#my knuckles are cramping bad so there might not be any more tonight :( but i wanna do the others yall have sent so!!

[catzgam3rz]

ACTUALLY

Warden Xisumavoid

Jumped straight to this one because I'd never drawn Xisuma before and this sounded SICK

[seijorhi]

To the Wolves

my (first) entry for the Deal With the Devil collab, because i couldn’t resist writing for Yakuza Getou <33

Getou Suguru x Female Reader

TW Extremely dubious consent, coercion, manipulation, threats, implied murder, smut, nsfw

“No. I- I won’t.”

Sitting comfortably on the old, worn couch in your cramped little apartment, Getou raises a single eyebrow, “Oh? Is that so?”

His voice is perfectly pleasant, the smile on his face a touch amused, but you’re not so naive as to believe that the question is anything but a generous offer for you to rethink your reply. A smart person would take it – since the day you’d first arrived home to find him waiting for you, Getou hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you. He had no need for guns or knives, never shouted or bullied you, his reputation more than enough to cow you into submission before he’d even opened his mouth.

Of course, once he had, the simple threats to your friends and family’s lives had made certain that you were more than amenable to his request.

A mutually beneficial arrangement, he’d called it, as if there hadn’t been tears silently streaming down your face, your whole body stiff with fear. 

But that was the world he came from. Violence and ruthlessness, cruelty masquerading as kindness.

By all accounts, someone like you – a lowly admin assistant living a very boring, mundane life – should never have crossed paths with a man like Getou. The irony, of course, being that it was precisely because of your job that he’d been drawn to you in the first place. 

“I-I said no,” you stammer. “I’m not doing it.”

Getou sighs, long, pale fingers idly fixing the cuff of his left sleeve. “I had no idea the lives of your loved ones meant so little to you.”  

“Please, I-” you break off, biting your lip as your hands curl into useless fists at your side, “I can’t. Anything else, I’ll do anything, I swear it, just… please.”

Men like Getou aren’t the type to be swayed by pretty words or tearful pleas, but there’s an unmistakable glimmer of interest that flickers in his eyes at the offer. Casually, he leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and regarding you with a smirk. “So you’ll bring me the list of witnesses then?”

The barely audible hitch in your breath is enough to make him chuckle.

“No? How about those surveillance tapes, hm?” Smoothly, he rises to his feet and makes his way towards you. “Careful, little one, first rule of negotiation is knowing when you have something to bargain with. Don’t promise me what you can’t give.”

“Getou–”

He raises a hand and you quickly fall silent. There’s only inches between you two now, Getou’s taller, broader frame looming over yours. He could kill you like this, you realise with panic – reach out and wrap his hands around your throat and snap your pretty little neck before you could so much as scream. The tailored line of his jacket hides the gun he has holstered at his side, but Getou knows you're aware of its presence, have been since the very first time he’d broken into your home and threatened you. 

It’d take him only moments to draw the sidearm, even less for him to pull the trigger.

The walls of your apartment are thin, would your neighbours come if they heard gunfire? Would you, for that matter, if your roles were reversed?

Yet Getou makes no move for his gun, instead reaching for your chin, tilting it up with two curled fingers until you meet his gaze, “You understand, don’t you, that I make one phone call and that charming sister of yours and her fiance meet a very tragic, very untimely end?”

He pauses, waiting until you jerk a quick nod of assent before continuing. “You love them. There’s nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with prioritising the ones you love over everybody else.” His voice is gentle, but the words make you shake, dread rising from the pit of your stomach as the pad of his thumb grazes over your bottom lip. 

You don’t know if you’re supposed to say something to that, but even as you try, you can’t summon the words. The by now familiar scent of his cologne tickles your nose and invades your throat, the warmth of his touch burning through your veins. Your own heart hammers like a drumbeat in your chest, every cell in your body screaming danger, but you don’t run, you don’t even flinch.

Getou smiles kindly, and perhaps if you hadn’t seen first hand the aftermath of his handiwork you might be tempted to believe it. His spare hand reaches into his jacket, but instead of the gun you’re expecting, he pulls out his phone, the screen flickering to life with a swipe of his finger. “So tell me, before I make a call you and I both know you don’t want me to make, why you’ve suddenly decided that their lives aren’t worth your compliance?”

Nanami. Your boss’s face flashes to your mind, the odd, fleeting glances he’d sent your way over the past few weeks when he’d thought you weren’t paying attention. Your stomach erupts with butterflies, your cheeks unwittingly warming, but you just shake your head, “If I give you those files, you’ll kill them. You’ll hurt them.”

“Maybe,” he hums, “maybe not. It’s no less than those monkeys deserve, don’t you think?” He spits the word like it’s venom, the twitch in his jaw the only chink in his otherwise effortless composure. “You’re protecting them, even now.”

You make no attempt to defend yourself, terrified of saying the wrong thing and setting him off, but Getou seems entirely unfazed, laughing coldly at your stricken expression.

“Your boss, the one with the perpetual stick up his ass; Nanami,” potent disdain drips from his tone at the name, “Always so morally righteous, sitting up on his high horse. You think he cares for you, that he’ll protect you when all of this comes out? And it will come out eventually,” he says, his smirk widening at the sudden pallor in your face. “At some point there’ll be one too many unfortunate coincidences, and the higher ups will realise that they have a mole in their ranks. Fingers will be pointed of course, but eventually even those idiots will figure it out.”

A knot tightens inside of your chest at his words, constricting until it feels like you can’t breathe. You’re shaking your head, eyes filling with tears, “N-no–”

“Oh, little one,” Getou murmurs, dark eyes drinking in every ounce of your distress. “Surely you realised that they have security cameras covering every inch of your floor? There was no reason to look before, but once they do…” he trails off, letting go of your chin in favour of brushing the back of his knuckles along your cheek. “They’ll throw you to the wolves.”

His voice is soft and cruel, belied by the gentleness of his touch, but it does nothing to quell the rising sense of dread inside of you. You want to believe it’s a lie, another threat meant to scare you into submission, but some deeper part of you recognises the truth in his words. 

Nanami, who’d told you once that there was innocence and there was guilt and very little in between. Nanami, whose office you’d bugged, whose trial only weeks ago you’d all but derailed with a few misplaced documents. You think back to the late nights shared in his office, bowls of ramen and case files scattered across the desk between you. You think of the rare smiles, his oddly dry sense of humour, the pleasant fluttering in your heart–

“You’ll rot in prison long before I do, and there is not a soul among that insipid bunch that would lift a finger to stop that from happening to you.” 

A soft, strangled noise leaves your lips as you fight not to sob, and Getou sighs, the corners of his lips twitching downwards in contrived sympathy. “Say the word and I’ll walk away tonight. I’ll still have to kill your sister – I am a man of my word, you understand – but I promise it’ll be the last you see of me.”

He slides his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, taking your face in both of his hands as tears spill down long lashes. “And when they come for you, you can tell them I threatened you, show them what little proof you have – if you have any at all. Maybe it’ll even make a difference,” he says. “But I doubt it.”

Every word is like a knife, slicing away at the raw, bleeding, vulnerable parts of you.

“Please…” It’s weak and desperate, your voice cracked and broken. You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore; your sister’s life, for Getou’s mercy, or maybe just for him to stop saying such awful things. He must take pity on you though, because he sighs once more, his right thumb sweeping across your wet cheek to brush away silvery tear tracks. 

“I’m not a complete monster, you know. I protect what’s mine.”

And in one breath, everything screeches to a standstill and a trickle of very real fear creeps down your spine. There’s no mistaking his implication, not when he’s holding your face like that, his eyes dark and simmering with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“W-what?”

Getou closes the gap between you two, a startled noise leaving your lips as his hips press flush up against you. “Don’t play stupid, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and it sounds like a warning, “It doesn’t suit you.”

One hand slips to your neck, the other curling almost possessively around your waist. There’s no room for you to move, to back away or free yourself. For a moment, neither of you speak, the heavy silence deafening between you.

Does he notice the way your pulse races under his fingertips as they circle your throat, how you’re shaking like a leaf beneath him? Does he want you afraid? A scared little bunny rabbit cowering from the gaping maw of the big, bad wolf? 

Judging from the bulge of his semi-hard cock pressing into the soft flesh of your belly, he’s not entirely unaffected, and for the first time it’s not Getou’s gun or his threats that you’re most afraid of. 

It’s the selfish, twisted want that glitters and glints in those pitiless depths. You’ve never felt so entirely at somebody else’s mercy as you do with Getou now, staring you down like he wants to lay you bare, claim you again and again for all the world to see. And you don’t understand. There’s a thousand and one questions running through your mind, your insides twisted up into knots. 

You know what it is he’s asking of you – though asking feels like a generous word when he can so easily just take – but none of this makes sense, not when he was threatening your family’s lives only minutes ago. 

As if he can sense the turmoil and confusion raging through you, he leans down, his lips ghosting over the outer shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll walk away right now.”

I am a man of my word. 

His earlier statement rings through your head as you search his face for any sign of deception – you find none. But walking away means your sister dies. It means you’re left on your own to fend off the wolves when they find out what you’ve done.

Nanami might believe you. He might even defend you, but you’ve worked in the Prosecutor’s office long enough to know that duress isn’t the bulletproof defence people think it is, and for tangling with the likes of him…

You were screwed the moment he showed up in your living room, this- this is just the coup de grâce. The final damnation.

“Why me?” 

Getou doesn’t answer, but when he draws you into a kiss, his lips moving torturously slow against yours, there’s an edge of… something there, lying hidden just beneath the surface. And it terrifies you, more than his words and his promises ever could.

But when your back’s to the wall, what choice do you really have?

It feels like defeat when he takes you by the hand and leads you into your bedroom, ignoring the uncertain glance you cast over your shoulder towards the living room. You don’t want any of this, but you can pretend that it’s just… business if he fucks you out there.

Not in the bed you sleep in.

It’d be easier, you think, if it was cold and impersonal. If you cried and it stung and the only sounds in the room were flesh hitting flesh, ragged breathing and an occasional rough grunt.

There’s nothing impersonal about the way he watches you strip out of your clothes at his command. His own join yours on the floor without much ceremony – his gun pointedly set just within reach atop your nightstand.

The first time you’d laid eyes on Getou Suguru, it was two months into your new job; a photograph pinned to a thick, heavy file Nanami had dropped on your desk. A surveillance picture, you’d gathered, snapped as the man was exiting some neon lit club downtown. And you remembered the smug smirk he’d had, staring directly down the lens of the camera like it was a challenge, but that wasn’t what had struck you most.

It was the flutter of interest that’d shot through your veins the moment before common sense kicked in. Tall and fit, with long, dark hair swept up in the wind, a sharp jaw and a handsome face, you remember thinking he was probably the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

Now, standing naked before you, bright, colourful tattoos inked across his torso, accentuating the muscles that rise and fall with every measured breath, you can’t bear to look. It’s easier just to stare at the wooden floorboards, the corner of the shagged rug you’d bought at a thrift store when you first moved in. Easier to pretend Getou isn’t pulling you closer once more, pressing searing, open mouthed kisses along your neck, murmuring words that are lost to you entirely as his hands wander. You can feel it now, the heat of his body as he cages you in, his cock, thick and heavy and flushed nudging insistently up against your stomach.

You expect him to shove you to your knees, to force his cock down your throat in some archaic show of dominance before he claims your cunt, but he doesn’t. 

“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he whispers into your ear, teeth catching lightly on the sensitive lobe as you shiver. “Like you do when I’m not here, those pretty legs spread, fucking yourself on your fingers…”

The comment feels too familiar to be entirely offhanded, striking a chord of panic somewhere deep inside of you–

But it doesn’t make a difference. It doesn’t matter now.

You allow him to kiss you again before climbing onto the mattress. Like a good girl, you fall back onto the pillows, let your legs ease apart, wrapping your lips around two fingers and sucking for a brief moment before gliding your hand down between your thighs. 

His breath hitches, a soft curse sounding when saliva slicked digits spread your folds, the tip of your middle finger brushing lightly against your clit as you stroke your pussy. Your nipples harden and peak under the cool night air and you use your free hand to palm at your breast, pinching and teasing at the sensitive bud while one finger slips into the warmth of your cunt. 

The mattress dips, Getou climbing onto the bed, settling himself back on his knees, your spread legs either side of him.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. 

Your heart stutters, movements jerking as you brace for him to interfere, to touch you, but aside from nudging your thighs further apart to get a better view of your glistening cunt, he seems content simply to sit back and watch, his own hand lazily stroking at his cock.

Trying in vain to block him out, you squeeze your eyes shut and focus on the way your fingers feel between your legs, the pleasure–

 (Not the shame, don’t think about that, don’t think about Getou watching you debase yourself for his enjoyment)

–that pools in your core as you rub the shining pearl of your clit. It’s a familiar dance, a routine you’d normally help along with a glass of wine and a few faithful toys, but you don’t exactly have that luxury here.

And even with the rigid tension in your shoulders, the unwanted presence of a man you’re terrified of impossible to ignore, you can’t help the quiet moan that slips past your lips, the way your hips stutter, grinding against the heel of your palm as your fingers hit that sweet, delightful spot inside of you. 

Getou tenses at the sound, the last, fragile thread of his composure snapping–

He strikes fast. One moment you’re biting down on your bottom lip, your index and middle fingers knuckle deep in your dripping pussy, the next he’s braced atop you, one hand locked around your wrist, the other propping himself up. And as your eyes fly open with a startled cry, his lips crash against your once more – desperate and ravenous, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth to taste you.

And you don’t fight it when he pulls your hand from your pussy and drags it to his crotch, his fingers entwining with yours as he wraps them around his heavy, throbbing cock and moans. It’s humiliating, the way he thrusts into your hand, tightening his grip so you’re forced to feel every shivery twitch of his dick while he sucks eagerly on your tongue.

This is the choice you’d made, the deal you struck. It’s too late to back out now, and even if you tried to… 

“I want you,” he pants, his lips glistening with saliva, an almost manic look in those dark, pretty eyes, “to ride me.”

… you’re not so sure Getou would let you.

So you allow yourself to be manhandled, lifted and situated across his lap like a doll. Hands braced on his tattooed chest, you lift your hips just enough for him to guide his cock to your slick entrance before slowly sinking down onto his length.

Every inch hurts. 

It doesn’t make it any less painful, the way Getou soothes you, his thumbs stroking gently at your waist as you whine and mewl, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he stuffs you full.

“Fuck– good girl, taking me so well,” he purrs.

You’re not sure if it’s shame, pleasure, or some sense of twisted pride at the praise that has your pussy clenching, fire racing through your veins when Getou experimentally rocks his hips upwards. And if your cheeks weren’t already burning, the lewd moan that escapes you when the head of his cock hits your g-spot would certainly do the trick. 

Ever observant, he wastes no time capitalising on your slip, lifting you up just to drive you back down onto his length at the perfect angle. You shudder around him, keening out a cry that has him groaning in pleasure.

There’s no illusion of control here between you two.

You might be the one on top, but Getou’s grip’s too tight, guiding every roll of your hips against his, his own rising in time to fuck his cock deeper into your warm, velvety cunt. And somewhere distantly you recognise that this could be a thousand times worse. How easily he could change the narrative in a heartbeat, flip you over, force your face into the pillows and fuck you like a dog until you’re gasping for air. He could use you, hurt you, probably kill you without ever needing to touch the gun he’d left on your nightstand – and you wouldn’t have a hope in hell of stopping him.

But he doesn’t. Lying back against your pillows, dark hair falling from his half up-do, cheeks flushed from exertion, Getou’s attention is wholly fixed on you - on your face, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth as he hits somewhere deep inside of you that has you seeing stars, on your tits, the way they bounce every time you sink back down onto his cock.

His eyes are hooded, dark and intense, searching for every hint of pleasure he’s drawn from you. You gasp his name, fingers digging into his chest, your cunt fluttering so deliciously around him – and he loses that last little bit of his self control. 

He jerks upright, one arm wrapping around your waist to anchor you to him as he braces himself with the other, and before you can so much as gasp his mouth is at your tits, hot tongue laving at soft, supple skin there.

“Suguru,” he growls, hips snapping feverishly against yours. 

“Suguru,” you parrot, head lolling back as heat coils tighter in your core. 

You’ll worry about the consequences later, when he pulls you boneless and sated into his arms and you feel his heart thumping at your back as he kisses you and tells you to sleep. When tomorrow you arrive at work and Nanami stares a beat too long as the love bites scattered across your throat, no doubt wondering why you won’t so much as look at him.

For now, you settle for pulling him closer, gasping as you chase that quaking, blissful end.

[honeypiehotchner]

Satan’s Waterfall (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

I couldn’t think of a name for this to save my life, but Satan’s waterfall is literally what I call my period so... (Also this is 100% self-insert because my period was from actual HELL yesterday)

I wrote this instead of doing my homework. Enjoy xx

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: SMUT! period sex in the shower, “good girl” is said many times, Daddy kink (a lil), slight size kink (it’s inevitable with him), you and Hotch are newly married (I wrote “husband” organically and kept it)

It’s the second day of your period.

The first day is always the worst. The cramps are so severe that you’re nauseated (sometimes actually to the point of puking your guts out) and dizzy, freezing but somehow sweating, hungry but in too much pain to bring yourself to eat more than some crackers, and in desperate need of chocolate or coffee -- even though both of those things make everything else a thousand times worse.

You’re on birth control -- which was Aaron’s first question when he witnessed your period for the first time, completely on accident because you forgot you invited him over when your period was scheduled to hit. So, needless to say, it was maybe your fourth date night ever with your now-husband, and he had to hold your hair back as you puked. You had meant to reschedule that night, but you honestly weren’t feeling too bad until halfway through the movie the two of you decided to watch.

Regardless, birth control helps regulate your period and put it on a schedule, but so far it hasn’t done much to help the pain. Although, you used to pass out, and you don’t anymore, so maybe birth control has helped in a slight way.

Aaron doesn’t think it has at all. He still worries every single month, threatening to take time off of work (at least on the first day) to be with you, but you always tell him not to. You essentially threaten to become an unsub if he doesn’t take his ass to work, but he doesn’t find the joke as funny as you do.

Sometimes he’ll stay home because he’ll wake up and you’ll be in a shivering mess on the bathroom floor, or wide-awake next to him in bed (did anyone say period-induced insomnia?), or groaning to yourself quietly on the couch, having been there for hours so as not to disturb him.

Which is how yesterday went, actually, so that’s why he’s not home today because you told him if he stays home again to coddle you, you might become a fuming toddler.

Thankfully (but unfortunately for him), Chief Strauss called a meeting, so he had no choice but to go to work.

The second days aren’t even that bad. You’re still basically bed-ridden (or couch-ridden, at least, because the TV is in the living room), but you’re not puking and you’re not dizzy. You occasionally sweat like crazy when a wave of cramps comes, but nothing like yesterday.

You’ve showered, changed into new sweatpants and one of Aaron’s old t-shirts, had breakfast and lunch, and you’ve even done a load of laundry (mainly because you bled through the sheets last night). You’re having a much better day.

But, because it’s still that time of the month, it isn’t a great day because you’re still cramping. And lucky you, a bad wave hits right when Aaron walks in from work.

“I told you to let me stay today,” he says gently, pushing the hair back from your sweaty forehead.

“These are nothin’,” you whine, reaching out for his hand to hold anyway. “They’ll be gone soon.”

“You’re pale. Have you eaten?”

“Mhm, breakfast and lunch,” you nod, letting your eyes slip closed when the cramps ease. You feel your heating pad getting cold. It must’ve turned off. You start fumbling around for the controller, but Aaron beats you to it, turning it back on.

“That’s good,” he says. “What about water?”

“Oh, oops,” you chuckle. “I had one glass this morning.”

“And?”

“Anddd coffee.”

“Y/N…” He sighs. “What have I told you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I need to drink extra water when I’m like this. But here’s my thing: I’m suffering enough already, why make me suffer more by making me drink water?”

“Because it’s good for you,” he mutters, standing to fill a glass. “And you’re drinking more tonight. I don’t care if you’re up peeing all night--”

“I’ll wake you up every damn time I do.”

“Gladly,” he smirks, returning with the glass. “Come on, up. Drink.”

Begrudgingly, you sit up, muttering curses under your breath because now your back is cold which means you’re hurting more. Wordlessly, Aaron lifts the heating pad and holds it to your back while you drink some water.

“Good girl,” he says, taking the empty glass from you and sitting it on the coffee table.

“Don’t say that to me,” you grumble, already laying back down and grabbing a blanket, tucking it under your chin.

“Why not?” He asks, smoothing your hair again, smiling when you close your eyes.

“Because it gives me thoughts.”

“Thoughts?”

You open your eyes a little. “Thoughts.”

Aaron chuckles when you close your eyes again, effectively hiding from him. “Honey pie, you’re going to have to tell me what thoughts you’re talking about.”

“You know what thoughts I’m talking about,” you breathe. “Sexy thoughts.”

“Ahh, sexy thoughts,” he laughs.

“But I can’t have those right now.”

“Why not?”

“Hello?” You open your eyes, giving him a look. “It’s the time of Satan’s waterfall?”

“Satan’s-- Okay, just because you’re on your period, doesn’t mean we can’t have sex. It might make you feel better.”

“Oh, orgasms do, yes. I’ve had two today.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t give me that look. My issue is, I want you inside me when you call me a good girl.”

“I still can be.”

You scrunch your nose. “Too messy. I just washed the sheets.”

“Not in bed,” Aaron squeezes your hand. “We have a shower.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Is my husband into period sex?”

He laughs loudly. “I’ve always thought about it, but you’re always in so much pain, I didn’t want to ask.”

“We’ve done worse things than have sex while I’m bleeding.”

“Yeah, but…” He lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles. “I never want to hurt you.”

You can’t help but grab his face and kiss him then, too overcome with love for him to stop yourself. His care, his tenderness. You’ve asked him to throw you around like a literal ragdoll before, and yet he’s still worried about hurting you.

“You know I’ll tell you,” you whisper, stealing another kiss. “You never hurt me. At least not in ways I don’t like.”

He groans into your mouth. “Time for a shower.”

“Already?” You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He lifts you from the couch and guides your legs around his torso, all the while keeping his lips on yours. He digs his fingers into your thighs and you squeal, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You have no idea how he manages to get to the bathroom without knocking into anything, but you’re not questioning it.

He sets you down and you start ripping off your clothes, and he joins you after turning the shower on.

“Someone’s excited,” he chuckles, feeling your fingers on his belt. All you have on are your panties, but he’s still got pants on which is unfair.

“Hey, you suggested it, so I want it.”

“Okay, okay,” he tosses his belt out into the bedroom, laughing because you’re already unbuttoning and unzipping him. “You are eager.”

“I’m horny,” you correct him. “And it’s your fault.”

“I know, sweet girl,” he kisses your forehead. “But I’ll take care of it.”

“You better.”

While he’s busy finishing undressing, you kick your panties away and hop in the shower, adjusting the temperature.

Aaron steps in a moment later, a stupid grin on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” you reply, relaxing under the hot water. “This feels good.”

His face softens. “Are you hurting again?”

“Not really,” you roll your shoulders. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

“I’m not,” he promises, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, I’ll be fine,” you tug him closer, tilting your head to accept his kiss.

He starts slow, wanting to gauge your reactions before he does anything too drastic. He rubs your clit gently, waiting until he hears a moan before he continues. When his tongue slips into your mouth, one finger sinks into your core.

It’s different, that he’ll admit. You feel warmer and wetter, but you’re definitely not in any pain. Your moans are too loud for that.

He dips his head to your neck, suckling there, letting you thread your fingers in his hair while he slips a second finger into you. You gasp a little too loud and a little too suddenly, so he stops, but quickly starts again when your fingernails dig into his scalp in protest.

“Are you okay?” He mumbles against the hickey on your neck.

“More,” you whimper.

He scissors his fingers, wrapping his free arm around your waist to keep you steady. The added pressure of three of his fingers buried inside you nearly makes your knees buckle. Everything about him is so big and it makes you weak when you even as much as think about it.

He moves back to your lips, kissing you deeply, pausing only to ask, “How does that feel, little one?”

“M’gonna cum,” is your only reply, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Go ahead,” he whispers. “As much as you want, sweet girl. This is all about making you feel good. There you go.” He feels the first flutterings of your walls. He spreads his fingers slightly, knowing you love the stretch, when his fingers press right into your g-spot. “Come on, honey. Let go.” He moves his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles before spreading his fingers once more, shooting you over the edge.

You cling to his shoulders, nearly biting him from the force of it. Everything is so much more sensitive when you’re on your period and you knew that, but it’s different when it’s him. It always is.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, easing you to the ending waves of your orgasm. “How was that?”

“Amazing, do you even need to ask?” You laugh, kissing him. “Can you please get inside me?”

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy.” You bat your eyelashes for good measure, even though you know he wouldn’t tease you, not right now. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“Of course,” he steals another kiss before finally taking his fingers from you. Wordlessly, he washes the blood away, and you should’ve known he wouldn’t give two shits about this.

And you’re right, he doesn’t. The sight of blood doesn’t phase him anymore, especially not your period because it’s natural. And right now he’s too worried about making you feel good to even bother pretending to be grossed out by it.

He’s already hard, so you can’t help but reach down and stroke him, grinning when he groans loudly.

Before you can blink, though, he has you up in his arms and against the wall, your legs already settling around his hips.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he says again, looking into your eyes. “Okay?”

“Yes, I promise,” you assure him.

Accepting that answer, he drops his hand to guide himself inside of you, moving as slow as possible -- which you appreciate, even if you do want to be fucked. But you’ve never had sex on your period before, not even with previous partners, so you weren’t sure if having a dick inside you would actually feel good.

But damn it does.

You know part of it is because it’s Aaron, your husband, your best friend. His dick is good on a normal day, but when you’re sensitive from your period, it’s even better.

“Oh my fucking God.”

“What?” He stops moving, leaning his head back to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you laugh, threading your fingers through his hair again. “Nothing. It feels good.”

He smirks, rocking his hips slowly, letting you take more of him. “Feels good?” He asks, and you nod. “Is it wrong of me to enjoy this?” He whispers, going deeper. “You’re so warm.”

“Harder, please.”

He slams his hips forward, nipping at your neck when you whine loudly. “Are you gonna cum again?”

You nod your head lazily, locking your ankles behind his back, arching your back, forcing him deeper. A groan stutters in his throat when he feels his head teasing your cervix.

You like that normally, but his paranoia has him pulling back. “Are you--”

“If you don’t shut up and fuck me.”

He doesn’t question you after that, especially not with the lethal look you had in your eyes.

With no more hesitations, Aaron finally gives in. Every thrust is deep, yet you still push your hips up, trying to take even more. He’s never seen you like this, this greedy and almost animalistic in the way you’re chasing your orgasm.

He lets you guide him, staying still when you pull him in as deep as he can go and hold him there. He nearly explodes a few times, having to stay still while your walls pulsate around him.

Soon you’re quite literally thrown into your second orgasm when Aaron’s thumb rubs your clit as he pushes in deep, staying there, letting you squirm until he tells you to let go, and you do.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing your cheek lovingly. “That’s my good girl.”

Once your orgasm has settled down, he carefully lifts you off of him, setting you back on your feet. A puzzled look crosses your face.

“What?”

“You didn’t…”

He smiles. “I told you, I wanted to make you feel good.”

“And you did, but--”

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” He kisses your forehead once before turning to rinse off his dick, but you’re not giving up that easily.

You sneak your hands around his waist, resting your cheek on the middle of his back while you swat his hands out of the way.

“Little girl...what do you think you’re doing?”

“Making you feel good,” you murmur, gently stroking him.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum with a muffled cuss word under his breath. You sigh happily against his back, letting go of his dick to hug him instead.

Aaron turns around to gather you in his arms, moving forward slightly so your face isn’t directly under the water. “Is someone tired?”

You shake your head, even though you practically bury yourself in his chest. “Just content.”

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” you giggle. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he kisses your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[hearts-hunger]

them old love songs || frankie morales x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Frankie takes you on an early-morning drive and shows you just how much he loves you.

Pairings: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut | Word Count: 4.3k 

Warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, mention of PTSD

A/N: This is just my domestic yearning to be Frankie’s wife and give him some good lovin’ in the early morning while we listen to old honky tonk music. Very soft married smut. I hope you like it! ♡

You woke to an empty bed.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you ran a hand over Frankie’s side of the bed and found it was cold. No wonder you’d woken up - Frankie was a furnace when he slept, and you were missing his warmth. You noticed that he’d taken the throw blanket from the foot of the bed and laid it out over you when he got up to make up for the loss of his warmth, and you smiled to yourself. Small acts of kindness like that came as easy as breathing to Frankie.

You glanced at the clock; the red numbers showed it was just shy of five in the morning. You tried to remember if Frankie had said he was going in early to the shop - some mornings, when he had paperwork to catch up on, he liked to go in before Catfish Auto opened and have the shop all to himself. He’d worked hard after Colombia to open up his own shop, and he was more at peace with his work than you’d ever known him to be. He had a steady income, work that he enjoyed and was very good at, and he got to come home in time for dinner every day. His handful of employees were loyal and hardworking, and Frankie was a good boss; he knew what it was like to be away from your family, and created a work environment that allowed his mechanics to make decent money and prioritize their families.

When Frankie came home to you in the evenings, he was tired in a good way, happy to be home and able to unwind in a way he hadn’t when he was in the Army. He helped you make dinner and sang while he did; he curled up with you on the couch and read books aloud to you, most recently To Kill a Mockingbird. He slept soundly, with few nightmares, holding you close until he kissed you goodbye in the mornings to head to work. To anyone else, it might have been boring; to you, it was a greater blessing than you could have hoped for. Your husband was happy, finally, and you loved watching him settle into his newfound peace.

He still wrestled with his PTSD, and he would for the rest of his life, but you weren’t going anywhere. Frankie knew that, and he knew he could lean on you when it got bad. He had Santi and Will and Benny too, and the five of you had become a tight-knit group. 

You were supposed to go over to Santi’s for dinner tonight. As you got out of bed and wrapped the throw blanket around your shoulders like a cape, you thought that might be why Frankie had decided to go in early, so he could get off a little earlier. You followed the aroma of coffee and expected to see him in the kitchen, but the lights were off except for the warm bulb above the stove.

You frowned. He never left without saying goodbye, and he wasn’t anywhere in the house. You pulled the cheery floral curtain back from one of the living room windows and peeked out, trying to see if he’d left already.

He was hard to see in the predawn darkness, but you saw with a bit of relief that he was leaned up against the hood of his truck, coffee mug in hand. You let the curtain fall back and opened the front door, wrapping your blanket closer around you as the cool morning air breezed in.

“Frankie?” you called, keeping your voice quiet for your neighbors' sake.

You heard the truck groan a little as he pushed off of it. “Right here, honey. You alright?”

You closed the door behind you and padded over to him, wanting his warmth; he collected you in a tight hug and ran his free hand over your back.

“Hi,” you said, resting your chin on his chest and smiling up at him.

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Hi. You’re up early.”

You snuggled closer to him and buried your face against his chest. “I got cold without you. I thought you left.”

“And go to work without my morning kisses? No way.” He took a sip of his coffee. “The weather’s so nice, I wanted to have my coffee outside. Sorry you got cold, honey.”

“It’s ok,” you said, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m not cold any more.”

He absently rubbed his fingers over the places he knew you held tension, and you melted against him. He smelled like Old Spice and Gain, comforting and homey; you traced your fingers over the Catfish Auto logo stitched into the breast of his shirt.

“You’re going in early?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Probably. I was going to, so I could duck out early for Santi’s tonight.”

You pulled back to see his face. He kept his arm around you, and you took one hand out from under your blanket to loop your fingers around his belt.

“You’re not now?” you asked.

He smiled down at you, the fading moon just bright enough to let you make out his soft features.

“Maybe,” he said. “I like spending my morning with you, Mrs. Morales. I might hang around if you’re staying awake.”

You closed your eyes when he kissed you, all soft touches and tenderness. If you’d thought of going back to bed, you forgot all about it as his kiss warmed you clear to your toes.

You gave him a dreamy smile when you came up for air. “I’ll stay up if you keep kissing me like that.”

He chuckled and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “I’ll make you a deal. If you go on a ride with me, I’ll kiss you as long as you want.”

Your brow crinkled in confusion. “A ride? To where?”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Anywhere. Wherever. Let’s go get breakfast or something.”

You considered that. Frankie loved to drive, be it on a cross-country road trip or down the street to the grocery store. His happy place was driving his beloved old Ford with the windows down, an old rock ‘n roll or honky-tonk song playing, one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh. You’d spent countless hours when you were dating just driving, to nowhere in particular, until Frankie couldn’t stand to keep from kissing you any longer and pulled off to slide you across the seat and into his arms.

You smiled at the memory of a much younger Frankie on the night before he’d left for basic training. He was nervous and brimming with excitement, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. He asked you to marry him that night, even though he didn’t have a ring and was about to be gone for months. You said yes, and the first time he came home, he’d had a ring to put on your finger.

You felt his ring as he brushed his knuckles against your cheek.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked affectionately.

You leaned into his touch. “Just thinking about the night before you left for basic. I thought you drove me out to the middle of nowhere to have your way with me, and you proposed to me instead.”

He grinned. “If I remember correctly, I did end up having my way with you too.”

So he had, and the memory built a flicker of desire in you even now. You tugged on the lapel of his jacket and brought him down to kiss you, fanning that flicker into a warm, comforting flame.

“I’ll go on a drive with you,” you said against his mouth. “If you have your way with me.”

You felt his smile. “It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Morales. Let me go get my keys.”

You followed him inside and took a moment to freshen up, brushing your teeth and making your hair less of a mess. Frankie loved you any which way, just rolled out of bed or all dolled up, but you wanted to be a little bit more put together for him if you could.

You saw he’d fixed you a cup of coffee and grabbed a few blankets and pillows. Taking your coffee with a quick kiss to thank him, you raised your brow at the bedding he had tucked under his arm.

“What are those for?” you asked. You’d assumed you were going the classic cramped, back seat route when it came to your early morning lovers’ tryst.

He tapped your nose. “How about you mind your business, nosy?”

You smiled, content to let him go through with whatever plans he had. Frankie was nothing if not attentive in his romancing, and he’d been that way from your very first date.

To make room for the pillows and blankets, you sidled up next to Frankie and leaned your head on his shoulder as he cranked the truck. You didn’t need the heat on; Frankie radiated warmth, and his hand on your thigh kept a different kind of warmth running through you. You cradled your coffee in one hand and turned on the tape player to see what he’d been listening to.

“It’s Waylon Jennings,” Frankie said. “You can change it if you want.”

You let it play, the strains of honky-tonk drawl mixing with the cool morning breeze coming through the open windows. You and Frankie had very similar tastes in music, and the tapes he kept in his truck had been there for as long as you’d known him; almost every track had a memory tied to it, some of them sad, most of them happy and comforting. You rested your arm on his shoulder and brushed your fingers through the curls that stuck out from under his baseball cap.

You studied his profile as he drove down the near-empty roads, each of his features very dear and beautiful to you: the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, the kiss-sized patch in his scruff, the slope of his Roman nose.

“Are we almost there?” you asked. You didn’t know if he even had a place in mind, but you were impatient to touch him, to shower his face with kisses. He gave you a smile that told you he was just as impatient for you, and you almost blushed.

You did blush when you saw where he’d taken you: a spot off the beaten path under the shelter of huge oak trees, well known for being a place young lovers went sparking. You were the only ones there at that hour, and a thrill of excitement and giddy nervousness went through you like you were a teenager. 

“This ok?” Frankie asked as he put the truck in park, waiting to turn off the ignition.

You grinned up at him. “We’re not too old for this, are we?”

He smiled. “We’re too old to come out here late at night,” he said. “Now that I’m a regular working man, you know I like to be in bed at a decent hour.”

“I know,” you said affectionately. You pushed his hat back a little to brush your fingers through his curls. “Kiss your woman, Mr. Morales.”

He did as you said, responding to your touch and your words with a gentle eagerness that made you smile. He took your coffee from you and set it in the cup holder, freeing up your hands to drape over his shoulders as he took you in a bear hug and kissed you soundly.

You loved it when he held you. You’d always thought Frankie would be good at giving hugs, and the first time he took you in his arms, you’d felt more at home than you had anywhere else. His love language was physical touch, and whether he was showing you how much he loved you or needed some comforting, he’d bury his face against your shoulder and hold you close to him like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You kissed his cheek, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. “I love you, Frankie.”

He held you closer. “I love you too.”

After a minute, he finally pulled away. You didn’t want him to go, and pulled him back - he obliged you with another long kiss before he disentangled himself from your embrace.

“I’ll be right back, honey,” he said with a smile. “Sit tight.”

You reluctantly let him go. He turned the truck off but left the music on, reaching over you to grab the pillows and blankets. You watched through the back window as he made a cosy pallet in the bed of his truck, smiling at his attention to detail in smoothing out the wrinkles as best he could.

“Your honeymoon suite, my lady,” he said when he came back around, offering you his hand in a gallant gesture. You giggled and took his hand as he led you to the back of the truck; he picked you up by the waist and sat you on the tailgate, standing between your knees to kiss you.

“I sure do love you, Mrs. Morales,” he said, cradling your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over your temples. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smiled. “Yeah, I know.” As if you could be unaware of the great gentleness and patience and kindness of his love, the depth of his devotion to you. “I sure do love you too.”

You kissed for a long while, long enough for the birds to start singing their morning arias as you fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. His hands found their way under your shirt, cupping your breasts in his big palms, his ministrations gentle and wanting.

“Get up there,” he said breathlessly, nodding behind you. You did as he said, leaning on your hands so you could watch him make quick work of his shirt, undershirt, and work boots. He took his cap off and tossed it heedlessly, his expression dark with desire and love as he climbed up into the bed of the truck with you.

“Beautiful,” he said, hovering over you. You laid back on the pillows, thankful he’d thought to bring them, and let yourself relax against him as he kissed all over your face and down your neck.

“Frankie,” you breathed, tilting your head back to give him better access to your jaw. His scruff rasped against your skin, and you drove your fingers through his thick curls.

He hummed at his name. “What is it, querida? ”

You kissed him again. “Let me take my shirt off.”

He pulled back and gave you just enough space for you to pull your shirt over your head. He grabbed the big quilt he’d taken from your bed and draped it over both of you, his touch less teasing for the moment and more intended to warm you up. While his hands roamed, he pressed kisses against your skin, between your breasts and all over your stomach. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cool air.

“Alright, sweetheart?” he asked. “Warm enough?”

You nodded. Between Frankie’s warmth and his fingers tracing over the waistband of your pajama bottoms, it could have been below zero and you wouldn’t have cared.

“Let me take your shorts off, honey,” he said gently. You lifted your hips so he could tug off every last scrap of fabric you had on you, leaving you vulnerable and needy under him.

“I love you so much,” he said, almost reverently. “Hermosa, mi amor.”

He kissed you for a while, worshiping you with his hands, praising you for your beauty, your loveliness. Both of you laughed as he tried to get his jeans off, wrestling with his belt and the sturdy denim; once they were off he eased himself down next to you, tucking you close to his chest. You traced your fingers over the familiar planes of his body, each dip and swell like a map to a treasure only you had the privilege of knowing. You pressed kisses to his old army scars and paid special attention to the thin white scar on his cheek he’d gotten in Colombia.

“You’re beautiful,” you said, kissing the spot on his jaw where his beard stubbornly refused to grow. His cheeks pinked a little, warm against your skin.

“Thank you for spending your morning with me,” he said. He ran his hand down your thigh, gently drawing your leg to rest over his. “Eres el amor de mi vida, cariño.”

You sighed against his mouth as his fingers dipped into your heat. “You’re the love of my life too, Frankie.”

He kissed you and nuzzled against you as he drew circles between your legs, easing one finger into you, then two. He drew you out with tenderness and skill, capturing the breathless moans tumbling from your mouth as he kissed you deeply. You carded your hands through his hair, rocking against his hand, giving little whines as you neared your orgasm.

“Love to hear you like this, querida,” he murmured against your skin. “So beautiful for me.”

“'M close,” you sighed, the sound catching a little as he crooked his fingers inside you. “Frankie, please.”

You pressed close to him as he tipped you over the edge, pleasure washing over you with a comforting, languid satisfaction. Frankie was very good when he did you quickly, every movement decisive and strong, but he was downright talented at slow lovemaking, drawing you to orgasm like it was an act of worship. He groaned a little as you moaned and tightened around his fingers, enjoying your pleasure as much as you did. He cradled you close as you came down from your high, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach.

“I want to be inside you, amor,” he said, sucking love marks into the base of your neck. “Take me inside you, please.”

You moved to lay on your back and pulled him with you, his skin pressed against yours, running your hands over the muscles of his back. He hovered over you again, rolling his hips against yours, humming along to the soft song that spilled from the radio.

“Wish I had me a true fine woman,” he sang as he nuzzled your jaw. “Let her rock me all night long. Baby we could get it together, like people do in them old love songs.”

You smiled at the sound of his voice, warm and soft and comforting. You loved it when he sang to you; he did it all the time, when he danced you around the kitchen or when he washed your hair for you in the shower or when he made love to you.

You pushed his boxers down, taking your time in running your fingers over his waist, his hip bones, the softness of his tummy. He buried his face in your neck and laughed a little; he was very ticklish, and you beamed at the sound of his laughter.

“I love you,” you said, pressing your cheek to his.

He pulled back to look at you, laugh lines crinkling by his eyes, bumping your noses together. “I love you too, pretty lady.” 

He kissed you and settled between your legs; he eased himself into you, steady and sure until you were completely joined. He held you there for a moment, both of you basking in the feel of each other.

“Oh, Frankie,” you sighed when he started to move. You raised your hips to meet him, finding that familiar rhythm of your bodies together, pleasure rolling over you in waves with every press of his hips against yours. You held onto him with one hand and ran your fingers through his curls with the other, telling him how good he was, how much you loved him.

He groaned and sighed against your neck, and the sounds of his pleasure unraveled you completely. It was always like this with Frankie, both of you falling to pieces with each other, mending each other with every kiss and touch and movement. You held him close to you, feeling complete with him inside you, like he was the missing piece in the jigsaw of your heart. 

“I love you, I love you,” he said, over and over, and you felt yourself tighten around him, drawing him close as you neared the crest of the wave building through your whole body.

“Baby, please,” he gasped, the roll of his hips needy and desperate. “I need you, I need - God, querida, you’re so good, so good for me.”

You held him tight enough to leave bruises as his praise brought you over the edge, moaning and tightening around him as your orgasm crashed over you. He followed quickly, praising you through it, kissing you even though both of you were breathless.

He lay close to you as both of you settled, resting his head on your chest, running his fingers over your hip. You brushed your hand through his hair, gently untangling his soft curls as you rested in the feel of him. Dawn was peeking through the hazy blue of early morning, pinking the sky and waking the rest of the rest of the birds that flitted to and fro in the branches above you.

“‘M gonna fall asleep,” Frankie mumbled after a while.

You moved your hand down his neck and across his shoulders, scratching lightly. “That’s ok, honey.”

He chuckled and snuggled closer to you. “You want me to take a nap out here with you with no clothes on?”

You smiled. “Okay, maybe not. But we can go home and lay down if you want.”

You knew he wouldn’t take you up on the offer; he was a morning person, and once he was up, he was up. You’d probably go back to bed for a few hours once you got home, or else take a while to actually be up and a productive member of society, but Frankie wouldn’t mind. He often said he liked you all sleepy and soft in the mornings, even if you were a little grumpy before he put a cup of coffee in your hands.

Like you’d expected him to, Frankie gave you one last squeeze before he sat up and started getting dressed. You splayed your fingers over his back, a parting touch to the sun-kissed skin that got covered by his undershirt and then his work shirt.

“Can you grab my clothes?” you asked, sitting up and holding the quilt to your chest. He rifled through the blankets until he found your pajamas, and stopped with his hand halfway stretched out to you when he turned to give them to you.

You blushed. “What?” He was studying you awfully hard, like a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just...” 

He shook his head, his expression softening with a smile. “You’re gorgeous. I don’t tell you that enough.”

You tucked your hair behind your ear. That was categorically untrue, as Frankie told you every single day how beautiful you were. It never failed to make you blush and feel butterflies like it had the first time he’d said it, and you gave him a slightly wobbly smile.

“Thank you,” you said. 

He grinned at you like you were the dearest thing in the world to him.

“You sure are pretty when you blush, Mrs. Morales,” he said. He gently tweaked your cheek and kissed you; when you gave a little huff of protest at getting just one kiss, he laughed.

“Get dressed and I’ll give you some more kisses, honey.”

You did as he said and helped him gather up the blankets and put them back in the cab. You stole his ball cap and put it on your head, turning to him with a grin for his approval; he tapped the brim and said you looked better in it than he ever had. 

True to his word, it took him much longer than it should have to get the truck cranked and on the road because he paused to give you as many kisses as you wanted. He put his arm over your shoulders and drew you close, one hand draped over the steering wheel with that effortless cool that drove you wild when you were younger and made you smile now that you knew how much of a goofball your husband really was.

You kissed his cheek and put his hat back on his head, where it belonged. “I love you, Francisco.”

His expression crinkled in a confused smile. “Francisco?” he repeated. You hardly ever called him that.

“Yeah,” you said, grinning up at him. The first rays of sunshine caught in his hair, bringing out a honey golden color to his curls. “Or... how do you say ‘catfish’ in Spanish?”

He winced. “Bagre. But don’t call me that. Santi thought it was the gold standard of comedy for a few weeks in basic.”

You laughed. “Oh, I definitely will now, especially since Santi started it.” You softened and patted his chest.

“Frankie, then,” you said. “My Frankie.” 

You touched your fingers to your lips, then to his. “I love you, Frankie Morales. I’m really glad I’m your wife.”

His smile was a little bashful. “Aw, honey.” He stole a kiss, quick and sweet.

“I’m really glad I’m your husband,” he said. “I love you too.”

You cuddled close to him, resting against his solid warmth as the sun spread pink and gold over the sky to welcome a new day. With the music playing softly, the windows down, and Frankie beside you, you couldn’t think of any place you’d rather be.

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid​​​​, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl​​​​, @stardust-galaxies​​​, @theorganasolo​​​​, @qhbr2013​​​​ ♡

let me know if you’d like to be added! ♡

[ahockeywrites]

Is that a drawing of me?

You sighed. Your professor set you an assignment to draw something that makes you smile. His suggestions included a pet, a sport or a loved one. Naturally, the first thing that came to your head was your boyfriend, the resident pest of Calgary, Matthew Tkachuk. The only problem you had, is that drawing faces was your weakness when it came to your artwork. It wasn’t that you couldn’t draw faces, if it was a life or death situation, yes, you could draw a face. However, when compared to your nature drawings, they were second best.

“So, are we gonna get a drawing of Mr Hockey hotshot this time?” your friend Anna asked. You looked at her with a look only she could read. Realistically, the answer should have easily been yes, but your worry of making him look bad was heightening your anxiety.

“It’s an idea, but you know how I was in our portraits module. How can I do the man I love justice when I can barely draw someone with straight hair,” you said as you slumped into the chair in the small coffee shop. “His curls will be the death of me.” Taking a small sip of your coffee, you noticed a text from the devil himself.

Matty: Hey baby, just wanted to let you know I’m back from practice now! Let me know what you want to do for dinner :) x

You: Urm… I’m good for anything? Something quick bc I’ve got college work to do x

Anna could tell that you were talking to Matt, solely by the way that your face lit up whenever you two spoke. “But, who or what else would you draw?  I mean, I’m planning on doing my family by the lake back home, if that helps?” Anna offered. You knew she was just trying to help, but you had to draw Matthew. You had skirted around it before but you had decided.

“I’m gonna draw him, but hopefully not too well,” you said, “I can’t inflate his ego any more. I think Brady and Taryn would want words with me.” The two of you giggled, knowing that anything that made him look too good in his eyes would just make his head grow 20 sizes.

“Yes my love!!” Anna exclaimed, “shall we stop by the art store before art history?”

“I think I’m gonna need to,” you explained, “I need some new canvases and a lot of red pencils if he’s gonna be in Calgary gear.”

The two of you left the coffee shop for the nearby warehouse full of art supplies. It was just off campus and offered a generous student discount to almost anyone. You wandered down by the canvases, trying to figure out which size would be right for your latest piece. Too small and the picture would look cramped, too large and the image could look out of proportion. Eventually, you settled on a relatively large one and by this time had picked up some very Calgary appropriate red and black pencils. You also spotted a scrapbook that looked perfect to start filling with photos of you and Matthew.

Scrapbooking was something you had always wanted to get into, but it never came up in your studies and you always thought that you should practice line art or painting. But with your second anniversary coming up, it was something you could do in your downtime to relax but also create something beautiful. All you had to do was get a few rolls of washi tape and some photo corners. Everything else, if you had forgotten it, could easily be ordered later.

2 hours and $150 later, you exited the store with Anna and headed to your final lecture of the day. Now, just because you enjoyed both art and history did not mean that you enjoyed the combination of the two. Especially when the professor decided that it would be fun to set a 2000 word essay on the Renaissance period. “I cannot wait for this day to be over,” Anna spoke aimlessly.

“Honestly, same, hopefully Matt has got some food ready for when I’m back,” you hoped, no, prayed to someone above that he had actually made something and hadn’t burnt down your apartment. “I’m gonna head off now, but text me updates of your portrait?” you asked Anna. She nodded and you started your short walk from campus to the apartment.

15 minutes later, you arrived home and tumbled through the door. The smell of something baked filled your nostrils. “Matty baby?” you called out, hoping he would hear you and give you a hand with all the supplies you had bought.

“Y/N!” he called, coming to the hallway. “Need a hand?” he asked, but the two of you knew it was rhetorical. You let out a small giggle and gave him two of the bags you had filled to the brim with scrapbooking items. Now, you could have hidden them from him, but it was likely that he wouldn’t even know what they were so you were safe. The two of you moved in sync to the office of the apartment which very quickly had become your own personal studio with an easel and multiple chests of drawers with the most random supplies in them.

“Just pop them down anywhere, I have a drawing I want to start tonight along with an essay,” you complained.

“Don’t you worry, I have wine and lasagne,” Matthew sang. You audibly groaned at the sound of food, all you wanted was a warm meal and to relax. At least you’d be able to get one of them tonight.

You two sat down at the island that graced the kitchen of the apartment. Matthew had set the table and even put a few candles out, “I thought you could do with an hour or so of doing nothing,” he spoke as he went to grab your hand. He rubbed soft circles over your knuckles as you picked up your wine glass with your other hand.

As you took your first bite of the lasagne, you sent your boyfriend a wink. Lasagne was one of the few things he could cook and not mess up and he knew that. “I am so glad that I have a small amount of time before I start my drawing tonight,” you explained.

“What are you drawing?” Matt asked as he lifted his wine glass to his lips.

“That is something I would rather not share just now, but you’ll find out later,” you winked. You were never particularly secretive when it came to your artwork so he was slightly confused but he went along with it. Maybe, he thought, it was going to be a gift for someone and you didn’t want him to spoil the surprise.

The two of you continued to chat over dinner, talking about practice and how boring your lectures were. The boy sitting across from you never failed to make you laugh and you knew that you couldn’t draw anyone else other than him. As he was talking, you allowed yourself to take in his features and you tried to think of the best way to draw them. “If you’re done staring, I’m gonna sort the dishes out,” Matt laughed. You hadn’t even realised you were looking so intently at him. “I know I’m beautiful,” he got out before you tried to tackle him to the ground, however, your strength was nothing compared to his.

“I think this means it’s time for me to go and get started with my assignment,” you giggled from underneath him. “Come grab me if I’m still working and should be asleep, yeah?” you asked. He nodded and let you head to the office.

Once seated in the office, you pulled out your laptop and google searched Matt’s name, hoping some good images of him came up. Or at least, some that you could try to emulate. You found one of him smiling and celebrating a goal and thought that would be perfect. It also meant that the majority of his curls were underneath a helmet so wouldn’t have to worry.

Grabbing the canvas you had specifically bought for this, you placed it on the easel. You began to sketch out the rough shape of a skater in the foreground. Then, you moved onto the face. You thought if you did the face early on, you could fix any mistakes with it once the rest of the image was done. Starting with the eyes, then the nose and mouth, this wasn’t going as badly as you thought it might have gone. But then, the dreaded curls were staring at you from underneath the helmet. Sighing, you knew that if you didn’t start them now, they would never be done and a bald Matthew was something you never wanted to see.

A knock on the office door startled you, “baby, it’s almost midnight. You have an 8am lecture tomorrow and don’t want you to be late,” Matt said in a soft voice.

“Yeah, just gimme a few minutes,” you replied. By this time you had moved onto the logo on his shirt and if anyone saw, it would be incredibly obvious who you were drawing. Curly hair, Calgary Flames player, number 19, with an A on his chest. You were so engrossed in the drawing, you hadn’t noticed Matthew open the door and walk to be behind you.

“Is that a drawing of me?” he asked. You jumped out of your skin and he had to put his hand on your shoulder to stable you. You meekly nodded and looked up to him. “It’s amazing,” he said as he took in the drawing. Suddenly, he put two and two together, “this is why you wouldn’t tell me what you were doing, eh?”

“Maybe,” you said softly, trying to hide yourself in his chest. “Didn’t want to inflate your ego anymore.”

“Baby, if every drawing you do of me is this good,” he said as he pressed his forehead to yours, “my family better make an entire room back in St. Louis for my ego.” You slowly pressed your lips to his as a sign of appreciation.

“I take it you like it then?”

“Like is the wrong word, I love it. I also can’t wait to send a picture of this to the family group chat to get their thoughts,” he laughed.

“Well, as long as your mom doesn’t want me to do another one, I think I’ll be okay,” you said as you kissed him again.

[gallickingun]

welded hearts || b.k.

SUMMARY: You and Bakugou have to try and pick up the pieces after the incident with Awase, but neither of you are doing a very good job. It leads to distance and lies, and you’re not sure if there’s any way to save the fragments that remain of your shattered relationship. Especially when you find out that Bakugou has been tracking your every move.

Follows the events of Ensnare, an Awase x Reader x Bakugou fic written by @lady-bakuhoe​.

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 11.7k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

AUTHOR’S NOTE: after reading Jo’s fic, I immediately rushed to her inbox to foam at the mouth about what kind of angst would follow when Bakugou and Reader attempt to put back together what is left of their relationship, with Bakugou really not feeling like a man, and reader feeling absolutely suffocated, and this little fic was born. Also, this is my first time not tagging any blogs, I just need to start fresh. I hope everyone understands!

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

The strange combination of distance and suffocation make your head spin.

Nightmares plague your mind at night, leaving the opportunity for visions to run rampant through your sleep-deprived brain during the day. You spend the daylight hours looking over your shoulder, your forehead broken out into a constant sweat, and you spend the evenings wondering if you might have imagined the whole thing.

You wake up alone most of the time, no matter what phase of the night you are suffering through. The first few times you would go searching the house for him, wondering where his overactive body could have taken him this time. Most nights you found him at the kitchen table going over suit designs and contracts for more hero patrols and brand deals.

You’d ask him when he was coming back to bed only for those familiar vermilion eyes to pass you a blank stare and his dry voice to echo out, “Don’t worry about me. Go back to bed.”

And each night you’d listen.

You curl up beneath the covers, tugging the fabric to your chin, and stare at the wall. You attempt breathing exercises and grounding techniques, but that does not stop the shadowy figures you see in the hallway or the closet. Your imagination gets the better of you as it hallucinates the image of the culprit himself stood in your bathroom doorway, a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“So fucking pretty,” his mouth snarls around the words, dark hair shining despite the dark. His teeth are pearlescent even in the dim moonlight filtering through your window, “Whose going to stop me? You?”

A shudder shakes your shoulders and when you blink, he’s gone, like a phantom escaped in the night. You rip your hands through your hair and tears drip down from your lids into your lap, staining the fabric of your pajama pants. Your hands shake in front of you, fingertips showing double the harder you try to concentrate.

His presence is akin to smoke billowing within your belly. The tendrils of his black cloud wrap around your spine, traveling up your torso until it sits in the base of your throat, suffocating you endlessly. Every day you spend breathing is another day fighting for relief from this monstrous thing in your chest.

Bakugou turns to much different means of coping.

At first it was sweet – him checking in on you. He would offer to come pick you up from work if you’d ever decided to leave anytime after seven, and if he was stuck on patrol or in meetings, he’d arrange a car to bring you home. When you go on your afternoon runs, he’d volunteer to go with you even though he’d done rigorous amounts of training at work.

The simplest ways he would show his sense of pride in protecting you would be to hover closely, his body within an arm’s length so he could snag you out of any bad situation if there ever were one. Still, even with his insatiable hovering tendencies, he would keep his own personal touch at bay.

At times when he would usually hold your hand or brush up against you, he stays at least three feet away. It’s as if he’s chosen to self-quarantine himself from you, deeming your affections as either insufficient or insufferable, which neither are good options to choose from.

Once it becomes overwhelming, you find yourself in too deep, too bitter. You try to reach out to him in the form of affection – brushing your palm over his hips as you pass him in the kitchen, trying to grab his hand when you’re walking together, and reaching out to touch his shoulders when he faces away from you the few nights he does end up in bed.

To shout out now would be hypocritical, as you have had a part in pushing him further from you, isolating his affectionate touches even further. Yet, the longer he keeps himself from brushing even his clothed thigh against you when he passes you by in the kitchen or at the grocery store, you wonder who is actually suffering from the lack of physical affection and who is merely existing.

Eventually he grows more suffocating.

Bakugou will not let you be out of his sight for longer than a few minutes at a time despite sitting opposite from you on every surface he can find. You have started to hide in the bathroom, proclaiming cramps or bad pork before skittering off to the bathroom with your phone clutched in the grasp of your fingers, if only to find some peace from his prying eyes for a few moments at a time.

He has never been so clingy before, and you know that it is laced with the trauma as a result of the Awase situation. However, this doesn’t make it any easier to stomach his lurking. On the other hand, it adds a stinging sensation at the irony of it all.

Bakugou wants to be completely involved in every facet of your life without even kissing you good morning when he hands you your coffee.

You knew that what had happened with Awase all those weeks ago had to have affected him, coloring his outlook on life no matter how bleak it had been before. With each passing day he grows closer to you, hands metaphorically wrapped around your throat, squeezing every last pound of air from your tongue. But still, you never imagined that he would take t his far.

And so, you lie through your teeth.

Yaoyorozu was invited to the grand opening of a bar in the plaza sector of the city, and she invites you and the other girls for a night out. You know that if Bakugou heard about you going on about visiting a bar and intending to drink, he’d say some new form of the word ‘no’ and persuade you with his big, round, crimson eyes to stay home.

There were too many safety hazards, after all. Especially if you are going to be drinking. Your senses would be impaired, and you would be much easier to take advantage of once you are two shows into the wind. And then Bakugou would casually remind you that Momo normally finds a guy and ditches you, thus forcing you into taking a cab ride home, which creates an entirely new set of problems.

Which is why, when you tell him why you won’t be home tonight, you lie, “It’s just a sleepover, like back in high school! Momo and Ochako wanted to get back together and I think Mina might even be coming too!”

Bakugou nods, looking over the top of his combat training manual, “Just let me know if you need me to come pick you up, alright?”

You nod, not daring to reach forward and try to brush your hand against his forearm, afraid he might recoil or redirect you. Instead you force a smile, nodding your head as you open the door, “Momo is picking me up, and she said she’d be fine with driving me back tomorrow, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

His posture visibly relaxes at the sentiment. It is maddening how one simple shift of his composure makes you want to barrel into him, to forget your entire night and attempt to curl up with him on the couch. It has been so long since you last felt his touch, even in a casual sense. The bar counter top acts like a prison, barring him from you as he isolates himself.

“Have fun,” he manages, eyes falling away from you.

And you’re glad, too. At least when he’s not looking at you, he can’t read your face for lies. Bakugou is like a human lie detector, able to sense any unease in your usually relaxed posture.

Of course he has no reason to disbelieve you – why would you lie to him in the first place? You have preyed on that trust, a thing you feel so despicable for even considering, the fib scraping against your teeth like nails on a chalkboard. You wince at his tone, unbelievably naïve, but the door stays open regardless of your conviction.

The lie rolls around in your belly like a parasite, preying on the poor decisions and leeching on your inhibitions. You feel it suffocating your throat as you blow a kiss his direction, telling him not to wait up as you readjust your backpack full of overnight accessories and a change of clothes that is slung over your right shoulder.

Bakugou smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which only further feeds the parasitic being taken up a home in your stomach. It sits heavy on your tongue when you tell him goodnight, threatening to chew right through your cheek until it’s been bared to the whole world.

He nods, licking his lips as he watches you leave. You wave one last time as you shut the door, guilt eating you alive until you feel tears press against the backs of your eyelids. You swallow your conscience and head towards the car you recognize as Momo’s, the weight of your club clothes sitting heavy in your backpack. You cinch it closer to you, praying that Bakugou hasn’t somehow developed x-ray vision to be able to see through your bag.

And yet, a part of you wants him to come barreling down the stairwell to beg you to come back inside, back home. You want him to whisper your name like a prayer, his hands outstretched so you can reach forward to slot your knuckles between his.

At least in your hallucinations he still wants you.

--

Once you’re at the club bar, it doesn’t take long for you to find yourself in a drunken stupor.

“Listen,” you slur, pointing a finger into Momo’s ample chest, “I-I’m not sayin’ he’s gotta dick me down every night, b-but like-once?!”

You take a long drag of beer, swallowing the acidic liquid until it’s burning your throat. You slam your cup back down on the table top, pursing your lips as you take in a deep breath, “I mean it’s been months, guys. Months.”

“A-Are you serious?” Uraraka leans in closer to you, eyes widened, “N-Not since-”

“Nope,” you huff, slumping down in the booth seat. “I-I know that since the incident that things have been different, but it’s like he doesn’t even want me anymore.”

Momo reaches her arm around your shoulder, tucking you into her side, “I’m sure he just doesn’t know how to handle all of it, and he’s just trying to do his best.”

“Bakugou?” Mina laughs, bright eyes hidden behind her lids as she screws her face up into a giggle. She takes a sip of her beer, propping her feet on the nearest unoccupied table, and sighs, “Good luck with that one, babes. I don’t see things returning back to normal anytime soon, not with how damn stubborn he can be.”

The beginning of a fresh set of tears presses like a crater into the backs of your eyes, a pulsing headache drawing out a groan from your lips. You drop your forehead to the tabletop and relish at the cool surface opposing your heated flesh, “I-I know that normal isn’t exactly an option yet, but I would like to feel like I wasn’t so fucking alone in my own house, y’know? I mean, he’s right there and yet it’s like I’m there all by myself?”

Your phone buzzes from within your purse and there is a collective grouching that echoes from everyone at the table, sour expressions making it obvious the way they feel about your ringtone. Momo crosses her arms over her chest, “You do realize this is the seventeenth time he’s called you, right?”

You reach into your purse but her hand is on your wrist before you can snatch your phone. She shakes her head and Mina huffs through her nose, “Why can’t you just put that thing on silent? When is he going to stop bugging you?”

“Yeah?” Momo brushes her thumb against your forearm, “Didn’t you tell him you were coming out with us tonight?”

A bright red tinge sits hot on your cheeks, making your skin look flushed. Your friends understand your conflict then, sitting back from you in shame. Mina is the first to speak, “You lied?”

“I-well, I couldn’t just-” You rack your brain for the right words to say to defend yourself, sweat accumulating at the base of your back in droves. You want to run away, but there’s nowhere to go. If you head home now, Bakugou will most likely have a full rant ready for you as soon as you walk in the door.

“You can’t keep lying to him like this,” Momo presses her palm to your cheek, brushing away a tear before it can slip down your face, “You’re going to have to be honest with him eventually. He needs to back off, to let you live. There’s no reason he has to be attached to you like an umbilical cord all of the time.”

“His concern is kind of nice, though,” Jirou speaks up.

Your head snaps towards her and she shrugs, “All I’m saying is at least he’s trying to protect you. He’s not completely self-absorbed after all.”

Before you can try to refute her or defend him, your phone starts ringing once more. Your hand dives into your purse, pulling it from within and looking down at it like that might keep it from ringing any longer.

“I don’t understand!” You’re whining now, fresh saltine droplets settling in your lashes. You wipe at your face, “I-I don’t get why he won’t just leave me the hell alone. I told him exactly what I was doing tonight, exactly where I was going and who I was going to be with. I just-”

“Except you lied.”

You feel all of the heat leave your body, only frozen fingertips and an icy, rigid spine left behind.

You turn your head at the familiar baritone voice that cuts into you from behind, and your heart drops into your stomach. When you breathe, the parasitic thing living there begins to swallow your stomach whole, gnawing away at your most sensitive parts first.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to feel anger instead of shame, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What, pray tell, the fuck are you doing here?!” Bakugou snaps, eyes a conflagration of brassy tones, pupils dilated to prove his anger, as if it weren’t so evident from his tone.

Mina goes to speak up when she sees you flinch, but you’re already being dragged out from the safety of the booth seat. Bakugou’s blunt nails are digging into your bicep and forearm like little spears, snagging you so you can’t get away. He yanks you into the hallway, your back pressed into the wall as he further infringes on your space with his closeness.

“You fuckin’ lied to me?”

His voice is held together by rage, begging to be broken apart as he lets the feelings seep through the cracks of his resolve. Bakugou’s jaw quivers as he grinds his teeth together, heaving breaths making his chest expand to brush against your own. It’s the closest thing you’ve felt to intimacy since that night in the alley – since he decided to pretend that you and your needs didn’t exist.

You want to start bubbling out another fib, foaming at the mouth with lies so smooth he’d have to believe them. Your brain is stumbling in attempt to keep up with his fast paced thinking. Every phrase you could possibly say to make this go down like honey instead of vinegar passes through your mind, but you know that this will sting no matter how long you put off trying to swallow it.

The intentions you have now, to make everything easier on him and spare his emotions, have been tainted by your conniving words from before. You weren’t preparing for a confessional in the middle of this hole-in-the-wall bar, but not every night goes exactly how you plan it.

The both of you understand that sentiment rather intimately.

Bakugou’s eyes are ablaze, vermilion bleeding to amber nearest his pupils. His jawline is flexed, nostrils flaring, and you know that laced within his anger is something akin to fright, fearfulness. Every single feature he possesses is pinched tightly, as if his body were wound like a coil, and he is going to snap at any moment.

And then, when your mouth bobs open and shut, and you can’t find the right lie to squeeze between your teeth, you begin putting the whole situational puzzle back together. Anger replaces the acrid taste in your mouth, cinders of fury settling on your tongue the more it all starts to make sense.

Your eyes meet his and he feels the shift, his grip on your arm lessening at the sight of your furious irises honing in on him. The reality that he is not as innocent as you would like to believe seeps into your skin, settling like sticky acid, and you itch religiously to get it off of you.

“How did you know that I was here?” you ask, voice eerily calm as your vision begins to blur at the edges. You gnaw on your lower lip, tilting your head to consider every falter in his expression, “I told you I was going to be at Yaoyorozu’s. You had no idea that-”

You can’t help the choking sound that comes from your throat next, gagging on your words as pure fury overwhelms your body. Your shoulders shudder under the strain of these destructive emotions as realization settles in. Even the fear in his own irises cannot stop the tumultuous build of vehemence that seeps through you like molten lava, crawling upwards through your veins until all you can see is red – blinding red.

You’re repeating your question when it appears he won’t answer you to speak the truth; eyebrows furrowed, forehead wrinkled. Your jawline pulsates with muscle tremors as you grit your teeth down fervently, a high-pitched whining sound echoing within your own skull at the action, “What did you do, Katsuki?”

It’s not a question, though, not this time.

Bakugou’s throat bobs and before he can give you some shitty, half-thought out excuse, you’re poking your finger into his chest, directly between the taut line of his pectorals, “Where is it?”

“Wh-What?” he manages to cough out, tongue bitten between his teeth.

You take a step back with each question of the location, chin wobbling in denial, “My bag? My phone? My car? Did you put it in me, Katsuki?”

The sound of his given name dripping like toxic acid from your tongue makes his heart constrict within the confines of his chest. The organ beats at a thunderous pace, so hard that he’s sure there is an outlined bruise in the shape of it if you were to peel his shirt back and look. Still, he knows better than to argue with you – knows even better than to try and deny it. You are a human lie detector when it comes to him. You know his mannerisms so well that you’re able to spot a stuttering breath from a mile off, even the smallest of hints to his dastardly secret-keeping seeming like bright white lights to you.

He has backed himself into a corner in trying to keep you safe, so he admits with his head hung low, “Your phone.”

A shuddering breath makes your chest collapse, jaw fallen slack at the confession. Your spirit was praying that he might have just found out from a friend, maybe Kirishima discovered that you were out with Momo and Mina and told him. But no, now he’s admitted to the crime and he knows that he’ll have to face the punishment.

You want to root around in your purse until you’ve found the offending object, but it’s not the time, at least not right now. He can’t take advantage of using it while you’re both still in the same location. You’ll have to handle it later.

“How long?” you ask, voice small.

Bakugou does not answer immediately. His eyes are downcast, unable to meet yours as his lower lip quivers just enough for you to make it out in the dim light of the bar. Your heart thrums at the sight of him so distraught, but you lock your knees and force your body to straighten your spine and steel your resolve.

You repeat the question, digging your fingertip into his skin until you are sure that you’ve drawn blood underneath the fabric of his black tank top.

He snaps, the blood vessels in his neck thudding against the tanned skin there, “Since Awase, when the fuck else do you think?”

And just like that, your entire body is thrown back in time. You are that helpless woman in that alleyway, your body used for the lustful gratification of someone else, thrown to the side like a plaything when he was through. You feel hands, lips, skin, all over you, torturing your body even now when you are awake. The ghost of his crooked touch makes your eyes water, thick droplets sticking to your lashes.

The sound of that villain’s name makes your ears burn and your tongue turn to sandpaper. A chill runs down your spine despite the massive blanket of heat in the room from all the bodies burning with alcohol and movement. Your head feels fuzzy, eyes unable to focus as you attempt to come back to this version of reality.

A single tear drips down your cheek, but Bakugou knows better than to try and wipe it away like he might if it were any other time.

“I-I can’t believe this,” you murmur, withdrawing your finger from him to cover your mouth with both hands. You blink slowly, turning your gaze from him to the floor, taking it all in with stride, attempting to breathe as evenly as possible while still processing everything unfolding in front of you.

Bakugou reaches up to touch your elbow, just enough contact to try and bring you back down to earth. Your eyes snap upward, meeting his vermilion gaze with an expression opposing your fiery wit from earlier. He’s never seen your body waver in such a way that would leave him to believe you to be weak, but now all he wants is to hold you between his arms, piecing you back together bone-by-bone, vessel-by-vessel.

You’re lost in the simplistic touch of him, the first you’ve felt in what you know to be weeks, but believe to be eons. He has been so distant from you that you almost forget why you are angry when he’s this close to you, suffocating your body in the best of ways. You can smell the telltale sign of his quirk, an ashen sweetness that you are sure you’ve become addicted to throughout the entirety of your relationship.

A breath bites through your lungs and you sharply cut your teeth into the inside of your cheek, trying to snap yourself out of your dazed stupor brought on by isolation. As you open your eyes again, you steel yourself, stepping up with brazen confidence to slap away his hand from your arm.

The burning flames licking at your throat turn to white-hot rage, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, Katsuki, but this controlling me shit has got to stop.”

His eyes refocus on yours again, pupils swallowing those pretty red globes whole, fear riddling every bone in his fragile body, “Wh-What are you talking about?”

Now it is you who has backed him into a corner, his backside and shoulder pushing against the wall. He tries to reach out to stop you, to beg for your forgiveness, but the stony expression in your irises tells him that he needs to be still an listen no matter how many biting insults and wanton words sit on his tongue.

“You’re breathing down my neck, Bakugou,” you inhale a shuddering breath at the sound of his surname being forced through your teeth. Tears lick at the corner of your eyes, your fists shaking by your sides, “I can’t take a shit without you wondering why I’m gone for longer than three minutes. You’ve been so fucking controlling that I can’t even go out with my friends without you needing to make it a momentous occasion!”

“You lied to me, for fucks sake!” Bakugou presses into you, snarling around his words. “You expect me to just forget that? What else have you been lying about?”

Your teeth clatter against one another, rattling around in your head, “I had to! You’ve been this glass case of emotion lately! And you won’t even let me walk home alone! I feel like I have a damn shadow everywhere I go!”

“I’m trying to-”

A thought hits you then, mulling you over so powerfully that you stumble backward, putting distance between the two of you. Your gaze falters from him to the wall, unable to look him in the eyes as you utter the next few syllables, “You don’t trust me?”

Bakugou is quick to refute you, stepping forward to take you out of your haze, “Hell no, baby! Of course, I trust you.”

“You put a goddamn tracker on my phone!” you snap, muscles quivering beneath your skin as your entire body tenses at the statement. Tears settle in your lids, dripping down over your cheek when you force him off of you. “What the hell am I supposed to think?”

He reaches out and wraps you up in his arms forcefully, despite your thrashing and shoving. You tear into him with your words and your touch, trying to punch him even though your range of motion is rather limited. Bakugou puts his chin on the top of your head, bottling you up like liquid rage, holding you together as you try to fall apart.

Bakugou has one hand against the back of your head, hands tucked into the tresses of your hair to cradle your head into the curve of his neck. His other palm rubs up and down the length of your arm as he tries to calm you down from your frenzied state, the loud music and pulsing bodies in the background of the bar doing little to deter your heightened temper.

You gulp as you feel his mouth bury into the crown of your head, kisses sprinkled into your hair like little flowers, petals of kind words tucked against your scalp. Bakugou wants to take you by the hand and drag you home, to curl up with you for the first time since that horrible night in the alleyway, and whisper promises into your skin until he goes hoarse.

You tilt your head upward, face shining bright with tears, nose bumping into his chin, “The-Then why do you-”

Katsuki nudges his nose over yours, a shuddering breath making his lip tremble against the bow of your mouth. A snarling growl rips his throat wide open as every feral, primal instinct buried deep within him is unleashed, “Are you really that dense, dumbass?”

The insult takes you by surprise, facial expression souring as you roll your tongue against your teeth, attempting to swallow the acidic retort sitting on the tip of the muscle in your mouth. Bakugou watches you with a careful eye, making sure that you aren’t going to speak up before he tries to rephrase himself.

“Listen, I just-I…” The words are caught in his throat, raking into his esophagus like shards of glass. Bakugou hates being vulnerable, especially with you. It makes him feel raw, torn open, and uncomfortable. He wants to be the pillar of strength you believe him to be, and how can he prove that he’s worthy of your trust when he feels so weak?

And yet, with you standing in front of him with expectant eyes and shaking hands, he finds it within himself to say what has been plaguing his mind for weeks.

“This shitstorm happened to me too, y’know?”

He sounds so heartbreakingly honest that it makes your skin prickle. A chill tightens like a coil around your spine, spreading shards of ice throughout your veins until your whole body is burning from the frigid feeling, fingertips numb.

Bakugou’s mouth bobs open and shut before he tears a hand through his hair, the other never leaving your body, frustrated at the fact that he can’t think of the right things to say. He looks up at the ceiling, a breath expanding his chest so he’s flush with you.

“Every fucking time I close my eyes, I see that shit all over again.” The veins in his body are prominent as he stresses himself out by trying to speak, “I see you, helpless, because I fucked up and lost focus. I-I couldn’t do anything and you needed me an-”

He can’t force the words out, can’t muster them up from the back of his throat no matter how many times he licks at the inside of his mouth, desperately searching his own skin for the answers. The reality of what might come to fruition when he says his truth out loud is too much to bear, no matter how much he knows he has to have this conversation with you. This is not something you both can just move on from, not without addressing it in all of its ugliness first. He wills the words to come out, closing his eyes and breathing deep. And even still, his mind will not cal.

Katsuki is a raging sea and you are the rickety lifeboat caught in his violent storm.

You swirl in his vortex for a moment longer before prodding him, hand pressed flat against his chest. You brush your thumb over his collarbone, “Katsuki, come on, talk to me. Please.”

Bakugou’s hand flinches by his side and you wonder if he wants to reach out to touch you with the pads of his fingers; to use you like an anchor, weighing him down in the right in the right way to bring him back to the current version of reality.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, pushing him further, knowing what he’s trying to tell you, but needing to hear it from his own tongue.

You step into his space and crowd him into the tight expanse of the hallway, and he can’t draw his eyes away from you despite the shame he feels from the tears currently clouding his vision. Every naysayer in his life comes to him in that very moment, telling him that he’s weak and spineless, completely useless if he can’t do the simplest of tasks. They scream at him, clawing at his heart until he’s bleeding out tears, hands shuddering in pain.

All he wants is to see you smiling again; a genuine, shining smile. He wants to watch as your eyes light up when he kisses you, or when he touches you here and there, casually in passing. Bakugou misses the old kindling the two of you had before that fateful night all those weeks ago. There was a familiarity that now feels lost in translation, wafting somewhere between the space separating the both of you.

You’re begging him in his ear now, words lodged like knives into his heart, a new syllable signifying a new blade, “Why are you doing this, Katsuki? Please, tell me!”

That is the last one – the proverbial blade that shoves its way through is spine to split him in two. He can’t help the way his voice shatters when he finally breaks, falling forward on weak knees, “To fucking protect you! Goddammit!”

You take a short step backward, shuffling away from him at his sudden furious outburst, the change in volume startling you. Goosebumps pebble on your skin and you feel a wave of anxiety wash over you, settling in your stomach to eat away at your resolve, that same parasite from earlier flaring up all over again. You swallow the pent-up emotion in your throat, but Bakugou isn’t finished, not yet. Now that he’s finally been ripped open, he can’t stop the flow.

“Every night you’d get further and further away from me,” his hands are flexing at his sides, knuckles turning white, little crackling explosions lighting like a warning sign, “And I can’t fucking get over this shit, okay?!”

The familiar ashen sweetness lingers in the air at the bare minimum usage of his quirk, but it’s comforting in a way. You breathe it in and try to stave off any tears from stemming down your cheeks. It is his turn to crumble, to fall down at your feet and beg for you to help him repair the gaping wound in his chest.

As you watch him fall apart, it’s physically painful to witness the way his body quivers, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into use. His lower lip, full and pink, is wobbling while he tries to form coherent sentences. You’ve never wanted to reach out and touch him more, to calm him with a tender brush of your knuckles over his cheek, or a hand flattened onto the plane of his chest. But he is too far away from you now, distant in the worst way.

It’s like he’s a figurative bomb, building up and ready to detonate. Each passing moment only fills him with more gunpowder, stuffing his throat until he’s suffocating under the notion that he can’t save you. Has he ever been capable of keeping you from harm?

“I-I was weak,” his voice breaks and so does his façade, tears brimming in the ducts of his reddened lids, “I let that fucker get the best of me, and i-it cost you. You were hurt because I couldn’t protect you.”

Bakugou’s palms shudder at his sides, fingers curling around smoke. You want to step forward, to reassure him that he is the furthest thing from weak that you have ever seen, but he cowers from you when you get too close. He reminds you of a caged animal finally set free, unsure of where to step, how to breathe all of the fresh air at once. Almost as if he is withholding himself from you now that his confession has broken through the bars around his heart, echoed loud for you to hear.

“Throwing yourself into danger isn’t going to help,” you answer him, “and neither is suffocating me.”

The fire fueling your bones from earlier returns at the realization that he has been distancing himself from you on purpose. You assumed it had been a subconscious decision based on the trauma experienced from the encounter with Awase, but you never would have guessed he was actively choosing to ignore you, especially physically. And now, with his hands shaking at his sides, you are beginning to wonder if he feels the same pull that you do, the desire to let your palms search one another’s skin to find the answers to your innermost questions.

“The only thing I’m any good at is fighting!” Bakugou falls back against the wall, eyes downcast in defeat as his shoulders slump forward. He opens his palms in front of his body, flexing his fingers. “All I can do is work as hard as I possibly can to be the best. I have to be the best.”

He curls his fingers back to fists, fury coursing through his veins like fire, accumulating in his palms to a head, a bomb settled in the cracks and crevices of his skin. “All I can focus on right now is getting stronger, to be a hero that you can trust to keep you safe.”

When his eyes snap up to meet yours, there’s a flame burning deep in his vermilion irises that makes them look alight, the bright amber color in contrast to their usual hue. It frightens you slightly, sending a tremor down your spine until you are curling your toes.

Bakugou’s hands creak as he turns them to fists, knuckles turning white, “I’ll be the best, even if it kills me.”

The very permanent word involving mortality turns your knees to jelly, bones grinding against one another in a desperate attempt to keep yourself upright. Your throat closes, emotion billowing like smoke in your esophagus until it is pushing into every available space, effectively choking you where you stand.

“Y-You don’t have to be so, so,” you struggle to find the words, breath hard to come by as you gasp for air, “so-”

“So what?!” Bakugou’s voice is patronizing now as he grows defensive at your tone, taking a downward turn to the other side of kind. He grits his teeth and you allow yourself to see him for what he truly is in this moment – a frightened child, begging for a savior, or at least some solid ground. He grimaces, shaking his head, “I couldn’t protect you when I needed to. And if I can’t keep you safe, what else am I good for?”

Silence hangs between the two of you at the heaviness of his words, creating an even further distance as his words settle like embers on your heart.

You want to brush the cinders away, blowing the ash into the wind and along with it, the horrific memories from the past few weeks. His name sits on the tip of your tongue, scratching at the muscle and begging to be freed from the cage of your teeth. Your fingertips ache at your sides, keening towards him with the desire to find something to feel, some tactile version of reality to reaffirm that you have not lost everything. The heaviness in your feet keeps you from shuffling forward, tucking yourself into his body and promising him that you’ll never see him as anything short of incredible.

“See?” Bakugou’s voice shatters into another wave of jagged pieces with every longing look you give him, tossing his arms in the air to show his defeat, “And then you go and do shit like this, where you look at me like I put the fuckin’ sun in the sky every morning.”

He’s wheezing the words out now, manic movements jerking his arms and shoulders, praying that his palms might go off in the middle of this club so you both can get booted out and forced to go home. Maybe then he can break through the barrier of how he has been feeling to show you why he’s treated you like a child.

“How the hell am I supposed to live up to this pillar of greatness you’ve made me out to be? This perfect image of me you have in your mind is a lie,” Bakugou is begging you for an answer with his gestures. His hands reach towards you, never touching, eyebrows cocked upward as his eyes search your face for a secret message hidden beneath your skin. “You think that I can do no wrong, that I’ll always be your hero. And now that I’ve fucked that up, and you still look at me the same exact way, how am I supposed to live with that? With being a fraud?”

Bakugou blinks and two identical tear droplets seep over the corners of his lids, tracking down his cheeks as he gasps for air, “I-I can’t help it when you look at me like I have all the answers when I-I can’t even fuckin’ figure out how I-”

You cover him like sunlight, warm and safe. He feels your mouth against his, your hands on his face and chest and its like you’ve pulled him from where he was floating midair back down to the ground again. Bakugou’s body is flush between your torso and the wall, either side of him pressed into something. He is hot, too hot, like his body temperature has skyrocketed. Sweat trickles down his spine, sticking his shirt to his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur as you part from him.

Your nose brushes against his, the bow of your lips still touching when you speak, “I haven’t been very considerate of you. I was too wrapped up in the way I was feeling that I didn’t stop to consider how it has been affecting you.”

You palm at his face, fingertips fawning over his cheek bones and brows and temples. Bakugou’s jaw is quivering, hands still dormant by his sides, flexed until his palms are splotched red with effort. You run your hand up from his chest to his shoulder, kneading the heel into his muscles to try and relax his body.

“Katsuki,” you call to him. “Look at me.”

And he listens.

The trail of your fingertips on his forearm feels like gasoline, trickling down his skin slowly but surely, making its way to his palms where his skin will act like a detonator. Bakugou grinds his teeth together as he tries to stay focused in on your face, the effort from it all makes the vein on his forehead protrude, thudding profusely beneath his skin.

“Take me home.”

--

The walk up the stairs to your door is tense, quiet.

Bakugou turns the key into the lock, the door opening with a gentle click. The two of you step inside, your bags strewn on the countertop and your shoes kicked off near the mat. Your hands wring in front of you as he faces away, the only visible thing being his backside.

“I don’t deserve you.”

The words take you by surprise, shaking you to your core. You stumble backward, hand clutched over your heart when it starts to sting, “Wh-Why do you think-”

“Do you know what it’s like to have people’s lives put into your hands, and then to fuck it all up?” Bakugou turns to look at you, hands glowing with the threat of his quirk, “To put the one person you care about more than fucking breathing into danger?”

His jaw quivers, “You didn’t see the look in your eyes when he was putting you through that shit. You were looking to me for help and I was fucking welded to a goddamn wall!”

You reach out to press your fingertip into the center of his palm, diffusing the built-up nitroglycerin in the crevices of his skin. Bakugou’s shoulders shudder, his eyes widening at your touch. You force a smile, but it does not reach your eyes, and he notices.

“Hey,” you call to him, your other hand drifting up to cup his cheek, trying to turn him towards you. “Stop that. Look at me.”

Bakugou’s eyes stop flitting around and focus on you, connecting your gazes. He looks frightened again, like a scared child. All you want is to hold him tight and put him back together again until he feels whole.

You push yourself up onto your toes, nudging your nose over his cheek slowly. You’re taken aback when you feel his hesitant touch dredge over your hip, thumb just beneath your top. It’s the most intimate feeling you’ve received from him in weeks, and it sends every atom of you on high alert. Your spine tingles as you stutter-step forward until you’re pressed into him.

Your breath hitches at his closeness, fanning out over him in a wave of heat that makes him shiver. You feel your heart ready to explode from within the confines of your chest, begging to be let free as it tries to claw its way out of your ribcage. You can’t look away from him, it’s like he’s turned into a magnet for your body.

As you graze over his chest with your other hand, the one against his cheek brushes up into his hair to card through the blonde strands. Your thumb catches against the stubble of his undercut just behind his pierced ears and it makes you smile, remembering the conversation where you coerced him into getting the new haircut in the first place. And now he can’t go a couple weeks without getting it shaped back up.

“Kiss me,” you plead, your touch like that of a siren, calling him deeper into the water, “please, Katsuki.”

In spite of him suffocating you mentally and situationally, you know that he’s been distant physically. It wasn’t hard to realize the shift in affections, especially since you’ve grown accustomed to his wayward glances and casual touches. Once he started to withdraw from you, you began to worry but your own anxiety wound so tightly around your body that it drowned out any other inhibitions that might have drawn you closer to asking questions. Bakugou has never been one to bare his emotions anyway.

Every morsel of him wants to dive headfirst into your waters, to drink you in through his nose and mouth until it is only the essence of you that remains. And yet there is something holding him back, like strings attached to his shoulders, forcing him to stay still.

It is that very look in your eyes right now that keeps him at bay. The reality that you’ve not tainted your view of him makes his stomach churn. You should hate him for letting Awase take advantage of you. You should want to slap him across the face and punch him in the gut. You should want to rip your fingers into his chest and slay him where he stands, cutting a gaping hole where his heart once was, filling it with a black ooze that might represent your disdain and disappointment.

Anything other than this overwhelming prideful look gleaming in your eyes that tells him he could do no wrong.

The sight of it brings tears to his eyes and he has to look away, the weight of it all too stifling as he attempts to breathe again. Bakugou struggles with oxygen, feeling lightheaded as you stand so near to him.

“Look at me,” you beg of him, your own voice sounding raw. You swallow every possible reticence you might have in this moment and focus all of your energy on him, “I love you, okay? There’s nothing you could do to change that, Katsuki. Nothing, so-”

You’re cut off mid-sentence by the familiar feel of his lips, warm and full against your mouth. He has captured you entirely, his hands on your face as he steps in closer to you. You shudder with tears at the sensation of him kissing you for the first time in weeks. A wash of warmth seeps through your body, starting at your head and curling around your spin until it has reached your toes. You feel lightheaded at it all, so wrapped up in him that you can’t focus on anything else.

Bakugou’s arms wrap around your shoulders, his body squatted in front of you to push himself closer into every crevice of available skin. You dip your hands beneath his top, the pads of your fingers mapping out the contours of his muscular frame.

“Fuck,” he murmurs between your teeth, your tongue catching the word by lapping against his gums.

His hands find your backside, squeezing the supple skin like his life depends on it. You moan, rolling your hips forward. Your mind is foggy, your entire being in a haze, at the passionate way his hands obsess over your body.

When he taps your hips with his thumbs, you know what it means. You leap upward, his forearms catching your thighs to wrap you around his waistline. You don’t break away from kissing him. You’re not sure after this if he might retreat back into himself, so you full well intend on milking him for all that he’s worth in every aspect of the word.

The next thing you feel is the cool sheets beneath your steaming backside, sweat making your shirt cling to your body. Your hand sifts through Bakugou’s hair and he nips at your lower lip, relishing in the way the moans fall freely from your tongue.

He sits back on his thighs, tugging his shirt over his head, when he mumbles, “Shirt. Off. Now.”

The momentary burst of authority makes your cunt clench beneath the lace of your underwear. Your eyes go wide, but you do not hesitate to pull the offending fabric from your upper half. Bakugou has settled between your thighs when you can finally see him again. He makes quick work of your bra, flinging the garment across the room carelessly before swooping in to begin sucking at your chest.

He tweaks one piqued nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other side of you preoccupied with his mouth. You whine, bucking your hips upward. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans, you can make out the impression of his bulging erection. The thought of getting to feel his dick again makes you keen, reaching up to thread your hand into his hair, the other palm digging fingernails into the thick, corded muscle of his shoulders.

“Damn, Princess,” he murmurs as he releases your nipple with a pop. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your breath shudders out of your lungs, fanning over his hair to make the strands shake in the darkness of your bedroom. You wrap your legs around his midsection to try and grind yourself up into his clothed length.

Bakugou slips his hand beneath your shorts, unbuttoning them swiftly as his middle finger finds your clit immediately. You can’t help it when your whole body goes rigid, the once lost sensation of his hands on your lower half returning in a blinding wave of white-hot pleasure.

“Please, Katsuki,” you force yourself to look him in the eyes even though you think you’re seeing stars, “I just want you, please. I want you in me.”

He’s hesitant when he looks down at you, eyes stuttering over which of your features to focus on first. The tip of his middle finger is brushed up against your slick folds, not delving in just yet. Your chest is heaving, eyes clouded with the threat of tears while you palm at him, desperate for every inch of his skin to be mapped out beneath your fingerprints.

“You have me,” he whispers, cracking voice barely audible. He nods, slipping his finger slowly between the walls of your cunt, “You have me, baby.”

As he starts to coil his finger within you, the squelching sound of his digit and your pussy echoing off the walls, he looks you directly in the eyes. His free hand is near your head but you wish he’d touch you with it, your body insatiably itching for his next pass. You lick your lips and go to beg for him again, unwilling to sit through the torture of his fingers, but he stops you with a kiss.

“Let me do this, let me make you feel good.”

You are speechless, left only with a gaping mouth that is claimed by his tongue. He licks at your teeth and cheeks, whining for you to reciprocate while his finger still pumps in and out of you, knuckle dragging in a tantalizing way against your smooth walls. You hold him as tightly as you can by the neck, keeping him anchored to you, the fear of him running away from you again settling like a lead anchor in your belly.

It doesn’t take long for him to push you to the edge of your first orgasm. You’ve been denied of him for so long that you’re sure you could come undone under any circumstance at this point. But still, his thick digits curled up in the heat of you, coaxing forth the first white-hot wave of pleasure makes your body shudder.

“Katsuki,” you pant, rolling your hips in time with his finger’s thrusts.

The coil within your stomach starts to bunch up, so you clench around his finger. You whine, throwing your head back, jaw hung slack. Bakugou kisses up the column of your neck, “C’mon, baby, I know you can do it for me, yeah? You’re so pretty when you come apart.”

His encouragement is what throws you over the edge. You’ve missed the sound of his timbre coaching you into orgasm after orgasm. You cry out, your voice breaking, and your hips fall slack against the mattress as the pleasure digs into you. The silvery strands of your slick coat his fingers, but he doesn’t part from you until he’s sure that he’s lured every last whimper from your lips, every last wash of arousal from your hips.

You have him by the neck, digging your fingers in to pull him back towards your mouth for another drawn out kiss. Your nose and teeth clash, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here and he’s got his hands on you. The way your body sings at his caress does not go unnoticed by him, or rather he relishes in it, basking in the sound of your wanton moans and the reaction of your begging limbs.

“Please, Katsuki,” you’re grabbing for him as he pulls away. Your fingers desperately cling to his skin, digging in and forcing half-moon prints into the tanned flesh, “I need you, please.”

The words throw him back to those moments in the alleyway when your eyes screamed the phrase you’re speaking now. He was powerless to help you then, but he can be the one to save you now.

Bakugou stands to his feet and shuffles out of his pants, his cock throbbing between his thighs when he pulls away his briefs. You try to tug down your shorts but your body is so weak and you can’t force your brain to communicate with your extremities, so you end up pouting, hot tears clouding your eyes in frustration.

“Hey,” he nudges his nose over your cheek before kissing you long enough for you to forget about your predicament. Your body molds to his intentions, hands finding his undercut to sift through the short hair there, his skin providing you with some sense of calm despite the raging emotions thudding like thunder in your brain.

He gently tugs down your shorts, peeling them from your ankles before depositing them on the floor. Bakugou runs his hand down his cock, using his bead of pre-come and what remains of your arousal on his hand to lubricate the skin. You’re salivating at the sight of him, inflamed red cockhead ready to split your cunt wide open. You’ve missed the familiarity of him inside of you, and your body notices because despite just having a spectacular orgasm that should have put you to bed for some time, your pussy flutters as a new wave of slick trickles down to the sheets.

The tip of his cock opens your pussy up enough that you’re keening forward, pleading to take more of him with the canting of your hips. You whimper out beseeching words, eyes searching his face as your hands try to find purchase on his shoulders. He shakes his head, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “Hush, baby. I promise I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

The duality of his words is not lost on you.

Your jaw hangs open slightly, eyes wide as you look up at him. Bakugou grips the headboard with one hand, the other guiding his cock into your heat. If you look close enough, you can see the threat of glassy tears washing over his pretty red irises, making them look like little jewels in the moonlight filtering through your bedroom windows.

“Katsuki,” you whimper his name like a prayer as he slowly sheaths himself between your folds. He grunts when the base of his cock meets the lips of your pussy, eyelids fluttering somewhere between open and shut at the sensation.

He drops his head, gritting his teeth, “Fuck, I missed you.”

A relieved, broken laugh shakes your throat, the smile left behind making Bakugou see stars. You palm at his chest, “I missed you too, so much.”

The two of you have still been together every day, even sleeping in the same bed, and yet you’ve been so distant it was heartbreaking. You feel the shards of your shattered heart slowly piecing back together with each thrust he throttles into you, his hips slamming into your thighs.

It’s intense, but somehow graceful. Bakugou is not just ramming his cock into you for the sake of doing it, but he’s proving to you with every stroke of him that he’s never leaving your side again. He’s gripping the headboard so hard that his nails are leaving scratches, but you’re more focused with the tantalizing snap of his hips, the drag of his cock and those prominent veins as they stimulate your pussy even further.

His jaw quivers, hands white knuckling as he clutches the headboard even harder, picking up his pace to start building that starburst in your belly. He’s unwilling to let his hands go near you now that he’s got himself sheathed completely.

He doesn’t deserve every part of you, not yet.

Bakugou’s chest twists as he realizes he hasn’t earned his honor back; he hasn’t won the prize of feeling your skin under the sensitive pads of his fingertips while he’s fucking into you with his aching cock.

His breath stutters, heart clenching within the confine of his ribs, at the sight of you, your irises focused on only him. Your pupils are blown wider with each thrust, black swallowing the color of your irises as you reach that peak subservient headspace. His hips move slow but with purpose, his cock pulsing within your walls as you clamp down on him.

Snapping his hips up into you, the heat of it all starts to overwhelm him and he can’t breathe. The mix of your warm skin and the absolute adoration held for him in your eyes is too stimulating once you tighten your cunt around him, trapping his dick in your heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers, stilling his hips as his nails screech against the headboard.

Your hands are on him in an instance, exploring his chest and shoulders. You lick your lips and force your ass to stay put on the bed, breathing heavy through your lips. You swallow and your throat bobs, only proving further to him how absolutely enamored with him you appear to be.

“Katsuki,” you whisper into the void, cheeks warming with a blush.

Bakugou shakes his head and with the ferocity that he’s gripping the headboard, he wonders if your nailbeds can bleed. He bites down harshly on his lower lip, listening to your pleading calls for a moment too long before responding, “I-I don’t-”

He can’t form coherent sentences, not when he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and you’re gazing up at him like he’s just gotten back from hanging the moon. He squints hard, eyes filling up with tears, “I can’t, fuck.”

“Hey,” your breathless voice catches him in midair, anchoring him back from the dull hallucination that he could never find his way back to you. You reach up to gently press your palm onto his cheek, the cooling touch of your hands doing enough to dispel some of the heat on his cheeks. You push away the sweaty locks of blonde hair sticking to his forehead so you can see his eyes in their full clarity.

Katsuki’s chin wobbles as he looks down at you, forcing his eyes to stay trained in on your face no matter how much he wants to look away. He still doesn’t believe he deserves that look you hold for him within your gaze; the way you tell him that he’s nothing short of a pillar of strength in your mind with a simple look is absolutely baffling.

“Hey,” you call again, tender tone striking a chord in his heart.

Your thumb brushes underneath his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and you smile at his fragility. Bakugou’s eyes flit around to everything but you, overactive and unable to focus on you when you’re looking at him like he’s painted the stars in the night sky.

His conscience berates him as he lays with his cock buried deep into your pussy, his hips flush with yours, the doubt kicking him in the ribs to remind him that he must be nothing short of a piece of shit – how could he let you fall into someone else’s hands? How could he be so careless? How could he-

“Katsuki,” you rub your hands over his face once more, patiently pulling him from the recesses of his toiling mind, “Come back to me.”

Bakugou’s pupils dilate but somehow you manage to bring his attention back around to your face, connecting your gazes once more. You are struggling to maintain your composure between his cock pulsing within you and the lack of his hands on your skin, your body stimulated but still wanting, but you whimper the words, “Will you kiss me?”

In that simple sentence, Bakugou realizes that he could never truly run from you.

Tears drip down from his cheeks onto your neck, pooling at the little cavity created by your collarbones. You smile up at him, brushing at the droplets as they drip down from his eyelids, cradling his face as he makes the decision to start running back to you instead of sprinting away.

“I love you,” he chokes out the words before claiming your lips with his searing hot kiss.

Your hands dip into the curves of his hips, prodding him to move forward while your lips sink deeper into his. Bakugou groans at the sensation, eyes rolling behind his closed lids, and slowly his palms find your body.

It’s almost like the first time he touched you, his fingertips searching every inch of available skin as if it were new to him. He rolls his thumbs over your ribs, counting each one under his breath as he fucks into you slowly. You whimper when he bites your lower lip, your jaw slack as he starts a biting path of kisses down from your chin to your earlobe.

“Katsuki,” your toes curl when he bottoms out within you, the tip of his cock brushing that delicate, spongy spot at the back of your core. Your nails drag salaciously down his shoulders, drawing little beads of blood in their wake.

“Fuck,” he groans, biting down harshly on your neck. He chokes on a sob before licking and kissing your collarbones, “I love you.”

Bakugou is fucking into you steadily now, his hips slamming into you at just the right angle that the vein running along the underside of his dick drags against your folds. You clamp down on his cock when you feel it begin to twitch again, his cockhead brushing your cervix. He’s sniffling, breath catching at the sound, “I love you so goddamn much. I don’t fucking deserve you.”

He’s overcome with emotion but it only spurs him forward faster. His hips slam mercilessly into you, every rut telling you what he cannot coherently say with words. And you accept his wordless confessions with the tightness of your core, the openness of your eyes.

You respond in fervor, your lips singing his praises as you feel the beginnings of another orgasm curling into a hot fire in the pit of you. It’s like lava has dripped down every vein in your body, lighting your skin on fire with its proverbial heat. You whine, your back arching in the perfect way for his mouth to latch onto your pert nipple.

“Katsu’, please, fill me up,” you whimper, palming at his injured back, finding scars and wounds alike, “I want your come, won’t you come in me?”

He’s nodding around your nipple, affirming you non-verbally, but the gentle tug of his teeth makes you whine again. You are completely distraught with the pounding of his cock into your tight, wet heat, the obscene sounds reverberating off of the walls only to bounce back at you like an echo.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunts, hot tears mixing with the saliva that covers your breast, “such a good girl for me. Takin’ me so well. Gonna take this load?”

You can’t help the way you nod ferociously, pleading with him through both words and actions. You whine, a shuddering of your throat making the sound much more desperate than you intended, “Please, Katsuki. I just want you to stuff me full, I want to be full of you.”

The last time your cunt was full, it was with another man’s seed.

Thinking about it makes your tongue turn heavy and your stomach sour. You grit your teeth and the scent of ashen sweetness fills your nostrils, taking over every thought you’d had previously. You can’t linger your memories on the way something made you feel before, you will destroy your mind and your pride.

All you can focus on is scrubbing yourself clean with Katsuki.

He washes over you like a soothing balm, the heat of his body burning away any trace of anything else from any time before this moment now. Every one of your senses are overwhelmed by him – his body, his breath, his scent. You want to drown in him, only fulfilled through his means for the rest of your days, to dive headfirst into his pain and break through until it is only the two of you left.

You lick at him, the familiar taste of his skin settling on your tongue as you lap over flesh and bone. You beg for his hands to touch every inch of you with wanton moans falling from your lips, scrubbing away at the nightmares and replacing them with the fiery blonde with a quipping tongue to match his superpower. If you thought you might could handle it, you’d ask him to blast you with his quirk, to burn away what is left from before until there is only the now.

“I love you,” you whisper into the dark, “It’s only you, Katsuki. Always.”

Bakugou’s mouth is licking at your neck when you feel his hips still, the telltale sign of his release begging to be set free. You palm at his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes because you can’t hold it in anymore, the words making your chest swell until you think you might burst wide open, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He thrusts forward in time with your chanting, his lower lip quivering with desire as he pumps himself forward at a much faster pace. One of his thumbs reaches down to brush against your clit, stimulating you until you can’t speak in full sentences, let alone syllables. You grit your teeth together and beg for his load, “Fill me up, Katsuki.”

Your words mixed with the tone of your voice are what push him over the edge, the cusp of his release washing over the both of you. Bakugou’s hips stutter, sloppily fucking into you as he chases that blinding pleasure only you can provide him.

“Take it, Princess,” he murmurs into your lips as he claims you by painting your walls white, the final part of you that needed to be wiped clean.

Katsuki’s hands rest on either side of your head as he holds up his quivering body, spent from effort and emotion. You brush your thumb over the tear-stained parts of his face, clearing his skin of what remains from his vulnerable confessions, no evidence left behind. He can start anew, pretend that he never bared his soul to you only mere moments ago.

His eyes never leave you, drinking you in religiously as you blink slowly, irises soaking up every inch of your precious expression. Your pupils shrink enough for him to see the color of your irises clearly, tilting one of his hands upward so he can brush his thumb over the curve of your jaw. Your lids flutter closed at the tender sensation, losing yourself in the feel of his fingerprints.

When you blink your eyes open, you reach upward to tenderly cup his cheeks between the palms of your hands, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” he leans his head into your hand, nudging his nose over the swell of the heel. Your pulse thuds in his ears and he can tell that you’re nervous based on the pace.

Your voice is thick when you whisper the words that have always rang true in your heart, but you’ve never said aloud because they seemed so pointless. He hears them every day from citizens, begging him for autographs and screaming his name when they see him on patrol. You’ve been afraid that they would fall hollow on deaf ears, futile and empty. But your heart squeezes within your chest and you know that it doesn’t matter anymore. The two of you have learned how precious a few moments can be.

“You’re my hero, Katsuki.”

Your thumbs run back and forth over the skin of his cheeks, seeking out the heat and also providing him what you hope feels like comfort. His cock twitches within the walls of your aching cunt, mouth hung open slightly, just enough for you to see the pink of his tongue.

You nod, sniffling as tears press hot into the back of your eyelids, “You’ve always been my hero, no matter what. Nothing will change that.”

Bakugou kisses the inside of your palm before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. This kiss is slow, deliberate, as if he’s trying to communicate something between the volley of your tongues. You lean up and wrap your arm around his neck when he snakes his hands up the expanse of your back. He’s fully pressed into you now, your bodies flush with one another as he kisses you.

Secret words are passed back and forth from your throat to his, emotion swelling in your chest, begging to burst the longer he’s pressed into you. You curl your hand into his hair, anchoring him to you despite the growing heat billowing in the lack of space between your bodies. Bakugou licks at the seam of your lips and you let him in, you’ll always let him in, your hips rolling forward to meet him at every juncture of your bones.

And that’s how you fall asleep that night, entwined in such a way that neither of you can tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! drop me an ask if you did!! 

[pynkhues]

Would love number 20 “in a moment of worry” for Brio touch prompts... thank you!

Ah! Such a fun one, anon (and sorry for the delay).

This is a post-s3 baby!

-

“Can you just - - hold still.”

“I am,” Beth bites, her gaze flicking sideways to where Annie’s fumbling with the alcohol swabs, the first aid kit cracked open between them leaving the faint, alkaline smell of chemicals to soak the air. Not that Beth can smell it that well over the metallic tang of blood, but she can see it on the twist of Ruby’s face where she sits on her scooter. Recognises it from long evenings at the hospital with Sara, when the smell of the space – somehow both pungent and sterile – sucked all the air out of the room.

“You’re holding about as still as Jane when she has to pee,” Annie replies, finally tearing open the plastic wrapping with her teeth and gagging when the taste of the swab hits her tongue, and good, Beth thinks, sniffing. It’s not like it’s her fault that they’re in this situation.  

“I can’t believe you went there alone.”

And okay, Beth thinks, a seed of guilt planting as her gaze snaps back to Ruby. Maybe it’s not not her fault.

With Ruby on her scooter, Beth and Annie have most of the (still) empty floor of Beth’s living room to themselves. The scattered pieces of furniture she’s been able to claim the place with limited to a tiny, frayed-from-cat-claws sofa that Annie had gotten in exchange for covering a co-worker’s shift, and Judith’s antique ottoman – the latter of which is shoved into the corner of the living room, home now to a bag of cash with a bullet hole in it and Danny’s solar system diorama for science class.

The pinch of the hour makes itself known in the lag of Beth’s head, and god, it’s gotta be past midnight at this point. The thought leaves the guilt sprouting as she takes in Ruby’s tired, worried face, and Annie’s pressed focus as she unfolds the swab, and there’s an apology somewhere on Beth’s tongue, because it might not be entirely her fault, but she’ll be the first to admit that tonight didn’t exactly go as planned.

As if on cue, Beth hears a car pull up outside. Hears the cut of an engine and then a beat, two, and a door open and close. The soft pad of feet up her driveway and then the quiet, gruff murmurs of Mick’s voice as he meets the newcomer, and - - newcomer? God, who’s she kidding, she knows exactly - -

Her cheek stings, and Beth yelps, flinching back before she can help it only to be met by Annie’s apologetic look as she presses the alcohol swab harder into the cut on Beth’s face.

“I told you to hold still,” Annie reminds her, and Beth sighs, letting Annie dab a little at her before she drops the now-bloody swab into the pile of torn plastic between them.

“You deserve that,” Ruby chimes in, and Beth just rolls her eyes, her hand travelling up to prod a little at the cut before Annie slaps it away. “Don’t. Your hands are like - - germ factories. I think this might need stitches.”

“You’re lucky gangfriend’s gang friend showed up,” Ruby adds sharply, and that’s a little harsh, Beth thinks, gaze travelling back up to her in time to catch the other woman’s look, but Ruby’s not looking at her, or - - she is, but more specifically, she’s looking at the gash on Beth’s cheek, and okay, it’s not that bad.

The bruises at her shoulder are worse.

She’d seen them in the side mirror of Mick’s car as he’d pulled her out of the warehouse, shoving her unceremoniously into the passenger seat as he’d whipped them out of there, and Ruby was right, she was lucky, but at the same time, it was supposed to be simple.

It was supposed to be a way for them to get some control of their operation again. They weren’t cutting Rio out by going around him this time, they were just - - getting to know their pool of clients. Exploring some potentially lucrative side hustles. If Rio hadn’t wanted them to do that, he would’ve done a better job at hiding that phone number on the paperwork he’d brought into Boland Bubbles, and he definitely would’ve like - - done something to stop her from setting up a meeting if he was already working with the guy himself.

Right?

Or maybe he’d just wanted to teach her a lesson, Beth thinks bitterly, pushing her leg out from underneath her as it starts to cramp. After all, she had been asking him a lot about the Boland Bubbles clients, and well - - 

Mick really had shown up weirdly fast. 

Still. 

“I had it under control,” Beth insists, her frown deepening when Ruby scoffs and Annie gives her a stupid look, and she doesn’t think the guy was going to kill her anyway. He only hit her when she told him he must be as stupid as he looked if he didn’t know a good deal when he saw one.

With a whine, the front door opens, and she knew it would be him, she reminds herself, she did, but still.

It’s something else, that’s all. To see Rio step through her front door, an eyebrow arched and his lips pressed into a thin line as he stops in the open arch entrance of her almost-empty living room and takes them in, and god.

She sits up a little taller, ignoring the complaint at the small of her back, because she’s sitting on the floor and this is not the way she wanted him to see her tonight, or ever, but then again, she reminds herself wryly, they’ve seen each other worse.

Still, she can hear Ruby inhale a sharp breath at the sight of him, Annie shuffle nervously, hear the neighbour’s son playing video games and a baby crying. Can feel the room shrink like it always does when Rio’s in it, and Beth does what she always does too.

She watches Rio.  

Watches as he closes the distance between them, and Annie’s barely got the chance to grab the first aid kit and scramble sideways as he does it, his sneakers scuffed in a way that reminds Beth of afternoons at the park, but nothing good waits for her at the end of that thought, and so she looks up at his jean-clad knees, his shiny, uncracked leather belt, his t-shirt, his half-open peacoat, and then - -  

His eyes are always so dark.

Beth swallows thickly.

Vaguely, she’s aware that Mick followed him in (a surprise given he’d spent the last half hour after bringing her home on her front steps), and Annie’s nervous energy and Ruby’s sunken shoulders, but any thoughts of it are dim, blurred, a smudge of sight, sound, feel in the background, because Beth’s looking at Rio, and Rio’s looking at her.

He clasps his hands in front of himself.

Rolls his shoulders back.

He looks down at her, statuesque, a million miles above her.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” 

And, well - -

It lights her up like a dropped match.

“Your associate is what happened,” she tells him, and the heat finds her tone too quickly, because if this was a test, if he knew - - her chest heaves: “He - - pistol whipped me.” 

From the corner of her eye, she can see Annie and Ruby stare at her, their own eyes wide and unblinking, and she can hear Mick snort, amused, which just - - god, it’s enough to leave a flush burning at her cheeks, but Rio seems unbothered. Unaffected. Just keeps looking at her like that. 

Like - - 

Before she has time to think, he steps forwards again, drops to a crouch in front of her and Beth jerks (and god, that makes her face sting, her shoulder burn), as Annie scrambles further backwards towards Ruby, and she can see the amusement on Rio’s face, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, and she’s still squaring her jaw when Rio hooks a knuckle underneath it. 

Beth’s exhale is trapped in her throat.

It’s worse than the looking – when he touches her. When he looks at her, everything else fades, but when he touches her, there is nothing else, and Beth hates it, hates the feel of the cracked skin of his knuckle behind her chin, hates the memory of it scraping the backs of her teeth once, a long time ago, in her now-empty bedroom, hates that she looks at him and his dark, heavy eyes and knows the memory’s close to the surface for him too.

“See,” he starts, his voice low and slow as he tilts her head slightly to the side (she hates that she lets him), getting a better look at her cut. “Thing I can’t get my head around is why you were even meetin’ my associate in the first place.”

He doesn’t emphasise the my, he doesn’t, but Beth hears it anyway, and it’s enough to make her blink, swallow, to hate the latter too for the way it pushes the soft underbelly of her jaw into his finger, and it’s like he knows that too, because suddenly Rio drops his hand down to his knee, and Beth looks at him, and - - huh.

Maybe he didn’t know, she thinks, taking in his closed face.

Maybe he just hated touching her too.  

“He asked for a meeting,” she tells him, and without his skin on her’s, she hears it when Ruby makes a low, strangled noise (but okay, it’s not a lie – he did ask for a meeting after Beth had implied she’d accept one on the phone).

“He asked for a meeting,” Rio echoes dryly, and Beth stares at him, and he knows. She knows he knows. But still she can’t quite swallow the lie.

“The pitch could’ve gone a little better.”

The grin that twitches at the corners of Rio’s lips is so fast she almost misses it – might have, if they weren’t sitting so close – and she finds something in her lurching with the knowledge, trying to chase the look even as his features resettle.  

“Yeah, he ain’t really used to people like you showin’ up at these sorts of meetin’s.”

“I thought self-starters defined this industry.”

At the words, Rio snorts, shaking his head at her, and it’s sudden – the shift in the look of him – any amusement leaching out of his expression and leaving him quieter somehow. His big eyes half-lidded, the points and angles to him softened, his lips just slightly open to exhale a breath and is it that, she wonders? The warmth she feels suddenly at her cheeks?

Beth wets her own lips, means to speak, to say something, only then his knuckle is beneath her chin again, tilting her head softly to the right. Holds her in place for a moment, and she lets her gaze fix on the far wall of her living room, tries to slow her breathing as she feels him look at the half-cleaned up cut, the aching bruises flowering like spring buds beneath her skin. Feels him - -

Just feels him.

After a moment, he drops his hand, grazing it ever so slightly against her chest as he pulls it away and leans back on his haunches, and Beth should look at him, should twist her head back to him, but she doesn’t – not right away. Drops her gaze instead to the floor, to the carpet, a little stained from where she spilt bourbon once. From where Emma’s tie-dye ballet slippers marked it too.

“You gonna learn anything from this?”

Beth blinks, glances back at him, and his face isn’t open, but it isn’t so closed either – an unfamiliar, familiar expression there instead. Something she doesn’t get. And just - - god. She sniffs, shifts her weight on the bristly carpet.  

“Learn anything from what?”

And she sees it then, the inhale, the way he pushes his tongue into his lower lip, before dropping his head and huffing out a laugh. He slaps his hands down on his knees and gets up out of his crouch, glancing over at Annie and Ruby, still staring tentatively at them from a few feet away, and then over to Mick.

“Take their cut.”

“What?” Annie squawks as Beth’s chest lurches, her sister finding her voice and standing up a little taller, hands still clutching the first aid kit to her chest. “Why?”

“You try to cut deals behind my back, I cut your pay, that’s how this works,” Rio supplies easily, shrugging a little, and Beth rolls her eyes when he turns back to look down at her and adds: “Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

She leaves it just a moment, before she smiles, and even though it makes her face sting, she makes it look an easy, too-sweet thing.

“Right, boss.”

It’s enough to make Rio hum, and she knows he likes it – can read that much at least – and he sways a little closer again as Mick steps around them, a strange, stifled sound in the back of his throat when he grabs the bag of cash off the ottoman and starts towards the hallway, and she swears he swaps a look with Ruby, but - -

Oh, Beth thinks, a shiver erupting through her when she feels Rio’s fingers brush her temple, feels them push her hair back off her face, and she knows her eyes are wide when she looks at him, can feel her breath caught, and when he says:

“Maybe work on that pitch of yours, yeah?”

She thinks I will, and when he slips out afterwards, and Annie and Ruby erupt into chatter, she thinks - -

She thinks - -

Next time.

Touch prompts.

[super-secret-sick-fics]

LOL I’m the one that requested a sakuatsu fic unless more than 1 person did so kinda perfect😭 -person that gave feedback

Request:

Hii! Could you write a sakuatsu fic where atsumu wakes up in the middle of the night from food poisoning after they went out to eat and sakusa takes care of him? Thank you!!

Well you’re in luck! I got super carried away w this one lmao.

It ended up being a little more about Sakusa than I intended, but I hope it’s still kinda what you wanted!!

Sakusa is probably v ooc as well, but lowkey I hc that he completely lets his guard down in front of Atsumu and is a major touch-starved simp.

Here it is!

I love you: a Sakuatsu sick fic

Pairing: Sick Atsumu, caretaker Sakusa

Word Count: 3,446

Warnings: vomiting, swearing (probably)

———————————————————————

The ending credits of the movie Sakusa and Atsumu just watched rolled slowly down the screen, some sappy love song playing in the background. Sakusa picked up his phone to check the time and was briefly blinded by the bright screen. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and checked the time.

It was only 10:30, but the lump that was his boyfriend was attached to his side heavily, informing Sakusa that Atsumu was fast asleep. He pinched his eyebrows together in confusion.

He and Atsumu had the day off tomorrow, so they decided to spend their evening at a nice restaurant and then snuggled up on their couch watching a movie and sharing a bottle of one of their more expensive wines.

Atsumu buzzed with excitement all week, seeing as it was their first date night since the regular season started. Sure, they lived together. But most nights, they either stayed late for extra practice, or were too tired to really do anything but watch Netflix and order take out. Tonight was a big deal for the couple.

Which is exactly why Sakusa was so thoroughly confused at that moment. Atsumu was a night owl by nature and didn’t usually go to bed before midnight most nights (a schedule adjustment that did not come easily to Sakusa when they first moved in together). That, coupled with how much looked forward to their evening, should mean that he would still be wide awake right now. Not drooling on Sakusa’s shoulder.

Sakusa placed a hand on his boyfriend’s forehead. Maybe he was sick. In which case, Sakusa would need to call Osamu to come help take care of his brother. (He’d come a long way with his fear of germs, but he still struggled with sickness. Even if it was Atsumu).

He frowned when his temperature didn’t feel any warmer than usual. He pursed his lips and, somewhat relieved, shrugged off his concern. It wouldn’t be totally unbelievable that Atsumu was simply exhausted. They had been traveling so much for their games and practice had been pretty grueling the last few weeks. It could completely make sense that his fatigue caught up with him on a night they could thoroughly relax.

“Atsumu,” he shrugged his shoulder and Atsumu’s head bobbed up and down with it. However, his boyfriend did not wake up.

“Atsumu,” he tried again, “hey wake up, baby. Let’s go to bed.” He brought his hand up to gently pinch the sleeping boy’s cheek. Atsumu’s nose and eyebrows scrunched up and he blinked several times before peering up at Sakusa.

“Mmmm” he sat up and rubbed his eyes, “what time is it?”

“It’s only a little after 10:30,” Sakusa answered and Atsumu turned to him. His face was paler than usual, noticeable even in the dim lighting provided by the TV. Sakusa’s concern returned immediately.

“Are you alright? Why are you so sleepy?” Sakusa asked as he took one of Atsumu’s hands in his own. Atsumu yawned.

“Not sure. Just got real tired all of a sudden and musta fallen asleep. Probably just ‘cause we’ve been so busy,” Atsumu brought their joined hands to his lips and pecked Sakusa’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Omi. I know this was supposed to be a special night.” Atsumu said as he cuddled into Sakusa once again. Sakusa wrapped an arm around Atsumu and fiddled with the ends of his hair. Within a minute, he heard Atsumu’s breathing slow down and felt his body relax more fully. He frowned again.

“Oi, come on.” He tugged on the piece of hair he was playing with and Atsumu whined.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said again. Atsumu groaned, but sat up. A moment later, he squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply.

“Really, babe. Are you alright?” Sakusa questioned, his worry increasing. He put a hand on Atsumu’s back. Atsumu opened his eyes and nodded.

“Yeah. Just sat up too fast. Got a lil dizzy.”

“Okay,” Sakusa hesitated. Atsumu clearly wasn’t going to admit that something might be wrong, so he let it go.

The two of them stood up and Sakusa surveyed the coffee table in front of them. Empty bowls from the ice cream they had earlier as well as their empty wine glasses and the empty wine bottle stared back at him tauntingly. He sent Atsumu off to bed with the promise of being in right after he finished cleaning up.

Normally Atsumu would offer to help, but he simply nodded and slowly stumbled his way to the bathroom.

By the time Sakusa finished cleaning up and got ready for bed, Atsumu was already passed out, curled up in the blankets.

***

“—lease. Omi, wake up,” Sakusa jolted awake when a sharp pain crossed his shoulder. He looked up to see Atsumu sitting up, slightly hunched over. His heavy, slow breathing the only sounds in the room.

Sakusa sat up and turned on his bedside table lamp. When he looked back at Atsumu, his worry from earlier returned with ten times the intensity.

Atsumu was bent over, his arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. His shoulders heaved with heavy, shaking breaths and his face was pinched and shining with sweat.

“Atsumu? Baby? What’s wrong?” he questioned as he scrambled to sit in front of his boyfriend. He cupped Atsumu’s face in his hands and gasped at the heat he felt.

Atsumu opened his eyes and tears immediately rolled down his flushed cheeks. Sakusa’s chest tightened. No, no. He could not be sick. His hands pulled back and he felt himself start to move away from Atsumu.

Every instinct he had told Sakusa to get away. But he couldn’t do that. Atsumu needed him right now. There was no waiting for Osamu. He needed to help him right then. He could fight through his fears to help his boyfriend. Sakusa moved back towards Atsumu.

“My head is pounding, but my stomach hurts worse, Omi,” Atsumu choked, “it hurts so bad. I feel so sick.” He slowly closed his eyes again and brought the back of his hand up to his mouth.

“Are you… do you think you’re going to be sick, baby?” Sakusa asked nervously. Atsumu nodded quickly. Sakusa cringed, but did everything in his power to keep himself rooted to his place in front of Atsumu.

“Okay,” he forced out past the knot in his throat. “Okay. That’s fine, Atsumu. Let’s go to the bathroom, alright?” His voice was shaking, but if Atsumu could tell, he didn’t show it. His only response was a fast shake of his head, his eyes still glued shut, and a small heave.

“Not—“ he heaved again, “no. Can’t move.”

This was Sakusa’s worst nightmare.

He scanned the room and got up quickly. Atsumu started whimpering.

“Hey, no, no. It’s okay,” Sakusa reassured when he sat down by Atsumu once more. “I was just going to get a bin, see?” He placed their trash can in Atsumu’s lap with trembling hands.

“Aren’t ya going to—hnng— call Samu?” Atsumu asked, staring down into the trash can. Tears hit the plastic with gentle plops and Sakusa felt his heart break.

Atsumu knew even in his current state that Sakusa was not mentally equipped to handle this situation. He knew that Sakusa would much prefer for Osamu to be taking care of this situation. It made him feel horrible.

“Not right now. It’s late. I can call him in the morning. Right now, I’m more worried about you. I’ll be okay until then. I promise,” he stated as confidently as he could. Atsumu looked at him, fever-glazed eyes wide and teary. His bottom lip quivered before he nodded gratefully.

The next few minutes were painful for both of them. Atsumu winced and whined as cramps tormented his stomach, the occasional gag or airy burp popping up. Sakusa’s own anxiety was trying to fight it’s way to the surface, but he tried with all of his being to push it down. This was his boyfriend. The man he loved. Osamu would not always be a call away to come and care for his brother.

Finally, with a terrible wretch, Atsumu doubled over the trash can and vomited painfully. Their dinner, dessert, and the wine from earlier making a less than pleasant reappearance. Sakusa wanted to run away, but instead, he put a hand on his boyfriend’s sweaty back and rubbed small circles between his shoulder blades.

“There you go, baby. It’s okay,” he swallowed his own nauseas when Atsumu vomited again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Atsumu panted over the trash can, his eyes wide.

“Kiyoomi, it hurts so bad. Please make it stop,” he cried before a belch brought up more vomit.

“I wish I could, Atsumu, I’m so sorry you’re hurting. It’ll be over soon hopefully.” He said gently.

Atsumu was starting to get more frantic as the vomiting continued. His body wasn’t giving him any reprieve. Painful heaves and body-shuddering wretches seemed to be plaguing him non-stop. Deep burps brought torrents of puke into the nearly half-full bin.

“I don’t—huurlp— please, Omi—blrg—“ he was dry heaving and full on sobbing now and Sakusa was growing more and more concerned as it didn’t seem like Atsumu was getting any oxygen.

“Oi, Atsumu,” he tried to get his attention, “hey, babe. Listen to me. You’re making it worse. You need to breathe, Atsumu.” He moved the trash can away and sat in front of his boyfriend again. Atsumu’s eyes were wide in panic and his chest heaved as he tried unsuccessfully to take in any air.

“C-can’t—“ he gasped.

“Yes you can. I promise you can,” Sakusa reassured, holding Atsumu’s face in his hands again. He brushed back his sweaty bangs soothingly and started taking deep, over-exaggerated breaths. This was how Atsumu helped Sakusa through anxiety attacks, so the wing spiker was sure that he knew what was happening without needing an explanation.

Within a few minutes, Atsumu had calmed down and was breathing mostly normal again. He was still crying, but that was okay. Sakusa could handle that.

“See? You’re fine. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen, okay baby?” Atsumu nodded. His eyes were drifting closed and his entire face was slack with exhaustion.

“Lay down. I’m going to go replace the bag in the bin and get a few things to make you feel better, okay?” Atsumu simply nodded again and curled into their sheets.

Once Sakusa was in the bathroom, he replaced the bag in the trash can, placing the old one in the tub for now. He scrubbed his hands in the sink for probably too long and then put the lid down on the toilet and sat.

He looked down at his trembling hands and took a deep, shaky, breath. He did it. He helped Atsumu. He needed to continue helping until the morning when it was reasonable to call Osamu. He could do it. He loved Atsumu. That was more than enough reason to try as best as he could to put his own anxieties aside for now.

After he collected himself, he went back to their room, the clean bin, various meds, a thermometer, and a glass of water in his hands. Atsumu was still lying in a tight ball, but his eyes were wide open, staring at nothing in particular. They rolled to look at Sakusa when he found his spot by Atsumu again.

He ran his fingers through Atsumu’s hair once more and Atsumu sighed. It was peaceful for a bit, but Atsumu’s gurgling stomach interrupted the quiet. The setter groaned.

“Still feeling bad?” Sakusa’s eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled together in a tight line. Atsumu only nodded again. Sakusa didn’t like how quiet he was being.

“Well, sit up for just a minute. Drink some water and take some meds, and then we can lay down and you can get some sleep.” Sakusa commanded and helped his boyfriend sit up.

Atsumu smiled gratefully at him and did as he was told. Even looking as sickly as he was, Sakusa still found him incredibly beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Omi-Omi. I know you’re probably pushing away a lot of anxiety right now,” Atsumu said as he laid back down.

“Yeah,” Sakusa chuckled forcefully, “but I love you,” he smiled. He wiped down Atsumu’s sweaty face with a wet rag he brought with him. Atsumu didn’t respond, but when Sakusa looked at him again, he was crying.

“Thank you,” was all he said. With that, Sakusa laid down beside Atsumu, the trash can within reaching distance, and pulled his sick boyfriend into his side. Atsumu tensed for just a moment before relaxing and cuddling into Sakusa’s side.

***

Sakusa woke with a start again not even an hour later at the sound of retching coming from behind the closed bathroom door. He trudged over and opened the door, leaning against the frame.

There was his pitiful boyfriend, face resting on the toilet seat (gross). His face was slack and he panted heavily. Sakusa sighed and shook his head before moving to sit beside Atsumu (on the bathroom floor—gross).

“What are you doing, idiot? Why didn’t you wake me up?” He pulled Atsumu towards him and settled the sick boy in his lap. Atsumu shivered and curled into himself.

“It’s okay, Omi-Omi,” he breathed, nuzzling into Sakusa’s thigh, “I can handle it, I’ll be okay.”

Sakusa’s irritation flared up. What a self-sacrificing idiot.

“Atsumu, don’t do that,” he nearly snapped.

“Omi?” Atsumu whimpered, his eyes wide as he looked up at Sakusa. Sakusa huffed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, but don’t be so stupid okay? You’re my boyfriend. Like I said, I love you. I want to help.” He ran his fingers through Atsumu’s hair.

“But I don’t want you to push yourself into doing something I know you’re uncomfortable with,” Atsumu replied. His voice was raspy and there wasn’t any snark behind it like normal. It made Sakusa unreasonably annoyed. He hated that Atsumu was feeling so bad and was still putting Sakusa first. But then again, his selflessness was why he fell in love with the cocky setter in the first place.

“And I don’t want you to push yourself when I know that you’re uncomfortable already. You’re more important to me than anything else. I’ll be fine. Thank you. I love that you’re willing to accommodate my anxiety, but please. Let me help you.”

Atsumu started crying again, his eyes wide and his mouth trembling.

“Why are you crying, dumbass? If you throw up on me, I don’t think I’ll be able to back up my words.” Atsumu shook his head.

“No just...thank you, Kiyoomi. I love you so much,” he cried and sniffled. Sakusa chuckled and wiped away Atsumu’s tears.

They chatted idly for a while about mindless things. Sakusa almost believed that they were in the clear and Atsumu would be okay.

At least until the setter shot up from his lap, nearly head-butting Sakusa in the process.

“Atsumu?” the wing spiker asked tentatively.

Atsumu answered by throwing himself over the toilet followed by a wet burp and a slurry of vomit splashing in the toilet. He remained in that position for another minute, sputtering and heaving, nothing more than bile coming up.

Sakusa grimaced. Atsumu turned and placed his cheek on the toilet set, tired, foggy eyes gazing back at Sakusa.

“Poor baby,” he soothed, wiping off Atsumu’s mouth with some toilet paper. Atsumu whimpered.

Sakusa washed his hands and turned to leave the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later with their pillows and comforter.

Atsumu had moved to leaning against the wall, his head tilted back and arms wrapped around his knees. A steady flow of silent tears rolled down his flushed cheeks and Sakusa dropped everything he had and rushed to his side.

“Atsumu? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked, thumbing tears off his boyfriend’s cheeks. Atsumu opened his eyes and sobbed.

“I’m sorry, Omi. I j-just feel s-so bad,” he took in a shuddering breath, “and— and I thought you left and that was fine, b-but I also wanted you to s-stay even th-though that’s selfish o-of m-me,” he cried. Sakusa shushed him gently and pulled him into a hug.

“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad about that. I already told you I’m not going anywhere,” he stroked Atsumu’s hair.

“I just went to get our pillows and comforter. I figured,” he continued, “I figured it’d be best to stay in here and I wanted you to be comfortable.”

Atsumu pulled back to look at Sakusa.

“You’d sleep on the bathroom floor with me, Omi?”

Sakusa chuckled, “yeah. Unfortunately that’s how much you’ve changed me Miya Atsumu.”

Atsumu gave him a wobbly smile before he gagged and turned back to the toilet to puke again.

Sakusa’s nose scrunched up, but he rubbed Atsumu’s back up and down as he threw up again.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped repeatedly in between heaves. Once his body gave him a moment, he sat back and shivered.

“Looks like this is going to go one for a while,” he whispered, hoarse.

“That’s alright,” Sakusa smiled, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Atsumu’s only response was to start heaving again.

***

The two of them sat at their breakfast table, Atsumu in much too good a mood for having kept Sakusa up half the night. Sakusa held a cup of coffee in his hands as the freshly-showered Atsumu nibbled on some toast. He was still pale, but he looked much better than a few hours ago.

Sakusa’s entire body was heavy and his mind exhausted from the lack of sleep and fighting off anxiety all night.

Atsumu woke them up a few more times in the night to be sick, but around four in the morning, seemed to be down throwing up for a while at least. The two of them collapsed into their bed and didn’t stir again until about two in the afternoon.

By the time they woke up again, a lot of the color returned to Atsumu’s face and his fever was broken. He told Sakusa his stomach was still crampy and felt hollow, but he didn’t feel nearly as miserable as he did all night.

“Must’ve been the chicken from the restaurant,” Atsumu shrugged after Sakusa questioned what could possibly have made him so sick, only for him to be nearly completely better a few hours later.

“What do you mean?” Sakusa asked. Atsumu shrugged again.

“Looked a little pink.”

Sakusa could have smacked him.

“Then why on earth did you eat it?” He questioned, glaring daggers at the imbecile across from him.

“Because Omi-Omi,” Atsumu rolled his eyes, “I thought I was being paranoid. The lighting in the restaurant was pretty dim, ya know?”

“You’re such an idiot. Please just trust your instincts next time,” Sakusa offered him a long-suffering sigh. He stood up and Atsumu followed him with his eyes.

“Where ya going?”

“To shower and change the sheets and sleep for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll change the sheets, Omi,” Atsumu stood up.

“No you should rest. Even if it was just food poisoning caused by your own thoughtlessness, you were still sick and we still have practice tomorrow.” Sakusa yawned and pecked Atsumu on the top of his head before making to leave again. He was stopped when Atsumu grabbed his wrist.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Omi. I know it wasn’t easy,” he stared at Sakusa, his eyes wide and earnest. Sakusa blinked at him for a second before he smiled.

He placed a hand on Atsumu’s still-clammy cheek and leaned down to give him a lingering kiss on the lips. When he pulled back Atsumu smiled gracefully at him. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Can’t just kiss me like that, Omi-Omi. Ya made me pretty dizzy there. I’m still recovering, ya know,” he laughed weakly.

“I told you. I love you,” he smiled. Atsumu smiled again and looked at Sakusa lovingly.

“But you’re an idiot.” Atsumu’s face immediately dropped into a pout. Sakusa pecked his lips once more (now that he knew it was food poisoning, so not contagious, it was fine) and made his way to the bathroom.

“Mean, Omi!” He heard Atsumu shout.

And when Sakusa finished his long, warm, cleansing shower, he came back to his room to an already made bed with fresh clean sheets, the corners tucked in exactly how he liked it and he felt his heart swell.

And yeah. He really loved Atsumu and that always gave him plenty of strength to combat his own anxieties.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Sweet, Spice and Hot Water Is Always Nice

Summary- 7.6k Mike (renamed from Me-Playing It Cool) x You. Mike is struggling to get a story line down for his script, and you were sent home from work. You just LOVE when Aunt Flo comes to visit (insert sarcasm), and Mike has a suggestion to make you feel better. Warnings- Period Sex (it isnt overly graphic though) Male receiving Oral, Fingering, One mention of blood. Thigh Riding cause its a mood. That is about it. A mild argument. Oh swear or two, cause ya know me. And I know, another holiday fic with him, but Holidays are my favorite, and I just love these two. 

A/N- Fall themed Moodboard added to this was made by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​. Thank you so much, I loved it, and I hope you like the fluffiness it caused. 

“Okay Brian, you want this rom com to deliver.” Mike cracked his knuckles and let his fingers lower over the keys, starting to type out the main character's opening scene, picturing the actress Brian described as standing just behind him, sitting at your kitchen table your grandmother gave you, picking at plates of food. 

Ally, I could have told you it wasn't going to work out with

Rick two months ago. - Daisy sighs. 

Why? - Ally gives a clueless look at her sister across the table. 

You love meat, you hate cyclists. - Daisy says flippant. 

His hand came up to rub at his face, trying to think ahead as the two blondes faded away from the table, and he was sitting there pondering at the theme of the script he was supposed to be writing. Single woman worried about the amount of men she has been with, and was set on finding the ONE. The man who made all her dreams come true. Of course the man was supposed to be a playboy across the hall. 

“Fucking fantastic.” Mike groaned, finding the whole theme of the story kind of stupid. “What woman would worry about that?” 

Setting back to trying to type, he heard the door unlock, your footsteps snapping against the tile of the hallway floor leading into the kitchen. Pushing back his chair, he twisted it to face the kitchen with a confused look on his face. You tossed your purse and keys on the counter, and bracing a hand against the counter, you leaned down to yank off your heels to fall to the flat of your feet with a sigh. Using the side of your foot, you pushed them aside so no one would trip over them. “I know- I know… I'm home early Mike. I promise to be quiet.” 

Mike just shook his head to disregard what you had said. “I don't care that you’re home so early, I'm just trying to figure out why you're home early?” 

You stand there for a moment staring at him, then you give a sniffle that was so out of character, it worried him. Holding out his hands to you, he made a come motion. “Come on baby, now you're starting to scare me a bit.” Which entices you to make your way to him, and stand between his legs while his hands slide up and down the back of your thighs. “You left for work just a couple hours ago?” 

Your hands come to smooth over his head, sighing at how good the softness of his slightly grown out buzz cut felt, and you could see the worry lines depending between his eyebrows, always deeper on the left side, his eyes having lost their usual mirth and teasing when they looked at you. “I haven't felt good all morning, and the boss sent me home. The boss caught me puking in my trashcan and wouldnt take no for an answer.”

Mike let his fingers sink in lightly while pulling you into his lap, your hands sliding to lock around his neck. “Well why were you puking? This morning you seemed fine.” His brows furrowed as a worried thought niggled his mind, and blossomed into a full panicked look as it really settled in. “Wait, your not-?” his eyes widened in his panic, and you scoffed at him. 

“No so you don't have to worry Mike. Although it's great to see you panic if we should have been.” You snapped a bit although you knew you would have matched that panic as well, and he softened a bit, smoothing his hands along your lower back. 

“Sorry baby, you said puking and my mind went away with it.” Apologizing, he tilted his head a bit. “So, You going to put me out of my misery and tell me? Or do I have to keep making dumb ass assumptions?” 

You were still a bit irritated with his earlier remark, but were you really mad at Mike? Or were you just feeling like shit and everything was irritating you? You glanced back at his genuinely worried face, you softened to him for how worried he was. “I started to get cramps today, and they just ache badly today.” you sniffled a bit again, and Mike pulled you in closer for a hug, and you settled in against his chest. “And I feel terrible for coming into your space when you're working.” You said softly, and Mike shrugged, the movement making you pull back. 

“I could care less, you're not feeling good and this is home first, office second. Besides, I just started it. Not like I have any story yet to get down. Just an idea.” He turned his chair with you in his lap, and moved his finger over the keyboard to wake the laptop back up. You gave a slight chuckle seeing he literally had two whole lines.

“What have you been doing all morning?” You snicker a bit and he picks up Brians notes laying right next to them. 

“I have been trying to think of how to get this shit into something decent. Listen to this- Ally is a woman who has many ex-boyfriends who turned out to be losers. Now she believes that she can't find a good guy. But when she runs into one of her exes who is now a 'Prince Charming', she decides to look up all of her exes to see if any of them have changed for the better. When she has trouble locating them, she asks her neighbor Colin, who sleeps with a different woman every night and sneaks out the morning after to avoid talking to them, to help her.” He tossed it back down to the table. “Like anyone cares how many people someone slept with.”

You wrinkled your nose, and you knew you shouldn't say anything. Because you honestly had to agree with him, but that dark little voice in the back of your mind that seemed to always be there when you weren't feeling good poked at you. “Well some people, it does matter Mike.” You push to stand, and go around the counter to search out your midol from your purse. Grabbing the bag, you started to paw through the contents while Mike twisted his office chair to look at you. You could see this slight furrow in his brow as he went over what you had said. 

“Did it matter to you, when we talked about it ourselves Y/N? Cause you were pretty chill.” he asked, and you could see from the corner of your eye as you snatched your bottle that he was leaning forward in his chair, the curious look on his face was seriously wondering if you did or not. In that moment you just wanted to snap at him, he should know that you didn't nor ever would care who was a part of his past. Since it was just the past. 

“If I had cared, Mike, would I have asked you for your number on that first date? Of course I didn't give two shits about who you dated or fooled around with.” You retorted, shaking out a couple pills and popping them dry before screwing the cap back on and ditching the bottle back in your bag. Going to the fridge, you sought out water, which all were left were bottles half gone. Groaning, you dropped your head. “You haven't been to the store yet Mike?” you snapped as you shut the door, taking one of the bottles anyways. You weren't drinking tap water, that was for damn sure. 

“I was going to go this afternoon before you get home.” He brushed off your irritation in favor of your earlier comment, more keen to go back to the conversation you two were having before. “Did someone like say something about me before you even met up with me? Because we certainly didn't talk about our dating history for a while.” 

You leaned against the counter for a moment, rubbing at your face for a moment. “Why do you put everything off to the last minute Mike? You always do this, and then I’m left either having to nag you, beg you, and just end up doing it myself.” You grumbled, and ignored his question. “Can you go now please? So the water will be chilled by tonight.” you left him at his computer, going to crash on the couch and grab the remote. But Mike wasn't far behind, following you to the couch. 

“I will later, but I’m curious if someone said something to you? Like a warning?” He flopped down on the other end, his arm slinging along the back and looking at you intently. 

You flicked through stations and rolled your eyes. ‘Fuck Mike, it was so long ago, drop it. It doesn't matter who told me what before we even met. We're together, aren't we? I make my own decisions about someone.” 

“But someone did say something.” He pushed you once more, and you clench your hand around the remote hearing him keep on going. 

“Fucking hell Mike, you really wanna know. It's not exactly like you were dating anyone during that time. Mallory told me all about how you two would fool around and that maybe I needed un-fucking-winding. So she set us up. But you already knew that.” You toss the remote at him, and push off the couch. “Then I really liked you, so we made it work. But right this second, if you follow me to the bedroom, I will kick your ass out to the couch for the rest of the week.” you snapped, and left him there to brood, going into the bedroom with a sharp slam of the door. 

Mike winced when he heard the door slam, feeling bad now that he pushed for something that really didn't matter. That first hook up was two years ago, and you two had been together ever since. It just nagged at him in a way that he was shocked at, thinking that someone might have said “hey he's a player, be careful.” Maybe you were right, a small part of him might have cared? Not so much that he or you slept with a few people, but that anyone would actually care. 

Mike waited a few moments for things to cool down, he knew he shouldnt have pushed on such a stupid matter, cause it honestly didnt matter to him what anyone might have said. It was a stupid fight, and Mike wanted to make it up to you, apologize for upsetting you when you were already feeling so awful. Listening, he could hear you in the bedroom, opening drawers and snapping them shut then it went quiet. Pushing up from the couch, he approached the bedroom, and knocked on the door to ease it open. You were laying on the bed, a heating pad plugged in where your phone usually was. You had it resting on your stomach, and had your other arm slung over your face to block out the light. 

“I mean it Mike, you come in here looking to argue, I will scratch those blue eyes of yours out and leave you a blind man.” You threatened him, which he tried not to chuckle at, but a tiny one burst out while he went to stretch on the bed next to you, sliding his hands under your shirt to rub your back. 

“Im sorry Y/N, I was being kind of an ass.” He said, and you snorted a bit in agreement. Mike could feel the knots in your back loosen a little as you relaxed into his hand, and he pulled in closer to you. “Is it really bad this time?” he looked at the time, it had only been twenty minutes since you had taken your painkillers, still hadn't had a proper chance to kick in for you yet. 

You stretched a bit and pressed yourself back hard enough for him to know you wanted more pressure in his touch, which he did, digging in his fingers. You sighed a bit into your pillow. “It's messing me up this time Mike, not going to lie.” You twisted your head to glance over your shoulder, and your look softened a bit when you saw how concerned he did look. So you twisted to lay on your back and look up at him. “I'm sorry to Mike, I came in looking for a fight because of how I was feeling. Your script will be good, and people who do care probably have boring sex lives.” You joked a bit while lifting a hand to let the back of your fingers brush against the rasp of his beard. It made you tingle to feel it, and his hand slipped along your waist and over your belly where the heating pad didn't cover.  

“You know there are other ways to help you.” Mike started, looming over you slightly and you wrinkled your nose, knowing what he was talking about. It always made you feel a little guilty though, like it was something he had to do, not that he wanted to do. All in your head, you knew, but the thought still had manifested there after that time he ended up being late on a deadline cause of a weekend of him taking care of you. 

You shrugged a bit and shook your head. “You don't have to do anything, you should probably get back to your script. Brian’s going to want to see it in a few days.” You brushed it off, but Mike wasn't about to be deterred, because he knew how much better you felt afterwards, and he enjoyed making you feel good immensely. 

“I know I don't have to “do anything”, but how about I want to?” He pushed up off the bed, and reached down to grasp your hands and ease you up into a sitting position, making you groan and pull off the heating pad, being sure to click it off. Mike gave you what he hoped would be a promising grin to get you in the mood. “Fuck that script, I rather have some dirty sex… in the bed?” He questioned, and you gripped his hands tighter, pulling yourself up. 

“You're not going to leave me in peace to wither and die are you?” You scoffed as you side stepped him to grab a couple towels, and draped them over your arm. “Shower, mess be minimal, and the hot water will help my back.” Mike came up behind and ran his hands along your sides, while kissing on your neck, making you sigh a bit in appreciation. That rasp of beard followed by soft velvet lips always did something, even now your toes were curling up the more he did it. 

Getting in the bathroom, he reached and grabbed the towels from you, tossing them on the bathroom counter. “Absolutely not going to let you wither and die, you know how much work it would be to find another awesome girlfriend like you?” He cupped your face, dragging you into a kiss while you grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off when he pulled away, he mimicked you and pulled your top off over your head and discarding them wherever they happened to land. 

“Ooh I like being awesome. How awesome am I Mike?” You wiggled your brows at him, and reached behind you to unclasp your bra, which Mike eagerly drew off you when you got it unclasped and cupped your breasts, massage them lightly, thinking about what to say. Thumbs circled around your sensitive nipples and you took a slight inhale that Mike happened to hear, causing him to do it a little harder the next time around. “You're always so sensitive right now, I absolutely love it.” Mike admitted while massaging his palms into the globes, you ended up arching into his touch and dropped your hands to his pants to start working open his belt. 

“You didn't answer me, pain in the ass.” You tugged the belt open and popped open the button, sure to watch him as you pressed your hands under the boxer band and wrapped fingers around his cock. You felt him twitch in your hand, a hitch in his breath as his normally bright blue eyes darkened. “Am I distracting you a little too much?” 

He took a deep breath as you sunk to the floor, Mike's hand falling to the bathroom counter, his knuckles turning white while he gripped the counter at the anticipation. “Here I thought I was supposed to make you feel better?” Seeing you kneeling, giving him that sultry fuck look from under your lashes while darts of your tongue teased your lips. A tug on his jeans dragged them down further so you could pull his cock out, giving measured firm strokes and breaking eye contact to look at his erection instead, sliding a thumb around his head and dragging your thumb back to your lips to suck your fingertip.

“You are making me feel better. Well actually, hand me a towel?” you arched up to bring your face closer to him, your free hand held out while Mike handed you a towel in which you put under your knees to get comfy. “See you helped me.” Giving a teasing wink, you twist your head to give him a trailing lick of your tongue along the underside of his cock and spit to lube him in your hands. A kiss of your lips to the tip made him shudder com watching the sinfully sweet act, and then you spread your lips to lower your mouth on him and suck with a moan. Already he was cursing above you under his breath as he did his best to not look away. 

“Fuck baby” Mike grunted, and you widened your mouth to draw him in further, fluttering your tongue around him while rubbing your hands against the front of his thighs till you circled fingers around the base, pumping him where your mouth couldnt take him yet. You relished the taste and heaviness on your tongue, lips drawing him in further to leave a wet trail on his cock when you bobbed your head faster. Heavy breaths flared your nostrils while you hummed your satisfaction till he hit the back of your throat. His hips rocked to meet your bobbing head until you gagged around his girth. “Just a bit more baby.” Mike grunted as his hands went to cup your face, fingers digging in your cheeks. Mike's head tipped back, and your gaze rolled upwards to see his adam's apple bobbing up and down, the muscles in his torso tighten, and where your hands grasped his thighs to hold on while he face-fucked you, kept flexing. “Fuck… FUCK…” He pulled you off him, his hips stuttering to a stop and his cock weeped with desire to shoot his load. The thick white dribble looked too tempting to you. Your tongue tip curled out and you darted back in close to give a kitten lick to the tip, cleaning the drool and precum off and maybe just to tease him slightly, knowing how close he was. 

“God your a fucking little brat.” He hissed at your antics, stepping away and leaning down to grasp your upper arms, and bring you back up while kicking off his pants and boxers fast as he could, making you giggle at how strained he sounded. 

“Get out of those clothes.” He instructed as he reached in the shower to start the water and stumbled in. You were tugging your pants off, and getting ready as you heard him swear in the shower. “Fucking water.” You open the curtain to see him drenched already, trying to wiggle the knobs to the proper temperature. 

“Well why did you already get in Mike?” you ask, putting your hand in the water to make sure it wasn't too cold, when he reached out to wrap an arm around your waist and drag you in with him making you squeal as the water was still adjusting to temperature. Mike backed you up against the showers wall, his hands rubbing your hips while kissing your lips with a hunger that made your head spin, and your hands grasped the back of his neck and head to hold on. 

Pulling away from your mouth, and working his lips against your neck, you tilted your head back into the stream to feel the warmth wash over your sore body twitch a groan. The hot water had already started to fog up the small space. “I was hoping the cold water would cool me off, I want…” Lap of his tongue moved over your jawline. “... to be…” his hand swept down your stomach and cupped your mound between your clenched thighs to stroke your folds. “... inside you when I cum.”

You pulled away a bit to look at him, biting at your lip which caused his eyes to drop down too, wanting to pull at it because of the way you teased yourself . But your words brought him back to you. “It really doesn't bother you Mike? That I'm on my period?” That bit of self doubt starting to come back to the front of your mind, bringing along guilt that maybe he didn’t enjoy this like you did.

He gave a roll of his eyes and nipped at your lips, sliding his tongue over that bottom lip before pulling it from your teasing teeth, laying his own mark on you to cover your bite from before. “We’ve done this many times Baby. Only boys would care about such a thing, good thing I’m not a boy.” He surged to claim all your senses, his fingers spreading your folds to start touching you in a way that would drive you crazy. 

You kareened when you felt his fingers start to tease you, his hand planting on the wall as his upper body leaned in closer, eyes staring into yours while rubbing from your clit to your entrance, watching as your breathing picked up and your eyes turned into a needing glaze. “Ahh, just like that, huh baby. Fuck I love how sensitive you get during this time.” He wasn't wrong, everything felt amplified, his fingers felt thicker as he started to pump one into you, your core was hotter, your arousal seeping down your thigh to mix with the hot water. 

It wasn't long till your thighs were spreading further for him, and you rocked slightly to meet his fingers plunging back into you, his strokes making you clench tightly around him, as well as grasp his biceps to keep yourself from losing your balance. Mike loved watching your jaw drop as you were fluttering around his thick fingers, sobbing out when Mike twisted his palm slightly to grind the heel of his hand against your clit. “Mike! Oh too much.” you tried pushing him away while moving your hips faster, but he was too solid and was driven to have you come all on his palm. Mike nudged his nose against your jaw to tip your head back, licking the running water  streaming down your neck with a low timbre voice making his demands. “Come on baby, this is just the first one.” 

Just the first one. Fuck

You dug in your fingers while you rode out your orgasm that crashed over you, Mike slowing his pumps down so you could come down from your high, tilting his head to give you an open mouthed kiss. And he started again to bring you up, his fingers sliding in your sensitive pussy, his thumb sweeping around your clit slowly. “Mike,” you whined softly against his mouth, your forehead pressed against his. His fingers knew just where to touch you. He was able to go much deeper than your own fingers could ever reach. Mike thrummed you again, nudging his nose against yours to have you focus on him. “You're going to come for me once more Pretty Girl, I love how you flood my hand, riding my fingers with that greedy pussy of yours.” His tongue licked over your lips, and greedily you sucked on his tongue rocking harder to meet his fingers faster. Your second orgasm is coming fast, as sensitive as you were. “Ahhh good girl, I'm going to add another cause you're taking me so well.” Mike bit at your lip teasing as your eyes widened, a third finger stretched you, and he smirked, still holding your gaze. “Squeezing so tight baby, you should make yourself cum now Babe.” 

You started falling apart once more and Mike let his chest press against yours and your arms locked around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder as he feathered kisses up and down your neck. “Did I tell you yet I love you?” His erection pressed against your stomach, still hard and demanding as when your mouth had been wrapped around it and you rubbed yourself against it, purring in his ear. “Show me Mike.” Your toes curled as remains of your orgasm raced up your spine, any pain you had been in before was replaced with fluttering clenching muscles, and languid pleasure seeping in your system. 

Mike's hands fell to the back of your thighs, and he slipped your legs up to swing around his waist, and position yourself to take him. “I'm glad you finally accepted this suggestion.” Mike let go of your thighs once you were holding onto him, and he pressed his cock through your folds, feeling your wet heat welcoming to accept him. You nodded in a rush, blinking out the water pelting over you. 

“Yes, Fuck Mike you feel so good, its driving me insane.” You tried pressing yourself on him, and when he pressed in against your sensitive channel, clenching around him as he worked himself into your pussy. “Yes, oh yes.” stiffening against him when he thrusted to bury himself in, rutting against you to make you cry out as he started slow, letting you appreciate the hard drag through you. It wasn’t long though when Mike started to pound himself into you, and your bouncing breasts moved in his face. He freed a hand to massage them, almost on the verge of a blissed pain how his teeth sucked in the curve, and the lash of his tongue dragging over your pebbled flesh till he could pull on it. Stretch the nerves to quiver and mess with your rational thought, till all you could focus on his mouth, hot and wetter then even the steam of water pouring from above, the feeling of Mike's cock driving in harder and harder, sure that you felt him almost kiss your womb, fighting the urge to cum already. Your hands scrambled for purchase against his back, which clenched under your nails digging in, flexing and tightening with each pounding thrust trying to lay claim to your orgasm. 

“I can feel you, you want to, your body is trying to.” He moaned into your breasts his face was buried against, his scruff rough between your cleavage. You back bounced off the tile of the bathroom wall at these words, you wanted to deny him, keep feeling him driving back the pain, and keeping you on the edge of pleasure. But it was all so overwhelming, and you caved, cumming again to flood his cock with your arousal, clenching around him. “God your so fucking tight around me. Trying to get me to cum in you.” Mike grunted, and you just squeezed him more, wanting it, so badly to feel filled with him. 

“Course I want it, don't you dare pull out.” You cried, flexing around him again as his balls slapped against you and you tighten your legs around him to keep him with you. His grunts became more feral, his tongue marking your skin while he chased water droplets like a man dying of thirst, and you saw nothing but sparks filled your vision while he groaned into your ear that he too was close. You whined as you gave one last demanding squeeze, your own demand that he fill you, which he did. Happily shooting himself to fill you, spreading himself deeper and both of you ended blissed around each other

You lean into him, taking deep breaths against his shoulder while his arm slings around your waist. “Okay, I got you babes. We really do need to get a mat for this tub though. Almost slipped a few times.” You giggle into his neck before straightening, unlocking your legs from around his waist to lower to a stand, careful cause it was slippery. Reaching down, you flick the water back to the facet, and Mike cranks both the knobs off, the last of the water rushing down the drain. Pulling back the curtain, Mike stepped out, and grabbed the last towel on the counter and handed it to you, which after you two stepped out you started rubbing your body down to dry. 

He grasped the one you had used for your knees earlier, rubbing it over his head, and whisking across his body, but he was done quick and had yanked on his boxers. You immediately reached down and grabbed his tee from earlier, slipping it on and went to the counter to brush out your hair before it dried in a mess. Knowing you would come out when you were ready, Mike went and stretched out on the bed, leaning against the headboard and flicked on the tv, flipping channels until you came out all dressed for a day in bed. Moving around the bed, you tumbled into your side of the mattress. 

You curl up against Mike's side, and he hands the remote over so his arm can circle around your shoulders and let his fingertips brush along the soft part of your upper arm. “Feeling any better Babes?” He tilted his head to look down at you while you focused on the tv, and you hummed, tilting up to put a thank you on his lips. “Much, all relaxed and sated, thank you Handsome.” Mike couldn't deny that made his chest swell a bit, proud and pleased his girl was now feeling better. He dropped a kiss to the top of your head as you finally stopped at the beginning of Con Air. 

“Nicholas Cage?” Mike mused as he looked up, and you tugged the blankets over the two of you while you twisted, leaning your back against Mike's chest, and your head on his shoulder. 

“Damn straight Mike, Cage, Malkovich, and Buscemi? Doesn't get better.” your love of 90’s movies didn't bypass Mike, so he wasn't surprised. It didn't take long though till you had passed out, within the first 15 minutes of it, and Mike stayed for a while before it was apparent you were really passed out. He eased away, and shifted you enough so you were comfy against the pillows. Going to put his clothes back on, he looked in the shower and went under the sink looking for a quick spray to wipe down the shower with. Running a cloth over the wall, and using the shower head, he rinsed away any bloody traces that might have been left behind. Mike didn't want you happening across it, and having to deal with it yourself. Once he was satisfied, he took care of everything and flicked the lights off to go back in the room, seeing you still sound asleep and relaxed.

Mike went over to your side of the bed to grab the heating pad you discarded earlier and put it on low. Laying it against your lower back as you rolled to hug a pillow against your chest. Snapping the blankets up around you as he started to leave the room, he turned the tv down a few notches, and eased the door almost to a shut. 

Mike knew he probably should work on his script, you were right earlier that Brian would be wanting to see it soon, but he bypassed his computer. Grabbing his wallet and phone, he stuffed them in his back pocket. At the kitchen counter he scribbled a quick note, should you wake up. He didn't want to set your phone off and wake you up by sending a message to it. ~went to go pick up that water, message if you need anything baby. XO Mike.~ 

Leaving the apartment, when he hit the street his hands found their way into his pockets, and he whistled happily. Sure he might have gotten jack shit done for work so far, but he spent his morning loving on his girl, and if that isn't life goals, damned if Mike knew what would actually be better. Reaching the local shop the two of you used near the apartment. The door’s bell jingled when he pushed it open, the clerk lifting her head to see who was coming in and gave a grin seeing him. “Hey Mike, wondering if I was seeing you today.” 

Mike grabbed a hand basket, winking at the clerk. “Of course MissThompson, my day wouldn't be complete without you.” he flirted with the older woman, making her chuckle a bit as he went down the first aisle. He grabbed a few things you two typically needed, a loaf of that specialty bread for toast that you liked, a tin of bbq pringles he liked snacking on when watching a game, a bar of chocolate you swore up and down you required during this time, he was also sure to grab a couple gallons of water to bring home. Wandering back towards the counter, Miss Thompson cleared her newspaper off the counter for him to set his stuff down. 

“Did you see the fall stuff Mike? I think Y/N would really like them.” She pointed at a small display table nearby, which was covered with a few pumpkin trinkets, some homemade baked goods, and candles. Mike wandered over, and started picking through the items. “She would like them wouldn't she, and she's been having a rough day.” He mused outloud and Miss Thompson tutted in sympathy. Glancing over the stuff, he picked up a few different candle holders, a box of autumn tinted macaroons, and some pumpkin pastries that he knew would remind you of home. Bringing it up to the counter, Miss Thompson gave an approving smile and was quick to ring it up for Mike. “I think she’s gonna appreciate it all.” 

“She does love fall, always going on about home this time of year.” Mike stated as he took out his card and gave it a swipe, his stuff was bagged, and he juggled the bag in one arm and the water in the other. “Probably see you tomorrow.” 

“You know I will be here.” Miss Thompson offered as Mike worked the door open, and headed home. Once he arrived back at the apartment, he was quiet while slipping off his sneakers, and dropping off his arm loads at the kitchen counter where his note went untouched. Scooping it up and crumpling to shoot into the basket, he paused long enough to make sure he made it, giving a fist pump when it landed inside. Quietly he went down the hall, and pushed the door open a bit to see you were still sleeping. You looked soft in your sleep, relaxed and peaceful. You had rolled once more in your sleep, your arm holding the heating pad to your stomach. 

Leaving you in peace, he went back out to take care of what he purchased, sure to put one of the jugs of water in the fridge. Then he spread the ornaments around the coffee table, and set the desserts out on a tray, leaving them on the coffee table as well. Thinking about what else he could do to surprise you, he left the apartment once more to go down to the storage unit in the basement of the apartment complex, just knowing you had to have some of your treasured halloween decorations, stored away in a bright orange bin with a jack o'lantern drawn on the front. Once he saw the tote and pulled it down, he popped it open to double check, and sure enough you had it packed with lights, halloween trinkets, more candle holders, and foam pumpkins. Securing the lid, he brought it up to the apartment, and set it down. 

Unpopping the top, he started to pull out the lights, and untangle them. Looking around at just where to hang them, already he was picturing how you had it set up last year, and grinned to himself, knowing exactly how he wanted it to look for you. 

Several hours later, you stretched out with a yawn, turning to grab your phone and see it was later in the afternoon. Pushing up to a sit and rubbing at your eyes as you push off the bed, You headed to use the bathroom. Once finished, You came out several moments later, now sporting shorts and a warm sweater just looking for the coziness of the soft material. You pulled your hands into the sleeves, grasping the cuffs in your fingertips to play with the soft material while you left the bedroom. Before you even entered the kitchen, you could hear the clickity clack of Mike's keys on his laptop, and you smiled to yourself. From the rate the keys were clicking, he must have figured out a storyline. 

Stepping into the kitchen, you stalled as your eyes roamed over the orange and purple lit up apartment, Mike had hung up your halloween lights around the tv, and living room, along the counter and bookshelves were orange pumpkins glowing, one corner by the door was a scarecrow and your foam pumpkins, like it was the front porch you didn't have yet. On the TV was paused on a Harry Potter movie, and you took a step further into the room, hovering your hand over one of the candle light holders, enjoying the heat for a second before moving on. “Mike, this is… wow, I didn't think you really cared if I decorated or not.” 

Hearing you he spun his chair away from his laptop, holding his hand out and when you went to him, he tugged you into his lap, circling around your waist. “I wanted you to wake up to something I knew you loved. Plus you've been too busy at work to decorate.” He kissed your shoulder and rested his chin on it while you slid your fingers gently up and down the back of his neck. 

“You are right Mike, I do love it, Thank You.” you hummed lightly and wrapped your arms around his neck to give him a hug, pulling in close. “And all those new pumpkins? Where did they come from?” You slid off his lap and went to go look closer at the new additions, tweaking them just a bit to put them where you wanted them, biting your lip excitedly. Mike was sure to save his work, and closed the laptop. Following you into the living room, he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Miss Thompson insisted you would like them. Want me to throw a pizza in the oven and we crash on the couch to watch a few halloween movies?” 

You twisted in his arms, and grasped his face, tilting up to kiss his lips with a teasing nip. “Yes, please. Anything I can do to help?” you fall back to the flat of your feet, and Mike leads you into the kitchen. “Bring us a couple drinks out to the living room, and as soon as I get this in the oven, I will be out to join you.” You grab a couple beers from the fridge, and make your way while Mike is turning on the oven and flipping the box to read the directions to himself. Entering the living room once more, you set the beers on a couple coasters, and fall onto the couch. In front of you were all sorts of sweet treats. You leaned forward, grabbing a pie when your empty stomach started to rumble, your teeth sank into the delicate pastry as you leaned your head back, moaning softly at the flaked crust and sweet filling with the taste of pumpkin, nutmeg, cinnamon and allspice. The spices tickle your taste buds, and the sweetness soothed it away. 

Mike came around the back of the couch, seeing you slowly chewing and giving that satisfied moan, moving to fall down next to you, arching a brow. “That better than the shower?” he teased you, and your eyes sprang open, shaking your head. 

“This just tastes good.” You grinned as you leaned forward to set it down and moved to straddle his lap, dipping for kisses against his lips, where your tongue slid along the seam of his lips till you could work past them, rolling your tongue against his, and he was caught unaware at how you would taste. A mix of your usual sweetness and the desert danced on his tongue, and his hands moved to grasp the back of your hair, to hold you in place, effectively take your kiss as his own. “You taste and feel good.” you pulled enough away to say before he closed the slight space to claim you all over again, strokes of his tongue teasing you.

Your hips started grinding, shifting yourself enough to straddle just one of his thighs while your hands slid along his shoulders, and you started to arch a bit more, a bit faster, harder as you pushed down. Mike's hands fell to your hips, helping you along by guiding you up and down. He pushed forward a bit to draw himself in closer, pulling his mouth from yours and muttering. “That's it pretty girl, make yourself cum again.” you nodded slightly and he pulled you down on his flexing thigh, making you toss your head back when it made your clit throb and your breathing come out in a rush. “Again Sir…” 

“Sir?” Mike pulled back, his blue eyes twinkling at you while he watched you pick up speed, chasing your end. Your fingers curled, clutching at his shirt and digging into his shoulders. 

“It slipped out Mike, I'm so close now.” your voice high pitched whine. You needed that rush, so close that you could taste that pleasure almost. Your movements started stuttering as your own muscles ached and Mike was quick to take over, picking up the speed you had before and you started chanting. “Yes, yesyesyesyes, fuck please.” 

One of Mikes hands snaked up to grasp the back of your head, tilting your head back and he pressed his face against your neck, chaining kisses and nips while whispering. “Come on Pretty Girl, I need you to come now.” Behind you the oven started alarming and the sense of urgency overcame you, to just rock on his thigh, your knee brushing against his hard on in his pants, and you were cumming for him, whimpering as you rode it out and you went slack, Mike loosening his hard grips and rubbing your back as he slid you off his thigh. “I gotta go check that pizza.” 

You nodded as he pushed off the couch, grabbing at his crotch to try and give himself some room, making you hide your face on the couch and giggle. You heard the squeak of the oven door and a soft “Shit” from Mike as a clang of a pizza pan went on top of the stove. “Babe, it's a bit crispy, but not terrible.” You wriggled to pull yourself up to kneel on the couch, leaning against the back to watch him in the kitchen look for the pizza cutter in a drawer. 

“Not a big deal. Crispy pizza is worth that orgasm.” You couldn't hide the grin as Mike was quick to slice the pizza into slices, and slide a couple on each plate while grasping the paper towels to tuck under his arm. 

“You can start the movie, and fuck you were about to make me blow my load in my jeans watching you. And that ‘Sir’? We still have to discuss that.” He sauntered back into the living room, while you were searching for the remote on the coffee table. Sure to hit play, he waited till you were comfy, and set your plate on your lap. You grasp the first piece, working on taking the crust off and rip off a bite size piece. Your eyes went from the screen to Mike. 

“It just… happened in the moment Mike. Why, did you like it?” You popped your bite in your mouth, and Mike tilted his head, pondering it a moment. 

“You caught me by surprise, but I wouldn't mind hearing it again.” He stated, and you grinned, wiggling brows. 

“Just wait till the day I call you Daddy.” 

Mike groaned, tilting his head back against the couch with a groan. “Your gonna be the death of me Y/N.” 

You snorted while tucking up your legs, and smirking at him. “I can think of worst ways to go.” 

You cuddled up closer, laughing before you took another bite of your food, and Mike pulled you in closer, both of you turning your attention to the movie for the rest of the evening. 

[hopeisour4letteredword]

personal furnace, ch1

Summary: Winter renovations at the inn in Zaphias leave Yuri in need of a warm bunk for the night. Good thing he can always count on his good buddy Flynn.

Read it below or at the AO3 link in the notes.

"It's freezing out there," Yuri complains, when he pushes in through Flynn's window. Flynn grimaces at the gust of cold wind through his room. It rustles through the papers on his desk threateningly.

"I'm quite aware, so if you could please get the rest of the way inside and close—thank you." He sighs with relief as Yuri slams the window closed behind himself. "I hope you realize that I was making a sacrifice for you by leaving that unlocked."

"You're indoors, you run hot and you have a fireplace, I don't feel sorry for you," Yuri says. He's shivering quite badly when Flynn looks up from his desk. Flynn frowns at him. When he rises from his chair, he scoops a blanket off the bed on his way past, and approaches to wrap it around Yuri's shoulders. Yuri makes a grateful noise. "Oh, fuck, thank you."

"You aren't in nearly enough layers," Flynn says. He fusses with the drape of the blanket and scowls down at Yuri's clothes. He's not so foolish as to be wearing his usual garb, but a full-fronted tunic and loose jacket are hardly a full winter kit. Yuri huddles into the blanket with a tight shrug.

"Wasn't so bad when I left Halure."

"Halure's always warmer," Flynn says, absentmindedly. He tucks the blanket all the way up against Yuri's throat. Yuri leans into it, eyelashes dipping against his cheeks when he sighs with relief, and Flynn has to swallow to stop himself from saying something stupid about how long they are or how soft the tender skin of Yuri's throat is against Flynn's knuckles. Gods, but he's always at his easiest to knock off kilter when they've been apart for a while. Sometimes he thinks if Yuri went away for long enough, Flynn would blurt out a confession just from seeing him again, because he'd forget how to cope with how beautiful Yuri can be.

"Sometimes by a great deal."

"Yes, well, I don't think about that when I travel."

"Have you got better jackets in your bag?"

Yuri grimaces. "Yeah, but I dropped those off at the inn. Speaking of..."

...Ah. The inn in Zaphias is undergoing renovations to improve their insulation right now. It had happened that furnace blastia had been compensating for more structural deficiencies than anyone had realized, and now the whole city is scrambling to prepare for the worst of winter. The Knights are helping wherever unskilled but professionally directed labor is of use, and Flynn had made certain that some of the Flynn Brigade was stationed in the Lower Quarter, but... renovating an entire building with the proper amount of care can't be done instantaneously, no matter how many spare hands you provide.

"The renovations," Flynn says, sympathetically. "They didn't get enough rooms ready?"

"I got the impression they'd already done an absurd amount for how much time they had," Yuri says, which is probably very generous of him. "But no. Seems like it's a little cramped. Mariam's sorting by priority right now, so the elderly and those who really need it are first..."

"You don't have to run through the list for me," Flynn says. "You wouldn't take a finished room now if Mariam told you to. I know you. You're waiting for everyone else to get their space first."

"Yeah," Yuri says. He rolls his shoulders back and straightens a bit to stare Flynn down, defiantly. "Of course. Who's going to handle sleeping out in the cold better than me? I mean, really. I've slept in the Drifts before."

"Right," Flynn says. He knows that, objectively, but he hates the thought of Yuri having to sleep in the snow and freezing winds of Zoephir. He can't begin to fathom what task brought Brave Vesperia there that was worth sleeping that way. It must have paid quite handsomely, or been quite important. "Well, that's very noble of you and all that. Yes, you can sleep here instead."

"That's not—" Yuri splutters. His cheeks are red, but Flynn can't be certain that's not just the flush of the cold air yet to fade. "I wasn't going to ask for that! Just if I could take any spare blankets off your hands until the renovations are complete!"

"I suppose you can if you insist," Flynn says, doubtfully. He still doesn't really enjoy the mental image of Yuri shivering under a pile of quilts in a room so drafty as to be frosty when Flynn is perfectly content to share his space. Not that he would have any problem donating some spare blankets to Mariam in the morning, for others who didn't have a warm space yet, but for Yuri... And anyway, Yuri has never slept well when he has to share his space with strangers. He has enough trouble getting to sleep without further complications. "But really, you can just sleep here. There's no reason for you to be cold."

"Mariam said it would build character," Yuri says, presumably just to be a shit, because that's pretty much the only reason Yuri has uttered the words Hanks said or Mariam said since they were seven.

"I don't think anybody would accuse you of lacking character."

Yuri grins, sharp and proud. "Why thank you."

"I didn't hear any real objections, so I assume you're sleeping here," Flynn adds.

"I mean, yeah, if you're serious," Yuri says. He finally reaches up and takes the edges of the blanket into his own hands, adjusting it around himself. "Like you said. No reason to make myself suffer as some weird exercise in stupid pride."

"Good," Flynn says, satisfied. "I can lend you some clothes to sleep in tonight, so you don't have to go back for your bags."

"Alright," Yuri says, easily enough. He shuffles along behind Flynn when Flynn heads for the dresser and retrieves some soft pajamas. He takes the clothes, and Flynn excuses himself to the desk again to let Yuri change. They used to share clothes more when they were children, which is to say that they treated most of their things as interchangeable when they were children. Flynn tries to remember that so he doesn't feel so embarrassingly warm and fuzzy about Yuri wearing his clothes. Yuri promptly sabotages this by saying, "We are the same fucking size, how do you stretch the shoulders out so much?"

"My shoulders are broader than yours," Flynn says. He stubbornly doesn't turn to look, because he knows the warm, fuzzy feeling will only get worse when he sees the shoulders of his shirt hanging loose on Yuri's leaner frame. Good grief. He has no right to feel any kind of way about Yuri wearing his clothes. "Stop whining. At least it's not the other way around, and you stretch all my shirts out when you borrow them. I'd never let you borrow anything otherwise."

"Sure you would. You'd just whine about it."

"My uniforms are actually meant to look crisp and fit properly, you know."

"Not your pajamas, smart-ass. Since when have I ever borrowed one of your uniforms?"

"When you were in the Knights with me as a rookie," Flynn says. He risks a glance back. Yuri has finished pulling the pajamas on, and wrapped the blanket back around himself as a cloak. "You stole my spare uniform a few times, remember?"

"Aside from that. You weren't that much bigger than me then, anyway. I didn't fuck them up that much." Yuri gives him a sour look. "And you certainly chewed me out for it enough at the time."

"Well, you knew better than to be stealing my clothes."

"Not my fault we shared a drawer. I didn't even realize I was taking yours half the time."

"I'm not going to argue with you about idiotic things we did when we were eighteen," Flynn says. Yuri could have just paid attention to which side of the damn drawer he was reaching into, but this debate is pointless. "You can go ahead and get in bed. I need to finish reading this."

"Don't stay up all night," Yuri teases, climbing into bed with the blanket still wrapped around him. Flynn wonders, with some amusement, whether he gave up the right to share that blanket with Yuri later by handing it to him now. But no. Once he's snuggled down under the covers, Yuri wriggles until he frees himself and can haphazardly yank the cloak-blanket out. It spreads mostly-evenly over the rest of the quilts.

That's one way to do it.

It doesn't take too much longer for Flynn to finish looking over his document, but it does take longer than it should. He keeps catching himself peeking over at Yuri, a glimpse of dark hair settled cozy and comfortable against Flynn's pillows, the quilt-softened shape of him under Flynn's covers. Flynn has to force himself to be responsible and complete his task rather than just following him to bed.

Yuri doesn't react when Flynn finally joins him. His eyelashes are a dark curve against his cheekbones, and his breathing is steady and even. Asleep already, it seems. Good. Flynn is glad he feels safe enough in Flynn's space to rest easily. He slides under the blankets as carefully as he can and settles down with his back to Yuri. For all that Yuri always says Flynn runs hot, he's putting off no shortage of body heat himself. It's nice and toasty under the covers as a result. Flynn has no trouble falling asleep.

---

He wakes up and smells citrus.

In the time it takes his newly-conscious brain to begin processing that that's confusing and unexpected, he realizes that his nose is buried in someone's hair. Silky, dark, soft hair, which smells faintly of citrus—

—Oh. Yuri must be buying new soaps in Dahngrest these days. He used to just use whatever plain soaps could be bought for cheap in the Lower Quarter. Flynn supposes that nicer, interesting-smelling soaps are the kind of luxury that a person might consider if they recently gained a consistent source of income. Somehow he still smells, in some unidentifiable way, like Yuri.

Because it is Yuri, of course. Yuri still huddled almost up to his own nose under the blankets. Yuri bundled tightly in Flynn's arms, his chest pressed to Flynn's chest as Flynn wraps around him like a clinging octopus. He's warm, very warm. Flynn can take comfort in the secure knowledge that he made sure Yuri was warm at night. Which isn't to say that this embrace was an intentional move to get him there. No, Flynn is just guilty of sleep cuddling, and now he has to try to undo that without waking his friend. There are several associated problems with this; the first is that Flynn doesn't actually want to stop cuddling Yuri, both because he's soppily in love and because Yuri is warm and Flynn can already tell the rest of the room is distinctly not. The second is the actual logistics of the maneuver. Flynn can't move him too much or he'll wake, but if he just moves himself without moving Yuri at all, Yuri might flop around enough to wake anyway. And even if he can avoid both of those, the frigid air that will sneak into the blanket roll when Flynn leaves it might be enough to wake Yuri on its own.

The third problem is that as soon as Flynn leaves the bed he's going to be haunted by every faint citrus perfume he encounters for the rest of the winter, remembering this moment of Yuri safe and vulnerable and content in his arms, but perhaps that's more of a new extension to Flynn's general in love with Yuri problem than an issue with leaving the bed.

Alas. He must attempt the thing anyway. He uses gentle, soft touches to Yuri's person and little shifts in tiny increments of his own. When he's finally extricated himself, he watches Yuri for a second longer just to be sure his stealth operation was successful. Yuri huddles down into the warm spot Flynn left behind, blankets still tucked up around his shoulders and tousled hair concealing his face from view. His breathing is still slow and even, the mountain of blankets falling and rising with every sleeping breath. Flynn sighs with silent relief and heads for the bathroom.

When he emerges, fresh-faced and dressed in his under-armor uniform, he walks as softly as he can over to his armor stand. Metal is still metal, but he tries to be quiet as he begins to assemble it.

The blankets rustle. Yuri says, hoarsely, "Oh, what the fuck, are you really getting up already? I thought maybe you just had to pee or something." Flynn looks sharply over his shoulder. Yuri has pushed himself up onto one elbow, and peers back, looking crabby and half-asleep. "I'm sorry. I was trying not to wake you—"

"You've gotta be joking. It's not even fucking light outside yet, Flynn. What's wrong with you? At least wait until dawn."

"It's the dead of winter," Flynn says. He snaps on the wrist-piece of his gauntlet that he was already holding and turns to face Yuri. "Dawn's still a while off. I have to get started on my day. I meant to let you keep sleeping, though." "I know you were still awake when I got here, and you haven't slept any more than I have. Seriously? You do this every night?"

"I think it's later than you realize," Flynn says, miffed to be lectured on his sleep habits by a known insomniac. To be fair, Yuri has the excuse that his sleep problems are involuntary, but still. "I don't—hang on. What did you mean, you thought I just had to pee?"

"What does it sound like?" Yuri groans, a rough, exasperated growl of a sound, and pushes himself the rest of the way into a sitting position. Ah, no. Flynn had been hoping Yuri wouldn't follow his example, and he would rest some more. It is difficult for Yuri to find peaceful sleep, after all, and he had been traveling yesterday, too. If he came through Halure, he couldn't have taken a shortcut by sea, either, nor been dropped off by Ba'ul. He has to be exhausted. "I thought you got out of bed to use the bathroom or something, not because you were getting up for real. I'd have stopped you before you got out of the blanket nest if I'd realized."

Flynn smacks down the tender, flowery ache that blooms in his heart at the conjured image of Yuri sleepily grabbing after him to keep him in a shared bed. "Since when were you awake?"

Yuri scrubs a hand through his hair with a grimace. "I don't know, whenever you started moving around? I'm a light sleeper."

"I know that," Flynn says, tightly. He tries to wrestle his voice back under control. "I—my apologies. For—"

For the cuddling. He can't quite force the words out, though, in a moment of spiked mortification and shame. Yuri squints at him for a few seconds in confusion before his expression clears, realization dawning on his face.

"What, for the cuddling? You don't need to apologize for that. It's fine. Is that why you got up? Good grief, you're an idiot. I don't care. You could have stayed."

"It's not why I got up, the clock says—never mind. Even if you don't care, I care, since apparently you refuse to do so for yourself." Yuri gives him an outraged look for that one, which makes sense, but which is also a point Flynn is willing to start real shit over, so good luck, Yuri. "If I'm going to offer to share my bed, I should be able to control myself enough not to invade your space and your boundaries. So—"

"I said it's fine," Yuri snaps. Flynn prepares to argue more before Yuri, red in the face and avoiding eye contact, adds, "You're really warm."

Flynn stops and stares at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're warm," Yuri repeats, sounding frustrated. "I've told you, you run hot. Hotter than me, anyway. Human furnace. You always have been. It's—it was helping."

Flynn has to stare for a few more seconds, stupefied, before Yuri rallies himself enough to glare back. Yes, Yuri had been a comfortable heat source in his own arms, but... Flynn finally shakes his head, slowly. "Well, I... Alright. Fine, then. If you're sure."

Yuri rolls his eyes and shakes his own head. He climbs out of the bed and begins gathering his clothes from around the room. "We've slept in beds together before, Flynn. I knew what I was getting into. I wouldn't have agreed to share the bed if I had a problem with it."

Flynn feels heat rush to his face. Yes, they've shared beds a few hundred times if they've shared them once, but the vast majority of those times were as small children. That is to say, young enough that cuddling was seen as cute and friendly and permissible, not invasive and creepy. Flynn knew before last night that he'd never lost his unfortunate sleep habits, had mortified himself on several past occasions bed-sharing as young adults by waking up to discover he'd wrapped his body around Yuri's as they slept. He had hoped that Yuri had slept through the disentanglement process, but if what Yuri is saying is true, Flynn failed at that particular task miserably.

"So I... every time...?"

Yuri stops with his arms full of his own clothes to stare at Flynn incredulously. Flynn can only imagine he's comfortable being dramatic instead of dressing because he's standing directly beside the fireplace. "You did know you do that, right? Hey. You did know? I need you to confirm that now, actually."

"Of course I—"

"Because you've been doing that since you were six, every single time, and if nobody else has bothered to tell you—" Yuri shakes his head again. "No, hang on, you're the one who always wakes up first. Did you honestly think I was the one who—?"

"No! I know it's—me, I know I'm the one who does that," Flynn bursts out, freshly embarrassed. "But I thought you slept through it when I woke up and tried to give you some space. You really woke up every time? Or did you just assume—"

Yuri looks amused now. "You think I sleep on the road where monsters might try to eat me and I don't have the survival instincts to wake up when someone is manhandling my body?"

Flynn doesn't know what to say to that.

"Yes, it's true. You aren't the stealth master you thought you were and I still knew you cuddle in your sleep. Sorry to be the one to break it to you."

His mortification must show on his face, because Yuri laughs at him. He turns away from Flynn at long last and starts stripping out of his borrowed pajamas to put on his clothes. "I guess I'll give you a little credit for the effort. It's kind of my bad for not making it obvious I'd woken up."

"Why didn't you?"

"Why do you think? I wanted to go back to sleep. And steal your warm spot, usually."

Flynn gives him an offended look. It's wasted on the back of Yuri's head. "You really have been using me as a human furnace for twenty years, then."

"Using you is such strong language. Appreciating you, maybe."

"You don't even run that much colder than me!"

"C'mere for a second," Yuri says, muffled as he finishes pulling a thick, woolen second tunic on over the first. That's definitely Flynn's, and Flynn's not sure when he stole it but he won't call Yuri out on it. He'd rather Yuri was warm on his way back to his bags than raise a pointless fuss. Yuri holds a hand out to Flynn and wiggles his fingers. "I wanna show you something."

"Absolutely not," says Flynn, who has known Yuri long enough to know when he's being threatened with cold fingers on his neck. Yuri grins wolfishly.

"No? It's for science."

Flynn watches warily as Yuri strides across the room, towards where Flynn's sitting at his desk. "It's not for science, you big bully."

"Aww. Don't be such a baby—" Yuri comes within an arms-breadth and reaches for him. Flynn bats him away, and Yuri cackles and climbs half-over the armrest of the chair, fighting against Flynn's protective arm.

"Yuri, I swear, don't you dare—"

Which is, of course, the moment Flynn's maid knocks and opens the door, Yuri balanced perilously on one knee and wrestling with Flynn to regain the advantage on the assault.

"Good—morning. Sir," Cecelia says. "Uh. Mr. Yuri?"

"Good morning," Yuri says, cheerfully. He yanks a wrist out of Flynn's grip and tries to shove it against Flynn's neck again. Flynn smacks him away again with a low growl. "What can we do for you?"

"Um."

"Ignore him," Flynn says. He finally gets a hold on both of Yuri's wrists at once, and after a brief struggle of pure brute strength, manages to shove him back so that he stumbles the step off the armrest and trips backwards onto Flynn's bed, laughing the whole way. Flynn strongly suspects he was only launched so far because he let himself be. Good grief. He tries to fight down his answering smile as he turns back to the door. "I'm sorry about all that, Cecelia. Good morning. Have you brought breakfast?"

"Yes, sir," Cecelia says. She dutifully presents him with a tray of food, which he accepts gratefully and moves to his desk. Tentatively, she adds, "I can... fetch more, if...?"

"Ah, don't bother," Yuri says. He sits up on the bed, stretching. "I should get a move on, see who needs an extra pair of hands in the renovations today. I'm sure someone will feed me when I get there."

"Come back for lunch if they don't," Flynn says, absentmindedly. Yuri makes an affirmative noise and shuffles around behind Flynn, locating his boots. "Is there anything else you need me to address at this time, Cecelia?"

"Why..." Cecelia starts, then turns pink. "Not anything I need you to address, sir, but why is Mr. Yuri here at this hour?"

"To be a pain in the neck," Yuri says. Flynn rolls his eyes.

"Literally, if you had your way."

"Ha! Maybe."

"The inn in the Lower Quarter is among those having emergency renovations," Flynn tells Cecelia. She nods. "They need re-insulation and fireplaces for all of the rooms. They were able to renovate enough rooms with urgent speed to house most of the people who need shelter there, but things are still cramped, and there wasn't a spare room for Yuri. So I offered to let him sleep here until the inn is sorted out."

"That was kind, sir," Cecelia says, slowly, giving Flynn a confused, almost studying look.

A thought occurs to Flynn. He tilts his head back towards Yuri, who appears to be putting on boots somewhere in the vicinity of the bed. "Now that Cecelia is here with breakfast, will you believe I didn't wake us up absurdly early?"

"No," Yuri says, without hesitation. "I'll believe you trained the poor girl to deal with you waking up absurdly early. Sorry about him, Cece."

"I think it's the standard time for the Knights, Mr. Yuri," Cecelia says, doubtfully. "I've seen other people about, and the kitchens have started, of course. I don't need to cook breakfast myself if I bring it now."

Flynn cranes his neck enough to be gratified by the comically horrified look on Yuri's face. He snorts fondly and turns away again. "You had to get up at this time for your stint in the Knights, too. Or have you repressed that?"

"I must have. I don't remember Niren inflicting this kind of suffering on me."

"Maybe you're simply cranky because of the dawn being late."

"The dawn's even later in winter in Dahngrest, too, they just handle it like sensible people and sleep in until it's light out." Yuri's heels thump against the floor, one-two, presumably as he stretches out after he finishes assembling his attire. "It's funny, up there, it's almost like the whole city's hibernating—I'll tell you some other time. You've got your stupid early Commandant stuff, I've gotta go convince Mariam I'm still worth feeding. Thanks for letting me crash here."

"It was the least I could do," Flynn says, sincerely. "Keep warm out there. Are you still interested in taking those extra blankets to Mariam?"

"Hm. Yeah, actually."

"Cecelia, would you mind terribly—"

"No, sir. Here, Mr. Yuri."

At the very least, Yuri's arms loaded with blankets force him to leave out the door rather than making an escape out the window. He bids Flynn and Cecelia goodbye and heads out.

"Sir," Cecelia says, after she finishes making Flynn's bed. "Will you be requiring two sets of breakfast tomorrow?"

"No thank you," Flynn says, after a brief moment of consideration. "We've no timeline for when Yuri will be able to return to the inn, so let's not waste the food in case he doesn't come."

"Alright, sir," Cecelia says, but she looks dubious. She takes her leave.

[shadowsfascination]

Shadamy oneshot| Free me of myself

Trigger Warning: see end notes.

The warmth of heavy breaths against a thick, wide and curved, cold window briefly stuck on the glass. The repeating cycle of condense licking the glass like soot to the window pane of a wood stove to evaporate as quickly as it had appeared was mesmerizing in a strange way. Then again: this entire scenery was.

From the sharp contrast of the cool metal floors and walls with their blue and greenish tones to the warmth and fierce illumination from the sun onto the planets. From the horrifying atmosphere inside with haunting memories clinging to his throat to the breath-taking spectacle outside.

Both aspects took his breath away and both endeavoured swallowing him inside their mighty-strong vibes, consuming him and lift him out of his body. Although their tones couldn’t be further away from one another, either of them had a traction so strong it reminded him of an approaching tsunami. One that’s still building up its’ devastating fortitude before it’d curl over him and swill away everything on its��� path.

This place was one of the very few things capable of leaving him frozen. Every time he came here it happened. And yet he kept coming back. He had to. Felt obligated to. Wanted to. Yes, a part of him longed to be swallowed entirely by the darkness and relive the events that haunted him to this very day. The feeling grew on him particularly around this time of the year.

Overcome by a returning urge to pay off his debts and right his mistakes, being plagued by this gruesome guilt felt like it needed to be done. It was the only darn thing he could do; be here and endure all of it; the depression, agony, indignance, failure, grief and self-loath. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

If only it were useful. If only it could bring you back.

But it wasn’t and it would never change being like this, for she was gone- forever. It left Shadow to be standing lifeless on the ARK. His open palms pressed against the glass while all he could do was breathe in and out again, eyeing the condense on the window. The sensation of the cold glass against his hands was the only thing keeping him grounded by now.

Every year when he paid this cursed place a visit it he heard her voice just when he was on the edge of giving in to the menacing shadows that tainted his past. As bright, gentle and hopeful as no other, the sweetness of her voice invited him to step out of the shadows, into a shower of light. With a single effort she freed him of the relentlessness he felt towards himself, blaming himself for her death.

But not this year.

There only was the mundane silence that was usual for this place. An insecure frown curved his brow and he squinted his eyes when he shifted his glance towards the light of the sun. The view on the planet of fire, when seen from the colony, was accompanied by many halo’s, each of them reflecting the constantly changing spectrum of colours upon the rays of light. They seemed capable of catching you and dragging you into space if you stared into them for too long.

With a dull glance in his crimson orbs, Shadow gazed out the very window Maria and he frequently had watched the blue planet, always dreaming of the day they’d set foot on it together. A renewed sadness whirled inside him, churning his stomach to the point where it nauseated him and clenched his open palms into fists.

He hoped to feel her presence here. He desperately longed for it; the one that always changed the hurricane whirling inside him on the day of her death into a much gentler breeze. Every year since he had awakened he came here and every year he’d felt something of her, something that allowed him to carry on. On an unconscious note his friend, while having passed a long time ago, still had the capacities to change his mind. There were only few he could give credit to when it came to that.

Have you… forsaken me, Maria?

Shadow’s pulse accelerated to a crazy high pace, even for the ultimate lifeform and he sank down to his knees. While his heart thumped against the insides of his chest so fast it felt like it would burst through, he cried. The thought of his first friend rejecting him even after she passed literally just hurt so bad! The pain cramped his chest together and he struggled to breath.

Sudden acoustics, her voice without doubt, called out to him on the abandoned colony, a whisper with the impact of a scream.

‘Shadow, it’s time for you to let go of me.’

“You’re wrong! I will always keep remembering you! It’s the only thing I can do…”

He pictured her bright blue eyes and friendly smile in front of him. Tightening every muscle in his body he forcefully attempted to transfer image of her into a physical presence, into reality. The line between his messed up mind, memories, wishes, dreams and reality grew thinner by the minute. He was almost certain she was here, almost able to see her. Almost.  If only he tried a little harder.

‘It’s time you stop blaming yourself, Shadow. I don’t want to see you like this. Please, let go of the past for there’s others who need your help now. You will only imprison yourself if you keep looking for me and my sacrifice will be left in vain. Remember why you were created Shadow. It’s the key to your freedom.’

The voice slowly extinguished, dying out into the darkness to be replaced by a suppressed, wheezy howl. Shadows’ cries were abruptly disturbed by an extremely loud bang elsewhere on the colony, a crash that shook the ARK in a rough way. Normally the alarm would have sound, but Shadow had turned off the electricity. He did that sometimes when he felt gloomy, feeling it added to his mood.

After wiping his tearstained face he rose and turned towards the elevator, prepared for anything and nothing all at once. He was NOT in the mood to fight. Still, there were a lot of strong, negative emotions to fuel his strength. Even so, his mentally unstable state of mind switched between the urge to conquer any opponent and the thought of willingly getting killed. They battled for precedence inside him and he was unsure which one would win.

“Sweet Chaos! Shadow!?!”

The black and red striped hedgehog couldn’t decide which of their faces looked more awestruck when they regarded each other; Amy’s or his own. He flinched and stiffened up when she took a few steps towards him, the sound of the heals of her boots clanking on the metal floors. She noticed and didn’t pursue, trying to lock her eyes with him, but his gaze went right through her. Eventually he turned around walked up to the window again, wishing to escape both her presence around and gaze upon him. Amy followed his lead and joined his stargazing.

Ever since Shadow and she became more acquainted with one another, they discovered they were quite compatible as friends and hung out more often. The two hedgehogs appreciated the other’s pureness, call it a rawness if you will. He respected her and accepted her for who she was; the good, bad and the ugly. Amy’s assertiveness, strength and straight-forward attitude were highly valued by Shadow. Even though his confidence barely ever seemed to be shaken, it was clear that was the occasion tonight. Shadow heaved a sigh.

“Tell me how you got here.” He finally said.

“Hey, if Knuckles can fly a rocket here, I figured I could too. So, I broke into one of Eggman’s old bases and took the liberty of borrowing one.”

Shadow rolled his eyes on her.

“You’re crazy, you know that? You could’ve gotten hurt with no one around to save you.”

“I made it, all right?! I’m more concerned about you right now.”

His bloodshot, red eyes met her emerald ones for a moment and then the moment was gone.

“I’m fine. Just wished you hadn’t come up here.”

“Shadow, I’m worried about you! I know what today is…”

“I said I didn’t wanna hang out tonight. HECK, I EXPLICITLY told you I wanted to be alone tonight. And yet here you are, forcing yourself on me when I asked you not to. Ever heard of boundaries?”

“Fine, I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“No, you’re staying now. I can’t have peace of mind when I know your safety might be compromised when flying a rocket back to the planet on your own.”

“You’re saying you had peace of mind before I came here? I’m not stupid, okay?”

“I wasn’t. That’s why I wanted to be alone. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Well it does now, since you’re making me stay.”

He shrugged and shifted his gaze back to the countless stars in the never-ending shades of different blue’s that coloured the heavens. Shutting himself off from Amy and the ARK, his heart ached for a hint of Maria out there. Even if it were a last goodbye, but the closest thing he could find was the disapproval his childhood friend would’ve had regarding his rude attitude towards his friend now.

“Does her presence still linger around this place?” Amy dared ask after a long silence.

“It used to, at least on this day.”

“It doesn’t anymore?”

“She… told me to move on, let go of her. Or at least that’s what entered my mind when I sought her.”

 Normally Shadow would have hesitated to tell anyone about any of this, feeling it didn’t go with his down-to-earth attitude. Amy was the exception on this to him. She strongly believed in a connection between the visible and the invisible so he need not to fear being laughed at. He figured she’d be able to understand the visions he’d had of Maria and how he’d heard her voice.

“Anything else?” She asked like it was any other ordinary topic.

“That I should stop blaming myself. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I want to. It’s the last thing I have of her.”

“What is?”

“The guilt I can cast upon myself.”

“Shadow…”

Amy’s eyed filled with a compassionate sadness. She reached out to him to rest a hand on his shoulder. When he did not protest, she stepped in and carefully enclosed him from behind in a warm embrace.

It puzzled her that Shadow usually wasn’t fond of physical contact and yet this was the second time she hugged him like this. The first time was on Prison Island, when silly 12-year old her had mistaken him for Sonic. He never showed a sign of discomfort or tried to shake her off. They stood there for a while, his arms hanging limp along his numb body.

“Maria’s right.” Amy said. “It’s long time for you to let go of that guilt. You’re not to blame for anything that happened here.”

“I’m the reason why they flew up here to shut down the facility. I’m the reason she’s dead.”

“No, G.U.N. is. They’re the ones who conducted these crimes. Their terrible policy and way of handling the situation is the reason she’s dead. There’s no excuse for the way they misinterpreted and poorly handled the situation. There’s no excuse, no explanation good enough for killing the people up here the way they did. And…”

Amy bit her lower lip and hesitated for a moment.

“I don’t know if you’ll agree with me, but Maria chose to free you. She might’ve been able to save both of you or herself instead.”

“Are you saying it’s her fault for getting shot?” Shadow sneered at her.

“I’m not. Just saying she did what she did and with that she left you no choice. You can’t be guilty for something you had no hold on. It was out of your control. She freed you because she knew the reason behind your creation. She knew your potential, Shadow. It was her choice, not yours. There’s no point in punishing yourself now.”

She hugged him tighter and rested her head on his shoulder. With Amy’s words still echoing on in his head, a vague, translucent image was drawn before his eyes. Maria. Shadow wondered if it was a figment of his imagination and whether Amy was able to see her too. The blonde girl smiled a serene smile of hope and reached out to him, covering his hands in hers. A pleasant tingling radiated from them, reassuring him that his pink friend was right.

Maria regarded Amy for a second and gave her a warm smile. Then the blue of her eyes and the dress she always wore faded into the darker blue of the starry skies, leaving them behind. It was just Shadow and Amy now. She still held him and he let her.

“Did you see…?”

“I did. I saw her too.”

Shadow now freed himself of her embrace to face her. The storm clouds that were reflected in his eyes before had vanished. With a new peace of mind, the kind he’d never experienced before, he cleared his throat.

“Bless you for being such a stubborn, persistent soul, Amy Rose.”

“No biggie, we’re friends. I got your back and I’m sure you’ve got mine.”

He gave her a single, yet assuring nod.

“Let’s leave this place. Whadd’ya say?”

“I wanna fly the rocket. I think I really got the hang of it!”

“You seriously expect me to believe that after the ever-so-graceful landing you performed here earlier?”

 “Hey- …I!- That was a rough patch, okay?!”

 “Understatement! You almost shook the ARK out of its’ orbit. I bet you wrecked the place.”

Shadow cocked a brow at her before giving her a playful push. She snorted when she eyed him. Amusement sparkled in his eyes at the thought what the heck of a ride it must have been on that rocket, giving her awful piloting skills. It was another ridiculous outcome of her impulsive nature. The two burst into laughter, their cackling echoing on throughout the colony.

With Amy already in his arms to warp them back home Chaos Control-style, he glanced back at the window. The translucent vision of his childhood friend respawned again. He felt this was their final parting and for the first time, he’d made his peace with that. She waved them goodbye before dissolving into the background, sending off millions of stars into a meteor shower. Her calm, gentle voice resounded throughout the universe for the last time:

 Sayonara, Shadow the Hedgehog.

_____________________________________

Trigger Warning [SPOILERS?!]: - suggestive suicidal thought (No actual suicide or attempt) - mental struggles (trauma, grief, losing touch of reality, feelings of desperation, depression, anxiety) - eventual happy ending > Please message me if you think I need to adjust something in the TW. First time using it. Better safe than sorry (:

If you’re struggling with mental health problems or suicidal thoughts or even plans: seek help! Even if it seems useless to you and I imagine it will. There’s lines you can call and people out there who will listen to you. Google them in the area where you live. I know it’s a good starting point to get help.  

______________________________________

Notes

I wanted to do a short story on Shadow’s and Amy’s friendship and how she’ll help him cope with the loss of Maria. I believe that Amy’s headstrong, yet endearing sweet personality allows her to change Shadow’s mind sometimes like we have seen in SA2 before.

[wolfantlersinspace]

apple (of your eye)

A few days late, but here's day 4's fic! Hope you enjoy~

Prompts: Dessert, clothing

Thanks Raven for the beta, thanks enablers for the support and anticipation.

Harry Potter, Tom Riddle | NC-17 | 3578 words

Harry, darling,” Tom crooned, fingers slipping over Harry’s jaw and down the smooth front of his nightgown. “You look stunning.” “Thank you, My Lord,” he said throatily, breath hitching when Tom’s fingers slipped over a hardened nipple. He swallowed, flushing as Tom's eyes followed the bob of his throat. “I always want to look good for you.” It was true; Tom was his life, his everything.

“Harry, darling,” Tom crooned, fingers slipping over Harry’s jaw and down the smooth front of his nightgown. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” he said throatily, breath hitching when Tom’s fingers slipped over a hardened nipple. He swallowed, flushing as Tom's eyes followed the bob of his throat. “I always want to look good for you.”

It was true; Tom was his life, his everything.

“I brought dessert today, darling,” Tom pulled out his wand, and Harry had to fight back the flashes of fear, panic, oh-Merlin-he’s-going-to-hurt-me he was sure almost appeared on his face. He didn’t know why they’d apply right now anyway; Tom was safe. Tom wouldn’t hurt him.

A tray of pies and tarts floated in, and Harry’s stomach growled (when did he last eat? He can’t remember but his stomach hurt so bad, he was sure it was eating itself) and Tom laughed.

“Hungry, are we?” Harry nodded, a goofy grin spreading across his face. Tom was so good to him. He sat patiently as Tom pulled over the soft armchair and sat down. “Come here, darling.” He patted his lap and Harry wandered over, easily sliding onto Tom’s lap like he did it every day. (Maybe he did do it every day but he couldn’t remember why can’t he remember?)

Tom’s arms settled around his waist, pulling him closer and he squirmed at the feeling of hard cock under his arse. It was a little uncomfortable, but Tom was so warm after the lukewarm numbness Harry always felt — he couldn’t help but bury himself into it. The tray hovered next to the chair, patiently waiting for Tom to take the first dessert off it. He chose something Harry didn’t recognise but contained a beautiful red jam.

“Open your mouth for me,” Tom said, and Harry did so, as obedient as ever. As Harry chewed — strawberry flavoured, with the most curiously textured pastry he’d ever tried — Tom’s fingers wandered, lightly brushing Harry’s chest until he had to make a conscious effort to swallow, and then wandering down, lower and lower, over his sensitive ribs and quivering stomach, until teasing touches grazed the edge of his short nightgown where it met the smooth skin of his thighs. “Darling, you shaved for me? Beautiful.”

Harry shivered at the quiet praise, lips parting as he watched Tom’s fingers push the hem of his nightgown higher until it bunched at the top of his thighs. He could see a ribbon tail now, black and silky against the off-white cotton, and he wondered if Tom could see it too. Tom gripped Harry’s thighs gently, rubbing the trembling skin of his inner thighs with his thumbs. (The skin there was so thin, and Harry wondered if Tom would be strong enough to sink his fingers in so deep they would never come out again, to pull and tear at his flesh and destroy him, destroy his ability to escape, permanently disable him just for a sick thrill.)

Tom’s fingers slipped higher, thumbs reaching the crease where his hip met his thigh and ran over the sensitive skin until he had to hide his face in Tom’s shoulder. The desserts were abandoned at this point, lonely even in their multitudes. It felt familiar.

“Oh good, you prepared yourself up for me,” Tom said, voice deep and dark as his fingers skimmed over the ribbon, growing harder as Harry squirmed in his lap. He pulled the nightgown up until Harry’s cock was bared to the room, limp and tied so tightly it had no chance of hardening at all. “You know exactly how I like you.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he whispered, hips involuntarily jumping as Tom’s fingers wandered down his shaft and over the head. He hadn’t been touched there in so long he didn’t think he could handle it anymore. Each pass of the pad of Tom’s thumb felt magnified by hundreds, thousands perhaps. “Please, no more,” Harry whimpered and slumped as Tom left it alone once again.

(Harry spat as a hand grasped his cock, as a voice said, “I’m going to make you come until you yearn for my touch. And then I won’t give it to you.”)

“Do you think you could take my cock tonight?” Tom’s voice held no question, but Harry nodded anyway. Tom hadn’t fucked him last night, and he’d tightened up accordingly. He was sure Tom would enjoy taking him tonight; Tom had an obsession with Harry’s long since lost virginity, and the tighter he was, the better.

Harry wasn’t ashamed to admit he enjoyed it too — the ache as Tom pressed in, the little bit of adjusting he took to handle Tom’s cock — and he always wanted a little rest afterwards for Tom liked to fuck long and slow, late into the night.

Tom lifted Harry enough to shift his own legs, spreading Harry’s legs out with his knees. Harry felt his face warm despite the lack of audience and he shivered as Tom’s fingers traced his hole (as light as a feather, like always) and then a felt light cramp in his abdomen. Tom’s finger dipped inside, suddenly wet from a spell of his own creation, and Harry wanted to pull his legs shut and curl up. His body was so sensitive it hurt, and he couldn’t fixate on anything but the easy stretch of Tom’s finger pressing deeper. His cock twitched and he moaned as Tom pushed his finger knuckle deep, and then pulled back and shoved another one in. It didn’t hurt, but the stretch made him tremble, hands grasping at the arms of the armchair for anything to keep him rooted in reality.

“Tom.” It felt like too much, having his fingers this deep. He wished for a pillow to bite, or something easier to grab than an armchair, but there was nothing, nothing but Tom and his (too much, too much) touches. His nerve endings were on fire, ignited by the slow thrusts of Tom’s Merlin forsaken fingers.

And then there was nothing.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he scooted forwards on Tom’s knee, giving him room to unbuckle his belt. He let Tom pull him back into the warmth of his body, and he couldn't help but wiggle at the feel of Tom's hard cock against his back. The length of it was searing hot, even though Harry's nightgown, and he flushed in anticipation.

Soon, it would be in him.

Tom tapped Harry’s hip, and he raised himself up, let Tom manipulate his body until he felt the head of Tom’s cock against him. His breath froze in his chest and he bit his lip. Tom left him waiting for a few seconds, just long enough to make him nervous (what if Tom decided he didn’t want to fuck anymore, what if he was bored—) and then the hands on his hips pulled him down, slowly, but, oh, oh fuck, he was so big—

Harry exhaled sharply, fingers clenching the arms of the chair again. It burned, an overwhelming stretch already, but he breathed through it, carefully lowered under the guidance of Tom’s hands. He was hardly halfway down. He whimpered as Tom kissed his shoulder, and then suddenly his arse was on Tom’s lap, fully stuffed with cock. Tom’s hands rubbed his thighs, coaxing him to relax more. By the Gods, he could hardly breathe with Tom’s hands running up and down his tingling skin. He was so bare, so open, so full he swore he felt it in his chest.

“You’re doing so good, darling. You’re so perfect for me,” Tom’s voice cut through the slight haze fogging his brain and he jumped, squeezing around Tom in surprise. Tom groaned, soft and low, and Harry shivered at the sound.

“Thank you. Thank you, My Lord,” he replied. His voice was light and airy; Tom probably couldn’t even hear him. “Thank you so much, I—”

Tom shifted him slightly, grinding their hips together and Harry moaned, embarrassingly loud in the silence. His feet couldn’t reach the floor like this, could hardly reach the floor in this chair anyway, and he couldn’t help the desire that unfurled in his gut at the thought. Tom could do whatever he wanted to Harry and he’d be helpless against it.

Tom held Harry’s hips firmly, rocking their hips together. It was almost too much, no, it was too much. The lack of stimulation over the last day had left him sensitive and needy, and he could hardly take it. Anything — everything — felt like too much.

With Tom’s permission, he might come instantly. Without it, however, he knew he could endure this torture until Tom was satisfied with him. Tom had trained that into his very soul.

“Open up,” Tom said, and Harry opened his mouth. This time, Harry could recognise the dessert. A custard square, with the smoothest, creamiest custard he’d ever tasted. He chewed carefully, taking care to swallow only when Tom’s rocking was least distracting. He’d rather not choke on pastry right now. “Did you enjoy that?”

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice right now, but Tom plucked his nipples sharply through the fabric of his nightgown, hard enough Harry winced in pain.

“Answer out loud, please.” The please was only a formality drilled into Tom during his youth, hardly a notion of politeness. However, it did ease Harry’s nervousness enough for him to answer.

“I did, My Lord.” Any food was welcome after the lack of it all day. Perhaps Tom had left him hungry to fill him with desserts? The entire platter, just for him. There were too many, he’d never get through them.

But he did. The slow, careful grind of Tom’s hips as he fed Harry pastry after pastry kept him just out of reality while he ate. A meditative haze fell over him and he let himself sink into it, allowing himself to be carried away by Tom’s words and touches.

“Harry, darling.” Tom’s hands were warm and soft as they ran up and down Harry’s sides, hidden underneath the fabric of his nightgown.

“My-My Lord,” Harry stuttered out, but Tom shushed him quietly.

“You’ve done so well, darling,” Tom said, crooned even. “You’ve eaten all the pastries for me. Good boy.”

And oh, those words made him tremble. His head tilted back onto Tom’s shoulder, eyes closed in desire. Tom’s praise felt like the best reward of all, better than a platter full of desserts or an orgasm. He wanted Tom to recognise his good behaviour, to reward him like this all the time, stuffed full of cock and so blissfully out of it he could hardly focus on more than what Tom was doing to his body.

Tom’s hands wandered once more, brushing over his sensitive nipples until he was squirming and Tom’s cock was hardening inside him once more.

“My Lord,” he gasped, and then there were teeth at his neck, biting and sucking until stars danced across his eyes. He tilted his head to allow better access, grinding as best as he could to make sure Tom didn’t stop.

“You’re so perfect for me, darling,” Tom said into the fragile skin of Harry’s neck, where he was sure it was mottled in bruises. “So receptive to my touch.”

This position wasn’t quite enough for Tom to come from, but Harry wished it was. There was an intimacy to it that he longed for in those long hours before Tom came back. He wished Tom could stay with him forever.

“Turn around for me, I want you to ride me properly,” Tom’s voice was low, but Harry heard it clear enough. It wasn’t often he got to take the top position, for Tom was far more interested in dominating than being in any position with lesser control.

Harry’s stomach clenched as he realised just what this was; a reward.

Tom had to help him turn around, but Tom was strong, lifting Harry off with ease. He moaned weakly at the feeling of Tom slipping out of him, and wobbled as his feet found the floor. Tom looked wonderful, his cock hard and glistening with lubricant, his pupils an endless void betraying how turned on he was. He licked his lips and Harry’s eyes were drawn to Tom’s mouth as he climbed back on the chair, resting his knees on either side of Tom’s hips. Sliding back down, taking Tom’s cock once more, felt like coming home.

“Oh Merlin, My Lord,” he gasped, grabbing Tom’s shoulders for balance. Tom’s hands rubbed soothing circles onto his hips and his muscles relaxed under the attention. “Can you kiss me?”

One of Tom’s hands cupped Harry’s cheek, his eyes softening just a little.

“Of course, darling.”

Tom’s lips were smooth and warm, and his mouth tasted of the careful blankness it always tasted of. Harry’s hands slid around Tom’s shoulders, pulling them closer together and he started moving slowly as Tom licked into his mouth. This position gave him much more freedom to move, and as he gained confidence allowed himself to bounce faster. He didn’t dare change the angle to allow himself more pleasure, but what he had was almost enough already.

When Tom pulled away to moan, Harry knew he was doing well.

“Good boy, you like this don’t you?” Harry nodded eagerly and Tom smiled, kissed the corner of Harry’s mouth. Harry couldn’t help but increase his movements, thighs flexing as he rose and fell in Tom’s lap. “Yes~” Tom hissed, and Harry clenched around him, the subtle guttural note of parseltongue made him tremble.

Harry loved seeing Tom lose control. The high flush on his cheeks, the slight glaze over his eyes, the slight tremor in his fingers as he ran them over Harry’s hyper-aware skin. Tom did that now, hands slipping under the nightgown and rubbing up and down the length of Harry’s back, goosebumps erupting in their wake. Fuck, Tom’s touch, his little gasps as he grew closer and closer, the furrow between his brows, the way his lips parted were all too much. Harry almost sobbed when he accidentally leaned back as he rose, Tom’s cock brushing his prostate.

“Oh darling, you’re so good for me, taking my cock like this—” Filthy words spewed from Tom’s lips and Harry clenched in anticipation for the telltale tensing, the hot rush of fluid inside him.

Tom’s fingers found Harry’s hips and slammed him down prematurely, his head falling forward and sinking into the flesh of Harry’s shoulder so hard it ached, and Harry groaned as he felt Tom empty himself inside his body. 

“Fuck,” Tom whispered, finally letting go with his teeth, leaning his head on Harry’s aching shoulder. Harry stroked Tom’s hair gently as he caught his breath. His need was still there, but it wasn’t important. If Tom wanted him to come, all he needed to do was say the word.

“You’ve done so well for me, Harry,” Tom said, leaning back in the chair and bringing Harry with him, pulling him against his chest. “I want you to keep yourself tied up for me. I want to try something.”

His strong, large hands gripped Harry’s thighs, lifting him up, and Harry quickly grabbed Tom’s collar as he stood, cock slipping out and leaving him empty. Tom walked them over to Harry’s nest of a bed, where Tom dropped him right in the middle of the nest of blankets Harry slept in. His stomach curled as he watched Tom tuck away his cock, and clenched as he felt himself leak onto the bed. Luckily, Tom was always kind enough to clean his bed after they finished together, erasing the evidence except that which remained in Harry’s body. He liked knowing Harry was carrying around his seed while doing his daily routine; Tom was perverse like that.

“I want to know if you can come untouched for me. Do you think you can, even with your cock tied up all prettily like that?” Harry knew he could. Tom had taught him well. He nodded.

Tom pushed Harry’s smooth legs up and Harry grabbed the backs of his knees, keeping himself exposed to Tom’s hungry eyes. He flushed as more come slipped out of his hole and Tom scooped it up, shoving it back inside. Harry moaned quietly and Tom smiled. His smile was pretty.

“I want you to stay like this, no matter what,” Tom warned, and Harry nodded. He’d managed it before, he could do it again. If he didn’t keep his legs up, he wouldn’t get to come. “Perfect.”

Tom renewed the lubrication spell and Harry shivered at the cool, wet feeling inside him. Tom’s fingers glistened obscenely in the candlelight. Tom ducked down, kneeling on the floor, and Harry looked up at the canopy roof, breath freezing in his chest as he anxiously waited for the first touch. He didn’t have to wait long, Tom’s finger pressed against him soon after, slick and chilly against his rim. Tom didn’t have to work very hard to slip inside, Harry was still loose from their previous fuck.

The first touch was so much more than he could handle and he turned his head, biting into the pillow next to him. Fuck, he didn’t think he’d last long, not with the way Tom had made him so receptive to any stimulation here. It didn’t take Tom’s searching finger long to find his prostate, and when he did Harry threw his head back, fingers already shaking, digging deep into the flesh of his thigh.

No, he wouldn’t last long at all.

Tom didn’t press very hard, instead using such teasing, light touches that Harry could scarcely breathe. He couldn’t focus on anything beyond Tom’s finger and the press of his teeth into the pillow, Tom’s smooth, low voice fading in and out in the background.

“Darling, you’re doing so well for me.” Tom was saying, voice like a prayer, “You’re taking it so well, you always take me so well. Such a good boy.”

Harry whined, pressing his face harder into the pillow. Gods, Tom’s mouth killed him, all the filthy words he spewed sending him deeper into the haze that rapidly encroached his brain once more. His fingers were slipping on his thighs, palms sweating, and when he adjusted his grip and held them tighter Tom finally stopped teasing, pressing harder into his prostate than he had before, free hand pulling the ribbon loose.

“—Come for me, my darling boy—”

Blood rushed through his ears, and Tom’s sinful litany disappeared entirely, and Harry’s back arched as he moaned, long and loud, come drooling out of his cock and pooling onto his stomach. Tom didn’t stop, a practised thumb rubbing Harry’s perineum as well. Harry could hardly see, his vision blurring until he could do nothing but close his eyes.

“Fantastic,” Tom’s voice was rough with want, and Harry gasped as he came back to himself at the sound of it. “You can take more, can’t you?”

“Yes,” said, though he didn’t have much faith in himself. His thighs trembled and his palms were now slick with sweat. His chest rose and fell with every deep breath. He both wanted more and wanted to run away so badly— 

But he didn’t move from his position, he wouldn’t let himself give in to the urge, no matter how much his fingers tingled and his head spun.

“Please, please,” he whimpered, though he couldn’t figure out what he was asking.

Tom didn’t stop, touching him so expertly he couldn’t do anything but beg for it. Harry’s cock didn’t stop leaking, droplets of white come constantly ing in thick globs. Harry couldn’t feel his fingers or toes, his vision blurrier than ever, even with his glasses on.

It wasn’t long before Harry’s eyes rolled back, body trembling all over as another orgasm hit, rolling over the end of the last one. He was sure his legs would have dark purple bruises tomorrow, but now it was all he could do to prevent himself collapsing entirely.

“Good boy. I’ll stop here for you darling,” Tom was saying as he came back to himself once more and he fell back into the blankets, feet almost touching the floor as he let his legs go. His cock let out a futile twitch and his body jumped as Tom pressed once more against his prostate. He moaned weakly and longed to curl right up into himself, to sleep for days.

To have Tom take care of him.

“You were so good for me,” Tom said, and their eyes met. Tom was still handsome even though Harry’s eyes couldn’t focus, and he let out a pained whimper as Tom ran a hand along his thigh, reigniting his shakes. “I’m so proud.”

Harry couldn’t do anything but lie there, and move his head the tiniest bit in response, but Tom seemed happy enough with him anyway.

Tom’s cleaning spells were always strange, fuzzy almost, and the way they tickled today was too much.

“Sorry.” Tom didn’t sound very sorry but Harry couldn’t muster the words to argue with him, no matter how weak his arguments always were. He let out a vague sound, something between a whimper and a groan.

When Tom settled beside him, fingers curling in Harry’s hair, he couldn’t help but nuzzle into it, demanding more. The careful, gentle stimulus was enough to relax him, and his eyes closed, sleep overtaking him.

[clansayeed]

WIP Wednesday ft. Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 7

WORD COUNT: 1,160 RATING: Mature (this series is rated MATURE for graphic violence and adult content) FEAT: Nadya Al Jamil (MC), Jax Matsuo, Serafine Dupont CONTENT WARNINGS: language, spoilers for book 5

NOTE: Because I feel so bad about having to put book 5 on hiatus again, here’s a treat for WIP Wednesday! It’s not much, but any more would have been too many spoilers and I wanted to keep the suspense.

So enjoy this little snippet from the middle of Chapter 7 in the mean time, and once again I wanted to thank everyone who has been so supportive during this hiatus!

Bound by Destiny II, part 2 Chapter 7 releases February 10th!        *Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Check out the first 4 books in the Oblivion Bound series, linked below!

⥼ ABOUT OBLIVION BOUND ⥽ | ⥼ FIC MASTERLIST ⥽

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby, @tayab12, @saratustra4​, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists​, @thepotatobleh​

“I still can’t believe you just called the guy up.”

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

“Ah, oui. I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage did exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though.

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them. With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.

As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made “much of an impression” on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired quirks too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to volunteer before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.” Serafine had explained. “Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been famously dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost nervous glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t not do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power not to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

[cuddlepilefics]

16.    A Christmas Alone

Fandom: GOT7

Sickie: Mark

Caregiver: -

This is about the first Christmas since the group has moved into a dorm together. Might be a bit sad….

 This is the first Christmas Mark would be spending away from home. He had moved into a dorm with his group members. Sadly, unlike them, he couldn’t travel home to his family because they just lived too far apart. Mark was dreading Christmas, he dreaded it every year. At some point growing up, he had established his own little Christmas tradition. Each year without fail, he would catch a stomach bug and be miserable when all he wanted to do was celebrate with his family. When it had happened the fifth year in a row, his siblings had decorated a bucket with holiday-themed stickers as a Christmas gift. Of course, none of his new friends knew about Mark’s tradition and he didn’t want them to. They were all going to visit their families and he didn’t want them to worry about him. He was the oldest after all.

While other people roamed the stores for treats and last-minute gifts, Mark’s Christmas shopping included electrolyte drinks, painkillers and antacids. He doubted that just because he was at a different place than usual, his fate would be different. Though he for sure hoped to be spared this time. At home he was ok with getting sick, he had his whole family around him. They’d take care of him and ensure he’d enjoy the celebrations despite being sick. Here he would be alone.

The members all said their goodbyes, hugging each other tight in the living room, wishing each other a Merry Christmas before heading out to make their separate journeys home. When the evening approached, Mark was alone, the members had one by one trickled out, leaving the dorm unusually quiet. Having dinner by himself, the food didn’t seem as appetizing as it usually would but the rapper decided that was simply because he was eating alone which he wasn’t used to at all. He scrolled through Netflix and got comfortable on the couch. Turning on his go to Christmas movie ‘Home Alone’ he started to get a little emotional and soon turned the TV off. Lacking any distraction that would take his mind off of having to spend Christmas by himself, the rapper went to bed early.

As luck would have it, he didn’t stay asleep for too long, waking up in the middle of the night to his stomach cramping. Unable to go back to sleep, Mark cursed his fate before untangling himself from the sheets. With one arm wrapped tightly around his upset middle, he limped to the kitchen, turning on the kettle to fix himself a hot-water bottle. As he waited for the water to boil, he put some rice into the rice cooker, setting a timer for the device to turn-off when the rice was done. He wanted to have some plain rice ready, if he felt up to eating anything by the morning, so he’d better prepare everything now as long as he still could. You could call it foresight or simply yearlong experience but Mark was almost certain he would not be able to make himself food tomorrow. When the water boiled, he quickly poured it into the hot-water bottle and went back to his bedroom, grabbing a bucket from their closet containing cleaning supplies and took it with him as well. With the bucket next to his bed, he curled up around his hot-water bottle and tried to ignore the cramps, hoping to just go back to sleep.

Having managed to get a few more hours of restless sleep, Mark woke up in cold sweat to the churning of his stomach. He took a few deep breaths through his nose to settle the worsening nausea. It only seemed to be getting worse, so he carefully got out of bed and shakily made his way to the bathroom. He would not use the bucket as long as he still managed to get his sorry ass to the bathroom in time because he’d have to clean the bucket out afterwards and he was certain he wouldn’t manage that without throwing up again. Kneeling in front of the toilet, the rapper stared into the undisturbed waters. He knew the drill by now, so he knew that hoping the nausea would just pass was useless, it wouldn’t. Shivering in his sweat-through sleepshirt, he wrapped his arms around his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut against the cramp that rippled across his abdomen. If he was still younger and if he was still at home, he would’ve woken his mother at that point but he wasn’t. He had a job, he had moved out from his parents and he could handle himself.

Mark had no idea how long he had sat there anticipating. He only knew that he was freezing and the shivering didn’t do enough to warm him. Carefully pushing himself up with one hand against the wall, he grabbed his shower towel off the hook and wrapped it around his shoulders tightly before sitting back down. Apparently, his stomach had disliked the movement and Mark was barely back in front of the toilet when his throat contracted with a gag. Despite not bringing anything up, the young idol could taste last night’s dinner at the back of his tongue. It only hit him now, that this was all really happening. He was sick with his yearly bug and he was alone. Nobody was there or even knew that he felt miserable. His members probably didn’t even think about leaving him behind, too excited to see their families again. Mark didn’t blame them, he’d be too, if he got a chance to visit them. Suddenly feeling lonelier than he had in his life, the tears started to spill from his eyes while he made no attempt to stop them. Who should see him cry anyways.

Mark’s silent crying soon turned into frustrated sobs, which sent his feeble stomach over the edge. A sob turned into a forceful retch that brought up a small trickle of stomach acid. With his throat on fire, the rapper braced himself against the toilet rim, mouth watering as his stomach contracted again and a gush of semi-digested food shot up his throat. His knuckles turned white as he choked for a few seconds. Barely able to catch his breath, Mark brought up two waves back to back as his knuckles turning white from the strain as he held onto the toilet rim for dear life. Gasping for air, he quickly spits into the bowl to get rid of the foul taste, hoping he’d get his stomach to calm down if the taste was gone. He hadn’t eaten for hours, how could he even bring anything up? After two more, much smaller waves, he was officially empty but his stomach just didn’t want to accept that. His body mercilessly tried to throw up more than I had in him to begin with, dry heaves tearing at the rapper’s throat. If anything ever came up, it was just a small dribble of bile, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue which inevitably triggered another heave. Mark just wished, he had forced himself to eat more yesterday because throwing up is one thing, he could handle that but dry heaving is so much painfuller.

The heaves died down eventually and Mark weakly leaned back against the bathroom wall, drying his tears and picking up the towel that had slipped off his shoulders. His sweaty shirt stuck to his back, yet he still felt cold. With his head spinning dizzily, the rapper forced himself to stand up on shaky legs. He knew if he wanted to feel warm again, he’d have to get changed. With the image of his favorite sweater in mind, he clutched the sink, fumbling with one hand to get toothpaste onto his toothbrush. His view of the bathroom kept tilting sideways, so he closed the toilet lid, plopping down to sit while he quickly brushed his teeth, just thorough enough to remove the bitter taste.

Mark was fighting a battle in his mind, he knew he had to stay hydrated and should go grab himself a bottle of water on the way back to his room but all he wanted was to put on a hoodie and crawl into bed. As much as it sucked, the rapper forced himself to take a detour to the kitchen before shuffling back to his room. He pealed off his sticky shirt and replaced it with his favorite hoodie. It was one of Jackson’s old hoodies, the Chinese had grown out of it and had passed it on to Mark because the older found it looked cool, that was only a few months after they moved into a room together. You couldn’t say the two were close, yet Jackson was probably Mark’s closest friend here in Korea and wearing his old sweater brought Mark a sense of comfort. Sitting down on his bed, Mark took a few careful sips from his water before recapping it and putting the bottle onto the nightstand. He made sure the bucket was still close-by as he laid down again, closing his eyes to sleep off as much of this bug as he could.

He slept fitfully on and off for a few hours, till he was awoken again by the loud ringing of his phone. Initially he wanted to ignore it and go back to sleep but when he found the caller’s ID to be his mother, he quickly picked up. Placing the phone on the pillow next to his ear, Mark closed his eyes again.

“Hey sweetie. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, mom!” Wow, he only noticed now how strained his voice sounded.

“Hey, did you get sick again?”

“Mhm, just last night after the others left.”

“How bad is it? Are you holding up alright by yourself?”

“I’m ok. After the first bathroom session I slept mostly.”

“Remember to stay hydrated, sweetie and I know you probably don’t want to but try to eat something once in a while. You’re already so skinny.”

“I promise, I’m taking care of myself, mom. I prepared some rice last night, when it all started, I’ll try to have some later. It just doesn’t feel safe right now.”

“Alright, I now you’re already my big boy. It just makes me sad that you’re hurting and not here with us. Should I let you sleep some more?”

“Please. Can we talk again later?”

“Whenever and how often you want, baby. We can also have a videocall tonight if you want to and feel up to it.”

“Yes please. I miss you. All of you.”

“We miss you too. Rest well and get better for us, yeah? I love you.”

“Mhm. Love you too, mom.”

And with that the call ended. Mark’s mom was obviously and understandably worried though she tried so hard to not let it show in her voice. Sure, at the back of her head she knew her son was well capable of taking care of himself but he was still her little baby.

After the call ended, Mark couldn’t go back to sleep. The nausea had returned with full vengeance and he curled into himself whimpering. He didn’t consider going to the bathroom because first of all, he was empty and second, moving seemed like an impossible task right now. Cradling his sore middle with one arm, he fished the bucket off of the ground, hugging it to his chest as he removed the arm around his stomach to prop himself up. As soon as he was upright, a breathy burp escaped his lips and he cringed at the thought of what was to come. The first gag immediately brought up the small amount of water he had consumed earlier, the sound of it splashing into the plastic bucket seemed way to loud for Mark’s liking. He was starting to get a bit dehydrated, resulting in a pounding headache which was aggravated as he retched dryly over the bucket in his lap. Once in a while a thin spurt of stomach acid would come up but other than that he was empty.

What seemed like an eternity to Mark later, the whole ordeal finally came to an end. By now, his head was pounding mercilessly while he slumped over the bucket, any strength he had had zapped. It took a few minutes and deep breaths for the rapper to settle his stomach enough to even consider moving. Despite just wanting to flop back down into his pillows, this wasn’t an option and the young idol had to go clean out his sick bucket. He made his way to the bathroom, swaying as he held himself up against the wall. He only had to heave into the bucket once on the way there and nothing came up, so he considered this a success. There was not much to clean out and he soon fought his way back to his room, the thought of laying down giving him the strength to continue.

Putting the bucket next to his bed again, he reached under his bed and pulled out an electrolyte drink he had bought in wise foresight. He forced himself to down at least half of it, either it would help him rehydrate and ease the headache or the next round of throwing up wouldn’t be as painful, because he had something he could bring up. Either way it would be a win. Curling back up under his blanket, Mark hugged himself both in an attempt to ease the feverish shivers and to feel less lonely. He felt awful and all he wanted was for someone to be with him. Of course, his family would be his first choice but at this point he’d take literally any of his new friends. As long as there was someone and he wouldn’t have to go through this alone. Tears stung his eyes and he let the flow freely. How he envied his friends for being able to be with their loved ones while he was here all by himself and to top it off: sick. He doubted his members even spared him a single thought as they enjoyed their Christmas celebrations with their tradition, as Mark struggled through his own tradition. Being feverish and exhausted, it didn’t take long for the young idol to cry himself to sleep, unaware that his phone was blowing up with loving Christmas wishes and missed calls from his friends, which as the hours passed turned into numerous concerned messages in their group chat as they realized that no one was able to get a hold of their oldest hyung.

Mark would have some explaining to do when he woke up again and maybe he’d realize that there were people, apart of his family, that sincerely cared about him and who were currently going crazy with worry and guilt for leaving him by himself.

[ddaengyoonmin]

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Sci-fi !au; Enemies to lovers!au

Warning: possibly triggering for claustrophobia; swearing, family problems, handjob, fingering, unprotected sex, light biting, hickeys, dirty talk.

A/N: oh my gosh so this was so fun to write. Like just imagine being trapped in such a small space with such a fine man 😩 there’s a lot of dialogue because there isn’t much in the way of scenery but I tried my best to let the reader get a visual on the setting 💜 hope you guys like it! Let me know if you do!!!

Word count: 5.3k

Summary:

Life on this fickle planet a constant fight to survive. Temperatures that fluctuate from freezing to burning up in a single day.  Lifeforms on this planet are built to adjust to the boiling heat but when night comes...and the icy wind blows through the buildings, if you aren’t indoors you’re a goner.   So when your family kicks you out right before nightfall, they had basically left you for dead.  Frantically you run around the streets to get into one of the small heating pods that the city leaves out for emergencies, but with the rate of homelessness going up in your town, just as you feared they were all taken.  At the last second as the nightly alarm sounded telling everyone temperatures were about to hit deadly you see an empty pod! At full speed you jump inside and shut the door, unfortunately some rude man jumped in at the same time as you. You both are equally as annoyed with the other for having to share such an already cramped space.  Now you have to spend an entire night alone with this stranger while you wait for the heat to come again.  He's actually pretty cute...maybe this won't be so bad?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The heavy metal door to your home was literally just slammed in your face. 

“You never carry your weight anymore y/n.  You don’t help with rent, and you never cook.  You might as well be homeless” your brother was shouting at you as you were getting thrown out of your home. 

Your whole body felt numb and your fists were clenched so tightly you felt that you might break your knuckles. 

“I’ll die out here!” you screamed. 

“You’ll find a pod with the other homeless people y/n” you could see through the small round glass window that was eye level on the door that your brother was rolling his eyes.

“And if I don’t I’ll die! You realize that right? How could you do that to your own sister?” you huffed. 

“Should’ve thought of that before you became a deadbeat” he glared, and then slid the metal cover to the window so that you couldn’t see him anymore. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening.  Here on Mercury, every night it gets so cold that you’d literally turn into an ice statues within seconds of the cold hitting.  It seemed to come almost on schedule, shifting slightly with the seasons but the town hall always sounded out a 5 minute warning every night. 

The cold could literally be seen creeping up over the horizon line and into the city as soon as the sun set.  A giant foggy blizzard that would wipe out anything in its path. 

You’d encountered some of the unfortunate victims of the cold many times in your life.  By the time you’d see them they’d been thawed and it was always a gruesome sight. 

Your mother would point and say “That’s why you never go out at night.  No matter what.  The cold will eat you alive, it’s like a monster” 

You shivered just at the thought. 

The city provided a limited number of emergency pods for those who might somehow find themselves on the streets at night.  You’d heard they were becoming scarce compared to the population of homeless that needed them to survive the night. 

The pods were a hard metal with insulation and heating inside that could withstand the freezing night.  They were extremely small and laid down with a twin bed size mattress inside, that fit snugly without any more space than that.  In height if you were laying down you couldn’t even extend your hands fully up to the sky.  It seemed like you’d feel pretty claustrophobic inside of it, but it was your only option. 

The sun was almost set and you were in survival mode now. You ran from where your former home is and started to search the streets for an open pod.  

If it was unclaimed the hatch would be up in the air and a green light would be shining on the outside. 

Closed, red light, next one...closed and red light...and so on down the road. 

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath.  This is not good. 

You try to go down another street and check, all full just like before. 

The five minute warning alarm started to ring loudly, startling you and making you realize your situation was becoming more and more hopeless.  You were too panicked to even cry.  

Then, like a glowing holy grail that you could practically see a heavenly shimmering light shining down on, (maybe it was just a street light…) You saw an open pod.  Hatch Open.  Green light. 

You ran at full speed towards it, jumping and sliding in like a baseball player sliding into home plate. 

Instantly as you had performed that acrobatic maneuver another person seemed to have the same idea and had slid in right along side of you, shutting the door behind him. 

His chest was heaving and he seemed to be in a sweat.  

“Fuck that was close, wait-” he suddenly realized now that you were in there with him. “Shit.  Oh my god what are you doing in here?” his eyes widened with confusion. 

“I should ask you the same thing?” you yelled annoyed.  “I was here first! Go get your own, I can barely be comfortable here alone” 

Just as you said that the automatic locks on the pod clicked shut, meaning that it was time for the deadly blizzard to hit, and you wouldn’t be allowed to leave the pod until morning. 

“God. Damnit” you groaned. 

Frost started to creep over the large clear window that the two of you were staring up with and freezing over and making you blind to the outside world, with a crackling sound that made you nauseous with worry.  This was your first time in a pod, and in your home you’d never heard the popping and snapping of everything in the town freezing over in an instant.  You had to remind yourself that you were safe in this pod. 

There was no room to sit up, only enough room to maybe lift your arms up a bit with your elbows only slightly lifted from your sides. It was so cramped and you could feel the man next to you now pressed against your side. 

“You have like at least  six inches of room you could move over to, you know.” you turned your head and glared at him. 

He simply just scoffed and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly and bumping his elbow against you as he did. 

“Oh my god.  I’m stuck here with an asshole” you muttered to yourself. 

“Maybe don’t call the asshole an asshole out loud. He can hear you” he narrowed his eyes at you. 

“I meant for you to hear.” 

There was silence for the next ten minutes.  You knew you weren’t going to be sleeping tonight, this guy could be a total creep, so you couldn’t risk it. 

He on the other hand was relaxing with his eyes closed.  You looked him over for a bit trying to figure out a little bit about the stranger next to you, He seemed about your age, he was actually quite attractive, though him being a rude asshole kind of ruined that thought for you.  His hair was jet black, and actually seemed to be styled well considering the running he probably had to do to get to the pod.  His clothes were nice, black jeans and a clean expensive looking royal blue hoodie, with a black t-shirt peeking out from underneath it.  So he probably wasn’t homeless you deduced from these observations. 

How did he end up out here at night? Wrong place wrong time? Kicked out of home like you were? That would be a crazy coincidence.  

Out of nowhere his leg spread out to the side and his foot kicked your foot. 

“Watch it!” you snapped. 

“Deal with it” he said in a high pitched mocking tone. 

“I’m sorry are you six years old?” you replied appalled at his immaturity. 

He opened his eyes and sent an annoyed look your way. 

“Look, we can’t do anything about this situation, but the least you could do is be considerate.”  You scolded

“When are you gonna stop talking and let me get some sleep” he groaned and proceeded to stretch out even more, starting to push you into the wall of the pod, squishing you tightly against it. 

You gasped and tried to push back but to no avail, he was stronger than you and obviously lacked any sort of common courtesy for others. 

It was now more of a 75/25 split of space in the pod with him hogging all of the space.  You realized that you’d have to stoop to his level if you wanted to regain some ground here in the pod.

He was playing childish games, so could you.  Though you did debate for a second on whether this could pan out badly, you decided...fuck it. 

You reached a hand up towards his neck, the only spot on him currently showing skin, and you pinched him hard. 

“OW. What the fuck.” His hand shot up to his neck, accidentally hitting his knuckles hard on the ceiling of the pod as he did. 

“Move over” you demanded. 

“Or you’ll pinch me again? You psycho!” he stared at you in shock as if he wasn’t the one who started it.  His face was growing red with rage directed at you and he pinched you back on the arm, making you yelp loudly. 

“How do you like it huh?” 

“What the actual hell man.  Just move over and give me equal space so we can cut this out.”

He sighed and reluctantly moved over just slightly, definitely not giving you half the space, but you were going to take this small victory for now. 

It was about another thirty minutes before you spoke again.  He seemed to be feeling quite comfortable, while you on the other hand were still pressed tightly against the padded side of the pod.  You could turn on your side to give your upper body more room, but usually if you slept on your side you’d curl your legs up slightly to be comfortable, and that was definitely not possible right now. 

“Hey.” you poked him in the shoulder. 

His eyes flickered open to glance at you, then shut again. 

“Hello?” you tried again, poking him harder. 

He ignored you, but he was obviously awake and it now had got you fuming. 

“You still have all the room” you growled. 

He stayed still on his back, his eyes closed and his face relaxed, a small smirk now forming on his lips. “Hmm. Maybe you could lay on top of me and that could give us a little more room” 

That earned him a hard smack to the shoulder, and he was lucky he was wearing a sweatshirt cuz it would’ve probably stung if he wasn’t. 

“Pervert!” you gasped at him. 

“Not a pervert, just trying to be...innovative” he grinned widely. 

You shake your head in disbelief at this odd person. 

“You are probably the rudest man I’ve ever met in my life” you grumbled. 

“Ah, Is my award in the mail?” he joked, finally opening his eyes and staring at you with a teasing look. 

You took a deep breath in and out a few times, trying to calm yourself down so you don’t completely try to choke out this man. Just about 8 more hours and you’ll be rid of him, you tried to tell yourself, as if that wasn’t an eternity to be trapped in such a tight enclosure with this piece of work. 

“Having trouble breathing? You’re being loud” he complained. 

“Just trying convince myself I’d rather not go to jail for murder tonight.” you hissed out at him. 

He chuckled at that, of course he did.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.  But there are some that might thank you”

“Why does that not surprise me” 

The two of you sat in silence again for a while, until he actually scooted himself away from you a few more inches. 

“THANK YOU” you practically screamed. 

“Geeze, you’re annoying” he reached his hands up holding his ears, wincing as if you’d deafened him. 

Your eyes were narrow slits staring at him now. 

A few more minutes of silence.

“I can’t seem to sleep with you right there all obnoxious and whatnot, so...for the sake of boredom.  What’s your name sweetheart?” He turned over onto his side facing you, his shoulder only a few inches from the ceiling of the pod. 

“Well its most certainly not sweetheart so wipe that one from your vocabulary immediately please” you snapped. 

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Ah It seems I’ve hit a nerve there.” 

“Not really, it’s just stupid to asume that you can talk to a girl so flirtatiously when you’ve been nothing but a jerk so far.”  

“So what can I call you?” 

“Y/n…” you gave it up, though you didn’t quite want to.  You crossed your arms over your chest and stared straight up to the bland grey nothingness on the ceiling of the pod. 

“Aren’t you going to ask for my name?” he said cutely, but in a way that you knew he was just trying to get under your skin. 

You’d been here with him for about an hour, and he was already up there on one of the most annoying people you’d ever encountered.  Maybe you were extra sensitive because of the whole family leaving you for dead thing, but that’s not the worst excuse to be on edge is it? And he was the one who was rude first, you were simply returning the attitude he had entered the pod with. 

You didn’t quite feel like trying to play nice all of the sudden just because he had gotten bored.

“I’m Yoongi” he said pointing at himself, as if you needed to know where the voice that was mere inches away from you had come from. 

“Didn’t ask” 

“I know I just figured I knew yours now, so we’re even”

“Kay.” you continued avoiding looking his way. 

“Aw c’mon.  I was just upset to have to share the pod.  I’ve calmed down I’ll be good” he spoke in a sickenly sweet tone as if that could persuade you to forget how much of a dick he had been. 

“y/n-ah” he whined cutely. 

“Oh my god, I regret telling my name” you groaned finally turning to look at him. “What do you want?” 

“I’m just bored, I’m usually in a pod by myself and just sleep, but I can’t seem to sleep...and you’re here so…” He shrugged. 

You sighed. “So uh...you sleep in pods often?” maybe you had misjudged him by his nice clothes. 

“For the past month or so I have been” his eyes widened and he felt he needed to add, “I have a home though! I’m not one of those homeless deadbeats.  My new job is just too far to get home to usually, so on the days I work late I have to hop in one of these” 

You were silent for a moment before speaking, “Oh.  Well, I am one of those homeless ‘deadbeats’ so that's great to hear your thoughts on that” you frowned.  Slightly embarrassed now, not that you wanted to impress him or anything, but the idea that this was your new reality and this was how you’d be thought of was sinking in hard as he spoke those words. 

“Shit, uh-” he thought for a moment, trying to come up with a was to back pedal from what he’d said. - “I didn’t mean it like that.  I didn’t think...You just don’t seem like…” he stuttered out. 

“Its fine.  It's actually my first day of this lifestyle.” you motioned to the entirety of the pod as best you could. 

Yoongi pursed his lips and seemed to have gotten more serious, “Oh, Can I ask what happened?” 

You honestly didn’t really want to talk about it with him, but you did want to vent to someone about it, and he was here so, as was becoming the theme for the night...fuck it. 

“I lost my job about a year ago and moved back home with my parents and brother.  My brother is a doctor and the apple of my parent’s eye.  They’d said they would help me get back on my feet.  But, uh.  I just couldn’t seem to get there.  It’s not that I’m lazy” you frowned, Yoongi was surprisingly listening intently and nodding as you spoke.   “Well, maybe I could’ve done a bit more to find work.  I just struggled a lot with getting my shit together.  So I guess they decided they’d had enough.  So here I am” 

Yoongi’s eyes were wide in disbelief “They just left their own child to the night?” 

“Not everyones got a perfect family” you shrugged acting like it was no big deal.  When the reality was you were trying your best to hold back tears and not cry in front of this stranger you were confiding in for some reason. 

“Yeah, I feel that.  I didn’t mean to sound judgemental.” he said apologetically.  “And sorry I was being a dick to you.  I don’t do well with new people, and I’ve had a shit day...not as bad as yours though, so...sorry if I made it worse,” 

You were taken aback by his out of character apology.  He now drastically seemed to differ from the man who first hopped into the pod with you. 

“Its..okay.  I won’t hold it against you I guess” you smiled a bit and turned on your side to face him.  He had to maneuver a bit so that you both could lay comfortably face to face, this time he didn’t make it a hassle which was a relief to you. 

The two of you ended up chatting for the next couple hours.  You learned that Yoongi worked at a large factory that did welding, and helped make the pods, and metal that went on the outside of the houses in the city.  He was an only child to parents that lived in another town that was a lot poorer, and he had moved here by himself which was quite the difficult task due to having only about 12 hours to get to the next place where a pod was or risk death.  Even now he risked every night that he might not find a pod and be stuck on the streets after a late work shift.  He did all of that just so he could send money back to his parents. 

It really changed how you thought of him now, he wasn’t as cold, immature and uncaring as he’d first portrayed himself. 

You realized now the nicer you found him to be, the more his very apparent attractiveness was affecting you. 

You couldn’t help but have your gaze accidentally leave his eyes while he spoke, and travel to his lips.  Feeling yourself getting lost in how soft they looked, how much they looked like they’d feel amazing to kiss. 

Yoongi was now taking off his sweatshirt and was going to use it to prop his head up a bit while the two of you continued talking. 

As he took it off, his black t-shirt underneath slipped up slightly and you were able to see his beautiful pale skinned stomach, toned, with a slight v-line pointing down into his jeans.  Small tufts of hair also leading in a trail so your gaze traveled further down that direction, almost as if there was a big flashing sign that said ‘LOOK HERE’. And that you did, biting your lip as you felt a tingle hit right in your lower stomach at the sight. 

Yoongi pulled his shirt down as soon as his sweatshirt was off, but you didn’t look away fast enough and you’d been caught checking him out.

You quickly snapped your eyes back up to his face, a slight embarrassment now forming on your face. 

Yoongi smirked, knowing exactly what you’d been doing.  

“Want me to just ignore that I saw that?” he snickered. 

You couldn’t quite find the words to explain yourself, a series of um’s and sorry’s awkwardly spilling out of your mouth. 

“No need to be sorry, I’m hot. I know it.” he winked.  

There’s that cocky man that hopped into the pod with you.   This time you were less bothered by his overconfidence, because...well, he wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah, Um...you really are” you said embarrassed and not believing that you were admitting that to his face.

“You’re hot too you know.” he smiled mischievously. “What are the odds two attractive people like us get stuck together like this” 

Your face was now burning hot at that compliment.  You didn’t think you were by any standard as hot as him. 

“Shit, don’t get all awkward about it, I’m just being honest and stating the facts” he laughed. 

“I’m not though” you whispered. 

“For real? Your last boyfriend didn’t tell you every day how hot you were? I would.” he stated.  

“Uh, no” you stammered awkwardly “I haven’t dated since highschool and I wasn’t quite the catch” 

“Doubt it” Yoongi said with another smirk “And I’m not just saying that cuz you threatened to kill me earlier” he chuckled

“Well...thanks” you spoke shyly. 

Yoongi was now moving closer to you, your faces somehow ever closer than the two of you already were in this cramped space. 

“I like your nose” he smiled and booped you with one finger. 

Your eyes widened and you got even more bashful.  “Ah, no, I’ve always hated my nose”

“But it’s so cute!” he grinned widely.  

What the hell is happening.  How did your night become this.  And why do you never want it to stop.  This asshole that you hated, now knows everything about your situation, and he’s still sitting here complimenting you.  Maybe he just realized it’s better to be on good terms since you’d still be stuck here together for about 5 more hours. 

“Your nose is cuter” you decided to say in return.  What’s the harm? And you were just stating the facts.

“Your lips are cute” he replied a bit softer. 

“Your eyes are cute” you countered, somehow this was now turning into a game. 

“Your voice is cute” 

“Your smile is cute” 

“Your laugh is cute”

“Your...everything is cute” you giggled. 

“I want to fuck you.” he whispered, his eyes now glued to your lips. 

You inhaled sharply in surprise. 

“Y-you w-what?” 

“You heard me” he tilted his head up with confidence as he looked you up and down. 

You stared silently and eyes wide as saucers at him. 

“You don’t want to?” he cocked an eyebrow up at you. 

“I-It’s not that I don’t want to...it’s just, we just met you know?” 

“Can you think of a better way to kill the next 5 hours?” 

“If it’s just out of boredom that’s gonna be a no from me” you scoffed, realizing that maybe he really wasn’t attracted to you, and was just flattering you for fun. 

“Well, honestly, yeah, it’s mostly boredom.  But, also you’re really fucking hot and I’ve been hard for the past hour and I usually jack off when I’m in here.  So either you just turn the other way while I do that, or…” he grinned at you as he brought a hand up to brush your cheek gently and seductively. 

What was tonight’s theme again? Oh yeah...fuck it.

You were closing the space between your lips and his in an instant.  Your hand grabbing the back of his neck as you pulled him into frantic kisses.  You could feel him smiling into your lips, pleased with his victory. 

You felt one of his hands start to cup your breast, squeezing slightly before stopping to slip his hand up your shirt to feel you completely.  He took his thumb and index finger and started to roll your hard nipple between them, pinching slightly every once in a while causing a loud moan from you into his mouth. 

He seemed to like the noises you were making, trying to repeat movements that caused you to be the most vocal. 

You pushed on his chest with your hands slightly, silently asking him to give you some space so you could just take your shirt and bra off completely.  He happily obliged, staring at you with eager eyes as you undressed yourself. 

You then tugged at the hem of his black t-shirt, requesting that he do the same.  He smiled and pulled his t- shirt over his head.  You could now fully see him in all his glory, his body was so perfect and just the sight of that v-line and happy trail again had your core start to grow wet with arousal. 

“Fuck.  You’re so…” you put a hand to his chest, sliding your fingertips down lightly, causing him to shiver under your touch. 

He bit his lip, his eyes on your chest as well. 

Your hands had reached the button on his jeans and you found yourself scurrying to unbutton them as fast as you could.  

Yoongi pulled you in close as you did, planting heavy kisses on your jaw and then your neck. 

You finally achieved what you’d been after, pulling his jeans and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free and rest against his abdomen.  You wet your lips at the sight. 

“I wish I could...taste you, I don’t think I’ll be able to position myself to though” you pouted in disappointment.  This small space was really making things difficult. 

“Just touch me” he muttered, kissing your neck more and grabbing at your tits. 

You did as he said, wrapping a hand tightly around the base of his shaft.  

He jerked forward slightly into your touch and let out a small whimper at the feeling of you.  

“I want you so fucking badly y/n” he murmured into your ear, then bit down lightly on your lobe. 

Now it was your turn to whimper with pleasure.  

Your hand started to move up and down stroking Yoongi, he groaned lowly when you made your way to the tip, tightening your hand around him as you stroked up and down. 

You stop for a moment and unbutton your pants, slipping your hand down to your soaking core, and tried to gather as much wet as you could on your hand, then grabbing onto Yoongi again. 

His eyes bugged out at the sight of you covering him with your wetness. 

“Holy shit t-that was h-hot” he moaned as you started pumping his cock now lubricated with your wetness, making your hand glide smoothly around him.   

His whole body would lunge forward slightly when your thumb pressed along the underside of his cock and up the tip.  

He pressed his lips into yours hungrily as you continued,  your tongues meeting inside of your mouth. 

His hand was now making its way into your jeans, pulling them down slightly and slipping his hand in past the fabric of your panties.  Two fingers were moving along your slit, and Yoongi growled excited when he felt how wet you were. 

“You’re really enjoying yourself hm?” he grinned against your lips. 

“Mhmm” you moaned. “So much” 

One of Yoongi’s fingers started to slip inside of you, you let out a needy moan at the feeling of him pressing into you and curling as he started to move in and out slightly.  The tip of his thumb pressing on your clit and moving circles around made you throw your head back in ecstacy. 

“Fuck baby, you’re so needy for me.  You like how my fingers feel touching your pussy?” he smiled excitedly. 

“Shit. Yes! I love it Yoongi!” you practically screamed. 

“Fuck, moan my name again baby” he growled, biting his lip and inserting another finger next to the one already inside of you. 

“Oh my god Yoongi, that feels so fucking good” your mouth opened widely as you felt yourself speeding towards your orgasm.  You continued to stroke his cock the best you could but your pace was unsteady and unfocused. 

“Cum on my fingers baby, cum screaming my name” 

Yoongi slid his fingers in and out of you rapidly and circled your clit even faster. 

“Y-yoongi, I’m gonna cum!” your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you reached your earth shattering high.  Still holding his cock in your hand but not moving it. 

You continued to let his name fall loudly from your lips as the waves of pleasure flowed through every inch of your body, jerking forward at the sensation of his fingers still moving inside of you while you came. 

Yoongi smiled and looked at you in awe, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.  Wow.” 

He then grabbed your hand and moved you off of him, then turned you so you were laying on your back again.  He maneuvered his way on top of you, still so close due to the low ceiling. 

He leaned down and took your lip between his teeth and dragged them across your skin, releasing your lip with a groan coming out of his own. 

You kicked your jeans and panties off of your legs almost entirely, one leg still had the pants wrapped around your ankle but you couldn’t be bothered to keep going with it as Yoongi eyed you so seductively, almost begging to be inside of you already with just his stare. 

He positioned his cock between your folds, sitting at your entrance for a moment. 

“You were so tight around my fingers, I don’t know if I’m going to last long inside that perfect pussy” 

You closed your eyes and smiled “Fuck me Yoongi, I can’t wait to feel you” 

At your words he was pressing his length into you, the wetness allowed him to enter with ease, but your walls gripped onto him tightly. 

He moaned so loudly as he entered you, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and leaving a trail of kisses. 

He grabbed one of your breasts in his hand and returned to playing with your nipple.  

“Ah-Yoongi, Fuck” you whined.  Which only encouraged him to speed up his pace thrusting into you, bucking his hips up into you quickly at a pace that almost felt unbearable. 

“Fuck baby, take it.  You can do it.  You’ve been so good for me” he encouraged into your ear. 

“Y-yoongi.  Its too much, I’m already gonna c-cum again” you whimpered. 

“Then cum baby” he raised his head and smirked as he looked down at you under him.  Kissing you on the cheek. The sound of your wetness as Yoongi pounded into you was so loud and erotic.  You couldn’t take it anymore. You raised your head up as you were on the verge of your high, your mouth found Yoongi’s neck and you sucked hard, scattering marks on him as you did. 

Your second orgasm hit like a loud drum, you could feel the vibrations flow through out you and your heart was beating rapidly. 

“Damn” Yoongi whispered. 

You felt him tense and give a few more hard pumps before he slowed and then quickly pulled out into a plank position. 

“y/n” he moaned.

Luckily you got the memo of what he meant and grabbed onto his cock, jerking him off while he twitched and cum spurted out all over your chest, some even reaching up to your neck due to your bad aim. 

You started to giggle at that and then Yoongi joined in the laughter as he realized that you had some on your jaw now. 

He went to roll off of you and hit his head on his way over. 

“Aw shit” he yelled. 

Which only made the two of you start to laugh harder.  Once you wiped the forming tears in your eyes away and calm yourself down holding your stomach “Yoongi…”

“Hm?” he whispered, now relaxing, naked, with his eyes closed and his hands behind his head, you were cuddled up with your head close to his chest. 

“I need to clean up…” 

“Ah right” he tossed you his sweater. 

“You sure? This is a nice sweater?” 

He nodded and smiled.  You wipe yourself up and shoved the sweatshirt down by your feet. 

“That was so much fun y/n” 

You beamed up at him “I had fun too…” 

“Come stay with me” he mumbled so low you thought you must’ve misheard him. 

“W-what?”

“You have nowhere to go.  I’d hate for something to happen to you, not make it to a pod at night or something.  Stay in my place” 

“I couldn’t possibly do that Yoongi.  That’s a lot…” 

“It’d just be as roommates, not asking you to marry me or anything” he chuckled “All I ask is that you cook and clean and stuff, I’m pretty shit at that… Can you do that?” 

“Fuck yes!” you shouted gleefully. 

“Good. Now let’s get some sleep.” He pulled you tightly into him, he was so warm, and so soft, and somehow this asshole ended up being an angel that saved you that night. 

Hopefully you can continue to repay him for his kindness.

[nyrator]

another long vent post about depression/anxiety

extremely depressed tonight

first made the mistake of driving myself to the grocery store at 6pm, first I had to try scraping the ice off the windshield with nothing but a broom and bare hands, then driving itself was nightmareish, the car feels like a death trap to me, very loose and sloppy compared to my last car, so loud and uncomfortable with no audible music to calm my nerves. My eyes have worsened to the point where I can’t see anything at night- glare takes up my whole vision, even with anti-glare shades. I was driving well below the speed limit the entire time and still almost hit three pedestrians who were all recklessly out on the roads in all black for whatever reason. My nerves are completely shot from it, my chest feels like I’m in a vice and can’t breathe, my eyes are wide open and hunched over the steering wheel, and my body feels both like I’m about to wet myself at any moment and that I’m too stiff/tense/frozen to function as a human at all, it’s that fight-or-flight response at its extreme. Meanwhile, my skin must be weak- my knuckles bleed when driving, and my wrists bled just from carrying in bags of groceries.

then getting home and just dealing with personal drama of someone I know who is so depressed and self destructive and too smart to reason with, who refuses/is unable to seek professional help, who just doesn’t understand or just can’t help venting to me nonstop, no matter how much I beg them not to over and over- their life is so terrible that suicide seems like the only option to them, and I don’t want them to do so, but I can’t keep suffering like this either and I feel like the only thing preventing them from doing so, as poor a job as I do as a human being anyway. But I can’t help them if they can’t help themselves, even if they were just ate a bit better, or just had a journal or someone anonymous they could talk to, but it seems inescapable and impossible to change anything and all we do is argue over it until I snap at them to leave me alone. That person is probably reading this right now and probably hating it, but I doubt anyone on this site even knows who they are.

Tuesday morning, I couldn’t sleep at all from anxiety- it was so severe and inescapable, I laid in bed for four hours feeling like I was dying until I was finally able to sleep for two hours. I can’t seem to stay asleep longer than two hours anymore. Was supposed to hang out with friends that day, but between lack of sleep, depression, and my absolute terror at driving in a snowstorm, I ended up just staying home.

Anxiety has gotten so bad again. I know a lot of how the mechanics work behind it, I know a lot of pains are from tension and lack of breathing. But my old coping mechanisms don’t work anymore. I can focus on breathing for several minutes straight and then fall right back into suffocating. Music, counting things, meditating, none of it helps anymore.

One way to describe the feeling of anxiety- it’s kind of like when you fall asleep on your arm, and you feel all the blood rushing back into it and that tingling sensation. Imagine that, maybe a bit less, but throughout your entire body (especially chest), your body is stiff and not numb, and your entire body is vibrating or shivering/shaking or something.

I still spend 16+ hours laying in bed every single day. When I got home from shopping, the walking around (and the stress of driving) was enough to send me straight to bed, I was so tired and weak. It’s probably why I don’t sleep properly, I’m half awake in bed all the time, what need is there for sleep

I have mail I haven’t opened, taxes I still have to do, messes to clean, and don’t care for any of it. Can’t even talk about some things I’ve been doing to myself out of spite or general depression, the way I’ve been abusing. I promise to try not to do anything too crazy or directly harmful, but even then I worry about slipping up- I tried one thing I shouldn’t talk about, which wasn’t too serious, but still seriously concerning how easy it was to try doing

still haven’t contacted a therapist, my fear of calling someone is so strong I can’t overcome it, especially not after just waking up. Talked to some friends, some agree that I should, at least one thinks it’s a waste of time and money- up to $125 per session to just get a glorified phone call thanks to covid restrictions. I just don’t see the point if I’m still stuck in my apartment at my computer, especially if I have an internet addiction already.

The lack of doing anything is driving me insane, I think. I’ve played four single player games in 2020- ACNH, KH MoM, Panel de Pon, and Picross. In terms of things watched on my own, probably just Japan Sinks and whatever else was on Netflix the few months I had it. Don’t feel motivated to play or watch anything anymore, nothing seems interesting, and mostly just do things with friends if at all

Even ACNH, the game I play the most, I barely do anything in it- mostly just get new items from stores, that’s it. My island decorating has come to a hard halt, mostly because I barely have any furniture I’d like to embellish it with, and mainly because I have no ideas to layout most of it

I want to create, but don’t have the energy to make anything at all. Rotten Nyan is still my current goal, but anxiety has made it next to impossible to work on. I’ve tried several times the past few weeks, all met with failure- the anxiety’s too much, half the time I don’t even know what’s causing it, but my body just gets too tense and cramped without even doing anything, and I just can’t breathe at all while working on it.

Thought about making an omake comic for it, then realized what a terrible idea it was, and how hard it is to draw comics in general. Or anything in general. Wrote down the entire comic while laying in bed one day, went to draw it, was unable to, tried making it a yonkoma, gave up, and felt sick thinking of all the gross things in it that I just made a vent description of Middle Lave and just posted that to the RN tumblr instead.

I can’t think of any ideas, I feel like my art has regressed- I’ve taken more shortcuts for the sake of my hands tensing so fast from anxiety, and I’ve gotten decent at drawing middle Lave I feel, but anything besides a character standing is impossible for me- any environments or character interactions that I’d love to do just feel impossible, let alone my inability to write good ones. Anything I try to think of writing-wise always ends up the same gross content that burned into my memories that I just can’t feel comfortable talking about much at all, nor do I think it’s content people want to see at all.

There’s a lot of detailed kind of art I’d like to do. I kind of want to loosen my restrictions on myself and just draw whatever suffering I feel like, maybe once I use the RN twitter more I might get a little more courage to do so. I see many artists draw detailed scenes in single images, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t capture that feeling.

Part of me feels torn about it being an autobiography for people to relate to, and being a suffering experience for people to find some weird enjoyment out of. I feel like I’ve lost sight of what it was originally meant to be and now just enjoy “bullying” Middle Lave half the time I guess, but unfortunately for me, bullying makes me feel like vomiting and is hard to draw consistently- maybe I’m too nice. I don’t know, I’m just rambling at this point. The comic is still laid out and just meant to explore the life of Lave, but it’s just so hard to work on.

In terms of other things, I have no idea what to do

Vtuber/streaming? Hate my voice, can’t focus on learning what I need for it in terms of rigging and texturing models. I only know the basics of making 3D things and nothing else.

Console art? I already designed all the ones I’m mainly interested in, but like I mentioned before, can’t think of any character interactions at all that I feel like drawing.

Making a game? I know 2k3 well enough to make anything in it event-wise, though never got over my map failings, and I can’t commit to anything long-term. Godot or another program, or programming in general? Good luck.

I just want to make something, work on a project without losing steam or letting anxiety prevent me from learning. Can’t focus on anything long enough to learn it- Japanese, making a game, programming, a new hobby, anything. I just don’t have the drive to do anything and will give up anything I even try to start, so what’s the point in even trying anything. I have books I haven’t read that I’ve been meaning to read for years, and still don’t have an ounce of energy to want to even organize them on their shelf, let alone open it

At the very least, I got my first big commission (second one ever), designing an OC for someone, and it’s going well, though tonight I’ve lost steam to finish it, and I hope I can get it back tomorrow to try to finalize it.

I’ve mentioned it before, but I really wish I just had someone guide me with art- I miss doing those 30 day challenge kind of things, or “send a number/emoji” kind of asks for OCs, but tumblr’s so inactive that I don’t see them on my dash anymore, and don’t know how to even look for them, especially not on sites like twitter these days. Though, the problem is, no one knows exactly what I like, and I feel awful letting people down if they ask for something I don’t want to draw

I can’t focus on exercise long term, and I’m so out of practice that exhaustion is too strong to beat. I’ve been trying to walk up and down on a step stool for exercise to get me back into basic movement, but even that’s too tiring. Want to do it while watching something, then I realize, I don’t watch anything at all, not even youtube, just an occasional artist stream that I mainly chat with rather than watch

I feel like I’m going to collapse if I turn or move too suddenly, and my eyes are absolutely terrible- glasses are okay, but without them I’m completely blind now- not just blind, but it’s like my eyes see at two different angles sometimes, like one is slanted or something, very disorientating.

It’s 7:30AM, and no desire to sleep at all. Terrified of laying in bed and letting anxiety take over me again. Part of me wants to become completely nocturnal and just avoid everyone during the day and just respond to messages in the AM hours, just wake up at midnight each day and avoid dealing with people. Go to sleep when everyone starts to get active and just isolate myself entirely from society.

I feel like I exist with no purpose whatsoever, and it’s driving me insane- not that life is meant to have a purpose, but I could at least be doing something more than laying in bed all day every day for a year