki had hardly been spotted anywhere near the support course rooms. Class H was typically avoided by anyone who didn’t want your classmate Mei to catch wind of them -- and very few hero course students had proved willing to do so, once they’d encountered her the first time.

Todoroki was one of the smart ones.

He looked incredibly out of place and yet almost comically festive in the doorway of the studio, his red and white mop of hair matching the horrible red and white heart banner someone had tacked above the entry for Valentine’s Day. He stopped midway through the door, eyes flicking over the other offensively bright decor, including several violently pink heart balloons and heinous red streamers that hung from the ceiling like sausages curing in a deli.

A ripple of interest went through the female segment of your classmates at his arrival, and despite yourself, you perked up too.

You didn’t know much about him, but Shouto Todoroki had the most interesting quirk you had ever worked with. You’d been paired for a project earlier this year where you’d helped develop an adjustment to his temperature jacket that used pattern recognition to help it anticipate changes in his quirk, in order to begin applying temperature controls sometimes even before he’d made the switch from hot to cold or vice versa.

You hadn’t spoken much on topics outside the project, but on the subject of your work, Todoroki had proved himself smart as a whip, asking insightful and probing questions, and making sensible suggestions based on what he learned from you. He’d been so keen on your ideas and so shockingly easy to work with that you’d lamented the project’s end.

It had only lasted two weeks, unfortunately, wrapping up before you’d had the chance to really delve into his personality or the actual science behind his quirk, and you’d been dying for the opportunity to pair up again and really study him since.

Less importantly, Shouto Todoroki was also inarguably the most handsome boy in your year, maybe even at all of UA. He was tall, strapped with lean muscle, and equipped with a facial symmetry that was almost more deadly than his quirk. Even his scar did nothing to deter from his good looks, only adding a roughed up, roguish charm to his otherwise pretty features. The first few days of your project, you’d had to pinch yourself on the leg more than a few times in order to reroute your brain from his face to the actual jacket.

You’d since put effort into ignoring his appearance, but you couldn’t really help that your eyes were pulled to him like a magnet whenever he stepped into a room.

Like now.

Todoroki’s own grey and blue eyes scanned over the faces of your classmates, stopping when they landed on you.

“Y/N,” he said in greeting, and you raised a bewildered hand. Several nearby girls shot you betrayed looks, like you’d been keeping an association with him secret. You’d have shot yourself something of a questioning look, too, if you could have. What reason would Shouto Todoroki have to seek you out outside of class? It had been almost a month since the project together. What might he want with you now?

“Hi, Todoroki,” you said, wondering if you’d awoken in some parallel dimension where he thought you were friends. “Uh, what brings you here?”

“I have a personal request,” he said in his low, soft tone, stepping into the room and making his way over to your worktable. He’d shed the grey blazer of the school uniform for the crisp white dress shirt and tie, and he looked unbearably good. As he drew closer, you could see the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt.

You self-consciously pushed around the messy wires and metal framing on your worktop, trying to clear space.

A personal request. Had he come for some kind of support item? Your mind suddenly ran with possibilities, and a thrill went through you at the potential to study half hot half cold in earnest. This was the kind of extracurricular project you’d been dreaming of, maybe even something that you could scope out and build as your submission for your senior project next month!

“Sure,” you said, gesturing to the other stool at your worktop and rifling around in your bag for a pen and paper. You’d probably need to take notes.

Todoroki stared at you. “Ah, not that kind of a request,” he said, eyeing your pen and paper.

Your cheer dropped. Oh.

“I had hoped to ask you in private, actually,” he said, something like discomfort flashing across his handsome features. He looked almost nervous, and you wondered wildly what kind of support request would make one of UA’s big three this awkward. Was he having a problem with his quirk that he didn’t want to cop to?

“Okay,” you said, looking up at him, “lead the way.”

A cool hand came up to grasp your wrist, tugging you out of your chair. Your face burned at the casual touch, and you felt the curious eyes of your classmates on you as you were led from the room.

Todoroki steered you through the hall and around the corner to a small alcove out of the way of student traffic. The alcove had clearly had the same treatment as your workrooms, festooned with a banner boasting a bizarre pattern of tiny All Might silhouettes interspersed with hearts. Your eyes felt like they might catch fire if you looked at it for too long.

“How have you been since the project?” you asked Todoroki, in the interest of being companionable. “Is everything on your vest still working well?”

A smile touched the corner of his mouth as he turned to face you. “It’s incredible. It still surprises me that it can predict what I’m going to do before I even think to do it.”

You flushed at the praise. “I’m glad. It was really cool work on. Your quirk is awesome - normally there are only so many variables with pattern prediction like that but the two sides of your quirk increased the possibilities exponentially, so the algorithm was hard to code. I had to get a little extra help from an actual computer scientist,” you admitted, before slapping a hand over your mouth, realizing you were rambling.

His smile widened and your traitorous eyes caught on his mouth. “You sound exactly as you did the last time we talked.”

You winced. “Yeah, sorry.”

His eyes widened and the hand on your wrist tightened. “No, I didn’t mean--it’s nice,” he said. His fingers seemed to grow the tiniest bit colder where he held you. “I would have liked to have worked with you longer.”

You tamped down on another blush, looking away. “Yeah. It’s too bad.”

Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall, and Himari Honda came wheeling around the corner.

Himari was another student you’d been paired with for a project at one time, and she hadn’t worked nearly as well with you as Todoroki had. A general course student with a quirk that let her track anyone within up to a mile of her person, Himari’s goal after graduation was to become an actress, with a particular focus on playing the love interest of powerful hero characters. She was certainly pretty enough, with large eyes, high cheekbones, and shiny pink hair that she wore in a long plait down her back, but that’s where her appeal ended. She wasn’t horrible, but she was a little too self-interested and it had certainly shown in how she’d handled your pair project.

Himari smiled winningly at Todoroki, and it became clear to you that she’d tracked him with her quirk. You knew instantly why she’d come to find him, today of all days.

“Hi, Shouto,” she purred. His fingers tightened where he still held your wrist.

“Hello,” he said politely.

You stifled a laugh at the carefully blank look he’d suddenly adopted. You guessed he’d been fending off advances of this type all day -- you’d caught sight of his shoe cubby when you’d changed into your own uniform shoes this morning, absolutely bursting with chocolate and brightly-colored valentine's notes. He was too handsome for his own good, it appeared. Still, it was interesting that Todoroki seemed not the slightest bit interested in what someone who looked like Himari had to say.

“Maybe I should go,” you said, tugging your wrist back, but Todoroki gripped you tighter.

“I still need to talk to you,” he said. He fixed you with an intense look like he could pin you in place with his gaze.

Himari seemed to ignore you. “Shouto, I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

“I’m a little occupied at the minute,” he said, gesturing to you. You gave a little wave.

Himari shot you a betrayed look like you’d beaten her to the punch, then puffed up like she was drawing up her courage. “Don’t accept her confession! Accept mine! I like you -- please go out with me!”

Your jaw dropped. You’d definitely not been in the middle of asking Todoroki out, but damn it took balls to cut another woman off like that. You couldn’t tell if you respected her or hated her for her shamelessness.

Todoroki shifted uncomfortably next to you. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t accept your feelings. You see, I was just about to ask Y/N out.”

Your mind went blank.

He what now? Is that why he’d brought you to this alcove to speak to you in private? Is that why he’d been so nervous back in the support studio, asking to talk to you alone? Shouto Todoroki had wanted to ask you out?

You wondered at that. You couldn’t understand why, when he could have his pick of any girl at UA. You were fine, sure -- reasonably smart with good grades and a neat appearance, but you weren’t anywhere near his level of mind-numbing attractiveness. More than that, you didn’t even have a quirk, and it was impossible that someone who wielded a power like half hot half cold was going to wade that far into the bleak depths of the dating pool. He had plenty of other options, so why come to you...?

Then, like a slow sunrise, it dawned on you what he was actually up to.

Todoroki was trying to get rid of all the confessions in one fell swoop. If Himari went back to her classmates and told everyone what had happened, rumors would spread very quickly that Shouto Todoroki was a dead-end bet. No one would try to ask him out anymore if his heart purportedly belonged to another.

That sneaky little fuck.

“Right,” you said, perking up and playing along gamely. “And I was just about to accept,” you announced to Himari.

Todoroki threw you a wild look like he hadn’t expected you to take this track. Shit, had you been supposed to reject him instead? You could, you supposed, but what hot-blooded woman in possession of sound mind and sound body would possibly do so? Did he also want to start the rumor that you were a complete nutjob?

“Um, I mean, I was about to respond privately,” you backpedaled. “Uh, nothing confirmed at this point.”

Himari gave you a furious look, her large eyes filling with tears, and turned on her heel, storming off. Your heart went out to her, just a little.

“You’d really accept?” Todoroki asked you as soon as she’d gone. Something unreadable glinted in his two-toned gaze.

You thought for a moment. Did he actually want to do this? It was barely a couple months until graduation, but you had nothing to lose in helping him. Maybe this was also your opportunity to study his quirk more closely, if you were going to be spending more time together to keep up appearances. You might actually be able to use him for your senior project.

“Sure,” you said, smiling up at him. “If you wanted this, I mean.”

A smile curved the edges of his mouth. “I did, yes.”

“Great,” you said, “Then you’re officially my boyfriend, Todoroki.”

His smile widened. “It’s Shouto.”

You looked at him in question.

“My name, it’s Shouto,” he said. “I’d like it if you would call me that.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest. This was all pretend but damn it was cute anyway. “Shouto,” you tested it out, liking the sound of it in your mouth.

Shouto seemed to like it too, unwinding his fingers from your wrist to slip his hand into yours. The cool of his fingers between yours was soothing, and you quite liked the way it felt.

“Are you free Saturday, then, for a first date?” he asked.

He did nothing by halves, huh? You laughed. “Yes, I’m free. Text me the time and place?”

He agreed and you traded phones, plugging in each other’s numbers. Then he walked you back to your workroom and left you with promises to see you Saturday, after sending you a characteristically straightforward this is shouto text to confirm.

You smiled as you watched him leave, pleased to be in on his little scheme.

You’d never fake dated anyone before so you didn’t really know what you were getting into, but you thought this could be fun. You were looking forward to whatever Shouto had up his sleeve.

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto

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janeyseymour · 4 years ago

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Dangerous Desires- a fanfic

After three years of being fostered by Jane Seymour, turning 18 is right around the corner for a young Katherine Howard. What that entails? Stick around and you'll suddenly see more (seymour).

hi! so, this idea popped into my head a few days ago and with some kind ideas from a dear friend @the-quiet-winds, this little fic was born. More to come! As always, have a lovely day!

Ch 1 - Be Still My Heart

Ever since Jane Seymour was a child, she knew she wanted children. What she didn’t know when she was a little girl was that she would never have a child of her own. She would come close, but it would never happen.

When Jane was 28, she would fall pregnant. She would give birth to a stillborn child before developing Sepsis. The woman would barely overcome it and remain in unstable conditions for quite some time before being able to say she was in the clear. The day she was deemed safe and cured was the day she would vow to herself she would never produce her own child ever again. Sure, the task of healing her body went through was rough, but nothing would ever be harder than seeing a child- her child- that would just become another lifeless body in the ground.

At 30, the blonde woman decided that she had enough moping, and if she couldn’t have a child of her own, there were so many children who needed a home. So, she began to foster. Within her first week of having her fostering license, one little girl was placed in her household. She would leave three weeks later to be reunited with her family. It was hard for the kind woman to let go of the little girl, but ultimately she knew the little girl would be okay.

Child after child, Jane Seymour continued on with fostering. Any child that she could help along the way knowing they were in a safe and loving house- even just overnight- she would do it a million times over.

And then Katherine Howard entered her life. Katherine Howard- the teenager, not a little girl- who came to her more terrified than any other child who had entered her home. Katherine Howard- the anxiety ridden child who didn’t know how to act like a child because she had to grow up far too soon. Katherine Howard- the girl who stole Jane Seymour’s heart.

3 years of being in Jane’s care had significantly benefited the once shy and meek teenager. She was nearing the end of her senior year, and turning eighteen was just around the corner for the young lass. No more was she the almost mute teen that walked in through the front door three years ago with nothing but the clothing on her back. No more was she the girl who bounced around from foster parent to foster parent and school to school. No more was she the lass who walked around in fear of being thrown out of the house over something as small as using the salt shaker at the dinner table. No. Now, she was the girl who happily opened the front door to Jane Seymour’s house and announce she was back home proudly. (She had been hesitant to call it home at first, but the blonde woman made it clear to her that even if she were to be taken out of her care, it would always be home- if Katherine so desired). Now, she was the girl who would greatly announce that she had been living with her foster mother and attending the same high school for three years. Now, she knew she could do almost anything, and even if it were wrong- well, her foster mother would continue to look at her like she deserved the sun, the stars, and the moon.

But there was one thing that hadn’t changed. Katherine Howard, the name she vehemently hated, was still motherless. Of course, she had Jane Seymour as her foster mother. But as she knew, once she was eighteen, the woman that had so kindly taken her in and shown her love and care for so long had the option of leaving her to her own devices. The teen wasn’t foolish. She had been told time and time again that a family wouldn’t get rid of her, only for them to lose patience with her indecisiveness and inability to make a decision. Or perhaps they would get angry that she wasn’t capable of being the child they so desperately wanted because, as stated before, Katherine Howard grew up much too quickly. Katherine Howard would never have a mother to call her own. She could pretend that Jane Seymour was her mother, but in the end there was no such luck.

Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to her, Jane Seymour was a sneaky, sneaky woman who was using her powers for good. There was no family that would fight for Katherine at this point- not years ago when the teen was a little girl placed in foster care, and certainly not three years after the girl had been placed in her care. And unbeknownst to Katherine Howard, Jane Seymour had full intention of adopting the sweet teen just a few weeks shy of her eighteenth birthday.

The pair had just finished cleaning up dinner and were settling in for their nightly routine of watching a movie and Kat went to reach for the remote when a gentle hand was placed over hers. When the teen first moved in here she would have inevitably flinched away from the touch. Now however, she knew there was no malice behind the hand and playfully swatted it away.

“Come on Jane,” she laughed quietly. “What are we watching tonight anyway? I was thinking we could try this new show called-”

“Actually love,” Jane started gently. “I think there’s something we need to talk about.”

Those nine words were enough to make the younger girl’s heart stop. She took her hand

back and leaned away from the coffee table shaking slightly. She racked her brain for any wrongdoings that might have occurred that would cause this conversation to take place but could find none.

“Uh, yeah sure. What’s up?” She tried to keep the waiver out of her voice, but it was clear she had become a nervous wreck within the past few seconds.

The foster mum cleared her throat before speaking with some hesitation in her voice, “So... Kat, your eighteenth birthday is in a few weeks.” Ah, so it was that conversation. The one where Jane would tell the teen that once she turned eighteen she was to move out and never contact her again.

Katherine’s wall immediately went up and she stood up straight, any fear in her eyes gone and replaced with a look that was almost stony. “Yes.”

“And I was wondering,” the older woman drew out.

“I’ll make this easy for you,” the teen far too used to being thrown out of places, cut her off. “When do you want me out?”

The blonde’s mouth could not have dropped any quicker. She stood scooted closer on the couch to the girl who had stolen her heart as she searched for her words.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” was all that she could seem to say. “No, no, no. No. No.” She stated the last “no” with such might that she shocked herself.

“Well then what is it?” Katherine’s hopes had been raised, but the lack of care in her voice didn’t show that.

“Oh, god,” Jane stumbled over her words again. “This is not how I planned on this going,” she muttered to herself. “I- uh,” she cleared her throat again. “Your eighteenth birthday is in a few weeks, and I do have a gift for you if you’ll take it, but I wanted to run it by you in case you might not want it- which is completely understandable if you don’t want to accept my gift. I wouldn’t be hurt in the slightest, and I would understand.” A lie. It would cut through Jane’s heart of stone like nothing else.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Kat’s curiosity peaked. In the last three years that the girl had lived with Jane she had been showered with both big and little gifts that ranged from a new phone to a small cup that the older woman simply could not pass up on buying for the girl.

“Let me just go-” The foster mum stood abruptly from her spot. “-and get it.” She ran into her room with a bit more spring in her step than Katherine had ever seen before returning a few short seconds later with a manilla envelope. “Here.” She shoved the envelope into her foster daughter’s hands not so eloquently.

With a confused look on her face, Kat opened the envelope and pulled out many documents. She scanned her eyes over the first page when she saw it. Request for adoption of Katherine Howard.

#six the musical fanfiction #six musical fanfiction #six fanfic #fanfic #six the musical fanfic #jane seymour six #six jane seymour #six katherine howard #katherine howard six #kat howard

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apocalypseornaw · 5 years ago

Text

Always be yours (Pt 2/2)

Warnings? Demon! Dean, mentions of cheating, sex, killing and lots of cursing

You sat just outside of the armory flat on the cool tile floor with your eyes closed. You couldn't bare to walk through that door. It had been weeks since that night you spent wrapped in Dean's arms. You told Sam you'd seen Dean, that he had sought you out. You didn't tell him everything that had happened or that Dean knew what had happened between the two of you.

You weren't praying for the simple fact that you knew with the exception of Cas no one was listening that would care. Sam had left to get the blessed blood after carting Dean inside the bunker. You'd stayed out of sight the entire time. Now you had to face Dean and watch him go through what you knew would be an excruciating process to flush the demon out of him.

"Are you ok?" Sam's voice drew you out of your thoughts. You opened your eyes to see him standing about a foot away from you "Just trying to get my head on right Sam" he nodded with a sympathetic smile "You know you don't have to go in there yet. This is gonna take a while" "I can't do that Sam. I can't turn away, he wouldn't do it to me if positions were reversed nor would he do it to you"

He held his good hand out but you shook your head and climbed to your feet "Let's do this"

--------

You took a deep breath as you watched Sam splash holy water and repeat the Latin that would concentrate the ground for the process to work. Dean hadn't looked your way yet and you weren't sure if you were relieved or hurt.

You watched Sam draw up the blood in a syringe. Dean eyed it as well finally meeting your eyes before saying "Sammy you know I hate shots" Sam shrugged "I hate demons" you flinched when Dean snarled at Sam before Sam splashed holy water on him and injected the blood into his arm right below the mark.

Dean's eyes never left yours, a groan of pain leaving him before he shook it off. "Look Dean there's a lot more doses to go. You could make it a lot easier on yourself" Sam told him then turned to walk off. He stopped where you were glued to the floor staring at Dean. "Are you ok?"

Dean spoke up "Oh Y/N's fine alone with me black eyes and all. Isn't that right sweetheart?" A flicker of a smile flashed across his face and your stomach flipped. Sam looked between the two of you visibly confused before Dean smirked "Oh she didn't get around to that Sammy? Yeah me and her had a damn good time in Colorado"

"Y/N?" Sam's voice wasn't accusatory just simply asking. You stared past him at Dean "Yeah I fucked him that night Sam" "A few times" Dean added and you felt your face warm from embarrassment. "Come on" Sam grabbed your arm to pull you from the room and you heard a slight growl from Dean before the two of you made it out into the hallway.

-------

"You didn't tell me you had sex with him" Sam's voice was barely a whisper. You followed him down the hall to the kitchen "Didn't exactly know how to throw that into casual conversation"

You sat down at the table holding your head in your hands. Sam walked to the fridge then sat a bottle of water down in front of you "It's understandable Y/N. You love him" you slowly raised your eyes and he nearly choked on the water in his mouth "How did he find out?" You shrugged "Crowley somehow? I guess"

You normally didn't hear Sam curse a whole lot but the string of words that fell from his mouth would've made a sailor blush. "Shit you shouldn't be here then" you shook your head "I'm not fucking leaving you alone with him Sam. He won't hurt me, there's still something inside of him stopping that whether it's the Cain and Collette thing. You on the other hand, our real Dean he'd never forgive himself if he did something to you. The least I owe you both is staying through whatever happens next"

He reached across the table and gently grabbed your hand and gave it a light squeeze "You're still my best friend, you know that. We'll get him back and deal with the fall out of everything that happened" you swallowed hard then said "If we get him back Sam, I'm leaving. I know Dean...seeing me and you in close quarters he won't handle it well and I won't be what tears you two apart" "and if he doesn't want you to leave?" He asked in almost a whisper and you laughed sadly "Then miracles really do happen"

-------

The second dose you didn't go in for and there were no words exchanged between Sam and Dean. You stood in the hallway listening to Dean in pain and fought everything inside of you that screamed to run to his side.

------

The third dose you walked in behind Sam. Dean met your eyes "For all you know he's killing me sweetheart" "Or you're screwing with him and me" you replied trying to not let your heart get in the way of your brain.

"Besides the lore didn't say anything about an exception to the cure" Sam added and Dean scoffed "The lore..hunters...men of letters. What a load of crap it all is" when you nor Sam said anything in return he tilted his head at Sam "Oh you got nothing?"

You shook your head at Sam trying to remind him that this was the demon part talking not Dean. You were relieved when he said "What do you want me to debate you? This isn't even the real you I'm talking to" Dean turned towards you "Y/N did I feel real enough to you? Hell come here and give me a kiss baby" you turned and walked out without a word and heard him laugh before turning back to Sam.

--------

You tried to call Cas but he didn't answer so after a moment you walked back into the room. You heard Dean say "Crowley told me all about it. So let me ask which one of us is really a monster?"

You walked further into the room and cut your eyes at Sam "What's he mean? What did you do?" You knew both you and Sam had went to different extremes to find Dean but there were a few weeks you barely saw each other. "Oh she doesn't know..man that's rich"

"You two were trying to get a twenty on me and Crowley from any direction you could but Crowley didn't want to be found and no one showed when Sammy summoned so he found a way" you looked from one brother to the other "Sam?" He was looking at Dean who half smirked "Oh he would've liked to have gotten there before the deal went down but he didn't really care about poor ol Lester..did ya Sammy?"

It didn't take a lot to put together what you'd missed. "Oh Sam" Dean chuckled darkly "Yeah I killed Lester myself and his wife married that tattooed guy" "I never meant" Sam started but Dean cut him off "Who cares what you meant? That line between us and what we hunt ain't so clear is it? Wow you might actually be worse than me. I mean you found a guy at his lowest, used him and then it cost him his life and his soul. Nice work and Y/N here fucked us both so what does that say about her?"

You felt like you'd been slapped in the face when Dean threw those words at you. Sam injected another syringe of blood into Dean's neck and you tried with everything you had to not let yourself break before walking out the room. You could hear Dean asking Sam if he or you had the stomach to do what would be needed should the cure not work and felt your knees weaken at the mere thought.

-----

Sam found you in the map room staring blankly at the screen. "Hey, that's not really him" you raised your face and knew he saw the streaks of tears when you said "Isn't it?" You pushed away from the table when he took a step towards you and shook your head "I just need a minute"

You walked past him to the room you'd been sleeping in. You sat down on the edge of the bed and looked over to the photo of you, Dean and Sam at Bobby's place that was leaned against the lamp next to the letter Dean had left that night.

You knew all that was happening had been a possibility and the truth was any amount of heartbreak was worth getting Dean's eyes back permanently green. If that night was the last you got in his arms you'd be grateful for it if he just survived this cure.

-------

You wiped your tears and headed back to the armory. The moment you got to the doorway your heart dropped "SAM" you screamed running in to Dean's side. You stepped closer than you should've but his head was dropped down and you couldn't tell if he was breathing. "Baby, please wake up Dean. Come back to us please" you slapped his cheeks lightly and heard Sam come running in behind you "Is he ok?"

"Yeah if drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils is ok" Dean answered slowly opening his eyes and you hadn't realized just how close you were to him until that moment. "He could stop this darling. You know I'd never hurt you. Just make him stop" you quickly stepped away from him and shook your head "No. We want the real Dean back"

You knew Sam was drawing up another dose but Dean leveled you with his gaze "You think the real Dean is gonna be so forgiving? I mean at least I screwed strangers you on the other hand, my baby brother? That's low Y/N. I would've preferred you fucking Cas"

"Well if you hate me at least you'll be human to do so" you replied then walked out hoping he didn't see the way your hands shook.

------

One minute you were walking back to the armory after making sure the outer door was unlocked for Cas then the next Sam was pulling you into a side hallway holding his hand over your mouth. "He's out" he mouthed and your eyes widened.

"What's the plan?" You whispered once he moved his hand. "C'MON SAMMY. DON'T YOU WANNA HANG OUT WITH YOUR BIG BROTHER" rang through the quiet air and you flinched. "We need to lock it down. Keys are in the map room" you nodded then pointed "I'll go left and make some noise for him to follow. You go right"

"Y/N..be careful" you half smiled "You too"

--------

You ran down the hall towards the bedrooms making sure to let your feet fall heavy. "Dean?" You called out hoping he'd come after you and not Sam. Sure enough you felt the air shift a half second before your back was shoved against a wall "Hey there beautiful. Where's Sammy?" He had one arm across your chest holding you in place while the other held a hammer.

Your eyes flicked towards it and he smiled "It's not for you. If I wanted to nail you there's better ways" you groaned at the fact that even murderous Demonic Dean had to make bad jokes. "I don't know" he nodded and moved forward catching your lips in a bruising kiss "I believe you but I don't need you getting in the way"

You weren't sure what he meant until he shoved you roughly into a storage room and shut the door. "DEAN GOD DAMMIT DON'T DO THIS!" you pounded against the door and heard the key turn in the handle "Just calm down baby" was the last thing you heard before his footsteps disappeared down the hall.

-------

Painfully long minutes passed before the door slowly opened. You half expected it to be Dean covered in Sam's blood but let out a breath of relief when you saw it was Cas and flung yourself into his arms hugging him "Thank god" you muttered squeezing the angel who returned the hug fully. "Dean didn't hurt you, did he?" You shook your head "Just locked me in here so I wouldn't get in the way"

He grabbed your arm "Come on. Sam's fine but there's only two more doses to give Dean" you let Cas pull you to the armory trying to ignore the growing knot in your stomach.

--------

You stood between Sam and Cas while Dean slowly woke up. He looked between the three of you "You look worried" you nodded to Sam who splashed the Holy water onto Dean. He didn't even flinch "Welcome home Dean" Sam said with a relieved smile.

-------

You were sitting on the counter in the kitchen nursing a beer. You'd seen Sam when he got back with Dean's food and had told Cas goodbye before he left but you still couldn't face Dean. What he said had stuck with you. He may have cheated as well but it was with strangers and as a demon. You had slept with his brother of all people. You wouldn't want to be with you either.

-------

Hours passed. You saw Sam head to bed and slowly headed towards your own room. You stopped in front of Dean's door and almost knocked but thought better of it. The moment you went to step away though the door opened and you heard his voice "Y/N?" You turned around with a small smile "I just wanted to check on you" he nodded then glanced back into his room "You haven't been sleeping in here have you?"

You shook your head "I couldn't" you didn't know what else to say. Every time you'd tried to sleep in the bed you shared with him you'd ended up crying yourself to sleep. "Do you want to? I mean fuck I don't have a right to ask but will you just lay down with me? Let me hold you." You couldn't believe your ears but your mouth moved faster than your brain it seemed "Are you sure?"

He gave you a smirk that was a ghost of his usual one "I started the day as a demon and tried to kill my brother but you're asking me if I'm sure" you held your hand out and when he took it walked into the room pulling him behind you.

------

He shut the door then pulled you behind him to the bed. He sat down on the side of it and pulled you between his legs. You stood there with your hands on his shoulders just enjoying knowing you had your Dean back even if he decided he no longer wanted to be yours. "Are you scared of me Y/N?" He asked and that shocked you more than anything "What? No" he glanced down at his lap then raised his eyes to you playfully "You could be closer"

You kicked your boots off then climbed onto his lap effectively straddling him. "I've missed you and not just the sex, this" he whispered burying his face in your neck. "Do you still love me?" You asked and he drew back to look you in the face "Yeah Sweetheart I still love you. Can you ever forgive me for everything I did?" "Are you still mine?" You asked and he kissed your neck lightly "I'll always be yours even if you don't want me"

You smiled and felt tears trying to sting your eyes "I've only ever wanted you Dean" he noticed the tears glistening in your eyes and gently wiped them away "Those women didn't mean anything. The mark and being a demon..it fucked me up and i didn't want to risk hurting you. I stayed away as long as I could but when Crowley told me that you and Sam.." he trailed off but his hands tightened around your waist. "It didn't mean anything to us but helping to keep each other sane and alive. I was hurt and lost and so was he…" Dean cut you off with a kiss and you melted into his touch.

When he pulled away he pushed your hair back out of your face "Can we call this a new start?" His hands had slid under your shirt and you felt his fingertips trailing across your bare skin. "Please" you all but whispered pulling him into another kiss.

Tags: @akshi8278

#deanmon #demon dean x reader #demon dean #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #always be yours

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the-delta-42 · 4 years ago

Text

Revealed

Inspired by an ask sent to @lenoreofraven

Revealed

Marinette tried to duck away from the Akuma. Rose had been made aware of Lila’s lies and became an ample target for Hawkmoth. Revealler shot beams of light that forced her target to spill out the complete truth, their deepest secrets that they would not share with anyone.

Marinette bit back a cough, as Lila finished spilling about how she had lied to everyone and how she threatened anyone who got in her way. Revealler turned her gaze on Marinette.

“Marinette!” Exclaimed Revealler, skipping toward the girl, “How does it feel to know your friends discarded you for a Liar?”

Marinette glared up at the Akuma, making Revealler sigh.

“I didn’t want to do this.” Whined Revealler, waving her hand.

A gold light appeared in Marinette’s eyes and Revealler grinned.

“So, how does it feel?” Questioned the Akuma, smiling down at Marinette.

“It hurt,” Said Marinette, her voice monotone, “I’ve known some of them for years and they sided with Lila.”

Alya winced, knowing that she owed Marinette a big apology when this was over.

“But it doesn’t matter.” Said Marinette, making the Akuma tilt her head.

“And why is that?” Asked Revealler, forcing Marinette to answer.

“I’m dying.” Said Marinette, her eyes welling up, “I was diagnosed with Late-Stage Leukaemia a few weeks ago and my chances of survival are slim.”

Revealler scowled, “Y-your lying!”

The light grew brighter, forcing Marinette to speak again, “I was diagnosed with late-stage leukaemia a few weeks ago and my chances of survival are slim.”

Marinette suddenly gagged, before coughing up bile with blood mixed into it. Revealler slowly lowered her hand, tears starting to run down her face.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Screamed Revealler, grabbing her head, “Lila was supposed to be exposed and humiliated for what’s she’s done, you weren’t the one supposed to be punished!”

“I’m not being punished, Rose,” Said Marinette, dropping herself to the floor, “Everyone is given a hand at their birth, some of us have poorer hand than others.”

Revealler curled into a ball and started to rock herself back and forth. Marinette reached over and picked up the akumatized item, a picture of Rose and Prince Ali, and reluctantly tore it in half, releasing the Akuma. Rose grabbed into Marinette’s arm and clung to her, her crying being harder. Marinette idly watched as the Akuma flew off, phasing through the window.

Adrien watched as Rose continued to break down. The day became a blur, and the next thing Adrien knew, he was sitting in front of the piano in his room, mindlessly pressing the keys. He heard his bedroom door open and his father walk in, Nathalie not far behind.

“Adrien, you’ve been playing off key for the past two hours,” Said his father, his tone cold, “If you don’t improve, I may have to cut short the time you spend with your frie-”

“Marinette has cancer.” Adrien interrupted, tears starting to run down his face, “T-there was an Akuma that forced people to tell the truth, a-and when Marinette was hit, she told everyone she had l-leu-leukaemia!”

With the last word, Adrien dissolved into tears, Gabriel stood awkwardly, staring at his sons shaking shoulders.

“Adrien, she could still be in the early stages,” Said Nathalie, walking past Gabriel, “she could still undergo treatment.”

“M-Marinette said she only found out when it was already at a late stage,” Sobbed Adrien, “She keeps saying she’s fine, but it’s like when mother went!”

Gabriel froze, he had never once thought on how his mother’s condition would affect him. The last time he had seen his mother, she was propped up in a bed, skinny and gaunt, too weak to walk. As if she had cancer.

Gabriel then did something he had not done in years, he walked over to Adrien and cradled him. Nathalie quietly left the room, silently cancelling all meetings and appointments for the coming week.

Lila tried not to flinch as her mother yelled, after she had spilt everything, she’d been removed from class and placed in a separate classroom so she could catch up her work. Lila had tried to protest, but a stern, angry glare from her mother made her duck her head down and do the work.

Lila had her phone, laptop and tablet confiscated until she’d learned the impact of her actions. Marinette, of all people, suggested that someone help her catch up, as if Lila threatening her was not a big deal.

Max, as he put it, drew the short straw. He helped her work out problems, but his voice was cold, and his tone was sharp. Lila took a deep breath in and looked down at the page, staring at it as tear drops landed on the paper.

“There’s got to be something!” Gasped Rose, her eyes wide.

“Rose, you’re a sweet girl, naïve sometimes,” Said Ali, “But, I don’t think we’d be able to find a cure for cancer in a couple of weeks.”

Rose nervously chewed her bottom lip.

“The most I can suggest is that you make sure her last days are comfortable.” Said Ali, as Rose let out a small sniffle.

Chloe sat curled up on her bed, curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d looked up leukaemia and read about the various stages, signs and the survival chances. It was only with hindsight that Chloe noticed all the signs, the fatigue, weight loss, her lack of appetite, how she’d taken to wearing a hat. Chloe then read about how it all typically ended. Chloe never wanted to admit it, but Marinette was a bright spot in the class, to learn she’d be reduced to a mere husk of herself was devastating.

Chloe dreaded when her mother found out.

Marinette nervously chewed on her bottom lip as the parents paced around the living room. They seemed to take Marinette spilling her condition well, then they started pacing and hadn’t said anything since.

Her mother suddenly sat next to her and pulled her into her arms and stroking her hair. Marinette relaxed slightly at the sound of her mother’s heartbeat. Before she noticed her mother was shaking. Marinette leaned back and saw her mother holding a clump of hair, Marinette’s hair.

Marinette swallowed the lump forming in her throat and buried her face in her mother’s arms.

Adrien’s leg bounced, quietly waiting for his classmates to arrive. Chloe had called him late last night and told him the effects of late-stage leukaemia. Marinette had been wasting away before their eyes and they didn’t notice a thing. He also found that, since it was late stage, Marinette could die any day now. The classroom door opened, admitting half of the class, the other half arrived within a few minutes and now everyone was waiting for Marinette.

Ms. Bustier entered the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

“Marinette’s been admitted to hospital,” Said Ms. Bustier, quietly, “Her parent said you could visit her after school.”

Adrien suddenly had a lump in his throat, not knowing how to process the information.

Marinette hated the nurses, they were dismissive, arrogant and so full of their own self-importance. They seemed to have a game they called humiliating the patients, Marinette had to beg them to clean her after she lost control of her bladder and bowels, they’d just laughed, at least until a doctor caught sight of them.

Dr. Bates had her own team take over tending to the cancer ward, Marinette found Dr. Bates to be enjoyable company. Marinette had been in the ward a couple of weeks and every day, around noon, Dr. Bates would read a poem to them from one of the many books in the hospital. Each day, Marinette felt herself getting weaker, two days ago, she’d begged her parents to come up, she didn’t want to be alone when she went.

Marinette felt her mother’s hand on her, the only sound she could hear was her own breathing, it was getting harder to breath. Marinette was going to close her eyes for a minute.

Ms. Bustier quietly made her way into the classroom, her eyes were red.

“Marinette’s parents just phoned.” Said Ms. Bustier, before taking a shuddering breath, “Marinette died in hospital yesterday, she was surrounded by her family.”

Adrien could’ve sworn he heard a buzzing noise for the rest of the day, over half the class had gone home at lunch, Alya and Nino included. Alix, Kim, Max, Adrien, Chloe and Lila were the only ones still in lesson. Alix, Adrien and Max had made the promise to take notes so everyone could catch up. Kim and Lila had to catch up their work. No one knew why Chloe opted to stay. Lila had gone quiet over the past few weeks, Adrien thought it was because how Lila’s lies had finally bitten her. Adrien felt Plagg shift in his pocket, making him look down. Adrien’s bag was fuller than he remembered, until a red, spotted kwami poked her head out and looked up at him. Adrien quickly asked to excuse himself to the toilet.

“Tikki!” Said Adrien, as soon as he entered the toilet, “It’s great you’re here, listen, a friend of mine died-”

“Marinette.” Tikki cut him off, “I can’t help her.”

“Why?!” Asked Adrien, desperation seeping into his voice, “I don’t know what happened to Ladybug, you could convince her-”

“I can’t.” Said Tikki, her antennae drooping.

“Why not?” Demanded Adrien, “Ladybug likes Marinette, she has called her a great help multiple times.”

“Because what happened to Marinette… happened to Ladybug.” Whispered Tikki, looking down.

“W-what?” Whimpered Adrien, not liking how the course the conversation had taken.

“Marinette was Ladybug,” Admitted Tikki, shuddering, “and what happened, was because of me.”

Adrien didn’t trust his voice.

“C-cancer is a mutation of the cells in a living being,” Said Tikki, “w-when I first created it, I thought I was helping humans evolve, I-I never thought it’d become something so horrible.”

“S-so there’s nothing we can do?” Asked Adrien, sliding down to the floor.

That’s how Max found Adrien, curled up on the floor and sobbing. Adrien was sent home, where he curled up under the covers of his bed, the Album cover that Marinette signed pressed against his chest. Adrien heard his father enter his room and sit on Adrien’s bed.

“Adrien, are you alright?” Asked Gabriel, gently grabbing Adrien’s shoulder, “Do you want to talk?”

Adrien was silent, before taking a deep breath and pulled Plagg out from his hiding place, his father’s face was unreadable as Adrien explained who and what Plagg was and how he met him. Gabriel stiffened as Adrien told him about how Ladybug and Marinette were the same person and how the Ladybug Miraculous triggered the condition that took her life.

“The two Miraculous can grant any wish, Adrien.” Said Gabriel, making Adrien freeze, “I wanted them initially to bring your mother back, but I think it’s time to let the past go.”

Gabriel looked down at Plagg and Tikki, “Tell me, what would the price be if I asked for the girl back?”

Plagg and Tikki looked at each other, before looking up at Gabriel.

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

Text

The Problem with Magic Markers

Soooo Critical Role campaign 2 just ended, I've got major brain rot over it and my wonderful gf gave me a wonderful idea for a fic so! This happened! A gift to @spiky-lesbian who came up with this adorable concept and is just generally an all round wonderful person who deserves the world. Also huge thanks to my ever patient, ever helpful beta reader @minky-for-short

If you liked it too, please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

-----------

Mollymauk is so proud of Caleb in so many ways and, now they have their lovely lives with their wonderful children, he finds more reasons to be every day.

-----------

Mollymauk Tealeaf had learned many things since he’d become a parent, now five years ago. A short amount of time, he’d used to think, but plenty of time to obtain a lot of knowledge you never thought you were ever going to need in your life.

Like how sandwiches cut into triangles were disgusting but sandwiches cut into squares could be eaten by the hundreds. Like how to make a bath appealing to a toddler with the liberal addition of bubble bath and a willingness to get absolutely soaked playing Sharks with them. Like how a scraped knee and bumped forehead could be cured with his cuddles and kisses alone, like how a promise from him that everything was going to be okay was enough to make it so.

And how silence was very, very worrying.

So when Mollymauk walked past his son and daughter’s room and heard only silence, when he knew for a fact they were in there, he stopped dead. He put any thoughts of getting to go and spend some time with his sewing kit out of his mind. Because he’d been a parent long enough to know that something was up, two five year olds weren’t that silent unless some game was afoot, something they didn’t want their parents to know about. Which meant he should probably at least poke his nose in.

So he knocked lightly on their door, the one covered in whichever drawings they were most proud of that week and a hand painted sign Jester had made for them the day they were born, prettily proclaiming ‘Trinket and Una’s Room!’ amongst a flock of miniature unicorns.

“Sweetlings?” he called gently, “Mind if I come in?”

There was a sudden scrabbling from behind the door and he heard a muffled grunt from Una before Trinket answered hurriedly, “Um...yes! Okay daddy!”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Molly pushed the door back, disturbing the usual scattering of toys left on the floor like the aftermath of a felt based battle. Although it did seem like there was more mess than usual…

Trinket stood in the middle of the room between their two little beds, his backpack at his feet and an expression of perfect innocence on his face that was just a little too polished to be anything but an act. Molly had to admit he’d probably learned that from him.

“Well hello there, little man,” he leaned in the doorway, smiling crookedly, “What game are we playing today?”

Trinket shuffled his feet, “Um...packing?”

“That sounds like a fun game,” Molly’s gentle concern upgraded to full blown wariness, “And where’s your sister?”

Trinket turned a deeper shade of purple, looking down at his fidgety feet that were poking more holes in his innocence by the second, “Um...she...um…”

Which was the point Una helpfully chose to poke her little head out of the backpack, dark eyes blinking curiously and ears flapping, trilling, “Here daddy!”

Trinket flushed guiltily, frowning at her, “Una! I said you had to stay shh!”

Molly took a breath, wandering over to sit down on Trinket’s bed. As his eyes swept around the room, he noted a great deal more chaos in the room. Almost like someone had been going through the toy box and the drawers and bookshelves, hurriedly pulling things out, making quick decisions about what to abandon and what to stuff into a little blue, dinosaur patterned backpack. Molly supposed he should at least be grateful that Trinket saw his sister as worth taking.

“Why don’t you talk to me, babies?” he offered gently.

Trinket swallowed, eyes darting around nervously before the last of the fight went out of his narrow little shoulders and he mumbled, “Daddy...can I tell you a secret?”

Molly had to smile. This was almost a running joke between the three of them, his kids running up excitedly to tell him they had a secret for him before whispering into his ear about some apparently very cool bug they’d seen or that Uncle Caddy had snuck them an extra cookie or that he was the best daddy ever. He loved being brought into their world where everything was brighter and more exciting and there was fun to be found in the smallest things. And where everything was felt so much more keenly.

“Of course you can, sweetling,” he murmured gently, patting the bed beside him, “You can always tell me secrets. Whatever it is, I promise we can make it better together.”

As Una rolled out of the backpack, apparently unconcerned and rather enjoying herself, Trinket clambered up beside him and stood so he could whisper into his ear. Molly tucked his purple curls behind one ear, smiling encouragingly.

Voice already trembling, Trinket leaned in and murmured, “I messed up Papa’s coat.”

Molly absorbed that in silence, feeling his son’s anxious red eyes on him. He leaned back, keeping his face carefully neutral before taking a long, deep breath through his nose, marshalling his thoughts.

“Trinket, I’m not going to lie to you here. We might be in trouble.”

His opinion didn’t change when he actually saw the coat. The coat his husband had been wearing as long as he’d known him and refused to be regularly seen without, no matter how many attempts Molly had made to buy him a newer, less ragged, less musty smelling version. It was more a comfort blanket than just clothing, stained and scorched from numerous spells and spills, old leather worn shiny from overuse. He hadn’t said so in so many words but it didn’t take a genius to guess that Caleb had worn it since before he came to the city. Which meant it had probably come from his parents. And though it was old and faded and stained today, it must have been new when he got it, a costly garment for people like the Ermendruds. The sort of gift that would only be given if your only son was leaving home to join the Academy and wanted to show him how proud you were.

A lot of Caleb’s life was like that. Even as his husband, Molly found himself having to piece things together from passing comments and turns of phrase, things that dulled his love’s eyes and tightened his jaw. Molly had about a quilt and a half’s worth of assumptions and semi-finished anecdotes by this point, telling of a sad and fractured timeline.

But he knew enough to see what the coat meant to Caleb and the place it held in his husband’s black and white, yes or no, yours and mine way of thinking.

The coat that now had a minor gallery’s worth of doodles and drawings scribbled in magic marker across the sleeves and all the way down the back. And if he wasn’t comfortable with Molly washing the thing, he wasn’t going to be okay with this.

Trinket had been fretfully watching his daddy since he’d first pulled the coat out from where he’d guiltily stashed it under his bed. As Molly’s mutely horrified silence dragged on, he only became more and more anguished until he was barely in tears, wringing his tail between his pudgy fists.

“I only wanted to make it pretty,” he whimpered, “Papa will hate me. I won’t be his special boy any more.”

Molly looked up at him, reaching out and putting his hand on Trinket’s shoulder, “Oh sweetling, your papa loves you a lot, you know this isn’t going to change that.”

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the times he’d picked up a pen from Caleb’s desk without thinking much of it, doodling with it until he’d looked up to see his husband gaping at him in scandalised horror. Or the times he’d stolen sips from Caleb’s drink when they were at the cafe, the same way he’d do to any of his friends, but Caleb would frown if he caught him, unable to understand why Molly was taking his coffee?

It was just part of the way his brain functioned, the rules it spat out after absorbing years of poverty and trauma, along with some different wiring that had simply occurred naturally. Mollymauk had learned a long time ago how to fondly work with these Caleb-isms, making concessions where it was best to and encouraging his wizard to gentle the restrictions his brain built when he needed to. It was like tending some kind of creeping vine in a garden, the way he saw it. Sometimes things needed moving aside so it could flourish and sometimes it needed pruning so it didn’t strangle the flowers around it. Caleb had been as brave as Mollymauk could have wished in managing his idiosyncrasies and sometimes he just had to sit back and admire how different the Caleb he lived with today was from the anxious, mumbling wizard he’d first met.

But how much patience he’d be able to muster when it was one of his favourite things in the world, Molly couldn’t say. But he wasn’t looking forward to telling him about it.

“Should I go?” Trinket’s lower lip wobbled, glancing back at his half packed bag, which Una was back inside, the front half this time as she munched away on some snack he must have stashed in there.

“Absolutely not, your papa would never want that,” Molly squeezed his shoulder gently, “We’re going to put the coat in to soak so we can get all this ink out and then we’re going to find him and I’ll tell him what’s happened. But you need to be the one who says sorry, okay?”

Trinket nodded frantically, still clinging onto his tail for comfort, “I am sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I know, buddy,” Molly drew him close and hugged him tight, hating to see him so upset, “But we’ll be laughing about this before long, you’ll see.”

Maybe if he said it confidently enough, he’d start to believe it too.

Caleb wasn’t hard to find for a number of reasons. For one, their apartment was very small and there were only a handful of rooms to look in. But more importantly, it was late afternoon on a day where Caleb didn’t have any reason to go down to the Academy and fulfill his duties as an adjunct professor and when his bookshop was closed, as it was once a week. Which meant there was only one place he would be, in his half of their spare room, either playing one of his video games or reading.

Molly wasn’t quite sure what they’d do when one of their kids decided they wanted their own room and were tired of sharing, meaning Caleb would have to store his books and he’d have to store his sewing somewhere else. Or if they had another kid. He’d been toying with that idea in the back of his mind lately.

Maybe best not to float that idea with Caleb right after this.

Mollymauk could feel Trinket in his arms, his offer to pick him up and carry him having been immediately, breathlessly accepted. He could sense him getting more tense, more anxious, growing heavier against him as Molly knocked lightly on the door.

“Ja, come in,” Caleb’s response was immediate, not even needing to ask who it was or having to pause over whether he wanted to see them.

When Molly went in, Caleb was in the old, ratty wingback chair they’d liberated from some sidewalk when they’d first moved in, Molly announcing teasingly that a future professor needed some grand leather throne from which to smoke a pipe and pontificate. Caleb had blushed and rolled his eyes, not even believing back then that one day he would get the job he’d always dreamed of having, thinking trauma and past hurts had stolen it from him.

So now Molly always got a small flush of pride when he saw his Caleb sitting in that chair.

His hair was getting a little longer these days, it’s auburn tangles pulled into a small knot at the crown of his head so it wouldn’t fall in his eyes. His beard was growing a little thicker too, more than the usual rusty shadow that dusted his jawline. Molly absolutely was not going to be complaining about any of that, he liked his husband looking a little more rough around the edges like when they’d first met.

As soon as he saw them, Molly with Trinket balanced on one hip, Caleb’s face lit up with a smile. His smiles had been rare once upon a time but now just the sight of his family was enough.

“Hello,” he set the book he’d been reading to one side, already expecting Trinket to want to sit on his lap like always, “How are my loves?”

Near Molly’s ear, Trinket whimpered mournfully and pressed his face against his daddy’s neck. It was more than an ache to listen to, Trinket idolised his papa, following him around whenever he could, listening devotedly as he explained his work even when it wandered far off the track that his little mind could understand. Molly had no doubt the attempt to brighten up his coat had been a genuine attempt to make him smile and he couldn’t imagine how much it was hurting his little boy, to think he’d upset the man he looked up to more than anyone.

Caleb’s smile dulled a little, seeing Trinket hesitate, immediately realising they weren’t here for playtime, “What’s wrong?”

Molly exhaled slowly, carefully keeping his voice calm and level, “It’s okay babe, Trinket just...did something he wants to apologise for.”

“Oh?” Caleb frowned a little, eyes still fixed on Trinket, arms still open.

Molly opened his mouth, ready to do the hard part but before he could, Trinket bolted upright and tearfully burst out, “I wanted to make your coat pretty because you always like my pictures and I thought you could take them everywhere not just in your pockets but I made a mess and I’m so sorry papa! I’m really sorry!”

For a moment both of his parents were a little stunned, not quite sure what to say as his rambles tapered off into spluttery sobs. Molly warily glanced at Caleb, looking for any change in his blank, closed off expression, any flicker of discomfort, even anger.

After a few beats, ones that felt longer than usual, Caleb only nodded, getting to his feet. Gently, he reached over and put a gentle hand on his son’s face, catching some of the tears dribbling down his cheek on his thumb.

“Little Kätzchen, it’s alright,” he murmured softly, “Please don’t cry.”

Trinket sniffled, blinking blearily, “You’re not angry? Don’t want me to go away?”

Caleb’s eyebrows shot up in alarm, “No! Oh, Trinkie, absolutely not. I’d never want that.”

“But…” Trinket’s eyes were wide, hopeful, wanting to take this relief being offered but hesitant to, “It’s your favourite thing in the whole wide world…”

Caleb chuckled quietly, his smile back with all it’s warmth as he leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“Kätzchen, you and your sister are my favourite thing in the whole wide world.”

Molly nearly yelped in panic as he felt the weight of Trinket suddenly leave his arms before realising his son had thrown himself at Caleb, locking his arms around him tightly. He didn’t doubt for a moment that his husband would catch him, only smiling fondly as he gathered Trinket close and buried his face in his hair.

“It’s all okay,” Caleb whispered against the rust red curls he’d given their son, “It’s okay, little one.”

Molly let them have their moment, letting Trinket cry the last of his tears out happily against his papa’s chest, hanging back and feeling his heart thudding warmly against his ribs. Eventually he was their beaming, bright little boy again, if a little damp, wriggling down from Caleb’s arms determinedly after one last little kiss against his papa’s cheek.

“I’m gonna make you a sorry card. The best sorry card ever,” he promised Caleb, already toddling towards the door, “It’s gonna have glitter.”

“Wow, that kid is definitely my son,” Molly observed wryly once his little lavender tail had disappeared around the corner.

“Then you can clean up the mess he’s definitely about to make,” Caleb chuckled, moving into his husband’s arms.

“Hey,” Molly kissed the crown of his head gently, “Well done. I know that must have been hard for you and...I’m really proud of you.”

He couldn’t see it but he could hear the coy smile in his voice, “Well...I meant what I said. Some coat is never going to be more important to me than my kids.”

Molly smiled knowingly, “I know baby….but you know, if you want to scream into that cushion for a little while, that’s okay too?”

There was a short pause before he felt Caleb’s shoulders drop in relief.

“Thank you, Katze…”

“Is it done yet?”

Molly had to fight a smile. He’d explained to Caleb that soaking his coat would take exactly thirty minutes, knowing his husband fixated on time easily, but still he asked every five minutes on the dot. He’d expected nothing less.

“Not just yet, babe,” he repeated, as he had all of those other times, looking up from the laundry they’d been folding so Caleb would have an excuse to hover anxiously in the laundry room, over the tub of hot soapy water and a little rubbing alcohol his coat was submerged in, “Soon though.”

Caleb gave a small grunt, poking a finger into the water curiously like it was some potion he was working over. After a moment, before Molly could turn back to folding the clothes, he frowned.

“This sleeve isn’t in the water…”

Molly’s smile turned crooked, coming over and putting a hand on Caleb’s before he could move the one sleeve into the tub, “I thought maybe you’d want to look at it...decide if you want to keep that one.”

Caleb blinked, not understanding until he turned it a little and saw the drawing his Trinket had chosen to adorn the sleeve with. It was done in bright red, standing clearly against the dark fabric, unmistakable a child’s drawing. There were four figures there, two taller and two smaller. The first had a set of horns drawn a little too large for it’s head, as well as a tail. The second had a long scarf and a scrawled head of shoulder length hair. The next was much smaller, with another set of horns and a tail but the same scribbled hair. And the last was tiny, with voluminous ears and spikes on the end of it’s fingers. All of them had immense smiles and held hands, a lopsided love heart hovering above them.

As the other scribbles and swirls turned into formless ink in the water, Caleb held this one like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Yeah,” he murmured, smiling softly, “I think this one can stay.”

#critical role #modern au #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #widomauk #una #trinket #please reblog and comment!

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magical-girl-coral · 4 years ago

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Birthday Surprises

Nanao Ise has found a new low for herself. It was eight in the morning, the sun was barely rising, and she was already on her fourth cup of Sake. And from how she was feeling, she wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

It all started when she and her friends decided to do something nice for Rangiku. For the last few months, she had been oddly active, taking fewer naps at the office, doing her paperwork, drinking less in the afternoon, and actually showing up to lieutenants' meetings on time. So as a small reward, all her female coworkers thought of giving her a small birthday surprise, showing up at her door with booze and persimmon sweets for a good morning gift. Since almost everyone takes a day off on their birthday, they wouldn't have to worry about her being somewhere else. Nanao took the lead since it was her idea and opened the bedroom to wake Rangiku up.

And there were no words that could describe her shock when she saw her best friend with a bedmate. Nanao was just thankful her instincts shut the door before anyone else could peek in.

Now she, along with the rest of the Shinigami Women's Association, drank in one of their many secret hiding spots (thanks to president Yachiru) as they took in the new information.

Rukia looked at Nanao worriedly. "Ise-san, don't you think you should slow down a bit?"

Kiyone grimaced. "I don't think she's drinking enough. I would have drunk myself under the table by now if I were in her place. Just thinking about finding Isane like that gives me chills."

"I still can't get over how she had a secret boyfriend and didn't tell us," Momo said before Nanao could correct Kiyone's assumption for her "sisterly" feelings towards Rangiku, “She almost never keeps secrets like this. Sometimes she tells us too much!”

Soi Fon poured Nanao and herself another cup. "And are you sure you didn't see his face?"

Nanao dropped her face on the table. "No," she mumbled out, "I could only see the back of his head." Although the silver hair, the scar across the chest, and the fucking missing right arm were enough to tell who he was.

Oh, gods, she was starting to curse now mentally. She should stop before the words begin to come out.

Isane smiled awkwardly at the scene. "Well, at least now we know why she's been in such a good mood lately. Remember when she turned down lunch break drinking with captain Kyoraku, and we all thought she was dying?"

Retsu smiled at that. "I remember that. You tied her up and sent her to me directly to get an emergency check. Even I was too scared of the possibilities to turn down the request. Rangiku was fairly upset with all of us."

"....I've just realized something," Nemu said suddenly, "it's impossible for her mystery bedfellow to be one of the seated officers, lieutenants, or captains."

Nanao raised her head from the table. "What do you mean?"

"Rangiku has a lieutenant-level spiritual power that has only grown stronger since she has taken her Shikai training more seriously," Nemu explained, "only people around her levels can be detected while standing in her presence. Since Rangiku's spiritual mass would cloak anyone weaker, none of us could sense his presence, which means whoever she is with has to be weaker than her."

Nanao's eyebrows went up to her hairline. His restrictions. They must have hidden his spiritual powers. Nanao thanked the gods and swallowed the irony of Nemu's last sentence.

"Now that is a big relief," Soin Fon said, "Can you imagine how awkward it would be if she dated someone we all knew?"

"Oh, yeah, I haven't thought about that," Momo said to herself, "With how intermingled everyone already is, adding a romantic relationship to the mix would be more than messy, especially since most of us are still getting used to how everything's changed."

Nanao's heart fell to her stomach as everyone agreed.

"I feel a bit proud now, even more so than I have before," Retsu said as she put a hand over her heart, and it was at that moment that Nanao had forsaken the cup and went straight to the bottle.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Three hours and two bottles later, Nanao found herself in front of Rangiku's apartment. While she did declare she was ready to go home to take a last-minute day off, she found herself in front of Rangiku's door instead. This is why one shouldn't drink and Shunpo.

After knocking on her door on a lost rhyme, Rangiku opened her door with a surprised expression. "Nanao-chan, What are you doing here? And why do you smell like your captain?"

Nanao swayed as she answered with her own question. "Can he extend his penis like his sword?"

Rangiku openly gaped at her. "What?"

"You know, he says shoot to kill, and it gets longer." Nanao wished she could shut her mouth, but the words kept flowing out. "Or do his restrictions stop that from happening? No, wait, does his hollowfication do something during sex? Like, can it transform his di-"

Rangiku slapped her palm over Nanao's mouth, to which Nanao was grateful. "Okay, since you're obviously hammered and won't listen to common sense, how about I'll pour you a glass of water, some tea, and we'll continue this conversation inside where my neighbors can't hear you."

Nanao nodded her head in agreement, and Rangiku released her mouth. She quickly pulled them both inside and sat Nanao down before going to the kitchen to prepare the aforementioned tea.

Rangiku sat a teacup in front of Nanao and took a deep breath. "So, why have you been drinking with Nemu at eleven in the morning?"

Nanao shrunk in her seat. It didn’t feel great to be on the other side of the table. “Because I found you and captain Ichimaru in bed together. We wanted to surprise you because it’s your birthday and I panicked, but no one else has seen his face!” She added the last part quickly after noticing her ever-paling face. "Wait, how did you know I drank with Nemu?"

"I learned the hard way not to get her too drunk, or I start asking the same things from her influence." Rangiku chuckled softly to herself. "Your next question?"

"How long have you two been together?"

Rangiku put her finger on her chin in thought. "We got togther around the last winter festival, so about nine months."

Now it was Nanao's turn to gape. "Nine months?! You've been in a secret relationship for nine months, and you didn't tell me?! I thought you trusted me in these kinds of things! What changed?"

"No, no, I still do, I swear!" Rangiku assured as she rose her hands in defense. "I wanted to tell you, I really did. It was just... well..." Rangiku sighed deeply and sat back in her chair. "Do you remember when Gin first came back, people broke into the third's barracks and graffitied their offices?"

"Yes, I remember. It was painful watching Kira go through that-" Nanao's eyes widened in realization. "Oh."

"Yeah," Rangiku said as she rubbed her neck, "It took forever for things to settle down. Just yesterday, Gin mentioned how relieved he was that no one harassed his men in six months. So when we first got together, he wanted to keep it a secret so-"

"So that none of those poor excuses of breathing beings would start troubling you," Nanao finished the sentence for her.

Rangiku let out a small laugh. "You know, Gin called them something similar, except a lot more vulgar."

"Trust me, the only reason I haven't said anything worse is because your tea is magic, and it's sobering me up quickly." Nanao took another sip and rubbed her forehead. A hangover is coming already; she could feel it.

Rangiku's eyes shone brightly. "I know, right? It took me forever to come up with this special blend. It cures me right away! And don't forget to drink your water; the tea itself isn't enough. You also need some actual hydration."

Nanao drank the water, and her headache went away. She honestly wanted to get this straight to the Twelve Division to be analyzed, but her phone buzzed before she could joke about that. "It looks like president Kusajishi wants us to have an emergency meeting at Kuchiki manor."

"Awww," Rangiku complained loudly, "but it's my day off."

"We might as well get there just to get it over with." Nanao stood up and went to pull on Rangiku's arm. "It's probably about her spending all of our fundings on another failed pool."

Rangiku let out one last grumble as she was pulled to her feet. Unfortunately, they had to walk there, with Nanao still slightly drunk and Rangiku being sleepy from her constant napping. By the time they got there, it was one in the afternoon. Though, they would have arrived sooner if it wasn’t for an unplanned coffee stop.

Nanao and Rangiku both sensed more people than there should be. Thinking it was a trap or a cruel prank, they drew out their swords just in case. What they didn't expect was confetti, most of the high-ranked Shinigami, and a large banner in the middle of the room that said "Happy Birthday, Rangiku!".

All the attendants in the room wished Rangiku happy birthday in one giant shout as captain Ichimaru blew a party horn. Nanao turned her head towards Rangiku with an open mouth. "I did not know this was planned."

"Trust me, I believe you," Rangiku said before letting out a big laugh and walking up to hug her friends. "How were you able to pull this off at the last minute? And with Byakuya's approval to use one of his party rooms?"

"I used the "you tried to kill me for an entire week" card, and he gave it to us without issues," Rukia explained with a shrug, but Nanao knew what this meant. She only used this card during very dire situations, and coming up with a last-minute birthday surprise fit that criteria. And Rangiku seemed to notice this too with how she was trying to suffocate Rukia in a boob bear hug.

Gin stood next to the Rangiku. "Is this surprise party a hit?"

Rangiku nodded her head tearfully.

"Cool, I'm gonna go lurk in the shadows now. See ya."

Gin gave one last peace before disappearing into thin air. Rangiku released Rukia with an angry "don't you dare" and ran after him, only to come back empty-handed with a huff. However, her frown soon changed to a giddy smile when people started to hand her alcohol.

Nanao felt herself relax when the music began to play. People were talking, some were laughing, others were eating, and there was a large stack of gifts in one of the corners of the room. Maybe this day can end on a sober high note after all-.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number : If you wanted to know how long I was, you could've just ask ;)

Nanao threw her phone at the wall and went straight to the punch bowl.

#what up yall #its one am #im technically late #my brain is melting #but fuck it its still 29th in some countries and time is an illusion anyway #and big shout out to sobachkaas/rensply #i owe you my life. my sanity and my ass #i also probably wrote your name so sorry about that #ANYWAY #happy birthday queen 💕#have some second hand embarrasment as a birthday gift #Bleach #Rangiku Matsumoto #Nanao Ise #au rambles #edit: im gonna make this her pinned post until her birthday is over

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philicheesecake · 5 years ago

Text

To Hunt or to be Hunted (U.L.)

Synopsis: Warren goes on his first mission for the Unseen Legion after his initiation, and it doesn't go quite as planned. Eli the giant doesn't have Warren off of his sights just yet. Takes place before An Unorthodox Lecture. Warnings: Language warnings, M/M, g/t halfsize, nonfatal unwilling vore

---

Eli hated having to keep ahead of the hunting rotation with all the added stress of the possibility of falling behind. After a big setback, he had no choice but to lay low for a few weeks in order for all the other giants to pass before following the course on his own.

It was a bit of a problem when it was here in the mountains, where the larger species of giants served as a big threat that he had to avoid. Regardless, he managed to survive the next few weeks by laying low.

Week three after the incident, he picked up a faint scent on the wind within one of the mountain forests that seemed familiar, but upon following it, he found it led to a dead end. It belonged to a human. And that human better not be meddling with the wrong stuff here.

This provoked some thoughts of concern from the giant, and curiosity got the better of him.

He readopted his smaller camouflaged form and paid the old alchemist shop a little visit. Of course he was met once again with a shotgun held to his throat, and the alchemist didn’t seem too happy that he had been cured of the curse from last time they met. She was at least somewhat impressed that Eli hadn’t killed her Hunter friend. Upon asking her a few questions, Eli gathered all of the information he needed. And he was pretty pissed about what he found.

***

It had been three weeks since the first mission of the U.L. gone wrong. The time that had almost cost Warren his life getting wrapped up in the affairs of ravenous, savage giants. Warren has only narrowly escaped with his life due to the help of an unexpected ally. Even then the memory still gave him nightmares.

The way he had believed to have been betrayed as the terrifying fanged maw opened up before him, hungry, and awaiting to devour him whole. Even if he had been safe then, it didn’t alter the fear and terror of the memories.

The Unseen Legion had assigned him the mission to kill one monster in order to be allowed to join their ranks. Warren had stupidly chosen to kill a giant and failed at that task. Normally, this would make him instantly denied entry into the Legion, but his rare experience of the Banding ceremony and surviving it had served as a valuable source of knowledge they couldn’t waste. Before he knew it, he was an initiated member, and he hadn’t even killed anything yet.

Now for the moment of truth, they wanted him to kill a werewolf. Simple enough. It wasn’t anything as massive or powerful as a giant. This one should be easier, right? All he had to do was avoid getting bitten and use his silver knife, or silver bullets to deliver a fatal blow to the heart. No worries about getting eaten alive or any of that. He was sure he had some sort of PTSD from what happened with Eli and didn’t want anything like that to happen again.

He had searched for hours past midnight as he tried to follow what little he knew about tracking in order to locate the beast. The moon was high above the blackened dome, splaying it’s fragmented rays through the branches of the trees, glistening across the forest floor like glistening shards of glass that provided a hazy illumination. It only furthered the distortion of the shadows of the forest where the parts of the moonlight didn’t reach.

Warren’s lone silver ray from his flashlight beamed through the darkened forest to provide a small path of light like a tunnel through the walls of blackness. He had found his first paw print, but it was hard to determine whether it was fresh or days old. The U.L. Archivists had been tracking the hunting patterns of this particular wolf for a while now and we’re quite certain that it would be nearby. It seemed that they were right, but one could begin to only look at so many paw prints before hope of finding the real beast would begin to dwindle.

Suddenly a howl broke through the night. It was low and long, and split the chilled air that froze his breath. Warren paused, tensing in place for a moment. The nerves of the situation were beginning to settle in. There was a powerful mythical beast out there, and he was supposed to kill it. He drew out his pistol shakily, but stabilized it over his flashlight-wielding hand.

He turned a few times, trying to locate the source of the sound. For a moment, there was an eerie stillness in the forest. The shadows of the trees didn’t falter as their gnarled limbs caged him in bars of darkness that split the moonlight. There. Off in the distance, he could have sworn he saw a slight movement in the underbrush. But as soon as his flashlight shone towards it, it was gone.

A pause.

Each passing millisecond mounted the scene with more apprehension. Warren bated his breath, not daring to move just yet.

CRASH!!!

There was a sudden burst of motion that dove through the trees and pounded onto the foliage with a swift motion. It towered above Warren, easily twice his size. It was a mere shadow at this point. But then Warren saw the eyes. A glistening golden color that reflected off of the light animalistically. The eyes leered down at him for a split second before they were gone again.

Warren’s heart raced and he stumbled backwards, tripping over a tree root that protruded from the soil. He scampered backwards, fumbling as he tried to grab his flashlight again.

A giant.

What was a giant doing here?!

Warren had made sure to double check and triple check that the U.L. Was certain that their rotation had already passed before he could do his first mission. How had one slipped under their radar?

Warren lifted his pistol, still scooting on his back away from where he had seen it. The flurry of movement continued. There were growls and a sudden high yelp like an injured dog split the air. Something whooshed by as a large object was hurled into the air and crashed into the underbrush, just inches from where Warren lay. Warren flashed his light to the side, gasping. The werewolf lay there with matted grayish brown fur with long narrow lashes that had sliced it open. It wasn’t moving, but blood still flowed from the wounds.

Warren was shaking. He shined the flashlight back at where the giant was. His heart stopped. It wasn’t there. His breaths rasped in his throat faster and uneasily. Even in the cold, his palms were sweaty from fear, making it more difficult to grip the pistol properly.

There was another burst of movement. A large shadow swept over him with a flash of reflective eyes.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three shots were fired from the pistol, before the wind was knocked out of him. He was pinned to the ground. A massive hand bore down over his chest. Golden eyes glinted down at him like an animal's. Warren’s heart pounded in his ears and it took him a minute to react. He tried to aim the pistol back at the giant, but it was quickly twisted from his grasp. A low chuckle sounded, almost like a growl.

“Thought ya could be a big scary Hunter, now did ya, Kiddo?”

Warren froze, still shivering. That voice. “...Eli?”

The giant snorted. His face was still not visible through the shadows, and for a moment, Warren feared that he had guessed the wrong giant.

“Do ya really think that knowing my name will spare your life in the field?” The voice came back in a mocking chuckle, only confirming Warren’s assumption. “I know what ya did with the Unseen Legion. And you’ll never survive.”

Warren’s eyes narrowed. He brought up his hands to try to pry off the giant’s grip, but it remained firm and unyielding. “I— I have it under control! If you just let me kill that wolf—“

A cruel laugh broke out. Though he couldn’t see the creature’s face through the shadow, he could see its form quake with laughter. “Hunting is never that easy, Tiny. It could have been any other giant just now that jumped ya, and right about now, you’d be somewhere in their gut.” The giant leaned closer, his chuckles still heard as his warm breath wafted over Warren’s face.

Warren shuddered. “I’m trying, okay! Just give me a chance!”

The giant paused for a moment, a growling hum came from his throat in thought. And then the grip around Warren was released.

“Alright, Hunter. If you really think you can be part of the Legion, try to survive. Either beat me, or escape. I’ll even be nice and give you a head start. But if you fail, you suffer the consequences of what a real bad giant would do.”

Warren took in a nervous gasp, trying to scoot to his feet. “W-wait— no— you can’t possibly be thinking of eating me again!”

“Well, I did promise that the last time we met, ya know. That would be kinda embarrassing if I just… didn’t. Also, I can never pass up a tasty little snack.” Eli rolled his eyes, getting to his feet.

The giant lifted the little pistol and slid it onto safety before pocketing it. Standing, he was more in view with the pale moonlight that illuminated his features in pieces cut off from the shadows of the branches. His eyes were framed by dark stripes, not unlike the eye markings of a cheetah. His hair was dark and spiky. His fingers were tipped with long, sharp claws. Standing at his full height, he was 13’3, easily over twice the height of the small human hunter.

Warren finally managed to get to his feet, cringing at Eli’s words. “But—“

“Aaaand there goes your head start and you just wasted it.” Eli feigned a yawn.

Warren tensed, not waiting another moment to dash away in alarm. He pushed through the thick underbrush, weaving through the trees on the uneven trail. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his breaths froze against the moonlight in puffs of silver mist.

It was almost impossible to navigate in the darkened forest, and outrunning a giant that had evolved for terrains such as this, capable of sprinting at sixty miles per hour, made home seem slim. But Warren didn’t want to endure going through that again. Some part of him believed that with just a small stroke of luck, he might escape this.

He glanced over his shoulder for a moment to try to locate how close behind the giant was, only to find out, he wasn’t there. Where there had once been a towering creature, there was nothing at all. Nothing chasing him.

Giants were ambush predators.

Warren took in a shaky gasp, immediately feeling ten times more hyper aware of his surroundings. He looked ahead and ran faster—

THUMP—

A tree trunk slammed into his face. He should have been looking forward while he ran. He must have regained his bearings too slow. With a hand bracing him against the tree to try to stabilize himself to run again, he suddenly felt something warm wrap around his leg and jerk him backwards. Warren let out a yelp, quickly reaching out to try to hug the tree in order to resist being pulled backwards, but it was helpless since the grip around his leg was much stronger. He was dragged onto the floor, face mingling with the gross dirt and underbrush.

He flailed helplessly, trying to grab onto something. He reoriented himself, twisting in the grip to be positioned on his back, only to let him have a clearer view at the gigantic creature looming over him. The giant was on one knee, stooping over the small human, only really needing one hand to restrain him. Even crouched down, he was taller than a man was standing. His face was close, allowing a clear view of the glinting fangs as he drew back his lips in a hungry sneer.

“Really? That was pretty pathetic. I was going easy on ya, but you were beat by a tree. Pfft.” Eli’s voice came in a mocking chuckle.

Warren winced, panting with his heart still racing in his ears. “Eli… please don’t…”

“This ain’t anything new to a Hunter, ya know. Your defeat could be a whole lot worse. Once ya join the Legion, ya won’t last long. Not more than two missions I bet.”

The giant drew closer until his warm breaths could be felt on Warren’s face. From this close position, Warren could hear the giant’s stomach gurgle nearby in anticipation.

“Aww, sounds like someone misses you,” The giant chuckled teasingly.

The hunter grimaced, his breaths growing more rapid through his nose as he tried to hide his fear without much luck. He tried to pry the hand off of his leg, but his arms were soon gripped between Eli’s fingers and he was lifted off the ground, dangling before the giant’s face.

“W-wait— Eli I swear to god—.” He let out a yelp as his shoes were suddenly yanked off and he was held higher to dangle above the maw of the giant. “—Hey!”

“I don’t like eating shoes.” Eli said with a shrug.

“Well I don’t like being eaten!!” Warren retorted with a shudder. “Wh— WAIT—!”

The giant was clearly getting impatient. He pocketed the shoes and lowered Warren’s feet towards his mouth. Warren gasped, kicking and struggling in the giant’s grip. Another hand reached up to steady his feet, guiding them towards the giant’s hungry maw. His mouth chomped lightly around his socked feet and ankles, bringing them within the warm confines. Though he didn’t bite down, the pricks of fangs barred them in warningly, making it too dangerous to struggle.

Warren’s eyes widened, and he grimaced as he could feel the slimy tongue begin to soak his socks and feet as they were brought inside. A murr sounded as he could feel the tongue move beneath him, pushing his feet towards the palate as they were tasted, brought in deeper. A little more of his shins were brought into the mouth as his feet were pressed by the tongue and funneled towards the entrance of the throat.

Warren tensed up, jerking his legs as he could both feel and hear the first swallow. His feet were firmly squished against the palate and tugged into the tight, warm throat where he could already feel the slick muscles gripping at his feet to hold him in place. Warren panted, quickly changing his trajectory from trying to break loose from the grip, to clinging onto Eli’s hand to try to slow his descent. The hand only lowered Warren further into the giant’s maw as Eli began to swallow more rhythmically, making his way up to the thighs.

Warren was fighting at this point, terrified as he saw more of himself disappearing down the tight throat. He could see the bulge he made in the giant’s neck, moving slightly in-tuned with his struggles. He was practically sitting on the tongue now, and the throat had gripped him tightly enough to make it near impossible to try to pull himself out. Saliva soaked through his pants as the slick muscles gripped and massaged at him.

Eli’s hand began to let go of his arms, repositioning to brace him behind his back as he pushed Warren towards the throat. Greedy, pleased murrs sounded in his throat in a low growl as more of Warren’s form was accepted into his possession. Warren was shaking, forgetting in the moment that Eli probably wouldn’t hurt him. This only took him back to the dreadful memories from where he was swallowed the first two times. The encompassing terror that had encapsulated him then.

GLK—

There was a disgusting slick sound as the throat gripped him, dragging his hips into the tight folds. Warren panted, gritting his teeth in desperation as he tried to grip the hand that held him, trying to do almost a pull-up to hopefully pull himself free, or pause the giant’s efforts. Only for a mere moment it seemed to be working. Empty swallows rippled at his form, though he wouldn’t budge. There was a glimmer of hope. He was stuck! The way the muscles twitched against him uselessly was still disgusting, but at least he wasn’t going any deeper!

There was a choked, gagging sound coming from the giant’s throat as he struggled with Warren’s resistance. It only lasted for a moment longer before the hand let go and Eli jerked his head backwards. Instantly, gravity shifted, allowing Warren to begin to slide deeper again. He was now up to his chest in the fang-lined maw. With his hands free, he tried to push against Eli’s jaws to try to immobilize him, locking his arms in a stiff position to not get down further. From working up his appetite this whole time, his jaws were dripping with slick saliva, making it gross to contact it when Warren’s hands were there. He was now uncomfortably close to Eli’s face. The giant’s eyes were shut. An expression of enjoyment and pleasure played over his face. He seemed unphased by Warren’s attempts. Almost even indifferent to them.

Warren shuddered, tensing as he felt another swallow tug at him. It was a battle maintaining his ground by gripping Eli’s jaw to hold him in place. He only sunk in another millimeter. His second attempt seemed to be working better than the first. The only issue was how far he was in right now. Only a couple more swallows, and he was done-for. If he slipped, if Eli managed to remove his grip, he would be easily gone. Most of his body was now soaked to the bone in encompassing heat and slime as he was constricted and tugged at within the claustrophobic confines of the throat.

“Eli— stop— p-please don’t do this.” Warren’s protest came out in a breathless stammer.

The giant didn’t make any response, but lifted up his hands to pry the human’s little ones off of his jaw. “No—- NO—!” Warren pleaded.

GLK—

His chest was pulled into the throat and his head and shoulders were now within the giant’s slimy maw. He panted, trying to reach his arms above him to grab something— anything that would help him, but to no use. He winced as he could feel the fangs so close to pricking his arms. Fearfully, he looked down.

Through the dim moonlight, he could see the back of the mouth where the tongue had pinned and guided his torso into the more cramped area. The giant was heavily salivating at his taste, and out of instinct in order to slick down his meal enough to make him slide down with ease. Slick slime dripped from the roof of the mouth. Threads of saliva connected to his form, following his torso into the throat. He felt the tongue rise up beneath him, pinning him uncomfortably to the palate as it pushed more of him into the throat. His shoulders were now crushed into the tight space.

The muscle raised up to the roof of the mouth once more, squishing Warren’s face against the slimy palette. He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid getting slime in his eyes. Any hope of escaping was pretty much gone now. This was it.

Another loud gulp sounded around him as the throat gripped him, pulling him inside deeper. His face was now squeezed inside the tight muscular tube. He could feel his socked feet begin to press against a tight area before entering a more open space. He shuddered, feeling the swallows become more rhythmic now as they dragged him in deeper. More of his legs followed into the opening. He was only in up to his shins before his feet pressed against the opposite wall, but the stomach easily stretched to accommodate him as more slid in.

Warren’s chest was tight and he couldn’t breathe in the suffocating confines of the passage. He was completely at the mercy of the larger creature, as unsettling as it was. His hips and torso soon passed through the opening as well. His legs bent in order to fit properly into the small space, but he didn’t stop kicking. His struggles were easily viewed from outside as the giant watched in amusement. A growling hum was heard around him as his hands were finally squished into the tight throat and the giant enjoyed the sensations from the little struggles.

The rest of the little human finally slid inside, curling up in the tight, squishy environment. He immediately gasped for air, coughing a few times to get used to the thick, humid air that burned his lungs at first from the sheer temperature before he gradually got used to it. He could hear the giant take in deep breaths around him as well, as his airway cleared. He felt a firm pressure against his back and he scowled through grit teeth, aiming an angry kick at the walls.

“Y-you f-frickin’ monster.” Warren growled.

“Hm?” The giant’s voice responded around him casually. “Oh wait-- were ya insulting me or addressing me?”

Warren frowned bitterly, curling up tighter, knowing his struggles couldn’t get him anywhere anyways. The environment was hot and slick and gross, and he hated how the walls seemed to have a mind of their own as the involuntary peristalsis continually massaged at him. He could recall how quickly the sheer heat had sapped him of energy before, and didn’t like being weakened like this, despite already feeling the beginnings of it draining his energy.

At the lack of response, the giant chuckled, rubbing at the small form in his gut. He got to his feet, walking along through the forest. He quickly found Warren’s flashlight that he had dropped and scooped it up, putting it in his pocket.

Warren’s heart was still racing from the bad scare, but was beginning to slow down a bit as he tried to disconnect himself from the fact that he had just been eaten. He knew Eli wouldn’t kill him, so at least there was that small reassurance. He still hated this place no less, however.

“Hey kiddo?”

Warren grimaced as he felt a jab on his back as the giant poked at him. “What.” the hunter’s voice didn’t sound too happy.

“How do ya feel about bein’ one of those lousy Hunters now? I’m tryina show ya that… It won’t work out. You’re just gonna end up getting killed. Ya know how easy it is to eat you?”

Warren shivered. He pulled his arms up around his legs, tucking his head close. It was like he was trying to appear even smaller. “I don’t want to know.” He returned in a low voice. He sighed. “Monsters are just… stronger. But I can do something to stop them. I just need to try harder.”

Eli let out a blunt laugh. “Do ya really wanna know how many people I’ve heard say that? And how they ended up?”

Warren didn’t respond. He grimaced as the stomach muscles churned slightly around him, holding him in place. He heard gurgles come from nearby. Just the silence accompanied by the slick, churning sounds of the giant’s insides were enough of an answer to Eli’s question.

Eli groaned, continuing to walk through the forest as he navigated the route with Warren’s scent on it.

“You’re being awfully quiet tonight. Where’s that fighting vigor?” Eli was clearly growing impatient, as he tended to enjoy feeling his victim’s struggles within him. Warren’s lack of a fight was just annoying to him.

Warren sighed. “What’s the point? I’m not going to be able to get out of here until you let me anyways.”

Eli rolled his eyes. “Well you aren’t fun. Do ya even know why I’m doin’ this? I told you last time we met that ya have to take care of your sisters. What a good lot of takin’ care of I’m seein’ right now. Throwing your life away to fight monsters that you’re never gonna beat? Really? What do ya think they’re gonna do when you disappear one day and never return? Do ya even know how that’ll affect them?”

The giant’s voice raised to a booming volume around him, shaking the walls of the human’s fleshy prison. Warren winced. “W-why do you care?” The Hunter retorted.

“I DON’T. I couldn’t care less about ya pathetic little humans. The only reason why I’ve never killed ya has nothing to do with mercy. Don’t for a second think you’re too special to kill. I just don’t want some other giant or monster to go off wastin’ a meal that I spared. That’s lame.”

Warren was silent for a moment. Something about the giant’s words didn’t add up. There was still some curiosity on why Eli ever started sparing the lives of humans, but he knew how Eli resisted explaining last time and didn’t want to cause any triggers that could endanger him.

“I’m still going to hunt monsters.” Warren said quietly, afraid of Eli’s response.

“Then what’s the point in keepin’ ya alive now? Maybe I should just digest ya and get your death over with, since you’ll be getting killed on the job soon anyways.”

“N-- DON’T--!” Warren tensed up, flinching as he felt the stomach clench around him again, accompanied by gross gurgling sounds. He struggled in place, trying to reorient himself in the darkness. He was now sort of lying on his back, in a good enough position to spring a strong kick upwards where he assumed the lungs to be. “I s-swear Eli--”

Eli hiccupped as the kick came in contact with his lungs, actually hurting a bit. He pressed a hand against his stomach to immobilize his prey. Warren panted in the hot, close confines, finding it hard to breathe while stuck in this new position.

“What’s the point in letting you go, hm?”

Warren shuddered, pressing his elbows out to try to free enough room for him to breathe. He panted for a moment to try to catch his breath. Despite being covered in slime, he was oddly sweating in the sweltering environment. It was exhausting to fight against the walls to struggle for breath.

“Be-- because…” He paused between breaths for a moment, thinking desperately. “L-look, just now you were-- were offering me a chance of practice to fight or sur-- survive being attacked by a giant--”

“And you failed.” Eli quipped with an amused snort.

“I know-- I know-- but-- what if I kept trying-- you know-- you know a lot more about monsters than me. I could learn more about how to fight them properly, and how to survive. You hate the other giants, right? What if I was able to help?”

It was a strain to even gather breath at this point. He knew he couldn’t keep this up long, and his struggles only seemed to bring further enjoyment to his captor instead of persuading him to release him.

Eli raised a brow, lightening his grip slightly. He paused in his strides in the forest, one hand going to scratch the back of his neck in thought and the other to rub at the form of the little human in his gut, just thankfully with less force this time.

“You mean, like train you?”

Warren squirmed slightly, not enjoying the rubs against his side and feeling disgusted that the giant would gloat over him like a filling meal instead of a person.

“Y-yes.”

There was a rumbling hum around him, as if in thought. Then a chuckle.

There was no response for a while, and Warren laid there in the draining heat, already beginning to feel his strength leave him as the fatigue settled in.

After a while of movement (assumedly Eli walking), the stomach grew tighter, crushing around Warren’s form. Warren struggled at first fighting back and panting before his head was sucked back into the throat from the sheer pressure and he was brought upward. He was being released!

The convulsing muscles tugged him along, feeling even tighter than before, almost to the point of crushing his very bones. There were slick gagging sounds as light poured in and his head pressed back through the mouth. The scruff of his shirt was roughly grabbed and he was pulled the rest of the way out with disgusting slick sounds. Saliva trailed from his form, connecting to the giant’s mouth.

Warren gasped for air as soon as he was freed, shivering violently as he was re-exposed to the bitter chill of the air. After being in the scalding stomach for a while, the sudden change of temperature shocked his body. He continued to gasp, wiping his face and blinked his eyes open to look at the giant. He grimaced as he saw the threatening face so close. Eli was smirking down at him and raised a hand to wipe the slime off of his jaws.

“Well that knocked some reason into ya… hopefully.” The giant huffed. He lowered the little Hunter onto the ground. They were now near the side of the road where Warren had parked his car. “Also, word of advice; don’t ever park your car on the side of the road where you’re doin’ a hunt. The monsters can trace your scent right back to it and know which cars to watch out for, or even deduct where you life off of that… So yeah. Bad idea.”

Warren wobbled unsteadily as he got to his feet again, craning his neck up to look at the massive giant above him as he spoke. He just nodded stiffly, still shaky from the experience, but relieved that he was alive.

“Wait-- so you’re going to help me become a Hunter then?”

The giant shrugged. “Meh. Maybe. Dunno yet. I still don’t see much of a reason to help out any human, but I have reasons to help myself here.”

Warren furrowed his brow, still blinking blearily as his head was foggy from drowsiness at the moment. He opened his mouth to try to ask what these “reasons” were-- He didn’t want Eli to use this training as an excuse to keep on eating him. But the giant quickly spoke again.

“Anywho, you should probably get back to your sisters now. Don’t want them to get worried. Don’t worry, I’ll clear up the werewolf evidence.”

Warren groaned. “Wait-- but I need that werewolf! The U.L. needs it as proof--”

“You gotta earn your first kill. Doesn’t count if I do all the dirty work ya know.”

Warren sighed. He had a long way to learn to get good at this hunting thing. He dug into his pockets to pull out his car keys and grimaced as they were dripping with slime. “Ugh disgusting…”

Eli smirked, offering a short pat to his fluffy hair condescendingly before he stopped, seeming to remember something. “Oh-- almost forgot this,”

He dug in his pockets, taking out Warren’s pistol and his shoes and tossed them over to the little man. Warren sputtered, quickly managing to catch them. His eyes narrowed at how carelessly the giant had just thrown a pistol at him, but at least it didn’t go off or anything. Warren shot a look at Eli uncertainly as he fumbled with his reclaimed items.

“Thanks.... Uh… You won’t use this whole training thing as an excuse to... you know… eat me again, right?” There was a slight waver in his voice.

The giant let out a short snort of laughter. “Alright, how about we look at it like this; if ya can actually escape me for once, ya won’t have to worry about getting eaten by anything.”

Warren’s eyes widened by a hair. He bit his lip and his eyes narrowed again. “F-fine.”

“Aw you get all cute when you try to act all fierce and stuff. Seeya ‘round Tiny.”

The giant stepped back, still smirking as Warren got flustered from his words, but he got back into his car with a sigh, dropping his shoes on the passenger seat and put his pistol into the glove compartment. He shot one last glance at the giant. “Don’t call me tiny.” Warren snapped back to the giant’s amusement. Without another word, Warren took a deep breath and began to drive away. He could see a small glimpse of the giant’s reflective eyes in the rear view mirror before he seemed to disappear at the edge of the treeline.

Warren took in some deep breaths as he tried to wrap his head around what he had just agreed to. That giant had every reason to hate his guts. For all he knew, Eli might be toying with him to gain his trust. Warren was new to the whole Hunting thing, and already he must be breaking some sort of ancient rule not to team up with monsters. He really hoped that his judgement wasn’t wrong about this…

He would have to talk to Olivia about this later.

#vore story #v/ore #v.ore #unseen legion story #unseen legion #unseen legion series #Eli Arawn #Warren Pace #gt vore #halfsize vore #unwilling prey #unwilling vore #nonfatal vore #monster vore #ulseries #ulstories

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